[Illustration: "_THE FAIR AND SOMETIMES UNCERTAIN DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSEOF MILBREY_. " (See page 182. )]

THE SPENDERS

A TALE OF THE THIRD GENERATION

BY

HARRY LEON WILSON

_Illustrated by_ O'NEILL LATHAM

1902

To L. L. J. 

FOREWORD

The wanderers of earth turned to her--outcast of the older lands--With a promise and hope in their pleading, and she reached them pitying hands;And she cried to the Old-World cities that drowse by the Eastern main:"Send me your weary, house-worn broods and I'll send you Men again!Lo, here in my wind-swept reaches, by my marshalled peaks of snow, Is room for a larger reaping than your o'ertilled fields can grow. Seed of the Main Seed springing to stature and strength in my sun, Free with a limitless freedom no battles of men have won, "For men, like the grain of the corn fields, grow small in the huddled crowd, And weak for the breath of spaces where a soul may speak aloud;For hills, like stairways to heaven, shaming the level track, And sick with the clang of pavements and the marts of the trafficking pack. Greatness is born of greatness, and breadth of a breadth profound;The old Antaean fable of strength renewed from the groundWas a human truth for the ages; since the hour of the EdenbirthThat man among men was strongest who stood with his feet on the earth!

SHARLOT MABRIDTH HALL. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. The Second Generation Is Removed

II. How the First Generation Once Righted Itself

III. Billy Brue Finds His Man

IV. The West Against the East

V. Over the Hills

VI. A Meeting and a Clashing

VII. The Rapid-fire Lorgnon Is Spiked

VIII. Up Skiplap Canon

IX. Three Letters, Private and Confidential

X. The Price of Averting a Scandal

XI. How Uncle Peter Bines Once Cut Loose

XII. Plans for the Journey East

XIII. The Argonauts Return to the Rising Sun

XIV. Mr. Higbee Communicates Some Valuable Information

XV. Some Light With a Few Side-lights

XVI. With the Barbaric Hosts

XVII. The Patricians Entertain

XVIII. The Course of True Love at a House Party

XIX. An Afternoon Stroll and an Evening Catastrophe

XX. Doctor Von Herslich Expounds the Hightower Hotel and Certain AlliedPhenomena

XXI. The Diversions of a Young Multi-millionaire

XXII. The Distressing Adventure of Mrs. Bines

XXIII. The Summer Campaign Is Planned

XXIV. The Sight of a New Beauty, and Some Advice from Higbee

XXV. Horace Milbrey Upholds the Dignity of His House

XXVI. A Hot Day in New York, with News of an Interesting Marriage

XXVII. A Sensational Turn in the Milbrey Fortunes

XXVIII. Uncle Peter Bines Comes to Town With His Man

XXIX. Uncle Peter Bines Threatens to Raise Something

XXX. Uncle Peter Inspires His Grandson to Worthy Ambitions

XXXI. Concerning Consolidated Copper and Peter Bines as Matchmakers

XXXII. Devotion to Business and a Chance Meeting

XXXIII. The Amateur Napoleon of Wall Street

XXXIV. How the Chinook Came to Wall Street

XXXV. The News Broken, Whereupon an Engagement is Broken

XXXVI. The God in the Machine

XXXVII. The Departure of Uncle Peter--And Some German Philosophy

XXXVIII. Some Phenomena Peculiar to Spring

XXXIX. An Unusual Plan of Action Is Matured

XL. Some Rude Behaviour, of Which Only a Western Man Could Be Guilty

XLI. The New Argonauts

ILLUSTRATIONS

"The fair and sometimes uncertain daughter of the house of Milbrey"

"'Well, Billy Brue, --what's doin'?'"

"The spell was broken"

"'Why, you'd be Lady Casselthorpe, with dukes and counts takin' offtheir crowns to you'"

"'Remember that saying of your pa's, "it takes all kinds of fools tomake a world"'"

"'Say it that way--" Miss Milbrey is engaged with Mr. Bines, and can'tsee you"'"

THE SPENDERS

CHAPTER I. 

The Second Generation is Removed

When Daniel J. Bines died of apoplexy in his private car at KasloJunction no one knew just where to reach either his old father or hisyoung son with the news of his death. Somewhere up the eastern slope ofthe Sierras the old man would be leading, as he had long chosen to leadeach summer, the lonely life of a prospector. The young man, two yearsout of Harvard, and but recently back from an extended European tour, was at some point on the North Atlantic coast, beginning the season'spursuit of happiness as he listed. 

Only in a land so young that almost the present dwellers therein havemade it might we find individualities which so decisively failed toblend. So little congruous was the family of Bines in root, branch, andblossom, that it might, indeed, be taken to picture an epic of Westernlife as the romancer would tell it. First of the line stands the figureof Peter Bines, the pioneer, contemporary with the stirring days ofFrémont, of Kit Carson, of Harney, and Bridger; the fearless striverstoward an ever-receding West, fascinating for its untried dangers asfor its fabled wealth, --the sturdy, grave men who fought and toiled andhoped, and realised in varying measure, but who led in sober truth alife such as the colours of no taleteller shall ever be high enough toreproduce. 

Next came Daniel J. Bines, a type of the builder and organiser whofollowed the trail blazed by the earlier pioneer; the genius who, finding the magic realm opened, forthwith became its exploiter to itsvast renown and his own large profit, coining its wealth of minerals, lumber, cattle, and grain, and adventurously building the railroadsthat must always be had to drain a new land of savagery. 

Nor would there be wanting a third--a figure of this present day, containing, in potency at least, the stanch qualities of his two ruggedforbears, --the venturesome spirit that set his restless grandsire toroving westward, the power to group and coordinate, to "think threemoves ahead" which had made his father a man of affairs; and, further, he had something modern of his own that neither of the otherspossessed, and yet which came as the just fruit of the parent vine: adisposition perhaps a bit less strenuous, turning back to the risenrather than forward to the setting sun; a tendency to rest a littlefrom the toil and tumult; to cultivate some graces subtler than thoseof adventure and commercialism; to make the most of what had been donerather than strain to the doing of needless more; to live, in short, like a philosopher and a gentleman who has more golden dollars a yearthan either philosophers or gentlemen are wont to enjoy. 

And now the central figure had gone suddenly at the age of fifty-two, after the way of certain men who are quick, ardent, and generous intheir living. From his luxurious private car, lying on the side-trackat the dreary little station, Toler, private secretary to themillionaire, had telegraphed to the headquarters of one importantrailway company the death of its president, and to various mining, milling, and lumbering companies the death of their president, vice-president, or managing director as the case might be. For thewidow and only daughter word of the calamity had gone to a mountainresort not far from the family home at Montana City. 

There promised to be delay in reaching the other two. The son wouldearly read the news, Toler decided, unless perchance he were off atsea, since the death of a figure like Bines would be told by everydaily newspaper in the country. He telegraphed, however, to the youngman's New York apartments and to a Newport address, on the chance offinding him. 

Locating old Peter Bines at this season of the year was a feat neverlightly to be undertaken, nor for any trivial end. It being now the10th of June, it could be known with certainty only that in one of fourStates he was prowling through some wooded canon, toiling over a windypass, or scaling a mountain sheerly, in his ancient and best lovedsport of prospecting. Knowing his habits, the rashest guesser would nothave attempted to say more definitely where the old man might be. 

The most promising plan Toler could devise was to wire thesuperintendent of the "One Girl" Mine at Skiplap. The elder Bines, heknew, had passed through Skiplap about June 1st, and had left, perhaps, some inkling of his proposed route; if it chanced, indeed, that he hadtaken the trouble to propose one. 

Pangburn, the mine superintendent, on receipt of the news, despatchedfive men on the search in as many different directions. The old man wasnow seventy-four, and Pangburn had noted when last they met that heappeared to be somewhat less agile and vigorous than he had been twentyyears before; from which it was fair to reason that he might be playinghis solitary game at a leisurely pace, and would have tramped no greatdistance in the ten days he had been gone. The searchers, therefore, were directed to beat up the near-by country. To Billy Brue wasallotted the easiest as being the most probable route. He was to followup Paddle Creek to Four Forks, thence over the Bitter Root trail toEden, on to Oro Fino, and up over Little Pass to Hellandgone. He was toproceed slowly, to be alert for signs along the way, and to makeinquiries of all he met. 

"You're likely to get track of Uncle Peter, " said Pangburn, "over alongthe west side of Horseback Ridge, just beyond Eden. When he pulled outhe was talking about some likely float-rock he'd picked up over thatway last summer. You'd ought to make that by to-morrow, seeing you'vegot a good horse and the trail's been mended this spring. Now youspread yourself out, Billy, and when you get on to the Ridge make aspecial look all around there. "

Besides these directions and the telegram from Toler, Billy Brue tookwith him a copy of the Skiplap _Weekly Ledge_, damp from the press andcontaining the death notice of Daniel J. Bines, a notice sent out bythe News Association, which Billy Brue read with interest as he startedup the trail. The item concluded thus:

"The young and beautiful Mrs. Bines, who had been accompanying herhusband on his trip of inspection over the Sierra Northern, isprostrated with grief at the shock of his sudden death. "

Billy Brue mastered this piece of intelligence after six readings, buthe refrained from comment, beyond thanking God, in thought, that hecould mind his own business under excessive provocation to dootherwise. He considered it no meddling, however, to remember that Mrs. Daniel J. Bines, widow of his late employer, could appear neither youngnor beautiful to the most sanguine of newsgatherers; nor to rememberthat he happened to know she had not accompanied her husband on hislast trip of inspection over the Kaslo Division of the Sierra NorthernRailway. 

CHAPTER II. 

How the First Generation Once Righted Itself

By some philosophers unhappiness is believed--rather than coming fromdeprivation or infliction--to result from the individual's failure toselect from a number of possible occupations one that would afford himentire satisfaction with life and himself. To this perverse blindnessthey attribute the dissatisfaction with great wealth traditional of menwho have it. The fault, they contend, is not with wealth inherently. The most they will admit against money is that the possession of muchof it tends to destroy that judicial calm necessary to a wise choice ofrecreations; to incline the possessor, perhaps, toward those that areunsalutary. 

Concerning the old man that Billy Brue now sought with his news ofdeath, a philosopher of this school would unhesitatingly declare thathe had sounded the last note of human wisdom. Far up in some mountainsolitude old Peter Bines, multimillionaire, with a lone pack-mule tobear his meagre outfit, picked up float-rock, tapped and scannedledges, and chipped at boulders with the same ardour that had fired himin his penniless youth. 

Back in 1850, a young man of twenty-four, he had joined the rush toCalifornia, working his passage as deck-hand on a vessel that doubledthe Horn. Landing without capital at San Francisco, the little seaportsettlement among the shifting yellow sand-dunes, he had worked sixweeks along the docks as roustabout for money to take him back into thehills whence came the big fortunes and the bigger tales of fortunes. For six years he worked over the gravelly benches of the Californiacreeks for vagrant particles of gold. Then, in the late fifties, hejoined a mad stampede to the Frazer River gold-fields in BritishColumbia, still wild over its first knowledge of silver sulphurets, hewas drawn back by the wonder-tales of the Comstock lode. 

Joining the bedraggled caravan over the Carson trail, he continued hiscourse of bitter hardship in the Washoe Valley. From a patch of barrensun-baked rock and earth, three miles long and a third of a mile wide, high up on the eastern slope of Mount Davidson, he beheld more millionstaken out than the wildest enthusiast had ever before ventured to dreamof. But Peter Bines was a luckless unit of the majority that hadperforce to live on the hope produced by others' findings. The time forhis strike had not come. 

For ten years more, half-clad in flannel shirt and overalls, he livedin flimsy tents, tattered canvas houses, and sometimes holes in theground. One abode of luxury, long cherished in memory, was aten-by-twelve redwood shanty on Feather River. It not only boasted awindow, but there was a round hole in the "shake" roof, fastidiouslycut to fit a stove-pipe. That he never possessed a stove-pipe had madethis feature of the architecture not less sumptuous and engaging. Helived chiefly on salt pork and beans, cooked over smoky camp-fires. 

Through it all he was the determined, eager, confident prospector, never for an instant prey to even the suggestion of a doubt that hewould not shortly be rich. Whether he washed the golden specks from thesand of a sage-brush plain, or sought the mother-ledge of somewandering golden child, or dug with his pick to follow a promisingsurface lead, he knew it to be only the matter of time when his dayshould dawn. He was of the make that wears unbending hope as itsbirthright. 

Some day the inexhaustible placer would be found; or, on a mountainsidewhere the porphyry was stained, he would carelessly chip off a fragmentof rock, turn it up to the sun, and behold it rich in ruby silver; or, some day, the vein instead of pinching out would widen; there would bepay ore almost from the grass-roots--rich, yellow, free-milling gold, so that he could put up a little arastra, beat out enough in a week tobuy a small stamp-mill, and then, in six months--ten years more of thisfruitless but nourishing certainty were his, --ten years of the awfulsolitudes, shared sometimes by his hardy and equally confident wife, and, at the last, by his boy, who had become old enough to endure withhis father the snow and ice of the mountain tops and the withering heatof the alkali wastes. 

Footsore, hungry most of the time, alternately burned and frozen, helived the life cheerfully and tirelessly, with an enthusiasm that neverfaltered. 

When his day came it brought no surprise, so freshly certain had hekept of its coming through the twenty years of search. 

At his feet, one July morning in 1870, he noticed a piece ofdark-stained rock in a mass of driftstones. So small was it that tohave gone a few feet to either side would have been to miss it. Hepicked it up and examined it leisurely. It was rich in silver. 

Somewhere, then, between him and the mountain top was the parent stockfrom which this precious fragment had been broken. The sun beat hotlyupon him as it had on other days through all the hard years whencertainty, after all, was nothing more than a temperamental faith. Allday he climbed and searched methodically, stopping at noon to eat withan appetite unaffected by his prospect. 

At sunset he would have stopped for the day, camping on the spot. Helooked above to estimate the ground he could cover on the morrow. Almost in front of him, a few yards up the mountainside, he lookedsquarely at the mother of his float: a huge boulder of projectingsilicate. It was there. 

During the following week he ascertained the dimensions of his vein ofsilver ore, and located two claims. He named them "The Stars andStripes" and "The American Boy, " paying thereby what he consideredtributes, equally deserved, to his native land and to his only son, Daniel, in whom were centred his fondest hopes. 

A year of European travel had followed for the family, a year ofspending the new money lavishly for strange, long-dreamed-ofluxuries--a year in which the money was joyously proved to be real. Then came a year of tentative residence in the East. That year was lesssatisfactory. The novelty of being sufficiently fed, clad, andsheltered was losing its fine edge. 

Penniless and constrained to a life of privation, Peter Bines had beenstrangely happy. Rich and of consequence in a community where the wayswere all of pleasantness and peace, Peter Bines became restless, discontented, and, at last, unmistakably miserable. 

"It can't be because I'm rich, " he argued; "it's a sure thing my moneycan't keep me from doin' jest what I want to do. "

Then a suspicion pricked him; for he had, in his years of solitude, formed the habit of considering, in a leisurely and hospitable manner, even the reverse sides of propositions that are commonly accepted bymen without question. 

"The money _can't_ prevent me from doin' what I jest wantto--certain--but, maybe, _don't_ it? If I didn't have it I'd fur surebe back in the hills and happy, and so would Evalina, that ain't hadhardly what you could call a good day since we made the strike. "

On this line of reasoning it took Peter Bines no long time to concludethat he ought now to enjoy as a luxury what he had once beenconstrained to as a necessity. 

"Even when I was poor and had to hit the trail I jest loved them hills, so why ain't it crafty to pike back to 'em now when I don't have to?"

His triumphant finale was:

"When you come to think about it, a rich man ain't really got any moreexcuse fur bein' mis'able than a poor man has!"

Back to the big hills that called him had he gone; away from the citieswhere people lived "too close together and too far apart;" back to thegreen, rough earth where the air was free and quick and a man could seea hundred miles, and the people lived far enough apart to beneighbourly. 

There content had blessed him again; content not slothful but inciting;a content that embraced his own beloved West, fashioning first in fancyand then by deed, its own proud future. He had never ceased to plan andstimulate its growth. He not only became one with its manifoldinterests, but proudly dedicated the young Daniel to its furthermaking. He became an ardent and bigoted Westerner, with a scorn for theEast so profound that no Easterner's scorn for the West hath ever byany chance equalled it. 

Prospecting with the simple outfit of old became his relaxation, hissport, and, as he aged, his hobby. It was said that he had exaltedprospecting to the dignity of an art, and no longer hunted gold as apot-hunter. He was even reputed to have valuable deposits "covered, "and certain it is that after Creede made his rich find on MammothMountain in 1890, Peter Bines met him in Denver and gave himparticulars about the vein which as yet Creede had divulged to no one. Questioned later concerning this, Peter Bines evaded answeringdirectly, but suggested that a man who already had plenty of moneymight have done wisely to cover up the find and be still about it; thatNat Creede himself proved as much by going crazy over his wealth andblowing out his brains. 

To a tamely prosperous Easterner who, some years after his return tothe West, made the conventional remark, "And isn't it amazing that youwere happy through those hard years of toil when you were so poor?"Peter Bines had replied, to his questioner's hopeless bewilderment:"No. But it _is_ surprisin' that I kept happy after I got rich--after Igot what I wanted. 

"I reckon you'll find, " he added, by way of explaining, "that theproportion of happy rich to unhappy rich is a mighty sight smaller thanthe proportion of happy poor to the unhappy poor. I'm one of the formerminority, all right, --but, by cripes! it's because I know how to berich and still enjoy all the little comforts of poverty!"

CHAPTER III. 

Billy Brue Finds His Man

Each spring the old man grew restive and raw like an unbroken colt. Andwhen the distant mountain peaks began to swim in their summer haze, andthe little rushing rivers sang to him, pleading that he come once moreto follow them up, he became uncontrollable. Every year at this time healleged, with a show of irritation, that his health was being sapped bythe pernicious indulgence of sleeping on a bed inside a house. Healleged, further, that stocks and bonds were but shadows of wealth, that the old mines might any day become exhausted, and that securityfor the future lay only in having one member of the family, at least, looking up new pay-rock against the ever possible time of adversity. 

"They ain't got to makin' calendars yet with the rainy day marked on'em, " he would say. "A'most any one of them innocent lookin' Mondays orTuesdays or Wednesdays is liable to be _it_ when you get right up on toit. I'll have to start my old bones out again, I see that. Things arebeginnin' to green up a'ready. " When he did go it was always understoodto be positively for not more than two weeks. A list of his reasons forextending the time each year to three or four months would constitutethe ideal monograph on human duplicity. When hard-pushed on his return, he had once or twice been even brazen enough to assert that he had losthis way in the mountain fastnesses. But, for all his protestations, noone when he left in June expected to see him again before September atthe earliest. In these solitary tours he was busy and happy, workingand playing. "Work, " he would say, "is something you want to get done;play is something you jest like to be doin'. Snoopin' up these gulchesis both of 'em to me. "

And so he loitered through the mountains, resting here, climbing there, making always a shrewd, close reading of the rocks. 

It was thus Billy Brue found him at the end of his second day's search. A little off the trail, at the entrance to a pocket of the cañon, hetowered erect to peer down when he heard the noise of the messenger'sascent. Standing beside a boulder of grey granite, before a backgroundof the gnarled dwarf-cedars, his hat off, his blue shirt open at theneck, his bare forearms brown, hairy, and muscular, a hammer in hisright hand, his left resting lightly on his hip, he might have been theTitan that had forged the boulder at his side, pausing now for breathbefore another mighty task. Well over six feet tall, still straight asany of the pines before him, his head and broad shoulders in the easypoise of power, there was about him from a little distance no sign ofage. His lines were gracefully full, his bearing had still thealertness of youth. One must have come as near as Billy Brue now cameto detect the marks of time in his face. Not of age--merely of time;for here was no senility, no quavering or fretful lines. The grey eyesshone bright and clear from far under the heavy, unbroken line of brow, and the mouth was still straight and firmly held, a mouth under surecontrol from corner to corner. A little had the years brought out therugged squareness of the chin and the deadly set of the jaws; a littlehad they pressed in the cheeks to throw the high bones into broadrelief. But these were the utmost of their devastations. OtherwisePeter Bines showed his seventy-four years only by the marks of awell-ordered maturity. His eyes, it is true, had that look of _knowing_which to the young seems always to betoken the futility of, and to warnagainst the folly of, struggle against what must be; yet they were kindeyes, and humourous, with many of the small lines of laughter at theircorners. Reading the eyes and mouth together one perceived gentlenessand sternness to be well matched, working to any given end in amiableand effective compromise. "Uncle Peter" he had long been called by thepublic that knew him, and his own grandchildren had come to call him bythe same term, finding him too young to meet their ideal of agrandfather. Billy Brue, riding up the trail, halted, nodded, and wassilent. The old man returned his salutation as briefly. These things bymen who stay much alone come to be managed with verbal economy. Theywould talk presently, but greetings were awkward. 

Billy Brue took one foot from its stirrup and turned in his saddle, pulling the leg up to a restful position. Then he spat, musingly, andlooked back down the cañon aimlessly, throwing his eyes from side toside where the grey granite ledges showed through the tall spruce andpine trees. 

But the old man knew he had been sent for. 

"Well, Billy Brue, --what's doin'?"

Billy Brue squirmed in the saddle, spat again, as with sudden resolve, and said:

"Why, --uh--Dan'l J. --_he's_ dead. "

The old man repeated the words, dazedly. 

"Dan'l J. --_he's_ dead;--why, who else is dead, too?"

Billy Brue's emphasis, cunningly contrived by him to avoid givingprominence to the word "dead, " had suggested this inquiry in the firstmoment of stupefaction. 

"Nobody else dead--jest Dan'l J. --_he's_ dead. "

"Jest Dan'l J. --my boy--my boy Dan'l dead!"

His mighty shape was stricken with a curious rigidity, erected there asif it were a part of the mountain, flung up of old from the earth'sinner tragedy, confounded, desolate, ancient. 

[Illustration: "'_WELL, BILLY BRUE, WHAT'S DOIN_'?'"]

Billy Brue turned from the stony interrogation of his eyes and took afew steps away, waiting. A little wind sprang up among the highertrees, the moments passed, and still the great figure stood transfixedin its curious silence. The leathers creaked as the horse turned. Themessenger, with an air of surveying the canon, stole an anxious glanceat the old face. The sorrowful old eyes were fixed on things that werenot; they looked vaguely as if in search. 

"Dan'l!" he said. 

It was not a cry; there was nothing plaintive in it. It was only theold man calling his son: David calling upon Absalom. Then there was achange. He came sternly forward. 

"Who killed my boy?"

"Nobody, Uncle Peter; 'twas a stroke. He was goin' over the line andthey'd laid out at Kaslo fer a day so's Dan'l J. Could see about a spurthe 'Lucky Cuss' people wanted--and maybe it was the climbin' broughtit on. "

The old man looked his years. As he came nearer Billy Brue saw tearstremble in his eyes and roll unnoted down his cheeks. Yet his voice wasunbroken and he was, indeed, unconscious of the tears. 

"I was afraid of that. He lived too high. He et too much and he dranktoo much and was too soft--was Dan'l. --too soft--"

The old voice trembled a bit and he stopped to look aside into thelittle pocket he had been exploring. Billy Brue looked back down thecanon, where the swift stream brawled itself into white foam far below. 

"He wouldn't use his legs; I prodded him about it constant--"

He stopped again to brace himself against the shock. Billy Brue stilllooked away. 

"I told him high altitudes and high livin' would do any man--" Again hewas silent. 

"But all he'd ever say was that times had changed since my day, and Iwasn't to mind him. " He had himself better in hand now. 

"Why, I nursed that boy when he was a dear, funny little red baby withbig round eyes rollin' around to take notice; he took notice awfulquick--fur a baby. Oh, my! Oh, dear! Dan'l!"

Again he stopped. 

"And it don't seem more'n yesterday that I was a-teachin' him to throwthe diamond hitch; he could throw the diamond hitch with his eyes shut--I reckon by the time he was nine or ten. He had his faults, but theydidn't hurt him none; Dan'l J. Was a man, now--" He halted once more. 

"The dead millionaire, " began Billy Brue, reading from the obituary inthe Skiplap _Weekly Ledge_, "was in his fifty-second year. Genial, generous to a fault, quick to resent a wrong, but unfailing in hisloyalty to a friend, a man of large ideas, with a genius for largeoperations, he was the type of indefatigable enterprise that hasbuilded this Western empire in a wilderness and given rich sustenanceand luxurious homes to millions of prosperous, happy American citizens. Peace to his ashes! And a safe trip to his immortal soul over theone-way trail!"

"Yes, yes--it's Dan'l J. Fur sure--they got my boy Dan'l that time. Isthat all it says, Billy? Any one with him?"

"Why, this here despatch is signed by young Toler--that's hisconfidential man. "

"Nobody else?"

The old man was peering at him sharply from under the grey protrudingbrows. 

"Well, if you must know, Uncle Peter, this is what the notice says thatcome by wire to the _Ledge_ office, " and he read doggedly:

"The young and beautiful Mrs. Bines, who had been accompanying herhusband on his trip of inspection over the Sierra Northern, isprostrated by the shock of his sudden death. "

The old man became for the first time conscious of the tears in hiseyes, and, pulling down one of the blue woollen shirt sleeves, wipedhis wet cheeks. The slow, painful blush of age crept up across the ironstrength of his face, and passed. He looked away as he spoke. 

"I knew it; I knew that. My Dan'l was like all that Frisco bunch. Theyget tangled with women sooner or later. I taxed Dan'l with it. Ispleened against it and let him know it. But he was a man and his ownmaster--if you can rightly call a man his own master that does themthings. Do you know what-fur woman this one was, Billy?"

"Well, last time Dan'l J. Was up to Skiplap, there was a swell party onthe car--kind of a coppery-lookin' blonde. Allie Ash, the brakeman onNo. 4, he tells me she used to be in Spokane, and now she'd got herhooks on to some minin' property up in the Coeur d'Alene. Course, thismightn't be the one. "

The old man had ceased to listen. He was aroused to the need foraction. 

"Get movin', Billy! We can get down to Eden to-night; we'll have themoon fur two hours on the trail soon's the sun's gone. I can get 'em todrive me over to Skiplap first thing to-morrow, and I can have 'em makeme up a train there fur Montana City. Was he--"

"Dan'l J. Has been took home--the noozepaper says. "

They turned back down the trail, the old man astride Billy Brue'shorse, followed by his pack-mule and preceded by Billy. 

Already, such was his buoyance and habit of quick recovery andreadjustment under reverses, his thoughts were turning to his grandson. Daniel's boy--there was the grandson of his grandfather--the son of hisfather--fresh from college, and the instructions of European travel, knowing many things his father had not known, ready to take up the workof his father, and capable, perhaps, of giving it a better finish. Hisbeloved West had lost one of its valued builders, but another shouldtake his place. His boy should come to him and finish the tasks of hisfather; and, in the years to come, make other mighty tasks ofempire-building for himself and the children of his children. 

It did not occur to him that he and the boy might be as far apart insympathies and aims as at that moment they were in circumstance. For, while the old man in the garb of a penniless prospector, toiled downthe steep mountain trail on a cheap horse, his grandson was reading thefirst news of his father's death in one of the luxurious staterooms ofa large steam yacht that had just let down her anchor in NewportHarbour. And each--but for the death--had been where most he wished tobe--one with his coarse fare and out-of-doors life, roughened andseamed by the winds and browned by the sun to mahogany tints; aged butplaying with boyish zest at his primitive sport; the other, astrong-limbed, well-marrowed, full-breathing youth of twenty-five, withappetites all alert and sharpened, pink and pampered, loving luxury, and prizing above all things else the atmosphere of wealth and itsrefinements. 

CHAPTER IV. 

The West Against the East

Two months later a sectional war was raging in the Bines home atMontana City. The West and the East were met in conflict, --the old andthe new, the stale and the fresh. And, if the bitterness was dissembledby the combatants, not less keenly was it felt, nor less determined waseither faction to be relentless. 

A glance about the "sitting-room" in which the opposing forces werelined up, and into the parlour through the opened folding-doors, mayhelp us to a better understanding of the issue involved. Both roomswere large and furnished in a style that had been supremely luxuriousin 1878. The house, built in that year, of Oregon pine, had been quitethe most pretentious piece of architecture in that section of the West. It had been erected in the first days of Montana City as a convincingtestimonial from the owner to his faith in the town's future. Theplush-upholstered sofas and chairs, with their backs and legs of carvedblack walnut, had come direct from New York. For pictures there wereearly art-chromos, among them the once-prized companion pieces, "WideAwake" and "Fast Asleep. " Lithography was represented by "TheFisherman's Pride" and "The Soldier's Dream of Home. " In thehandicrafts there were a photographic reproduction of the Lord'sPrayer, illustrated originally by a penman with uncommon genius forscroll-work; a group of water-lilies in wax, floating on a mirror-lakeand protected by a glass globe; a full-rigged schooner, built cunninglyinside a bottle by a matricide serving a life-sentence in thepenitentiary at San Quinten; and a mechanical canarybird in a gildedcage, acquired at the Philadelphia Centennial, --a bird that hadcarolled its death--lay in the early winter of 1877 when it was woundup too hard and its little insides snapped. In the parlour a fewornamental books were grouped with rare precision on the centre-tablewith its oval top of white marble. On the walls of the "sitting-room"were a steel engraving of Abraham Lincoln striking the shackles from akneeling slave, and a framed cardboard rebus worked in red zephyr, thereading of which was "No Cross, No Crown. "

Thus far nothing helpful has been found. 

Let us examine, then, the what-not in the "sitting-room" and the choiceEmpire cabinet that faces it from the opposite wall of the parlour. 

The what-not as an American institution is obsolete. Indeed, it hasbeen rather long since writers referred to it even in terms ofopprobrious sarcasm. The what-not, once the cherished shrine of theAmerican home, sheltered the smaller household gods for which no otherresting-place could be found. The Empire cabinet, with its roundingfront of glass, its painted Watteau scenes, and its mirrored back, hascome to supplant the humbler creation in the fulfilment of all itstender or mysterious offices. 

Here, perchance, may be found a clue in symbol to the family strife. 

The Bines what-not in the sitting-room was grimly orthodox in itsequipment. Here was an ancient box covered with shell-work, with a wavylittle mirror in its back; a tender motto worked with the hair of thedead; a "Rock of Ages" in a glass case, with a garland of pink chenillearound the base; two dried pine cones brightly varnished; an olddaguerreotype in an ornamental case of hard rubber; a small old album;two small China vases of the kind that came always in pairs, standingon mats of crocheted worsted; three sea-shells; and the cup and saucerthat belonged to grandma, which no one must touch because they'd beenbroken and were held together but weakly, owing to the imperfections ofhome-made cement. 

The new cabinet, haughty in its varnished elegance, with its Watteaudames and courtiers, and perhaps the knowledge that it enjoyswidespread approval among the elect, --this is a different matter. Inevery American home that is a home, to-day, it demands attention. Thevisitor, after eyeing it with cautious side-glances, goes jauntily upto it, affecting to have been stirred by the mere impulse of elegantidleness. Under the affectedly careless scrutiny of the hostess hefalls dramatically into an attitude of awed entrancement. Reverently hegazes upon the priceless bibelots within: the mother-of-pearl fan, halfopen; the tiny cup and saucer of Sèvres on their brass easel; theminiature Cupid and Psyche in marble; the Japanese wrestlers carved inivory; the ballet-dancer in bisque; the coral necklace; the souvenirspoon from the Paris Exposition; the jade bracelet; and the silversnuff-box that grandfather carried to the day of his death. If thegazing visitor be a person of abandoned character he makes humourouspretence that the householder has done wisely to turn a key upon thesetreasures, against the ravishings of the overwhelmed and frenziedconnoisseur. He wears the look of one who is gnawed with envy, and heheaves the sigh of despair. 

But when he notes presently that he has ceased to be observed he sneakscheerfully to another part of the room. 

The what-not is obsolete. The Empire cabinet is regnant. Yet, thoughone is the lineal descendant of the other--its sophisticatedgrandchild--they are hostile and irreconcilable. 

Twenty years hence the cabinet will be proscribed and its contentscatalogued in those same terms of disparagement that the what-notbecame long since too dead to incur. Both will then have attained thestate of honourable extinction now enjoyed by the dodo. 

The what-not had curiously survived in the Bines home--survived untothe coming of the princely cabinet--survived to give battle if itmight. 

Here, perhaps, may be found the symbolic clue to the strife's cause. 

The sole non-combatant was Mrs. Bines, the widow. A neutral was thisgood woman, and a well-wisher to each faction. 

"I tell you it's all the same to me, " she declared, "Montana City orFifth Avenue in New York. I guess I can do well enough in either placeso long as the rest of you are satisfied. "

It had been all the same to Mrs. Bines for as many years as a woman offifty can remember. It was the lot of wives in her day and environmentearly to learn the supreme wisdom of abolishing preferences. Riches andpoverty, ease and hardship, mountain and plain, town and wilderness, they followed in no ascertainable sequence, and a superiority ofindifference to each was the only protection against hurts from theunexpected. 

This trained neutrality of Mrs. Bines served her finely now. She had noleading to ally herself against her children in their wish to go East, nor against Uncle Peter Bines in his stubborn effort to keep them West. She folded her hands to wait on the others. 

And the battle raged. 

The old man, sole defender of the virtuous and stalwart West against anEast that he alleged to be effete and depraved, had now resorted tosarcasm, --a thing that Mr. Carlyle thought was as good as the languageof the devil. 

"And here, now, how about this dog-luncheon?" he continued, glancing ata New York newspaper clutched accusingly in his hand. "It was give, Isee, by one of your Newport cronies. Now, that's healthy doin's fur atwo-fisted Christian, ain't it? I want to know. Shappyronging a selectcompany of lady and gentlemen dogs from soup to coffee; pressing alittle more of the dog-biscuit on this one, and seein' that the otherdon't misplay its finger-bowl no way. How I would love to read of aBines standin' up, all in purty velvet pants, most likely, to receiveat one of them bow-wow functions;--functions, I believe, is the name ofit?" he ended in polite inquiry. 

"There, there, Uncle Peter!" the young man broke in, soothingly; "youmustn't take those Sunday newspapers as gospel truth; those stories areprinted for just such rampant old tenderfoots as you are; and even ifthere is one foolish freak, he doesn't represent all society in thebetter sense of the term. "

"Yes, and _you_!" Uncle Peter broke out again, reminded of anothergrievance. "You know well enough your true name is Peter--Pete andPetie when you was a baby and Peter when you left for college. Andyou're ashamed of what you've done, too, for you tried to hide themcallin'-cards from me the other day, only you wa'n't quick enough. Bring 'em out! I'm bound your mother and Pish shall see 'em. Out with'em!"

The young man, not without embarrassment, drew forth a Russia leathercard-case which the old man took from him as one having authority. 

"Here you are, Marthy Bines!" he exclaimed, handing her a card; "hereyou are! read it! Mr. P. Percival Bines. ' _Now_ don't you feel proud ofhavin' stuck out for Percival when you see it in cold print? You knowmighty well his pa and me agreed to Percival only fur a middle name, jest to please you--and he wa'n't to be called by it;--only jest Peteror 'Peter P. ' at most; and now look at the way he's gone and garbledhis good name. "

Mr. P. Percival Bines blushed furiously here, but rejoined, nevertheless, with quiet dignity, that a man's name was something aboutwhich he should have the ruling voice, especially where it was possiblefor him to rectify or conceal the unhappy choice of his parents. 

"And while we're on names, " he continued, "do try to remember in caseyou ever get among people, that Sis's name is Psyche and not Pish. "

The blond and complacent Miss Bines here moved uneasily in her patentblue plush rocker and spoke for the first time, with a grateful glanceat her brother. 

"Yes, Uncle Peter, for mercy's sake, _do_ try! Don't make us alaughing-stock!" "But your name is Pish. A person's name is what theirfolks name 'em, ain't it? Your ma comes acrost a name in a book thatshe likes the looks of, and she takes it to spell Pish, and she ups andnames you Pish, and we all calls you Pish and Pishy, and then when youtoddle off to public school and let 'em know how you spell it they tellyou it's something else--an outlandish name if spellin' means anything. If it comes to that you ought to change the spellin' instead of thename that your poor pa loved. "

Yet the old man had come to know that he was fighting a lostfight, --lost before it had ever begun. 

"It will be a good chance, " ventured Mrs. Bines, timidly, "for Pishy--Imean Sike--Sicky--to meet the right sort of people. "

"Yes, I should _say_--and the wrong sort. The ingagin' host of themlady and gentlemen dogs, fur instance. "

"But Uncle Peter, " broke in the young man, "you shouldn't expect a girlof Psyche's beauty and fortune to vegetate in Montana City all herlife. Why, any sort of brilliant marriage is possible to her if shegoes among the right people. Don't you want the family to amount tosomething socially? Is our money to do us no good? And do you think I'mgoing to stay here and be a moss-back and raise chin whiskers and workmyself to death the way my father did?"

"No, no, " replied the old man, with a glance at the mother; "not _jest_the way your pa did; you might do some different and some better; butall the same, you won't do any better'n he did any way you'll learn tolive in New York. Unless you was to go broke there, " he added, thoughtfully; "in that case you got the stuff in you and it'd come out;but you got too much money to go broke. "

"And you'll see that I lead a decent enough life. Times have changedsince my father was a young man. "

"Yes; that's what your pa told me, --times had changed since I was ayoung man; but I could 'a' done him good if he'd 'a' listened. "

"Well, we'll try it. The tide is setting that way from all over thecountry. Here, listen to this editorial in the _Sun_. " And he read fromhis own paper:

"A GOOD PLACE TO MOVE TO. 

"One of the most interesting evidences of the growth of New York is thenews that Mr. Anson Ledrick of the Consolidated Copper Company haspurchased an extensive building site on Riverside Drive and willpresently improve it with a costly residence. Mr. Ledrick's decision tomove his household effects to Manhattan Island is in accordance with avery marked tendency of successful Americans. 

"There are those who are fond of depreciating New York; of assailing itwith all sorts of cheap and sensational vituperation; of picturing itas the one great canker spot of the Western hemisphere, asirretrievably sunk in wickedness and shame. The fact remains, however, that the city, as never before, is the great national centre of wealth, culture, and distinction of every kind, and that here the citizen, successful in art, literature, or practical achievement, instinctivelyseeks his abiding-place. 

"The restlessness of the average American millionaire while he remainsoutside the city limits is frequently remarked upon. And even themighty overlords of Chicago, falling in with the prevailing fashion, have forsaken the shores of the great inland sea and pitched theirtents with us; not to speak of the copper kings of Montana. Why is itthat these interesting men, after acquiring fortune and fame elsewhere, are not content to remain upon the scene of their early triumphs? Whyis it that they immediately pack their carpet-bags, take the firstthrough train to our gates, and startle the investing public by themanner in which they bull the price of New York building lots?"

The old man listened absently. 

"And probably some day I'll read of you in that same centre of cultureand distinction as P. Percival Bines, a young man of obscure fam'ly, that rose by his own efforts to be the dashin' young cotillion leaderand the well-known club-man, and that his pink teas fur dogs is barkedabout by every fashionable canine on the island. "

The young man continued to read: "These men are not vain fools; theyare shrewd, successful men of the world. They have surveyed New YorkCity from a distance and have discovered that, in spite of Tammany andin spite of yellow journals, New York is a town of unequalledattractiveness. And so they come; and their coming shows us what weare. Not only millionaires; but also painters and novelists and men andwomen of varied distinction. The city palpitates with life and ambitionand hope and promise; it attracts the great and the successful, andthose who admire greatness and success. The force of natural selectionis at work here as everywhere; and it is rapidly concentrating in oursmall island whatever is finest, most progressive, and best in theAmerican character. "

"Well, now do me a last favour before you pike off East, " pleaded theold man. "Make a trip with me over the properties. See 'em once anyway, and see a little more of this country and these people. Mebbe they'rebetter'n you think. Give me about three weeks or a month, and then, byCrimini, you can go off if you're set on it and be 'whatever is finestand best in the American character' as that feller puts it. But someday, son, you'll find out there's a whole lot of difference between agreat man of wealth and a man of great wealth. Them last is gettin'terrible common. "

CHAPTER V. 

Over the Hills

So the old man and the young man made the round of the Binesproperties. The former nursed a forlorn little hope of exciting aninterest in the concerns most vital to him; to the latter the leisurelytour in the private car was a sportive prelude to the serious businessof life, as it should be lived, in the East. Considering it as such heendured it amiably, and indeed the long August days and the sharplycool nights were not without real enjoyment for him. 

To feel impartially a multitude of strong, fresh wants--the imperativeneed to live life in all its fulness, this of itself makes the heart tosing. And, above the full complement of wants, to have been dowered byHeaven with a stanch disbelief in the unattainable, --this is a fortunerather to be chosen than a good name or great riches; since the nameand riches and all things desired must come to the call of it. 

Our Western-born youth of twenty-five had the wants and the sense ofpower inherited from a line of men eager of initiative, the product ofan environment where only such could survive. Doubtless in him was thesoul and body hunger of his grandfather, cramping and denying throughhardship year after year, yet sustained by dreaming in the hardesttimes of the soft material luxuries that should some day be his. Doubtless marked in his character, too, was the slightly relaxedtension of his father; the disposition to feast as well as the capacityto fast; to take all, feel all, do all, with an avidity greater byreason of the grinding abstinence and the later indulgence of hisforbears. A sage versed in the lore of heredity as modified byenvironment may some day trace for us the progress across thiscontinent of an austere Puritan, showing how the strain emerges fromthe wilderness at the Western ocean with a character so widelydiffering from the one with which he began the adventurousjourney, --regarding, especially, a tolerance of the so-called good andmany of the bad things of life. Until this is done we may, perhaps, consider the change to be without valid cause. 

Young Bines, at all events, was the flower of a pioneer stock, and himthe gods of life cherished, so that all the forces of the young landabout him were as his own. Yet, though his pulses rhymed to theirs hedid not perceive his relation to them: neither he nor the land was yetbecome introspective. So informed was he with the impetuous spirit ofyouth that the least manifestation of life found its answering thrillin him. And it was sufficient to feel this. There was no time barrenenough of sensation to reason about it. Uncle Peter's plan for aninspection of the Bines properties had at first won him by touching hissense of duty. He anticipated no interest or pleasure in the trip. Yetfrom the beginning he enjoyed it to the full. Being what he was, theconstant movement pleased him, the out-of-doors life, the occasionalsorties from the railroad by horse to some remote mining camp, or to astock ranch or lumber-camp. He had been away for six years, and itpleased him to note that he was treated by the people he met with agenuine respect and liking as the son of his father. In the East he hadbeen accustomed to a certain deference from very uncertain peoplebecause he was the son of a rich man. Here he had prestige because hewas the son of Daniel Bines, organiser and man of affairs. He feltsometimes that the men at mine, mill, or ranch looked him over withmisgiving, and had their cautious liking compelled only by theassurance that he was indeed the son of Daniel. They left him at thesetimes with the suspicion that this bare fact meant enough with them tocarry a man of infelicitous exterior. 

He was pleased, moreover, to feel a new respect for Uncle Peter. Heobserved that men of all degrees looked up to him, sought and reliedupon his judgment; the investing capitalist whom they met not less thanthe mine foreman; the made man and the labourer. In the drawing-room athome he had felt so agreeably superior to the old man; now he felt hisown inferiority in a new element, and began to view him with morerespect. He saw him to be the shrewd man of affairs, with a thoroughgrasp of detail in every branch of their interests; and a deep man, aswell; a little narrow, perhaps, from his manner of life, but ofunfailing kindness, and with rather a young man's radicalism than anold man's conservatism; one who, in an emergency, might be relied uponto take the unexpected but effective course. 

For his own part, old Peter Bines learned in the course of the trip tounderstand and like his grandson better. At bottom he decided the youngman to be sound after all, and he began to make allowance for hisgeographical heresies. The boy had been sent to an Eastern college;that was clearly a mistake, putting him out of sympathy with the West;and he had never been made to work, which was another and a gravermistake, "but he'd do more'n his father ever did if 'twa'n't fur hisfather's money, " the old man concluded. For he saw in their talks thatthe very Eastern experience which he derided had given the young fellowa poise and a certain readiness to grasp details in the large that hisfather had been a lifetime in acquiring. 

For a month they loitered over the surrounding territory in the privatecar, gliding through fertile valleys, over bleak passes, steaming upnarrow little canons along the down-rushing streams with their coolshallow murmurs. 

They would learn one day that a cross-cut was to be started on the LastChance, or that the concentrates of the True Grit would thereafter beshipped to the Careless Creek smelter. Next they would learn that a newherd of Galloways had done finely last season on the Bitter Root ranch;that a big lot of ore was sacked at the Irish Boy, that aneighteen-inch vein had been struck in the Old Crow; that a concentratorwas needed at Hellandgone, and that rich gold-bearing copper and sandbearing free gold had been found over on Horseback Ridge. 

Another day they would drive far into a forest of spruce and hemlock toa camp where thousands of ties were being cut and floated down to theline of the new railway. 

Sometimes they spent a night in one of the smaller mining camps off therailroad, whereof facetious notes would appear in the nearest weeklypaper, such as:

"The Hon. Peter Bines and his grandson, who is a chip of the old block, spent Tuesday night at Rock Rip. Young Bines played the deal from sodacard to hock at Lem Tully's Turf Exchange, and showed Lem's dealer goodand plenty that there's no piker strain in him. "

Or, it might be:

"Poker stacks continue to have a downward tendency. They were sold lastweek as low as eighty chips for a dollar; It is sad to see this noblegame dragging along in the lower levels of prosperity, and we take as afavourable omen the appearance of Uncle Peter Bines and his grandsonthe other night. The prices went to par in a minute. Young Bines gavesigns of becoming as delicately intuitional in the matter of concealedvalues as his father, the lamented Daniel J. "

Again it was:

"Uncle Peter Bines reports from over Kettle Creek way that thesagebrush whiskey they take a man's two bits for there would gnaw holesin limestone. Peter is likelier to find a ledge of dollar bills than heis good whiskey this far off the main trail. The late Daniel J. Couldhave told him as much, and Daniel J. 's boy, who accompanies UnclePeter, will know it hereafter. "

The young man felt wholesomely insignificant at these and other signsthat he was taken on sufferance as a son and a grandson. 

He was content that it should be so. Indeed there was little wherewithhe was not content. That he was habitually preoccupied, even when therewas most movement about them, early became apparent to Uncle Peter. That he was constantly cheerful proved the matter of his musings to bepleasant. That he was proner than most youths to serious meditationUncle Peter did not believe. Therefore he attributed the moods ofabstraction to some matter probably connected with his project ofremoving the family East. It was not permitted Uncle Peter to know, norwas his own youth recent enough for him to suspect, the truth. And themystery stayed inviolate until a day came and went that laid it bareeven to the old man's eyes. 

They awoke one morning to find the car on a siding at the One Girlmine. Coupled to it was another car from an Eastern road that theirtrain had taken on sometime in the night. Percival noted the car withinterest as he paced beside the track in the cool clear air beforebreakfast. The curtains were drawn, and the only signs of life to beobserved were at the kitchen end, where the white-clad cook could beseen astir. Grant, porter on the Bines car, told him the other car hadbeen taken on at Kaslo Junction, and that it belonged to Rulon Shepler, the New York financier, who was aboard with a party of friends. 

As Percival and Uncle Peter left their car for the shaft-house afterbreakfast, the occupants of the other car were bestirring themselves. 

From one of the open windows a low but impassioned voice was exhaustingthe current idioms of damnation in sweeping dispraise of all land-areasnorth and west of Fifty-ninth Street, New York. 

Uncle Peter smiled grimly. Percival flushed, for the hidden protestanthad uttered what were his own sentiments a month before. 

Reaching the shaft-house they chatted with Pangburn, thesuperintendent, and then went to the store-room to don blouses andoveralls for a descent into the mine. 

For an hour they stayed underground, traversing the various levels anddrifts, while Pangburn explained the later developments of the vein andshowed them where the new stoping had been begun. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Meeting and a Clashing

As they stepped from the cage at the surface Percival became aware of agroup of strangers between him and the open door of theshaft-house, --people displaying in dress and manner the unmistakablestamp of New York. For part of a minute, while the pupils of his eyeswere contracting to the light, he saw them but vaguely. Then, as hissight cleared, he beheld foremost in the group, beaming upon him withan expression of pleased and surprised recognition, the girl whose faceand voice had for nearly half a year peopled his lover's solitude withfair visions and made its silence to be all melody. 

Had the encounter been anticipated his composure would perhaps havefailed him. Not a few of his waking dreams had sketched this, theirsecond meeting, and any one of the ways it had pleased him to plan itwould assuredly have found him nervously embarrassed. But so wildlyimprobable was this reality that not the daringest of his imaginedhappenings had approached it. His thoughts for the moment had been notof her; then, all at once, she stood before him in the flesh, and hewas cool, almost unmoved. He suspected at once that her father was thetrim, fastidiously dressed man who looked as if he had been abductedfrom a morning stroll down the avenue to his club; that the plump, ruddy, high-bred woman, surveying the West disapprovingly through alorgnon, would be her mother. Shepler he knew by sight, with his bighead, massive shoulders, and curiously short, tapering body. Some othermen and a woman were scanning the hoisting machinery with superiorlooks. 

The girl, before starting toward him, had waited hardly longer than ittook him to eye the group. And then came an awkward two seconds uponher whose tact in avoiding the awkward was reputed to be more thancommon. 

With her hand extended she had uttered, "Why, Mr. --" before it flashedupon her that she did not know the name of the young man she wasgreeting. 

The "Mister" was threatening to prolong itself into an "r" ofexcruciating length and disgraceful finality, an "r" that is terminatedneatly by no one but hardened hotel-clerks. Then a miner saved the day. "Mr. Bines, " he said, coming up hurriedly behind Percival with severalspecimens of ore, "you forgot these. "

"-r-r-r. Bines, how _do_ you do!" concluded the girl with an eye-flashof gratitude at the humble instrument that had prevented an unduehiatus in her salutation. They were apart from the others and for themoment unnoticed. 

The young man took the hand so cordially offered, and because of allthe things he wished and had so long waited to say, he said nothing. 

"Isn't it jolly! I am Miss Milbrey, " she added in a lower tone, andthen, raising her voice, "Mamma, Mr. Bines--and papa, " and therefollowed a hurried and but half-acknowledged introduction to the othermembers of the party. And, behold! in that moment the young man hadschemed the edifice of all his formless dreams. For six months he hadknown the unsurpassable luxury of wanting and of knowing what hewanted. Now, all at once, he saw this to be a world in which dreamscome more than true. 

Shepler and the party were to go through the mine as a matter ofsight-seeing. They were putting on outer clothes from the store-room toprotect them from the dirt and damp. 

Presently Percival found himself again at the bottom of the shaft. During the descent of twelve hundred feet he had reflected upon thecurious and interesting fact that her name should be Milbrey. He feltdimly that this circumstance should be ranked among the mostinteresting of natural phenomena, --that she should have a name, as therun of mortals, and that it should be one name more than another. Whenhe discovered further that her Christian name was Avice the phenomenonbecame stupendously bewildering. They two were in the last of the partyto descend. On reaching bottom he separated her with promptness andguile from two solemn young men, copies of each other, and they werepresently alone. In the distance they could see the others followingghostly lamps. From far off mysterious recesses came the muffledmusical clink of the sledges on the drills. An employee who had comedown with them started to be their guide. Percival sent him back. 

"I've just been through; I can find my way again. "

"Ver' well, " said the man, "with the exception that it don't happensomething, --yes?" And he stayed where he was. 

Down one of the cross-cuts they started, stepping aside to let a car ofore be pushed along to the shaft. 

"Do you know, " began the girl, "I am so glad to be able to thank youfor what you did that night. "

"I'm glad you _are_ able. I was beginning to think I should always havethose thanks owing to me. "

"I might have paid them at the time, but it was all so unexpected andso sudden, --it rattled me, quite. "

"I thought you were horribly cool-headed. "

"I wasn't. "

"Your manner reduced me to a groom who opened your carriage door. "

"But grooms don't often pick strange ladies up bodily and bear them outof a pandemonium of waltzing cab-horses. I'd never noticed before thatcab-horses are so frivolous and hysterical. "

"And grooms know where to look for their pay. "

They were interrupting nervously, and bestowing furtive side-looks uponeach other. 

"If I'd not seen you, " said the girl, "glanced at you--before--thatevening, I shouldn't have remembered so well; doubtless I'd not haverecognised you to-day. "

"I didn't know you did glance at me, and yet I watched you every momentof the evening. You didn't know that, did you?"

She laughed. 

"Of course I knew it. A woman has to note such things without lettingit be seen that she sees. "

"And I'd have sworn you never once so much as looked my way. "

"Don't we do it well, though?"

"And in spite of all the time I gave to a study of your face I lost thedetail of it. I could keep only the effect of its expression and thefew tones of your voice I heard. You know I took those on a record so Icould make 'em play over any time I wanted to listen. Do you know, thathas all been very sweet to me, my helping you and the memory of it, --sovague and sweet. "

"Aren't you afraid we're losing the others?"

She halted and looked back. 

"No; I'm afraid we won't lose them; come on; you can't turn back now. And you don't want to hear anything about mines; it wouldn't be at allgood for you, I'm sure. Quick, down this way, or you'll hear Pangburntelling some one what a stope is, and think what a thing that would beto carry in your head. "

"Really, a stope sounds like something that would 'get you' in thenight! I'm afraid!"

Half in his spirit she fled with him down a dimly lighted incline wheremen were working at the rocky wall with sledge and drill. There wasthat in his manner which compelled her quite as literally as when attheir first meeting he had picked her up in his arms. 

As they walked single-file through the narrowing of a drift, shewondered about him. He was Western, plainly. An employee in the mine, probably a manager or director or whatever it was they called those inauthority in mines. Plainly, too, he was a man of action and a man whoengaged all her instinctive liking. Something in him at once coercedher friendliest confidence. These were the admissions she made toherself. She divined him, moreover, to be a blend of boldness andtimidity. He was bold to the point of telling her thingsunconventionally, of beguiling her into remote underground passagesaway from the party; yet she understood; she knew at once that he was adetermined but unspoiled gentleman; that under no provocation could hemake a mistake. In any situation of loneliness she would have felt safewith him--"as with a brother"--she thought. Then, feeling her cheeksburn, she turned back and said:

"I must tell you he was my brother--that man--that night. "

He was sorry and glad all at once. The sorrow being the lesser and moreconventional emotion, he started upon an awkward expression of it, which she interrupted. 

"Never mind saying that, thank you. Tell me something about yourself, now. I really would like to know you. What do you see and hear and doin this strange life?"

"There's not much variety, " he answered, with a convincing droop ofdepression. "For six months I've been seeing you and hearingyou--seeing you and hearing you; not much variety in that--nothingworth telling you about. "

Despite her natural caution, intensified by training, she felt herselfthrill to the very evident sincerity of his tones, so that she had toaffect mirth to seem at ease. 

"Dear, dear, what painful monotony; and how many men have said it sincethese rocks were made; and now you say it, --well, I admit--"

"But there's nothing new under the sun, you know. "

"No; not even a new excuse for plagiarism, is there?"

"Well, you see as long as the same old thing keeps true the same oldway of telling it will be more or less depended upon. After a fewhundred years of experiment, you know, they hit on the fewest wordsthat tell the most, and everybody uses them because no one can improvethem. Maybe the prehistoric cave-gentleman, who proposed to his lovedone with a war club just back of her left ear, had some variation ofthe formula suiting his simple needs, after he'd gotten her home andbrought her to and she said it was 'all so sudden;' and a man can workin little variations of his own to-day. For example--"

"I'm sure we'd best be returning. "

"For example, I could say, you know, that for keeping the mind activeand the heart working overtime the memory of you surpasses any tonicadvertised in the backs of the magazines. Or, that--"

"I think that's enough; I see you _could_ vary the formula, in case--"

"--_have_ varied it--but don't forget I prefer the original unvaried. After all, there are certain things that you can't tell in too fewwords. Now, you--"

"You stubborn person. Really, I know all about myself. I asked you totell me about yourself. "

"And I began at once to tell you everything about myself--everything ofinterest--which is yourself. "

"I see your sense of values is gone, poor man. I shall question you. Now you are a miner, and I like men of action, men who do things; I'veoften wondered about you, and seriously, I'm glad to find you heredoing something. I remembered you kindly, with real gratitude, indeed. You didn't seem like a New York man either, and I decided you weren't. Honestly, I am glad to find you here at your work in your miner'sclothes. You mustn't think we forget how to value men that work. "

On the point of saying thoughtlessly, "But I'm not working here--I ownthe mine, " he checked himself. Instead he began a defence of the manwho doesn't work, but who could if he had to. "For example, " hecontinued, "here we are at a place that you must be carried over;otherwise you'd have to wade through a foot of water or go around thatlong way we've come. I've rubber boots on, and so I pick you up thisway--" He held her lightly on his arm and she steadied herself with ahand between his shoulders. 

"And staggering painfully under my burden, I wade out to the middle ofthis subterranean lake. " He stopped. 

"You see, I've learned to do things. I could pick you from thatslippery street and put you in your carriage, and I can pick you up nowwithout wasting words about it--"

"But you're wasting time--hurry, please--and, anyway, you're a minerand used to such things. "

He remained standing. 

"But I'm _not_ wasting time, and I'm not a miner in the sense you mean. I own this mine, and I suppose for the most part I'm the sort of manyou seem to have gotten tired of; the man who doesn't have to doanything. Even now I'm this close to work only because my grandfatherwanted me to look over the properties my father left. "

"But, hurry, please, and set me down. "

"Not until I warn you that I'm just as apt to do things as the kind ofman you thought I was. This is twice I've picked you up now. Look outfor me;--next time I may not put you down at all. "

She gave a low little laugh, denoting unruffled serenity. She wasglorying secretly in his strength, and she knew his boldness andtimidity were still justly balanced. And there was the ratherastonishing bit of news he had just given her. That needed a lot ofconsideration. 

With slow, sure-footed steps he reached the farther side of the waterand put her on her feet. 

"There, I thought I'd reveal the distressing truth about myself while Ihad you at my mercy. "

"I might have suspected, but I gave the name no thought. Bines, to besure. You are the son of the Bines who died some months ago. I heardMr. Shepler and my father talking about some of your mining properties. Mr. Shepler thought the 'One Girl' was such a funny name for yourfather to give a mine. "

Now they neared the foot of the shaft where the rest of the partyseemed to await them. As they came up Percival felt himself raked by abroadside from the maternal lorgnon that left him all but disabled. Thefather glowered at him and asked questions in the high key we are aptto adopt in addressing foreigners, in the instinctive fallacy that anylanguage can be understood by any one if it be spoken loudly enough. The mother's manner was a crushing rebuke to the young man for hisaudacity. The father's manner was meant to intimate that natives of theregion in which they were then adventuring were not worthy of rebuke, save such general rebukes as may be conveyed by displaying one'snatural superiority of manner. The other members of the party, excepting Shepler, who talked with Pangburn at a little distance, tookcue from the Milbreys and aggressively ignored the abductor of an onlydaughter. They talked over, around, and through him, as only may thosemortals whom it hath pleased heaven to have born within certain areason Manhattan Island. 

The young man felt like a social outcast until he caught a glance fromMiss Milbrey. That young woman was still friendly, which he couldunderstand, and highly amused, which he could not understand. While thetemperature was at its lowest the first load ascended, including MissMilbrey and her parents, a chatty blonde, and an uncomfortable littleman who, despite his being twelve hundred feet toward the centrethereof, had three times referred bitterly to the fact that he was "outof the world. " "I shall see you soon above ground, shall I not?" MissMilbrey had asked, at which her mother shot Percival a parting volleyfrom her rapid-fire lorgnon, while her father turned upon him a backwhose sidelines were really admirable, considering his age and feedinghabits. The behaviour of these people appeared to intensify theamusement of their child. The two solemn young men who remainedcontinued to chat before Percival as they would have chatted before thevalet of either. He began to sound the spiritual anguish of a pariah. Also to feel truculent and, in his own phrase, "Westy. " With him"Westy" meant that you were as good as any one else "and a shade betterthan a whole lot if it came to a show-down. " He was not a littlemortified to find how easy it was for him to fall back upon that oldcushion of provincial arrogance. It was all right for Uncle Peter, butfor himself, --well, it proved that he was less finely Eastern than hehad imagined. 

As the cage came down for another ascent, he let the two solemn youngmen go up with Shepler and Pangburn, and went to search for UnclePeter. 

"There, thank God, is a man!" he reflected. 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Rapid-fire Lorgnon Is Spiked

He found Uncle Peter in the cross-cut, studying a bit of ore through aglass, and they went back to ascend. 

"Them folks, " said the old man, "must be the kind that newspaper meant, that had done something in practical achievement. I bet that girl'smother will achieve something practical with you fur cuttin' the girlout of the bunch; she was awful tormented; talked two or three timesabout the people in the humbler walks of life bein' strangely somethingor other. You ain't such a humble walker now, are you, son? But say, that yellow-haired woman, she ain't a bit diffident, is she? She's avery hearty lady, I _must_ say!"

"But did you see Miss Milbrey?"

"Oh, that's her name is it, the one that her mother was so worriedabout and you? Yes, I saw her. Peart and cunnin', but a heap too wisefur you, son; take my steer on that. Say, she'd have your pelt nailedto the barn while you was wonderin' which way you'd jump. "

"Oh, I know I'm only a tender, teething infant, " the young mananswered, with masterly satire. "Well, now, as long's you got that bankroll you jest look out fur cupboard love--the kind the old cat has whenshe comes rubbin' up against your leg and purrin' like you was thewhole thing. "

The young man smiled, as they went up, with youth's godlike faith inits own sufficiency, albeit he smarted from the slights put upon him. 

At the surface a pleasant shock was in store for him. There stood theformidable Mrs. Milbrey beaming upon him. Behind her was Mr. Milbrey, the pleasing model of all a city's refinements, awaiting the boon of ahand-clasp. Behind these were the uncomfortable little man, the chattyblonde, and the two solemn young men who had lately exhibited moremanner than manners. Percival felt they were all regarding him now withaffectionate concern. They pressed forward effusively. 

"So good of you, Mr. Bines, to take an interest in us--my daughter hasbeen so anxious to see one of these fascinating mines. " "Awfullyobliged, Mr. Bines. " "Charmed, old man; deuced pally of you to stay byus down in that hole, you know. " "So clever of you to know where tofind the gold--"

He lost track of the speakers. Their speeches became one concertedeffusion of affability that was music to his ears. 

Miss Milbrey was apart from the group. Having doffed the waterproofs, she was now pluming herself with those fussy-looking but mysteriouslypotent little pats which restore the attire and mind of women to theirnormal perfection and serenity. Upon her face was still the amused lookPercival had noted below. 

"And, Mr. Bines, do come in with that quaint old grandfather of yoursand lunch with us, " urged Mrs. Milbrey, who had, as it were, spiked herlorgnon. "Here's Mr. Shepler to second the invitation--and then weshall chat about this very interesting West. "

Miss Milbrey nodded encouragement, seeming to chuckle inwardly. 

In the spacious dining compartment of the Shepler car the party waspresently at lunch. 

"You seem so little like a Western man, " Mrs. Milbrey confidedgraciously to Percival on her right. 

"We cal'late he'll fetch out all straight, though, in a year or so, "put in Uncle Peter, from over his chop, with guileless intent to defendhis grandson from what he believed to be an attack. "Of course a youngman's bound to get some foolishness into him in an Eastern college likethis boy went to. "

Percival had flushed at the compliment to himself; also at the oldman's failure to identify it as such. 

Mr. Milbrey caressed his glass of claret with ardent eyes and took thesituation in hand with the easy confidence of a master. 

"The West, " said he, affably, "has sent us some magnificent men. Intruth, it's amazing to take count of the Western men among us in allthe professions. They are notable, perhaps I should say, less fordeliberate niceties of style than for a certain rough directness, butso adaptable is the American character that one frequently does notsuspect their--er--humble origin. "

"Meaning their Western origin?" inquired Shepler, blandly, with secretintent to brew strife. 

"Well--er--to be sure, my dear fellow, not necessarily humble, --ofcourse--perhaps I should have said--"

"Of course, not necessarily disgraceful, as you say, Milbrey, "interrupted Shepler, "and they often do conceal it. Why, I know a chapin New York who was positively never east of Kansas City until he wastwenty-five or so, and yet that fellow to-day"--he lowered his voice tothe pitch of impressiveness--"has over eighty pairs of trousers andcomplains of the hardship every time he has to go to Boston. "

"Fancy, now!" exclaimed Mrs. Drelmer, the blonde. Mr. Milbrey lookedslightly puzzled and Uncle Peter chuckled, affirming mentally thatRulon Shepler must be like one of those tug-boats, with most of hislines under the surface. 

"But, I say, you know, Shepler, " protested one of the solemn young men, "he must still talk like a banjo. "

"And gargle all his 'r's, '" added the other, very earnestly. "Theynever get over that, you know. "

"Instead of losin' 'em entirely, " put in Uncle Peter, who found himselffeeling what his grandson called "Westy. " "Of course, he calls it 'Ne'Yawk, ' and prob'ly he don't like it in Boston because they always call'em 'rawroystahs. '"

"Good for the old boy!" thought Percival, and then, aloud: "It _is_hard for the West and the East to forgive each other's dialects. Theinflated 'r' and the smothered 'r' never quite harmonise. "

"Western money talks good straight New York talk, " ventured MissMilbrey, with the air of one who had observed in her time. 

Shepler grinned, and the parents of the young woman resisted withindifferent success their twin impulses to frown. 

"But the service is so wretched in the West, " suggested Oldaker, thecarefully dressed little man with the tired, troubled eyes, whom theworld had been deprived of. "I fancy, now, there's not a good waiterthis side of New York. "

"An American, " said Percival, "never _can_ make a good waiter or a goodvalet. It takes a Latin, or, still better, a Briton, to feel theservility required for good service of that sort. An American, now, always fails at it because he knows he is as good as you are, and heknows that you know it, and you know that he knows you know it, andthere you are, two mirrors of American equality face to face andreflecting each other endlessly, and neither is comfortable. TheAmerican is as uncomfortable at having certain services performed forhim by another American as the other is in performing them. Give him aFrenchman or an Italian or a fellow born within the sound of Bow Bellsto clean his boots and lay out his things and serve his dinner and he'sall right enough. "

"Hear, hear!" cried Uncle Peter. 

"Fancy, now, " said Mrs. Drelmer, "a creature in a waiter's jackethaving emotions of that sort!"

"Our excellent country, " said Mr. Milbrey, "is perhaps not yet what itwill be; there is undeniably a most distressing rawness where we mightexpect finish. Now in Chicago, " he continued in a tone suitably hushedfor the relation of occult phenomena, "we dined with a person whoserved champagne with the oysters, soup, fish, and _entrée_, and forthe remainder of the dinner--you may credit me or not--he proffered aclaret of 1875--. I need hardly remind you, the most delicate vintageof the latter half of the century--and it was served _frappé_. " Therewas genuine emotion in the speaker's voice. 

"And papa nearly swooned when our host put cracked ice and two lumps ofsugar into his own glass--"

"_Avice, dear!_" remonstrated the father in a tone implying that somethings positively must not be mentioned at table. 

"Well, you shouldn't expect too much of those self-made men inChicago, " said Shepler. 

"If they'd only make themselves as well as they make their sausages andthings, " sighed Mr. Milbrey. 

"And the self-made man _will_ talk shop, " suggested Oldaker. "He thinksyou're dying to hear how he made the first thousand of himself. "

"Still, those Chicago chaps learn quickly enough when they settle inNew York, " ventured one of the young men. 

"I knew a Chicago chap who lived East two years and went back not ahalf bad sort, " said the other. "God help him now, though; his fathermade him go back to work in a butcher shop or something of the sort. "

"Best thing I ever heard about Chicago, " said Uncle Peter, "a man fromyour town told me once he had to stay in Chicago a year, and, says he, 'I went out there a New Yorker, and I went home an American, ' he says. "The old man completed this anecdote in tones that were slightlyinflamed. 

"How extremely typical!" said Mrs. Milbrey. "Truly the West is theplace of unspoiled Americanism and the great unspent forces; you arequite right, Mr. Bines. "

"Think of all the unspent forces back in that silver mine, " remarkedMiss Milbrey, with a patent effort to be significant. 

"My perverse child delights to pose as a sordid young woman, " the fondmother explained to Percival, "yet no one can be less so, and you, Mr. Bines, I am sure, would be the last to suspect her of it. I saw in youat once those sterling qualities--"

"Isn't it dreadfully dark down in that sterling silver mine?" observedMiss Milbrey, apropos of nothing, apparently, while her mother attackeda second chop that she had meant not to touch. 

"Here's hoping we'll soon be back in God's own country, " said Oldaker, raising his glass. 

"Hear, hear!" cried Uncle Peter, and drained his glass eagerly as theydrank the toast. Whereat they all laughed and Mrs. Drelmer said, "Whata dear, lively wit, for an old gentleman. "

"Oldaker, " said Shepler, "has really been the worst sufferer. This ishis first trip West. "

"Beg pardon, Shepler! I was West as far as Buffalo--let me see--in 1878or '79. "

"Dear me! is that so?" queried Uncle Peter. "I got East as fur asCheyenne that same year. We nearly run into each other, didn't we?"

Shepler grinned again. 

"Oldaker found a man from New York on the train the other day, up inone of the emigrant cars. He was a truck driver, and he looked it andtalked it, but Oldaker stuck by him all the afternoon. "

"Well, he'd left the old town three weeks after I had, and he'd beenborn there the same year I was--in the Ninth ward--and he remembered aswell as I did the day Barnum's museum burned at Broadway and Ann. Iliked to hear him talk. Why, it was a treat just to hear him sayBroadway and Twenty-third Street, or Madison Square or City Hall Park. The poor devil had consumption, too, and probably he'll never see themagain. I don't know if I shall ever have it, but I'd never leave theold town as he was doing. "

"That's like Billy Brue, " said Uncle Peter. "Billy loves faro bank jestas this gentleman loves New York. When he gets a roll he _has_ to play. One time he landed in Pocatello when there wa'n't but one game in town. Billy found it and started in. A friend saw him there and called himout. 'Billy, ' says he, 'cash in and come out; that's a brace game. ''Sure?' says Billy. 'Sure, ' says the feller. 'All right, ' says Billy, 'much obliged fur puttin' me on. ' And he started out lookin' furanother game. About two hours later the feller saw Billy comin' out ofthe same place and Billy owned up he'd gone back there and blowed inevery cent. 'Why, you geezer, ' says his friend, 'didn't I put you onthat they was dealin' brace there?' 'Sure, ' says Billy, 'sure you did. But what could I do? It was the only game in town!'"

"That New York mania is the same sort, " said Shepler, laughing, whileMrs. Drelmer requested everybody to fancy immediately. 

"Your grandfather is so dear and quaint, " said Mrs. Milbrey; "you mustcertainly bring him to New York with you, for of course a young man ofyour capacity and graces will never be satisfied out of New York. "

"Young men like yourself are assuredly needed there, " remarked Mr. Milbrey, warmly. 

"Surely they are, " agreed Miss Milbrey, and yet with a manner thatseemed almost to annoy both parents. They were sparing no opportunityto make the young man conscious of his real oneness with those abouthim, and yet subtly to intimate that people of just the Milbreys'perception were required to divine it at present. "These Westernersfancy you one of themselves, I dare say, " Mrs. Milbrey had said, andthe young man purred under the strokings. His fever for the East wasback upon him. His weeks with Uncle Peter going over the fields wherehis father had prevailed had made him convalescent, but these NewYorkers--the very manner and atmosphere of them--undid the work. Heenvied them their easier speech, their matter-of-fact air ofomniscience, the elaborate and cultivated simplicity of their dress, their sureness and sufficiency in all that they thought and said anddid. He was homesick again for the life he had glimpsed. The West wasrude, desolate, and depressing. Even Uncle Peter, whom he had comewarmly to admire, jarred upon him with his crudity and his Westernassertiveness. 

And there was the woman of the East, whose presence had made the day toseem dream-like; and she was kind, which was more than he would havedared to hope, and her people, after their first curious chill ofindifference, seemed actually to be courting him. She, the fleeting andimpalpable dream-love, whom the thought of seeing ever again had beenwildly absurd, was now a human creature with a local habitation, themost beautiful name in the world, and two parents whose complaisancewas obvious even through the lover's timidity. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Up Skiplap Canon

The meal was ending in smoke, the women, excepting Miss Milbrey, havinglighted cigarettes with the men. The talk had grown less truculentlysectional. The Angstead twins told of their late fishing trip to LakeSt. John for salmon, of projected tours to British Columbia formountain sheep, and to Manitoba for elk and moose. 

Mr. Milbrey described with minute and loving particularity thepreparation of _oeufs de Faisan, avec beurre au champagne. _

Mrs. Milbrey related an anecdote of New York society, not much initself, but which permitted the disclosure that she habituallyaddressed by their first names three of the foremost society leaders, and that each of these personages adopted a like familiarity towardher. 

Mrs. Drelmer declared that she meant to have Uncle Peter Bines at oneof her evenings the very first time he should come to New York, andthat, if he didn't let her know of his coming, she would be offended. Oldaker related an incident of the ball given to the Prince of Wales, travelling as Baron Renfrew, on the evening of October 12, 1860, inwhich his father had figured briefly before the royal guest to theabiding credit of American tact and gentility. 

Shepler was amused until he became sleepy, whereupon he extended thefreedom of his castle to his guests, and retired to his stateroom. 

Uncle Peter took a final shot at Oldaker. He was observed to belaughing, and inquiry brought this:

"I jest couldn't help snickerin' over his idee of God's own country. Hethinks God's own country is a little strip of an island with a row ofwell-fed folks up and down the middle, and a lot of hungry folks oneach side. Mebbe he's right. I'll be bound, it needs the love of God. But if it is His own country, it don't make Him any connysoor ofcountries with me. I'll tell you that. "

Oldaker smiled at this assault, the well-bred, tolerant smile thatloyal New Yorkers reserve for all such barbaric belittling of theirempire. Then he politely asked Uncle Peter to show Mrs. Drelmer andhimself through the stamp mill. 

At Percival's suggestion of a walk, Miss Milbrey was delighted. 

After an inspection of the Bines car, in which Oldaker declared hewould be willing to live for ever, if it could be anchored firmly inMadison Square, the party separated. Out into the clear air, alreadycooling under the slanting rays of the sun, the young man and the girlwent together. Behind them lay the one street of the little miningcamp, with its wooden shanties on either side of the railroad track. Down this street Uncle Peter had gone, leading his charges toward thebusy ant-hill on the mountainside. Ahead the track wound up the canon, cunningly following the tortuous course of the little river to be sureof practicable grades. On the farther side of the river a mountain roadparalleled the railway. Up this road the two went, followed by aplayful admonition from Mrs. Milbrey: "Remember, Mr. Bines, I place mychild in your keeping. "

Percival waxed conscientious about his charge and insisted at once uponbeing assured that Miss Milbrey would be warm enough with the scarletgolf-cape about her shoulders; that she was used to walking longdistances; that her boots were stoutly soled; and that she didn't mindthe sun in their faces. The girl laughed at him. 

Looking up the canon with its wooded sides, cool and green, they couldsee a grey, dim mountain, with patches of snow near its top, in the fardistance, and ranges of lesser eminences stepping up to it. "It's ahundred miles away, " he told her. 

Down the canon the little river flickered toward them, like a billowysilver ribbon "trimmed with white chiffon around the rocks, " declaredthe girl. In the blue depths of the sky, an immense height above, lolled an eagle, lazy of wing, in lordly indolence. The suggestions tothe eye were all of spacious distances and large masses--of the roomand stuff for unbounded action. 

"Your West is the breathingest place, " she said, as they crossed afoot-bridge over the noisy little stream and turned up the road. "Idon't believe I ever drew a full breath until I came to thesealtitudes. "

"One _has_ to breathe more air here--there's less oxygen in it, and youmust breathe more to get your share, and so after awhile one becomesrobust. Your cheeks are already glowing, and we've hardly started. There, now, there are your colours, see--"

Along the edge of the green pines and spruce were lavender asters. Alittle way in the woods they could see the blue columbines and themountain phlox, pink and red. 

"There are your eyes and your cheeks. "

"What a dangerous character you'd be if you were sent to match silks!"

On the dry barren slopes of gravel across the river, full in the sun'sglare, grew the Spanish bayonet, with its spikes of creamy whiteflowers. 

"There I am, more nearly, " she pointed to them; "they're ever so muchnearer my disposition. But about this thin air; it must make men workharder for what comes easier back in our country, so that they maybecome able to do more--more capable. I am thinking of yourgrandfather. You don't know how much I admire him. He is so stanch andstrong and fresh. There's more fire in him now than in my father orLaunton Oldaker, and I dare say he's a score of years older than eitherof them. I don't think you quite appreciate what a great old fellow heis. "

"I admire Uncle Peter much more, I'm sure, than he admires me. He'safraid I'm not strong enough to admire that Eastern climate ofyours--social and moral. "

"I suppose it's natural for you to wish to go. You'd be bored here, would you not? You couldn't stay in these mountains and be such a manas your grandfather. And yet there ought to be so much to do here; it'sall so fresh and roomy and jolly. Really I've grown enthusiastic aboutit. "

"Ah, but think of what there is in the East--and you are there. Tothink that for six months I've treasured every little memory ofyou--such a funny little lot as they were--to think that this morning Iawoke thinking of you, yet hardly hoping ever to see you, and to thinkthat for half the night we had ridden so near each other in sleep, andthere was no sign or signal or good omen. And then to think you shouldburst upon me like some new sunrise that the stupid astronomers hadn'tpredicted. 

"You see, " he went on, after a moment, "I don't ask what you think ofme. You couldn't think anything much as yet, but there's somethingabout this whole affair, our meeting and all, that makes me think it'sgoing to be symmetrical in the end. I know it won't end here. I'll tellyou one way Western men learn. They learn not to be afraid to wantthings out of their reach, and they believe devoutly--because they'veproved it so often--that if you want a thing hard enough and keepwanting it, nothing can keep it away from you. "

A bell had been tinkling nearer and nearer on the road ahead. Now aheavy wagon, filled with sacks of ore, came into view, drawn by fourmules. As they stood aside to let it pass he scanned her face for anysign it might show, but he could see no more than a look of interestfor the brawny driver of the wagon, shouting musically to his strainingteam. 

"You are rather inscrutable, " he said, as they resumed the road. 

She turned and smiled into his eyes with utter frankness. 

"At least you must be sure that I like you; that I am very friendly;that I want to know you better, and want you to know me better. Youdon't know me at all, you know. You Westerners have another way, ofaccepting people too readily. It may work no harm among yourselves, butperhaps Easterners are a bit more perilous. Sometimes, now, a _very_Eastern person doesn't even accept herself--himself--very trustingly;she--he--finds it so hard to get acquainted with himself. "

The young man provided one of those silences of which a few discerningmen are instinctively capable and for which women thank them. 

"This road, " she said, after a little time of rapid walking, "leadsright up to the end of the world, doesn't it? See, it ends squarely inthe sun. " They stopped where the turn had opened to the west a longvista of grey and purple hills far and high. They stood on a ridge ofbroken quartz and gneiss, thrown up in a bygone age. To their left afew dwarf Scotch firs threw shadows back toward the town. The ball ofred fire in the west was half below the rim of the distant peak. 

"Stand so, "--she spoke in a slightly hushed tone that moved him a stepnearer almost to touch her arm, --"and feel the round little earthturning with us. We always think the sun drops down away from us, butit stays still. Now remember your astronomy and feel the earth turn. See--you can actually _see_ it move--whirling along like a child's ballbecause it can't help itself, and then there's the other motion aroundthe sun, and the other, the rushing of everything through space, andwho knows how many others, and yet we plan our futures and think weshall do finely this way or that, and always forget that we're takenalong in spite of ourselves. Sometimes I think I shall give up trying;and then I see later that even that feeling was one of the unknownmotions that I couldn't control. The only thing we know is that we aremoved in spite of ourselves, so what is the use of bothering about howmany ways, or where they shall fetch us?"

"Ah, Miss Khayyam, I've often read your father's verses. "

"No relation whatever; we're the same person--he was I. "

"But don't forget you can see the earth moving by a rising as well asby a setting star, by watching a sun rise--"

"A rising star if you wish, " she said, smiling once more with perfectcandour and friendliness. 

They turned to go back in the quick-coming mountain dusk. 

As they started downward she sang from the "Persian Garden, " and heblended his voice with hers:

 "Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint and heard great argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went. "

 "With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand wrought to make it grow; And this was all the Harvest that I reaped--' I came like Water and like Wind I go. '"

"I shall look forward to seeing you--and your mother and sister?--inNew York, " she said, when they parted, "and I am sure I shall have moreto say when we're better known to each other. "

"If you were the one woman before, if the thought of you was more thanthe substance of any other to me, --you must know how it will be now, when the dream has come true. It's no small thing for your best dreamto come true. "

"Dear me! haven't we been sentimental and philosophic? I'm never likethis at home, I assure you. I've really been thoughtful. "

From up the cañon came the sound of a puffing locomotive that presentlysteamed by them with its three dingy little coaches, and, after a stopfor water and the throwing of a switch, pushed back to connect with theShepler car. 

The others of the party crowded out on to the rear platform as Percivalhelped Miss Milbrey up the steps. Uncle Peter had evidently beenchatting with Shepler, for as they came out the old man was saying, "'Get action' is my motto. Do things. Don't fritter. Be something andbe it good and hard. Get action early and often. "

Shepler nodded. "But men like us are apt to be unreasonable with theyoung. We expect them to have their own vigour and our wisdom, and theinfirmities of neither. "

The good-byes were hastily said, and the little train rattled down thecañon. Miss Milbrey stood in the door of the car, and Percival watchedher while the glistening rails that seemed to be pushing her awaynarrowed in perspective. She stood motionless and inscrutable to thelast, but still looking steadily toward him--almost wistfully, itseemed to him once. 

"Well, " he said cheerfully to Uncle Peter. 

"You know, son, I don't like to cuss, but except one or two of themfolks I'd sooner live in the middle kittle of hell than in the placethat turns 'em out. They rile me--that talk about 'people in thehumbler walks of life. ' Of course I _am_ humble, but then, son, if youcome right down to it, as the feller said, I ain't so _damned_ humble!"

CHAPTER IX. 

Three Letters, Private and Confidential

From Mr. Percival Bines to Miss Psyche Bines, Montana City. 

On car at Skiplap, Tuesday Night. 

Dear Sis:--When you kept nagging me about "Who is the girl?" and I saidyou could search me, you wouldn't have it that way. But, honestly, until this morning I didn't know her myself. Now that I can put younext, here goes. 

One night last March, after I'd come back from the other side, Ihappened into a little theatre on Broadway where a burlesque wasrunning. It's a rowdy little place--a music hall--but nice people gothere because, though it's stuffy, it's kept decent. 

_She_ was in a box with two men--one old and one young--and an olderwoman. As soon as I saw her she had me lashed to the mast in a highsea, with the great salt waves dashing over me. I never took much stockin the tales about its happening at first sight, but they're asmatter-of-fact as market reports. Soon as I looked at her it seemed tome I'd known her always. I was sure we knew each other better than anytwo people between the Battery and Yonkers, and that I wasn't actingsociable to sit down there away from her and pretend we were StrangersYet. Actually, it rattled me so I had to take the full count. If Ihadn't been wedged in between a couple of people that filled all thespace, and then some, it isn't any twenty to one that I wouldn't havegone right up to her and asked her what she meant by cutting me. I wasudgy enough for it. But I kept looking and after awhile I was able tosit up and ask what hit me. 

She was dressed in something black and kind of shiny and wore a bigblack hat fussed up with little red roses, and her face did more thingsto me in a minute than all the rest I've ever seen. It was _full_ oflittle kissy places. Her lips were very red and her teeth were verywhite, and I couldn't tell about her eyes. But she was bred up to thelast notch, I could see that. 

Well, I watched her through the tobacco smoke until the last curtainfell. They were putting on wraps for a minute or so, and I noticed thatthe young fellow in the party, who'd been drinking all through theshow, wasn't a bit too steady to do an act on the high-wire. They leftthe box and came down the stairs and I bunched into the crowd and letmyself ooze out with them, wondering if I'd ever see her again. 

I fetched up at an exit on the side street, and there they weredirectly in front of me. I just naturally drifted to one side andcontinued my little private corner in crude rubber. It was drizzling ina beastly way, the street was full of carriages, numbers were beingcalled, cab-drivers were insulting each other hoarsely, people dashingout to see if their carriages weren't coming--everything in a whirl ofdrizzle and dark and yells, with the horses' hoofs on the pavementsounding like castanets. The two older people got into a carriage andwere driven off, while she and the young fellow waited for theirs. Icould see then that he was good and soused. He was the same lad theythrow on the screen when the "Old Homestead" Quartet sings "Where Is MyWandering Boy To-night?" I could see she was annoyed and a littleworried, because he was past taking notice. 

The man kept yelling the number of their carriage from time to time, while the others he'd called were driving up--it was 249 if any oneever tries to worm it out of you--and then I saw from her face that 249had wriggled pretty near to the curb, but was still kept away byanother carriage. She said something to the drunken cub and started toreach the carriage by going out into the street behind the one in itsway. At the same time their carriage started forward, and theinebriate, instead of going with her, started the other way to meet it, and so, there she was alone on the slippery pavement in this muddle ofprancing horses and yelling terriers. If you can get any bets that Iwas more than two seconds getting out there to her, take them all, andgive better than track odds if necessary. Then I guess she got rattled, for when I would have led her back to the curb she made a dash theother way and all but slipped under a team of bays that were justaching to claw the roses off her hat. I saw she was helpless and"turned around, " so I just naturally grabbed her and she was sofrightened by this time that she grabbed me, and the result was that Icarried her to the sidewalk and set her down. Their carriage stillstood there with little Georgie Rumlets screaming to the driver to goon. I had her inside in a jiffy, and they were off. Not a word about"My Preserver!" though, of course, with the fright and noise and hermortification, that was natural. 

After that, you can believe it or not, she was the girl. And I neverdreamed of seeing her any place but New York again. 

Well, this morning when I came up from below at the mine _she_ wasstanding there as if she had been waiting for me. She is Miss AviceMilbrey, of New York. Her father and mother--fine people, the realthing, I judge--were with her, members of a party Rulon Shepler haswith him on his car. They've been here all day; went through the mine;had lunch with them, and later a walk with _her_, they leaving at 5. 30for the East. We got on fairly well, considering. She is a wonder, ifanybody cross-examines you. She is about your height, I should judge, about five feet four, though not so plump as you; still her look ofslenderness is deceptive. She's one of the build that aren't so big asthey look, nor yet so small as they look. Thoroughbred is the word forher, style and action, as the horse people say, perfect. The poise ofher head, her mettlesome manner, her walk, show that she's been bred uplike a Derby winner. Her face is the one all the aristocrats are copiedfrom, finely cut nose, chin firm but dainty, lips just delicately fulland the reddest ever, and her colour when she has any a rose-pink. Idon't know that I can give you her eyes. You only see first thatthey're deep and clear, but as near as anything they are the warmslatish lavender blue you see in the little fall asters. She has somuch hair it makes her head look small, a sort of light chestnut, withwarmish streaks in it. Transparent is another word for her. You canlook right through her--eyes and skin are so clear. Her nature too isthe frank, open kind, "step in and examine our stock; no trouble toshow goods" and all that, and she is so beautifully unconscious of herbeauty that it goes double. At times she gave me a queer littleimpression of being older at the game than I am, though she can't be aday over twenty, but I guess that's because she's been around insociety so much. Probably she'd be called the typical New York girl, ifyou wanted to talk talky talk. 

Now I've told you everything, except that the people all asked kindlyafter you, especially her mother and a Mrs. Drelmer, who's a four-horseteam all by herself. Oh, yes! No, I can't remember very well; some kindof a brown walking skirt, short, and high boots and one of those bluestriped shirt-waists, the squeezy looking kind, and when we went towalk, a red plaid golf cape; and for general all-around dearness--say, the other entries would all turn green and have to be withdrawn. If anyone thinks this thing is going to end here you make a book on it rightaway; take all you can get. Little Willie Lushlets was her brother--alovely boy if you get to talking reckless. With love to LadyAbercrombie, and trusting, my dear Countess, to have the pleasure ofmeeting you at Henley a fortnight hence, I remain, Most cordially yours, E. MALVERN DEVYR ST. TREVORS, _Bart. & Notary Public. _

_From Mrs. Joseph Drelmer to the Hon. Cecil G. H. Mauburn, New York. _

EN ROUTE, August 28th. 

MY DEAR MAUBURN:--Ever hear of the tribe of Bines? If not, you need to. The father, immensely wealthy, died a bit ago, leaving a widow and twochildren, one of the latter being a marriageable daughter in more thanthe merely technical sense. There is also a grandfather, now a littledescended into the vale of years, who, they tell me, has almost as manydollars as you or I would know what to do with, a queer old chap wholounges about the mountains and looks as if he might have anything butmoney. We met the son and the old man at one of their mines yesterday. They have a private car as large as Shepler's and even more sybaritic, and they'd been making a tour of inspection over their properties. Theylunched with us. Knowing the Milbreys, you will divine the warmth oftheir behaviour toward the son. It was too funny at first. Avice wasthe only one to suspect at once that he was the very considerablepersonage he is, and so she promptly sequestered him, with a skill bornof her long practice, in the depths of the earth, somewhere near China, I fancy. Her dear parents were furious. Dressed as one of the minersthey took him to be an employee. The whole party, taking the cue fromoutraged parenthood, treated him icily when he emerged from one ofthose subterranean galleries with that tender sprig of girlishness. That is, we were icy until, on the way up, he remaining in the depths, Avice's dear mother began to rebuke the thoughtless minx for herindiscretion of strolling through the earth with a working person. ThenAvice, sweet chatterbox, with joyful malice revealed that the youngman, whose name none of us had caught, was Bines, and that he owned themine we were in, and she didn't know how many others, nor did shebelieve he knew himself. You should have felt the temperature rise. Itwent up faster than we were going. 

By the time we reached the surface the two Milbreys wore looks thatwould have made the angel of peace and good-will look full of hatredand distrust. Nothing would satisfy them but that we wait to thank theyoung Croesus for his courtesy. I waited because I remembered thedaughter, and Oldaker and the Angstead twins waited out of decency. Andwhen the genius of the mine appeared from out his golden catacombs wefell upon him in desperate kindness. 

Later in the day I learned from him that he expects to bring his motherand sister to New York this fall, and that they mean to make their homethere hereafter. Of course that means that the girl has notions ofmarriage. What made me think so quickly of her is that in SanFrancisco, at a theatre last winter, she was pointed out to me, andwhile I do you not the injustice of supposing it would make the leastdifference to you, she is rather a beauty, you'll find; figure fullish, yellow hair, and a good-natured, well-featured, pleasing sort of face;a bit rococo in manner, I suspect; a little too San Francisco, as somany of these Western beauties are, but you'd not mind that, and a yearin New York will tone her down anyway. 

Now if your dear uncle will only confer a lasting benefit upon theworld and his title upon you, by paying the only debt he is ever liableto pay, I am persuaded you could be the man here. I know nothing of howthe fortune was left, nor of its extent, except that it's said to bestiffish, and out here that means a big, round sum. The reason I writepromptly is that you may not go out of the country just now. That sweetlittle Milbrey chit--really, Avice is far too old now for ingenueparts--has not only grappled the son with hooks of steel, but fromremarks the good mother dropped concerning the fine qualities of herson, she means to convert the daughter's _dot_ into Milbrey prestige, also. What a glorious double stroke it would be, after all their yearsof trying. However, with your title, even in prospective, Fred Milbreyis no rival for you to fear, providing you are on the ground as soon ashe, which is why I wish you to stay in New York. 

I am indeed gratified that you have broken off whatever affair theremay have been between you and that music-hall person. Really, you know, though they talk so about us, a young man can't mess about with thatsort of thing in New York as he can in London. So I'm glad she's goneback, and as she is in no position to harm you I should pay noattention to her threats. What under heaven did the creature expect?Why _should_ she have wanted to marry you?

I shall see you probably in another fortnight. 

You know that Milbrey girl must get her effrontery direct from wherethey make it. She pretended that at first she took young Bines for whatwe all took him, an employee of the mine. You can almost catch themwinking at each other, when she tells it, and dear mamma with suchbeautiful resignation, says, "My Avice is _so_ impulsively democratic. "Dear Avice, you know, is really quite as impulsive as the steel bridgeour train has just rattled over. Sincerely, JOSEPHINE PRESTON DRELMER. 

_From Miss Avice Milbrey to Mrs. Cornelia Van Geist, New York. _

Mütterchen, dearest, I feel like that green hunter you had to sell lastspring--the one that would go at a fence with the most perfect displayof serious intentions, and then balk and bolt when it came to jumping. Can it be that I, who have been trained from the cradle to the idea ofmarrying for money, will bolt the gate after all the expense and painslavished upon my education to this end; after the years spent inlearning how to enchant, subdue, and exploit the most useful of allanimals, and the most agreeable, barring a few? And yet, right when I'mthe fittest--twenty-four years old, knowing all my good points and justhow to coerce the most admiration for each, able nicely to calculatethe exact disturbing effect of the _ensemble_ upon any poor male, andfeeling confident of my excessively eligible _parti_ when I decide forhim--in this situation, striven for so earnestly, I feel like boltingthe bars. How my trainer and jockey would weep tears of rage anddespair if they guessed it!

There, there--I know your shrewd grey eyes are crackling with curiosityand, you want to know what it's all about, whether to scold me ormother me, and will I please omit the _entrées_ and get to the roastmutton. But you dear, dear old aunt, you, there is more vagueness thandetail, and I know I'll strain your patience before I've done. But, torelieve your mind, nothing at all has really happened. After all, it'smostly a _troublesome state of mind_, that I shall doubtless find gonewhen we reach Jersey City, --and in two ways this Western trip isresponsible for it. Do you know the journey itself has beenfascinating. Too bad so many of us cross the ocean twenty times beforewe know anything of this country. We loiter in Paris, do the stupidGerman watering-places, the Norway fjords, down to Italy for themuseums, see the _chateaux_ of the Loire, or do the Englishrace-tracks, thinking we're 'mused; and all the time out here where thesun goes down is an intensely interesting and beautiful country of ourown that we overlook. You know I'd never before been even as far asChicago. Now for the first time I can appreciate lots of those thingsin Whitman, that--

"I think heroic deeds were all conceived in the open air, and freepoems, also. Now I see the secret of making the best persons: It isto grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. "

I mayn't have quoted correctly, but you know the sort of thing I mean, that sounds so _breezy_ and _stimulating_. And they've helped meunderstand the immensity of the landscapes and the ideas out here, thebig, throbbing, rough young life, and under it all, as Whitman says, "ameaning--Democracy, _American_ Democracy. " Really it's beeninteresting, _the jolliest time of my life, _ and it's got me allunsettled. More than once in watching some scene typical of the region, the plain, busy, earnest people, I've actually thrilled to think thatthis was _my country_--felt that queer little tickling tingle thatlocates your spine for you. I'm sure there's no _ennui_ here. Some onesaid the other day, "_Ennui_ is a disease that comes from living onother people's money. " I said no, that I'd often had as fine an attackas if I'd been left a billion, that _ennui_ is when you don't know whatto do next and wouldn't do it if you did. Well, here they always _do_know what to do next, and as one of them told me, "_We always get upearly the day before to do it_. "

Auntie, dear, the trip has made me _more restless and dissatisfied_than ever. It makes me want to _do_ something--to _risk_ something, towant to _want_ something more than I've ever learned to want. 

That's one reason I'm acting badly. The other will interest you more. 

It's no less a reason than _the athletic young Bayard_ who cheatedthose cab-horses of their prey that night Fred didn't drink all theScotch whiskey in New York. Our meeting, and the mater's treatment ofhim before she discovered who he was, are too delicious to write. Imust wait to tell you. 

It is enough to say that now I heard his name it recalled nothing tome, and I took him from his dress to be a _workingman_ in the mine wevisiting, though from his speech and manner of a gentleman, someone inauthority. Dear, he was _so_ dear and so Westernly breezy andprogressive and enterprising and so _appallingly candid_. I've been the"one woman", the "unknown but remembered ideal" since that encounter. Of course, that was to be said, but strangely enough he meant it. Hewas actually and unaffectedly making love to me. He's not so large ortall, but quick and springy, and muscled like a panther. He's notbeautiful either but pleasant to look at, one of those broadhigh-cheeked faces one sees so much in the West, with the funniestquick yellowish grey eyes and the most disreputable moustache I eversaw, yellow and ragged, If he must eat it, I wish he would _eat it offeven_ clear across. And he's likely to talk the most execrable slang, or to quote Browning. But he was making real love, and you know I'm notused to that. I'm accustomed to go my pace before sharply calculatingeyes, to show if I'm worth the _asking price_. But here was real lovebeing made off down in the earth (we'd run away from the others becauseI _liked him at once_). I don't mind telling you he moved me, partlybecause I had wondered about him from that night, and partly because ofall I had come to feel about this new place and the new people, andbecause he seemed such a fine, active specimen of Western manhood. Iwon't tell you all the wild, lawless thoughts that scurried and_sneaked_ through my mind--they don't matter now--for all at once itcame out that he was the only son of that wealthy Bines who died awhileago--you remember the name was mentioned that night at your house whenthey were discussing the exodus of Western millionaires to New York;some one named the father as one who liked coming to New York todissipate occasionally, but who was still rooted in the soil where hismillions grew. 

There was the son before me, just _an ordinary man of millions_, afterall--and my little toy balloon of romance that I'd been floating sogaily on a string of sentiment was pricked to nothing in an instant. Ifelt my nostrils expand with the excitement of the chase, andthereafter I was my _coldly professional self_. If that young man hasnot now a high estimate of my charms of person and mind, then have myways forgot their cunning and I be no longer the daughter of MargaretMilbrey, _née_ van Schoule. 

But, Mütterchen, now comes the disgraceful part. I'm afraid of myself, even in spite of our affairs being so bad. Dad has doubtless told yousomething must be done very soon, and I seem to be the only one to doit. And yet I am shying at the gate. This trip has unsettled me, I tellyou, letting me, among other things, see my old self. Before I alwaysrather liked the idea of marriage, that is, after I'd been out a coupleof years--not too well, but well enough--and now some way I rebel, notfrom scruples, but from pure selfishness. I'm beginning to find that Iwant to _enjoy myself_ and to find, further, that I'm not indisposed to_take chances_--as they say out here. Will you understand, I wonder?And do women who sell themselves ever find any real pleasure in thebargain? The most eloquent examples, the ones that sell themselves to_many men, _ lead wretched lives. But does the woman who sells herselfto _but one_ enjoy life any more? She's surely as bad, from anystandpoint of morals, and I imagine sometimes she is less happy. At anyrate, she has less _freedom_ and more _obligations_ under her contract. You see I am philosophising pretty coldly. Now be _horrified_ if youwill. 

I am selfish by good right, though. "Haven't we spent all our surplusin keeping you up for a good marriage?" says the mater, meaning by agood marriage that I shall bring enough money into the family to _"keepup its traditions. "_ I am, in other words, an investment from whichthey expect large returns. I told her I hoped she could trace herselfishness to its source as clearly as I could mine, and as for thefamily traditions, Fred was preserving those in an excellent medium. Which was very ugly in me, and I cried afterwards and told her howsorry I was. 

Are you shocked by my cold calculations? Well, I am trying to let youunderstand me, and I--

"... Have no time to waste In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth. "

I am cursed not only with consistent feminine longings and desires, but, in spite of my training and the examples around me, with adisinclination to be wholly vicious. Awhile ago marriage meant onlymore luxury and less worry about money. I never gave any thought to thehusband, certainly never concerned myself with any notions of duty orobligation toward him. The girls I know are taught painstakingly how toget a husband, but nothing of how to be a wife. The husband in my casewas to be an inconvenience, but doubtless an amusing one. For all hisoppression, if there were that, and even for _the mere offence of hisexistence, _ I should wreak my spite merrily on his vulgar dollars. 

But you are saying that I like the present eligible. That's thetrouble. I like him so well I haven't the heart to marry him. When Iwas twenty I could have loved him devotedly, I believe. Now somethingseems to be gone, some freshness or fondness. I can still love--I knowit only too well night and day--but it must be a different kind of man. He is so very young and reverent and tender, and in a way sounsophisticated. He is so afraid of me, for all his pretence ofboldness. 

Is it because I must be taken by sheer force? I'll not be surprised ifit is. Do we not in our secret soul of souls nourish this beatitude:"Blessed is the man who _destroys all barriers"?_ Florence Akemit saidas much one day, and Florence, poor soul, knows something of thematter. Do we not sit defiantly behind the barriers, insolentlychallenging--threatening capital punishment for any assault, relaxingnot one severity, yet falling meek and submissive and glad, to the manwho brutally and honestly beats them down, and _destroys them utterly?_So many fail by merely beating them down. Of course if an _untidylitter_ is left we make a row. We reconstruct the barrier and thatparticular assailant is thenceforth deprived of a combatant's rights. What a dear you are that I can say these things to you! Were girls sofrank in your time?

Well, my knight of the "golden cross" (_joke; laughter and loudapplause, and cries of "Go on!"_) has a little, much indeed, of theimpetuous in him, but, alas! not enough. He has a pretty talent for it, but no genius. If I were married to him to-morrow, as surely as I am awoman I should be made to inflict pain upon him the next day, with aninsane stress to show him, perhaps, I was not the ideal woman he hadthought me--perhaps out of a jealousy of that very ideal I hadinspired--rational creatures, aren't we?--beg pardon--not we, then, butI. Now he, being a real likable man of a man, can I do that--for money?Do I want the money _badly enough?_ Would I not even rather bepenniless with the man who coerced every great passion and littlestimpulse, body and soul--_perhaps with a very hateful insolence of powerover me?_ Do you know, I suspect sometimes that I've been trained downtoo fine, as to my nerves, I mean. I doubt if it's safe to pamper andtrim and stimulate and refine a woman in that hothouse atmosphere--atleast _if she's a healthy woman_. She's too apt sometime to break hergait, get the bit of tradition between her teeth, and then let herimpulses run away with her. 

Oh, Mütterchen, I am so sick and sore, and yet filled with a strangenew zest for this old puzzle of life. Will I ever be the same again?This man is going to ask me to marry him the moment I am ready for himto. Shall I be kind enough to tell him no, or shall I steel myself togo in and hurt him--_make him writhe?_

And yet do you know what he gave me while I was with him? I wonder ifwomen feel it commonly? It was a desire for _motherhood_--a curiouslyvivid and very definite longing--entirely irrespective of him, youunderstand, although he inspired it. Without loving him or being at allmoved toward him, he made me sheerly _want_ to be a mother! Or is itonly that men we don't love make us feel motherly?

Am I wholly irrational and selfish and bad, or what am I? I know you'lllove me, whatever it is, and I wish now I could snuggle on that soft, cushiony shoulder of yours and go to sleep. 

Can anything be more pitiful than "a fine old family" afflicted with_dry-rot_ like ours? I'm always amused when I read about the sufferingin the tenements. The real anguish is up in the homes like ours. Wehave _to do without so very many more things, _ and mere hunger and coldare easy compared to the suffering we feel. 

Perhaps when I'm back to that struggle for appearances, I'll relent and"barter my charms" as the old novels used to say, sanely and decentlylike a well brought-up New York girl--_with certain reservations, _ to aman who can support the family in the style to which it wants to becomeaccustomed. Yet there may be a way out. There is a Bines daughter, forexample, and mamma, who never does one half where she can as well dotwo, will marry her to Fred if she can. On the other hand, Joe Drelmerwas putting in words for young Mauburn, who will be Lord Casselthorpewhen his disreputable old uncle dies. 

She hasn't yet spent what she got for introducing the Canovass princeto that oldest Elarton girl, so if she secures this prize for Mauburn, she'll be comfortable for a couple of more years. Perhaps I could turnmy hand to something like that. I know the ropes as well as she does. 

There, it _is_ a punishment of a letter, isn't it, dear? But I've known_every bad place in it, _ and I've religiously put in your "Come, come, child!" every time it belonged, so you've not still to scold me, forwhich be comforted a little; and give me only a few words of cheerfulapproval if your conscience will let you. I need that, after all, morethan advice. Look for us in a week. With a bear-hug for you, AVICE. 

P. S. Is it true that Ned Ristine and his wife have fixed it up and aretogether again since his return? Not that I'm interested especially, but I chanced to hear it gossiped the other day here on the car. Indeed, I hope you know _how thoroughly I detest that man_!

CHAPTER X. 

The Price of Averting a Scandal

As the train resumed speed after stopping at a station, Grant, theporter, came back to the observation room of the Bines car with atelegram for Uncle Peter. The old man read it and for a time musedhimself into seeming oblivion. Across the car, near by, Percivallounged in a wicker arm-chair and stared cheerfully out into thegathering night. He, too, was musing, his thoughts keeping pleasantlyin time with the rhythmic click of the wheels over the rail-joints. After a day in the open air he was growing sleepy. 

Uncle Peter aroused him by making his way back to the desk, theroll-top of which he lifted with a sudden rattle. He called toPercival. Sitting down at the desk he read the telegram again andhanded it to the young man, who read:

"Party will try to make good; no bluff. Won't compromise inside limitset. Have seen paper and wish another interview before followingoriginal instructions. Party will wait forty-eight hours before acting. Where can you be seen? Wire office to-night. 

"TAFE & COPLEN. "

The young man looked up with mild interest. Uncle Peter was writing ona telegraph blank. 

"TAFE & COPLEN, Butte, Montana. 

"Due Butte 7. 30 A. M. To-morrow. Join me on car nought sixteen, go toMontana City. 

"PETER BINES. 

"D. H. F. 742. "

To the porter who answered his ring he handed the message to be put offat the first stop. 

"But what's it all about?" asked Percival, seeing by Uncle Peter'smanner that he was expected to show concern. 

Uncle Peter closed the desk, lighted one of his best cigars, anddropped into a capacious chair. The young man seated himself opposite. 

"Well, son, it's a matter I cal'lated first off to handle myself, butit looks now as if you better be in on it. I don't know just how muchyou knew about your pa's ways, but, anyhow, you wouldn't play him tograde much higher above standard than the run of 'em out here that hashad things comin' too easy for 'em. He was all right, Dan'l J. Was. Godknows I ain't discountin' the comfort I've always took in him. He'dstand acid all right, at any stage of the game. Don't forget that aboutyour pa. "

The young man reflected. 

"The worst story I ever heard of pa was about the time he wanted todraw twenty thousand dollars from the bank in Tacoma. They telegraphedthe Butte National to wire his description, and the answer was 'talland drunk. '"

"Well, son, his periodicals wa'n't all. Seems as if this crowd has away fur women, and they generally get the gaff because they're soblamed easy. You don't hear of them Eastern big men gettin' it sooften, but I've seen enough of 'em to know it ain't because they're anystraighter. They're jest a little keener on business propositions. Theydraw a fine sight when it comes to splittin' pennies, while men outhere like your pa is lavish and careless. You know about lots of theothers. 

"There's Sooley Pentz, good-hearted a man as ever sacked ore, andplenty long-headed enough for the place he's bought in the Senate, butSooley is restless until he's bought up one end of every town he goesinto, from Eden plumb over to Washington, D. C. , --and 'tain't ever theSunday-school end Sooley buys either. If he was makin' two million amonth instead of one Sooley'd grieve himself to death because theydon't make that five-dollar kind of wine fast enough. 

"Then there was Seth Larby. We're jest gettin' to the details of Seth'sexpense account after he found the Lucky Cuss. I see the courts havedecided against the widow and children, and so they'll have to worryoff about five or six millions for the poor lady he duped sooutrageously--with a checker on the chips. 

"As fur old Nate Kranil, a lawyer from Cheyenne was tellin' me hisnumerous widows by courtesy was goin' to form an association and sharehis leavin's pro raty. Said they'd all got kind of acquainted and madeup their minds they was such a reg'lar band of wolves that none of 'emwas able to do any of the others in the long run, so they'd divideeven. 

"Then there was Dave Kisber, and--"

"Never mind any more--" Percival broke in. "Do you mean that my fatherwas mixed up like those old Indians?"

"Looks now as if he was. That telegram from Coplen is concernin' of alady--a party that was with him when he died. The press report sent outthat the young and beautiful Mrs. Bines was with her husband, and wasprostrated with grief. Your ma and Pishy was up to Steamin' Springs atthe time, and I kep' it from them all right. "

"But _how_ was he entangled?--to what extent?"

"That's what we'll get more light on in the morning. She made a playright after the will was filed fur probate, and I told Coplen to seejest what grounds she had, and I'd settle myself if she really had anyand wa'n't unreasonable. "

"It's just a question of blackmail, isn't it? What did you offer?"

"Well, she has a slew of letters--gettin' them is a matter of sentimentand keepin' the thing quiet. Then she claims to have a will made lastDecember and duly witnessed, givin' her the One Girl outright, and amillion cash. So you can see she ain't anything ordinary. I told Coplento offer her a million cash for everything rather'n have any fuss. Iwas goin' to fix it up myself and keep quiet about it. "

"And this telegram looks as if she wanted to fight. "

"Well, mebbe that and mebbe it means that she knows we _don't_ want tofight considerable more than a million dollars' worth. "

"How much do you think she'll hold out for?"

"Can't tell; you don't know how big pills she's been smokin'. "

"But, damn it all, that's robbery!"

"Yes--but it's her deal. You remember when Billy Brue was playin'seven-up with a stranger in the Two-Hump saloon over to Eden, andChiddie Fogle the bartender called him up front and whispered that he'djest seen the feller turn a jack from the bottom. 'Well, ' says Billie, looking kind of reprovin' at Chiddie, 'it was _his deal, _ wa'n't it?'Now it's sure this blond party's deal, and we better reckon ahead amite before we start any roughhouse with her. You're due to find out ifyou hadn't better let her turn her jack and trust to gettin' even onyour deal. You got a claim staked out in New York, and a scandal likethis might handicap you in workin' it. And 'tain't as if hushin' her upwas something we couldn't well afford. And think of how it wouldtorment your ma to know of them doin's, and how 'twould shame Pish incompany. Of course, rob'ry is rob'ry, but mebbe it's our play to besporty like Billy Brue was. "

"Pretty bad, isn't it? I never suspected pa was in anything of thissort. "

"Well, I knew Dan'l J. Purty well, and I spleened against some of hisways, but that's done fur. Now the folks out in this part of thecountry have come to expect it from a man like him. They don't mind somuch. But them New York folks--well, I thought mebbe you'd like to takea clean bill of health when you settle in that centre of culture andenlightenment, --and remember your ma and Pish. "

"Of course the exposure would mean a lot of cheap notoriety--"

"Well, and not so all-fired cheap at that, even if we beat. I've heardthat lawyers are threatenin' to stop this thing of workin' entirely furtheir health. There's that to weigh up. "

"But I hate to be done. "

"Well, wouldn't you be worse done if you let a matter of money, whenyou're reekin' with it, keep you from protectin' your pa's name? Do youwant folks to snicker when they read that 'lovin' husband and father'business on his gravestone? My! I guess that young woman and her folkswe met the other day'd be tickled to death to think they knew you afterthey'd read one of them Sunday newspaper stories with pictures of usall, and an extry fine one of the millionaire's dupe, basely enticedfrom her poor but honest millinery business in Spokane. "

Percival shuddered. 

"Well, let's see what Coplen has to say in the morning. If it can besettled within reason I suppose we better give up. "

"That's my view now, and the estate bein' left as simply as it was, wecan make in the payments unbeknownst to the folks. "

They said good-night, and Percival went off to dream that a cab-horseof mammoth size was threatening to eat Miss Milbrey unless he drove itto Spokane Falls and bought two million millinery shops. 

When he was jolted to consciousness they were in the switching yard atButte, and the car was being coupled to the rear of the train made upfor Montana City. He took advantage of the stop to shave. By the timehe was dressed they were under way again, steaming out past the bigsmelters that palled the sky with heavy black smoke. 

At the breakfast-table he found Uncle Peter and Coplen. 

"I'm inclined, " said the lawyer, as Percival peeled a peach, "to agreewith your grandfather. This woman--if I may use the term--is one of thenerviest leg-pullers you're ever likely to strike. "

"Lord! I should hope so, " said Percival, with hearty emphasis. 

"She studied your father and she knew him better than any of us, Ijudge. She certainly knew he was liable to go at any time, in exactlythe way he did go. Why, she even had a doctor down from 'Frisco toMonterey when they were there about a year ago--introduced him as anold friend and had him stay around three days--just to give her aprivate professional opinion on his chances. As to this will, thesignature is undoubtedly genuine, but my judgment is she procured it insome way on a blank sheet of paper and had the will written above onsheets like it. As it conforms to the real will word for word, excepting the bequests to her, she must have had access to that beforehaving this one written. Of course that helps to make it look as if thetestator had changed his mind only as to the one legatee--makes it lookplausible and genuine. The witnesses were of course parties to thefraud, but I seriously question our ability to prove there was fraud. We think they procured a copy of the will we kept in our safe at Buttethrough the clerk that Tafe fired awhile back because of his drinkinghabits and because he was generally suspicious of him. Of course that'sonly surmise. "

"But can't we fight it?" demanded Percival, hungrily attacking thecrisp, brown little trout. 

"Well, if we allowed it to come to a contest, we might expose the wholething, and then again we might not. I tell you she's clever. She'sshown it at every step. Now then, if you do fight, " and the lawyerbristled, as if his fighting spirit were not too far under the controlof his experience-born caution, "why, you have litigation that's boundto last for years, and it would be pretty expensive. I admit the caseis tempting to a lawyer, but in the end you don't know what you'll get, especially with this woman. Why, do you know she's already, we'vefound, made up to two different judges that might be interested in anylitigation she'd have, and she's cultivating others. The role ofJoseph, " he continued, "has never, to the best of my belief, beengracefully played in the world's history, and you may have noticed thatthe members of the Montana judiciary seem to be particularly awkward intheir essays at it. In the end, then, you'll be out a lot of money evenif you win. On the other hand, you have a chance to settle it for goodand all, getting back everything--excepting the will, which, of course, we couldn't touch or even concede the existence of, but which would, ifsuch an instrument _were_ extant, be destroyed in the presence of awitness whose integrity I could rely upon--well--as upon my own. Theletters which she has, and which I have seen, are also such as wouldtend to substantiate her claims and make the large bequests to her seemplausible--and they're also such letters as--I should infer--the familywould rather wish not to be made public, as they would be if it came totrial. "

"Jest what I told him, " remarked Uncle Peter. 

"What she'll hold out for I don't know, but I'd suggest this, that Imeet her attorney and put the case exactly as I've found it out as tothe will, letting them suspect, perhaps, that we have admissions ofsome sort from Hornby, the clerk, that might damage them. Then I canput it that, while we have no doubt of our ability to dispose of thewill, we do wish to avoid the scandal that would ensue upon apublication of the letters they hold and the exposure of her relationswith the testator, and that upon this purely sentimental ground we arewilling to be bled to a reasonable extent. The One Girl is a valuablemine, but my opinion is she'll be glad to get two million if we seemreluctant to pay that much. "

With that gusto of breakfast-appetite which arouses the envy of personswhose alimentation is not what it used to be, Percival had devouredruddy peaches and purple grapes, trout that had breasted their swiftnative currents that very morning, crisp little curls of bacon, muffinsthat were mere flecks of golden foam, honey with the sweetness of athousand fragrant blossoms, and coffee that was oily with richness. Fora time he had seemed to make no headway against his hill-born appetite. The lawyer, who had broken his fast with a strip of dry toast and a cupof weak tea, had watched him with unfeigned and reminiscent interest. Grant, who stood watchful to replenish his plate, and whose pleasure itwas to see him eat, regarded him with eyes fairly dewy from sympathy. To A. L. Jackson, the cook, on a trip for hot muffins, he observed, "Heeats jes' like th' ole man. I suttin'y do love t' see that boy behavewhen he got his fresh moral appetite on him. He suttin'y do ca'yhisse'f mighty handsome. "

With Coplen's final recommendation to settle Percival concluded hismeal, and after surveying with fondly pleasant regret the devastationhe had wrought, he leaned back in his chair and lighted a cigar. He wasno longer in a mood to counsel fight, even though he disliked tosubmit. 

"You know, " he reminded Uncle Peter, "what that editorial in the RockRip _Champion_ said about me when we were over there: 'We opine thatthe Junior Bines will become a warm piece of human force if he isn'tground-sluiced too early in the game. ' Well--and here I'mground-sluiced the first rattle out of the box. "

But the lawyer went over the case again point by point, and Percivalfinally authorised him to make the best settlement possible. He caredas little for the money as Uncle Peter did, large sum though it was. And then his mother and sister would be spared a great humiliation, andhis own standing where most he prized it would not be jeopardised. 

"Settle the best you can, " was his final direction to Coplen. Thelawyer left them at the next station to wait for a train back to Butte. 

CHAPTER XI. 

How Uncle Peter Bines Once Cut Loose

As the train moved on after leaving Coplen, Percival fell to thinkingof the type of man his father had been. 

"Uncle Peter, " he said, suddenly, "they don't _all_ cut loose, do they?Now _you_ never did?"

"Yes, I did, son. I yanked away from all the hitchin' straps of decencywhen I first struck it, jest like all the rest of 'em. Oh, I was anIndian in my time--a reg'ler measly hop-pickin' Siwash at that. 

"You don't know, of course, what livin' out in the open on bacon andbeans does fur a healthy man's cravin's. He gets so he has visions dayand night of high-livin'--nice broiled steaks with plenty of fat on'em, and 'specially cake and preserves and pies like mother used tomake--fat, juicy mince pies that would assay at least eight hundreddollars a ton in raisins alone, say nothing of the baser metals. Hesees the crimp around the edges made with a fork, and the picture of aleaf pricked in the middle to vent the steam, and he gets to smellin''em when they're pulled smokin' hot out of the oven. And frosted cake, the layer kind--about five layers, with stratas of jelly and custardand figs and raisins and whatever it might be. I saw 'em fur years, with a big cuttin' out to show the cross-section. 

"But a man that has to work by the day fur enough to take him throughthe prospectin' season can't blow any of his dust on frivolous thingslike pie. The hard-workin' plain food is the kind he has to tote, and Inever heard of pie bein' in anybody's grub-stake either. 

"Well, fur two or three years at a time the nearest I'd ever get tothem dainties would be a piece of sour-dough bread baked on astove-lid. But whenever I was in the big camps I'd always go look intothe bake-shop windows and just gloat. --'rubber' they call it now'days. My! but they would be beautiful. Son, if I could 'a' been guaranteedthat kind of a heaven, some of them times, I'd 'a' become the hottestkind of a Christian zealot, I'll tell you that. That spell of gloatin'was what I always looked forward to when I was lyin' out nights. 

"Well, the time before I made the strike I outfitted in Grand Bar. Thebake-joint there was jest a mortal aggravation. Sakes! but it didtorment a body so! It was kep' by a Chink, and the star play in thewindow was a kind of two-story cake with frostin' all over theplace--on top and down the sides, and on the bottom fur all I knew, itlooked that rich. And it had cocoanut mixed in with it. Say, now, thatconcrete looked fit to pave the streets of the New Jerusalem with--anda hunk was cut out, jest like I'd always dream of so much--showin' across-section of rich yellow cake and a fruity-lookin' fillin' thatjest made a man want to give up. 

"I was there three days, and every day I'd stop in front of that windowand jest naturally hone fur a slice of that vision. The Chink wasstandin' in the door the first day. 

"'Six doll's, ' he says, kind of enticin' me. 

"He might as well 'a' said six thousand. I shook my head. 

"Next day I was there again, yearnin'. The Chink see me and come out. 

"'One doll' li'l piece", he says. 

"I says, 'No, you slant-eyed heathen, ' or some such name as that. Butwhen you're looking fur tests of character, son, don't let that onehide away from you. I'd play that fur the heftiest moral courage _I've_ever showed, anyway. 

"The third day it was gone and a lemon pie was there, all with nicekind of brownish snow on top. I was on my way out then, pushin' themule. I took one lingerin' last look and felt proud of myself when Isaw the hump in the pack made by my bag of beans. 

"'That-like flummery food's no kind of diet to be trackin' up pay-rockon, ' I says to kind of cheer myself. 

"Four weeks later I struck it. And six weeks after that I had things inshape so't I was able to leave. I was nearer to other places 'twasbigger, but I made fur Grand Bar, lettin' on't I wanted to see about aclaim there. I'd 'a' felt foolish to have anyone know jest why I wasmakin' the trip. 

"On the way I got to havin' night-mares, 'fear that Chink would begone. I knew if he was I'd go down to my grave with something comin' tome because I'd never found jest that identical cake I'd been famishin'fur. 

"When I got up front of the window, you can believe it or not, but thatChink was jest settin' down another like it. Now you know how thatMonte Cristo carried on after he'd proved up. Well, I got into hisclass, all right. I walked in past a counter where the Chink hadcrullers and gingerbread and a lot of low-grade stuff like that, and Iset down to a little table with this here marble oil-cloth on it. 

"'Bring her back, ' I says, kind of tremblin', and pointin' to thewindow. 

"The Chink pattered up and come back with a little slab of it on a tinplate. I jest let it set there. 

"'Bring it all, ' I says; 'I want the hull ball of wax. '

"'Six doll's, ' he says, kind of cautious. 

"I pulled out my buckskin pouch. 'Bring her back and take it out ofthat, ' I says--'when I get through, ' I says. 

"He grinned and hurried back with it. Well, son, nothing had evertasted so good to me, and I ain't say'n' that wa'n't the biggest worthof all my money't I ever got. I'd been trainin' fur that cake furtwenty odd year, and proddin' my imagination up fur the last ten weeks. 

"I et that all, and I et another one with jelly, and a bunch of littleround ones with frostin' and raisins, and a bottle of brandied peaches, and about a dozen cream puffs, and half a lemon pie with frostin' ontop, and four or five Charlotte rushes. The Chink had learned to make'em all in 'Frisco. 

"That meal set me back $34. 75. When I went out I noticed the plainsponge cakes and fruit cakes and dried-apple pies--things that had beenout of my reach fur twenty years, and--My! but they did look common andunappetisin'. I kind of shivered at the sight of 'em. 

"I ordered another one of the big cakes and two more lemon pies fur thenext day. 

"Fur four days I led a life of what they call 'unbridledlicentiousness' while that Chink pandered to me. I never was any handfur drink, but I cut loose in that fancy-food joint, now I tell you. 

"The fifth day I begun to taper off. I begun to have a suspicion thestuff was made of sawdust with plasty of Paris fur frostin'. The sixthday I was sure it was sawdust, and my shameful debauch comes to an endright there. I remembered the story about the feller that cal'lated hischickens wouldn't tell any different, so he fed 'em sawdust instead ofcorn-meal, and by-and-bye a settin' of eggs hatched out--twelve of thechickens had wooden legs and the thirteenth was a woodpecker. Say, Ifelt so much like two cords of four-foot stove wood that it made meplumb nervous to ketch sight of a saw-buck. 

"It took jest three weeks fur me to get right inside again. My, butmeat victuals and all like that did taste mighty scrumptious when Icould handle 'em again. 

"After that when I'd been out in the hills fur a season I'd get thathankerin' back, and when I come in I'd have a little frosted-cake orgynow and then. But I kep' myself purty well in hand. I never overdone itlike that again, fur you see I'd learned something. First off, therewas the appetite. I soon see the gist of my fun had been the _wantin'_the stuff, the appetite fur it, and if you nursed an appetite along anddeluded it with promises it would stay by you like one of them meachin'yellow dogs. But as soon as you tried to do the good-fairy act by it, and give it all it hankered fur, you killed it off, and then youwouldn't be entertained by it no more, and kep' stirred up and busy. 

"And so I layed out to nurse my appetite, and aggravate it by nevergivin' it quite all it wanted. When I was in the hills after a day'stramp I'd let it have its fling on such delicacies as I could turn outof the fryin'-pan myself, but when I got in again I'd begin to actbossy with it. It's _wantin'_ reasonably that keeps folks alive, Ireckon. The mis-a-blest folks I've ever saw was them that had killedall their wants by overfeedin' 'em. 

"Then again, son, in this world of human failin's there ain't anythingever _can_ be as pure and blameless and satisfyin' as the stuff in abake-shop window looks like it is. Don't ever furget that. It's jesttoo good to be true. And in the next place--pastry's good in its way, but the best you can ever get is what's made fur you at home--I'mtalkin' about a lot of things now that you don't probably know any toomuch about. Sometimes the boys out in the hills spends their timedreamin' fur other things besides pies and cakes, but that system ofmine holds good all through the deal--you can play it from soda to hockand not lose out. And that's why I'm outlastin' a lot of the boys andstill gettin' my fun out of the game. 

"It's a good system fur you, son, while you're learnin' to use yourhead. Your pa played it at first, then he cut loose. And you need itworse'n ever he did, if I got you sized up right. He touched me on oneside, and touched you on the other. But you can last longer if you jestkeep the system in mind a little. Remember what I say about the windowstuff. "

Percival had listened to the old man's story with proper amusement, andto the didactics with that feeling inevitable to youth which sayssecretly, as it affects to listen to one whom it does not wish towound, "Yes, yes, I know, but you were living in another day, long ago, and you are not _me!_"

He went over to the desk and began to scribble a name on the pad ofpaper. 

"If a man really loves one woman he'll behave all right, " he observedto Uncle Peter. 

"Oh, I ain't preachin' like some do. Havin' a good time is all right;it's the only thing, I reckon, sometimes, that justifies the misery oflivin'. But cuttin' loose is bad jedgment. A man wakes up to find thathis natural promptin's has cold-decked him. If I smoked the bestsee-gars now all the time, purty soon I'd get so't I wouldn'tappreciate 'em. That's why I always keep some of these out-doorfree-burners on hand. One of them now and then makes the others tastebetter. "

The young man had become deaf to the musical old voice. 

He was writing:

"MY DEAR MISS MILBREY:--I send you the first and only poem I everwrote. I may of course be a prejudiced critic, but it seems to me topossess in abundance those graces of metre, rhyme, high thought inpoetic form, and perfection of finish which the critics unite indemanding. To be honest with you--and why should I conceal that conceitwhich every artist is said secretly to feel in his own production?--Ihave encountered no other poem in our noble tongue which has so movedand captivated me. 

"It is but fair to warn you that this is only the first of a volume ofsimilar poems which I contemplate writing. And as the theme appears nowto be inexhaustible, I am not sure that I can see any limit to thenumber of volumes I shall be compelled to issue. Pray accept thisauthor's copy with his best and hopefullest wishes. One other copy hasbeen sent to the book reviewer of the Arcady _Lyre, _ in the hope thathe, at least, will have the wit to perceive in it that ultimate andideal perfection for which the humbler bards have hitherto striven invain. 

"Sincerely and seriously yours, "P. PERCIVAL BINES"

Thus ran the exalted poem on a sheet of note-paper:

 "AVICE MILBREY. Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey, Avice Milbrey. And ninety-eight thousand other verses quite like it. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Plans for the Journey East

Until late in the afternoon they rode through a land that was bleak andbarren of all grace or cheer. The dull browns and greys of thelandscape were unrelieved by any green or freshness save close by thebanks of an occasional stream. The vivid blue of a cloudless sky servedonly to light up its desolation to greater disadvantage. It was a grimunsmiling land, hard to like. 

"This may be God's own country, " said Percival once, looking out over astretch of grey sage-brush to a mass of red sandstone jutting up, high, sharp, and ragged, in the distance--"but it looks to me as if He gottired of it Himself and gave up before it was half finished. "

"A man has to work here a few years to love it, " said Uncle Peter, shortly. 

As they left the car at Montana City in the early dusk, that thrivingmetropolis had never seemed so unattractive to Percival; so rough, new, garish, and wanting so many of the softening charms of the East. Through the wide, unpaved streets, lined with their low woodenbuildings, they drove to the Bines mansion, a landmark in the oldestand most fashionable part of the town. For such distinctions are madein Western towns as soon as the first two shanties are built. The Bineshouse had been a monument to new wealth from the earliest days of thetown, which was a fairly decent antiquity for the region. But the houseand the town grated harshly now upon the young man. He burned with afever of haste to be off toward the East--over the far rim of hills, and the farther higher mountain range, to a land that had warmedgenially under three hundred years of civilised occupancy--where peoplehad lived and fraternised long enough to create the atmosphere hecraved so ardently. 

While Chinese Wung lighted the hall gas and busied himself with theirhats and bags, Psyche Bines came down the stairs to greet them. Neverhad her youthful freshness so appealed to her brother. The black gownshe wore emphasised her blond beauty. As to give her the aspect ofmourning one might have tried as reasonably to hide the radiance of theearth in springtime with that trifling pall. 

Her brother kissed her with more than his usual warmth. Here was one tofeel what he felt, to sympathise warmly with all those new yearningsthat were to take him out of the crude West. She wanted, for his ownreasons, all that he wanted. She understood him; and she was his allyagainst the aged and narrow man who would have held them to life inthat physical and social desert. 

"Well, sis, here we are!" he began. "How fine you're looking! And howis Mrs. Throckmorton? Give her my love and ask her if she can be readyto start for the effete East in twenty minutes. "

It was his habit to affect that he constantly forgot his mother's name. He had discovered years before that he was sometimes able thus topuzzle her momentarily. 

"Why, Percival!" exclaimed this excellent lady, coming hurriedly fromthe kitchen regions, "I haven't a thing packed. Twenty minutes!Goodness! I do declare!"

It was an infirmity of Mrs. Bines that she was unable to take otherwisethan literally whatever might be said to her; an infirmity known andplayed upon relentlessly by her son. 

"Oh, well!" he exclaimed, with a show of irritation. "I suppose we'llbe delayed then. That's like a woman. Never ready on time. Probably wecan't start now till after dinner. Now hurry! You know that boat leavesthe dock for Tonsilitis at 8. 23--I hope you won't be seasick. "

"Boat--dock--" Mrs. Bines stopped to convince herself beyond acertainty that no dock nor boat could be within many hundred miles ofher by any possible chance. 

"Never mind, " said Psyche; "give ma half an hour's notice and she canstart for any old place. "

"Can't she though!" and Percival, seizing his astounded mother, waltzedwith her down the hall, leaving her at the far end with profuselypolite assurances that he would bring her immediately a lemon-ice, anice-pick, and a cold roast turkey with pink stockings on. 

"Never mind, Mrs. Cartwright, " he called back to her--"oh, begpardon--Bines? yes, yes, to be sure--well, never mind, Mrs. Brennings. We'll give you time to put your gloves and a bottle of horse-radish anda nail-file and hammer into that neat travelling-bag of yours. 

"Now let me go up and get clean again. That lovely alkali dust hasworked clear into my bearings so I'm liable to have a hot box just aswe get the line open ninety miles ahead. "

At dinner and afterwards the new West and the old aligned themselvesinto hostile camps, as of yore. The young people chatted with livelyinterest of the coming change, of the New York people who had visitedthe mine, of the attractions and advantages of life in New York. 

Uncle Peter, though he had long since recognised his cause as lost, remained doggedly inimical to the migration. The home was being brokenup and he was depressed. 

"Anyhow, you'll soon be back, " he warned them. "You won't like it amite. I tried it myself thirty years ago. I'll jest camp here until youdo come back. My! but you'll be glad to get here again. "

"Why not have Billy Brue come stay with you, " suggested Mrs. Bines, whowas hurting herself with pictures of the old man's loneliness, "in caseyou should want a plaster on your back or some nutmeg tea brewed, oranything? That Wung is so trifling. "

"Maybe I might, " replied the old man, "but Billy Brue ain't exactlybroke to a shack like this. I know just what he'd do all his sparetime; he'd set down to that new-fangled horseless piano and play it todeath. "

Uncle Peter meant the new automatic piano in the parlour. As far as thenew cabinet was from the what-not this modern bit of mechanism was fromthe old cottage organ--the latter with its "Casket of HouseholdMelodies" and the former with its perforated paper repertoire of "TheWorld's Best Music, " ranging without prejudice from Beethoven's FifthSymphony to "I Never Did Like a Nigger Nohow, " by a composer who shallbe unnamed on this page. 

"And Uncle Peter won't have any one to bother him when he makes alitter with all those old plans and estimates and maps of his, " saidPsyche; "you'll be able to do a lot more work, Uncle Peter, thiswinter. "

"Yes, only I ain't got any more work to do than I ever had, and Ialways managed to do that, no matter how you did clean up after me andmix up my papers. I'm like old Nigger Pomeroy. He was doin' a job ofwhitewashin' one day, and he had an old whitewash brush with most ofthe hair gone out of it. I says to him, 'Pomeroy, why don't you get youa new brush? you could do twice as much work. ' And Pomeroy says, 'That's right, Mr. Bines, but the trouble is I ain't got twice as muchwork to do. ' So don't you folks get out on _my_ account, " he concluded, politely. 

"And you know we shall be in mourning, " said Psyche to her brother. 

"I've thought of that. We can't do any entertaining, except of the mostinformal kind, and we can't go out, except very informally; but, then, you know, there aren't many people that have us on their lists, andwhile we're keeping quiet we shall have a chance to get acquainted alittle. "

"I hear they do have dreadful times with help in New York, " said Mrs. Bines. 

"Don't let that bother you, ma, " her son reassured her. "We'll go tothe Hightower Hotel, first. You remember you and pa were there when itfirst opened. It's twice as large now, and we'll take a suite, have ourmeals served privately, our own servants provided by the hotel, and youwon't have a thing to worry you. We'll be snug there for the winter. Then for the summer we'll go to Newport, and when we come back fromthere we'll take a house. Meantime, after we've looked around a bit, we'll build, maybe up on one of those fine corners east of the Park. "

"I almost dread it, " his mother rejoined. "I never _did_ see how theykept track of all the help in that hotel, and if it's twice asmonstrous now, however _do_ they do it--and have the beds all madeevery day and the meals always on time?"

"And you can _get_ meals there, " said Percival. 

"I've been needing a broiled lobster all summer--and now the oysterswill be due--fine fat Buzzard's Bays--and oyster crabs. "

"He ain't been able to touch a morsel out here, " observed Uncle Peter, with a palpably false air of concern. "I got all worried up about him, barely peckin' at a crumb or two. "

"I never could learn to eat those oysters out of their shells, " Mrs. Bines confessed. "They taste so much better out of the can. Once we hadthem raw and on two of mine were those horrid little green crabs, actually squirming. I was going to send them back, but your pa laughedand ate them himself--ate them alive and kicking. "

"And terrapin!" exclaimed Percival, with anticipatory relish. 

"That terrapin stew does taste kind of good, " his mother admitted, "but, land's sakes! it has so many little bits of bones in it I alwaysget nervous eating it. It makes me feel as if all my teeth was comingout. "

"You'll soon learn all those things, ma, " said her daughter--"and notto talk to the waiters, and everything like that. She always asks themhow much they earn, and if they have a family, and how many children, and if any of them are sick, you know, " she explained to Percival. 

"And I s'pose you ain't much of a hand fur smokin' cigarettes, are you, ma?" inquired Uncle Peter, casually. 

"Me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bines, in horror; "I never smoked one of the nastylittle things in my life. "

"Son, " said the old man to Percival, reproachfully, "is that any way totreat your own mother? Here she's had all this summer to learncigarette smokin', and you ain't put her at it--all that time wasted, when you _know_ she's got to learn. Get her one now so she can lightup. "

"Why, Uncle Peter Bines, how absurd!" exclaimed his granddaughter. 

"Well, them ladies smoked the other day, and they was some of thereg'ler original van Vanvans. You don't want your poor ma kep' out ofthe game, do you? Goin' to let her set around and toy with the coppers, or maybe keep cases now and then, are you? Or, you goin' to get her astack of every colour and let her play with you? Pish, now, havin' beento a 'Frisco seminary--she can pick it up, prob'ly in no time; but maought to have practice here at home, so she can find out what brand shelikes best. Now, Marthy, them Turkish cigarettes, in a nice silver boxwith some naked ladies painted on the outside, and your own monogram'M. B. ' in gold letters on every cigarette--"

"Don't let him scare you, ma, " Percival interrupted. "You'll get intothe game all right, and I'll see that you have a good time. "

"Only I hope the First M. E. Church of Montana City never hears of heroutrageous cuttin's-up, " said Uncle Peter, as if to himself. "They'dhave her up and church her, sure--smokin' cigarettes with her goldmonogram on, at _her_ age!" "And of course we must go to the Episcopalchurch there, " said Psyche. "I think those Episcopal ministers are justthe smartest looking men ever. So swell looking, and anyway it's theonly church the right sort of people go to. We must be awfully highchurch, too. It's the very best way to know nice people. "

"I s'pose if every day'd be Sunday by-and-bye, like the old song says, it'd be easier fur you, wouldn't it?" asked the old man. "You and Petiewould be 401 and 402 in jest no time at all. "

Uncle Peter continued to be perversely frivolous about the mostexclusive metropolitan society in the world. But Uncle Peter was acrabbed old man, lingering past his generation, and the young peoplemade generous allowance for his infirmities. 

"Only there's one thing, " said his sister to Percival, when later theywere alone, "we must be careful about ma; she _will_ persist in makingsuch dreadful breaks, in spite of everything I can do. In San Franciscolast June, just before we went to Steaming Springs, there was one hotday, and of course everybody was complaining. Mrs. Beale remarked thatit wasn't the heat that bothered us so, but the humidity. It was sodamp, you know. Ma spoke right up so everybody could hear her, andsaid, 'Yes; isn't the humidity dreadful? Why, it's just running off mefrom every pore!'"

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Argonauts Return to the Rising Sun

It was mid-October. The two saddle-horses and a team for carriage usehad been shipped ahead. In the private car the little party wasbeginning its own journey Eastward. From the rear platform they hadwatched the tall figure of Uncle Peter Bines standing in the brightautumn sun, aloof from the band of kerchief-waving friends, the droopof his head and shoulders showing the dejection he felt at seeing themgo. He had resisted all entreaties to accompany them. 

His last injunction to Percival had been to marry early. 

"I know your stock and I know _you_" he said; "and you got no call tobe rangin' them pastures without a brand. You never was meant fur amaverick. Only don't let the first woman that comes ridin' herd get heriron on you. No man knows much about the critters, of course, but I'venoticed a few things in my time. You pick one that's full-chested, that's got a fairish-sized nose, and that likes cats. The full chestmeans she's healthy, the nose means she ain't finicky, and likin' catsmeans she's kind and honest and unselfish. Ever notice some women whena cat's around? They pretend to like 'em and say 'Nice kitty!' but youcan see they're viewin' 'em with bitter hate and suspicion. If theyhave to stroke 'em they do it plenty gingerly and you can see 'emshudderin' inside like. It means they're catty themselves. But when onegrabs a cat up as if she was goin' to eat it and cuddles it in her neckand talks baby-talk to it, you play her fur bein' sound and true. Passup the others, son. 

"And speakin' of the fair sex, " he added, as he and Percival were alonefor a moment, "that enterprisin' lady we settled with is goin' to doone thing you'll approve of. 

"She's goin', " he continued, in answer to Percival's look of inquiry, "to take her bank-roll to New York. She says it's the only place furfolks with money, jest like you say. She tells Coplen that there wa'n'tany fit society out here at all, --no advantages fur a lady of capacityand ambitions. I reckon she's goin' to be 403 all right. "

"Seems to me she did pretty well here; I don't see any kicks due her. "

"Yes, but she's like all the rest. The West was good enough to make hermoney in, but the East gets her when spendin' time comes. "

As the train started he swung himself off with a sad little "Be good toyourself!"

"Thank the Lord we're under way at last!" cried Percival, fervently, when the group at the station had been shut from view. "Isn't it justheavenly!" exclaimed his sister. 

"Think of having all of New York you want--being at home there--and nothaving to look forward to this desolation of a place. "

Mrs. Bines was neither depressed nor elated. She was maintaining thatcalm level of submission to fate which had been her lifelong habit. Thejourney and the new life were to be undertaken because they formed forher the line of least resistance along which all energy must flow. Hadher children elected to camp for the remainder of their days in thecentre of the desert of Gobi, she would have faced that life with aslittle sense of personal concern and with no more misgivings. 

Down out of the maze of hills the train wound; and then by easy gradesafter two days of travel down off the great plateau to where the plainsof Nebraska lay away to a far horizon in brown billows of witheredgrass. 

Then came the crossing of the sullen, sluggish Missouri, that highwayof an earlier day to the great Northwest; and after that the betterwooded and better settled lands of Iowa and Illinois. 

"Now we're getting where Christians live, " said Percival, with warmappreciation. 

"Why, Percival, " exclaimed his mother, reprovingly, "do you mean to saythere aren't any Christians in Montana City? How you talk! There arelots of good Christian people there, though I must say I have my doubtsabout that new Christian Science church they started last spring. " "Theterm, Mrs. Thorndike, was used in its social rather than itstheological significance, " replied her son, urbanely. "Far be it fromme to impugn the religion of that community of which we are ceasing tobe integers at the pleasing rate of sixty miles an hour. God knows theyneed their faith in a different kind of land hereafter!"

And even Mrs. Bines was not without a sense of quiet and rest inducedby the gentler contours of the landscape through which they now sped. 

"The country here does seem a lot cosier, " she admitted. 

The hills rolled away amiably and reassuringly; the wooded slopes intheir gay colouring of autumn invited confidence. Here were noforbidding stretches of the grey alkali desert, no grim bare mountains, no solitude of desolation. It was a kind land, fat with riches. Theshorn yellow fields, the capacious red barns, the well-conditionedhomes, all told eloquently of peace and plenty. So, too, did thevillages--those lively little clearing-houses for immense farmingdistricts. To the adventurer from New York they seem always new andcrude. To our travellers from a newer, cruder region they were actuallyaesthetic in their suggestions of an old and well-establishedcivilisation. 

In due time they were rattling over a tangled maze of switches, dodginginterminable processions of freight-cars, barely missing crowdedpassenger trains whose bells struck clear and then flatted as thetrains flew by; defiling by narrow water-ways, crowded with smallshipping; winding through streets lined with high, gloomy warehouses, amid the clang and clatter, the strangely-sounding bells and whistlesof a thousand industries, each sending up its just contribution ofblack smoke to the pall that lay always spread above; and steaming atlast into a great roomy shed where all was system, and where the bigengine trembled and panted as if in relief at having run in safety agantlet so hazardous. 

"Anyway, I'd rather live in Montana City than Chicago, " ventured Mrs. Bines. 

"Whatever pride you may feel in your discernment, Mrs. Cadwallader, isamply justified, " replied her son, performing before the amazed lady abow that indicated the lowest depths of slavish deference. 

"I am now, " he continued, "going out to pace the floor of thislocomotive-boudoir for a few exhilarating breaths of smoke, and pretendto myself that I've got to live in Chicago for ever. A littlediscipline like that is salutary to keep one from forgetting the greatblessing which a merciful Providence has conferred upon one. "

"I'll walk a bit with you, " said his sister, donning her jacket and acap. 

"Lest my remarks have seemed indeterminate, madam, " sternly continuedPercival at the door of the car, "permit me to add that if Chicago wereheaven I should at once enter upon a life of crime. Do not affect tomisunderstand me, I beg of you. I should leave no avenue of salvationopen to my precious soul. I should incur no risk of being numberedamong the saved. I should be _b-a-d_, and I should sit up nights toinvent new ways of evil. If I had any leisure left from being as wickedas I could be, I should devote it to teaching those I loved how tobecome abandoned. I should doubtless issue a pamphlet, 'How to MeritPerdition Without a Master. Learn to be Wicked in your Own Home in TenLessons. Instructions Sent Securely Sealed from Observation. Thousandsof Testimonials from the Most Accomplished Reprobates of the Day. ' Itrust Mrs. Llewellen Leffingwell-Thompson, that you will never again sofar forget yourself as to utter that word 'Chicago' in my presence. Ifyou feel that you must give way to the evil impulse, go off by yourselfand utter the name behind the protection of closed doors--where thisinnocent girl cannot hear you. Come, sister. Otherwise I may behave ina manner to be regretted in my calmer moments. Let us leave the womanalone, now. Besides, I've got to go out and help the hands make up thatNew York train. You never can tell. Some horrible accident might happento delay us here thirty minutes. Cheer up, ma; it's always darkest justbefore leaving Chicago, you know. "

Thus flippantly do some of the younger sons of men blaspheme thismetropolis of the mid-West--a city the creation of which is, by manypersons of discrimination, held to be the chief romance and abidingmiracle of the nineteenth century. Let us rejoice that one suchpartisan was now at hand to stem the torrent of abuse. As Percival heldback the door for his sister to pass out, a stout little ruddy-facedman with trim grey sidewhiskers came quickly up the steps and barredtheir way with cheery aggressiveness. 

"Ah! Mr. Higbee--well, well!" exclaimed Percival, cordially. 

"Thought it might be some of you folks when I saw the car, " saidHigbee, shaking hands all around. 

"And Mrs. Bines, too! and the girl, looking like a Delaware peach whenthe crop's 'failed. ' How's everybody, and how long you going to be inthe good old town?"

"Ah! we were just speaking of Chicago as you came in, " said Percival, blandly. "_Isn't_ she a great old town, though--a wonder!"

"My boy, " said Higbee, in low, solemn tones that came straight from hisheart, "she gets greater every day you live. You can see her at it, fairly. How long since you been here?"

"I came through last June, you know, after I left your yacht atNewport. "

"Yes, yes; to be sure; so you did--poor Daniel J. --but say, youwouldn't know the town now if you haven't seen it since then. Why, Irun over from New York every thirty days or so and she grows out of myken every time, like a five-year-old boy. Say, I've got Mrs. Higbee upin the New York sleeper, but if you're going to be here a spell we'llstop a few days longer and I'll drive you around--what say?--packinghouses--Lake Shore Drive--Lincoln Park--"

He waited, glowing confidently, as one submitting irresistibletemptations. 

Percival beamed upon him with moist eyes. 

"By Jove, Mr. Higbee! that's clever of you--it's royal! Sis and I wouldlike nothing better--but you see my poor mother here is almost downwith nervous prostration and we've got to hurry her to New York withoutan hour's delay to consult a specialist. We're afraid"--he glancedanxiously at the astounded Mrs. Bines, and lowered his voice--"we'reafraid she may not be with us long. "

"Why, Percival, " began Mrs. Bines, dazedly, "you was just saying--"

"Now don't fly all to pieces, ma!--take it easy--you're with friends, be sure of that. You needn't beg us to go on. You know we wouldn'tthink of stopping when it may mean life or death to you. You see justthe way she is, " he continued to the sympathetic Higbee--"we're afraidshe may collapse any moment. So we must wait for another time; but I'lltell you what you do; go get Mrs. Higbee and your traps and come let usput you up to New York. We've got lots of room--run along now--andwe'll have some of that ham, 'the kind you have always bought, ' forlunch. A. L. Jackson is a miserable cook, too, if I don't know thetruth. " Gently urging Higbee through the door, he stifled a systematicinquiry into the details of Mrs. Bines's affliction. 

"Come along quick! I'll go help you and we'll have Mrs. Higbee backbefore the train starts. "

"Do you know, " Mrs. Bines thoughtfully observed to her daughter, "Isometimes mistrust Percival ain't just right in his head; you rememberhe did have a bad fall on it when he was two years and five monthsold--two years, five months, and eighteen days. The way he carries onright before folks' faces! That time I went through the asylum at Buttethere was a young man kept going on with the same outlandish rigmarolejust like Percival. The idea of Percival telling me to eat a lemon-icewith an ice-pick, and 'Oh, why don't the flesh-brushes wear nice, proper clothes-brushes!' and be sure and hammer my nails good and hardafter I get them manicured. And back home he was always wanting to knowwhere the meat-augers were, saying he'd just bought nine hundred newones and he'd have to order a ton more if they were all lost. I don'tbelieve there is such a thing as a meat-auger. I don't know what onearth a body could do with one. And that other young man, " sheconcluded, significantly, "they had him in a little bit of a room withan iron-barred door to it like a prison-cell. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

Mr. Higbee Communicates Some Valuable Information

The Higbees were presently at home in the Bines car. Mrs. Higbee was apleasant, bustling, plump little woman, sparkling-eyed and sprightly. Prominent in her manner was a helpless little confession of inadequacyto her ambitions that made her personality engaging. To be energeticand friendly, and deeply absorbed in people who were bold andconfident, was her attitude. 

She began bubbling at once to Mrs. Bines and Psyche of the latestfashions for mourners. Crepe was more swagger than ever before, both astrimming and for entire costumes. 

"House gowns, my dear, and dinner gowns, made entirely of crepe in thePrincesse style, will exactly suit your daughter--and on the dinnergowns she can wear a trimming of that dull jet passementerie. "

From gowns she went naturally to the difficulty of knowing whom to meetin a city like New York--and how to meet them--and the watchfulnessrequired to keep daughter Millie from becoming entangled with leadingtheatrical gentlemen. Amid Percival's lamentations that he must so soonleave Chicago, the train moved slowly out of the big shed to search inthe interwoven puzzle of tracks for one that led to the East. 

As they left the centre of the city Higbee drew Percival to one of thebroad side windows. 

"Pull up your chair and sit here a minute, " he said, with a mysteriouslittle air of importance. "There's a thing this train's going to passright along here that I want you to look at. Maybe you've seen betterones, of course--and then again--"

It proved to be a sign some twenty feet high and a whole block long. Emblazoned upon its broad surface was "Higbee's Hams. " At one end andtowering another ten feet or so above the mammoth letters was awhite-capped and aproned chef abandoning his mercurial Frenchtemperament to an utter frenzy of delight over a "Higbee's Ham" whichhad apparently just been vouchsafed to him by an invisible benefactor. 

"There, now!" exclaimed Higbee; "what do you call that--I want toknow--hey?"

"Great! Magnificent!" cried Percival, with the automatic and readyhypocrisy of a sympathetic nature. "That certainly is great. "

"Notice the size of it?" queried Higbee, when they had flitted by. 

"_Did_ I!" exclaimed the young man, reproachfully. 

"We went by pretty fast--you couldn't see it well. I tell you the waythey're allowed to run trains so fast right here in this crowded cityis an outrage. I'm blamed if I don't have my lawyer take it up with theBoard of Aldermen--slaughtering people on their tracks right andleft--you'd think these railroad companies owned the earth--But thatsign, now. Did you notice you could read every letter in the label onthat ham? You wouldn't think it was a hundred yards back from thetrack, would you? Why, that label by actual measure is six feet, fourinches across--and yet it looks as small--and everything all in theright proportion, it's wonderful. It's what I call art, " he concluded, in a slightly dogmatic tone. 

"Of course it's art, " Percival agreed; "er--all--hand-painted, Isuppose?"

"Sure! that painting alone, letters and all, cost four hundred andfifty dollars. I've just had it put up. I've been after that place foryears, but it was held on a long lease by Max, the Square Tailor--youknow. You probably remember the sign he had there--'Peerless Pants Wornby Chicago's Best Dressers' with a man in his shirt sleeves looking ata new pair. Well, finally, I got a chance to buy those two back lots, and that give me the site, and there she is, all finished and up. That's partly what I come on this time to see about. How'd you like thewording of that sign?"

"Fine--simple and effective, " replied Percival. 

"That's it--simple and effective. It goes right to the point and itdon't slop over beyond any, after it gets there. We studied a good dealover that sign. The other man, the tailor, had too many words for theboard space. My advertisin' man wanted it to be, first, 'Higbee's Hams, That's All. ' But, I don't know--for so big a space that seemed to mekind of--well--kind of flippant and undignified. Then I got it down to'Eat Higbee's Hams. ' That seemed short enough--but after studying it, Isays, What's the use of saying 'eat'? No one would think, I says, thata ham is to paper the walls with or to stuff sofa-cushions with--so offcomes 'eat' as being superfluous, and leaving it simple anddignified--'Higbee's Hams. '"

"By the way, " said Percival, when they were sitting together again, later in the day, "where is Henry, now?"

Higbee chuckled. 

"That's the other thing took me back this time--the new sign andgetting Hank started. Henry is now working ten hours a day out to thepackinghouse. After a year of that, he'll be taken into the office andhis hours will be cut down to eight. Eight hours a day will seem likesinful idleness to Henry by that time. "

Percival whistled in amazement. 

"I thought you'd be surprised. But the short of it is, Henry foundhimself facing work or starvation. He didn't want to starve a littlebit, and he finally concluded he'd rather work for his dad than any oneelse. 

"You see Henry was doing the Rake's Progress act there in NewYork--being a gilded youth and such like. Now being a gilded youth and'a well-known man about town' is something that wants to be done inmoderation, and Henry didn't seem to know the meaning of the word. Iput up something like a hundred and eighty thousand dollars for Hank'sgilding last year. Not that I grudged him the money, but it wasn'tdoing him any good. He was making a monkey of himself with it, Henrywas. A good bit of that hundred and eighty went into a comic operacompany that was one of the worst I ever _did_ see. Henry had nojudgment. He was _too_ easy. Well, along this summer he was on thepoint of making a break that would--well, I says to him, says I, 'Hank, I'm no penny-squeezer; I like good stretchy legs myself, ' I says; 'Ilike to see them elastic so they'll give a plenty when they're pulled;but, ' I says, 'if you take that step, ' I says, 'if you declareyourself, then the rubber in your legs, ' I says, 'will just naturallysnap; you'll find you've overplayed the tension, ' I says, 'and therewon't be any more stretch left in them. '

"The secret is, Hank was being chased by a whole family ofwolves--that's the gist of it--fortune-hunters--with tushes like theravening lion in Afric's gloomy jungle. They were not only cold, stonebroke, mind you, but hyenas into the bargain--the father and the motherand the girl, too. 

"They'd got their minds made up to marry the girl to a good wad ofmoney--and they'll do it, too, sooner or later, because she's a corkerfor looks, all right--and they'd all made a dead set for Hank; so, quick as I saw how it was, I says, 'Here, ' I says, 'is where I save myson and heir from a passel of butchers, ' I says, 'before they have himscalded and dressed and hung up outside the shop for the holidaytrade, ' I says, 'with the red paper rosettes stuck in Henry's chest, ' Isays. "

"Are the New York girls so designing?" asked Percival. 

"Is Higbee's ham good to eat?" replied Higbee, oracularly. 

"So, " he continued, "when I made up my mind to put my foot down I justcasually mentioned to the old lady--say, she's got an eye that wouldmake liquid air shiver--that cold blue like an army overcoat--well, Imentioned to her that Henry was a spendthrift and that he wasn't evergoing to get another cent from me that he didn't earn just the same asif he wasn't any relation of mine. I made it plain, you bet; she foundjust where little Henry-boy stood with his kind-hearted, liberal oldfather. 

"Say, maybe Henry wasn't in cold storage with the whole family fromthat moment. I see those fellows in the laboratories are putteringaround just now trying to get the absolute zero of temperature--say, Henry got it, and he don't know a thing about chemistry. 

"Then I jounced Hank. I proceeded to let him know he was up againstit--right close up against it, so you couldn't see daylight between'em. 'You're twenty-five, ' I says, 'and you play the best game of pool, I'm told, of any of the chappies in that Father-Made-the-Money club yougot into, ' I says; 'but I've looked it up, ' I says, 'and there ain'treally what you could call any great future for a pool champion, ' Isays, 'and if you're ever going to learn anything else, it's time youwas at it, ' I says. 'Now you go back home and tell the manager to setyou to work, ' I says, 'and your wages won't be big enough to make youinteresting to any skirt-dancer, either, ' I says. 'And you make a studyof the hog from the ground up. Exhaust his possibilities just like yourfather done, and make a man of yourself, and then sometime, ' I says, 'you'll be able to give good medicine to a cub of your own when heneeds it. '"

"And how did poor Henry take all that?"

"Well, Hank squealed at first like he was getting the knife; butfinally when he see he was up against it, and especially when he seehow this girl and her family throwed him down the elevator-shaft fromthe tenth story, why, he come around beautifully. He's really gotsense, though he doesn't look it--Henry has--though Lord knows I didn'tpull him up a bit too quick. But he come out and went to work like Itold him. It's the greatest thing ever happened to him. He ain't sofat-headed as he was, already. Henry'll be a man before his dad'sthrough with him. "

"But weren't the young people disappointed?" asked Percival; "weren'tthey in love with each other?"

"In _love?_" In an effort to express scorn adequately Mr. Higbee cameperilously near to snorting. "What do you suppose a girl like thatcares for love? She was dead in love with the nice long yellow-backsthat I've piled up because the public knows good ham when they tasteit. As for being in love with Henry or with any man--say, young fellow, you've got something to learn about those New York girls. And this one, especially. Why, it's been known for the three years we've been therethat she's simply hunting night and day for a rich husband. She triesfor 'em all as fast as they get in line. "

"Henry was unlucky in finding that kind. They're not all likethat--those New York girls are not, " and he had the air of being ableif he chose to name one or two luminous exceptions. 

"Silas, " called Mrs. Higbee, "are you telling Mr. Bines about our Henryand that Milbrey girl?"

"Yep, " answered Higbee, "I told him. "

"About what girl?--what was her name?" asked Percival, in a lower tone. 

"Milbrey's that family's name--Horace Milbrey--"

"Why, " Percival interrupted, somewhat awkwardly, "I know thefamily--the young lady--we met the family out in Montana a few weeksago. "

"Sure enough--they were in Chicago and had dinner with us on their wayout. " "I remember Mr. Milbrey spoke of what fine claret you gave him. "

"Yes, and I wasn't stingy with ice, either, the way those New Yorkpeople always are. Why, at that fellow's house he gives you that claretwine as warm as soup. 

"But as for that girl, " he added, "say, she'd marry me in a minute if Iwasn't tied up with the little lady over there. Of course she'd rathermarry a sub-treasury; she's got about that much heart inher--cold-blooded as a German carp. She'd marry me--she'd marry _you_, if you was the best thing in sight. But say, if you was broke, she'dhave about as much use for you as Chicago's got for St. Louis. "

CHAPTER XV. 

Some Light With a Few Side-lights

The real spring in New York comes when blundering nature has paintedthe outer wilderness for autumn. What is called "spring" in the city byunreflecting users of the word is a tame, insipid season yawning intonot more than half-wakefulness at best. The trees in the gas-poisonedsoil are slow in their greening, the grass has but a pallid cityvitality, and the rows of gaudy tulips set out primly about thefountains in the squares are palpably forced and alien. 

For the sumptuous blending and flaunt of colour, the spontaneousawakening of warm, throbbing new life, and all those inspiring miraclesof regeneration which are performed elsewhere in April and May, thecity-pent must wait until mid-October. 

This is the spring of the city's year. There be those to hintcaptiously that they find it an affair of false seeming; that thegorgeous colouring is a mere trick of shop-window cunning; that thetime is juiceless and devoid of all but the specious delights ofsurface. Yet these, perhaps, are unduly imaginative for a world whereany satisfaction is held by a tenure precarious at best. And even thesecarpers, be they never so analytical, can at least find no lack ofspringtime fervour in the eager throngs that pass entranced before thewindow show. They, the free-swinging, quick-moving men and women--thebest dressed of all throngs in this young world--sun-browned, sun-enlivened, recreated to a fine mettle for enjoyment by their monthsof mountain or ocean sport--these are, indeed, the ones for whom thisafterspring is made to bloom. And, since they find it to be a shiftingmiracle of perfections, how are they to be quarrelled with?

In the big polished windows waxen effigies of fine ladies, gracefullypatient, display the latest dinner-gown from Paris, or the creamiest ofbe-ribboned tea-gowns. Or they pose in attitudes of polite adieux andgreeting, all but smothered in a king's ransom of sable and ermine. Or, to the other extreme, they complacently permit themselves to beobserved in the intimate revelations of Parisian lingerie, with itsmisty froth of embroideries, its fine-spun webs of foamy lace. 

In another window, behold a sprightly and enlivening ballet of shapelysilken hosiery, fitting its sculptured models to perfection, ranging intints from the first tender green of spring foliage to the rose-pink ofthe spring sun's after-glow. 

A few steps beyond we may study a window where the waxen ladies havebeen dismembered. Yet a second glance shows the retained portions to beall that woman herself considers important when she tries on thebird-toque or the picture hat, or the gauze confection for afternoons. The satisfied smiles of these waxen counterfeits show them to have beenamply recompensed, with the headgear, for their physicalincompleteness. 

But if these terraces of colour and grace that line the sides of thisnarrow spring valley be said to contain only the dry husks ofadornment, surely there may be found others more technicallyspringlike. 

Here in this broad window, foregathered in a congress of coloursdesigned to appetise, are the ripe fruits of every clime and everyseason: the Southern pomegranate beside the hardy Northern apple, scarlet and yellow; the early strawberry and the late ruddy peach; figsfrom the Orient and pines from the Antilles; dates from Tunis and tawnypersimmons from Japan; misty sea-green grapes and those from thehothouse--tasteless, it is true, but so lordly in their girth, androyal purple; portly golden oranges and fat plums; pears of mellowblondness and pink-skinned apricots. Here at least is the veritablestuff and essence of spring with all its attending aromas--of moreintegrity, perhaps, than the same colourings simulated by theconfectioner's craft, in the near-by window-display of impossiblesweets. 

And still more of this belated spring will gladden the eye in theflorist's window. In June the florist's shop is a poor place, sedulously to be shunned. Nothing of note blooms there then. Theflorist himself is patently ashamed of himself. The burden ofsustaining his traditions he puts upon a few dejected shrubs called"hardy perennials" that have to labour the year around. All summer itis as if the place feared to compete with nature when colour and graceflower so cheaply on every southern hillside. But now its glories bloomanew, and its superiority over nature becomes again manifest. Now itassembles the blossoms of a whole long year to bewilder and allure. Itswindows are shaded glens, vine-embowered, where spring, summer, andautumn blend in all their regal and diverse abundance; and the closingdoor of the shop fans out odours as from a thousand Persian gardens. 

But spring is not all of life, nor what at once chiefly concerns us. There are people to be noted: a little series of more or less relatedphenomena to be observed. 

One of the people, a young man, stands conveniently before this sameflorist's window, at that hour when the sun briefly flushes this narrowcanon of Broadway from wall to wall. 

He had loitered along the lively highway an hour or more, his nervestingling responsively to all its stimuli. And now he mused as he staredat the tangled tracery of ferns against the high bank of wine-redautumn foliage, the royal cluster of white chrysanthemums and the bigjar of American Beauties. 

He had looked forward to this moment, too--when he should enter thatsame door and order at least an armful of those same haughty roses sentto an address his memory cherished. Yet now, the time having come, thezest for the feat was gone. It would be done; it were ungraceful not todo it, after certain expressions; but it would be done with no heartbecause of the certain knowledge that no one--at least no one to bedesired--could possibly care for him, or consider him even withinterest for anything but his money--the same kind of money Higbee madeby purveying hams--"and she wouldn't care in the least whether it wasmine or Higbee's, so there was a lot of it. "

Yet he stepped in and ordered the roses, nor did the florist oncesuspect that so lavish a buyer of flowers could be a prey to emotionsof corroding cynicism toward the person for whom they were meant. 

From the florist's he returned directly to the hotel to find his motherand Psyche making homelike the suite to which they had been assigned. Amaid was unpacking trunks under his sister's supervision. Mrs. Bineswas in converse with a person of authoritative manner regarding theservice to be supplied them. Two maids would be required, and madamewould of course wish a butler--

Mrs. Bines looked helplessly at her son who had just entered. 

"I think--we've--we've always did our own buttling, " she faltered. 

The person was politely interested. 

"I'll attend to these things, ma, " said Percival, rather suddenly. "Yes, we'll want a butler and the two maids, and see that the butlerknows his business, please, and--here--take this, and see that we'reproperly looked after, will you?"

As the bill bore a large "C" on its face, and the person was rather agentleman anyway, this unfortunate essay at irregular conjugation neverfell into a certain class of anecdotes which Mrs. Bines's best friendscould now and then bring themselves to relate of her. 

But other matters are forward. We may next overtake two people wholoiter on this bracing October day down a leaf-strewn aisle in CentralPark. 

"You, " said the girl of the pair, "least of all men can accuse me oflacking heart. "

"You are cold to me now. "

"But look, think--what did I offer--you've had my trust, --everything Icould bring myself to give you. Look what I would have sacrificed atyour call. Think how I waited and longed for that call. "

"You know how helpless I was. "

"Yes, if you wanted more than my bare self. I should have beenhelpless, too, if I had wanted more than--than you. "

"It would have been folly--madness--that way. "

"Folly--madness? Do you remember the 'Sonnet of Revolt' you sent me?Sit on this bench; I wish to say it over to you, very slowly; I wantyou to hear it while you keep your later attitude in mind. 

"Life--what is life? To do without avail The decent ordered tasks ofevery day: Talk with the sober: join the solemn play: Tell for thehundredth time the self-same tale Told by our grandsires in theself-same vale Where the sun sets with even, level ray, And nights, eternally the same, make way For hueless dawns, intolerably pale--'"

"But I know the verse. "

"No; hear it out;--hear what you sent me:

 "'And this is life? Nay, I would rather see The man who sells his soul in some wild cause: The fool who spurns, for momentary bliss, All that he was and all he thought to be: The rebel stark against his country's laws: God's own mad lover, dying on a kiss. '"

She had completed the verse with the hint of a sneer in her tones. 

"Yes, truly, I remember it; but some day you'll thank me for savingyou; of course it would have been regular in a way, but people herenever really forget those things--and we'd have been helpless--some dayyou'll thank me for thinking for you. "

"Why do you believe I'm not thanking you already?"

"Hang it all! that's what you made me think yesterday when I met you. ""And so you called me heartless? Now tell me just what you expect awoman in my position to do. I offered to go to you when you were ready. Surely that showed my spirit--and you haven't known me these yearswithout knowing it would have to be that or nothing. "

"Well, hang it, it wasn't like the last time, and you know it; you'renot kind any longer. You can be kind, can't you?"

Her lip showed faintly the curl of scorn. 

"No, I can't be kind any longer. Oh, I see you've known your own mindso little; there's been so little depth to it all; you couldn't dare. It was foolish to think I could show you my mind. "

"But you still care for me?"

"No; no, I don't. You should have no reason to think so if I did. WhenI heard you'd made it up I hated you, and I think I hate you now. Letus go back. No, no, please don't touch me--ever again. "

Farther down-town in the cosy drawing-room of a house in a side streeteast of the Avenue, two other persons were talking. A florid andprofusely freckled young Englishman spoke protestingly from thehearth-rug to a woman who had the air of knowing emphatically better. 

"But, my dear Mrs. Drelmer, you know, really, I can't take a curatewith me, you know, and send up word won't she be good enough to comedownstairs and marry me directly--not when I've not seen her, youknow!" "Nonsense!" replied the lady, unimpressed. "You can do itnearly that way, if you'll listen to me. Those Westerners perform quitein that manner, I assure you. They call it 'hustling. '"

"_Dear_ me!"

"Yes, indeed, 'dear you. ' And another thing, I want you to forestallthat Milbrey youth, and you may be sure he's no farther away thanTuxedo or Meadowbrook. Now, they arrived yesterday; they'll beunpacking to-day and settling to-morrow; I'll call the day after, andyou shall be with me. "

"And you forget that--that devil--suppose she's as good as her threat?"

"Absurd! how could she be?"

"You don't know her, you know, nor the old beggar either, by Jove!"

"All the more reason for haste. We'll call to-morrow. Wait. Betterstill, perhaps I can enlist the Gwilt-Athelston; I'm to meet herto-morrow. I'll let you know. Now I must get into my teaharness, so runalong. "

We are next constrained to glance at a strong man bowed in the hurt ofa great grief. Horace Milbrey sits alone in his gloomy, high-ceilingedlibrary. His attire is immaculate. His slender, delicate hands arebeautifully white. The sensitive lines of his fine face tell of thestrain under which he labours. What dire tragedies are those we mustface wholly alone--where we must hide the wound, perforce, because nocomprehending sympathy flows out to us; because instinct warns that nohelp may come save from the soul's own well of divine fortitude. Somehope, tenderly, almost fearfully, held and guarded, had perished on theday that should have seen its triumphant fruition. He raised hishandsome head from the antique, claw-footed desk, sat up in his chair, and stared tensely before him. His emotion was not to be suppressed. Dotears tremble in the eyes of the strong man? Let us not inquire toocuriously. If they tremble down the fine-skinned cheek, let us avertour gaze. For grief in men is no thing to make a show of. 

A servant passed the open door bearing an immense pasteboard box withone end cut out to accommodate the long stems of many roses. 

"Jarvis!"

"Yes, sir!"

"What is it?"

"Flowers, sir, for Miss Avice. "

"Let me see--and the card?"

He took the card from the florist's envelope and glanced at the name. 

"Take them away. "

The stricken man was once more alone; yet now it was as if the tenderbeauty of the flowers had balmed his hurt--taught him to hope anew. Letus in all sympathy and hope retire. 

For cheerfuller sights we might observe Launton Oldaker in a mustycurio-shop, delighted over a pair of silver candlesticks with squarebases and fluted columns, fabricated in the reign of that fortuitousmonarch, Charles the Second; or we might glance in upon the Higbees intheir section of a French chateau, reproduced up on the statelyRiverside Drive, where they complete the details of a dinner to begiven on the morrow. 

Or perhaps it were better to be concerned with a matter more weightythan dinners and antique candlesticks. The search need never be vain, even in this world of persistent frivolity. As, for example:

"Tell Mrs. Van Geist if she can't come down, I'll run up to her. "

"Yes, Miss Milbrey. "

Mrs. Van Geist entered a moment later. 

"Why, Avice, child, you're glowing, aren't you?"

"I must be, I suppose--I've just walked down from 59th Street, andbefore that I walked in the Park. Feel how cold my cheeksare, --Mütterchen. "

"It's good for you. Now we shall have some tea, and talk. "

"Yes--I'm hungry for both, and some of those funny little cakes. "

"Come back where the fire is, dear; the tea has just been brought. There, take the big chair. "

"It always feels like you--like your arms, Mütterchen--and I am tired. "

"And throw off that coat. There's the lemon, if you're afraid ofcream. "

"I wish I weren't afraid of anything but cream. "

"You told me you weren't afraid of that--that cad--any more. "

"I'm not--I just told him so. But I'm afraid of it all; I'm tiredtrying not to drift--tired trying not to try, and tired trying totry--Oh, dear--sounds like a nonsense verse, doesn't it? Have you anyone to-night? No? I think I must stay with you till morning. Send someone home to say I'll be here. I can always think so much betterhere--and you, dear old thing, to mother me!"

"Do, child; I'll send Sandon directly. "

"He will go to the house of mourning. "

"What's the latest?"

"Papa was on the verge of collapse this morning, and yet he wasstriving so bravely and nobly to bear up. No one knows what that mansuffers; it makes him gloomy all the time about everything. Just beforeI left, he was saying that, when one considers the number of Americanhomes in which a green salad is never served, one must be appalled. Areyou appalled, auntie? But that isn't it. "

"Nothing has happened?"

"Well, there'll be no sensation about it in the papers to-morrow, but avery dreadful thing has happened. Papa has suffered one of thecruellest blows of his life. I fancy he didn't sleep at all last night, and he looked thoroughly bowled over this morning. "

"But what is it?"

"Well--oh, it's awful!--first of all there were six dozen ofearly-bottled, 1875 Château Lafitte--that was the bitterest--but he hadto see the rest go, too--Château Margeaux of '80--some terribly ancientport and Madeira--the dryest kind of sherry--a lot of fine, fullclarets of '77 and '78--oh, you can't know how agonising it was tohim--I've heard them so often I know them all myself. "

"But what on earth about them?"

"Nothing, only the Cosmopolitan Club's wine cellar--auctioned off, youknow. For over a year papa has looked forward to it. He knew everybottle of wine in it. He could recite the list without looking at it. Sometimes he sounded like a French lesson--and he's been under afearful strain ever since the announcement was made. Well, the greatday came yesterday, and poor pater simply couldn't bid in a singledrop. It needed ready money, you know. And he had hoped so cheerfullyall the time to do something. It broke his heart, I'm sure, to see thatChâteau Lafitte go--and only imagine, it was bid in by the butler ofthat odious Higbee. You should have heard papa rail about the vulgar_nouveaux riches_ when he came home--he talked quite like an anarchist. But by to-night he'll be blaming me for his misfortunes. That's why Ichose to stay here with you. "

"Poor Horace. Whatever are you going to do?"

"Well, dearie, as for me, it doesn't look as if I could do anything butone thing. And here is my ardent young Croesus coming out of the West. "

"You called him your 'athletic Bayard' once. "

"The other's more to the point at present. And what else can I do? Oh, if some one would just be brave enough to live the raw, quivering lifewith me, I could do it, I give you my word. I could let everything goby the board--but I am so alone and so helpless and no man is equal toit, nowadays. All of us here seem to be content to order a 'halfportion' of life. "

"Child, those dreams are beautiful, but they're like thoseflying-machines that are constantly being tested by the credulousinventors. A wheel or a pinion goes wrong and down the silly thingscome tumbling. "

"Very well; then I shall be wise--I suppose I shall be--and I'll do itquickly. This fortune of good gold shall propose marriage to me atonce, and be accepted--so that I shall be able to look my dear oldfather in the face again--and then, after I'm married--well, don'tblame me for anything that happens. "

"I'm sure you'll be happy with him--it's only your silly notions. He'sin love with you. "

"That makes me hesitate. He really is a man--I like him--see thisletter--a long review from the Arcady _Lyre_ of the 'poem' he wrote, apoem consisting of 'Avice Milbrey. ' The reviewer has been quiteenthusiastic over it, too, --written from some awful place in Montana. "

"What more could you ask? He'll be kind. "

"You don't understand, Mütterchen. He seems too decent to marry thatway--and yet it's the only way I could marry him. And after he found meout--oh, think of what marriage _is_--he'd _have_ to find it out--Icouldn't _act_ long--doubtless he wouldn't even be kind to me then. "

"You are morbid, child. "

"But I will do it; I shall; I will be a credit to my training--and Ishall learn to hate him and he will have to learn--well, a great dealthat he doesn't know about women. "

She stared into the fire and added, after a moment's silence:

"Oh, if a man only _could_ live up to the verses he cuts out ofmagazines!"

CHAPTER XVI. 

With the Barbaric Hosts

History repeats itself so cleverly, with a variance of stage-settingsand accessories so cunning, that the repetition seldom bores, and is, indeed, frequently undetected. Thus, the descent of the Barbarians upona decadent people is a little _tour de force_ that has been performedagain and again since the oldest day. But because the assault nowadaysis made not with force of arms we are prone to believe it is no longermade at all;--as if human ways had changed a bit since those ugly, hairy tribes from the Northern forests descended upon the Roman empire. And yet the mere difference that the assault is now made with force ofmoney in no way alters the process nor does it permit the result tovary. On the surface all is cordiality and peaceful negotiation. Beneath is the same immemorial strife, the life-and-deathstruggle, --pitiless, inexorable. 

What would have been a hostile bivouac within the city's gates, but forthe matter of a few centuries, is now, to select an example whichremotely concerns us, a noble structure on Riverside Drive, facing thelordly Hudson and the majestic Palisades that form its farther wall. And, for the horde of Goths and Visigoths, Huns and Vandals, drunkenlyreeling in the fitful light of camp-fires, chanting weird battle-runes, fighting for captive vestals, and bickering in uncouth tongues over thegolden spoils, what have we now to make the parallel convince? Why, thesame Barbarians, actually; the same hairy rudeness, the same unrefined, all-conquering, animal force; a red-faced, big-handed lot, imbued withhearty good nature and an easy tolerance for the ways of those uponwhom they have descended. 

Here are chiefs of renown from the farthest fastnesses; they and theircurious households: the ironmonger from Pittsburg, the gold-miner fromDawson, the copper chief from Butte, the silver chief from Denver, thecattle chief from Oklahoma, lord of three hundred thousand good acresand thirty thousand cattle, the lumber prince from Michigan, thefounder of a later dynasty in oil, from Texas. And, for the unaestheticbut effective Attila, an able fashioner of pork products from Chicago. 

Here they make festival, carelessly, unafraid, unmolested. For, in thelapse of time, the older peoples have learned not only the folly ofresisting inevitables, but that the huge and hairy invaders may betreated and bartered with not unprofitably. Doubtless it often resultsfrom this amity that the patrician strain is corrupted by the alienadmixture, --but business has been business since as many as two personsmet on the face of the new earth. 

For example, this particular shelter is builded upon land which one ofthe patrician families had held for a century solely because it couldnot be disposed of. Yet the tribesmen came, clamouring for palaces, andnow this same land, with some adjoining areas of trifling extent, produces an income that will suffice to maintain that family almost inits ancient and befitting estate. 

In this mammoth pile, for the petty rental of ten or fifteen thousanddollars a year, many tribes of the invaders have found shelter andentertainment in apartments of many rooms. Outwardly, in details ofornamentation, the building is said to duplicate the Chateaux Blois, those splendid palaces of Francis I. Inside are all the line and colourand device of elegant opulence, modern to the last note. 

To this palace of an October evening comes the tribe of Bines, and manyanother such, for a triumphal feast in the abode of Barbarian SilasHigbee. The carriages pass through a pair of lordly iron gates, swungfrom massive stone pillars, under an arch of wrought iron with itsantique lamp, and into the echoing courtyard flanked by trim hedges ofbox. 

Alighting, the barbaric guests of Higbee are ushered through amarble-walled vestibule, from which a wrought-iron and bronze screengives way to the main entrance-hall. The ceiling here reproduces thatof a feudal castle in Rouen, with some trifling and effective touchesof decoration in blue, scarlet, and gold. The walls are of white Caenstone, with ornate windows and balconies jutting out above. In onecorner is a stately stone mantel with richly carved hood, bearing inits central panel the escutcheon of the gallant French monarch. Up alittle flight of marble steps, guarded by its hand-rail of heavy metal, shod with crimson velvet, one reaches the elevator. This prettyenclosure of iron and glass, of classic detail in the period of HenryII. , of Circassian walnut trim, with crotch panels, has more the aspectof boudoir than elevator. The deep seat is of walnut, upholstered withfat cushions of crimson velvet edged in dull gold galloon. Over theseat is a mirror cut into small squares by wooden muntins. At each sideare electric candles softened by red silk shades. One's last viewbefore the door closes noiselessly is of a bay-window opposite, setwith cathedral glass casement-lights, which sheds soft colours upon thehall-bench of carven stone and upon the tessellated floor. 

The door to the Higbee domain is of polished mahogany, set betweenlights of antique verte Italian glass, and bearing an ancient brassknocker. From the reception-room, with its walls of green empire silk, one passes through a foyer hall, of Cordova leather hangings, to thedrawing-room with its three broad windows. Opposite the entrance tothis superb room is a mantel of carved Caen stone, faced with goldenPavanazza marble, with old Roman andirons of gold ending in thefleur-de-lis. The walls are hung with blue Florentine silk, embossed insilver. Beyond a bronze grill is the music-room, a library done inAustrian oak with stained burlap panelled by dull-forged nails, aconservatory, a billiard-room, a smoking-room. This latter has walls ofred damask and a mantel with "_Post Tenebras Lux_" cut into one of itsmarble panels, --a legend at which the worthy lessee of all thissplendour is wont often to glance with respectful interest. 

The admirable host--if one be broad-minded--is now in the drawing-room, seconding his worthy wife and pretty daughter who welcome thedinner-guests. 

For a man who has a fad for ham and doesn't care who knows it, hisbearing is all we have a right to expect that it should be. Among thegroup of arrivals, men of his own sort, he is speaking of theever-shifting fashion in beards, to the evangel of a Texas oil-fieldwho flaunts to the world one of those heavy moustaches spuriouslyextended below the corners of the mouth by means of the chin-growth ofhair. Another, a worthy tribesman from Snohomish, Washington, wears abeard which, for a score of years, has been let to be its own trueself; to express, fearlessly, its own unique capacity for variationfrom type. These two have rallied their host upon his modishly trimmedside-whiskers. 

"You're right, " says Mr. Higbee, amiably, "I ain't stuck any myself onthis way of trimming up a man's face, but the madam will have it thisway--says it looks more refined and New Yorky. And now, do you know, ever since I've wore 'em this way--ever since I had 'em scraped fromaround under my neck here--I have to go to Florida every winter. ComeJanuary or February, I get bronchitis every blamed year!"

Two of the guests only are alien to the barbaric throng. 

There is the noble Baron Ronault de Palliac, decorated, reserved, observant, --almost wistful. For the moment he is picturing dutifullythe luxuries a certain marriage would enable him to procure for hisnoble father and his aged mother, who eagerly await the news of hisquest for the golden fleece. For the baron contemplates, after thefashion of many conscientious explorers, a marriage with a nativewoman; though he permits himself to cherish the hope that it may not beconditioned upon his adopting the manners and customs of the particulartribe that he means to honour. Monsieur the Baron has long since beenobliged to confess that a suitable _mesalliance_ is none too easy ofachievement, and, in testimony of his vicissitudes, he has written fora Paris comic paper a series of grimly satiric essays upon New Yorksociety. Recently, moreover, he has been upon the verge of acceptingemployment in the candy factory of a bourgeois compatriot. But hope hasa little revived in the noble breast since chance brought him and histitle under the scrutiny of the bewitching Miss Millicent Higbee andher appreciative mother. 

And to-night there is not only the pretty Miss Higbee, but the winningMiss Bines, whose _dot_, the baron has been led to understand, wouldpermit his beloved father unlimited piquet at his club, to say nothingof regenerating the family chateau. Yet these are hardly matters to begossiped of. It is enough to know that the Baron Ronault de Palliacwhen he discovers himself at table between Miss Bines and the adorableMiss Higbee, becomes less saturnine than has for some time been hiswont. He does not forget previous disappointments, but desperatelysnaps his swarthy jaws in commendable superiority to any adverse fate. 

"_Je ne donne pas un damn_, " he says to himself, and translates, as washis practice, to better his English--"I do not present a damn. I shalltake what it is that it may be. "

The noble Baron de Palliac at this feast of the tribesmen was like thecaptive patrician of old led in chains that galled. The other alien, Launton Oldaker, was present under terms of honourable truce, willinglyand without ulterior motive saving--as he confessed to himself--aconsuming desire to see "how the other half lives. " He was no longerthe hunted and dismayed being Percival had met in that far-off andimpossible Montana; but was now untroubled, remembering, it is true, that this "slumming expedition, " as he termed it, had taken him beyondthe recognised bounds of his beloved New York, but serene in theconsciousness that half an hour's drive would land him safely back athis club. 

Oldaker observed Miss Psyche Bines approvingly. 

"We are so glad to be in New York!" she had confided to him, sitting ather right. 

"My dear young woman, " he warned her, "you haven't reached New Yorkyet. " The talk being general and loud, he ventured further. 

"This is Pittsburg, Chicago, Kansas City, Denver--almost anything butNew York. "

"Of course I know these are not the swell old families. "

Oldaker sipped his glass of old Oloroso sherry and discoursed. 

"And our prominent families, the ones whose names you read, are not NewYork any more, either. They are rather London and Paris. Theirfurniture, clothing, plate, pictures, and servants come from one or theother. Yes, and their manners, too, their interests and sympathies andconcerns, their fashions--and--sometimes, their--er--morals. They areassuredly not New York any more than Gobelin tapestries and Fortunypictures and Louis Seize chairs are New York. "

"How queerly you talk. Where is New York, then?"

Oldaker sighed thoughtfully between two spoonfuls of _tortue verte, claire_. 

"Well, I suppose the truth is that there isn't much of New York left inNew York. As a matter of fact I think it died with the old VolunteerFire Department. Anyway the surviving remnant is coy. Real old NewYorkers like myself--neither poor nor rich--are swamped in these dayslike those prehistoric animals whose bones we find. There comes a timewhen we can't live, and deposits form over us and we're lost even tomemory. "

But this talk was even harder for Miss Bines to understand than theEnglish speech of the Baron Ronault de Palliac, and she turned to thatnoble gentleman as the turbot with sauce Corail was served. 

The dining-room, its wall wainscotted from floor to ceiling in Spanishoak, was flooded with soft light from the red silk dome that dependedfrom its crown of gold above the table. The laughter and talk were aslittle subdued as the scheme of the rooms. It was an atmosphere ofprodigal and confident opulence. From the music-room near by came thesoft strains of a Haydn quartet, exquisitely performed by finished andexpensive artists. 

"Say, Higbee!" it was the oil chief from Texas, "see if them fiddlersof yours can't play 'Ma Honolulu Lulu!'"

Oldaker, wincing and turning to Miss Bines for sympathy, heard her say:

"Yes, do, Mr. Higbee! I do love those ragtime songs--and then have themplay 'Tell Me, Pretty Maiden, ' and the 'Intermezzo. '"

He groaned in anguish. 

The talk ran mostly on practical affairs: the current values of thegreat staple commodities; why the corn crop had been light; what wheatpromised to bring; how young Burman of the Chicago Board of Trade hadbeen pinched in his own wheat corner for four millions--"put up" by hisadmiring father; what beef on the hoof commanded; how the Federal OilCompany would presently own the State of Texas. 

Almost every Barbarian at the table had made his own fortune. Hardlyone but could recall early days when he toiled on farm or in shop orforest, herded cattle, prospected, sought adventure in remote andhazardous wilds. 

"'Tain't much like them old days, eh, Higbee?" queried the Crown Princeof Cripple Creek--"when you and me had to walk from Chicago to GreenBay, Wisconsin, because we didn't have enough shillings forstage-fare?" He gazed about him suggestively. 

"Corn-beef and cabbage was pretty good then, eh?" and with sure, vigorous strokes he fell to demolishing his _filet de dinde a laPerigueux_, while a butler refilled his glass with Chateau Malescot, 1878. 

"Well, it does beat the two rooms the madam and me started to keephouse in when we was married, " admitted the host. "That was on thebanks of the Chicago River, and now we got the Hudson flowin' rightthrough the front yard, you might say, right past our ownyacht-landing. "

From old days of work and hardship they came to discuss the present andtheir immediate surroundings, social and financial. 

Their daughters, it appeared, were being sought in marriage by the sonsof those among whom they sojourned. 

"Oh, they're a nice band of hand-shakers, all right, all right, "asserted the gentleman from Kansas City. "One of 'em tried to keepcompany with our Caroline, but I wouldn't stand for it. He was acrackin' good shinny player, and he could lead them cotillion-dancesblowin' a whistle and callin', 'All right, Up!' or something, like acar-starter, --but, 'Tell me something good about him, ' I says to an oldfriend of his family. Well, he hemmed and hawed--he was a New Yorkgentleman, and says he, 'I don't know whether I could make youunderstand or not, ' he says, 'but he's got Family, ' jest like that, bearin' down hard on 'Family'--'and you've got money, ' he says, 'andMoney and Family need each other badly in this town, ' he says. 'Yes, 'says I, 'I met up with a number of people here, ' I says, 'but I ain'tmet none yet that you'd have to blindfold and back into a lot ofmoney, ' I says, 'family or no family, ' I says. 'And that young man, ' hesays, 'is a pleasant, charming fellow; why, ' he says, 'he's thebest-coated man in New York. ' Well, I looked at him and I says, 'Well, 'says I, 'he may be the best-coated man in New York, but he'll be thebest-booted man in New York, too, ' I says, 'if he comes around tryingto spark Caroline any more, --or would be if I had my way. His chin'spushed too far back under his face, ' I says, 'and besides, ' I says, 'Caroline is being waited on by a young hardware drummer, a good steadyyoung fellow travelling out of little old K. C. , ' I says, 'and while heain't much for fam'ly, ' I says, he'll have one of his own before hegets through, ' I says; 'we start fam'lies where I come from, ' I says. "

"Good boy! Good for you, " cheered the self-made Barbarians, and dranksuccess to the absent disseminator of hardware. 

With much loud talk of this unedifying character the dinner progressedto an end; through _selle d'agneau_, floated in '84 champagne, terrapinconvoyed by a special Madeira of 1850, and canvas-back duck with_Romanee Conti_, 1865, to a triumphant finale of Turkish coffee and1811 brandy. 

After dinner the ladies gossiped of New York society, while thebarbaric males smoked their big oily cigars and bandied reminiscences. Higbee showed them through every one of the apartment's twenty-tworooms, from reception-hall to laundry, manipulating the electric lightswith the skill of a stage-manager. 

The evening ended with a cake-walk, for the musical artists had by rarewines been mellowed from their classic reserve into a mood of ragtimeabandon. And if Monsieur the Baron with his ceremonious grace was lessexuberant than the Crown Prince of Cripple Creek, who sang as hestepped the sensuous measure, his pleasure was not less. He joyed toobserve that these men of incredible millions had no hauteur. 

"I do not, " wrote the baron to his noble father the marquis, thatnight, "yet understand their joke; why should it be droll to wish thatthe man whose coat is of the best should also wear boots of the best?but as for what they call _une promenade de gateau_, I find it veryenjoyable. I have met a Mlle. Bines to whom I shall at once pay myaddresses. Unlike Mlle. Higbee, she has not the father from Chicago norelsewhere. _Quel diable d'homme!_"

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Patricians Entertain

To reward the enduring who read politely through the garish revel ofthe preceding chapter, covers for fourteen are now laid with correctand tasteful quietness at the sophisticated board of that fine old NewYork family, the Milbreys. Shaded candles leave all but the glowingtable in a gloom discreetly pleasant. One need not look so high as theold-fashioned stuccoed ceiling. The family portraits tone agreeablyinto the halflight of the walls; the huge old-fashioned walnutsideboard, soberly ornate with its mirrors, its white marble top andits wood-carved fruit, towers majestically aloft in proud scorn of thefrivolous Chippendale fad. 

Jarvis, the accomplished and incomparable butler, would be subdued andscholarly looking but for the flagrant scandal of his port-wine nose. He gives finishing little fillips to the white chrysanthemums massed inthe central epergne on the long silver plateau, and bestows a lastcautious survey upon the cut-glass and silver radiating over the dullwhite damask. Finding the table and its appointments faultless, heassures himself once more that the sherry will come on irreproachablyat a temperature of 60 degrees; that the Burgundy will not fall below65 nor mount above 70; for Jarvis wots of a palate so acutely sensitivethat it never fails to record a variation of so much as one degree fromthe approved standard of temperature. 

How restful this quiet and reserve after the colour and line tumult ofthe Higbee apartment. There the flush and bloom of newness wereoppressive to the right-minded. All smelt of the shop. Here the dulltones and decorous lines caress and soothe instead of overwhelming theimagination with effects too grossly literal. Here is the veritablespirit of good form. 

Throughout the house this contrast might be noted. It is thebrown-stone, high-stoop house, guarded by a cast-iron fence, built invast numbers when the world of fashion moved North to Murray Hill andFifth Avenue a generation ago. One of these houses was like all theothers inside and out, built of unimaginative "builder's architecture. "The hall, the long parlour, the back parlour or library, the highstuccoed ceilings--not only were these alike in all the houses, but thefurnishings, too, were apt to be of a sameness in them all, ratherheavy and tasteless, but serving the ends that such things should bemeant to serve, and never flamboyant. Of these relics of a simpler daynot many survive to us, save in the shameful degeneracy ofboarding-houses. But in such as are left, we may confidently expect tofind the traditions of that more dignified time kept unsullied;--tofind, indeed, as we find in the house of Milbrey, a settled air ofgloom that suggests insolvent but stubbornly determined exclusiveness. 

Something of this air, too, may be noticed in the surviving tenants ofthese austere relics. Yet it would hardly be observed in this house onthis night, for not only do arriving guests bring the aroma of a laterprosperity, but the hearts of our host and hostess beat high with a newhope. For the fair and sometimes uncertain daughter of the house ofMilbrey, after many ominous mutterings, delays, and frank rebellions, has declared at last her readiness to be a credit to her training byconferring her family prestige, distinction of manner and charms ofperson upon one equipped for their suitable maintenance. 

Already her imaginative father is ravishing in fancy the mouldiestwine-cellars of Continental Europe. Already the fond mother hasidealised a house in "Millionaire's Row" east of the Park, where thereshall be twenty servants instead of three, and there shall cease thatgnawing worry lest the treacherous north-setting current sweep themwest of the Park into one of those hideously new apartment houses, where the halls are done in marble that seems to have been sliced froma huge Roquefort cheese, and where one must vie, perhaps, with ashop-keeper for the favours of an irreverent and materialistic janitor. 

The young woman herself entertains privately a state of mind which shehas no intention of making public. It is enough, she reasons, that heraction should outwardly accord with the best traditions of her class;and indeed, her family would never dream of demanding more. 

Her gown to-night is of orchard green, trimmed with apple-blossoms, asingle pink spray of them caught in her hair. The rounding, satin graceof her slender arms, sloping to the opal-tipped fingers, the exquisiteline from ear to shoulder strap, the melting ripeness of her chin andthroat, the tender pink and white of her fine skin, the capricious, inciting tilt of her small head, the dainty lift of her shortnose, --these allurements she has inventoried with a calculating andsatisfied eye. She is glad to believe that there is every reason why itwill soon be over. 

And, since the whole loaf is notoriously better than a half, here isthe engaging son of the house, also firmly bent upon the high empriseof matrimony; handsome, with the chin, it may be, slightly receding;but an unexcelled leader of cotillions, a surpassing polo-player, clever, winning, and dressed with an effect that has long made himremarked in polite circles, which no mere money can achieve. Money, indeed, if certain ill-natured gossip of tradesmen be true, has been aninconsiderable factor in the encompassment of this sartorialdistinction. He waits now, eager for a first glimpse of the young womanwhose charms, even by report, have already won the best devotion he hasto give. A grievous error it is to suppose that Cupid's artillery islimited to bow and arrows. 

And now, instead of the rude commercial horde that laughed loudly andate uncouthly at the board of the Barbarian, we shall sit at table withpeople born to the only manner said to be worth possessing;--if weexcept, indeed, the visiting tribe of Bines, who may be relied upon, however, to behave at least unobtrusively. 

As a contrast to the oppressively Western matron from Kansas City, hereis Mistress Fidelia Oldaker on the arm of her attentive son. She wouldbe very old but for the circumstance that she began early in life to bea belle, and age cannot stale such women. Brought up with board at herback, books on her head, to guard her complexion as if it were her fairname, to be diligent at harp practice and conscientious with thedancing-master, she is almost the last of a school that nursed but thesingle aim of subjugating man. To-night, at seventy-something, she is abit of pink bisque fragility, bubbling tirelessly with reminiscence, her vivacity unimpaired, her energy amazing, and her coquetryfaultless. From which we should learn, and be grateful therefor, thatwhen a girl is brought up in the way she ought to go she will never beable to depart from it. 

Here also is Cornelia Van Geist, sister of our admirablehostess--relict of a gentleman who had been first or second cousin tohalf the people in society it were really desirable to know, and whosetaste in wines, dinners, and sports had been widely praised at hisdeath by those who had had the fortune to be numbered among hisfriends. Mrs. Van Geist has a kind, shrewd face, and her hair, whichturned prematurely grey while she was yet a wife, gives her a look ofage that her actual years belie. 

Here, too, is Rulon Shepler, the money-god, his large, round headturning upon his immense shoulders without the aid of aneck--sharp-eyed, grizzled, fifty, short of stature, and with as fewillusions concerning life as the New York financier is apt to retain athis age. 

If we be forced to wait for another guest of note, it is hardly morethan her due; for Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan is truly a personage, and thebest people on more than one continent do not become unduly provoked atbeing made to wait for her. Those less than the very best franklyesteem it a privilege. Yet the great lady is not careless ofengagements, and the wait is never prolonged. Mrs. Milbrey has time tosay to her sister, "Yes, we think it's going; and really, it will dovery well, you know. The girl has had some nonsense in her mind for ayear past--none of us can tell what--but now she seems actuallysensible, and she's promised to accept when the chap proposes. " Butthere is time for no more gossip. 

The belated guest arrives, enveloped in a vast cloak, and accompaniedby her two nephews, whom Percival Bines recognises for the solemn andtaciturn young men he had met in Shepler's party at the mine. 

Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan, albeit a decorative personality, is constructedon the same broad and generously graceful lines as her own victoria. The great lady has not only two chins, but what any fair-mindedobserver would accept as sufficient promise of a good third. Yet hardlycould a slighter person display to advantage the famous Gwilt-Athelstanjewels. The rope of pierced diamonds with pigeon-blood rubies strungbetween them, which she wears wound over her corsage, would assuredlyoverweight the frail Fidelia Oldaker; the tiara of emeralds anddiamonds was never meant for a brow less majestic; nor would thestomacher of lustrous grey pearls and glinting diamonds ever haveclasped becomingly a figure that was _svelte_--or "skinny, " as thegreat lady herself is frank enough to term all persons even remotelyinclined to be _svelte_. 

But let us sit and enliven a proper dinner with talk upon topics oflegitimate interest and genuine propriety. 

Here will be no discussion of the vulgar matter of markets, staples, and prices, such as we perforce endured through the overwined andtoo-abundant repast of Higbee. Instead of learning what beef on thehoof brings per hundred-weight, f. O. B. At Cheyenne, we shall here gleanat once the invaluable fact that while good society in London used tobe limited to those who had been presented at court, the presentationshave now become so numerous that the limitation has lost itssignificance. Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan thus discloses, as if it were atrifle, something we should never learn at the table of Higbee thoughwe ate his heavy dinners to the day of ultimate chaos. And while welearned at that distressingly new table that one should keep one'sheifers and sell off one's steer calves, we never should have beeninformed there that Dinard had just enjoyed the gayest season of itshistory under the patronage of this enterprising American; nor thatLady de Muzzy had opened a tea-room in Grafton Street, and Cynthia, Marchioness of Angleberry, a beauty-improvement parlour on the Strand"because she needs the money. "

"Lots of 'em takin' to trade nowadays; it's a smart sayin' there nowthat all the peers are marryin' actresses and all the peeresses goin'into business. " Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan nodded little shocks of brilliancefrom her tiara and hungrily speared another oyster. 

"Only trouble is, it's such rotten hard work collectin' bills fromtheir intimate friends; they simply _won't_ pay. "

Nor at the barbaric Higbee's should we have been vouchsafed, totreasure for our own, the knowledge that Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan hadmerely run over for the cup-fortnight, meaning to return directly toher daughter, Katharine, Duchess of Blanchmere, in time for the MeltonMowbray hunting-season; nor that she had been rather taken by the newway of country life among us, and so tempted to protract her gracioussojourn. 

"Really, " she admits, "we're comin' to do the right thing over here; afew years were all we needed. Hardly a town-house to be opened beforeThanksgivin', I understand; and down at the Hills some of the houseswill stay open all winter. It's coachin', ridin', and golf andauto-racin' and polo and squash; really the young folks don't go in atall except to dance and eat; and it's quite right, you know. It's quitedecently English, now. Why, at Morris Park the other day, the crowd onthe lawn looked quite like Ascot, actually. "

Nor could we have learned in the hostile camp the current gossip ofTuxedo, Meadowbrook, Lenox, Morristown, and Ardsley; of the mishap toMrs. "Jimmie" Whettin, twice unseated at a recent meet; of the woman'schampionship tournament at Chatsworth; or the good points of the newrunner-up at Baltusrol, daily to be seen on the links. Where we mightincur knowledge of Beaumont "gusher" or Pittsburg mill we should neverhave discovered that teas and receptions are really falling intodisrepute; that a series of dinner-dances will be organised by themothers of debutantes to bring them forward; and that big subscriptionballs are in disfavour, since they benefit no one but the caterers whoserve poor suppers and bad champagne. 

Mrs. Takes only Scotch whiskey and soda. 

"But I'm glad, " she confides to Horace Milbrey on her left, "that youhaven't got to followin' this fad of havin' one wine at dinner; I knowit's English, but it's downright shoddy. "

Her host's eyes swam with gratitude for this appreciation. 

"I stick to my peg, " she continued; "but I like to see a Chablis withthe oysters and good dry sherry with the soup, and a Moselle with thefish, and then you're ready to be livened with a bit of champagne forthe roast, and steadied a bit by Burgundy with the game. Phim sticks toit, too; tells me my peg is downright encouragement to the bacteria. But I tell him I've no quarrel with _my_ bacteria. 'Live and let live'is my motto, I tell him, --and if the microbes and I both like Scotchand soda, why, what harm. I'm forty-two and not so much of a fool thatI ain't a little bit of a physician. I know my stomach, I tell him. "

"What about these Western people?" she asked Oldaker at her other side, after a little. 

"Decent, unpretentious folks, somewhat new, but with loads of money. "

"I've heard how the breed's stormin' New York in droves; but they tellme some of us need the money. "

"I dined with one last night, a sugar-cured ham magnate from Chicago. "

"_Dear_ me! how shockin'!"

"But they're good, whole-souled people. "

"And well-_heeled_--and that's what we need, it seems. Some of us beenso busy bein' well-familied that we've forgot to make money. "

"It's a good thing, too. Nature has her own building laws aboutfortunes. When they get too sky-scrapy she topples them over. Thesepeople with their thrifty habits would have _all_ the money in time iftheir sons and daughters didn't marry aristocrats with expensive tasteswho know how to be spenders. Nature keeps things fairly even, one wayor another. "

"You're thinkin' about Kitty and the duke. "

"No, not then I wasn't, though that's one of the class I mean. I wasthinking especially about these Westerners. "

"Well, my grandfather made the best barrels in New York, and I'mmother-in-law of a chap whose ancestors for three hundred and fiftyyears haven't done a stroke of work; but he's the Duke of Blanchmere, and I hope our friends here will come as near gettin' the worth oftheir money as we did. And if that chap"--she glanced atPercival--"marries a certain young woman, he'll never have a dullmoment. I'd vouch for that. I'm quite sure she's the devil in her. "

"And if the yellow-haired girl marries the fellow next her--"

"He might do worse. "

"Yes, but might _she_? He's already doing worse, and he'll keep ondoing it, even if he does marry her. "

"Nonsense--about that, you know; all rot! What can you expect of thesechaps? So does the duke do worse, but you'll never hear Kitty complainso long as he lets her alone and she can wear the strawberry leaves. Ifancy I'll have those young ones down to the Hills for Hallowe'en andthe week-end. Might as well help 'em along. "

At the other end of the table, the fine old ivory of her cheeks gentlysuffused with pink until they looked like slightly crumpled leaves of ala France rose, Mrs. Oldaker was flirting brazenly with Shepler, andprattling impartially to him and to one of the twin nephews of old daysin social New York; of a time when the world of fashion occupied alittle space at the Battery and along Broadway; of its migration to thefar north of Great Jones Street, St. Mark's Place, and Second Avenue. In Waverly Place had been the flowering of her belle-hood, and the daywhen her set moved on to Murray Hill was to her still recent andrevolutionary. 

Between the solemn Angstead twins, Mrs. Bines had sat in silence untilby some happy chance it transpired that "horse" was the word to unlocktheir lips. As Mrs. Bines knew all about horses the twins at oncebecame voluble, showing her marked attention. The twins were notablydevoid of prejudice if your sympathies happened to run with theirs. 

Miss Bines and young Milbrey were already on excellent terms. Percivaland Miss Milbrey, on the other hand, were doing badly. Some disturbingelement seemed to have put them aloof. Miss Milbrey wondered somewhat;but her mind was easy, for her resolution had been taken. 

Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan extended her invitation to the young people, whoaccepted joyfully. 

"Come down and camp with us, and help Phim keep the batteries of hisautos run out. You know they deteriorate when they're lefthalf-charged, and it's one of the cares of his life to see to the wholesix of 'em when they come in. He gets in one and the men get in theothers, and he leads a solemn parade around the stables until they'vebeen run out. Tell me the leisure class isn't a hard-workin' class, now. "

Over coffee and chartreuse in the drawing-room there was more generaltalk of money and marriage, and of one for the other. 

"And so he married money, " concluded Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan of one theyhad discussed. 

"Happy marriage!" Shepler called out. 

"No; money talks! and this time, on my word, now, it made you want toput on those thick sealskin ear-muffs. Poor chap, and he'd been talkin'to me about the monotony of married life. 'Monotony, my boy, ' I said tohim, 'you don't _know_ lovely woman!' and now he wishes jolly well thathe'd not done it, you know. "

Here, too, was earned by Mrs. Bines a reputation for wit that she wasnever able quite to destroy. There had been talk of a banquet to avisiting celebrity the night before, for which the _menu_ was one ofunusual costliness. Mr. Milbrey had dwelt with feeling upon certain ofits eminent excellences, such as loin of young bear, a la Granville, and the boned quail, stuffed with goose-livers. 

"Really, " he concluded, "from an artistic standpoint, although largedinners are apt to be slurred and slighted, it was a creation ofundoubted worth. "

"And the orchestra, " spoke up Mrs. Bines, who had read of the banquet, "played 'Hail to the _Chef!_'"

The laughter at this sally was all it should have been, even the hostjoining in it. Only two of those present knew that the good woman hadbeen warned not to call "chef" "chief, " as Silas Higbee did. The factthat neither should "chief" be called "chef" was impressed upon herlater, in a way to make her resolve ever again to eschew both of thetroublesome words. 

When the guests had gone Miss Milbrey received the praise of bothparents for her blameless attitude toward young Bines. 

"It will be fixed when we come back from Wheatly, " said that knowingyoung woman, "and now don't worry any more about it. "

"And, Fred, " said the mother, "do keep straight down there. She's acommonplace girl, with lots of mannerisms to unlearn, but she's prettyand sweet and teachable. "

"And she'll learn a lot from Fred that she doesn't know now, " finishedthat young man's sister from the foot of the stairway. 

Back at their hotel Psyche Bines was saying:

"Isn't it queer about Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan? We've read so much abouther in the papers. I thought she must be some one awful to meet--I wasthat scared--and instead, she's like any one, and real chummy besides;and, actually, ma, don't you think her dress was dowdy--all except thediamonds? I suppose that comes from living in England so much. Andhasn't Mrs. Milbrey twice as grand a manner, and the son--he's aprecious--he knows everything and everybody; I shall like him. "

Her brother, who had flung himself into a cushioned corner, spoke withthe air of one who had reluctantly consented to be interviewed and whowas anxious to be quoted correctly:

"Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan is all right. She reminds me of what Uncle Peterwrites about that new herd of short-horns: 'This breed has a milddisposition, is a good feeder, and produces a fine quality of flesh. 'But I'll tell you one thing, sis, " he concluded with sudden emphasis, "with all this talk about marrying for money I'm beginning to feel asif you and I were a couple of white rabbits out in the open with allthe game laws off!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Course of True Love at a House Party

Among sundry maxims and observations of King Solomon, collated by thediscerning men of Hezekiah, it will be recalled that the way of a manwith a maid is held up to wonder. "There be, " says the wise king, whocomposed a little in the crisp manner of Mr. Kipling, "three thingswhich are too wonderful for me; yea, four which I know not: the way ofan eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of aship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid. " Why heneglected to include the way of a maid with a man is not at onceapparent. His unusual facilities for observation must seemingly haveinspired him to wonder at the maid's way even more than at the man's;and wise men later than he have not hesitated to confess their entirelack of understanding in the matter. But if Solomon included this itemin his summary, the men of Hezekiah omitted to report the fact, and bytheir chronicles we learn only that the woman "eateth and wipeth hermouth and saith 'I have done no wickedness. '" Perhaps it was Solomon'smischance to observe phenomena of this character too much in the mass. 

Miss Milbrey's way, at any rate, with the man she had decided to marry, would undoubtedly have made more work for the unnamed Boswells of theking, could it have been brought to his notice. 

For, as she journeyed to the meeting-place on a bright Octoberafternoon, she confessed to herself that it was of a depth beyond herown fathoming. Lolling easily back in the wicker chair of the car thatbore her, and gazing idly out over the brown fields and yellow forestsof Long Island as they swirled by her, she found herself wishing oncethat her eyes were made like those of a doll. She had lately discoveredof one that when it appeared to fall asleep, it merely turned its eyesaround to look into its own head. With any lesser opportunity forintrospection she felt that certain doubts as to her own motives andprocesses would remain for ever unresolved. It was not that she couldnot say "I have done no wickedness;" let us place this heroine in nofalse light. She was little concerned with the morality of her courseas others might appraise it. The fault, if fault it be, is neither oursnor hers, and Mr. Darwin wrote a big book chiefly to prove that itisn't. From the force of her environment and heredity Miss Milbrey haddebated almost exclusively her own chances of happiness under givenconditions; and if she had, for a time, questioned the wisdom of theobvious course, entirely from her own selfish standpoint, it is allthat, and perhaps more than, we were justified in expecting from her. Let her, then, cheat the reader of no sympathy that might flow to aheroine struggling for a high moral ideal. Merely is she clear-headedenough to have discovered that selfishness is not the thing of easybonds it is reputed to be; that its delights are not certain; that onedoes not unerringly achieve happiness by the bare circumstance of beinguniformly selfish. Yet even this is a discovery not often made, nor oneto be lightly esteemed; for have not the wise ones of Church and Stateever implied that the way of selfishness is a way of sure delight, tobe shunned only because its joys endure not? So it may be, after all, no small merit we claim for this girl in that, trained to selfishnessand a certain course, she yet had the wit to suspect that its joys havebeen overvalued even by its professional enemies. It is no small merit, perhaps, even though, after due and selfish reflection, she determinedupon the obvious course. 

If sometimes her heart was sick with the hunger to love and be loved bythe one she loved, so that there were times when she would havebartered the world for its plenary feeding, it is all that, we insist, and more, than could be expected of this sort of heroine. 

And so she had resolved upon surrender--upon an outward surrender. Inwardly she knew it to be not more than a capitulation under duress, whose terms would remain for ever secret except to those clever atinduction. And now, as the train took her swiftly to her fate, she madethe best of it. 

There would be a town-house fit for her; a country-house at Tuxedo orLenox or Westbury, a thousand good acres with greeneries, a gamepreserve, trout pond, and race-course; a cottage at Newport; a place inScotland; a house in London, perhaps. Then there would be jewels suchas she had longed for, a portrait by Chartran, she thought. And therewas the dazzling thought of going to Felix or Doucet with creditunlimited. 

And he--would the thought of him as it had always come to her keep onhurting with a hurt she could neither explain nor appease? Would heannoy her, enrage her perhaps, or even worse, tire her? He would bevery much in earnest, of course, and so few men could be in earnestgracefully. But would he be stupid enough to stay so? And if not, wouldhe become brutal? She suspected he might have capacities for that. Would she be able to hide all but her pleasant emotions from him, --hidethat want, the great want, to which she would once have done sacrifice?

Well, it was easier to try than not to try, and the sacrifice--onecould always sacrifice if the need became imperative. 

"And I'm making much of nothing, " she concluded. "No other girl I knowwould do it. And papa shall 'give me away. ' What a pretty euphemismthat is, to be sure!"

But her troubled musings ended with her time alone. From a whirl overthe crisp, firm macadam, tucked into one of Phimister Gwilt-Athelstan'sautomobiles with four other guests, with no less a person than hergenial host for chauffeur, she was presently ushered into the greathall where a huge log-fire crackled welcome, and where blew a livelylittle gale of tea-chatter from a dozen people. 

Tea Miss Milbrey justly reckoned among the little sanities of life. Herwrap doffed and her veil pushed up, she was in a moment restored to hernormal ease, a part of the group, and making her part of the talk thattouched the latest news from town, the flower show, automobile show, Irving and Terry, the morning's meet, the weekly musicale anddinner-dance at the club; and at length upon certain matters ofmarriage and divorce. 

"Ladies, ladies--this is degenerating into a mere hammer-fest. " Thusspoke a male wit who had listened. "Give over, and be nice to theabsent. "

"The end of the fairy story was, " continued the previous speaker, unheeding, "and so they were divorced and lived happily ever after. "

"I think she took the Chicago motto, 'Marry early and often, '" saidanother, "but here she comes. "

And as blond and fluffy little Mrs. Akemit, a late divorcee, joined thegroup the talk ranged back to the flourishing new hunt at Goshen, thedriving over of Tuxedo people for the meet, the nasty accident toWarner Ridgeway when his blue-ribbon winner Musette fell upon him intaking a double-jump. 

Miss Milbrey had taken stock of her fellow guests. Especially was sheinterested to note the presence of Mrs. Drelmer and her protege, Mauburn. It meant, she was sure, that her brother's wooing of MissBines would not be uncontested. 

Another load of guests from a later train bustled in, the Bineses amongthem, and there was more tea and fresher gossip, while the butlercirculated again with his tray for the trunk-keys. 

The breezy hostess now took pains to impress upon all that only bydoing exactly as they pleased, as to going and coming, could they hopeto please her. Had she not, by this policy, conquered the cold, Scottish exclusiveness of Inverness-shire, so that the right sort ofpeople fought to be at her house-parties during the shooting, eventhough she would persist in travelling back and forth to London ingowns that would be conspicuously elaborate at an afternoon reception, and even though, in any condition of dress, she never left quite enoughof her jewels in their strong-box?

During the hour of dressing-sacque and slippers, while maids flutteredthrough the long corridors on hair-tending and dress-hookingexpeditions, Mrs. Drelmer favoured her hostess with a confidential chatin that lady's boudoir, and, over Scotch and soda and a cigarette, suggested that Mr. Mauburn, in a house where he could really do as hepleased, would assuredly take Miss Bines out to dinner. 

Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan was instantly sympathetic. 

"Only I can't take sides, you know, my dear, and young Milbrey willthink me shabby if he doesn't have first go; but I'll be impartial;Milbrey shall take her in, and Mauburn shall be at her other side, andmay God have mercy on her soul! These people have so much money, Ihear, it amounts to financial embarrassment, but with those two chapsfor the girl, and Avice Milbrey for that decent young chap, I fancythey'll be disembarrassed, in a measure. But I mustn't 'playfavourites, ' as those slangy nephews of mine put it. "

And so it befell at dinner in the tapestried dining-room that PsycheBines received assiduous attention from two gentlemen whom sheconsidered equally and superlatively fascinating. While she looked atone, she listened to the other, and her neck grew tired with turning. Of anything, save the talk, her mind was afterward a blank; but why isnot that the ideal dinner for any but mere feeders?

Nor was the dazzled girl conscious of others at the table, --of FlorenceAkemit, the babyish blond, listening with feverish attention to theGerman savant, Doctor von Herzlich, who had translated Goethe's"Iphigenie in Tauris" into Greek merely as recreation, and who was nowjustifying his choice of certain words and phrases by citing passagesfrom various Greek authors; a choice which the sympathetic listener, after discreet intervals for reflection, invariably commended. 

"Oh, you wonderful, wonderful man, you!" she exclaimed, resolving tosit by some one less wonderful another time. 

Or there was Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan, like a motherly Venus rising from asea of pink velvet and white silk lace, asserting that some one orother would never get within sniffing-distance of the Sandringham set. 

Or her husband, whose face, when he settled it in his collar, made thelines of a perfect lyre, and of whom it would presently becomeinaccurate to say that he was getting bald. He was insisting that "toomany houses spoil the home, " and that, with six establishments, he waswithout a place to lay his head, that is, with any satisfaction. 

Or there was pale, thin, ascetic Winnie Wilberforce, who, as atheosophist, is understood to believe that, in a former incarnation, hecame near to having an affair with a danseuse; he was expounding theesoterics of his cult to a high-coloured brunette with many turquoises, who, in turn, was rather inclined to the horse-talk of one of thenephews. 

Or there were Miss Milbrey and Percival Bines, of whom the former hadnoted with some surprise that the latter was studying her with the eyesof rather cold calculation, something she had never before detected inhim. 

After dinner there were bridge and music from the big pipe-organ in themusic-room, and billiards and some dancing. 

The rival cavaliers of Miss Bines, perceiving simultaneously thatneither would have the delicacy to withdraw from the field, cunninglyinveigled each other into the billiard-room, where they watchfullyconsumed whiskey and soda together with the design of making each otherdrunk. This resulted in the two nephews, who invariably hunted as apair, capturing Miss Bines to see if she could talk horse as ably asher mother, and, when they found that she could, planning a coachingtrip for the morrow. 

It also resulted in Miss Bines seeing no more of either cavalier thatnight, since they abandoned their contest only after every one but asleepy butler had retired, and at a time when it became necessary forthe Englishman to assist the American up the stairs, though the latterwas moved to protest, as a matter of cheerful generality, that he was"aw ri'--entirely cap'le. " At parting he repeatedly urged Mauburn, withtears in his eyes, to point out one single instance in which he hadever proved false to a friend. 

To herself, when the pink rose came out of her hair that night, MissMilbrey admitted that it wasn't going to be so bad, after all. 

She had feared he might rush his proposal through that night; he hadbeen so much in earnest. But he had not done so, and she was glad hecould be restrained and deliberate in that "breedy" sort of way. Itpromised well, that he could wait until the morrow. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

An Afternoon Stroll and an Evening Catastrophe

Miss Milbrey, the next morning, faced with becoming resignation whatshe felt would be her last day of entire freedom. She was down and outphilosophically to play nine holes with her host before breakfast. 

Her brother, awakening less happily, made a series of discoveriesregarding his bodily sensations that caused him to view life withdisaffection. Noting that the hour was early, however, he took cheer, and after a long, strong, cold drink, which he rang for, and a prickingicy shower, which he nerved himself to, he was ready to ignore hisaching head and get the start of Mauburn. 

The Englishman, he seemed to recall, had drunk even more than he, and, as it was barely eight o'clock, would probably not come to life for acouple of hours yet. He made his way to the breakfast-room. The thoughtof food was not pleasant, but another brandy and soda, beadingvivaciously in its tall glass, would enable him to watch with fortitudethe spectacle of others who might chance to be eating. And he wouldhave at least two hours of Miss Bines before Mauburn's head should achehim back to consciousness. 

He opened the door of the spacious breakfast-room. Through the broadwindows from the south-east came the glorious shine of the morning sunto make him blink; and seated where it flooded him as a calcium wasMauburn, resplendent in his myriad freckles, trim, alive, and obviouslyhungry. Around his plate were cold mutton, a game pie, eggs, bacon, tarts, toast, and sodden-looking marmalade. Mauburn was eating of thesewith a voracity that published his singleness of mind to all who mightobserve. 

Milbrey steadied himself with one hand upon the door-post, and with theother he sought to brush this monstrous illusion from his fickle eyes. But Mauburn and the details of his deadly British breakfast became onlymore distinct. The appalled observer groaned and rushed for thesideboard, whence a decanter, a bowl of cracked ice, and a siphonbeckoned. 

Between two gulps of coffee Mauburn grinned affably. 

"Mornin', old chap! Feelin' a bit seedy? By Jove! I don't wonder. I'mnot so fit myself. I fancy, you know, it must have been that beastlyanchovy paste we had on the biscuits. "

Milbrey's burning eyes beheld him reach out for another slice of thecold, terrible mutton. 

"Life, " said Milbrey, as he inflated his brandy from the siphon, "is anempty dream this morning. "

"Wake up then, old chap!" Mauburn cordially urged, engaging the gamepie in deadly conflict; "try a rasher; nothing like it; better'npeggin' it so early. Never drink till dinner-time, old chap, and you'llbe able to eat in the morning like--like a blooming baby. " And heproceeded to crown this notion of infancy's breakfast with a jam tartof majestic proportions. 

"Where are the people?" inquired Milbrey, eking out his own moistbreakfast with a cigarette. 

"All down and out except some of the women. Miss Bines just drove off afour-in-hand with the two Angsteads--held the reins like an old whip, too, by Jove; but they'll be back for luncheon;--and directly afterluncheon she's promised to ride with me. I fancy we'll have a littlepractice over the sticks. "

"And I fancy I'm going straight back to bed, --that is, if it's allright to fancy a thing you're certain about. "

Outside most of the others had scattered for life in the open, each tohis taste. Some were on the links. Some had gone with the coach. A fewhad ridden early to the meet of the Essex hounds near Easthampton, where a stiff run was expected. Others had gone to follow the hunt intraps. A lively group came back now to read the morning papers by thelog-fire in the big cheery hall. Among these were Percival and MissMilbrey. When they had dawdled over the papers for an hour Miss Milbreygrew slightly restive. 

"Why doesn't he have it over?" she asked herself, with some impatience. And she delicately gave Percival, not an opportunity, but opportunitiesto make an opportunity, which is a vastly different form of procedure. 

But the luncheon hour came and people straggled back, and the afternoonbegan, and the request for Miss Milbrey's heart and hand was stillunaccountably deferred. Nor could she feel any of those subtlepremonitions that usually warn a woman when the event is preparing in alover's secret heart. 

Reminding herself of his letters, she began to suspect that, while hecould write unreservedly, he might be shy and reluctant of speech; andthat shyness now deterred him. So much being clear, she determined toforce the issue and end the strain for both. 

Percival had shown not a little interest in pretty Mrs. Akemit, and wasnow talking with that fascinating creature as she lolled on a low seatbefore the fire in her lacy blue house-gown. At the moment she wasadroitly posing one foot and then the other before the warmth of thegrate. It may be disclosed without damage to this tale that the feet ofMrs. Akemit were not cold; but that they were trifles most daintilyshod, and, as her slender silken ankles curved them toward the blazefrom her froth of a petticoat, they were worth looking at. 

Miss Milbrey disunited the chatting couple with swiftness and aplomb. 

"Come, Mr. Bines, if I'm to take that tramp you made me promise you, it's time we were off. "

Outside she laughed deliciously. "You know you did make me promise itmentally, because I knew you'd want to come and want me to come, but Iwas afraid Mrs. Akemit mightn't understand about telepathy, so Ipretended we'd arranged it all in words. "

"Of course! Great joke, wasn't it?" assented the young man, ratherawkwardly. 

Down the broad sweep of roadway, running between its granite coping, they strode at a smart pace. 

"You know you complimented my walking powers on that other walk wetook, away off there where the sun goes down. "

"Yes, of course, " he replied absently. 

"Now, he's beginning, " she said to herself, noting his absent andsomewhat embarrassed manner. 

In reality he was thinking how few were the days ago he would have heldthis the dearest of all privileges, and how strange that he should nowprize it so lightly, almost prefer, indeed, not to have it; that heshould regard her, of all women, "the fairest of all flesh on earth"with nervous distrust. 

She was dressed in tan corduroy; elation was in her face; her waist, asshe stepped, showed supple as a willow; her suede-gloved little handswere compact and tempting to his grasp. His senses breathed the air ofher perfect and compelling femininity. But sharper than all theseimpressions rang the words of the worldly-wise Higbee: _"She's huntingnight and day for a rich husband; she tries for them as fast as theycome; she'd rather marry a sub-treasury--she'd marry me in aminute--she'd marry_ YOU; _but if you were broke she'd have about asmuch use for you.... "_

Her glance was frank, friendly, and encouraging. Her deep eyes wereclear as a trout-brook. He thought he saw in them once almost atenderness for him. 

She thought, "He _does_ love me!"

Outside the grounds they turned down a bridle-path that led off throughthe woods--off through the golden sun-wine of an October day. The airbore a clean autumn spice, and a faint salty scent blended with it fromthe distant Sound. The autumn silence, which is the only perfectsilence in all the world, was restful, yet full of significance, suggestion, provocation. From the spongy lowland back of them came thepleading sweetness of a meadow-lark's cry. Nearer they could even hearan occasional leaf flutter and waver down. The quick thud of a fallingnut was almost loud enough to earn its echo. Now and then they saw alightning flash of vivid turquoise and heard a jay's harsh scream. 

In this stillness their voices instinctively lowered, while their eyesdid homage to the wondrous play of colour about them. Over a yieldingbrown carpet they went among maple and chestnut and oak, with theirbewildering changes through crimson, russet, and amber to pale yellow;under the deep-stained leaves of the sweet-gum they went, and past thedogwood with scarlet berries gemming the clusters of its dim redleaves. 

But through all this waiting, inciting silence Miss Milbrey listened invain for the words she had felt so certain would come. 

Sometimes her companion was voluble; again he was taciturn--and throughit all he was doggedly aloof. 

Miss Milbrey had put herself bravely in the path of Destiny. Destinyhad turned aside. She had turned to meet it, and now it frankly fled. Destiny, as she had construed it, was turned a fugitive. She wasbruised, puzzled, and not a little piqued. During the walk back, whenthis much had been made clear, the silence was intolerably oppressive. Without knowing why, they understood perfectly now that neither hadbeen ingenuous. 

"She would love the money and play me for a fool, " he thought, underthe surface talk. Youth is prone to endow its opinions with all thedignity of certain knowledge. 

"Yet I am certain he loves me, " thought she. On the other hand, youthis often gifted with a credulity divine and unerring. 

At the door as they came up the roadway a trap was depositing a manwhom Miss Milbrey greeted with evident surprise and some restraint. Hewas slight, dark, and quick of movement, with finely cut nostrils thatexpanded and quivered nervously like those of a high-bred horse intight check. 

Miss Milbrey introduced him to Percival as Mr. Ristine. 

"I didn't know you were hereabouts, " she said. 

"I've run over from the Bloynes to dine and do Hallowe'en with you, " heanswered, flashing his dark eyes quickly over Percival and againlighting the girl with them. 

"Surprises never come singly, " she returned, and Percival noted acurious little air of defiance in her glance and manner. 

Now it is possible that Solomon's implied distinction as to the man'sway with a maid was not, after all, so ill advised. 

For young Bines, after dinner, fell in love with Miss Milbrey all overagain. The normal human mind going to one extreme will inevitablygravitate to its opposite if given time. Having put her away in theconviction that she was heartless and mercenary--having fasted in thedesert of doubt--he now found himself detecting in her an unmistakableappeal for sympathy, for human kindness, perhaps for love. He forgotthe words of Higbee and became again the confident, unquestioninglover. He noted her rather subdued and reserved demeanour, and thesuggestions of weariness about her eyes. They drew him. He resolved atonce to seek her and give his love freedom to tell itself. He would nolonger meanly restrain it. He would even tell her all his distrust. Nowthat they had gone she should know every ignoble suspicion; and, whether she cared for him or not, she would comfort him for the hurtthey had been to him. 

The Hallowe'en frolic was on. Through the long hall, lighted topleasant dusk by real Jack-o'-lanterns, stray couples strolled, withsubdued murmurs and soft laughter. In the big white and gold parlour, in the dining-room, billiard-room, and in the tropic jungle of theimmense palm-garden the party had bestowed itself in congenial groups, ever intersecting and forming anew. Little flutters of high laughternow and then told of tests that were being made with roastingchestnuts, apple-parings, the white of an egg dropped into water, orthe lighted candle before an open window. 

Percival watched for the chance to find Miss Milbrey alone. His sisterhad just ventured alone with a candle into the library to study theface of her future husband in a mirror. The result had been, in asense, unsatisfactory. She had beheld looking over her shoulder thefaces of Mauburn, Fred Milbrey, and the Angstead twins, and haddeclared herself unnerved by the weird prophecy. 

Before the fire in the hall Percival stood while Mrs. Akemit reclinedpicturesquely near by, and Doctor von Herzlich explained, withexcessive care as to his enunciation, that protoplasm can be analysedbut cannot be reconstructed; following this with his own view as to whythe synthesis does not produce life. 

"You wonderful man!" from Mrs. Akemit; "I fairly tremble when I thinkof all you know. Oh, what a delight science must be to her votaries!"

The Angstead twins joined the group, attracted by Mrs. Akemit's inquiryof the savant if he did not consider civilisation a failure. The twinsdid. They considered civilisation a failure because it was killing offall the big game. There was none to speak of left now except in Africa;and they were pessimistic about Africa. 

Percival listened absently to the talk and watched Miss Milbrey, nowone of the group in the dining-room. Presently he saw her take alighted candle from one of the laughing girls and go toward thelibrary. 

His heart-beats quickened. Now she should know his love and it would bewell. He walked down the hall leisurely, turned into the big parlour, momentarily deserted, walked quickly but softly over its polished floorto a door that gave into the library, pushed the heavy portiere asideand stepped noiselessly in. 

The large room was lighted dimly by two immense yellow pumpkins, theirsides cut into faces of grinning grotesqueness. At the far side of theroom Miss Milbrey had that instant arrived before an antique ovalmirror whose gilded carvings reflected the light of the candle. Sheheld it above her head with one rounded arm. He stood in deep shadowand the girl had been too absorbed in the play to note his coming. Hetook one noiseless step toward her, but then through the curtaineddoorway by which she had come he saw a man enter swiftly and furtively. 

Trembling on the verge of laughing speech, something held him back, some unexplainable instinct, making itself known in a thrill that wentfrom his feet to his head; he could feel the roots of his hair tingle. The newcomer went quickly, with catlike tread, toward the girl. Fascinated he stood, wanting to speak, to laugh, yet powerless from thevery swiftness of what followed. 

In the mirror under the candle-light he saw the man's dark face comebeside the other, heard a little cry from the girl as she half-turned;then he saw the man take her in his arms, saw her head fall on to hisshoulder, and her face turn to his kiss. 

He tried to stop breathing, fearful of discovery, grasping with onehand the heavy fold of the curtain back of him to steady himself. 

There was the space of two long, trembling breaths; then he heard hersay, in a low, tense voice, as she drew away:

"Oh, you are my bad angel--why?--why?"

She fled toward the door to the hall. 

"Don't come this way, " she called back, in quick, low tones of caution. 

The man turned toward the door where Percival stood, and in thedarkness stumbled over a hassock. Instantly Percival was on the otherside of the portiere, and, before the other had groped his way to thedark corner where the door was, had recrossed the empty parlour and wassafely in the hall. 

He made his way to the dining-room, where supper was under way. 

"Mr. Bines has seen a ghost, " said the sharp-eyed Mrs. Drelmer. 

"Poor chap's only starved to death, " said Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan. "Eatsomething, Mr. Bines; this supper is go-as-you-please. Nobody's to waitfor anybody. "

Strung loosely about the big table a dozen people were eating hotscones and bannocks with clotted cream and marmalade, and drinkingmulled cider. 

"And there's cold fowl and baked beans and doughnuts and all, for thosewho can't eat with a Scotch accent, " said the host, cheerfully. 

Percival dropped into one of the chairs. 

"I'm Scotch enough to want a Scotch high-ball. "

"And you're getting it so high it's top-heavy, " cautioned Mrs. Drelmer. 

Above the chatter of the table could be heard the voices of men and themusical laughter of women from the other rooms. 

"I simply can't get 'em together, " said the hostess. 

"It's nice to have 'em all over the place, " said her husband, "fairwomen and brave men, you know. "

"The men _have_ to be brave, " she answered, shortly, with a glance atlittle Mrs. Akemit, who had permitted Percival to seat her at his side, and was now pleading with him to agree that simple ways of life arerequisite to the needed measure of spirituality. 

Then came strains of music from the rich-toned organ. 

"Oh, that dear Ned Ristine is playing, " cried one; and several of thegroup sauntered toward the music-room. 

The music flooded the hall and the room, so that the talk died low. 

"He's improvising, " exclaimed Mrs. Akemit. "How splendid! He seems tobe breathing a paean of triumph, some high, exalted spiritual triumph, as if his soul had risen above us--how precious!"

When the deep swell had subsided to silvery ripples and the lastcadence had fainted, she looked at Percival with moistened parted lipsand eyes half-shielded, as if her full gaze would betray too much ofher quivering soul. 

Then Percival heard the turquoised brunette say: "What a pity his wifeis such an unsympathetic creature!"

"But Mr. Ristine is unmarried, is he not?" he asked, quickly. 

There was a little laugh from Mrs. Drelmer. 

"Not yet--not that I've heard of. "

"I beg pardon!"

"There have been rumours lots of times that he was going to be_unmarried_, but they always seem to adjust their little difficulties. He and his wife are now staying over at the Bloynes. "

"Oh! I see, " answered Percival; "you're a jester, Mrs. Drelmer. "

"Ristine, " observed the theosophic Wilberforce, in the manner of ahired oracle, "is, in his present incarnation, imperfectly monogamous. "

Some people came from the music-room. 

"Miss Milbrey has stayed by the organist, " said one; "and she'spromised to make him play one more. Isn't he divine?"

The music came again. 

"Oh!" from Mrs. Akemit, again in an ecstasy, '"' he's playing thatheavenly stuff from the second act of 'Tristan and Isolde'--the onetriumphant, perfect love-poem of all music. "

"That Scotch whiskey is good in some of the lesser emergencies, "remarked Percival, turning to her; "but it has its limitations. Let'syou and me trifle with a nice cold quart of champagne!"

CHAPTER XX. 

Doctor Von Herzlich Expounds the Hightower Hotel and Certain AlliedPhenomena

The Hightower Hotel is by many observers held to be an instructivemicrocosm of New York, more especially of upper Broadway, with correctproportions of the native and the visiting provincial. With correctproportions, again, of the money-making native and the money-spendingnative, male and female. A splendid place is this New York; splendidbut terrible. London for the stranger has a steady-going, heartyhospitality. Paris on short notice will be cosily and coaxinglyintimate. New York is never either. It overwhelms with its lavishdisplay of wealth, it stuns with its tireless, battering energy. But itstays always aloof, indifferent if it be loved or hated; if it crush orsustain. 

The ground floor of the Hightower Hotel reproduces this magnificent, brutal indifference. One might live years in its mile or so of statelycorridors and its acre or so of resplendent cafes, parlours, reception-rooms, and restaurants, elbowed by thousands, suffocated bythat dense air of human crowdedness, that miasma of brain emanations, and still remain in splendid isolation, as had he worn the magic ringof Gyges. Here is every species of visitor: the money-burdened who"stop" here and cultivate an air of being blase to the wealth ofpolished splendours; and the less opulent who "stop" cheaply elsewhereand venture in to tread the corridors timidly, to stare with honest, drooping-jawed wonder at its marvels of architecture and decoration, and to gaze with becoming reverence at those persons whom they shrewdlyconceive to be social celebrities. 

This mixture of many and strange elements is never at rest. Its unitswait expectantly, chat, drink, eat, or stroll with varying airs throughreception-room, corridor, and office. It is an endless function, attended by all of Broadway, with entertainment diversely contrived forevery taste by a catholic-minded host with a sincere desire to pleasethe paying public. 

"Isn't it a huge bear-garden, though?" asks Launton Oldaker of theestimable Doctor von Herzlich, after the two had observed the scene insilence for a time. 

The wise German dropped an olive into his Rhine wine, and gazedreflectively about the room. Men and women sat at tables drinking. Beyond the tables at the farther side of the room, other men wereplaying billiards. It was four o'clock and the tide was high. 

"It is yet more, " answered the doctor. "In my prolonged studies ofnatural phenomena this is the most valuable of all which I have beenprivileged to observe. "

He called them "brifiletched" and "awbsairf" with great nicety. Perhapshis discernment was less at fault. 

"Having, " continued the doctor, "granted myself some respite from toilin the laboratory at Marburg, I chose to pleasure voyage, to study yetmore the social conditions in this loveworthy land. I suspected thatmuch tiredness of travel would be involved. Yet here I find allconditions whatsoever--here in that which you denominate 'bear-garden'. They have been reduced here for my edification, yes? But your term is aterm of inadequate comprehensiveness. It is to me more what you call a'beast-garden, ' to include all species of fauna. Are there not heremoths and human flames? are there not cunning serpents crawling withapples of knowledge to unreluctant, idling Eves, yes? Do we not hearthe amazing converse of parrots and note the pea-fowl negotiatingadmiration from observers? Mark at that yet farther table also theswine and the song-bird; again, mark our draught-horses who haveachieved a competence, yes? You note also the presence of wolves andlambs. And, endly, mark our tailed arborean ancestors, trained to thewearing of garments and a single eye-glass. May I ask, have youbestowed upon this diversity your completest high attention? _Hanh_!"

This explosion of the doctor's meant that he invited and awaited somecontradiction. As none ensued, he went on:

"For wolf and lamb I direct your attention to the group at yondertable. I notice that you greeted the young man as he entered--a commonfriend to us then--Mr. Bines, with financial resources incrediblyunlimited? Also he is possessed of an unexperienced freedom fromsuspectedness-of-ulterior-motive-in-others--one may not in English asin German make the word to fit his need of the moment--thatunsuspectedness, I repeat, which has ever characterised the lamb aboutto be converted into nutrition. You note the large, loose gentlemanwith wide-brimmed hat and beard after my own, somewhat, yes? He woulddispose of some valuable oil-wells which he shall discover at Texas themoment he shall have sufficiently disposed of them. A wolf he is, yes?The more correctly attired person at his right, with the beak of a hawkand lips so thin that his big white teeth gleam through them when theyare yet shut, he is what he calls himself a promoter. He has madesundry efforts to promote myself. I conclude 'promoter' is one otherfashion of wolf-saying. The yet littler and yet younger man at his leftof our friend, the one of soft voice and insinuating manner, muchresembling a stray scion of aristocracy, discloses to those with whomhe affably acquaints himself the location of a luxurious gaming housenot far off; he will even consent to accompany one to its tables; andstill yet he has but yesterday evening invited me the all-town to see. 

"As a scientist, I remind you, I permit myself no prejudices. I observethe workings of unemotional law and sometimes record them. You have asaying here that there are three generations between shirt-sleeves andshirt-sleeves. I observe the process of the progress. It is benign asare all processes. I have lately observed it in England. There, bytheir law of entail, the same process is unswifter, --yet does itunvary. The poor aristocrats, almost back to shirt-sleeves, with theirtaxes and entailed lands, seek for the money in shops of dress andbonnet and ale, and graciously rent their castles to thebut-newly-opulent in American oil or the diamonds of South Africa. Herethe posterity of your Mynherr Knickerbocker do likewise. The ancestorthey boast was a toiler, a market-gardener, a fur-trader, a boatman, hardworking, simple-wayed, unspending. The woman ancestorkitchen-gardened, spun, wove, and nourished the poultry. Theirdescendants upon the savings of these labours have forgotten how tolabour themselves. They could not yet produce should they evenrelinquish the illusion that to produce is of a baseness, that only toconsume is noble. I gather reports that a few retain enough of theancient strain to become sturdy tradesmen and gardeners once more. Others seek out and assimilate this new-richness, which, in its turn, will become impoverished and helpless. Ah, what beautiful showing ofEvolution!

"See the pendulum swing from useful penury to useless opulence. Whydoes it not halt midway, you inquire? Because the race is so young. Ach! a mere two hundred and forty million years from ourgrandfather-grandmother amoeba in the ancestral morass! What can one beexpecting? Certain faculties develop in response to the pressure ofenvironment. Omit the pressure and the faculties no longer ensue. Yes?Withdraw the pressure, and the faculties decay. Sightless moles, theirenvironment demands not the sight; nor of the fishes that inhabit thestreams of your Mammoth Cave. Your aristocrats between thesleeve-of-the-shirt periods likewise degenerate. There is no need towork, they lose the power. No need to sustain themselves, they becomehelpless. They are as animals grown in an environment that demands nostruggle of them. Yet their environment is artificial. They live onstored energy, stored by another. It is exhausted, they perish. All butthe few that can modify to correspond with the changed environment, aswhen your social celebrities venture into trade, and the also few thatin their life of idleness have acquired graces of person and manner tolet them find pleasure in the eyes of marryers among the but-now-rich. "

The learned doctor submitted to have his glass refilled from the coolerat his side, dropped another olive into the wine, and resumed beforeOldaker could manage an escape. 

"And how long, you ask, shall the cosmic pendulum swing between theseextremes of penurious industry and opulent idleness?"

Oldaker had not asked it. But he tried politely to appear as if he hadmeant to. He had really meant to ask the doctor what time it was andthen pretend to recall an engagement for which he would be alreadylate. 

"It will so continue, " the doctor placidly resumed, "until the raceachieves a different ideal. Now you will say, but there can be no idealso long as there is no imagination; and as I have directly--amoment-soon--said, the race is too young to have achieved imagination. The highest felicity which we are yet able to imagine is a felicitybased upon much money; our highest pleasures the material pleasureswhich money buys, yes? We strive for it, developing the money-gettingfaculty at the expense of all others; and when the money is obtained wecannot enjoy it. We can imagine to do with it only delicate-eating anddrinking and dressing for show-to-others and building houses immenseand splendidly uncalculated for homes of rational dwelling. Art, science, music, literature, sociology, the great study and play of ourhumanity, they are shut to us. 

"Our young friend Bines is a specimen. It is as if he were a child, having received from another a laboratory full of the most beautifulinstruments of science. They are valuable, but he can do but commonthings with them because he knows not their possibilities. Or, we maycall it stored energy he has; for such is money, the finest, subtlest, most potent form of stored energy; it may command the highest fruits ofgenius, the lowest fruits of animality; it is also volatile, elusive. Our young friend has many powerful batteries of it. But he is noelectrician. Some he will happily waste without harm to himself. Muchof it, apparently, he will convert into that champagne he now drinks. For a week since I had the pleasure of becoming known to him he hasdrunk it here each day, copiously. He cannot imagine a more salutarymode of exhausting his force. I am told he comes of a father who diedat fifty, and who did in many ways like that. This one, at the rate Ihave observed, will not last so long. He will not so long correspondwith an environment even so unexacting as this. And his son, perhapshis grandson, will become what you call broke; will from lack ofpressure to learn some useful art, and from spending only, becomeuseless and helpless. For besides drink, there is gambling. He playswhat you say, the game of poker, this Bines. You see the gentleman, rounded gracefully in front, who has much the air of seeming to standbehind himself, --he drinks whiskey at my far right, yes? He is of arich trust, the magnate-director as you say, and plays at cards nightlywith our young friend. He jested with him in my presence before youentered, saying, 'I will make you look like'--I forget it now, but hishumourous threat was to reduce our young friend to the aspect of someinconsiderable sum in the money of your country. I cannot recall theprecise amount, but it was not so much as what you call one dollar. Strange, is it not, that the rich who have too much money gamble asfeverishly as the poor who have none, and therefore have an excuse? Andthe love of display-for-display. If one were not a scientist one mightbe tempted to say there is no progress. The Peruvian grandee shod hismules with pure gold, albeit that metal makes but inferior shodding forbeasts of burden. The London factory girl hires the dyed feathers ofthe ostrich to make her bonnet gay; and your money people are asdisplay-loving. Lucullus and your latest millionaire joy in the sameemotion of pleasure at making a show. Ach! we are truly in the race'schildhood yet. The way of evolution is so unfast, yes? Ah! you will gonow, Mr. Oldaker. I shall hope to enjoy you more again. Yourobservations have interested me deeply; they shall have my most highattention. Another time you shall discuss with me how it must be thatthe cosmic process shall produce a happy mean between stoic andepicure, by learning the valuable arts of compromise, yes? How Zenowith his bread and dates shall learn not to despise a few luxuries, andVitellius shall learn that the mind may sometimes feast to advantagewhile the body fasts. "

Through the marbled corridors and regal parlours, down longperspectives of Persian rugs and onyx pillars, the function raged. 

The group at Percival's table broke up. He had an appointment to meetColonel Poindexter the next morning to consummate the purchase of someoil stock certain to appreciate fabulously in value. He had promised tolisten further to Mr. Isidore Lewis regarding a plan for obtainingcontrol of a certain line of one of the metal stocks. And he hadsignified his desire to make one of a party the affable younger manwould guide later in the evening to a sumptuous temple of chance, towhich, by good luck, he had gained the entree. The three gentlemenparted most cordially from him after he had paid the check. 

To Mr. Lewis, when Colonel Poindexter had also left, the young man witha taste for gaming remarked, ingenuously:

"Say, Izzy, on the level, there's the readiest money that everregistered at this joint. You don't have to be Mr. William Wisenham todo business with him. You can have all you want of that at track odds. "

"I'm making book that way myself, " responded the cheerful Mr. Lewis;"fifty'll get you a thousand any time, my lad. It's a lead-pipe attwenty to one. But say, with all these Petroleum Pete oil-stockgrafters and Dawson City Daves with frozen feet and mining-stock intheir mitts, a man's got to play them close in to his bosom to win outanything. Competition is killing this place, my boy. "

In the Turkish room Percival found Mrs. Akemit, gowned to perfection, glowing, and wearing a bunch of violets bigger than her pretty head. 

"I've just sent cards to your mother and sister, " she explained, as shemade room for him upon the divan. 

To them came presently Mrs. Drelmer, well-groomed and aggressivelycheerful. 

"How de do! Just been down to Wall Street seeing how my other halflives, and now I'm famished for tea and things. Ah! here are yourmother and our proud Western beauty!" And she went forward to greetthem. 

"It's more than _her_ other half knows about her, " was Mrs. Akemit'sobservation to the violets on her breast. 

"Come sit with me here in this corner, dear, " said Mrs. Drelmer toPsyche, while Mrs. Bines joined her son and Mrs. Akemit. "I've so muchto tell you. And that poor little Florence Akemit, isn't it too badabout her. You know one of those bright French women said it's soinconvenient to be a widow because it's necessary to resume the modestyof a young girl without being able to feign her ignorance. No wonderFlorence has a hard time of it; but isn't it wretched of me to gossip?And I wanted to tell you especially about Mr. Mauburn. You know ofcourse he'll be Lord Casselthorpe when the present Lord Casselthorpedies; a splendid title, really quite one of the best in all England;and, my dear, he's out-and-out smitten with you; there's no use indenying it; you should hear him rave to me about you; really theseyoung men in love are so inconsiderate of us old women. Ah! here isthat Mrs. Errol who does those fascinating miniatures of all the smartpeople. Excuse me one moment, my dear; I want her to meet your mother. "

The fashionable miniature artist was presently arranging with the dazedMrs. Bines for miniatures of herself and Psyche. Mrs. Drelmer, beholding the pair with the satisfied glance of one who has performed akindly action, resumed her _tete-a-tete_ with Psyche. 

Percival, across the room, listened to Mrs. Akemit's artless disclosurethat she found life too complex--far too hazardous, indeed, for a poorlittle creature in her unfortunate position, so liable to cruelmisjudgment for thoughtless, harmless acts, the result of a young zestfor life. She had often thought most seriously of a convent, indeed shehad--"and, really, Mr. Bines, I'm amazed that I talk this way--sofreely to you--you know, when I've known you so short a time; butsomething in you compels my confidences, poor little me! and my poorlittle confidences! One so seldom meets a man nowadays with whom onecan venture to talk about any of the _real_ things!"

A little later, as Mrs. Drelmer was leaving, the majestic figure of theBaron Ronault de Palliac framed itself in the handsome doorway. Hesauntered in, as if to give the picture tone, and then with purposefulair took the seat Mrs. Drelmer had just vacated. Miss Bines had beenentertained by involuntary visions of herself as Lady Casselthorpe. Shenow became in fancy the noble Baroness de Palliac, speaking faultlessFrench and consorting with the rare old families of the Faubourg St. Germain. For, despite his artistic indirection, the baron's manner wasconclusive, his intentions unmistakable. 

And this day was much like many days in the life of the Bines and inthe life of the Hightower Hotel. The scene from parlour to cafe wassurveyed at intervals by a quiet-mannered person with watchful eyes, who appeared to enjoy it as one upon whom it conferred benefits. Now hewashed his hands in the invisible sweet waters of satisfaction, andmurmured softly to himself, "Setters and Buyers!" Perhaps the term fitsthe family of Bines as well as might many another coined especially forit. 

When the three groups in the Turkish room dissolved, Percival with hismother and sister went to their suite on the fourth floor. 

"Think of a real live French nobleman!" cried Psyche, with enthusiasm, "and French must be such a funny language--he talks such funny English. I wish now I'd learned more of it at the Sem, and talked more with thatFrench Delpasse girl that was always toasting marshmallows on ahat-pin. "

"That lady Mrs. Drelmer introduced me to, " said Mrs. Bines, "is anartist, miniature artist, hand-painted you know, and she's going topaint our miniatures for a thousand dollars each because we're friendsof Mrs. Drelmer. "

"Oh, yes, " exclaimed Psyche, with new enthusiasm, "and Mrs. Drelmer haspromised to teach me bridge whist if I'll go to her house to-morrow. Isn't she kind? Really, every one must play bridge now, she tells me. "

"Well, ladies, " said the son and brother, "I'm glad to see you bothgetting some of the white meat. I guess we'll do well here. I'm goinginto oil stock and lead, myself. "

"How girlish your little friend Mrs. Akemit is!" said his mother. "Howdid she come to lose her husband?"

"Lost him in South Dakota, " replied her son, shortly. 

"Divorced, ma, " explained Psyche, "and Mrs. Drelmer says her family'sgood, but she's too gay. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Percival, "Mrs. Drelmer's hammer must be one of thosecute little gold ones, all set with precious stones. As a matter offact, she's anything but gay. She's sad. She couldn't get along withher husband because he had no dignity of soul. "

He became conscious of sympathising generously with all men not thusequipped. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Diversions of a Young Multi-millionaire

To be idle and lavish of money, twenty-five years old, with theappetites keen and the need for action always pressing; then to haveloved a girl with quick, strong, youthful ardour, and to have had theideal smirched by gossip, then shattered before his amazed eyes, --thisis a situation in which the male animal is apt to behave inequably. Inthe language of the estimable Herr Doctor von Herzlich, he will seekthose avenues of modification in which the least struggle is required. In the simpler phrasing of Uncle Peter Bines, he will "cut loose. "

During the winter that now followed Percival Bines behaved according toeither formula, as the reader may prefer. He early ascertained hislimitations with respect to New York and its people. 

"Say, old man, " he asked Herbert Delancey Livingston one night, acrossthe table at their college club, "are all the people in New Yorksociety impecunious?"

Livingston had been with him at Harvard, and Livingston's family was sonotoriously not impecunious that the question was devoid of anypersonal element. Livingston, moreover, had dined just unwisely enoughto be truthful. 

"Well, to be candid with you, Bines, " the young man had replied, in aburst of alcoholic confidence, "about all that you are likely to meetare broke--else you wouldn't meet 'em, you know, " he explainedcheerfully. "You know, old chap, a few of you Western people have gotinto the right set here; there's the Nesbits, for instance. On my wordthe good wife and mother hasn't the kinks out of her fingers yet, northe callouses from her hands, by Jove! She worked so hard cooking andwashing woollen shirts for miners before Nesbit made his strike. As forhim--well caviare, I'm afraid, will always be caviare to Jimmy Nesbit. And now the son's married a girl that had everything but money--my boy, Nellie Wemple has fairly got that family of Nesbits awestricken sinceshe married into it, just by the way she can spend money--but what wasI saying, old chap? Oh, yes, about getting in--it takes time, you know;on my word, I think they were as much as eight years, and had to startin abroad at that. At first, you know, you can only expect to meet acrowd that can't afford to be exclusive any longer. "

From which friendly counsel, and from certain confirming observationsof his own, Percival had concluded that his lot in New York was tospend money. This he began to do with a large Western carelessness thatspeedily earned him fame of a sort. Along upper Broadway, his adventwas a golden joy. Tradesmen learned to love him; florists, jewelers, and tailors hailed his coming with honest fervour; waiters told movingtales of his tips; cabmen fought for the privilege of transporting him;and the hangers-on of rich young men picked pieces of lint assiduouslyand solicitously from his coat. 

One of his favourite resorts was the sumptuous gambling-house inForty-fourth Street. The man who slides back the panel of the stoutoaken door early learned to welcome him through the slit, barred by itsgrill of wrought iron. The attendant who took his coat and hat, thewaiter who took his order for food, and the croupier who took hismoney, were all gladdened by his coming; for his gratuities were aslarge when he lost as when he won Even the reserved proprietor, accustomed as he was to a wealthy and careless clientele, treatedPercival with marked consideration after a night when the young manpersuaded him to withdraw the limit at roulette, and spent a large sumin testing a system for breaking the wheel, given to him by a friendlately returned from Monte Carlo. 

"I think, really the fellow who gave me that system is an ass, " hesaid, lighting a cigarette when the play was done. "Now I'm going downand demolish eight dollars' worth of food and drink--you won't be allto the good on that, you know. "

His host decided that a young man who was hungry, after losing ahundred thousand dollars in five hours' play, was a person to be notlightly considered. 

And, though he loved the rhythmic whir and the ensuing rattle of thelittle ivory ball at the roulette wheel, he did not disdain the quieterfaro, playing that dignified game exclusively with the chocolate-colouredchips, which cost a thousand dollars a stack. Sometimes he won; but notoften enough to disturb his host's belief that there is less of chance inhis business than in any other known to the captains of industry. 

There were, too, sociable games of poker, played with Garmer, of theLead Trust, Burman, the intrepid young wheat operator from Chicago, andhalf a dozen other well-moneyed spirits; games in which the limit, touse the Chicagoan's phrase, was "the beautiful but lofty North Star. "At these games he lost even more regularly than at those where, withthe exception of a trifling percentage, he was solely at the mercy ofchance. But he was a joyous loser, endearing himself to the otherplayers; to Garmer, whom Burman habitually accused of being "closerthan a warm night, " as well as to the open-handed son of thechewing-gum magnate, who had been raised abroad and who protestednightly that there was an element of beastly American commercialism in thegame. When Percival was by some chance absent from a sitting, the otherscalculated the precise sum he probably would have lost and humourouslyacquainted him with the amount by telegraph next morning, --it was apt tobe nine hundred and some odd dollars, --requesting that he cover by checkat his early convenience. 

Yet the diversion was not all gambling. There were Jong sessions atall-night restaurants where the element of chance in his favour, inconspicuous elsewhere, was wholly eliminated; suppers for hungryThespians and thirsty parasites, protracted with song and talk untilthe gas-flames grew pale yellow, and the cabmen, when the party wentout into the wan light, would be low-voiced, confidential, andsuggestive in their approaches. 

Broadway would be weirdly quiet at such times, save for the occasionalfrenzied clatter of a hurrying milk-wagon. Even the cars seemed to movewith less sound than by day, and the early-rising workers inside, holding dinner-pails and lunch-baskets, were subdued and silent, yetstrangely observing, as if the hour were one in which the vision wasmade clear to appraise the values of life justly. To the north, whencethe cars bulked silently, would be an awakening sky of such tenderbeauty that the revellers often paid it the tribute of a moment'snotice. 

"Pure turquoise, " one would declare. 

"With just a dash of orange bitters in it, " another might add. 

And then perhaps they burst into song under the spell, blending theirvoices into what the professional gentlemen termed "barber-shopharmonies, " until a policeman would saunter across the street, pretending, however, that he was not aware of them. 

Then perhaps a ride toward the beautiful northern sky would beproposed, whereupon three or four hansom or coupe loads would begin ajourney that wound up through Central Park toward the northern light, but which never attained a point remoter than some suburban road-house, where sleepy cooks and bartenders would have to be routed out tocollaborate toward breakfast. 

Oftener the party fell away into straggling groups with notions forsleep, chanting at last, perhaps:

"While beer brings gladness, don't forget That water only makes youwet!"

Percival would walk to the hotel, sobered and perhaps made a littlereflective by the unwonted quiet. But they were pleasant, carelessfolk, he concluded always. They permitted him to spend his money, buthe was quite sure they would spend it as freely as he if they had it. More than one appreciative soubrette, met under such circumstances, wassubsequently enabled to laud the sureness of his taste in jewels, --hecared little for anything but large diamonds, it transpired. It was afeeling tribute paid to his munificence by one of these in conversewith a sister artist, who had yet to meet him:

"Say, Myrtle, on the dead, he spends money just like a young Jew tryingto be white!"

Under this more or less happy surface of diversion, however, was anexperience decidedly less felicitous. He knew he should not, must not, hold Avice Milbrey in his mind; yet when he tried to put her out ithurt him. 

At first he had plumed himself upon his lucky escape that night, whenhe would have declared his love to her. To have married a girl whocared only for his money; that would have been dire enough. But tomarry a girl like _that!_ He had been lucky indeed!

Yet, as the weeks went by the shock of the scene wore off. The sceneitself remained clear, with the grinning grotesquerie of theJack-o'-lanterns lighting it and mocking his simplicity. But the firstsharp physical hurt had healed. He was forced to admit that the girlstill had power to trouble him. At times his strained nerves wouldrelax to no other device than the picturing of her as his own. Exactlyin the measure that he indulged this would his pride smart. With abudding gift for negation he could imagine her caring for nothing buthis money; and there was that other picture, swift and awful, apantomime in shadow, with the leering yellow faces above it. 

In the far night, when he awoke to sudden and hungry aloneness, hewould let his arms feel their hunger for her. The vision of her wouldbe flowers and music and sunlight and time and all things perfect tomystify and delight, to satisfy and--greatest of all boons--tounsatisfy. The thought of her became a rest-house for all weariness; ahaven where he was free to choose his nook and lie down away from allthat was not her, which was all that was not beautiful. He would goback to seek the lost sweetness of their first meeting; to mount thepoor dead belief that she would care for him--that he could make hercare for him--and endow the thing with artificial life, trying tocapture the faint breath of it; but the memory was always fleeting, attenuated, like the spirit of the memory of a perfume that had beenelusive at best. And always, to banish what joy even this poor devicemight bring, came the more vivid vision of the brutal, sordid facts. Heforced himself to face them regularly as a penance and a corrective. 

They came before him with especial clearness when he met her from timeto time during the winter. He watched her in talk with others, notingthe contradiction in her that she would at one moment appear knowingand masterful, with depths of reserve that the other people neitherfathomed nor knew of; and at another moment frankly girlish, with anappealing feminine helplessness which is woman's greatest strength, coercing every strong masculine instinct. 

When the reserve showed in her, he became afraid. What was she notcapable of? In the other mood, frankly appealing, she drew himmightily, so that he abandoned himself for the moment, responding toher fresh exulting youth, longing to take her, to give her things, tomake her laugh, to enfold and protect her, to tell her secrets, tofeather her cheek with the softest kiss, to be the child-mate of her. 

Toward him, directly, when they met she would sometimes be glacial andforbidding, sometimes uninterestedly frank, as if they were but thebest of commonplace friends. Yet sometimes she made him feel that she, too, threw herself heartily to rest in the thought of their loving, andcheated herself, as he did, with dreams of comradeship. She left him atthese times with the feeling that they were deaf, dumb, and blind toeach other; that if some means of communication could be devised, something surer than the invisible play of secret longings, all mightyet be well. They talked as the people about them talked, words thatmeant nothing to either, and if there were mute questionings, nakedappeals, unuttered declarations, they were only such as language servesto divert attention from. Speech, doubtless, has its uses as well asits abuses. Politics, for example, would be less entertaining withoutit. But in matters of the heart, certain it is that there would befewer misunderstandings if it were forbidden between the couple underthe penalty of immediate separation. In this affair real meanings arerarely conveyed except by silences. Words are not more than tastelessdrapery to obscure their lines. The silence of lovers is the plainestof all speech, warning, disconcerting indeed, by its very bluntness, any but the truly mated. An hour's silence with these two people bythemselves might have worked wonders. 

Another diversion of Percival's during this somewhat feverish winterwas Mrs. Akemit. Not only was she a woman of finished and expertdaintiness in dress and manner and surroundings, but she soothed, flattered, and stimulated him. With the wisdom of her thirty-two years, devoted chiefly to a study of his species, she took care never to beexigent. She had the way of referring to herself as "poor little me, "yet she never made demands or allowed him to feel that she expectedanything from him in the way of allegiance. 

Mrs. Akemit was not only like St. Paul, "all things to all men, " butshe had gone a step beyond that excellent theologue. She could be allthings to one man. She was light-heartedly frivolous, soberlyreflective, shallow, profound, cynical or naive, ingenuous, orinscrutable. She prized dearly the ecclesiastical background providedby her uncle, the bishop, and had him to dine with the same unerringsense of artistry that led her to select swiftly the becoming shade ofsofa-cushion to put her blond head back upon. 

The good bishop believed she had jeopardised her soul with divorce. Hefeared now she meant to lose it irrevocably through remarriage. As afoil to his austerity, therefore, she would be audaciously gay in hispresence. 

"Hell, " she said to him one evening, "is given up _so_ reluctantly bythose who don't expect to go there. " And while the bishop frowned intohis salad she invited Percival to drink with her in the manner of awoman who is mad to invite perdition. If the good man could have beheldher before a background of frivolity he might have suffered lessanxiety. For there her sense of contrast-values led her to be grave anddeep, to express distaste for society with its hollowness, and toexpose timidly the cruel scars on a soul meant for higher things. 

Many afternoons Percival drank tea with her in the little reddrawing-room of her dainty apartment up the avenue. Here in the halflight which she had preferred since thirty, in a soft corner with whichshe harmonised faultlessly, and where the blaze from the open firecoloured her animated face just enough, she talked him usually into theglow of a high conceit with himself. When she dwelt upon theshortcomings of man, she did it with the air of frankly presuming himto be different from all others, one who could sympathise with herthrough knowing the frailties of his sex, yet one immeasurably superiorto them. When he was led to talk of himself--of whom, it seemed, shecould never learn enough--he at once came to take high views ofhimself: to gaze, through her tactful prompting, with a gentle, purringappreciation upon the manifest spectacle of his own worth. 

Sometimes, away from her, he wondered how she did it. Sometimes, in hervery presence, his sense of humour became alert and suspicious. Part ofthe time he decided her to be a charming woman, with a depth andquality of sweetness unguessed by the world. The rest of the time heremembered a saying about alfalfa made by Uncle Peter: "It's aninnocent lookin', triflin' vegetable, but its roots go right down intothe ground a hundred feet. "

"My dear, " Mrs. Akemit had once confided to an intimate in an hour of_negligee_, "to meet a man, any man, from a red-cheeked butcher boy toa bloodless monk, and not make him feel something new foryou--something he never before felt for any other woman--really it's ascriminal as a wrinkled stocking, or for blondes to wear shiny things. Every woman can do it, if she'll study a little how to reduce them totheir least common denominator--how to make them primitive. "

Of another member of Mrs. Akemit's household Percival acknowledged thesway with never a misgiving. He had been the devoted lover of BabyAkemit from the afternoon when he had first cajoled her intoautobiography--a vivid, fire-tipped little thing with her mother'spiquancy. He gleaned that day that she was "a quarter to four yearsold;" that she was mamma's girl, but papa was a friend of Santa Claus;that she went to "ball-dances" every day clad in "dest a stirt 'causebig ladies don't ever wear waist-es at night;" that she had once riddenin a merry-go-round and it made her "all homesick right here, " pattingher stomach; and that "elephants are horrid, but you mustn't be cruelto them and cut their eyes out. Oh, no!"

Her Percival courted with results that left nothing to be desired. Shefell to the floor in helpless, shrieking laughter when he came. In hishonour she composed and sang songs to an improvised and spiritedaccompaniment upon her toy piano. His favourites among these were"'Cause Why I Love You" and "Darling, Ask Myself to Come to You. " Sherendered them with much feeling. If he were present when her bed-timecame she refused to sleep until he had consented to an interview. 

Avice Milbrey had the fortune to witness one of these bed-time_causeries_. One late afternoon the young man's summons came while hewas one of a group that lingered late about Mrs. Akemit's littletea-table, Miss Milbrey being of the number. 

He followed the maid dutifully out through the hall to the door of thebedroom, and entered on all-fours with what they two had agreed was thegrowl of a famished bear. 

The familiar performance was viewed by the mother and by Miss Milbrey, whom the mother had urged to follow. Baby Akemit in her crib, modestlyarrayed in blue pajamas, after simulating the extreme terror requiredby the situation, fell to chatting, while her mother and Miss Milbreylooked on from the doorway. 

Miss Akemit had once been out in the woods, it appeared, and a"biting-wolf" chased her, and she ran and ran until she came to a riverall full of pigs and fishes and berries, so she jumped in and hadsupper, and it wasn't a "biting-wolf" at all--and then--

But the narrative was cut short by her mother. 

"Come, Pet! Mr. Bines wishes to go now. "

Miss Akemit, it appeared, was bent upon relating the adventures ofGoldie Locks, subsequent to her leap from the window of the bears'house. She had, it seemed, been compelled to ride nine-twenty miles ona trolley, and, reaching home too late for luncheon, had been obligedto eat in the kitchen with the cook. 

"Mr. Bines can't stay, darling!"

Baby Akemit calculated briefly, and consented to his departure if Mr. Bines would bring her something next time. 

Mr. Bines promised, and moved away after the customary embrace, but shewas not through:

"Oh! oh! go out like a bear! dere's a bear come in here!"

And so, having brought the bear in, he was forced to drop again andgrowl the beast out, whereupon, appeased by this strict observance ofthe unities, the child sat up and demanded:

"You sure you'll bring me somefin next time?"

"Yes, sure, Lady Grenville St. Clare. " "Well, you sure you're _comin'_next time?"

Being reassured on this point, and satisfied that no more bears were atlarge, she lay down once more while Percival and the two observersreturned to the drawing-room. 

"You love children so!" Miss Milbrey said. And never had she been sogirlishly appealing to all that was strong in him as a man. The frolicwith the child seemed to have blown away a fog from between them. Yetnever had the other scene been more vivid to him, and never had thepain of her heartlessness been more poignant. 

When he "played" with Baby Akemit thereafter, the pretence was not allwith the child. For while she might "play" at giving a vexatiouslylarge dinner, for which she was obliged to do the cooking because shehad discharged all the servants, or when they "played" that the bigcouch was a splendid ferry-boat in which they were sailing to Chicagowhere Uncle David lived--with many stern threats to tell the janitor ofthe boat if the captain didn't behave himself and sail faster--Percival"played" that his companion's name was Baby Bines, and that her mother, who watched them with loving eyes, was a sweet and gracious young womannamed Avice. And when he told Baby Akemit that she was "the onlyoriginal sweetheart" he meant it of some one else than her. 

When the play was over he always conducted himself back to sane realityby viewing this some one else in the cold light of truth. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Distressing Adventure of Mrs. Bines

The fame of the Bines family for despising money was not fed wholly byPercival's unremitting activities. Miss Psyche Bines, during thewinter, achieved wide and enviable renown as a player of bridge whist. Not for the excellence of her play; rather for the inveteracy and sizeof her losses and the unconcerned cheerfulness with which she defrayedthem. She paid the considerable sums with an air of gratitude forhaving been permitted to lose them. Especially did she seem gratefulfor the zealous tutelage and chaperonage of Mrs. Drelmer. 

"Everybody in New York plays bridge, my dear, and of course you mustlearn, " that capable lady had said in the beginning. 

"But I never was bright at cards, " the girl confessed, "and I'm afraidI couldn't learn bridge well enough to interest you good players. "

"Nonsense!" was Mrs. Drelmer's assurance. "Bridge is easy to learn andeasy to play. I'll teach you, and I promise you the people you playwith shall never complain. "

Mrs. Drelmer, it soon appeared, knew what she was talking about. 

Indeed, that well-informed woman was always likely to. Her husband wasan intellectual delinquent whom she spoke of largely as being "in WallStreet, " and in that feat of jugglery known as "keeping upappearances, " his wife had long been the more dexterous performer. 

She was apt not only to know what she talked about, but she was a womanof resource, unafraid of action. She drilled Miss Bines in therudiments of bridge. If the teacher became subsequently much thelargest winner of the pupil's losings, it was, perhaps, not more thanher fit recompense. For Miss Bines enjoyed not only the sport of thegame, but her manner of playing it, combined with the social prestigeof her amiable sponsor, procured her a circle of acquaintances thatwould otherwise have remained considerably narrower. An enthusiasticplayer of bridge, of passable exterior, mediocre skill, and unlimitedresources, need never want in New York for very excellent society. Notonly was the Western girl received by Mrs. Drelmer's immediate circle, but more than one member of what the lady called "that snubby set"would now and then make a place for her at the card-table. A few ofMrs. Drelmer's intimates were so wanting in good taste as to intimatethat she exploited Miss Bines even to the degree of an understandingexpressed in bald percentage, with certain of those to whom she securedthe girl's society at cards. Whether this ill-natured gossip was trueor false, it is certain that the exigencies of life on next to nothinga year, with a husband who could boast of next to nothing but Family, had developed an unerring business sense in Mrs. Drelmer; and certainit also is that this winter was one when the appearances with which shehad to strive were unwontedly buoyant. 

Miss Bines tirelessly memorised rules. She would disclose to her placidmother that the lead of a trump to the third hand's go-over of heartsis of doubtful expediency; or that one must "follow suit with thesmallest, except when you have only two, neither of them better thanthe Jack. Then play the higher first, so that when the lower falls yourpartner may know you are out of the suit, and ruff it. "

Mrs. Bines declared that it did seem to her very much like out-and-outgambling. But Percival, looking over the stubs of his sister'scheck-book, warmly protested her innocence of this charge. 

"Heaven knows sis has her shortcomings, " he observed, patronisingly, inthat young woman's presence, "but she's no gambler; don't say it, ma, Ibeg of you! She only knows five rules of the game, and I judge it'scost her about three thousand dollars each to learn those. And the onlyone she never forgets is, 'When in doubt, lead your highest check. ' Butdon't ever accuse her of gambling. Poor girl, if she keeps on playingbridge she'll have writer's cramp; that's all I'm afraid of. I seethere's a new rapid-fire check-book on the market, and an improvedfountain pen that doesn't slobber. I'll have to get her one of each. "

Yet Psyche Bines's experience, like her brother's, was not without aproper leaven of sentiment. There was Fred Milbrey, handsome, clever, amusing, knowing every one, and giving her a pleasant sense of intimacywith all that was worth while in New York. Him she felt very friendlyto. 

Then there was Mauburn, presently to be Lord Casselthorpe, with hislazy, high-pitched drawl; good-natured, frank, carrying an atmosphereof high-class British worldliness, and delicately awakening within herwhile she was with him a sense of her own latent superiority to theinstitutions of her native land. She liked Mauburn, too. 

More impressive than either of these, however, was the Baron Ronault dePalliac. Tall, swarthy, saturnine, a polished man of all the world, ofmanners finished, elaborate, and ceremonious, she found herself feelingforeign and distinguished in his presence, quite as if she were theheroine of a romantic novel, and might at any instant be called upon toassist in royalist intrigues. The baron, to her intuition, nursedsecret sorrows. For these she secretly worshipped him. It is true thatwhen he dined with her and her mother, which he was frequently graciousenough to do, he ate with a heartiness that belied this secret sorrowshe had imagined. But he was fascinating at all times, with a grace attable not less finished than that with which he bowed at their meetingsand partings. It was not unpleasant to think of basking daily in theshine of that grand manner, even if she did feel friendlier withMilbrey, and more at ease with Mauburn. 

If the truth must be told, Miss Bines was less impressionable thaneither of the three would have wished. Her heart seemed not easy toreach; her impulses were not inflammable. Young Milbrey early confidedto his family a suspicion that she was singularly hard-headed, and thedefinite information that she had "a hob-nailed Western way" oftreating her admirers. 

Mauburn, too, was shrewd enough to see that, while she frankly likedhim, he was for some reason less a favourite than the Baron de Palliac. 

"It'll be no easy matter marrying that girl, " he told Mrs. Drelmer. "She's really a dear, and awfully good fun, but she's not a bit silly, and I dare say she'll marry some chap because she likes him, and notbecause he's anybody, you know. "

"Make her like you, " insisted his adviser. 

"On my word, I wish she did. And I'm not so sure, you know, she doesn'tfancy that Frenchman, or even young Milbrey. "

"I'll keep you before her, " promised Mrs. Drelmer, "and I wish you'dnot think you can't win her. 'Tisn't like you. "

Miss Bines accordingly heard that it was such a pity young Milbreydrank so, because his only salvation lay in making a rich marriage, anda young man, nowadays, had to keep fairly sober to accomplish that. Really, Mrs. Drelmer felt sorry for the poor weak fellow. "Good-heartedchap, but he has no character, my dear, so I'm afraid there's no hopefor him. He has the soul of a merchant tailor, actually, but not thetailor's manhood. Otherwise he'd be above marrying some unsuspectinggirl for her money and breaking her heart after marriage. Now, Mauburnis a type so different; honest, unaffected, healthy, really he's a manfor any girl to be proud of, even if he were not heir to a title--oneof the best in all England, and an ornament of the most exclusivelycorrect set; of a line, my dear, that is truly great--not like thatshoddy French nobility, discredited in France, that sends so many ofits comic-opera barons here looking for large dowries to pay theirgambling debts and put furniture in their rattle-trap old chateaux, andkeep them in absinthe and their other peculiar diversions. And Mauburn, you lucky minx, simply adores you--he's quite mad about you, really!"

In spite of Mrs. Drelmer's two-edged sword, Miss Bines continued rathermore favourable to the line of De Palliac. The baron was so splendid, so gloomy, so deferential. He had the air of laying at her feet, as arug, the whole glorious history of France. And he appeared so well inthe victoria when they drove in the park. 

It is true that the heart of Miss Bines was as yet quite untouched; andit was not more than a cool, dim, aesthetic light in which she surveyedthe three suitors impartially, to behold the impressive figure of thebaron towering above the others. Had the baron proposed for her hand, it is not impossible that, facing the question directly, she would haveparried or evaded. 

But certain events befell unpropitiously at a time when the baron wasmost certain of his conquest; at the very time, indeed, when he haddetermined to open his suit definitely by extending a proposal to theyoung lady through the orthodox medium of her nearest male relative. 

"I admit, " wrote the baron to his expectant father, "that it is whatone calls '_very chances_' in the English, but one must venture in thiscountry, and your son is not without much hope. And if not, there isstill Mlle. Higbee. "

The baron shuddered as he wrote it. He preferred not to recognise eventhe existence of this alternative, for the reason that the father ofMlle. Higbee distressed him by an incompleteness of suavity. 

"He conducts himself like a pork, " the baron would declare to himself, by way of perfecting his English. 

The secret cause of his subsequent determination not to propose for thehand of Miss Bines lay in the hopelessly middle-class leanings of thelady who might have incurred the supreme honour of becoming hismother-in-law. Had Mrs. Bines been above talking to low people, acatastrophe might have been averted. But Mrs. Bines was not above it. She was quite unable to repress a vulgar interest in the menials thatserved her. 

She knew the butler's life history two days after she had ceased to beafraid of him. She knew the distressing family affairs of the maids;how many were the ignoble progeny of the elevator-man, and what hisplebeian wife did for their croup; how much rent the hall-boy'slow-born father paid for his mean two-story dwelling in Jersey City;and how many hours a day or night the debased scrub-women devoted totheir unrefining toil. 

Brazenly, too, she held converse with Philippe, the active and volubleAlsatian who served her when she chose to dine in the public restaurantinstead of at her own private table. Philippe acquainted her with thejoys and griefs of his difficult profession. There were fourteenthousand waiters in New York, if, by waiters, you meant any one. Ofcourse there were not so many like Philippe, men of the world who hadserved their time as assistants and their three years as sub-waiters;men who spoke English, French, and German, who knew something ofcooking, how to dress a salad, and how to carve. Only such, itappeared, could be members of the exclusive Geneva Club that procured aplace for you when you were idle, and paid you eight dollars a weekwhen you were sick. 

Having the qualifications, one could earn twenty-five dollars a monthin salary and three or four times as much in gratuities. Philippe'sincome was never less than one hundred and twenty dollars a month; forwas he not one who had come from Europe as a master, after two seasonsat Paris where a man acquires his polish--his perfection of manner, hisfinish, his grace? Philippe could never enough prize that post-graduatecourse at the _Maison d'Or_, where he had personally known--madamemight not believe it--the incomparable Casmir, a _chef_ who served twogenerations of epicures, princes, kings, statesmen, travellingAmericans, --all the truly great. 

With his own lips Casmir had told him, Philippe, of the occasion whenDumas, _pere_, had invited him to dinner that they might discuss theesoterics of salad dressing and sauces; also of the time when theMarquis de St. Georges embraced Casmir for inventing the precious soupthat afterwards became famous as _Potage Germine_. And now the skilledand puissant Casmir had retired. It was a calamity. The _Maisond'Or_--Paris--would no longer be what they had been. 

For that matter, since one must live, Philippe preferred it to be inAmerica, for in no other country could an adept acquire so much money. And Philippe knew the whole dining world. With Celine and the baby, Paul, Philippe dwelt in an apartment that would really amaze madame byits appointments of luxury, in East 38th Street, and only the fourflights to climb. And Paul was three, the largest for his age, quitethe largest, that either Philippe or Celine had ever beheld. Even thebrother of Celine and his wife, who had a restaurant of theirown--serving the _table d'hote_ at two and one-half francs the plate, with wine--even these swore they had never seen an infant so big, forhis years, as Paul. 

And so Mrs. Bines grew actually to feel an interest in the creature andhis wretched affairs, and even fell into the deplorable habit ofsaying, "I must come to see you and your wife and Paul some pleasantday, Philippe, " and Philippe, being a man of the world, thought nonethe less of her for believing that she did not mean it. 

Yet it befell on an afternoon that Mrs. Bines found herself in apopulous side-street, driving home from a visit to the rheumaticscrub-woman who had now to be supported by the papers her miserableoffspring sold. Mrs. Bines had never seen so many children as floodedthis street. She wondered if an orphan asylum were in theneighbourhood. And though the day was pleasantly warm, she decided thatthere were about her at least a thousand cases of incipient pneumonia, for not one child in five had on a hat. They raged and dashed andrippled from curb to curb so that they might have made her think of aswift mountain torrent at the bottom of a gloomy canyon, but that theworthy woman was too literal-minded for such fancies. She only warnedthe man to drive slowly. 

And then by a street sign she saw that she was near the home ofPhilippe. It was three o'clock, and he would be resting from his work. The man found the number. The waves parted and piled themselves oneither side in hushed wonder as she entered the hallway and searchedfor the name on the little cards under the bells. She had never knownthe surname, and on two of the cards "Ph. " appeared. She rang one ofthe bells, the door mysteriously opened with a repeated double click, and she began the toilsome climb. The waves of children fell togetherbehind her in turbulent play again. 

At the top she breathed a moment and then knocked at a door before her. A voice within called:

"_Entres!_" and Mrs. Bines opened the door. 

It was the tiny kitchen of Philippe. Philippe, himself, inshirt-sleeves, sat in a chair tilted back close to the gas-range, the_Courier des Etats Unis_ in his hands and Paul on his lap. Celineironed the bosom of a gentleman's white shirt on an ironing boardsupported by the backs of two chairs. 

Hemmed in the corner by this board and by the gas-range, seated at atable covered by the oilcloth that simulates the marble of Italy's mostfamous quarry, sat, undoubtedly, the Baron Ronault de Palliac. Asteaming plate of spaghetti _a la Italien_ was before him, to his lefta large bowl of salad, to his right a bottle of red wine. 

For a space of three seconds the entire party behaved as if it werebeing photographed under time-exposure. Philippe and the baby stared, motionless. Celine stared, resting no slight weight on the hotflat-iron. The Baron Ronault de Palliac stared, his fork poised inmid-air and festooned with gay little streamers of spaghetti. 

Then came smoke, the smell of scorching linen, and a cry of horror fromCeline. 

"_Ah, la seule chemise blanche de Monsieur le Baron!_"

The spell was broken. Philippe was on his feet, bowing effusively. 

"Ah! it is Madame Bines. _Je suis tres honore_--I am very honoured towelcome you, madame. It is madame, _ma femme_, Celine, --and--Monsieurle Baron de Palliac--"

Philippe had turned with evident distress toward the latter. ButPhilippe was only a waiter, and had not behind him the centuries ofschooling that enable a gentleman to remain a gentleman under adverseconditions. 

The Baron Ronault de Palliac arose with unruffled aplomb and favouredthe caller with his stateliest bow. He was at the moment a graceful andsilencing rebuke to those who aver that manner and attire beinterdependent. The baron's manner was ideal, undiminished in volume, faultless as to decorative qualities. One fitted to savour itsexquisite finish would scarce have noted that above his waist the noblegentleman was clad in a single woollen undergarment of revolutionaryred. 

Or, if such a one had observed this trifling circumstance, he would, assuredly, have treated it as of no value to the moment; something tonote, perhaps, and then gracefully to forget. 

The baron's own behaviour would have served as a model. One swiftglance had shown him there was no way of instant retreat. That beingimpossible, none other was graceful; hence none other was to beconsidered. He permitted himself not even a glance at the shirt uponwhose fair, defenceless bosom the iron of the overcome Celine hadburned its cruel brown imprimature. Mrs. Bines had greeted him as hewould have wished, unconscious, apparently, that there could be causefor embarrassment. 

[Illustration: "THE SPELL WAS BROKEN. "]

"Ah! madame, " he said, handsomely, "you see me, I unfast with the fork. You see me here, I have envy of the simple life. I am content of to doit--_comme ca_--as that, see you, " waving in the direction of hisunfinished repast. "All that magnificence of your grand hotel, there isnot the why of it, the most big of the world, and suchly stupefying, with its 'infernil rackit' as you say. And of more--what droll of idea, enough curious, by example! to dwell with the good Philippe and his_femme aimable_. Their hotel is of the most littles, but I rest herevery volunteerly since longtime. Is it that one can to comprehendliking the vast hotel American?"

"Monsieur le Baron lodges with us; we have so much of the chambers, "ventured Celine. 

"Monsieur le Baron wishes to retire to his apartment, " said Philippe, raising the ironing-board. "Will madame be so good to enter our _petitsalon_ at the front, _n'est-ce-pas?_"

The baron stepped forth from his corner and bowed himself graciouslyout. 

"Madame, my compliments--and to the adorable Mademoiselle Bines! _Aurevoir_, madame--to the soontime--_avant peu_--before little!"

On the farther side of his closed door the Baron Ronault de Palliacswore--once. But the oath was one of the most awful that a Frenchmanmay utter in his native tongue: "Sacred Name of a Name!"

"But the baron wasn't done eating, " protested Mrs. Bines. 

"Ah, yes, madame!" replied Philippe. "Monsieur le Baron has consumedenough for now. _Paul, mon enfant, ne touche pas la robe de madame!_ Heis large, is he not, madame, as I have told you? A monster, yes?"

Mrs. Bines, stooping, took the limp and wide-eyed Paul up in her arms. Whereupon he began to talk so fast to her in French that she set himquickly down again, with the slightly helpless air of one who haspicked up an innocent-looking clock only to have the clanging alarm gosuddenly off. 

"Madame will honour our little salon, " urged Philippe, opening the doorand bowing low. 

"_Quel dommage!_" sighed Celine, moving after them; "_la seule chemiseblanche de Monsieur le Baron. Eh bien! il faut lui en acheter uneautre!_"

At dinner that evening Mrs. Bines related her adventure, to theunfeigned delight of her graceless son, and to the somewhat troubledamazement of her daughter. 

"And, do you know, " she ventured, "maybe he isn't a regular baron, after all!"

"Oh, I guess he's a regular one all right, " said Percival; "onlyperhaps he hasn't worked at it much lately. "

"But his sitting there eating in that--that shirt--" said his sister. 

"My dear young woman, even the nobility are prey to climatic rigours;they are obliged, like the wretched low-born such as ourselves, towear--pardon me--undergarments. Again, I understand from Mrs. Cadwallader here that the article in question was satisfactory andfit--red, I believe you say, Mrs. Terwilliger?"

"Awful red!" replied his mother--"and they call their parlour asaloon. "

"And of necessity, even the noble have their moments of _deshabille_. "

"They needn't eat their lunch that way, " declared his sister. 

"Is _deshabille_ French for underclothes?" asked Mrs. Bines, struck bythe word. 

"Partly, " answered her son. 

"And the way that child of Philippe's jabbered French! It's wonderfulhow they can learn so young. "

"They begin early, you know, " Percival explained. "And as to our friendthe baron, I'm ready to make book that sis doesn't see him again, except at a distance. "

Sometime afterwards he computed the round sum he might have won if anysuch bets had been made; for his sister's list of suitors, to adopt hisown lucent phrase, was thereafter "shy a baron. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Summer Campaign Is Planned

Winter waned and spring charmed the land into blossom. The city-pent, as we have intimated, must take this season largely on faith. If onecan find a patch of ground naked of stone or asphalt one may feel theheart of the earth beat. But even now the shop-windows are moreinspiring. At least they copy the outer show. Tender-hued shirt-waistsfirst push up their sprouts of arms through the winter furs andwoollens, quite as the first violets out in the woodland thrustthemselves up through the brown carpet of leaves. Then every windowbecomes a summery glade of lawn, tulle, and chiffon, more lavish oftints, shades, and combinations, indeed, than ever nature dared to be. 

Outside, where the unspoiled earth begins, the blossoms are cloudingthe trees with a mist of pink and white, and the city-dweller knows itfrom the bloom and foliage of these same windows. 

Then it is that the spring "get away" urge is felt by each prisoner, bythose able to obey it, and by those, alike, who must wear it down inthe groomed and sophisticated wildness of the city parks. 

On a morning late in May Mrs. Bines and her daughter were at breakfast. 

"Isn't Percival coming?" asked his mother. "Everything will be cold. "

"Can't say, " Psyche answered. "I don't even know if he came in lastnight. But don't worry about cold things. You can't get them too coldfor Perce at breakfast, nowadays. He takes a lot of ice-water and alittle something out of the decanter, and maybe some black coffee. "

"Yes, and I'm sure it's bad for him. He doesn't look a bit healthy andhasn't since he quit eating breakfast. He used to be such a heartyeater at breakfast, steaks and bacon and chops and eggs and waffles. Itwas a sight to see him eat; and since he's quit taking anything butthat cold stuff he's lost his colour and his eyes don't look right. Iknow what he's got hold of--it's that 'no-breakfast' fad. I heard aboutit from Mrs. Balldridge when we came here last fall. I never didbelieve in it, either. "

The object of her solicitude entered in dressing-gown and slippers. 

"I'm just telling Psyche that this no-breakfast fad is hurting yourhealth, my son. Now do come and eat like you used to. You began to lookbad as soon as you left off your breakfast. It's a silly fad, that'swhat it is. You can't tell _me!_"

The young man stared at his mother until he had mastered her meaning. Then he put both hands to his head and turned to the sideboard as if toconceal his emotion. 

"That's it, " he said, as he busied himself with a tall glass and thecracked ice. "It's that 'no-breakfast' fad. I didn't think you knewabout it. The fact is, " he continued, pouring out a measure of brandy, and directing the butler to open a bottle of soda, "we all eat toomuch. After a night of sound sleep we awaken refreshed and buoyant, allour forces replenished; thirsty, of course, but not hungry"--he satdown to the table and placed both hands again to his head--"and we haveno need of food. Yet such is the force of custom that we deadenourselves for the day by tanking up on coarse, loathsome stuff likebacon. Ugh! Any one would think, the way you two eat so early in theday, that you were a couple of cave-dwellers, --the kind that alwaysloaded up when they had a chance because it might be a week before theygot another. "

He drained his glass and brightened visibly. 

"Now, why not be reasonable?" he continued, pleadingly. "You know thereis plenty of food. I have observed it being brought into town in hugewagon-loads in the early morning on many occasions. Why do you want toeat it all at one sitting? No one's going to starve you. Why stupefyyourselves when, by a little nervy self-denial, you can remain as freshand bright and clear-headed as I am at this moment? Why doesn't a firemake its own escape, Mrs. Carstep-Jamwuddle?"

"I don't believe you feel right, either. I just know you've got anawful headache right now. Do let the man give you a nice piece of thissteak. "

"Don't, I beg of you, Lady Ashmorton! The suggestion is extremelyrepugnant to me. Besides, I'm behaving this way because I arose withthe purely humourous fancy that my head was a fine large accordeon, andthat some meddler had drawn it out too far. I'm sportively pretendingthat I can press it back into shape. Now you and sis never get up withany such light poetic notion as that. You know you don't--don't attemptto deceive me. " He glanced over the table with swift disapproval. 

"Strawberries, oatmeal, rolls, steak three inches thick, bacon, omelette--oh, that I should live to see this day! It's disgraceful! Andat your age--before your own innocent woman-child, and leading her intothe same excesses. Do you know what that breakfast is? No; I'll tellyou. That breakfast is No. 78 in that book of Mrs. Rorer's, and sheexpressly warns everybody that it can be eaten safely only bysteeple-climbers, piano-movers, and sea-captains. Really, Mrs. Wrangleberry, I blush for you. "

"I don't care how you go on. You ain't looked well for months. "

"But think of my great big heart--a heart like an ox, "--he seemed onthe verge of tears--"and to think that you, a woman I have nevertreated with anything but respect since we met in Honduras in the fallof '93--to think _you_ should throw it up to my own face that I'm notbeautiful. Others there are, thank God, who can look into a man's heartand prize him for what he is--not condemn him for his mere superficialblemishes. "

"And I just know you've got in with a fast set. I met Mr. Milbreyyesterday in the corridor--"

"Did he tell you how to make a lovely asparagus short-cake orsomething?"

"He told me those men you go with so much are dreadful gamblers, andthat when you all went to Palm Beach last February you played poker formoney night and day, and you told me you went for your health!"

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, I didn't get anything else. He's a dear oldsoul, if you've got the copper handy. If that man was a woman he'd be awarm neighbourhood gossip. He'd be the nice kind old lady that _starts_things, that's what Hoddy Milbrey would be. "

"And you said yourself you played poker most of the time when you wentto Aiken on the car last month. "

"To be honest with you, ma, we did play poker. Say, they took it off ofme so fast I could feel myself catching cold. "

"There, you see--and you really ought to wear one of those chamois-skinchest protectors in this damp climate. "

"Well, we'll see. If I can find one that an ace-full won't go throughI'll snatch it so quick the man'll think he's being robbed. Now I'lljoin you ladies to the extent of some coffee, and then I want to knowwhat you two would rather do this summer _than_. "

"Of course, " said Psyche, "no one stays in town in summer. "

"Exactly. And I've chartered a steam yacht as big as this hotel--allbut--But what I want to know is whether you two care to bunk on it orwhether you'd rather stay quietly at some place, Newport perhaps, andmaybe take a cruise with me now and then. "

"Oh, that would be good fun. But here's ma getting so I can't do athing with her, on account of all those beggars and horrid people downin the slums. "

Mrs. Bines looked guilty and feebly deprecating. It was quite true thatin her own way she had achieved a reputation for prodigality notinferior to that acquired by her children in ways of their own. 

"You know it's so, ma, " the daughter went on, accusingly. "One nightlast winter when you were away we dined at the Balldridge's, inEighty-sixth Street, and the pavements were so sleety the horsescouldn't stand, so Colonel Balldridge brought us home in the Elevated, about eleven o'clock. Well, at one of the stations a big policeman goton with a little baby all wrapped up in red flannel. He'd found it inan area-way, nearly covered with snow--where some one had left it, andhe was taking it down to police-headquarters, he said. Well, ma wentcrazy right away. She made him undo it, and then she insisted onholding it all the way down to Thirty-third Street. One man said itmight be President of the United States, some day; and ColonelBalldridge said, 'Yes, it has unknown possibilities--it may even be aPresident's wife'--just like that. But I thought ma would be demented. It was all fat and so warm and sleepy it could hardly hold its eyesopen, and I believe she'd have kept it then and there if the policemanwould have let her. She made him promise to get it a bottle of warmmilk the first thing, and borrowed twenty dollars of the colonel togive to the policeman to get it things with, and then all the way downshe talked against the authorities for allowing such things--as if theycould help it--and when we got home she cried--you _know_ you did, ma--and you pretended it was toothache--and ever since then she's beenperfectly daft about babies. Why, whenever she sees a woman going alongwith one she thinks the poor thing is going to leave it some place; andnow she's in with those charity workers and says she won't leave NewYork at all this summer. "

"I don't care, " protested the guilty mother, "it would have frozen todeath in just a little while, and it's done so often. Why, up at theCatholic Protectory they put out a basket at the side door, so a bodycan leave their baby in it and ring the bell and run away; and they getone twice a week sometimes; and this was such a sweet, fat little babywith big blue eyes, and its forehead wrinkled, and it was all puckeredup around its little nose--"

"And that isn't the worst of it, " the relentless daughter broke in. "She gets begging letters by the score and gives money to all sorts ofpeople, and a man from the Charities Organisation, who had heard aboutit, came and warned her that they were impostors--only she doesn'tcare. Do you know, there was a poor old blind woman with a dismal, wheezy organ down at Broadway and Twenty-third Street--the organ wouldhardly play at all, and just one wretched tune--only the woman wasn'tblind at all we found out--and ma bought her a nice new organ that costseventy-five dollars and had it taken up to her. Well, she found outthrough this man from the Organisation that the woman had pawned thenew organ for twenty dollars and was still playing on the old one. Shedidn't want a new one because it was too cheerful; it didn't makepeople sad when they heard it, like her old one did. And yesterday mabought an Indian--"

"A what?" asked her brother, in amazement. 

"An Indian--a tobacco sign. "

"You don't mean it? One of those lads that stand out in front and peerunder their hands to see what palefaces are moving into the houseacross the street? Say, ma, what you going to do with him? There isn'tmuch room here, you know. "

"I didn't buy him for myself, " replied Mrs. Bines, with dignity; "Iwouldn't want such an object. "

"She bought it, " explained his sister, "for an Italian woman who keepsa little tobacco-shop down in Rivington Street. A man goes around torepaint them, you know, but hers was so battered that this man told herit wasn't worth painting again, and she'd better get another, and thewoman said she didn't know what to do because they cost twenty-fivedollars and one doesn't last very long. The bad boys whittle him andthrow him down, and the people going along the street put their shoesup to tie them and step on his feet, and they scratch matches on hisface, and when she goes out and says that isn't right they tell hershe's too fresh. And so ma gave her twenty-five dollars for a new one. "

"But she has to support five children, and her husband hasn't been ableto work for three years, since he fell through a fire-escape where hewas sleeping one hot night, " pleaded Mrs. Bines, "and I think I'drather stay here this summer. Just think of all those poor babies whenthe weather gets hot. I never thought there were so many babies in theworld. "

"Well, have your own way, " said her son. "If you've started out to lookafter all the babies in New York you won't have any time left to playthe races, I'll promise you that. "

"Why, my son, I never--"

"But sis here would probably rather do other things. "

"I think, " said Psyche, "I'd like Newport--Mrs. Drelmer says Ishouldn't think of going any place else. Only, of course, I can't gothere alone. She says she would be glad to chaperone me, but herhusband hasn't had a very good year in Wall Street, and she's afraidshe won't be able to go herself. "

"Maybe, " began Mrs. Bines, "if you'd offer--"

"Oh! she'd be offended, " exclaimed Psyche. 

"I'm not so sure of that, " said her brother, "not if you suggest it inthe right way--put it on the ground that you'll be quite helplesswithout her, and that she'd oblige you world without end and all that. The more I see of people here the more I think they're quite reasonablein little matters like that. They look at them in the right light. Justlead up to it delicately with Mrs. Drelmer and see. Then if she'swilling to go with you, your summer will be provided for; except thatwe shall both have to look in upon Mrs. Juzzlebraggin here now and thento see that she doesn't overplay the game and get sick herself, andmake sure that they don't get her vaccination mark away from her. And, ma, you'll have to come off on the yacht once or twice, just to give ittone. "

It appeared that Percival had been right in supposing that Mrs. Drelmermight be led to regard Psyche's proposal in a light entirely rational. She was reluctant, at first, it is true. 

"It's awfully dear of you to ask me, child, but really, I'm afraid itwill be quite impossible. Oh!--for reasons which you, of course, withyour endless bank-account, cannot at all comprehend. You see we old NewYork families have a secure position _here_ by right of birth; and evenwhen we are forced to practice little economies in dress and householdmanagement it doesn't count against us--so long as we _stay_ here. Now, Newport is different. One cannot economise gracefully there--not evenone of _us_. There are quiet and very decent places for those of usthat must. But at Newport one must not fall behind in display. A senseof loyalty to the others, a _noblesse oblige_, compels one to be aslavish as those flamboyant outsiders who go there. One doesn't wantthem to report, you know, that such and such families of our smart setare falling behind for lack of means. So, while we of the real stockare chummy enough here, where there is only _us_ in a position toobserve ourselves, there is a sort of tacit agreement that only thoseshall go to Newport who are able to keep up the pace. One need not, forone season or so, be a cottager; but, for example, in the matter ofdress, one must be sinfully lavish. Really, child, I could spend threemonths in the Engadine for the price of one decent month at Newport;the parasols, gloves, fans, shoes, 'frillies'--enough to stock the Ruede la Paix, to say nothing of gowns--but why do I run on? Here am Iwith a few little simple summer things, fit enough indeed for the quietplace we shall reach for July and August, but ab-so-lute-ly impossiblefor Newport--so say no more about it, dear. You're a sweet--but it'smadness to think of it. "

"And I had, " reported Psyche to her mother that night, "such a timegetting her to agree. At first she wouldn't listen at all. Then, afterI'd just fairly begged her, she admitted she might because she's takensuch a fancy to me and hates to leave me--but she was sensitive aboutwhat people might say. I told her they'd never have a chance to say aword; and she was anxious Perce shouldn't know, because she says he'sso cynical about New York people since that Milbrey girl made such aset for him; and at last she called me a dear and consented, thoughshe'd been looking forward to a quiet summer. To-morrow early we startout for the shops. "

So it came that the three members of the Bines family pursued duringthe summer their respective careers of diversion under conditions mostsatisfactory to each. 

The steam yacht _Viluca_, chartered by Percival, was put intocommission early in June. Her first cruise of ten days was a signaltriumph. His eight guests were the men with whom he had played poker sotirelessly during the winter. Perhaps the most illuminating log of thatcruise may be found in the reply of one of them whom Percival invitedfor another early in July. 

"Much obliged, old man, but I haven't touched a drop now in over threeweeks. My doctor says I must let it be for at least two months, and Imean to stick by him. Awfully kind of you, though!"

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Sight of a New Beauty, and Some Advice from Higbee

From the landing on a still morning in late July, Mrs. Drelmer surveyedthe fleet of sailing and steam yachts at anchor in Newport harbour. Shewas beautifully and expensively gowned in nun's grey chiffon; her toquewas of chiffon and lace, and she held a pale grey parasol, its ivoryhandle studded with sapphires. She fixed a glass upon one of the white, sharp-nosed steam yachts that rode in the distance near Goat Island. "Can you tell me if that's the _Viluca?_" she asked a sailor landingfrom a dinghy, "that boat just astern of the big schooner?"

"No ma'am; that's the _Alta_, Commodore Weckford. "

"Looking for some one?" inquired a voice, and she turned to greet FredMilbrey descending the steps. 

"Oh! Good-morning! yes; but they've not come in, evidently. It's the_Viluca_--Mr. Bines, you know; he's bringing his sister back to me. Andyou?"

"I'm expecting the folks on Shepler's craft. Been out two weeks now, and were to have come down from New London last night. They're not insight either. Perhaps the gale last night kept them back. "

Mrs. Drelmer glanced above to where some one seemed to be waiting forhim. 

"Who's your perfectly gorgeous companion? You've been so devoted to herfor three days that you've hardly bowed to old friends. Don't you wanther to know any one?"

The young man laughed with an air of great shrewdness. 

"Come, now, Mrs. Drelmer, you're too good a friend of Mauburn's--abouthis marrying, I mean. You fixed him to tackle me low the very firsthalf of one game we know about, right when I was making a fine run downthe field, too. I'm going to have better interference this time. "

"Silly! Your chances are quite as good as his there this moment. "

"You may think so; I know better. "

"And of course, in any other affair, I'd never think of--"

"P'r'aps so; but I'd rather not chance it just yet. "

"But who is she? What a magnificent mop of hair. It's like that richpiece of ore Mr. Bines showed us, with copper and gold in it. "

"Well, I don't mind telling you she's the widow of a Southerngentleman, Colonel Brench Wybert. "

"Ah, indeed! I did notice that two-inch band of black at the bottom ofher accordeon-plaited petticoat. I'll wager that's a _Rue de la Paix_idea of mourning for one's dead husband. And she confides her grief tothe world with such charming discretion. Half the New York women can'thold their skirts up as daintily as she does it. I dare say, now, hertears could be dried?--by the right comforter?"

Milbrey looked important. 

"And I don't mind telling you the late Colonel Brench Wybert left her afortune made in Montana copper. Can't say how much, but two weeks agoshe asked the governor's advice about where to put a spare million anda half in cash. Not so bad, eh?"

"Oh, this new plutocracy! Where _do_ they get it?"

"How old, now, should you say she was?"

Mrs. Drelmer glanced up again at the colour-scheme of heliotrope seatedin a victoria upholstered in tan brocade. 

"Thirty-five, I should say--about. "

"Just twenty-eight. "

"Just about what I should say--she'd say. "

"Come now, you women can't help it, can you? But you can't deny she'sstunning?"

"Indeed I can't! She's a beauty--and, good luck to you. Is that the_Viluca_ coming in? No; it has two stacks; and it's not your peoplebecause the _Lotus_ is black. I shall go back to the hotel. BertieTrafford brought me over on the trolley. I must find him first and doan errand in Thames Street. "

At the head of the stairs they parted, Milbrey joining the lady who hadwaited for him. 

Hers was a person to gladden the eye. Her figure, tall and full, was ofa graceful and abundant perfection of contours; her face, preciselycarved and showing the faintly generous rounding of maturity, was warmin colouring, with dark eyes, well shaded and languorous; her full lipsbetrayed their beauty in a ready and fascinating laugh; her voice was arich, warm contralto; and her speech bore just a hint of the softr-less drawl of the South. 

She had blazed into young Milbrey's darkness one night in the palm-roomof the Hightower Hotel, escorted by a pleased and beefy youth of hisacquaintance, who later told him of their meeting at the AmericanEmbassy in Paris, and who unsuspectingly presented him. Since theirmeeting the young man had been her abject cavalier. The elder Milbrey, too, had met her at his son's suggestion. He had been as deeplyimpressed by her helplessness in the matter of a million and a halfdollars of idle funds as she had been by his aristocratic bearing andenviable position in New York society. 

"Sorry to have kept you waiting. The _Lotus_ hasn't come in sight yet. Let's loaf over to the beach and have some tall, cold ones. "

"Who was your elderly friend?" she asked, as they were driven slowly upthe old-fashioned street. 

"Oh! that's Joe Drelmer. She's not so old, you know; not a day overforty, Joe can't be; fine old stock; she was a Leydenbroek and herhusband's family is one of the very oldest in New York. Awfullyexclusive. Down to meet friends, but they'd not shown up, either. Thatreminds me; they're friends of ours, too, and I must have you meetthem. They're from your part of the country--the Bines. "

"The--ah--"

"Bines; family from Montana; decent enough sort; didn't know but youmight have heard of them, being from your part of the country. "

"Ah, I never think of that vulgar West as 'my part of the country' atall. _My_ part is dear old Virginia, where my father, General Tulver, and his father and his father's father all lived the lives of countrygentlemen, after the family came here from Devonshire. It was thereColonel Wybert wooed me, though we later removed to New Orleans. " Mrs. Wybert called it "New _Aw_-leens. "

"But it was not until my husband became interested in Montana minesthat we ventured into that horrid West. So _do_ remember not toconfound me with your Western--ah--Bones, --was it not?"

"No, Bines; they'll be here presently, and you can meet them, anyway. "

"Is there an old fellow--a queer old character, with them?"

"No, only a son and daughter and the mother. "

"Of course I sha'n't mind meeting any friends of yours, " she said, withcharming graciousness, "but, really, I always understood that youKnickerbockers were so vastly more exclusive. I do recall this namenow. I remember hearing tales of the family in Spokane. They're a type, you know. One sees many of the sort there. They make a strike in themines and set up ridiculous establishments regardless of expense. Yousee them riding in their carriages with two men in the box--red-handed, grizzled old vulgarians who've roughed it in the mountains for twentyyears with a pack-mule and a ham and a pick-axe--with their jug ofwhiskey--and their frowsy red-faced wives decked out in impossiblefinery. Yes, I do recall this family. There is a daughter, you say?"

"Yes; Miss Psyche Bines. "

"Psyche; ah, yes; it's the same family. I recollect perfectly now. Youknow they tell the funniest tales of them out there. Her mother foundthe name 'Psyche' in a book, and liked it, but she pronounced it'Pishy, ' and so the girl was called until she became old enough to goto school and learned better. "

"Dear me; fancy now!"

"And there are countless tales of the mother's queer sayings. Once agentleman whom they were visiting in San Francisco was showing her acabinet of curios. 'Now, don't you find the Pompeiian figurinesexquisite?' he asked her. The poor creature, after looking around herhelplessly, declared that she _did_ like them; but that she liked theCalifornia nectarines better--they were so much juicier. "

"You don't tell me; gad! that was a good one. Oh, well, she's a meek, harmless old soul, and really, my family's not the snobbish sort, youknow. "

In from the shining sea late that afternoon steamed the _Viluca_. Asher chain was rattling through the hawse-hole, Percival, with hissister and Mauburn, came on deck. 

"Why, there's the _Chicago_--Higbee's yacht. "

"That's the boat, " said Mauburn, "that's been piling the white water upin front of her all afternoon trying to overhaul us. "

"There's Millie Higbee and old Silas, now. "

"And, as I live, " exclaimed Psyche, "there's the Baron de Palliacbetween them!"

"Sure enough, " said her brother. "We must call ma up to see him dressedin those sweet, pretty yachting flannels. Oh, there you are!" as Mrs. Bines joined them. "Just take this glass and treat yourself to a lookat your old friend, the baron. You'll notice he has oneon--see--they're waving to us. "

"Doesn't the baron look just too distinguished beside Mr. Higbee?" saidPsyche, watching them. 

"And doesn't Higbee look just too Chicago beside the baron?" repliedher brother. 

The Higbee craft cut her way gracefully up to an anchorage near the_Viluca_, and launches from both yachts now prepared to land theirpeople. At the landing Percival telephoned for a carriage. While theywere waiting the Higbee party came ashore. 

"Hello!" said Higbee; "if I'd known that was you we was chasing I'dhave put on steam and left you out of sight. "

"It's much better you didn't recognise us; these boiler explosions areso messy. "

"Know the baron here?"

"Of course we know the baron. Ah, baron!"

"Ah, ha! very charmed, Mr. Bines and Miss Bines; it is of a long timethat we are not encountered. "

He was radiant; they had never before seen him thus. Mrs. Higbeehovered near him with an air of proud ownership. Pretty Millie Higbeeposed gracefully at her side. 

"This your carriage?" asked Higbee; "I must telephone for one myself. Going to the Mayson? So are we. See you again to-night. We're off forBar Harbour early to-morrow. "

"Looks as if there were something doing there, " said Percival, as theydrove off the wharf. 

"Of course, stupid!" said his sister; "that's plain; only it isn'tdoing, it's already done. Isn't it funny, ma?"

"For a French person, " observed Mrs. Bines, guardedly, "I always likedthe baron. "

"Of course, " said her son, to Mauburn's mystification, "and the noblestmen on this earth have to wear 'em. "

The surmise regarding the Baron de Palliac and Millie Higbee proved tobe correct. Percival came upon Higbee in the meditative enjoyment ofhis after-dinner cigar, out on the broad piazza. 

"I s'pose you're on, " he began; "the girl's engaged to that Frenchy. "

"I congratulate him, " said Percival, heartily. 

"A real baron, " continued Higbee. "I looked him up and made sure ofthat; title's good as wheat. God knows that never would 'a' got me, butthe madam was set on it, and the girl too, and I had to give in. Itseemed to be a question of him or some actor. The madam said I'd had myway about Hank, puttin' his poor stubby nose to the grindstone outthere in Chicago, and makin' a plain insignificant business man out ofhim, and I'd ought to let her have her way with the girl, being that Icouldn't expect her to go to work too. So Mil will work the societyend. I says to the madam, I says, 'All right, have your own way; andwe'll see whether you make more out of the girl than I make out of theboy, ' I says. But it ain't going to be _all_ digging up. I've made thebaron promise to go into business with me, and though I ain't told himyet, I'm going to put out a line of Higbee's thin-sliced ham and baconin glass jars with his crest on 'em for the French trade. This baron'llcost me more'n that sign I showed you coming out of the old town, andhe won't give any such returns, but the crest on them jars, printed inthree colours and gold, will be a bully ad; and it kept the womenquiet, " he concluded, apologetically. 

"The baron's a good fellow, " said Percival. 

"Sure, " replied Higbee. "They're all good fellows. Hank had the makin'sof a good fellow in him. And say, young man, that reminds me; I hearall kinds of reports about your getting to be one yourself. Now I knewyour father, Daniel J. Bines, and I liked him, and I like you; and Ihope you won't get huffy, but from what they tell me you ain't doingyourself a bit of good. "

"Don't believe all you hear, " laughed Percival. 

"Well, I'll tell you one thing plain, if you was my son, you'd faderight back to the packing-house along with Henry-boy. It's a pity youain't got some one to shut down on you that way. They tell me you gotyour father's capacity for carrying liquor, and I hear you're knownfrom one end of Broadway to the other as the easiest mark that evercame to town. They say you couldn't walk in your sleep without spendingmoney. Now, excuse my plain speaking, but them are two reputations thatare mighty hard to live up to beyond a certain limit. They've put lotsof good weight-carriers off the track before they was due to go. I hearyou got pinched in that wheat deal of Burman's?"

"Oh, only for a few hundred thousand. The reports of our losses wereexaggerated. And we stood to win over--"

"Yes--you stood to win, and then you went 'way back and set down, ' asthe saying is. But it ain't the money. You've got too much of that, anyway, Lord knows. It's this everlasting hullabaloo and the drink thatgoes with it, and the general trifling sort of a dub it makes out of ayoung fellow. It's a pity you ain't my son; that's all I got to say. Iwant to see you again along in September after I get back from SanFrancisco; I'm going to try to get you interested in some business. That'd be good for you. "

"You're kind, Mr. Higbee, and really I appreciate all you say; butyou'll see me settle down pretty soon, quick as I get my bearings, andbe a credit to the State of Montana. "

"I say, " said Mauburn, coming up, "do you see that angel of the flaminghair with that young Milbrey chap?"

The two men gazed where he was indicating. 

"By Jove! she _is_ a stunner, isn't she?" exclaimed Percival. 

"Might be one of Shepler's party, " suggested Higbee. "He has theMilbrey family out with him, and I see they landed awhile ago. You canbet that party's got more than her good looks, if the Milbreys aretaking any interest in her. Well, I've got to take the madam and theyoung folks over to the Casino. So long!"

Fred Milbrey came up. 

"Hello, you fellows!"

"Who is she?" asked the two in faultless chorus. 

"We're going over to hear the music awhile. Come along and I'll presentyou. "

"Rot the luck!" said Mauburn; "I'm slated to take Mrs. Drelmer and MissBines to a musicale at the Van Lorrecks, where I'm certain to fallasleep trying to look as if I quite liked it, you know. "

"You come, " Milbrey urged Percival. "My sister's there and the governorand mother. "

But for the moment Percival was reflecting, going over in his mind therecent homily of Higbee. Higbee's opinion of the Milbreys also cameback to him. 

"Sorry, old man, but I've a headache, so you must excuse me forto-night. But I'll tell you, we'll all come over in the morning and gofor a dip with you. "

"Good! Stop for us at the Laurels, about eleven, or p'r'aps I'll strollover and get you. I'm expecting some mail to be forwarded to thishotel. "

He rejoined his companion, who had been chatting with a group of womennear the door, and they walked away. 

"_Isn't_ she a stunner!" exclaimed Mauburn. 

"She is a _peach!_" replied Percival, in tones of deliberate andintense conviction. "Whoever she is, I'll meet her to-morrow and askher what she means by pretending to see anything in Milbrey. This thinghas gone too far!"

Mauburn looked wistful but said nothing. After he had gone away withMrs. Drelmer and Psyche, who soon came for him, Percival still satrevolving the paternal warnings of Higbee. He considered themseriously. He decided he ought to think more about what he was doingand what he should do. He decided, too, that he could think better withsomething mechanical to occupy his hands. He took a cab and was drivento the local branch of his favourite temple of chance. His hostwelcomed him at the door. 

"Ah, Mr. Bines, a little recreation, eh? Your favourite dealer, Dutson, is here to-night, if you prefer bank. "

Passing through the crowded, brightly-lighted rooms to one of the farotables, where his host promptly secured a seat for him, he playedmeditatively until one o'clock; adding materially to his host's reasonsfor believing he had done wisely to follow his New York clients totheir summer annex. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Horace Milbrey Upholds the Dignity of His House

In the shade of the piazza at the Hotel Mayson next morning there was asorting out of the mail that had been forwarded from the hotel in NewYork. The mail of Mrs. Bines was a joy to her son. There were threeconventional begging letters, heart-breaking in their pathos, andcomposed with no mean literary skill. There was a letter from one ofthe maids at the Hightower for whose mother Mrs. Bines had securedemployment in the family of a friend; a position, complained thedaughter, "in which she finds constant hard labour caused by thequantity expected of her to attend to. " There was also a letter fromthe lady's employer, saying she would not so much mind her laziness ifshe did not aggravate it by drink. Mrs. Bines sighed despairingly forthe recalcitrant. 

"And who's this wants more help until her husband's profession picks upagain?" asked Percival. 

"Oh, that's a poor little woman I helped. They call her husband 'theTerrible Iceman. '"

"But this is just the season for icemen!"

"Well, " confessed his mother, with manifest reluctance, "he's aprize-fighter or something. "

Percival gasped. 

"--and he had a chance to make some money, only the man he foughtagainst had some of his friends drug this poor fellow beforetheir--their meeting--and so of course he lost. If he hadn't beendrugged he would have won the money, and now there's a law passedagainst it, and of course it isn't a very nice trade, but I think thelaw ought to be changed. He's got to live. "

"I don't see why; not if he's the man I saw box one night last winter. He didn't have a single excuse for living. And what are thesetickets, --'Grand Annual Outing and Games of the Egg-Candlers & ButterDrivers' Association at Sulzer's Harlem River Park. Ticket AdmittingLady and Gent, One dollar. ' Heavens! What is it?"

"I promised to take ten tickets, " said Mrs. Bines. "I must send them acheck. "

"But what are they?" her son insisted; "egg-candlers may be all right, but what are butter-drivers? Are you quite sure it's respectable? Why, I ask you, should an honest man wish to drive butter? That shows youwhat life in a great city does for the morally weak. Look out you don'tget mixed up in it yourself, that's all I ask. They'll have you drivingbutter first thing you know. Thank heaven! thus far no Bines has evercandled an egg--and as for driving butter--" he stopped, with a shudderof extreme repugnance. 

"And here's a notice about the excursions of the St. John's Guild. I'vebeen on four already, and I want you to get me back to New York rightaway for the others. If you could only see all those babies we take outon the floating hospital, with two men in little boats behind to pickup those that fall overboard--and really it's a wonder any of them livethrough the summer in that cruel city. Down in Hester Street the otherday four of them had a slice of watermelon from Mr. Slivinsky's standon the corner, and when I saw them they were actually eating the hard, green rind. It was enough to kill a horse. "

"Well, have your own fun, " said her son, cheerfully. "Here's a letterfrom Uncle Peter I must read. "

He drew his chair aside and began the letter:

"MONTANA CITY, July 21st, 1900. 

"DEAR PETE:--Your letter and Martha's rec'd, and glad to hear from you. I leave latter part of this week for the mtns. Late setting out thisseason acct. Rhumatiz caught last winter that laid me up all spring. Itwas so mortal dull here with you folks gone that I went out with alocating party to get the M. P. Branch located ahead of the Short Linefolks. So while you were having your fun there I was having mine here, and I had it good and plenty. 

"The worst weather I ever did see, and I have seen some bad. Snow sixto eight feet on a level and the mercury down as low as 62 with anornery fierce wind. We lost four horses froze to death, and all but twoof the men got froze up bad. We reached the head of Madison Valley Feb. 19, north of Red Bank Canyon, but it wasn't as easy as it sounds. 

"Jan. 8, after getting out of supplies, we abandoned our camp atRiverside and moved 10 m. Down the river carrying what we could on ourbacks. Met pack train with a few supplies that night, and next day Itook part of the force in boat to meet over-due load of supplies. Wegot froze in the ice. Left party to break through and took Billy Brueand went ahead to hunt team. Billy and me lived four days on one lb. Bacon. The second day Billy took some sickness so he could not eathardly any food; the next day he was worse, and the last day he was sobad he said the bare sight of food made him gag. I think he was a liar, because he wasn't troubled none after we got to supplies again, but Icouldn't do anything with him, and so I lived high and come out slickand fat. Finally we found the team coming in. They had got stuck in theriver and we had to carry out the load on our backs, waist-deep inrunning water. I see some man in the East has a fad for breaking theice in the river and going swimming. I would not do it for any fad. Slept in snow-drift that night in wet clothes, mercury 40 below. Was 18days going 33 miles. Broke wagon twice, then broke sled and crippledone horse. Packed the other five and went on till snow was too deep. Left the horses where four out of five died and carried supplies therest of the way on our backs. Moved camp again on our backs and gotcaught in a blizzard and nearly all of us got our last freezeup thattime. Finally a Chinook opened the river and I took a boat up to getthe abandoned camp. Got froze in harder than ever and had to walk out. Most of the men quit on account of frozen feet, etc. , etc. They are agetting to be a sissy lot these days, rather lie around a hot stove allwinter. 

"I had to pull chain, cut brush, and shovel snow after the 1st Feb. Ourlast stage was from Fire Hole Basin to Madison Valley, 45 m. It washell. Didn't see the sun but once after Feb. 1, and it stormedinsessant, making short sights necessary, and with each one we wouldhave to dig a hole to the ground and often a ditch or a tunnel throughthe snow to look through. The snow was soft to the bottom and aninstrument would sink through. "

"Here's a fine letter to read on a hot day, " called Percival. "I'mcatching cold. " He continued. 

"We have a very good line, better than from Beaver Canon, our mapsfiled and construction under way; all grading done and some track laid. That's what you call hustling. The main drawback is that Red BankCanon. It's a regular avalanche for eight miles. The snow slides justfill the river. One just above our camp filled it for 1/4 mile and 40feet deep and cut down 3 ft. Trees like a razor shaves your face. I hadto run to get out of the way. Reached Madison Valley with one tent andit looked more like mosquito bar than canvas. The old cloth wouldn'thardly hold the patches together. I slept out doors for six weeks. Igot frost-bit considerable and the rhumatiz. I tell you, at 75 I ain'tthe man I used to be. I find I need a stout tent and a good warmsleeping bag for them kind of doings nowdays. 

"Well, this Western country would be pretty dull for you I supposegoing to balls and parties every night with the Astors and Vanderbilts. I hope you ain't cut loose none. 

"By the way, that party that ground-sluiced us, Coplen he met a partyin Spokane the other day that seen her in Paris last spring. She waslaying in a stock of duds and the party gethered that she was goingback to New York--"

The Milbreys, father and son, came up and greeted the group on thepiazza. 

"I've just frozen both ears reading a letter from my grandfather, " saidPercival. "Excuse me one moment and I'll be done. "

"All right, old chap. I'll see if there's some mail for me. Dad canchat with the ladies. Ah, here's Mrs. Drelmer. Mornin'!"

Percival resumed his letter:

"--going back to New York and make the society bluff. They say she'sgot the face to do it all right. Coplen learned she come out here witha gambler from New Orleans and she was dealing bank herself up toWallace for a spell while he was broke. This gambler he was theslickest short-card player ever struck hereabouts. He was too good. Hewas so good they shot him all up one night last fall over to Wardner. She hadn't lived with him for some time then, though Coplen says theywas lawful man and wife, so I guess maybe she was glad when he got itgood in the chest-place--"

Fred Milbrey came out of the hotel office. 

"No mail, " he said. "Come, let's be getting along. Finish your letteron the way, Bines. "

"I've just finished, " said Percival, glancing down the last sheet. 

"--Coplen says she is now calling herself Mrs. Brench Wybert or somesuch name. I just thought I'd tell you in case you might run acrost herand--"

"Come along, old chap, " urged Milbrey; "Mrs. Wybert will be waiting. "His father had started off with Psyche. Mrs. Bines and Mrs. Drelmerwere preparing to follow. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Percival, "I didn't quite catch the name. "

"I say Mrs. Wybert and mother will be waiting--come along!"

"What name?"

"Wybert--Mrs. Brench Wybert--my friend--what's the matter?"

"We can't go;--that is--we can't meet her. Sis, come back a moment, " hecalled to Psyche, and then:

"I want a word with you and your father, Milbrey. "

The two joined the elder Milbrey and the three strolled out to theflower-bordered walk, while Psyche Bines went, wondering, back to hermother. 

"What's all the row?" inquired Fred Milbrey. 

"You've been imposed upon. This woman--this Mrs. Brench Wybert--therecan be no mistake; you are sure that's the name?"

"Of course I'm sure; she's the widow of a Southern gentleman, ColonelBrench Wybert, from New Orleans. "

"Yes, the same woman. There is no doubt that you have been imposedupon. The thing to do is to drop her quick--she isn't right. "

"In what way has my family been imposed upon, Mr. Bines?" asked theelder Milbrey, somewhat perturbed; "Mrs. Wybert is a lady of family andlarge means--"

"Yes, I know, she has, or did have a while ago, two million dollars incold cash. "

"Well, Mr. Bines--?"

"Can't you take my word for it, that she's not right--not the woman foryour wife and daughter to meet?"

"Look here, Bines, " the younger Milbrey spluttered, "this won't do, youknow. If you've anything to say against Mrs. Wybert, you'll have to sayit out and you'll have to be responsible to me, sir. "

"Take my word that you've been imposed upon; she's not--not the kind ofperson you would care to know, to be thrown--"

"I and my family have found her quite acceptable, Mr. Bines, "interposed the father, stiffly. "Her deportment is scrupulouslycorrect, and I am in her confidence regarding certain very extensiveinvestments--she cannot be an impostor, sir!"

"But I tell you she isn't right, " insisted Percival, warmly. 

"Oh, I see, " said the younger Milbrey--his face clearing all at once. "It's all right, dad, come on!"

"If you insist, " said Percival, "but none of us can meet her. "

"It's all right, dad--I understand--"

"Nor can we know any one who receives her. "

"Really, sir, " began the elder Milbrey, "your effrontery in assuming todictate the visiting list of my family is overwhelming. "

"If you won't take my word I shall have to dictate so far as I have anypersonal control over it. "

"Don't mind him, dad--I know all about it, I tell you--I'll explainlater to you. "

"Why, " exclaimed Percival, stung to the revelation, "that woman, thiswoman now waiting with your wife and daughter, was my--"

"Stop, Mr. Bines--not another word, if you please!" The father raisedhis hand in graceful dismissal. "Let this terminate the acquaintancebetween our families! No more, sir!" and he turned away, followed byhis son. As they walked out through the grounds and turned up thestreet the young man spoke excitedly, while his father slightly benthis head to listen, with an air of distant dignity. 

"What's the trouble, Perce?" asked his sister, as he joined the groupon the piazza. 

"The trouble is that we've just had to cut that fine old New Yorkfamily off our list. "

"What, not the Milbreys!" exclaimed Mrs. Drelmer. 

"The same. Now mind, sis, and you, ma--you're not to know themagain--and mind this--if any one else wants to present you to a Mrs. Wybert--a Mrs. Brench Wybert--don't you let them. Understand?"

"I thought as much, " said Mrs. Drelmer; "she acted just the leastlittle bit _too_ right. "

"Well, I haven't my hammer with me--but remember, now, sis, it's forsomething else than because her father's cravats were the ready-to-wearkind, or because her worthy old grandfather inhaled his soup. Don'tforget that. "

"As there isn't anything else to do, " he suggested, a few momentslater, "why not get under way and take a run up the coast?"

"But I must get back to my babies, " said Mrs. Bines, plaintively. "HereI've been away four days. "

"All right, ma, I suppose we shall have to take you there, only let'sget out of here right away. We can bring sis and you back, Mrs. Drelmer, when those people we don't know get off again. There'sMauburn; I'll tell him. "

"I'll have my dunnage down directly, " said Mauburn. 

Up the street driving a pony-cart came Avice Milbrey. Obeying a quickimpulse, Percival stepped to the curb as she came opposite to him. Shepulled over. She was radiant in the fluffs of summer white, her hat andgown touched with bits of the same vivid blue that shone in her eyes. The impulse that had prompted him to hail her now prompted wild words. His long habit of thought concerning her enabled him to master thisfoolishness. But at least he could give her a friendly word of warning. She greeted him with the pretty reserve in her manner that had longmarked her bearing toward him. 

"Good-morning! I've borrowed this cart of Elsie Vainer to drive down tothe yacht station for lost mail. Isn't the day perfect--and isn't thisthe dearest fat, sleepy pony, with his hair in his eyes?"

"Miss Milbrey, there's a woman who seems to be a friend of yourfamily--a Mrs. --"

"Mrs. Wybert; yes, you know her?"

"No, I'd never seen her until last night, nor heard that name untilthis morning; but I know of her. "

"Yes?"

"It became necessary just now--really, it is not fair of me to speak toyou at all--"

"Why, pray?--not fair?"

"I had to tell your father and brother that we could not meet Mrs. Wybert, and couldn't know any one who received her. "

"There! I knew the woman wasn't right directly I heard her speak. Surely a word to my father was enough. "

"But it wasn't, I'm sorry to say. Neither he nor your brother wouldtake my word, and when I started to give my reasons--something it wouldhave been very painful for me to do--your father refused to listen, anddeclared the acquaintance between our families at an end. "

"Oh!"

"It hurt me in a way I can't tell you, and now, even this talk with youis off-side play. Miss Milbrey!"

"Mr. Bines!"

"I wouldn't have said what I did to your father and brother withoutgood reason. "

"I am sure of that, Mr. Bines. "

"Without reasons I was sure of, you know, so there could be no chanceof any mistake. "

"Your word is enough for me, Mr. Bines. "

"Miss Milbrey--you and I--there's always been something betweenus--something different from what is between most people. We've nevertalked straight out since I came to New York--I'll be sorry, perhaps, for saying as much as I am saying, after awhile--but we may not talkagain at all--I'm afraid you may misunderstand me--but I must say it--Ishould like to go away knowing you would have no friendship, --nointimacy whatever with that woman. "

"I promise you I shall not, Mr. Bines; they can row if they like. "

"And yet it doesn't seem fair to have you promise as if it were aconsideration for _me_, because I've no right to ask it. But if I feltsure that you took my word quite as if I were a stranger, and reliedupon it enough to have no communication or intercourse of any sortwhatsoever with her, it would be a great satisfaction to me. "

"I shall not meet her again. And--thank you!" There was a slightunsteadiness once in her voice, and he could almost have sworn her eyesshowed that old brave wistfulness. 

"--and quite as if you were a stranger. "

"Thank you! and, Miss Milbrey?"

"Yes?"

"Your brother may become entangled in some way with this woman. "

"It's entirely possible. "

Her voice was cool and even again. 

"He might even marry her. "

"She has money, I believe; he might indeed. "

"Always money!" he thought; then aloud:

"If you find he means to, Miss Milbrey, do anything you can to preventit. It wouldn't do at all, you know. "

"Thank you, Mr. Bines; I shall remember. "

"I--I think that's all--and I'm sorry we're not--our families are notto be friends any more. "

She smiled rather painfully, with an obvious effort to be conventional. 

"_So_ sorry! Good-bye!"

He looked after her as she drove off. She sat erect, her head straightto the front, her trim shoulders erect, and the whip grasped firmly. Hestood motionless until the fat pony had jolted sleepily around thecorner. 

"Bines, old boy!" he said to himself, "you nearly _made_ one ofyourself there. I didn't know you had such ready capabilities for beingan ass. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A Hot Day in New York, with News of an Interesting Marriage

At five o'clock that day the prow of the _Viluca_ cut the waters ofNewport harbour around Goat Island, and pointed for New York. 

"Now is your time, " said Mrs. Drelmer to Mauburn. "I'm sure the girllikes you, and this row with the Milbreys has cut off any chance thatcub had. Why not propose to her to-night?"

"I _have_ seemed to be getting on, " answered Mauburn. "But wait a bit. There's that confounded girl over there. No telling what she'll do. Shemight knock things on the head any moment. "

"All the more reason for prompt action, and there couldn't very well beanything to hurt you. "

"By Jove! that's so; there couldn't, very well, could there? I'll takeyour advice. "

And so it befell that Mauburn and Miss Bines sat late on deck thatnight, and under the witchery of a moon that must long since havebecome hardened to the spectacle, the old, old story was told, to theaccompaniment of the engine's muffled throb, and the soft purring ofthe silver waters as they slipped by the boat and blended with thecreamy track astern. So little variation was there in the time-worntale, and in the maid's reception of it, that neither need here be toldof in detail. 

Nor were the proceedings next morning less tamely orthodox. Mrs. Binesmanaged to forget her relationship of elder sister to the poor longenough to behave as a mother ought when the heart of her daughter hasbeen given into a true-love's keeping. Percival deported himselfcordially. 

"I'm really glad to hear it, " he said to Mauburn. "I'm sure you'll makesis as good a husband as she'll make you a wife; and that's very good, indeed. Let's fracture a cold quart to the future Lady Casselthorpe. "

"And to the future Lord Casselthorpe!" added Mrs. Drelmer, who waswarmly enthusiastic. 

"Such a brilliant match, " she murmured to Percival, when they hadtouched glasses in the after-cabin. "I know more than one New York girlwho'd have jumped at the chance. "

"We'll try to bear our honours modestly, " he answered her. 

The yacht lay at her anchorage in the East River. Percival madepreparations to go ashore with his mother. 

"Stay here with the turtle-doves, " he said to Mrs. Drelmer, "far enoughoff, of course, to let them coo, and I'll be back with any people I canpick up for a cruise. "

"Trust me to contract the visual and aural infirmities of the idealchaperone, " was Mrs. Drelmer's cheerful response. "And if you shouldrun across that poor dear of a husband of mine, tell him not to slavehimself to death for his thoughtless butterfly of a wife, who toilsnot, neither does she spin. Tell him, " she added, "that I'm playingdragon to this engaged couple. It will cheer up the poor dear. "

The city was a fiery furnace. But its prisoners were not exempt fromits heat, like certain holy ones of old. On the dock where Percival andhis mother landed was a listless throng of them, gasping for the faintlittle breezes that now and then blew in from the water. A worn womanwith unkempt hair, her waist flung open at the neck, sat in a spot ofshade, and soothed a baby already grown too weak to be fretful. Mrs. Bines spoke to her, while Percival bought a morning paper from a tinynewsboy, who held his complete attire under one arm, his papers underthe other, and his pennies in his mouth, keeping meantime a shiftyside-glance on the policeman a block away, who might be expected tointerfere with his contemplated plunge. 

"That poor soul's been there all night, " said Mrs. Bines. "She's afraidher baby's going to die; and yet she was so cheerful and polite aboutit, and when I gave her some money the poor thing blushed. I told herto bring the baby down to the floating hospital to-morrow, but Imistrust it won't be alive, and--oh, there's an ambulance backed up tothe sidewalk; see what the matter is. "

As Percival pushed through the outer edge of the crowd, a batteredwreck of a man past middle age was being lifted into the ambulance. Hiseyes were closed, his face a dead, chalky white, and his body hunglimp. 

"Sunstroke?" asked Percival. 

The overworked ambulance surgeon, who seemed himself to be in need ofhelp, looked up. 

"Nope; this is a case of plain starvation. I'm nearer sunstroke myselfthan he is--not a wink of sleep for two nights now. Fifty-two runssince yesterday at this time, and the bell still ringing. Gee! but it'shot. This lad won't ever care about the weather again, though, " heconcluded, jumping on to the rear step and grasping the rails on eitherside while the driver clanged his gong and started off. 

"Was it sunstroke?" asked Mrs. Bines. 

"Man with stomach trouble, " answered her son, shortly. 

"They're so careless about what they eat this hot weather, " Mrs. Binesbegan, as they walked toward a carriage; "all sorts of heavy foods andgreen fruit--"

"Well, if you must know, this one had been careless enough not to eatanything at all. He was starved. "

"Oh, dear! What a place! here people are starving, and look at us! Why, we wasted enough from breakfast to feed a small family. It isn't right. They never would allow such a thing in Montana City. "

They entered the carriage and were driven slowly up a side street whereslovenly women idled in windows and doorways and half-naked childrenchased excitedly after the ice-wagons. 

"I used to think it wasn't right myself until I learned not to questionthe ways of Providence. "

"Providence, your grandmother! Look at those poor little mites fightingfor that ice!"

"We have to accept it. It seems to be proof of the Creator'sversatility. It isn't every one who would be nervy enough and originalenough to make a world where people starve to death right beside thosewho have too much. "

"That's rubbish!"

"You're blasphemous! and you're overwrought about the few cases of needhere. Think of those two million people that have just starved to deathin India. "

"That wasn't my fault. "

"Exactly; if you'd been there the list might have been cut down four orfive thousand; not more. It was the fault of whoever makes the weather. It didn't rain and their curry crop failed--or whatever they raise--andthere you are; and we couldn't help matters any by starving ourselvesto death. "

"Well, I know of a few matters here I can help. And just look at allthose empty houses boarded up!" she cried later, as they crossedMadison Avenue. "Those poor things bake themselves to death down intheir little ovens, and these great cool places are all shut up. Why, that poor little baby's hands were just like bird's claws. "

"Well, don't take your sociology too seriously, " Percival warned her, as they reached the hotel. "Being philanthropic is obeying an instinctjust as selfish as any of the others. A little of it is all right--butdon't be a slave to your passions. And be careful of your health. "

In his mail at the Hightower was a note from Mrs. Akemit:

"NEW LONDON, July 29th. 

"You DEAR THOUGHTFUL MAN: I'll be delighted, and the aunt, a worthysister of the dear bishop, has consented. She is an acidulous maidenperson with ultra-ritualistic tendencies. At present she is strong onthe reunion of Christendom, and holds that the Anglican must be theunifying medium of the two religious extremes. So don't say I didn'twarn you fairly. She will, however, impart an air of Episcopalianpropriety to that naughty yacht of yours--something sadly needed if Iam to believe the tales I hear about its little voyages to nowhere inparticular. 

"Babe sends her love, and says to tell 'Uncle Percibal' that the oceantastes 'all nassy. ' She stood upon the beach yesterday after makingthis discovery involuntarily, and proscribed it with one magnificentwave of her hand and a brief exclamation of disgust--turned her backdisrespectfully upon a body of water that is said to covertwo-thirds--or is it three-fourths?--of the earth's surface. Think ofit! She seemed to suspect she had been imposed upon in the matter ofits taste, and is going to tell the janitor directly we get home, inorder that the guilty ones may be seen to. Her little gesture ofdismissal was superbly contemptuous. I wish you had been with me towatch her. Yes, the bathing-suit does have little touches of red, andred--but this will never do. Give us a day's notice, and believe me, "Sincerely, "FLORENCE VERDON AKEMIT. 

"P. S. Babe is on the back of my chair, cuddling down in my neck, andsays, 'Send him your love, too, Mommie. Now don't you forget. '"

He telegraphed Mrs. Akemit: "Will reach New London to-morrow. Assureyour aunt of my delight at her acceptance. I have long held that thereunion must come as she thinks it will. "

Then he ventured into the heat and glare of Broadway where humanitystewed and wilted. At Thirty-second Street he ran into Burman, withwhom he had all but cornered wheat. 

"You're the man I wanted to see, " said Percival. 

"Hurry and look! I'm melting fast. "

"Come off on the yacht. "

"My preserver! I was just going down to the Oriental, but your dug-outwins me hands down. Come into this poor-man's club. I must have a colddrink taller than a church steeple. "

"Anybody else in town we can take?"

"There's Billy Yelverton--our chewing-gum friend; just off the_Lucania_ last night; and Eddie Arledge and his wife. They're in townbecause Eddie was up in supplementary or something--some low, coarsebrute of a tradesman wanted his old bill paid, and wouldn't believeEddie when he said he couldn't spare the money. Eddie is about aslively as a dish of cold breakfast food, but his wife is all right, allright. Retiring from the footlights' glare didn't spoil Mrs. E. Wadsworth Arledge, --not so you could notice it. "

"Well, see Eddie if you can, and I'll find Yelverton; he's probably atthe hotel yet; and meet me there by five, so we can get out of thislittle amateur hell. "

"And quit trying to save that collar, " urged Burman, as they parted;"you look foolisher than a horse in a straw hat with it on anyway. Letit go and tuck in your handkerchief like the rest of us. See you atfive!"

At the hour named the party had gathered. Percival, Arledge and hislively wife, Yelverton, who enjoyed the rare distinction of having lostmoney to Percival, and Burman. East they drove through the street whereless fortunate mortals panted in the dead afternoon shade, and out onto the dock, whence the _Viluca's_ naphtha launch presently put themaboard that sumptuous craft. A little breeze there made the heat lessoppressive. 

"We'll be under way as soon as they fetch that luggage out, " Percivalassured his guests. 

"It's been frightfully oppressive all day, even out here, " said Mrs. Drelmer, "but the engaged ones haven't lost their tempers once, even ifthe day was trying. And really they're the most unemotional andmatter-of-fact couple I ever saw. Oh! do give me that stack of papersuntil I catch up with the news again. "

Percival relinquished to her the evening papers he had bought beforeleaving the hotel, and Mrs. Drelmer in the awninged shade at the sternof the boat was soon running through them. 

The others had gone below, where Percival was allotting staterooms, andurging every one to "order whatever cold stuff you like and get into asfew things as the law allows. For my part, I'd like to wear nothing buta cold bath. "

Mrs. Drelmer suddenly betrayed signs of excitement. She sat up straightin the wicker deck-chair, glanced down a column of her newspaper, andthen looked up. 

Mauburn's head appeared out of the cabin's gloom. He was still speakingto some one below. Mrs. Drelmer rattled the paper and waved it at him. He came up the stairs. 

"What's the row?"

"Read it!"

He took the paper and glanced at the headlines. "I knew she'd do it. Achap always comes up with something of that sort, and I was beginningto feel so chippy!" He read:

"London, July 30th. --Lord Casselthorpe to-day wed Miss 'Connie' Burke, the music-hall singer who has been appearing at the Alhambra. Themarriage was performed, by special license, at St. Michael's Church, Chester Square, London, the Rev. Canon Mecklin, sub-dean of the ChapelRoyal, officiating. The honeymoon will be spent at the town-house ofthe groom, in York Terrace. Lord Casselthorpe has long been known asthe blackest sheep of the British Peerage, being called the 'CosterPeer' on account of his unconventional language, his coarse manner, andslovenly attire. Two years ago he was warned off Newmarket Heath andthe British turf by the Jockey Club. He is eighty-eight years old. Thebride, like some other lights of the music-hall who have become theconsorts of Britain's hereditary legislators, has enjoyed considerableante-nuptial celebrity among the gilded youth of the metropolis, and issaid to have been especially admired at one time by the next in line ofthis illustrious family, the Hon. Cecil G. H. Mauburn. 

"The Hon. Cecil G. H. Mauburn, mentioned in the above cable despatch, has been rather well-known in New York society for two years past. Hisengagement to the daughter of a Montana mining magnate, not longdeceased, has been persistently rumoured. "

Mauburn was pale under his freckles. 

"Have they seen it yet?"

"I don't think so, " she answered. "We might drop these papers over therail here. "

"That's rot, Mrs. Drelmer; it's sure to be talked of, and anyway Idon't want to be sneaky, you know. "

Percival came up from the cabin with a paper in his hand. 

"I see you have it, too, " he said, smiling. "Burman just handed methis. "

"Isn't it perfectly disreputable!" exclaimed Mrs. Drelmer. 

"Why? I only hope I'll have as much interest in life by the time I'mthat age. "

"But how will your sister take it?" asked Mauburn; "she may be afraidthis will knock my title on the head, you know. "

"Oh, I see, " said Percival; "I hadn't thought of that. "

"Only it can't, " continued Mauburn. "Hang it all, that blasted oldbeggar will be eighty-nine, you know, in a fortnight. There simplycan't be any issue of the marriage, and that--that blasted--"

"Better not try to describe her--while I'm by, you know, " said Mrs. Drelmer, sympathetically. 

"Well--his wife--you know, will simply worry him into the grave a bitsooner, I fancy--that's all can possibly come of it. "

"Well, old man, " said Percival, "I don't pretend to know the workingsof my sister's mind, but you ought to be able to win a girl on your ownmerits, title or no title. "

"Awfully good of you, old chap. I'm sure she does care for me. "

"But of course it will be only fair to sis to lay the matter before herjust as it is. "

"To be sure!" Mauburn assented. 

"And now, thank the Lord, we're under way. Doesn't that breeze saveyour life, though? We'll eat here on deck. "

The _Viluca_ swung into mid-stream, and was soon racing to the northwith a crowded Fall River boat. 

"But anyway, " concluded Percival, after he had explained Mauburn'sposition to his sister, "he's a good fellow, and if you suit each othereven the unexpected wouldn't make any difference. "

"Of course not, " she assented, "'the rank is but the guinea's stamp, ' Iknow--but I wasn't meaning to be married for quite a time yet, anyway, --it's such fun just being engaged. "

"A mint julep?" Mauburn was inquiring of one who had proposed it. "Doesit have whiskey in it?"

"It does, " replied Percival, overhearing the question; "whiskey may besaid to pervade, even to infest it. Try five or six, old man; that manymake a great one-night trouble cure. And I can't have any one withtroubles on this Cunarder--not for the next thirty days. I needcheerfulness and rest for a long time after this day in town. Ah!General Hemingway says that dinner is served; let's be at it before thethings get all hot!"

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A Sensational Turn in the Milbrey Fortunes

It was a morning early in November. In the sedate Milbrey dining-room abrisk wood-fire dulled the edge of the first autumn chill. At thebreakfast-table, comfortably near the hearth, sat Horace Milbrey. Withpointed spoon he had daintily scooped the golden pulp from a Floridaorange, touched the tips of his slender white fingers to the surface ofthe water in the bowl, and was now glancing leisurely at the headlinesof his paper, while his breakfast appetite gained agreeable zest fromthe acid fruit. 

On the second page of the paper the names in a brief item arrested hiserrant glance. It disclosed that Mr. Percival Bines had left New Yorkthe day before with a party of guests on his special car, to shootquail in North Carolina. Mr. Milbrey glanced at the two shells of theorange which the butler was then removing. 

"What a hopeless brute that fellow was!" he reflected.. He wasrecalling a dictum once pronounced by Mr. Bines. "Oranges should neverbe eaten in public, " he had said with that lordly air of dogmatismcharacteristic of him. "The only right way to eat a juicy orange is todisrobe, grasp the fruit firmly in both hands and climb into a bath-tubhalf full of water. "

The finished epicure shuddered at the recollection, poignantly, quiteas if a saw were being filed in the next room. 

The disagreeable emotion was allayed, however, by the sight of his nextcourse--_oeufs aux saucissons_. Tender, poetic memories stirred withinhim. The little truffled French sausages aroused his better nature. Twoof them reposed luxuriously upon an egg-divan in the dainty Frenchbaking-dish of dull green. Over them--a fitting baptism, was the richwine sauce of golden brown--a sauce that might have been the tears ofenvious angels, wept over a mortal creation so faultlessly precious. 

Mrs. Milbrey entered, news of importance visibly animating her. Herhusband arose mechanically, placed the chair for her, and resumed hisfork in an ecstasy of concentration. Yet, though Mrs. Milbrey was fullof talk, like a charged siphon, needing but a slight pressure to pourforth matters of grave moment, she observed the engrossment of herhusband, and began on the half of an orange. She knew from experiencethat he would be deaf, for the moment, to anything less than an alarmof fire. 

When he had lovingly consumed the last morsel he awoke to her presenceand smiled benignantly. 

"My dear, don't fail to try them, they're exquisitely perfect!"

"You really _must_ talk to Avice, " his wife replied. 

Mr. Milbrey sighed, deprecatingly. He could remember no time withinfive years when that necessity had not weighed upon his father's senseof duty like a vast boulder of granite. He turned to welcome thediversion provided by the _rognons sautees_ which Jarvis at that momentuncovered before him with a discreet flourish. 

"Now you really must, " continued his wife, "and you'll agree with mewhen I tell you why. "

"But, my dear, I've already talked to the girl exhaustively. I'vepointed out that her treatment of Mrs. Wybert--her perverse refusal tomeet the lady at all, is quite as absurd as it is rude, and that ifFred chooses to marry Mrs. Wybert it is her duty to act the part of asister even if she cannot bring herself to feel it. I've assured herthat Mrs. Wybert's antecedents are all they should be; not illustrious, perhaps, but eminently respectable. Indeed, I quite approve of theSouthern aristocracy. But she constantly recalls what that snobbishBines was unfair enough to tell her. I've done my utmost to convinceher that Bines spoke in the way he did about Mrs. Wybert because heknew she was aware of those ridiculous tales of his mother'silliteracy. But Avice is--er--my dear, she is like her mother in moreways than one. Assuredly she doesn't take it from me. "

He became interested in the kidneys. "If Marie had been a man, " heremarked, feelingly, "I often suspect that her fame as a _chef_ wouldhave been second to none. Really, the suavity of her sauces is anever-ending delight to me. "

"I haven't told you yet the reason--a new reason--why you must talk toAvice. "

"The money--yes, yes, my dear, I know, we all know. Indeed, I've put itto her plainly. She knows how sorely Fred needs it. She knows how thatbeast of a tailor is threatening to be nasty--and I've explained howinvaluable Mrs. Wybert would be, reminding her of that lady's generoushint about the rise in Federal Steel, which enabled me to net the neatlittle profit of ten thousand dollars a month ago, and how, but forthat, we might have been acutely distressed. Yet she stubbornly clingsto the notion that this marriage would be a _mesalliance_ for theMilbreys. "

"I agree with her, " replied his wife, tersely. 

Mr. Milbrey looked perplexed but polite. 

"I quite agree with Avice, " continued the lady. "That woman hasn't beenright, Horace, and she isn't right. Young Bines knew what he wastalking about. I haven't lived my years without being able to tell thatafter five minutes with her, clever as she is. I can read her. Like somany of those women, she has an intense passion to be thoughtrespectable, and she's come into money enough--God only knows how--togratify it. I could tell it, if nothing else showed it, by the way inwhich she overdoes respectability. She has the thousand and oneartificial little rules for propriety that one never does have when onehas been bred to it. That kind of woman is certain to lapse sooner orlater. She would marry Fred because of his standing, because he's afavourite with the smart people she thinks she'd like to be pally with. Then, after a little she'd run off with a German-dialect comedian orsomething, like that appalling person Normie Whitmund married. "

"But the desire to be respectable, my dear--and you say this woman hasit--is a mighty lever. I'm no cynic about your sex, but I shudder tothink of their--ah--eccentricities if it should cease to be a factor inthe feminine equation. "

"It's nothing more than a passing fad with this person--besides, that'snot what I've to tell you. "

"But you, yourself, were not averse to Fred's marrying her, in spite ofthese opinions you must secretly have held. "

"Not while it seemed absolutely necessary--not while the case was sobrutally desperate, when we were actually pressed--"

"Remember, my dear, there's nothing magic in those ten thousanddollars. They're winged dollars like all their mates, and most of them, I'm sorry to say, have already flown to places where they'd long beenexpected. "

Mrs. Milbrey's sensation was no longer to be repressed. She had toyedwith the situation sufficiently. Her husband was now skilfullydissecting the devilled thighs of an immature chicken. 

"Horace, " said his wife, impressively, "Avice has had an offer ofmarriage--from--"

He looked up with new interest. 

"From Rulon Shepler. "

He dropped knife and fork. Shepler, the man of mighty millions! Theundisputed monarch of finance! The cold-blooded, calculating sybaritein his lighter moments, but a man whose values as a son-in-law were soideally superb that the Milbrey ambition had never vaulted high enougheven to overlook them for one daring moment! Shepler, whom he had knownso long and so intimately, with never the audacious thought of a unionso stupendously glorious!

"Margaret, you're jesting!"

Mrs. Milbrey scorned to be dazzled by her triumph. 

"Nonsense! Shepler asked her last night to marry him. "

"It's bewildering! I never dreamed--"

"I've expected it for months. I could tell you the very moment when theidea first seized the man--on the yacht last summer. I was sure sheinterested him, even before his wife died two years ago. "

"Margaret, it's too good to be true!"

"If you think it is I'll tell you something that isn't: Avicepractically refused him. "

Her husband pushed away his plate; the omission of even one regretfulglance at its treasures betrayed the strong emotion under which helaboured. 

"This is serious, " he said, quietly. "Let us get at it. Tell me if youplease!"

"She came to me and cried half the night. She refused him definitely atfirst, but he begged her to consider, to take a month to think itover--"

Milbrey gasped. Shepler, who commanded markets to rise and they rose, or to fall and they fell--Shepler begging, entreating a child of his!Despite the soul-sickening tragedy of it, the situation was not withoutits element of sublimity. 

"She will consider; she _will_ reflect?"

"You're guessing now, and you're as keen at that as I. Avice is notonly amazingly self-willed, as you intimated a moment since, but she isintensely secretive. When she left me I could get nothing from herwhatever. She was wretchedly sullen and taciturn. "

"But why _should_ she hesitate? Shepler--Rulon Shepler! My God! is thegirl crazy? The very idea of hesitation is preposterous!"

"I can't divine her. You know she has acted perversely in the past. Iused to think she might have some affair of which we knewnothing--something silly and romantic. But if she had any such thingI'm sure it was ended, and she'd have jumped at this chance a year ago. You know yourself she was ready to marry young Bines, and was reallydisappointed when he didn't propose. "

"But this is too serious. " He tinkled the little silver bell. 

"Find out if Miss Avice will be down to breakfast. "

"Yes, sir. "

"If she's not coming down I shall go up, " declared Mr. Milbrey when theman had gone. 

"She's stubborn, " cautioned his wife. 

"Gad! don't I know it?"

Jarvis returned. 

"Miss Avice won't be down, sir, and I'm to fetch her up a pot ofcoffee, sir. "

"Take it at once, and tell her I shall be up to see her presently. "Jarvis vanished. 

"I think I see a way to put pressure on her, that is if the morninghasn't already brought her back to her senses. "

At four o'clock that afternoon, Avice Milbrey's ring brought Mrs. VanGeist's butler to the door. 

"Sandon, is Aunt Cornelia at home?"

"Yes, Miss Milbrey, she's confined to her room h'account h'of a cold, miss. "

"Thank heaven!"

"Yes, miss--certainly! will you go h'up to her?"

"And Mutterchen, dear, it was a regular bombshell, " she concluded aftershe had fluttered some of the November freshness into Mrs. Van Geist'sroom, and breathlessly related the facts. 

"You demented creature! I should say it must have been. "

"Now, don't lecture!"

"But Shepler is one of the richest men in New York. "

"Dad already suspects as much. "

"And he's kind, he's a big-hearted chap, a man of the world, generous--a--"

"'A woman fancier, ' Fidelia Oldaker calls him. "

"My dear, if he fancies you--"

"There, you old conservative, I've heard all his good points, and myduty has been written before me in letters of fire. Dad devoted threehours to writing it this morning, so don't, please, say over any of themoral maxims I'm likely to have heard. "

"But why are you unwilling?"

"Because--because I'm wild, I fancy--just because I don't like the ideaof marrying that man. He's such a big, funny, round head, andpositively no neck--his head just rolls around on his big, pillowyshoulders--and then he gets little right at once, tapers right off to apoint with those tiny feet. "

"It isn't easy to have everything. "

"It wouldn't be easy to have him, either. "

Mrs. Van Geist fixed her niece with a sudden look of suspicion. 

"Has--has that man anything to do with your refusal?"

"No--not a thing--I give you my word, auntie. If he had been what Ionce dreamed he was no one would be asking me to marry him now, but--doyou know what I've decided? Why, that he is a joke--that's all--just ajoke. You needn't think of him, Mutterchen--I don't, except to think itwas funny that he should have impressed me so--he's simply a joke. "

"I could have told you as much long ago. "

"Tell me something now. Suppose Fred marries that Wybert woman. "

"It will be a sorry day for Fred. "

"Of course! Now see how I'm pinned. Dad and the mater both say the samenow--they're more severe than I was. Only we were never in such straitsfor money. It must be had. So this is the gist of it: I ought to marryRulon Shepler in order to save Fred from a marriage that might get usinto all sorts of scandal. "

"Well?"

"Well, I would do a lot for Fred. He has faults, but he's always beengood to me. "

"And so?"

"And so it's a question whether he marries a very certain kind of womanor whether I marry a very different kind of man. "

"How do you feel?"

"For one thing Fred sha'n't get into that kind of muss if I can savehim from it. "

"Then you'll marry Shepler?"

"I'm still uncertain about Mr. Shepler. "

"But you say--"

"Yes, I know, but I've reasons for being uncertain. If I told you you'dsay they're like the most of a woman's reasons, mere fond, foolishhopes, so I won't tell you. "

"Well, dear, work it out by your lonely if you must. I believe you'lldo what's best for everybody in the end. And I am glad that your fatherand Margaret take your view of that woman. "

"I was sure she wasn't right--and I knew Mr. Bines was too much of aman to speak of her as he did without positive knowledge. Now pleasegive me some tea and funny little cakes; I'm famished. "

"Speaking of Mr. Bines, " said Mrs. Van Geist, when the tea had beenbrought by Sandon, "I read in the paper this morning that he'd taken aparty to North Carolina for the quail shooting, Eddie Arledge and hiswife and that Mr. And Mrs. Garmer, and of course Florence Akemit. Should you have thought she'd marry so soon after her divorce? They sayBishop Doolittle is frightfully vexed with her. "

"Really I hadn't heard. Whom is Florence to marry?"

"Mr. Bines, to be sure! Where have you been? You know she was on hisyacht a whole month last summer--the bishop's sister was with her--highly scandalised all the time by the drinking and gaiety, and nowevery one's looking for the engagement to be announced. Here, what didI do with that _Town Topics_ Cousin Clint left? There it is on thetabouret. Read the paragraph at the top of the page. " Avice read:

"An engagement that is rumoured with uncommon persistence will putsociety on the _qui vive_ when it is definitely announced. The man inthe case is the young son of a mining Croesus from Montana, who hasinherited the major portion of his father's millions and who began todazzle upper Broadway about a year since by the reckless prodigality ofhis ways. His blond _innamorata_ is a recent _divorcee_ of high socialstanding, noted for her sparkling wit and an unflagging exuberance ofspirits. The interest of the gossips, however, centres chiefly in theuncle of the lady, a Right Reverend presiding over a bishopric not athousand miles from New York, and in the attitude he will assume towardher contemplated remarriage. At the last Episcopal convention thisgodly and well-learned gentleman was a vehement supporter of theproposed canon to prohibit absolutely the marriage of divorced persons;and though he stoutly championed his bewitching niece through theinfelicities that eventuated in South Dakota, _on dit_ that he ishighly wrought up over her present intentions, and has signifiedunmistakably his severest disapproval. However, _nous verrons ce quenous verrons. "_

"But, Mutterchen, that's only one of those absurd, vulgar things thatwretched paper is always printing. I could write dozens of them myself. Tom Banning says they keep one man writing them all the time, out ofhis own imagination, and then they put them in like raisins in a cake. "

"But, my dear, I'm quite sure this is authentic. I know from FideliaOldaker that the bishop began to cut up about it to Florence, andFlorence defied him. That ancient theory that most gossip is withouttruth was exploded long ago. As a matter of fact most gossip, at leastabout the people we know, doesn't do half justice to the facts. But, really, I can't see why he fancied Florence Akemit. I should havethought he'd want some one a bit less fluttery. "

"I dare say you're right, about the gossip, I mean--" Miss Milbreyremarked when she had finished her tea, and refused the cakes. "Iremember, now, one day when we met at her place, and he seemed so muchat home there. Of course, it must be so. How stupid of me to doubt it!Now I must run. Good-bye, you old dear, and be good to the cold. "

"Let me know what you do. "

"Indeed I shall; you shall be the first one to know. My mind is really, you know, _almost_ made up. "

A week later Mr. And Mrs. Horace Milbrey announced in the public printsthe engagement of their daughter Avice to Mr. Rulon Shepler. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Uncle Peter Bines Comes to Town With His Man

One day in December Peter Bines of Montana City dropped in on thefamily, --came with his gaunt length of limb, his kind, brown old facewith eyes sparkling shrewdly far back under his grizzled brows, withhis rough, resonant, musical voice, the spring of youth in his step, and the fresh, confident strength of the big hills in his bearing. 

He brought Billy Brue with him, a person whose exact social status someof Percival's friends were never able to fix with any desirablecertainty. Thus, Percival had presented the old man, the morning afterhis arrival, to no less a person than Herbert Delancey Livingston, withwhom he had smoked a cigar of unusual excellence in the _cafe_ of theHightower Hotel. 

"If you fancy that weed, Mr. Bines, " said Livingston, graciously, tothe old man, "I've a spare couple of hundred I'd like to let you have. The things were sent me, but I find them rather stiffish. If your man'sabout the hotel I'll give him a card to my man, and let him fetchthem. "

"My man?" queried Uncle Peter, and, sighting Billy Brue at that moment, "why, yes, here's my man, now. Mr. Brue, shake hands with Mr. Livingston. Billy, go up to the address he gives you, and get some ofthese se-gars. You'll relish 'em as much as I do. Now don't talk to anystrangers, don't get run over, and don't lose yourself. "

Livingston had surrendered a wavering and uncertain hand to the warm, reassuring clasp of Mr. Brue. 

"He ain't much fur style, Billy ain't, " Uncle Peter explained when thatperson had gone upon his errand, "he ain't a mite gaudy, but he's gotfriendly feelings. "

The dazed scion of the Livingstons had thereupon made a conscientioustour of his clubs in a public hansom, solely for the purpose ofrelating this curious adventure to those best qualified to marvel atit. 

The old man's arrival had been quite unexpected. Not only had he sentno word of his coming, but he seemed, indeed, not to know what hisreasons had been for doing a thing so unusual. 

"Thought I'd just drop in on your all and say 'howdy, '" had been hisfirst avowal, which was lucid as far as it went. Later he involvedhimself in explanations that were both obscure and conflicting. Once itwas that he had felt a sudden great longing for the life of a gay city. Then it was that he would have been content in Montana City, but thathe had undertaken the winter in New York out of consideration for BillyBrue. 

"Just think of it, " he said to Percival, "that poor fellow ain't everbeen east of Denver before now. It wa'n't good for him to be holed upout there in them hills all his life. He hadn't got any chance toimprove his mind. "

"He'd better improve his whiskers first thing he does, " suggestedPercival. "He'll be gold-bricked if he wears 'em scrambled that wayaround this place. "

But in neither of these explanations did the curious old man impressPercival as being wholly ingenuous. 

Then he remarked casually one day that he had lately met Higbee, whowas on his way to San Francisco. 

"I only had a few minutes with him while they changed engines at GreenRiver, but he told me all about you folks--what a fine time you washavin', yachts and card-parties, and all like that. Higbee said a manhad ought to come to New York every now and then, jest to keep fromgettin' rusty. "

Back of this Percival imagined for a time that he had discovered UnclePeter's true reason for descending upon them. Higbee would have regaledhim with wild tales of the New York dissipations, and Uncle Peter hadcome promptly on to pull him up. Percival could hear the story asHigbee would word it, with the improving moral incident of his own sonsnatched as a brand from the "Tenderloin, " to live a life ofimpecunious usefulness in far Chicago. But, when he tried to hold thisbelief, and to prove it from his observations, he was bound to admitits falsity. For Uncle Peter had shown no inclination to act the partof an evangel from the virtuous West. He had delivered no homilies, nowarnings as to the fate of people who incontinently "cut loose. " He hadevinced not the least sign of any disposition even to criticise. 

On the contrary, indeed, he appeared to joy immensely in Percival's wayof life. He manifested a willingness and a capacity for unbending inboon companionship that were, both of them, quite amazing to hisaccomplished grandson. By degrees, and by virtue of being never at allcensorious, he familiarised himself with the young man's habits anddiversions. He listened delightedly to the tales of his large gamblinglosses, of the bouts at poker, the fruitless venture in Texas Oil land, the disastrous corner in wheat, engineered by Burman, and the uniformlyunsuccessful efforts to "break the bank" in Forty-fourth Street. Henever tired of hearing whatever adventures Percival chose to relate;and, finding that he really enjoyed them, the young man came to confidefreely in him, and to associate with him without restraint. 

Uncle Peter begged to be introduced at the temple of chance, and spenta number of late evenings there with his popular grandson. He alsofrequently made himself one of the poker coterie, and relished keenlythe stock jokes as to his grandson's proneness to lose. 

"Your pa, " he would say, "never _could_ learn to stay out of a Jack-potunless he had Jacks or better; he'd come in and draw four cards to anace any time, and then call it 'hard luck' when he didn't draw out. Andhe just loved straights open in the middle; said anybody could fillthem that's open at both ends; but, after all, I guess that's the onlyway to have fun at the game. If a man ain't got the sperrit to overplayaces-up when he gets 'em, he might as well be clerkin' in a bank forall the fun he'll have out of the game. "

The old man's endurance of late suppers and later hours, and hisunsuspected disposition to "cut loose, " became twin marvels toPercival. He could not avoid contrasting this behaviour with his pastpreaching. After a few weeks he was forced to the charitable conclusionthat Uncle Peter's faculties were failing. The exposure and hardshipsof the winter before had undoubtedly impaired his mental powers. 

"I can't make him out, " he confided to his mother. "He never wants togo home nights; he can drink more than I can without batting an eye, and show up fresher in the morning, and he behaves like a young fellowjust out of college. I don't know where he would bring up if he didn'thave me to watch over him. "

"I think it's just awful--at his time of life, too, " said Mrs. Bines. 

"I think that's it. He's getting old, and he's come along into hissecond childhood. A couple of more months at this rate, and I'm afraidI'll have to ring up one of those nice shiny black wagons to take himoff to the foolish-house. "

"Can't you talk to him, and tell him better?"

"I could. I know it all by heart--all the things to say to a man on thedownward path. Heaven knows I've heard them often enough, but I'd feelashamed to talk that way to Uncle Peter. If he were my son, now, I'dcut off his allowance and send him back to make something of himself, like Sile Higbee with little Hennery; but I'm afraid all I can do is towatch him and see that he doesn't marry one of those little pink-silkchorus girls, or lick a policeman, or anything. "

"You're carryin' on the same way yourself, " ventured his mother. 

"That's different, " replied her perspicacious son. 

Uncle Peter had refused to live at the Hightower after three days inthat splendid and populous caravansary. 

"It suits me well enough, " he explained to Percival, "but I have tolook after Billy Brue, and this ain't any place for Billy. You seeBilly ain't city broke yet. Look at him now over there, the way he goesaround butting into strangers. He does that way because he's all thetime looking down at his new patent-leather shoes--first pair he everhad. He'll be plumb stoop-shouldered if he don't hurry up and get thenew kicked off of 'em. I'll have to get him a nice warm box-stall insome place that ain't so much on the band-wagon as this one. Theceilings here are too high fur Billy. And I found him shootin' crapswith the bell-boy this mornin'. The boy thinks Billy, bein' from theWest, is a stage robber, or somethin' like he reads about in the Cap'Collier libr'ies, and follows him around every chance he gets. AndBilly laps up too many of them little striped drinks; and themFrench-cooked dishes ain't so good fur him, either. He caught on to thebill-of-fare right away. Now he won't order anything but themallas--them dishes that has 'a la' something or other after 'em, " heexplained, when Percival looked puzzled. "He knows they'll always besomething all fussed up with red, white, and blue gravy, and a littlepaper bouquet stuck into 'em. I never knew Billy was such a fancy eaterbefore. "

So Uncle Peter and his charge had established themselves in anold-fashioned but very comfortable hotel down on one of the squares, adingy monument to the time when life had been less hurried. Uncle Peterhad stayed there thirty years before, and he found the place unchanged. The carpets and hangings were a bit faded, but the rooms weregenerously broad, the chairs, as the old man remarked, were "made tosit in, " and the _cuisine_ was held, by a few knowing old epicures whostill frequented the place, to be superior even to that of the morepretentious Hightower. The service, it is true, was apt to be slow. Strangers who chanced in to order a meal not infrequently becameenraged, and left before their food came, trailing plain short words ofextreme dissatisfaction behind them as they went. But the elect knewthat these delays betokened the presence of an artistic conscience inthe kitchen, and that the food was worth tarrying for. "They know howto make you come back hungry for some more the next day, " said UnclePeter Bines. 

From this headquarters the old man went forth to join in the diversionsof his grandson. And here he kept a watchful eye upon the uncertainBilly Brue; at least approximately. Between them, his days and nightswere occupied to crowding. But Uncle Peter had already put in some hardwinters, and was not wanting in fortitude. 

Billy Brue was a sore trouble to the old man. "I jest can't keep himoff the streets nights, " was his chief complaint. By day Billy Bruewalked the streets in a decent, orderly trance of bewilderment. He wasproperly puzzled and amazed by many strange matters. He never couldfind out what was "going on" to bring so many folks into town. They allhurried somewhere constantly, but he was never able to reach the centreof excitement. Nor did he ever learn how any one could reach those highclothes-lines, strung forty feet above ground between the backs ofhouses; nor how there could be "so many shows in town, all on onenight;" nor why you should get so many good things to eat by merelybuying a "slug of whiskey;" nor why a thousand people weren't run overin Broadway each twenty-four hours. 

At night, Billy Brue ceased to be the astounded alien, and, as Percivalsaid Dr. Von Herzlich would say, "began to mingle and cooperate withhis environment. " In the course of this process he fell intoadventures, some of them, perhaps, unedifying. But it may be told thathis silver watch with the braided leather fob was stolen from him thesecond night out; also that the following week, in a Twenty-ninthStreet saloon, he accepted the hospitality of an affable stranger, whohad often been in Montana City. His explanation of subsequent eventswas entirely satisfactory, at least, from the time that he returned toconsciousness of them. 

"I only had about thirty dollars in my clothes, " he told Percival, "butwhat made me so darned hot, he took my breastpin, too, made out of thefirst nugget ever found in the Early Bird mine over Silver Bow way. Gee! when I woke up I couldn't tell where I was. This cop that found mein a hallway, he says I must have been give a dose of Peter. I says, 'All right--I'm here to go against all the games, ' I says, 'but pass mewhen the Peter comes around again, ' I says. And he says Peter wasknockout drops. Say, honestly, I didn't know my own name till I had achanst to look me over. The clothes and my hands looked like I'd seen'em before, somehow--and then I come to myself. "

After this adventure, Uncle Peter would caution him of an evening:

"Now, Billy, don't stay out late. If you ain't been gone through byeleven, just hand what you got on you over to the first man youmeet--none of 'em'll ask any questions--and then pike fur home. Thelater at night it gets in New York the harder it is fur strangers tostay alive. You're all right in Wardner or Hellandgone, Billy, but inthis here camp you're jest a tender little bed of pansies by thewayside, and these New Yorkers are terrible careless where they stepafter dark. "

Notwithstanding which, Mr. Brue continued to behave uniformly in amanner to make all judicious persons grieve. His place of supremedelight was the Hightower. Its marble splendours, its myriad lights, the throngs of men and women in evening dress, made for him a scene ofunfailing fascination. The evenings when he was invited to sit in the_cafe_ with Uncle Peter and Percival made memories long to becherished. 

He spent such an evening there at the end of their first month in NewYork. Half a dozen of Percival's friends sat at the table with themfrom time to time. There had been young Beverly Van Arsdel, who, Percival disclosed, was heir to all the Van Arsdel millions, and no endof a swell. And there was big, handsome, Eddie Arledge, whose fatherhad treated him shabbily. These two young gentlemen spoke freely aboutthe inferiority of many things "on this side"--as they denominated thisglorious Land of Freedom--of many things from horses to wine. Thecountry was rapidly becoming, they agreed, no place for a gentleman tolive. Eddie Arledge confessed that, from motives of economy, he hadbeen beguiled into purchasing an American claret. 

"I fancied, you know, " he explained to Uncle Peter, "that it might dofor an ordinary luncheon claret, but on my sacred honour, the stuff isvillainous. Now you'll agree with me, Mr. Bines, I dare say, that aBordeaux of even recent vintage is vastly superior to the very bestso-called American claret. "

Whereupon Beverly Van Arsdel having said, "To be sure--fancy anAmerican Burgundy, now! or a Chablis!" Uncle Peter betrayed the firstsign of irritation Percival had detected since his coming. 

"Well, you see, young men, we're not much on vintages in Montana. Whiskey is mostly our drink--whiskey and spring water--and if ourwhiskey is strong, it's good enough. When we want to test a new barrel, we inject three drops of it into a jack-rabbit, and if he doesn't licka bull clog in six seconds, we turn down the goods. That's as far's oureducation has ever gone in vintages. "

It sounded like the old Uncle Peter, but he was afterward sogood-natured that Percival concluded the irritation could have been butmomentary. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Uncle Peter Bines Threatens to Raise Something

Uncle Peter and Billy Brue left the Hightower at midnight. Billy Bruewanted to walk down to their hotel, on the plea that they might see afight or a fire "or something. " He never ceased to feel cheated when hewas obliged to ride in New York. But Uncle Peter insisted on the cab. 

"Say, Uncle Peter, " he said, as they rode down, "I got a good notion toget me one of them first-part suits--like the minstrels wear in thegrand first part, you know--only I'd never be able to git on to thetrack right without a hostler to harness me and see to all the bucklesand cinch the straps right. They're mighty fine, though. "

Finding Uncle Peter uncommunicative, he mused during the remainder ofthe ride, envying the careless ease with which Percival and hisfriends, and even Uncle Peter, wore the prescribed evening regalia ofgentlemen, and yearning for the distinguished effect of its black andwhite elegance upon himself. 

They went to their connecting rooms, and Billy Brue regretfully soughthis bed, marvelling how free people in a town like New York could everbring themselves to waste time in sleep. As he dozed off, he could hearthe slow, measured tread of Uncle Peter pacing the floor in the nextroom. 

He was awakened by hearing his name called. Uncle Peter stood in aflood of light at the door of his room. He was fully dressed. 

"Awake, Billy?"

"Is it gittin'-up time?"

The old man came into the room and lighted a gas-jet. He looked at hiswatch. 

"No; only a quarter to four. I ain't been to bed yet. "

Billy Brue sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

"Rheumatiz again, Uncle Peter?"

"No; I been thinkin', Billy. How do you like the game?"

He began to pace the floor again from one room to the other. 

"What game?'! Billy Brue had encountered a number in New York. 

"This whole game--livin' in New York. "

Mr. Brue became judicial. 

"It's a good game as long as you got money to buy chips. I'd hate likedarnation to go broke here. All the pay-claims have been located, Iguess. "

"I doubt it's bein' a good game any time, Billy. I been actin' as kindof a lookout now fur about forty days and forty nights, and the chancesis all in favour of the house. You don't even get half your money onthe high card when the splits come. "

Billy Brue pondered this sentiment. It was not his own. 

"The United States of America is all right, Billy. "

This was safe ground. 

"Sure!" His mind reverted to the evening just past. "Of course therewas a couple of Clarences in high collars there to-night that made outlike they was throwin' it down; but they ain't the whole thing, not bya long shot. "

"Yes, and that young shrimp that was talkin' about 'vintages' and'trouserings. '" The old man paused in his walk. 

"What _are_ 'trouserings, ' Billy?"

Mr. Brue had not looked into shop windows day after day withoutenlarging his knowledge. 

"Trouserings, " he proclaimed, rather importantly, "is the cloth theymake pants out of. "

"Oh! is that all? I didn't know but it might be some new kind of duds. And that fellow don't ever get up till eleven o'clock A. M. I don'treckon I would myself if I didn't have anything but trouserings andvintages to worry about. And that Van Arsdel boy!"

"Say!" said Billy, with enthusiasm, "I never thought I'd be even in thesame room with one of that family, 'less I prized open the door with ajimmy. "

"Well, who's _he?_ My father knew his grandfather when he kep' tavernover on the Raritan River, and his grandmother!--this shrimp'sgrandmother!--she tended bar. "

"Gee!"

"Yes, they kep' tavern, and the old lady passed the rum bottle over thebar, and took in the greasy money. This here fellow, now, couldn't makean honest livin' like that, I bet you. He's like a dogbreeder wouldsay--got the pedigree, but not the points. "

Mr. Brue emitted a high, throaty giggle. 

"But they ain't all like that here, Uncle Peter. Say, you come out withme some night jest in your workin' clothes. I can show you people allright that won't ask to see your union card. Say, on the dead, UnclePeter, I wish you'd come. There's a lady perfessor in a dime museumright down here on Fourteenth Street that eats fire and juggles the bigsnakes;--say, she's got a complexion--"

"There's enough like that kind, though, " interrupted Uncle Peter. "Icould take a double-barrel shotgun up to that hotel and get nine witheach barrel around in them hallways; the shot wouldn't have to berammed, either; 'twouldn't have to scatter so blamed much. "

"Oh, well, them society sports--there's got to be some of _them_--"

"Yes, and the way they make 'em reminds me of what Dal Mutzig tellsabout the time they started Pasco. 'What you fellows makin' a town herefur?' Dal says he asked 'em, and he says they says, 'Well, why not? Theland ain't good fur anything else, is it?' they says. That's the waywith these shrimps; they ain't good fur anything else. There's thatArledge, the lad that keeps his mouth hangin' open all the time he'slookin' at you--he'll catch cold in his works, first thing _he_knows--with his gold monogram on his cigarettes. "

"He said he was poor, " urged Billy, who had been rather taken with theease of Arledge's manner. 

"Fine, big, handsome fellow, ain't he? Strong as an ox, active, andperfectly healthy, ain't he? Well, he's a _pill_! But _his_ old manmust 'a' been on to him. Here, here's a piece in the paper about thatfine big strappin' giant--it's partly what got me to thinkin' to-night, so I couldn't sleep. Just listen to this, " and Uncle Peter read:

"E. Wadsworth Arledge, son of the late James Townsend Arledge, of thedry-goods firm of Arledge & Jackson, presented a long affidavit toJustice Dutcher, of the Supreme Court, yesterday, to show why hisincome of six thousand dollars a year from his father's estate shouldnot be abridged to pay a debt of $489. 32. Henry T. Gotleib, a grocer, who obtained a judgment for that amount against him in 1895, and hasbeen unable to collect, asked the Court to enjoin Judge Henley P. Manderson, and the Union Fidelity Trust Company, as executors of theArledge estate, from paying Mr. Arledge his full income until the debthas been discharged. Gotleib contended that Arledge could sustain thereduction required. 

"James T. Arledge died about two years ago, leaving an estate of about$3, 000, 000. He had disapproved of the marriage of his son and evincedhis displeasure in his will. The son had married Flora Florenza, anactress. To the son was given an income of $6, 000 a year for life. Therest of the estate went to the testator's widow for life, and then tocharity. 

"Here is the affidavit of E. Wadsworth Arledge:

"'I have been brought up in idleness, under the idea that I was toinherit a large estate. I have never acquired any business habits so asto fit me to acquire property, or to make me take care of it. 

"'I have never been in business, except many years ago, when I was aboy, when I was for a short time employed in one of the stores owned bymy father. For many years prior to my father's death I was notemployed, but lived on a liberal allowance made to me by him. I am amarried man, and in addition to my wife have a family of two childrento support from my income. 

"'All our friends are persons of wealth and of high social standing, and we are compelled to spend money in entertaining the many friendswho entertain us. I am a member of many expensive clubs. I haveabsolutely no income except the allowance I receive from my father'sestate, and the same is barely sufficient to support my family. 

"'I have received no technical or scientific education, fitting me forany business or profession, and should I be deprived of any portion ofmy income, I will be plunged in debt anew. '

"The Court reserved decision. "

"You hear that, Billy? The Court reserved decision. Mr. Arledge has tobuy so many gold cigarettes and vintages and trouserings, and belong toso many clubs, that he wants the Court to help him chouse a poor grocerout of his money. Say, Billy, that judge could fine me for contempt ofcourt, right now, fur reservin' his decision. You bet Mr. Arledge would'a' got my decision right hot off the griddle. I'd 'a' told him, 'You're the meanest kind of a crook I ever heard of fur wantin' to liedown on your fat back and whine out of payin' fur the grub you put inyour big gander paunch, ' I'd tell him, 'and now you march to thelock-up till you can look honest folks in the face, ' I'd tell him. Say, Billy, some crooks are worse than others. Take Nate Leverson out there. Nate set up night and day for six years inventin' a process fursweatin' gold into ore; finally he gets it; how he does it, nobodyknows, but he sweat gold eighteen inches into the solid rock. The firstfew holes he salted he gets rid of all right, then of course they catchhim, and Nate's doin' time now. But say, I got respect fur Nate sincereadin' that piece. There's a good deal of a man about him, or aboutany common burglar or sneak thief, compared to this duck. They takechances, say nothin' of the hard work they do. This fellow won't take achance and won't work a day. Billy, that's the meanest specimen ofcrook I ever run against, bar none, and that crook is produced andtolerated in a place that's said to be the centre of 'culture andrefinement and practical achievement. ' Billy, he's a pill!"

"That's right, " said Billy Brue, promptly throwing the recalcitrantArledge overboard. 

"But it ain't none of my business. What I do spleen again, is havin' agrandson of mine livin' in a community where a man that'll act likethat is actually let in their houses by honest folks. Think of a son ofDaniel J. Bines treatin' folks like that as if they was his equals. Say, Dan'l had a line of faults, all right--but, by God! he'd a trammedore fur two twenty-five a day any time in his life rather'n not pay adollar he owed. And think of this lad making his bed in this kind of aplace where men are brought up to them ways; and that name; think of ahusky, two-fisted boy like him lettin' himself be called by a measlylittle gum-drop name like Percival, when he's got a right to be calledPete. And he's right in with 'em. He'd be jest as bad--give him alittle time; and Pishy engaged to a damned fortune-hunting Englishmaninto the bargain. It's all Higbee said it was, only it goes double. Say, Billy, I been thinkin' this over all night. "

"'Tis mighty worryin', ain't it, Uncle Peter?"

"And I got it thought out. "

"Sure, you must 'a' got it down to cases. "

"Billy, ' listen now. There's a fellow down in Wall Street. His name isShepler, Rulon Shepler. He's most the biggest man down there. "

"Sure! I heard of him. "

"Listen! I'm goin' to bed now. I can sleep since I got my mind made up. But I want to see Shepler in private to-morrow. Don't wake me up in themorning. But get up yourself, and go find his office--look in adirectory, then ask a policeman. Shepler's a busy man. You tell theclerk or whoever holds you up that Mr. Peter Bines wants an appointmentwith Mr. Shepler as soon as he can make it--Mr. Peter Bines, ofMontana City. Be there by 9. 30 so's to get him soon as he comes. Heknows me; tell him I want to see him on business soon as possible, andfind out when he can give me time. And don't you say to any one elsethat I ever seen him or sent you there. Understand? Don't ever say aword to any one. Remember, now, be there at 9. 30, and don't let anyclerk put you off, and ask him what hour'll be convenient for him. Nowget what sleep's comin' to you. It's five o'clock. "

At noon Billy Brue returned to the hotel to find Uncle Peter finishinga hearty breakfast. 

"I found him all right, Uncle Peter. The lookout acted suspicious, butI saw the main guy himself come out of a door--like I'd seen hispicture in the papers, so I just called to him, and said, 'Mr. PeterBines wants to see you, ' like that. He took me right into his office, and I told him what you said, and he'll be ready for you at twoo'clock. He knows mines, all right, out our way, don't he?--and hecrowded a handful of these tin-foil cigars on to me, and acted realsociable. Told me to drop in any time. Say, he'd run purty high in theyellow stuff all right. "

"At two o'clock, you say?"

"Yes. "

"And what's his number?"

"Gee, I forgot; I can tell you, though. You go down Broadway to thatold church--say, Uncle Peter, there's folks in that buryin'-groundbeen dead over two hundred years, if you can go by their gravestones. Gee! I didn't s'pose _anybody'd_ been dead that long--then you turndown the gulch right opposite, until you come to the VandevereBuilding, a few rods down on the left. Shepler's there. Git into thebucket and go up to the second level, and you'll find him in theleft-hand back stope--his name's on the door in gold letters. "

"All right. And look here, Billy, keep your head shut about all I saidlast night about anything. Don't you ever let on to a soul that I ain'tstuck on this place and its people--no matter what I do. "

"Sure not! What _are_ you going to do, Uncle Peter?"

The old man's jaws were set for some seconds in a way to make BillyBrue suspect he might be suffering from cramp. It seemed, however, thathe had merely been thinking intently. Presently he said:

"I'm goin' to raise hell, Billy. "

"Sure!" said Mr. Brue--approvingly on general principles. "Sure! Whynot?"

CHAPTER XXX. 

Uncle Peter Inspires His Grandson to Worthy Ambitions

On three successive days the old man held lengthy interviews withShepler in the latter's private office. At the close of the third day'sinterview, Shepler sent for Relpin, of the brokerage firm of Relpin andHendricks. A few days after this Uncle Peter said to Percival onemorning:

"I want to have a talk with you, son. "

"All right, Uncle Peter, " was the cheerful answer. He suspected the oldman might at last be going to preach a bit, since for a week past hehad been rather less expansive. He resolved to listen with good graceto any homilies that might issue. He took his suspicion to be confirmedwhen Uncle Peter began:

"You folks been cuttin' a pretty wide swath here in New York. "

"That's so, Uncle Peter, --wider than we could have cut in MontanaCity. "

"Been spendin' money purty free for a year. "

"Yes; you need money here. "

"I reckon you can't say about how much, now?"

"Oh, I shouldn't wonder, " Percival answered, going over to theescritoire, and taking out some folded sheets and several check-books. "Of course, I haven't it all here, but I have the bulk of it. Let mefigure a little. "

He began to work with a pencil on a sheet of paper. He was busy almosthalf an hour, while Uncle Peter smoked in silence. 

"It struck me the other night we might have been getting a little nearto the limit, so I figured a bit then, too, and I guess this will giveyou some idea of it. Of course this isn't all mine; it includes ma'sand Psyche's. Sis has been a mark for every bridge-player between theBattery and the Bronx, and the way ma has been plunging on her indigentpoor is a caution, --she certainly does hold the large golden medal foramateur cross-country philanthropy. Now here's a rough expenseaccount--of course only approximate, except some of the items Ihappened to have. " Uncle Peter took the statement, and studied itcarefully. 

Paid Hightower Hotel................ $ 42, 983. 75

Keep of horses, and extra horse and carriagehire....................... 5, 628. 50

Chartering steam-yacht _Viluca_ threemonths.............................. 24, 000. 00

Expenses running yacht.............. 46, 850. 28

W. U. Telegraph Company............. 32. 65

Incidentals......................... 882, 763. 90

Total $1, 002, 259. 08

His sharp old eyes ran up and down the column of figures. Somethingamong the items seemed to annoy him. 

"Looking at those 'incidentals'? I took those from the check-books. They are pretty heavy. "

"It's an outrage!" exclaimed the old man, indignantly, "that there$32. 50 to the telegraph company. How's it come you didn't have aWestern Union frank this year? I s'posed you had one. They sent memine. "

"Oh, well, they didn't send me one, and I didn't bother to ask for it, "the young man answered in a tone of relief. "Of course the expenseshave been pretty heavy, coming here strangers as we did. Now, anotheryear--"

"Oh, that ain't anything. Of course you got to spend money. I see oneof them high-toned gents that died the other day said a gentlemancouldn't possibly get along on less'n two thousand dollars a day andexpenses. I'm glad to see you ain't cut under the limit none--you gotright into his class jest like you'd always lived here, didn't you?But, now, I been kind of lookin' over the ground since I come here, andit's struck me you ain't been gettin' enough for your money. You'vespent free, but the goods ain't been delivered. I'm talkin' aboutyourself. Both your ma and Pishy has got more out of it than you have. Why, your ma gets her name in the papers as a philanthropist along withthat--how do the papers call her?--'the well-known club woman'--thatMrs. Helen Wyot Lamson that always has her name spelled out in full?Your ma is getting public recognition fur her money, and look at Pishy. What's she gone and done while you been laxin' about? Why, she's gotengaged to a lord, or just as good. Look at the prospects she's got!She'll enter the aristocracy of England and have a title. But look atyou! Really, son, I'm ashamed of you. People over there'll be sayin''Lady What's-her-name? Oh, yes! She _has_ got a brother, but he don'tamount to shucks--he ain't much more'n a three-spot. He can't doanything but play bank and drink like a fish. He's throwed away hisopportunities'--that's what them dukes and counts will be sayin' aboutyou behind your back. "

"I understood you didn't think much of sis's choice. "

"Well, of course, he wouldn't be much in Montana City, but he's allright in his place, and he seems to be healthy. What knocks _me_ is howhe ever got all them freckles. He never come by 'em honestly, I bet. Hemust 'a' got caught in an explosion of freckles sometime. But thatain't neither here nor there. He has the goods and Pish'll get 'emdelivered. She's got something to show fur her dust. But what _you_ gotto show? Not a blamed thing but a lot of stubs in a check-book, and alittle fat. Now I ain't makin' any kick. I got no right to; but I dohate to see you leadin' this life of idleness and dissipation when youmight be makin' something of yourself. Your pa was quite a man. He lefthis mark out there in that Western country. Now you're here settled inthe East among big people, with a barrel of money and fine chances todo something, and you're jest layin' down on the family name. Youwouldn't think near so much of your pa if he'd laid down before histime; and your own children will always have to say 'Poor pa--he had agood heart, but he never could amount to anything more'n a threespot;he didn't have any stuff in him, ' they'll be sayin'. Now, on the level, you don't want to go through life bein' just known as a good thing andeasy money, do you?"

"Why, of course not, Uncle Peter; only I had to look around some atfirst, --for a year or so. "

"Well, if you need to look any more, then your eyes ain't right. That'smy say. I ain't askin' you to go West. I don't expect that!"

Percival brightened. 

"But I am tryin' to nag you into doin' something here. People can saywhat they want to about you, " he continued, stubbornly, as one whoconfesses the most arrant bigotry, "but I know you _have_ got somebrains, some ability--I really believe you got a whole lot--and you gotthe means to take your place right at the top. You can head 'em all inthis country or any other. Now what you ought to do, you ought to takeyour place in the world of finance--put your mind on it night andday--swing out--get action--and set the ball to rolling. Your pa was abig man in the West, and there ain't any reason as I can see of why youcan't be just as big a man in proportion here. People can talk all theywant to about your bein' just a dub--I won't believe 'em. And there'sLondon. You ain't been ambitious enough. Get a down-hill pull on NewYork, and then branch out. Be a man of affairs like your pa, and likethat fellow Shepler. Let's _be_ somebody. If Montana City was too smallfur us, that's no reason why New York should be too big. "

Percival had walked the floor in deep attention to the old man's words. 

"You've got me right, Uncle Peter, " he said at last. "And you're rightabout what I ought to do. I've often thought I'd go into some of thesebig operations here. But for one thing I was afraid of what you'd say. And then, I didn't know the game very well. But I see I ought to dosomething. You're dead right. "

"And we need more money, too, " urged the old man. "I was reading apiece the other day about the big fortunes in New York. Why, we ain'tone, two, three, with the dinky little twelve or thirteen millions wecould swing. You don't want to be a piker, do you? If you go in thegame at all, play her open and high. Make 'em take the ceiling off. Youcan just as well get into the hundred million class as not, and I knowit. They needn't talk to _me_--I know you _have_ got some brains. Ifyou was to go in now it would keep you straight and busy, and take youout of this pin-head class that only spends their pa's money. "

"You're all right, Uncle Peter! I certainly did need you to come alongright now and set me straight. You founded the fortune, pa trebled it, and now I'll get to work and roll it up like a big snowball. "

"That's the talk. Get into the hundred million class, and show thesewise folks you got something in you besides hot air, like the sayin'is. _Then_ they won't always be askin' who your pa was--they'll bewantin' to know who you are, by Gripes! Then you can have the biggeststeam yacht afloat, two or three of 'em, and the best house in NewYork, and palaces over in England; and Pish'll be able to hold up herhead in company over there. You can finance _that_ proposition right upto the nines. "

"By Jove! but you're right. You're a wonder, Uncle Peter. And thatreminds me--"

He stopped in his walk. 

"I gave it hardly any thought at the time, but now it looks bigger thana mountain. I know just the things to start in on systematically. Nowdon't breathe a word of this, but there's a big deal on in ConsolidatedCopper. I happened on to the fact in a queer way the other night. There's a broker I've known down-town--fellow by the name of Relpin. Met him last summer. He does most of Shepler's business; he's supposedto be closer to Shepler and know more about the inside of his dealsthan any man in the Street. Well, I ran across Relpin down in the cafethe other night and he was wearing one of those gents' nobbythree-button souses. Nothing would do but I should dine with him, so Idid. It was the night you and the folks went to the opera with theOldakers. Relpin was full of lovely talk and dark hints about a rise incopper stock, and another rise in Western Trolley, and a bigger risethan either of them in Union Cordage. How that fellow can do Shepler'sbusiness and drink the stuff that makes you talk I don't see. Anyway hesaid--and you can bet what he says goes--that the Consolidated is goingto control the world's supply of copper inside of three months, and thestock is bound to kite, and so are these other two stocks; Shepler'sback of all three. The insiders are buying up now, slowly andcautiously, so as not to start any boom prematurely. Consolidated is nonow, and it'll be up to 150 by April at the latest. The others may gobeyond that. I wasn't looking for the game at the time, so I didn'tgive it any thought, but now, you see, there's our chance. We'll plungein those three lines before they start to rise, and be in on the groundfloor. " "Now don't you be rash! That Shepler's old enough to suck eggsand hide the shells. I heard a man say the other day copper was nonetoo good at no. "

"Exactly. You can hear anything you're looking to hear, down there. ButI tell you this was straight. Don't you suppose Shepler knows what he'sabout?--there's a boy that won't be peddling shoe-laces and gum-dropsoff one of these neat little bosom-trays--not for eighty-five orninety-thousand years yet--and Relpin, even if he was drunk, knowsShepler's deals like you know Skiplap. They'll bear the stocks all theycan while they're buying up. I wouldn't be surprised if the nextConsolidated dividend was reduced. That would send her down a fewpoints, and throw more stock on the market. Meantime, they're quietlyworkin' to get control of the European mines--and as to Western Trolleyand Union Cordage--say, Relpin actually got to crying--they're sogood--he had one of those loving ones, the kind where you want to begood to every one in the world. I'm surprised he didn't get into asandwich sign and patrol Broadway, giving those tips to everybody. ". 

"Course, we're on a proposition now that you know more about it than Ido; you certainly do take right hold at once--that was your pa's way, too. Daniel J. Could look farther ahead in a minute than most men couldin a year. I got to trust you wholly in these matters, and I know I cando it, too. I got confidence in you, no matter _what_ other people say. They don't know you like I do. And if there's any other things you knowabout fur sure--"

"Well, there's Burman. He's plunging in corn now. His father has stakedhim, and he swears he can't lose. He was after me to put aside amillion. Of course if he does win out it would be big money. "

"Well, son, I can't advise you none--except I know you have got a headon you, no matter how people talk. You know about this end of the game, and I'll have to be led entirely by you. If you think Burman's got agood proposition, why, there ain't anything like gettin' action allalong the layout, from ace down to seven-spot and back to the kingcard. "

"That's the talk. I'll see Relpin to-day or to-morrow. I'll bet hetries to hedge on what he said. But I got him too straight--let adrunken man alone for telling the truth when he's got it in him. We'llstart in buying at once. "

"It does sound good. I must say you take hold of it considerable likeDan'l J. Would 'a' done--and use my money jest like your own. I do wantto see you takin' your place where you belong. This life of idlenessyou been leadin'--one continual potlatch the whole time--it wa'n'tdoin' you a bit of good. "

"We'll get action, don't you worry. Now let's have lunch down-stairs, and then go for a drive. It's too fine a day to stay in. I'll order thecart around and show you that blue-ribbon cob I bought at the horseshow. I just want you to see his action. He's a beaut, all right. He'sbeen worked a half in 1. 17, and he can go to his speed in ten lengths, any time. "

In the afternoon they fell into the procession of carriages streamingtoward the park. The day was pleasantly sharp, the clear sunshineenlivening, and the cob was one with the spirit of the occasion, alertly active, from his rubber-shod, varnished hoofs to the tips ofhis sensitive ears. 

"Central Park, " said Uncle Peter, "always seems to me just like a tidylittle parlour, livin' around in them hills the way I have. "

He watched the glinting of varnished spokes, and listened absently tothe rhythmic "click-clump" of trotting horses, with its accompanyingjingle of silver harness trappings. 

"These people must have lots of money, " he observed. "But you'll go inand outdo 'em all. "

"That's what! Uncle Peter. "

Toward the upper end of the East Drive they passed a victoria in whichwere Miss Milbrey and her mother with Rulon Shepler. The men raisedtheir hats. Miss Milbrey flashed the blue of her eyes to them andpointed down her chin in the least bit of a bow. Mrs. Milbrey stared. 

"Wa'n't that Shepler?"

"Yes, Shepler and the Milbreys. That woman certainly has the haughtiestlorgnon ever built. "

"She didn't speak to us. Is her eyes bad?"

"Yes, ever since that time at Newport. None of them has spoken to mebut the girl--she's engaged to Shepler. "

"She's a right nice lookin' little lady. I thought you was kind oftaken there. "

"She would have married me for my roll. I got far enough along to tellthat. But that was before Shepler proposed. I'd give long odds shewouldn't consider me now. I haven't enough for her with him in thegame. "

"Well, you go in and make her wish she'd waited for you. "

"I'll do that; I'll make Shepler look like a well-to-do business manfrom Pontiac, Michigan. "

"Is that brother of hers you told me about still makin' up to thatparty?"

"Can't say. I suppose he'll be a little more fastidious, as thebrother-in-law of Shepler. In fact I heard that the family had shutdown on any talk of his marrying her. "

"Still, she ought to be able to do well here. Any man that would marrya woman fur money wouldn't object to her. One of these fortune-huntingEnglishmen, now, would snap her up. "

"She hasn't quite enough for that. Two millions isn't so much here, youknow, and she must have spent a lot of hers. I hear she has a veryexpensive suite back there at the Arlingham, and lives high. I didhear, too, that she takes a flyer in the Street now and then. She'll bebroke soon if she keeps that up. "

"Too bad she ain't got a few more millions, " said Uncle Peter, ruminantly. "Take one of these titled Englishmen looking for an heiressto keep 'em--she'd make just the kind of a wife he'd ought to get. Shecertainly ought to have a few more millions. If she had, now, she mightcure some decent girl of her infatuation. Where'd you say she wasstoppin'?"

"Arlingham--that big private hotel I showed you back there. "

Percival confessed to his mother that night that he had wronged UnclePeter. 

"That old boy is all right yet, " he said, with deep conviction. "Don'tmake any mistake there. He has bigger ideas than I gave him credit for. I suggested branching out here in a business way, to-day, and the oldfellow got right in line. If anybody tells you that old Petie Bineshasn't got the leaves of his little calendar torn off right up to dateyou just feel wise inside, and see what odds are posted on it!"

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Concerning Consolidated Copper and Peter Bines as Matchmakers

Consolidated copper at 110. The day after his talk with Uncle Peter, Percival through three different brokers gave orders to buy tenthousand shares. 

"I tried to give Relpin an order for five thousand shares over thetelephone, " he said to Uncle Peter; "but they're used to those fiftyand a hundred thousand dollar pikers down in that neighbourhood. Heseemed to think I was joshing him. When I told him I meant it and wasready to take practically all he could buy for the next few weeks orso, I think he fell over in the booth and had to be helped out. "

Orders for twenty thousand more shares in thousand share lots duringthe next three weeks sent the stock to 115. Yet wise men in the Streetseemed to fear the stock. They were waiting cautiously for moredefinite leadings. The plunging of Bines made rather a sensation, andwhen it became known that his holdings were large and growing almostdaily larger, the waning confidence of a speculator here and therewould be revived. 

At 115 the stock rested again, with few sales recorded. A certain fewof the elect regarded this calm as ominous. It was half believed byothers that the manipulations of the inner ring would presently advancethe stock to a sensational figure, and that the reckless young man fromMontana might be acting upon information of a definite character. Butamong the veteran speculators the feeling was conservative. Beforebuying they preferred to await some sign that the advance had actuallybegun. The conservatives were mostly the bald old fellows. Among theillusions that rarely survive a man's hair in Wall Street is the onethat "sure things" are necessarily sure. 

Percival watched Consolidated Copper go back to 110, and boughtagain--ten thousand shares. The price went up two points the day afterhis orders were placed, and two days later dropped back to 110. Theconservatives began to agree with the younger set of speculators, in sofar as both now believed that the stock was behaving in an unnaturalmanner, indicating that "something was doing"--that manipulation behindthe scenes was under way to a definite end. The conservatives and theradicals differed as to what this end was. But then, Wall Street isnourished almost exclusively upon differences of opinion. 

Percival now had accounts with five firms of brokers. 

"Relpin, " he explained to Uncle Peter, "is a foxy boy. He's foxier thana fox. He not only tried to hedge on what he told me, --said he'd beendrinking absinthe _frappé_ that day, and it always gets himdreamy, --but he actually had the nerve to give me the opposite steer. Of course he knows the deal clear to the centre, and Shepler knows thathe knows, and he must have been afraid Shepler would suspect he'd beentalking. So I only traded a few thousand shares with him. I didn't wantto embarrass him. Funny about him, too. I never heard before of hisdrinking anything to speak of. And there isn't a man in the Streetcomes so near to knowing what the big boys are up to. But we're on thewinning cards all right. I get exactly the same information from adozen confidential sources; some of it I can trace to Relpin, and someof it right to Shepler himself. " "Course I'm leavin' it all to you, "answered Uncle Peter; "and I must say I do admire the way you take holdand get things on the move. You don't let any grass grow under _your_heels. You got a good head fur them things. I can tell by the way youstart out--just like your pa fur all the world. I'll feel safe enoughabout my money as long as you keep your health. If only you got thenerve. I've known men would play a big proposition half-through andthen get scared and pull out. Your pa wa'n't that way. He could get aproposition right by its handle every time, and they never come any toobig fur him; the bigger they was, better he liked 'em. That's the kindof genius I think you got. You ain't afraid to take a chance. "

Percival beamed modestly under praise of this sort which now came tohim daily. 

"It's good discipline for me, too, Uncle Peter. It's what I needed, something to put my mind on. I needed a new interest in life. You hadme down right. I wasn't doing myself a bit of good with nothing tooccupy my mind. "

"Well, I'm mighty glad you thought up this stock deal. It'll give yougood business habits and experience, say nothing of doubling yourcapital. "

"And I've gone in with Burman on his corn deal. He's begun to buy, andhe has it cinched this time. He'll be the corn king all right by June1st; don't make any mistake on that. I thought as long as we wereplunging so heavy in Western Trolley and Union Cordage, along with thecopper, we might as well take the side line of corn. Then we won't haveour eggs all in one basket. "

"All right, son, all right! I'm trustin' you. A corner in corn isbetter'n a corner in wild-oats any day; anything to keep you straight, and doin' something. I don't care _how_ many millions you pile up! Ihear the Federal Oil people's back of the copper deal. "

"That's right; the oil crowd and Shepler. I had it straight from Relpinthat night. They're negotiating now with the Rothschilds to limit theoutput of the Rio Tinto mines. They'll end by controlling them, andthen--well, we'll have a roll of the yellow boys--say, we'll have tolay quiet for a year just to count it. "

"Do it good while you're doin' it, " urged Uncle Peter, cheerfully. "Irely so much on your judgment, I want you to get action on my stuff, too. I got a couple millions that ought to be workin' harder than theyare. "

"Good; I didn't think you had so much gambler in you. "

"It's fur a worthy purpose, son. And it seems too bad that Pishy can'tpull out something with her bit, when it's to be had so easy. From whatthat spangle-faced beau of hers tells me there's got to be someexpensive plumbing done in that castle he gets sawed off on to him. "

"We'll let sis in, too, " exclaimed her brother, generously, "and macould use a little more in her business. She's sitting up nights tocorner all the Amalgamated Hard-luck on the island. We'll pool issue, and say, we'll make those Federal Oil pikers think we've gnawed acorner off the subtreasury. I'll put an order in for twenty thousandmore shares to-morrow--among the three stocks. And then we'll have tosee about getting all our capital here. We'll need every cent of itthat's loose; and maybe we better sell off some of those dead-woodstocks. "

The twenty thousand shares were bought by the following week, fivethousand of them being Consolidated Copper, ten thousand WesternTrolley, and five thousand Union Cordage. Consolidated Copper fell offtwo points, upon rumours, traceable to no source, that the company hadon hand a large secret supply of copper, and was producing largely inexcess of the demand every month. 

Percival told Uncle Peter of these rumours, and chuckled with the easyconfidence of a man who knows secrets. 

"You see, it's coming the way Relpin said. The insiders are hammeringdown the stock with those reports, hammering with one hand, and buyingup small lots quietly with the other. But you'll notice the price ofcopper doesn't go down any. They keep it at seventeen cents all right. Now, the moment they get control of the European supply they'll holdthe stuff, force up the selling price to awful figures, and squeeze outdividends that will make you wear blue glasses to look at them. "

"You certainly do know your business, son, " said Uncle Peter, fervently. "You certainly got your pa's head on you. You remind me moreand more of Dan'l J. Bines every day. I'd rather trust your judgmentnow than lots of older men down there. You know their tricks all right. Get in good and hard so long as you got a sure thing. I'd hate to haveyou come meachin' around after that stock has kited, and be kickin'because you hadn't bet what your hand was worth. "

"Trust me for that, Uncle Peter. Garmer tried to steer me off this lineof stocks the other night. He'd heard these rumours about a slump, andhe's fifty years old at that. I thanked him for his tip and coppered itwith another thousand shares all around next day. The way Garmer cantell when you're playing a busted flush makes you nervous, but Ihaven't looked over his license to know everything down in the Streetyet. "

The moral gain to Percival from his new devotion to the stock marketwas commented upon approvingly both by Uncle Peter and by his mother. It was quite as tangible as his money profits promised to be. He ceasedto frequent the temple of chance in Forty-fourth Street, to theproprietor's genuine regret. The poker-games at the hotel he abandonedas being trivial. And the cabmen along upper Broadway had seldom nowthe opportunity to compete for his early morning patronage. He began tokeep early hours and to do less casual drinking during the day. Afterthree weeks of this comparatively regular living his mother rejoiced tonote signs that his breakfast-appetite was returning. 

"You see, " he explained earnestly to Uncle Peter, "a man to makeanything at this game must keep his head clear, and he must have goodhealth to do that. I meet a lot of those fellows down there that queerthemselves by drink. It doesn't do so much hurt when a man isn'tneeding his brains, --but no more of it for me just now!"

"That's right, son. I knew I could make something more than a politesosh out of you. I knew you'd pull up if you got into business like youbeen doin'. "

"Come down-town with me this afternoon, and see me make a play, UnclePeter. I think I'll begin now to buy on a margin. The rise can't holdoff much longer. "

"I'd like to, son, but I'd laid out to take a walk up to the park thisafternoon, and look in at the monkeys awhile. I need the out-doors, andanyway you don't need me down there. You know _your_ part all right. My! but I'd begin to feel nervous with all that money up, if it wasanybody but you, now. "

In pursuance of his pronounced plan, Uncle Peter walked up Fifth Avenuethat afternoon. But he stopped short of the park. At the imposingentrance of the Arlingham he turned in. At the desk he asked for Mrs. Wybert. 

"I'll see if Mrs. Wybert is in, " said the clerk, handing him a blankcard; "your name, please!"

The old man wrote, "Mr. Peter Bines of Montana City would like a fewminutes' talk with Mrs. Wybert. "

The boy was gone so long that Uncle Peter, waiting, began to suspect hewould not be received. He returned at length with the message, "Thelady says will you please step up-stairs. "

Going up in the elevator, the old man was ushered by a maid into aviolet-scented little nest whose pale green walls were toucheddiscreetly with hangings of heliotrope. An artist, in Uncle Peter'splace, might have fancied that the colour scheme of the apartment criedout for a bit of warmth. A glowing, warm-haired woman was needed toset the walls afire; and the need was met when Mrs. Wybert entered. 

She wore a long coat of seal trimmed with chinchilla, and had been, apparently, about to go out. 

Uncle Peter rose and bowed. Mrs. Wybert nodded rather uncertainly. 

"You wished to see me, Mr. Bines?"

"I did want to have a little talk with you, Mrs. Wybert, but you'regoin' out, and I won't keep you. I know how pressed you New Yorksociety ladies are with your engagements. "

Mrs. Wybert had seemed to be puzzled. She was still puzzled butunmistakably pleased. The old man was looking at her with frank andfriendly apology for his intrusion. Plainly she had nothing to fearfrom him. She became gracious. 

"It was only a little shopping tour, Mr. Bines, that and a call at thehospital, where they have one of my maids who slipped on the avenueyesterday and fractured one of her--er--limbs. Do sit down. "

Mrs. Wybert said "limb" for leg with the rather conscious air ofescaping from an awkward situation only by the subtlest finesse. 

She seated herself before a green and heliotrope background thatinstantly took warmth from her colour. Uncle Peter still hesitated. 

"You see, I wanted kind of a long chat with you, Mrs. Wybert--afriendly chat if you didn't mind, and I'd feel a mite nervous if you'rebundled up that way. "

"I shall be delighted, Mr. Bines, to have a long, friendly chat. I'llsend my cloak back, and you take your own time. There now, do be rightcomfortable!"

The old man settled himself and bestowed upon his hostess a long lookof approval. 

"The reports never done you justice, Mrs. Wybert, and they was veryglowin' reports, too. "

"You're very kind, Mr. Bines, awfully good of you!"

"I'm goin' to be more, Mrs. Wybert. I'm goin' to be a little bitconfidential--right out in the straight open with you. "

"I am sure of that. "

"And if you want to, you can be the same with me. I ain't ever heldanything against you, and maybe now I can do you a favour. "

"It's right good of you to say so. "

"Now, look here, ma'am, lets you and me get right down to cases aboutthis society game here in New York. "

Mrs. Wybert laughed charmingly and relaxed in manner. 

"I'm with you, Mr. Bines. What about it, now?"

"Now don't get suspicious, and tell me to mind my own business when Iask you questions. "

"I couldn't be suspicious of you--really I feel as if I'd have to tellyou everything you asked me, some way. "

"Well, there's been some talk of your marrying that young Milbrey. Nowtell me the inside of it. "

She looked at the old man closely. Her intuition confirmed his ownprotestations of friendliness. 

"I don't mind telling you in strict confidence, there _was_ talk ofmarriage, and his people, all but the sister, encouraged it. Then aftershe was engaged to Shepler they talked him out of it. Now that's thewhole God's truth, if it does you any good. "

"If you had married him you'd 'a' had a position, like they say here, right away. "

"Oh, dear, yes! awfully swagger people--dead swell, every one of them. There's no doubt about that. "

"Exactly; and there ain't really any reason why you can't be somebodyhere. "

"Well, between you and I, Mr. Bines, I can play the part as well as awhole lot of these women here. I don't want to talk, of course, but--well!"

"Exactly, you can give half of 'em cards and spades and both casinos, Mrs. Wybert. "

"And I'll do it yet. I'm not through by any means. They're not the onlyperfectly elegant people in this town!"

"Of course you'll do it, and you could do it better if you had three orfour times the stake you got. "

"Dollars are worth more apiece in New York than any town I've ever beenin. "

"Mrs. Wybert, I can put you right square into a good thing, and I'mgoing to do it. Heard anything about Consolidated Copper?"

"I've heard something big was doing in it; but nobody seems to know forcertain. My broker is afraid of it. "

"Very well. Now you do as I tell you, and you can clean up a big lotinside of the next two months. If you do as I tell you, mind, no matter_what_ you hear, and if you don't talk. "

Mrs. Wybert meditated. 

"Mr. Bines, I'm--it's natural that I'm a little uneasy. Why should youwant to see me do well, after our little affair? Now, out with it! Whatare you trying to do with me? What do you expect me to do for you? Getdown to cases yourself, Mr. Bines!"

"I will, ma'am, in a few words. My granddaughter, you may have heard, is engaged to an Englishman. He's next thing to broke, but he's got atitle coming. Naturally he's looking fur money. Naturally he don't carefur the girl. But I'm afraid she's infatuated with him. Now then, if hehad a chance at some one with more money than she's got, why, naturallyhe'd jump at it. "

"Aren't you a little bit wild?"

"Not a little bit. He saw you at Newport last summer, and he's seen youhere. He was tearing the adjectives up telling me about you the othernight, not knowing, you understand, that I'd ever heard tell of youbefore. You could marry him in a jiffy if you follow my directions. "

"But your granddaughter has a fortune. "

"You'll have as much if you play this the way I tell you. And--younever can tell in these times--she might lose a good bit of hers. "

"It's very peculiar, Mr. Bines--your proposition. "

[Illustration: "'_WHY, YOU'D BE LADY CASSELTHORPE, WITH DUKES ANDCOUNTS TAKIN' OFF THEIR CROWNS TO YOU_. '"]

"Look at what a brilliant match it would be fur you. Why, you'd beLady Casselthorpe, with dukes and counts takin' off their crowns toyou. And that other one--that Milbrey--from all I hear he's lighter'ncork--cut his galluses and he'd float right up into the sky. He ain'tgot anything but his good family and a thirst. "

"I see. This Mauburn isn't good enough for your family, but you reckonhe's good enough for me? Is that it, now?"

"Come, Mrs. Wybert, let's be broad. That's the game you like, and Idon't criticise you fur it. It's a good game if that's the kind of agame you're huntin' fur. And you can play it better'n my granddaughter. She wa'n't meant fur it--and I'd rather have her marry an American, anyhow. Now you like it, and you got beauty--only you need more money. I'll put you in the way of it, and you can cut out my granddaughter. "

"I must think about it. Suppose I plunge in copper, and your tip isn'tstraight. I've seen hard times, Mr. Bines, in my life. I haven't alwayswore sealskin and diamonds. "

"Mrs. Wybert, you was in Montana long enough to know how I standthere?"

"I know you're A1, and your word's as good as another man's money. Idon't question your good intentions. "

"It's my judgment, hey? Now, look here, I won't tell you what I knowand how I know it, but you can take my word that I know I do know. Youplunge in copper right off, without saying a word to anybody or makin'any splurge, and here--"

From the little table at his elbow he picked up the card that hadannounced him and drew out his pencil. 

"You said my word was as good as another man's money. Now I'm going towrite on this card just what you have to do, and you're to followdirections, no matter what you hear about other people doing. There'llbe all sorts of reports about that stock, but you follow mydirections. "

He wrote on the back of the card with his pencil. 

"Consolidated Copper, remember--and now I'm a-goin' to write somethingelse under them directions. 

"'Do this up to the limit of your capital and I will make good anythingyou lose. ' There, Mrs. Wybert, I've signed that 'Peter Bines. ' Thatcard wouldn't be worth a red apple in a court of law, but you know me, and you know it's good fur every penny you lose. "

"Really, Mr. Bines, you half-way persuade me. I'll certainly try thecopper play--and about the other--well, --we'll see; I don't promise, mind you!"

"You think over it. I'm sure you'll like the idea--think of bein' inthat great nobility, and bein' around them palaces with their dukes andcounts. Think how these same New York women will meach to you then!"

The old man rose. 

"And mind, follow them directions and no other--makes no differencewhat you hear, or I won't be responsible. And I'll rely on you, ma'am, never to let anyone know about my visit, and to send me back thatlittle document after you've cashed in. "

He left her studying the card with a curious little flash of surprise. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Devotion to Business and a Chance Meeting

In the weeks that now followed, Percival became a model of sobriety andpatient, unremitting industry, according to his own ideas of industry. He visited the offices of his various brokers daily, reading the tapewith the single-hearted devotion of a veteran speculator. He acquired ageneral knowledge of the ebb and flow of popular stocks. He frequentlysaw opportunities for quick profit in other stocks than the three hewas dealing in, but he would not let himself be diverted. 

"I'm centering on those three, " he told Uncle Peter. "When they win outwe'll take up some other lines. I could have cleared a quarter of amillion in that Northern Pacific deal last week, as easy as not. I sawjust what was being done by that Ledrick combine. But we've gotsomething better, and I don't want to take chances on tying up someready money we might need in a hurry. If a man gets started on thoselittle side issues he's too apt to lose his head. He jumps in one day, and out the next, and gets to be what they call a 'kangaroo, ' down inthe Street. It's all right for amusement, but the big money is incinching one deal and pushing hard. It's a bull market now, too; buyA. O. T. Is the good word--Any Old Thing--but I'm going to stay right bymy little line. "

"You certainly have a genius fur finance, " declared Uncle Peter, withfervent admiration. "This going into business will be the makin' ofyou. You'll be good fur something else besides holdin' one of themdinky little teacups, and talking about 'trouserings'--no matter _what_people say. Let 'em _talk_ about you--sayin' you'll never be anythinglike the man your pa was--_you'll_ show 'em. "

And Percival, important with his secret knowledge of the great _coup_, went back to the ticker, and laughed inwardly at the seasoned expertswho frankly admitted their bewilderment as to what was "doing" incopper and Western Trolley. 

"When it's all over, " he confided gaily to the old man, "we ought topinch off about ten per cent of the winnings, and put up a monument toabsinthe _frappé_--the stuff Relpin had been drinking that day. They'll give us a fine public square for it in Paris if they won't herein New York. And it wouldn't do any good to give it to Relpin, who'sreally earned it--he'd only lush himself into one of those drunkard'sgraves--I understand there's a few left yet. "

Early in March, Coplen, the lawyer, was sent for, and with him Percivalspent two laborious weeks, going over inventories of the properties, securities, and moneys of the estate. The major portion of the latterwas now invested in the three stocks, and the remainder was at handwhere it could be conveniently reached. 

Percival informed himself minutely as to the values of the differentmining properties, railroad and other securities. A group of thelesser-paying mines was disposed of to an English syndicate, theproceeds being retained for the stock deal. All but the best paying ofthe railroad, smelting, and land-improvement securities were alsothrown on the market. 

The experience was a valuable one to the young man, enlarging greatlyhis knowledge of affairs, and giving him a needed insight into themethods by which the fortune had been accumulated. 

"That was a slow, clumsy, old-fashioned way to make money, " he declaredto Coplen. "Nowadays it's done quicker. "

His grasp of details delighted Uncle Peter and surprised Coplen. 

"I didn't know but he might be getting plucked, " said Coplen to the oldman, "with all that money being drawn out so fast. If I hadn't knownyou were with him, I'd have taken it on myself to find out somethingabout his operations. But he's all right, apparently. He had a scentlike a hound for those dead-wood properties--got rid of them while wewould have been making up our minds to. That boy will make his wayunless I'm mistaken. He has a head for detail. "

"I'll make him a bigger man than his pa was yet, " declared Uncle Peter. "But I wouldn't want to let on that I'd had anything to do with it. He'll think he's done it all himself, and it's right he should. Itstimulates 'em. Boys of his age need just about so much conceit, and itdon't do to take it out of 'em. "

Reports of the most encouraging character came from Burman. The deal incorn was being engineered with a riper caution than had been displayedin the ill-fated wheat deal of the spring before. 

"Burman's drawn close up to a million already, " said Percival to UnclePeter, "and now he wants me to stand ready for another million. "

"Is Burman, " asked Uncle Peter, "that young fellow that had a habit ofstandin' pat on a pair of Jacks, and then bettin' everybody off theboard?"

"Yes, that was Burman. "

"Well, I liked his ways. I should say he could do you a whole lot ofgood in a corn deal. "

"It certainly does look good--and Burman has learned the ropes andspars. They're already calling him the 'corn-king' out on the ChicagoBoard of Trade. "

"Use your own judgment, " Uncle Peter urged him. "You're the one thatknows all about these things. My Lord! how you ever _do_ manage to keepthings runnin' in your head gets me. If you got confidence in Burman, all I can say is--well, your pa was a fine judge of men, and I don'tsee why you shouldn't have the gift. "

"Between you and me, Uncle Peter, I _am_ a good judge of human nature, and I know this much about Burman: when he does win out he'll win big. And I think he's going to whipsaw the market to a standstill this time, for sure. Here's a little item from this morning's paper that soundsright, all along the line. "

"COPPER, CORN, AND CORDAGE. 

"There are just now three great movements in the market, Copper Truststock, corn, and cordage stock. The upward movement in corn seems to bein the main not speculative but natural--the result of a short supplyand a long demand. The movements in Copper and Cordage Trust stocks arepurely speculative. The copper movement is based on this proposition:Can the Copper Trust maintain the price for standard copper atseventeen cents a pound, in face of enormously increased supply and therapidly decreasing demand, notably in Germany? The bears think not. Thebulls, contrarily, persist in behaving as if they had insideinformation of a superior value. Just possibly a simultaneous rise incorn, copper, and cordage will be the next sensation in the tradingworld. "

"You see?" said Percival. "They're beginning to wake up, downthere--beginning to turn over in their sleep and mutter. Pretty soonthey'll begin to stretch lazily; when they finally hear something dropand jump out of bed it will be too late. The bulls will be countingtheir chips to cash in, and the man waiting around to put out thelights. And I don't see why Burman isn't as safe as I am. " "I don't, either, " said Uncle Peter. 

"'A short supply and a long demand, '--it would be a sin to let any oneelse in. I'll just wire him we're on, and that we need all of that goodthing ourselves. "

In the flush of his great plans and great expectations came a chancemeeting with Miss Milbrey. He had seen her only at a distance sincetheir talk at Newport. Yet the thought of her had persisted as aplaintive undertone through all the days after. Only the sharp hurt tohis sensitive pride--from the conviction that she had found himtolerable solely because of the money--had saved him from the willingadmission to himself that he had carried off too much of her ever toforget. In his quiet moments, the tones of her clear, low voice camemovingly to his ears, and his eyes conjured involuntarily her girlishanimation, her rounded young form, her colour and fire--the choked, smouldering fire of opals. He saw the curve of her wrist, the confidentswing of her walk, the easy poise of her head, her bearing, at oncegirlish and womanly, the little air, half of wistful appeal, and halfof self-reliant assertion. Yet he failed not to regard theseindulgences as utter folly. It had been folly enough while he believedthat she stood ready to accept him and his wealth. It was moreflagrant, now that her quest for a husband with millions had been sohandsomely rewarded. 

But again, the fact that she was now clearly impossible for him, sothat even a degrading submission on his part could no longer secureher, served only to bring her attractiveness into greater relief. Withthe fear gone that a sudden impulse to possess her might lead him tostultify himself, he could see more clearly than ever why she was andpromised always to be to him the very dearest woman in theworld--dearest in spite of all he could reason about so lucidly. Hefelt, then, a little shock of unreasoning joy to find one night thatthey were dining together at the Oldakers'. 

At four o'clock he had received a hasty note signed "Fidelia Oldaker, "penned in the fine, precise script of some young ladies' finishingschool--perhaps extinct now for fifty years--imploring him, if aught ofchivalry survived within his breast, to fetch his young grandfather anddine with her that evening. Two men had inconsiderately succumbed, atthis eleventh hour, to the prevailing grip-epidemic, and the ladythrew herself confidently on the well-known generosity of the Binesmale--"like one of the big, stout nets those acrobatic people fall intofrom their high bars, " she concluded. 

Uncle Peter was more than willing. He liked the Oldakers. 

"They're the only sane folks I've met among your friends, " he had toldhis grandson. He had dined there frequently during the winter, andprofessed to be enamoured of the hostess. That fragile but sprightlybit of antiquity professed in turn to find Uncle Peter a very dangerousman among the ladies. They flirted outrageously at every opportunity, and Uncle Peter sent her more violets than many a popular _débutante_received that winter. 

Percival, with his new air of Wall Street operator, was inclined tohesitate. 

"You know I'm up early now, Uncle Peter, to get the day's run of themarkets before I go downtown, and a man can't do much in the way ofdinners when his mind is working all day. Perhaps Mauburn will go. "

But Mauburn was taking Psyche and Mrs. Drelmer to the first night of aplay, and Percival was finally persuaded by the old man to relax, forone evening, the austerity of his _régime_. 

"But how your pa would love to see you so conscientious, " he said, "andyou with Wall Street, or a good part of it, right under your heel, justlike _that_, " and the old man ground his heel viciously into thecarpet. 

When Percival found Shepler with Mrs. Van Geist and Miss Milbrey amongthe Oldakers' guests, he rejoiced. Now he would talk to her without anyof that old awkward self-consciousness. He was even audacious enough toinsist that Mrs. Oldaker direct him to take Miss Milbrey out to dinner. 

"I claim it as the price of coming, you know, when I was only anafterthought. "

"You shall be paid, sir, " his hostess declared, "if you consider it payto sit beside an engaged girl whose mind is full of her _trousseau_. And here's this captivating young scapegrace relative of yours. Whatprice does he demand for coming?" and she glanced up at Uncle Peterwith arch liberality in her bright eyes. 

That gentleman bowed low--a bow that had been the admiration of thesmartest society in Marietta County, Ohio, fifty years and more ago. 

"I'm paid fur coming by coming, " he replied, urbanely. 

"There, now!" cried his hostess, "that's pretty, and means something. You shall take me in for that. "

"I'll have to give you a credit-slip, ma'am. You've overpaid me. " AndMrs. Oldaker, with a coy fillip of her fan, called him a naughty boy. 

"Here, Rulon, " she called to Shepler, "are two young daredevils who'vebeen good enough to save me as many empty chairs. Now you shall takeout Cornelia, and this juvenile sprig shall relieve you of AviceMilbrey. It's a providence. You engaged couples are always so dull whenyou're banished from your own _ciel à deux_. "

Shepler bowed and greeted the two men. Percival sought Miss Milbrey, who was with her aunt at the other side of the old-fashioned room, aroom whose brocade hangings had been imported from England in the daysof the Georges, and whose furniture was fabricated in the time whenFrance was suffering its last kings. 

He no longer felt the presence of anything overt between them. The girlherself seemed to have regained the charming frankness of her firstmanner with him. Their relationship was defined irrevocably. Nouncertainty of doubt or false seeming lurked now under the surface toperplex and embarrass. The relief was felt at once by each. 

"I'm to have the pleasure of taking you in, Miss Milbrey--hostessissues special commands to that effect. "

"Isn't that jolly! We've not met for an age. "

"And I've such an appetite for talk with you, I fear I won't eat athing. If I'd known you were to be here I'd have taken the forethoughtto eat a gored ox, or something--what is the proverb, 'better a dinnerof stalled ox where--'"

"'Where talk is, '" suggested Miss Milbrey, quickly. 

"Oh, yes--. ' than to have your own ox gored without a word of talk. ' Iremember it perfectly now. And--there--we're moving on to this feast ofreason--"

"And the flow of something superior to reason, " finished Shepler, whohad come over for Mrs. Van Geist. "Oldaker has some port that lay inthe wood in his cellar for forty years--and went around the worldbetween keel and canvas. "

"That sounds good, " said Percival, and then to Miss Milbrey, "But come, let us reason together. " His next sentiment, unuttered, was that thesoft touch of her hand under his arm was headier than any drink, howancient soever. 

Throughout the dinner their entire absorption in each other was all butunbroken. Percival never could remember who had sat at his left; andMiss Milbrey's right-hand neighbour saw more than the winning line ofher profile but twice. Percival began--

"Do you know, I've never been able to classify you at all. I nevercould tell how to take you. "

"I'll tell you a secret, Mr. Bines; I think I'm not to be taken at all. I've begun to suspect that I'm like one of those words that haven't anyrhyme--like 'orange' and 'month, ' you know. "

"But you find poetry in life? I do. "

"Plenty of verse--not much poetry. "

"How would you order life now, if the little old wishing-lady came toyour door and knocked?"

And they plunged forthwith, buoyed by youth's divine effrontery, intomysteries that have vexed diners, not less than hermit sages, since"the fog of old time" first obscured truth. Of life and death--theugliness of life, and the beauty of death--

"... Even as death might smile, Petting the plumes of some surprisedsoul, "

quoted the girl. Of loving and hating, they talked; of trying andfailing--of the implacable urge under which men must strive in the faceof certain defeat--of the probability that men are purposely bornfools, since, if they were born wise they would refuse to strive;whereupon life and death would merge, and naught would prevail but avast indifference. In fact, they were very deep, and affected toconsider these grave matters seriously. They affected that they neverhabitually thought of lesser concerns. And they had the air oflistening to each other as if they were weighing the words judicially, and were quite above any mere sensuous considerations of personality. 

Once they emerged long enough to hear the hostess speaking, as it wereof yesterday, of a day when the new "German cotillion" was introduced, to make a sensation in New York; of a time when the best ballrooms wereheated with wood stoves and lighted with lamps; and of a later butapparently still remote time when the Assemblies were "really, quitethe smartest function of the season. "

In another pause, they caught the kernel of a story being told by UnclePeter:

"The girl was a half-breed, but had a fair skin and the biggest shockof hair you ever saw--bright yellow hair. She was awful proud of herhair. So when her husband, Clem Dewler, went to this priest, FatherMcNally, and complained that she _would_ run away from the shack andhang around the dance-halls down at this mining-camp, Father McNallymade up his mind to learn her a lesson. Well, he goes down and findsher jest comin' out of Tim Healy's place with two other women. Herushes up to her, catches hold of this big shock of hair that wastrailin' behind her, and before she knew what was comin' he whipped outa big pair of sharp, shiny shears, and made as if he was going to giveher a hair-cut. At that she begins to scream, but the priest hewouldn't let go. 'I'll cut it off, ' he says, 'close, ' he says, 'if youdon't swear on this crucifix to be a good squaw to Clem Dewler, andnever set so much as one of your little feet in these places again. 'She could feel the shears against her hair, and she was so scared sheswore like he told her. And so she was that afraid of losin' her fineyellow hair afterward, knowin' Father McNally was a man that didn'tmake no idle threats, that she kept prim and proper--fur a half-breed. "

"That poor creature had countless sisters, " was Miss Milbrey's commentto Percival. And they fell together once more in deciding whether, after all, the brightest women ever cease to believe that men areinfluenced most by surface beauties. They fired each other's enthusiasmfor expressing opinions, and they took the opinions very seriously. Yetof their meeting, to an observer, their talk would have seemed the partleast worth recording. 

Twice Percival caught Shepler's regard bent upon them. It amused him tothink he detected signs of uneasiness back of the survey, cool, friendly, and guarded as it was on the surface. 

At parting, later, Percival spoke for the first time to Miss Milbrey ofher engagement. 

"You must know that I wish you all the happiness you hope for yourself;and if I were as lucky in love as Mr. Shepler has been, I surely wouldnever dare to gamble in anything else--you know the saying. "

"And you, Mr. Bines. I've been hearing so much of your marriage. I hopethe rumour I heard to-day is true, that your engagement has beenannounced. "

He laughed. 

"Come, now! That's all gossip, you know; not a word of truth in it, andit's been very annoying to us both. Please demolish that rumour on myauthority next time you hear it, thoroughly, so they can make nothingout of the pieces. "

Miss Milbrey showed genuine disappointment. 

"I had thought, naturally--"

"The only member of that household I could marry is not suited to myage. "

Miss Milbrey was puzzled. 

"But, really, she's not so old. "

"No, not so very old. Still, she's going on five, and you know how timeflies--and so much disparity in our ages--twenty-one years or so; no, she was no wife for me, although I don't mind confessing that there hasbeen an affair between us, but--really you can't imagine what afrivolous and trifling creature she is. "

Miss Milbrey laughed now, rather painfully he fancied. 

"You mean the baby? Isn't she a little dear?"

"I'll tell you something, just between us--the baby's mother is--well, I like her--but she's a joke. That's all, a joke. "

"I beg your pardon for talking of it. It had seemed so definite. They're waiting for me--good night--_so_ glad to have seen you--and, nevertheless, she's a very _practical_ joke!"

He watched her with frank, utter longing, as she moved over to Mrs. Oldaker, tender, girlish, appealing, with the old air of timidwistfulness, kept guard over by her woman's knowledge. His fingersstill curved, as if they were loth to forget the clasp of her warm, firm little hand. She was gowned in white fleece, and she wore one pinkrose where she could bend her blue eyes down upon it. 

And she was going to marry Shepler for his millions. She might even yetregret that she had not waited for him, when his own name had beenwritten up as the wizard of markets, and the master of millions. Sincemoney was all she loved, he would show her that even in that he waspre-eminent; though he would still have none of her. And as forShepler--he wondered if Shepler knew just what risks he might be takingon. 

"Oh, Mütterchen! Wasn't it the jolliest evening?"

They were in the carriage. 

"Did you and Mr. Bines enjoy yourselves as much as you seemed to?"

"And isn't his grandfather an old dear? What an interesting littlestory about that woman. I know just how she felt. You see, sir, " sheturned to Shepler, "there is always a way to manage a woman--you mustfind her weakness. "

"He's a very unusual old chap, " said Shepler. "I had occasion not longsince to tell him that a certain business plan he proposed was entirelywithout precedent. His answer was characteristic. He said, 'We _make_precedents in the West when we can't find one to suit us. ' It seemed sotypical of the people to me. You never can tell what they may do. Yousee they were started out of old ruts by some form of necessity, almostevery one of them, when they went West, and as necessity stimulatesonly the brightest people to action, those Westerners are apt to be ofa pretty keen, active, and sturdy mental type. As this old chap says, they never hang back for lack of precedents; they go ahead and makethem. They're not afraid to take sudden queer steps. But, really, Ilike them both. "

"So do I, " said his betrothed. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The Amateur Napoleon of Wall Street

At the beginning of April, the situation in the three stocks Percivalhad bought so heavily grew undeniably tense. Consolidated Copper wentfrom 109 to 103 in a week. But Percival's enthusiasm suffered littleabatement from the drop. "You see, " he reminded Uncle Peter, "it isn'texactly what I expected, but it's right in line with it, so it doesn'talarm me. I knew those fellows inside were bound to hammer it down ifthey could. It wouldn't phase me a bit if it sagged to 95. "

"My! My!" Uncle Peter exclaimed, with warm approval, "the way youmaster this business certainly does win _me_. I tell you, it's a mightygood thing we got your brains to depend on. I'm all right the otherside of Council Bluffs, but I'm a tenderfoot here, sure, whereeverybody's tryin' to get the best of you. You see, out there, everybody tries to make the best of it. But here they try to get thebest of it. I told that to one of them smarties last night. But you'llput them in their place all right. You know both ends of the game andthe middle. We certainly got a right to be proud of you, son. Dan'l J. Liked big propositions himself--but, well, I'd just like to have himsee the nerve you've showed, that's all. "

Uncle Peter's professions of confidence were unfailing, and Percivaltook new hope and faith in his judgment from them daily. 

Nevertheless, as the weeks passed, and the mysterious insiderssucceeded in their design of keeping the stock from rising, he came tofeel a touch of anxiety. More, indeed, than he was able to communicateto Uncle Peter, without confessing outright that he had lost faith inhimself. That he was unable to do, even if it were true, which hedoubted. The Bines fortune was now hanging, as to all but some of theWestern properties, on the turning of the three stocks. Yet the oldman's confidence in the young man's acumen was invulnerable. No shaftthat Percival was able to fashion had point enough to pierce it. And hewas both to batter it down, for he still had the gambler's faith in hisluck. 

"You got your father's head in business matters, " was Uncle Peter'sinvariable response to any suggestion of failure. "I know thatmuch--spite of what all these gossips say--and that's all I _want_ toknow. And of course you can't ever be no Shepler 'less you take yourshare of chances. Only don't ask _my_ advice. You're master of thegame, and we're all layin' right smack down on your genius fur it. "

Whereupon the young man, with confidence in himself newly inflated, would hurry off to the stock tickers. He had ceased to buy the stocksoutright, and for several weeks had bought only on margins. 

"There was one rule in poker your pa had, " said Uncle Peter. "If a handis worth calling on, it's worth raising on. He jest never _would_ call. If he didn't think a hand was worth raising, he'd bunch it in with thediscards, and wait fur another deal. I don't know much about the game, but _he_ said it was a sound rule, and if it was sound in poker, whyit's got to be sound in this game. That's all I can tell you. You knowwhat you hold, and if 'tain't a hand to lay down, it must be a hand toraise on. Of course, if you'd been brash and ignorant in your firstcalculations--if you'd made a fool of yourself at the start--butshucks! you're the son of Daniel J. Bines, ain't you?"

The rule and the clever provocation had their effect. 

"I'll raise as long as I have a chip left, Uncle Peter. Why, onlyto-day I had a tip that came straight from Shepler, though he neverdreamed it would reach me. That Pacific Cable bill is going to berushed through at this session of Congress, sure, and that means enoughincreased demand to send Consolidated back where it was. And then, whenit comes out that they've got those Rio Tinto mines by the throat, well, this anvil chorus will have to stop, and those Federal Oil sharksand Shepler will be wondering how I had the face to stay in. "

The published rumours regarding Consolidated began to conflict verysharply. Percival read them all hungrily, disregarding those that didnot confirm his own opinions. He called them irresponsible newspapergossip, or believed them to be inspired by the clique for its own ends. 

He studied the history of copper until he knew all its ups and downssince the great electrical development began in 1887. When Fouts, thebroker he traded most heavily with, suggested that the ConsolidatedCompany was skating on thin ice, that it might, indeed, be goingthrough the same experience that shattered the famous Secretan corner adozen years before, Percival pointed out unerringly the vitaldifference in the circumstances. The Consolidated had reduced theproduction of its controlled mines, and the price was bound to bemaintained. When his adviser suggested that the companies not in thecombine might cut the price, he brought up the very lively rumours of a"gentlemen's agreement" with the "non-combine" producers. 

"Of course, there's Calumet and Hecla. I know that couldn't be gunnedinto the combination. They could pay dividends with copper at ten centsa pound. But the other independents know which side of their stock isspread with dividends, all right. "

When it was further suggested that the Rio Tinto mines had sold aheadfor a year, with the result that European imports from the UnitedStates had fallen off, and that the Consolidated could not go on forever holding up the price, Percival said nothing. 

The answer to that was the secret negotiations for control of theEuropean output, which would make the Consolidated master of the copperworld. Instead of disclosing this, he pretended craftily to beencouraged by the mere generally hopeful outlook in all lines. WesternTrolley, too, might be overcapitalised, and Union Cordage might also bein the hands of a piratical clique; but the demand for trolley lineswas growing every day, and cordage products were not going out offashion by any means. 

"You see, " he said to his adviser, "here's what the most conservativeman in the Street says in this afternoon's paper. 'That copper mustnecessarily break badly, and the whole boom collapse I do not believe. There is enough prosperity to maintain a strong demand for the metalthrough another year at least. As to Western Trolley and Union Cordage, the two other stocks about which doubt is now being so widely expressedin the Street, I am persuaded that they are both due to rise, notsensationally, but at a healthy upward rate that makes them soundinvestments!'

"There, " said Percival, "there's the judgment of a man that knows thegame, but doesn't happen to have a dollar in either stock, and hedoesn't know one or two things that I know, either. Just hypothecateten thousand of those Union Cordage shares and five thousand WesternTrolley, and buy Consolidated on a twenty per cent margin. I want toget bigger action. There's a good rule in poker: if your hand is worthcalling, it's worth raising. "

"I like your nerve, " said the broker. 

"Well, I know some one who has a sleeve with something up it, that'sall. "

By the third week in April, it was believed that his holdings ofConsolidated were the largest in the Street, excepting those of theFederal Oil people. Uncle Peter was delighted by the magnitude of hisoperations, and by his newly formed habits of industry. 

"It'll be the makings of the boy, " he said to Mrs. Bines in her son'spresence. "Not that I care so much myself about all the millions he'llpile up, but it gives him a business training, and takes him out of thepin-head class. I bet Shepler himself will be takin' off his silk hatto your son, jest as soon as he's made this turn in copper--if he hasenough of Dan'l J. 's grit to hang on--and I think he has. "

"They needn't wait another day for me, " Percival told him later. "Thefamily treasure is about all in now, except ma's amethyst earrings, andthe hair watch-chain Grandpa Cummings had. Of course I'm holding whatI promised for Burman. But that rise can't hold off much longer, andthe only thing I'll do, from now on, is to hock a few blocks of thestock I bought outright, and buy on margins, so's to get biggeraction. "

"My! My! you jest do fairly dazzle me, " exclaimed the old man, delightedly. "Oh, I guess your pa wouldn't be at all proud of you if hecould see it. I tell you, this family's all right while you keephearty. "

"Well, I'm not pushing my chest out any, " said the young man, withbecoming modesty, "but I don't mind telling you it will be the biggestthing ever pulled off down there by any one man. "

"That's the true Western spirit, " declared Uncle Peter, beside himselfwith enthusiasm. "We do things big when we bother with 'em at all. Weain't afraid of any pikers like Shepler, with his little two and fivethousand lots. Oh! I can jest hear 'em callin' you hard names down inthat Wall Street--Napoleon of Finance and Copper King and all likethat--in about thirty days!"

He accepted Percival's invitation that afternoon to go down into theStreet with him. They stopped for a moment in the visitors' gallery ofthe Stock Exchange and looked down into the mob of writhing, dishevelled, shouting brokers. In and out, the throng swirled uponitself, while above its muddy depths surged a froth of hands infrenzied gesticulation. The frantic movement and din of shrieksdisturbed Uncle Peter. 

"Faro is such a lot quieter game, " was his comment; "so much more ca'mand restful. What a pity, now, 'tain't as Christian!"

Then they made the rounds of the brokers' offices in New, Broad, andWall Streets. 

They reached the office of Fouts, in the, latter street, just as theExchange had closed. In the outer trading-room groups of men were stillabout the tickers, rather excitedly discussing the last quotations. Percival made his way toward one of them with a dim notion that hemight be concerned. He was relieved when he saw Gordon Blythe, suaveand smiling, in the midst of the group, still regarding the tape heheld in his hands. Blythe, too, had plunged in copper. He had been oneof the few as sanguine as Percival--and Blythe's manner now reassuredhim. Copper had obviously not gone wrong. 

"Ah, Blythe, how did we close? Mr. Blythe, my grandfather, Mr. Bines. "

Blythe was the model of easy, indolent, happy middle-age. His tall hat, frock coat with a carnation in the lapel, the precise crease of histrousers, the spickness of his patent-leathers and his gracefulconfidence of manner, proclaimed his mind to be free from all but thepleasant things of life. He greeted Uncle Peter airily. 

"Come down to see how we do it, eh, Mr. Bines? It's vastly engrossing, on my word. Here's copper just closed at 93, after opening strong thismorning at 105. I hardly fancied, you know, it could fall off so manyof those wretched little points. Rumours that the Consolidated has madelarge sales of the stuff in London at sixteen, I believe. One never canbe quite aware of what really governs these absurd fluctuations. "

Percival was staring at Blythe in unconcealed amazement. He turned, leaving Uncle Peter still chatting with him, and sought Fouts in theinner office. When he came out ten minutes later Uncle Peter waswaiting for him alone. 

"Your friend Mr. Blythe is a clever sort of man, jolly andlight-hearted as a boy. "

"Let's go out and have a drink, before we go up-town. "

In the _café_ of the Savarin, to which he led Uncle Peter, they sawBlythe again. He was seated at one of the tables with a younger man. Uncle Peter and Percival sat down at a table near by. 

Blythe was having trouble about his wine. 

"Now, George, " he was saying, "give us a real _lively_ pint of wine. You see, yourself, that cork isn't fresh; show it to Frank there, andlook at the wine itself--come now, George! Hardly a bubble in it! TellFrank I'll leave it to him, by Gad! if this bottle is right. "

The waiter left with the rejected wine, and they heard Blythe resume tohis companion, with the relish of a connoisseur:

"It's simply a matter of genius, old chap--you understand?--to tellgood wine--that is really to discriminate finely. If a chap's not bornwith the gift he's an ass to think he can acquire it. Sometime you've asetter pup that looks fit--head good, nose all right--all themarkings--but you try him out and you know in half an hour he'll neverdo in the world. Then it's better to take him out back of the barn andshoot him, by Gad! Rather than have his strain corrupt the rest of thekennel. He can't acquire the gift, and no more can a chap acquire thisgift. Ah! I was right, was I, George? Look how different that cork is. "

He sipped the bubbling amber wine with cautious and exactingappreciation. As the waiter would have refilled the glasses, Blythestopped him. 

"Now, George, let me tell you something. You're serving at this momentthe only gentleman's drink. Do it right, George. Listen! Never refill agentleman's glass until it's quite empty. Do you know why? Think, George! You pour fresh wine into stale wine and what haveyou?--neither. I've taught you something, George. Never fill a glasstill it's empty. "

"It beats me, " said Uncle Peter, when Blythe and his companion hadgone, "how easy them rich codgers get along. That fellow must 'a' madea study of wines, and nothing worse ever bothers him than a waiterfillin' his glass wrong. "

"You'll be beat more, " answered Percival, "when I tell you this slumpin copper has just ruined him--wiped out every cent he had. He'd justtaken it off the ticker when we found him in Fouts's place there. He'slost a million and a half, every cent he had in the world, and he has awife and two grown daughters. "

"Shoo! you don't say! And I'd have sworn he didn't care a row of pinswhether copper went up or down. He was a lot more worried about thatchampagne. Well, well! he certainly is a game loser. I got more respectfur him now. This town does produce thoroughbreds, you can't denythat. "

"Uncle Peter, she's down to 93, and I've had to margin up a good bit. Ididn't think it could get below 95 at the worst. "

"Oh, I can't bother about them things. Just think of when she booms. "

"I do--but say--do you think we better pinch our bets?"

Uncle Peter finished his glass of beer. 

"Lord! don't ask _me_, " he replied, with the unconcern of perfecttrust. "Of course if you've lost your nerve, or if you think all thesethings you been tellin' me was jest some one foolin' you--"

"No, I know better than that, and I haven't lost my nerve. After all, it only means that the crowd is looking for a bigger rake-off. "

"Your pa always kept _his_ nerve, " said Uncle Peter. "I've known him tomake big money by keepin' it when other men lost theirs. Of course hehad genius fur it, and you're purty young yet--"

"I only thought of it for a minute. I didn't really mean it. "

They read the next afternoon that Gordon Blythe had been found dead ofasphyxiation in a little down-town hotel under circumstances that leftno doubt of his suicide. 

"That man wa'n't so game as we thought, " said Uncle Peter. "He's lefthis family to starve. Now your pa was a game loser fur fair. Dan'l J. Would'a' called fur another deck. "

"And copper's up two points to-day, " said Percival, cheerfully. He hadbegun to be depressed with forebodings of disaster, and this slightrecovery was cheering. 

"By the way, " he continued, "there may be another gas-jet blown out ina few days. That party, you know, our friend from Montana, has beenselling Consolidated right and left. Where do you suppose she got anysuch tip as that? Well, I'm buying and she's selling, and we'll havethat money back. She'll be wiped off the board when Consolidatedsoars. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

How the Chinook Came to Wall Street

The loss of much money is commonly a subject to be managed with brevityand aversion by one who sits down with the right reverence for sheetsof clean paper. To bewail is painful. To affect lightness, on the otherhand, would, in this age, savour of insincerity, if not of downrightblasphemy. More than a bare recital of the wretched facts, therefore, is not seemly. 

The Bines fortune disappeared much as a heavy fall of snow melts underthe Chinook wind. 

That phenomenon is not uninteresting. We may picture a far-reachingwaste of snow, wind-furrowed until it resembles a billowy white seafrozen motionless. The wind blows half a gale and the air is full offine ice-crystals that sting the face viciously. The sun, lying low onthe southern horizon, seems a mere frozen globe, with lustrous pinkcrescents encircling it. 

One day the wind backs and shifts. A change portends. Even the herds ofhalf-frozen range cattle sense it by some subtle beast-knowledge. Theyare no longer afraid to lie down as they may have been for a week. Thedanger of freezing has passed. The temperature has been at fiftydegrees below zero. Now, suddenly it begins to rise. The air isscarcely in motion, but occasionally it descends as out of ablast-furnace from overhead. To the southeast is a mass of dull blackclouds. Their face is unbroken. But the upper edges are ragged, torn bya wind not yet felt below. Two hours later its warmth comes. In tenminutes the mercury goes up thirty-five degrees. The wind comes at athirty-mile velocity. It increases in strength and warmth, blowing witha mighty roar. 

Twelve hours afterward the snow, three feet deep on a level, hasmelted. There are bald, brown hills everywhere to the horizon, and theplains are flooded with water. The Chinook has come and gone. In thismanner suddenly went the Bines fortune. 

April 30th, Consolidated Copper closed at 91. Two days later, May 2d, the same ill-fated stock closed at 5l--a drop of forty points. Roughlythe decline meant the loss of a hundred million dollars to the fifteenthousand share-holders. From every city of importance in the countrycame tales more or less tragic of holdings wiped out, of ruinedfamilies, of defalcations and suicides. The losses in New York Cityalone were said to be fifty millions. A few large holders, reputed toenjoy inside information, were said to have put their stock aside and"sold short" in the knowledge of what was coming. Such tales are alwayspopular in the Street. 

Others not less popular had to do with the reasons for the slump. Manywere plausible. A deal with the Rothschilds for control of the Spanishmines had fallen through. Or, again, the slaughter was due to theShepler group of Federal Oil operators, who were bent on forcing someone to unload a great quantity of the stock so that they might absorbit. The immediate causes were less recondite. The Consolidated Company, so far from controlling the output, was suddenly shown to controlactually less than fifty per cent of it. Its efforts to amend or repealthe hardy old law of Supply and Demand had simply met with theindifferent success that has marked all such efforts since the firstattempted corner in stone hatchets, or mastodon tusks, or whatever itmay have been. In the language of one of its newspaper critics, the"Trust" had been "founded on misconception and prompted along lines ofself-destruction. Its fundamental principles were the restriction ofproduct, the increase of price, and the throttling of competition, atrinity that would wreck any combination, business, political, orsocial. "

With this generalisation we have no concern. As to the coppersituation, the comment was pat. It had been suddenly disclosed, notonly that no combination could be made to include the European mines, but that the Consolidated Company had an unsold surplus of 150, 000, 000pounds of copper; that it was producing 20, 000, 000 pounds a month morethan could be sold, and that it had made large secret sales abroad atfrom two to three cents below the market price. 

As if fearing that these adverse conditions did not sufficiently ensurethe stock's downfall, the Shepler group of Federal Oil operators beatit down further with what was veritably a golden sledge. That is, theyexported gold at a loss. At a time when obligations could have been metmore cheaply with bought bills they sent out many golden cargoes at anactual loss of three hundred dollars on the half million. As money wasalready dear, and thus became dearer, the temptation and the means tohold copper stock, in spite of all discouragements, were removed fromthe paths of hundreds of the harried holders. 

Incidentally, Western Trolley had gone into the hands of a receiver, afailure involving another hundred million dollars, and Union Cordagehad fallen thirty-five points through sensational disclosures as toits overcapitalisation. 

Into this maelstrom of a panic market the Bines fortune had been suckedwith a swiftness so terrible that the family's chief advising memberwas left dazed and incredulous. 

For two days he clung to the ticker tape as to a life line. He hadcommitted the millions of the family as lightly as ever he had staked ahundred dollars on the turn of a card or left ten on the change-trayfor his waiter. 

Then he had seen his cunningly built foundations, rested upon withhopes so high for three months, melt away like snow when the blisteringChinook comes. 

It has been thought wise to adopt two somewhat differing similes in theforegoing, in order that the direness of the tragedy may besufficiently apprehended. 

The morning of the first of the two last awful days, he was called tothe office of Fouts and Hendricks by telephone. 

"Something going to happen in Consolidated to-day. "

He had hurried down-town, flushed with confidence. He knew there wasbut one thing _could_ happen. He had reached the office at ten andheard the first vicious little click of the ticker--that beating heartof the Stock Exchange--as it began the unemotional story of what menbought and sold over on the floor. Its inventor died in the poorhouse, but Capital would fare badly without his machine. Consolidated was downthree points. The crowd about the ticker grew absorbed at once. Reportscame in over the telephone. The bears had made a set for the stock. Itbegan to slump rapidly. As the stock was goaded down, point by point, the crowd of traders waxed more excited. 

As the stock fell, the banks requested the brokers to margin up theirloans, and the brokers, in turn, requested Percival to margin up histrades. The shares he had bought outright went to cover the shortage inthose he had bought on a twenty per cent margin. Loans were calledlater, and marginal accounts wiped out with appalling informality. 

Yet when Consolidated suddenly rallied three points just at the closeof the day's trading, he took much comfort in it as an omen of themorrow. That night, however, he took but little satisfaction in UnclePeter's renewed assurances of trust in his acumen. Uncle Peter, hedecided all at once, was a fatuous, doddering old man, unable torealise that the whole fortune was gravely endangered. And with thegambler's inveterate hope that luck must change he forbore to undeceivethe old man. 

Uncle Peter went with him to the office next morning, serenelyinterested in the prospects. 

"You got your pa's way of taking hold of big propositions. That's all Ineed to know, " he reassured the young man, cheerfully. 

Consolidated Copper opened that day at 78, and went by two o'clock to51. 

Percival watched the decline with a conviction that he was dreaming. Helaughed to think of his relief when he should awaken. The crowd surgedabout the ticker, and their voices came as from afar. Their acts allhad the weird inconsequence of the people we see in dreams. Yetpresently it had gone too far to be amusing. He must arouse himself andturn over on his side. In five minutes, according to the dream, he hadlost five million dollars as nearly as he could calculate. Losing amillion a minute, even in sleep, he thought, was disquieting. 

Then upon the tape he read another chapter of disaster. Western Trolleyhad gone into the hands of a receiver, --a fine, fat, promising stockruined without a word of warning; and while he tried to master thisnews the horrible clicking thing declared that Union Cordage wasselling down to 58, --a drop of exactly 35 points since morning. 

Fouts, with a slip of paper in his hand, beckoned him from the door ofhis private office. He went dazedly in to him, --and was awakened fromthe dream that he had been losing a fortune in his sleep. 

Coming out after a few moments, he went up to Uncle Peter, who had beensitting, watchful but unconcerned, in one of the armchairs along thewall. The old man looked up inquiringly. 

"Come inside, Uncle Peter!"

They went into the private office of Fouts. Percival shut the door, andthey were alone. 

"Uncle Peter, Burman's been suspended on the Board of Trade; Fouts justhad this over his private wire. Corn broke to-day. "

"That so? Oh, well, maybe it was worth a couple of million to find outBurman plays corn like he plays poker; 'twas if you couldn't get it furany less. "

"Uncle Peter, we're wiped out. "

"How, wiped out? What do you mean, son?"

"We're done, I tell you. We needn't care a damn now where copper goesto. We're out of it--and--Uncle Peter, we're broke. "

"Out of copper? Broke? But you said--" He seemed to be making an effortto comprehend. His lack of grasp was pitiful. 

"Out of copper, but there's Western Trolley and that Cordage stock--"

"Everything wiped out, I tell you--Union Cordage gone down thirty-fivepoints, somebody let out the inside secrets--and God only knows how farWestern Trolley's gone down. "

"Are you all in?"

"Every dollar--you knew that. But say, " he brightened out of hisdespair, "there's the One Girl--a good producer--Shepler knows theproperty--Shepler's in this block--" and he was gone. 

The old man strolled out into the trading-room again. A curious grimsmile softened his square jaw for a moment. He resumed his comfortablechair and took up a newspaper, glancing incidentally at the crowd ofexcited men about the tickers. He had about him that air of reposewhich comes to big men who have stayed much in big out-of-doorsolitudes. 

"Ain't he a nervy old guy?" said a crisp little money-broker to Fouts. "They're wiped out, but you wouldn't think he cared any more about itthan Mike the porter with his brass polish out there. "

The old man held his paper up, but did not read. 

Percival rushed in by him, beckoning him to the inner room. 

"Shepler's all right about the One Girl. He'll take a mortgage on itfor two hundred thousand if you'll recommend it--only he can't get themoney before to-morrow. There's bound to be a rally in this stock, andwe'll go right back for some of the hair of the--why, --what's thematter--Uncle Peter!"

The old man had reeled, and then weakly caught at the top of the deskwith both hands for support. 

"Ruined!" he cried, hoarsely, as if the extent of the calamity had justborne in upon him. "My God! Ruined, and at my time of life!" He seemedabout to collapse. Percíval quickly helped him into a chair, where hebecame limp. 

"There, I'm all right. Oh, it's terrible! and we all trusted you so. Ithought you had your pa's brains. I'd 'a' trusted you soon's I wouldShepler, and now look what you led us into--fortune gone--broke--andall your fault!"

"Don't, Uncle Peter--don't, for God's sake--not when I'm down! I can'tstand it!"

"Gamble away your own money--no, that wa'n't enough--take your poorma's share and your sister's, and take what little I had to keep me inmy old age--robbed us all--that's what comes of thinkin' a damnedtea-drinkin' fop could have a thimble-full of brains!"

"Don't, please, --not just now--give it to me good later--to-morrow--allyou want to!"

"And here I'm come to want in my last days when I'm too feeble to work. I'll die in bitter privation because I was an old fool, and trusted ayoung one. "

"Please don't, Uncle Peter!"

"You led us in--robbed your poor ma and your sister. I told you Ididn't know anything about it and you talked me into trusting you--Imight 'a' known better. "

"Can't you stop awhile--just a moment?"

"Of course I don't matter. Maybe I can hold a drill, or tram ore, orsomething, but I can't support your ma and Pishy like they ought to be, with my rheumatiz comin' on again, too. And your ma'll have to take inboarders, and do washin' like as not, and think of poor Pishy--prob'lyshe'll have to teach school or clerk in a store--poor Pish--she'll belucky now if she can marry some common scrub American out in themhills--like as not one of them shoe-clerks in the Boston Cash Store atMontana City! And jest when I was lookin' forward to luxury and palacesin England, and everything so grand! How much you lost?" "That's right, no use whining! Nearly as I can get the round figures of it, abouttwelve million. "

"Awful--awful! By Cripes! that man Blythe that done himself up theother night had the right of it. What's the use of living if you got togo to the poorhouse?"

"Come, come!" said Percival, alarm over Uncle Peter crowding out hisother emotions. "Be a game loser, just as you said pa would be. Sit upstraight and make 'em bring on another deck. "

He slapped the old man on the back with simulated cheerfulness; but thedespairing one only cowered weakly under the blow. 

"We can't--we ain't got the stake for a new deck. Oh, dear! think ofyour ma and me not knowin' where to turn fur a meal of victuals at ourtime of life. "

Percival was being forced to cheerfulness in spite of himself. 

"Come, it isn't as bad as that, Uncle Peter. We've got properties left, and good ones, too. "

Uncle Peter weakly waved the hand of finished discouragement. "Hush, don't speak of that. Them properties need a manager to make 'em pay--aplain business man--a man to stay on the ground and watch 'em and develop'em with his brains--a young man with his health! What good am I--a poor, broken-down old cuss, bent double with rheumatiz--almost--I'm ashamed ofyou fur suggesting such a thing!"

"I'll do it myself--I never thought of asking you. "

Uncle Peter emitted a nasal gasp of disgust. 

"You--you--you'd make a purty manager of anything, wouldn't you! As ifyou could be trusted with anything again that needs a schoolboy'sintelligence. Even if you had the brains, you ain't got the taste northe sperrit in you. You're too lazy--too triflin'. _You_, a-goin' backthere, developin' mines, and gettin' out ties, and lumber, and breedingshorthorns, and improvin' some of the finest land God ever made--_you_bein' sober and industrious, and smart, like a business man has got tobe out there nowadays. That ain't any bonanza country any more; 1901ain't like 1870; don't figure on that. You got to work the low-gradeore now for a few dollars a ton, and you got to work it with brains. No, sir, that country ain't what it used to be. There might 'a' been atime when you'd made your board and clothes out there when things comeeasier. Now it's full of men that hustle and keep their mind on theirwork, and ain't runnin' off to pink teas in New York. It takes a manwith some of the brains your pa had to make the game pay now. But_you_--don't let me hear any more of _that_ nonsense!"

Percival had entered the room pale. He was now red. The old man'sbitter contempt had flushed him into momentary forgetfulness of thedisaster. 

"Look here, Uncle Peter, you've been telling me right along I _did_have my father's head and my father's ways and his nerve, and God knowswhat I _didn't_ have that he had!"

"I was fooled, --I can't deny it. What's the use of tryin' to crawl outof it? You did fool me, and I own up to it; I thought you had somesense, some capacity; but you was only like him on the surface; youjest got one or two little ways like his, that's all--Dan'l J. Now wasgood stuff all the way through. He might 'a' guessed wrong on copper, but he'd 'a' saved a get-away stake or borrowed one, and he'd 'a' pikedback fur Montana to make his pile right over--and he'd 'a' _made_ it, too--that was the kind of man your pa was--he'd 'a' made it!"

"I _have_ saved a get-away stake. "

"Your pa had the head, I tell you--and the spirit--"

"And, by God, I'll show you I've got the head. You think because I wantedto live here, and because I made this wrong play that I'm like all thesepinheads you've seen around here. I'll show you different!--I'll foolyou. "

"Now don't explode!" said the old man, wearily. "You meant well, poorfellow--I'll say that fur you; you got a good heart. But there's lotsof good men that ain't good fur anything in particular. You've got agood heart--yes--you're all right from the neck down. "

"See here, " said Percival, more calmly, "listen: I've got you all intothis thing, and played you broke against copper; and I'm going to getyou out--understand that?"

The old man looked at him pityingly. 

"I tell you I'm going to get you out. I'm going back there, and getthings in action, and I'm going to stay by them. I've got a good ideaof these properties--and you hear me, now--I'll finish with abank-roll that'll choke Red Bank Cañon. "

Fouts knocked and came in. 

"Now you go along up-town, Uncle Peter. I want a few minutes with Mr. Fouts, and I'll come to your place at seven. "

The old man arose dejectedly. 

"Don't let me interfere a minute with your financial operations. I'mtoo old a man to be around in folks' way. "

He slouched out with his head bent. 

A moment later Percival remembered his last words, also his referenceto Blythe. He was seized with fear for what he might do in his despair. Uncle Peter would act quickly if his mind had been made up. 

He ran out into Wall Street, and hurried up to Broadway. A block off onthat crowded thoroughfare he saw the tall figure of Uncle Peter turninginto the door of a saloon. He might have bought poison. He ran thelength of the block and turned in. 

Uncle Peter stood at one end of the bar with a glass of creamy beer infront of him. At the moment Percival entered he was enclosing a largeslab of Swiss cheese between two slices of rye bread. 

He turned and faced Percival, looking from him to his sandwich withvacant eyes. 

"I'm that wrought up and distressed, son, I hardly know what I'm doin'!Look at me now with this stuff in my hands. "

"I just wanted to be sure you were all right, " said Percival, greatlyrelieved. 

"All right, " the old man repeated. "All right? My God, --ruined! There'snothin' left to do now. "

He looked absently at the sandwich, and bit a generous semicircle intoit. 

"I don't see how you can eat, Uncle Peter. It's so horrible!"

"I don't myself; it ain't a healthy appetite--can't be--must be some kindof a fever inside of me--I s'pose--from all this trouble. And now I'vecome to poverty and want in my old age. Say, son, I believe there's jestone thing you can do to keep me from goin' crazy. "

"Name it, Uncle Peter. You bet I'll do it!"

"Well, it ain't much--of course I wouldn't expect you to do all themthings you was jest braggin' about back there--about goin' to work theproperties and all that--you would do it if you could, I know--but itain't that. All I ask is, don't play this Wall Street game any more. Ifwe can save out enough by good luck to keep us decently, so your mawon't have to take boarders, why, don't you go and lose that, too. Don't mortgage the One Girl. I may be sort of superstitious, butsomehow, I don't believe Wall Street is your game. Course, I don't sayyou ain't got a game--of some kind--but I got one of them presentimentsthat it ain't Wall Street. " "I don't believe it is, Uncle Peter--Iwon't touch another share, and I won't go near Shepler again. We'llkeep the One Girl. "

He called a cab for the old man, and saw him started safely offup-town. 

At the hotel Uncle Peter met Billy Brue flourishing an evening paperthat flared with exclamatory headlines. 

"It's all in the papers, Uncle Peter!"

"Dead broke! Ain't it awful, Billy!"

"Say, Uncle Peter, you said you'd raise hell, and you done it. You doneit good, didn't you?"

CHAPTER XXXV. 

The News Broken, Whereupon an Engagement is Broken

At seven Percival found Uncle Peter at his hotel, still in abysmaldepths of woe. Together they went to break the awful news to theunsuspecting Mrs. Bines and Psyche. 

"If you'd only learned something useful while you had the chance, "began Uncle Peter, dismally, as they were driven to the Hightower, "howto do tricks with cards, or how to sing funny songs, like that littlefriend of yours from Baltimore you was tellin' me about. Look at him, now. He didn't have anything but his own ability. He could tell youevery time what card you was thinkin' about, and do a skirt dance andgive comic recitations and imitate a dog fight out in the back yard, and now he's married to one of the richest ladies in New York. Whycouldn't you 'a' been learnin' some of them clever things, so you could'a' married some good-hearted woman with lots of money--but no--" UnclePeter's tones were bitter to excess--"you was a rich man's son andraised in idleness--and now, when the rainy day's come, you can't eventake a white rabbit out of a stove-pipe hat!"

To these senile maunderings Percival paid no attention. When they cameinto the crowd and lights of the Hightower, he sent the old man upalone. 

"You go, please, and break it to them, Uncle Peter. I'd rather not bethere just at first. I'll come along in a little bit. "

So Uncle Peter went, protesting that he was a broken old man and acumberer of God's green earth. 

Mrs. Bines and Psyche had that moment sat down to dinner. Uncle Peter'smanner at once alarmed them. 

"It's all over, " he said, sinking into a chair. 

"Why, what's the matter, Uncle Peter?"

"Percival has--"

Mrs. Bines arose quickly, trembling. 

"There--I just knew it--it's all over?--he's been struck by one ofthose terrible automobiles--Oh, take me to where he is!"

"He ain't been run over--he's gone broke-lost all our money; every lastcent. "

"He hasn't been run over and killed?"

"He's ruined us, I tell you, Marthy, --lost every cent of our money inWall Street. "

"Hasn't he been hurt at all?--not even his leg broke or a big gash inhis head and knocked senseless?"

"That boy never had any sense. I tell you he's lost all our money. "

"And he ain't a bit hurt--nothing the matter with him?"

"Ain't any more hurt than you or me this minute. "

"You're not fooling his mother, Uncle Peter?"

"I tell you he's alive and well, only he's lost your money and Pish'sand mine and his own. "

Mrs. Bines breathed a long, trembling sigh of relief, and sat down tothe table again. 

"Well, no need to scare a body out of their wits--scaring his mother todeath won't bring his money back, will it? If it's gone it's gone. "

"But ma, it _is_ awful!" cried Psyche. "Listen to what Uncle Petersays. We're poor! Don't you understand? Perce has lost all our money. "

Mrs. Bines was eating her soup defiantly. 

"Long's he's got his health, " she began. 

"And me windin' up in the poorhouse, " whined Uncle Peter. 

"Think of it, ma! Oh, what shall we do?"

Percival entered. Uncle Peter did not raise his head. Psyche stared athim. His mother ran to him, satisfied herself that he was sound in windand limb, that he had not treacherously donned his summer underwear, and that his feet were not wet. Then she led him to the table. 

"Now you sit right down here and take some food. If you're all right, everything is all right. "

With a weak attempt at his old gaiety he began: "Really, Mrs. Crackenthorpe--" but he caught Psyche's look and had to stop. 

"I'm sorry, sis, clear into my bones. I made an ass of myself--aregular fool right from the factory. "

"Never mind, my son; eat your soup, " said his mother. And then, withhonest intent to comfort him, "Remember that saying of your pa's, 'ittakes all kinds of fools to make a world. '"

"But there ain't any fool like a damn fool!" said Uncle Peter, shortly. "I been a-tellin' him. "

"Well, you just let him alone; you'll spoil his appetite, first thingyou know. My son, eat your soup, now before it gets cold. "

"If I only hadn't gone in so heavy, " groaned Percival. "Or, if I'd onlygot tied up in some way for a few weeks--something I could tide over. "

"Yes, " said Uncle Peter, with a cheerful effort at sarcasm, "it'salways easy to think up a lot of holes you _could_ get out of--somedifferent kind of a hole besides the one you're in. That's all somefolks can do when they get in one hole, they say, 'Oh, if I was only inthat other one, now, how slick I could climb out!' I ain't ever met aperson yet was satisfied with the hole they was in. Always somecomplaint to make about 'em. "

"And I had a chance to get out a week ago. "

"Yes, and you wouldn't take it, of course--you knew too much--swellin'around here about bein' a Napoleon of finance--and a Shepler and aWizard of Wall Street, and all that kind of guff--and you wouldn't takeyour chance, and old Mr. Chance went right off and left you, that'swhat. I tell you, what some folks need is a breed of chances that'llstand without hitchin'. "

Percival braced himself and began on his soup. 

[Illustration: _"'REMEMBER THAT SAYING OF YOUR PA'S--IT TAKES ALL KINDSOF FOOLS TO MAKE A WORLD. '"_]

"Never you mind, Uncle Peter. You remember what I told you. "

"That takes a different man from what you are. If your pa was alivenow--"

"But what are we going to do?" cried Psyche. 

"First thing you'll do, " said Uncle Peter, promptly, "you go write aletter to that beau of your'n, tellin' him it's all off. You don't wantto let him be the one to break it because you lost your money, do you?You go sign his release right this minute. "

"Yes--you're right, Uncle Peter--I suppose it must be done--but thepoor fellow really cares for me. "

"Oh, of course, " answered the old man, "it'll fairly break his heart. You do it just the same!"

She withdrew, and presently came back with a note which she despatchedto Mauburn. 

Percival and his mother had continued their dinner, the former shakinghis head between the intervals of the old man's lashings, and appearingto hold silent converse with himself. 

This was an encouraging sign. It is a curious fact that people nevertalk to themselves except triumphantly. In moments of real despair weare inwardly dumb. But observe the holders of imaginary conversations. They are conquerors to the last one. They administer stinging rebukesthat leave the adversary writhing. They rise to Alpine heights of purewisdom and power, leaving him to flounder ignobly in the mire of hisown fatuity. 

They achieve repartee the brilliance of which dazzles him tocontemptible silence. If statistics were at hand we should doubtlesslearn that no man has ever talked to himself save by way ofdemonstrating his own godlike superiority, and the tawdry impotence ofall obstacles and opponents. Percival talked to himself and mentallylived the next five years in a style that reduced Uncle Peter togrudging but imperative awe for his superb gifts of administration. Hebathed in this imaginary future as in the waters of omnipotence. Astime went on he foresaw the shafts of Uncle Peter being turned backupon him with such deadliness that, by the time the roast came, hisbreast was swelling with pity for that senile scoffer. 

Uncle Peter had first declared that the thought of food sickened him. Prevailed upon at last by Mrs. Bines to taste the soup, he was sooneating as those present had of late rarely seen him eat. 

"'Tain't a natural appetite, though, " he warned them. "It's a kind of amania before I go all to pieces, I s'pose. "

"Nonsense! We'll have you all right in a week, " said Percival. "Justremember that I'm going to take care of you. "

"My son can do anything he makes up his mind to, " declared Mrs. Bines--"just anything he lays out to do. "

They talked until late into the night of what he should "lay out" todo. 

Meantime the stronghold of Mauburn's optimism was being desperatelystormed. 

In an evening paper he had read of Percival's losses. The afternoonpress of New York is not apt to understate the facts of a given case. The account Mauburn read stated that the young Western millionaire hadbeggared his family. 

Mauburn had gone to his room to be alone with this bitter news. He hadbegun to face it when Psyche's note of release came. While he wasadjusting this development, another knock came on his door. It was thesame maid who had brought Psyche's note. This time she brought what hesaw to be a cablegram. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Mauburn, --now this came early to-day and you wasn't inyour room, and when you came in Mrs. Ferguson forgot it till just now. "

He tore open the envelope and read:

"Male twins born to Lady Casselthorpe. Mother and sons doing finely. 

"HINKIE. "

Mauburn felt the rock foundations of Manhattan Island to be crumblingto dust. For an hour he sat staring at the message. He did not talk tohimself once. 

Then he hurriedly dressed, took the note and the cablegram, and soughtMrs. Drelmer. 

He found that capable lady gowned for the opera. She received his bitsof news with the aplomb of a resourceful commander. 

"Now, don't go seedy all at once--you've a chance. "

"Hang it all, Mrs. Drelmer, I've not. Life isn't worth living--"

"Tut, tut! Death isn't, either!"

"But we'd have been so nicely set up, even without the title, and nowBines, the clumsy ass, has come this infernal cropper, and knockedeverything on the head. I say, you know, it's beastly!"

"Hush, and let me think!"

He paced the floor while his matrimonial adviser tapped a white kiddedfoot on the floor, and appeared to read plans of new battle in amother-of-pearl paper-knife which she held between the tips of herfingers. 

"I have it--and we'll do it quickly!--Mrs. Wybert!"

Mauburn's eyes opened widely. 

"That absurd old Peter Bines has spoken to me of her three timeslately. She's made a lot more money than she had in this same copperdeal, and she'd a lot to begin with. I wondered why he spoke soenthusiastically of her, and I don't see now, but--"

"Well?"

"She'll take you, and you'll be as well set up as you were before. Listen. I met her last week at the Critchleys. She spoke of having seenyou. I could see she was dead set to make a good marriage. You know shewanted to marry Fred Milbrey, but Horace and his mother wouldn't hearof it after Avice became engaged to Rulon Shepler. I'm in theCritchleys' box to-night and I understand she's to be there. Leave itto me. Now it's after nine, so run along. "

"But, Mrs. Drelmer, there's that poor girl--she cares for me, and Ilike her immensely, you know--truly I do--and she's a trump--see whereshe says here she couldn't possibly leave her people now they've comedown--even if matters were not otherwise impossible. "

"Well, you see they're not only otherwise impossible, but every wiseimpossible. What could you do? Go to Montana with them and learn to bean Indian? Don't for heaven's sake sentimentalise! Go home and sleeplike a rational creature. Come in by eleven to-morrow. Even without thetitle you'll be a splendid match for Mrs. Wybert, and she must have atidy lot of millions after this deal. "

Sorely distressed, he walked back to his lodgings in Thirty-secondStreet. Wild, Quixotic notions of sacrifice flooded his mood ofdejection. If the worst came, he could go West with the family andlearn how to do something. And yet--Mrs. Wybert. Of course it must bethat. The other idea was absurd--too wild for serious consideration. Hewas thirty years old, and there was only one way for an Englishgentleman to live--even if it must break the heart of a poor girl whohad loved him devotedly, and for whom he had felt a steady and genuineaffection. He passed a troubled night. 

Down at the hotel of Peter Bines was an intimation from Mrs. Wybertherself, bearing upon this same fortuity. When Uncle Peter reachedthere at 2 A. M. , he found in his box a small scented envelope which heopened with wonder. 

Two enclosures fell out. One was a clipping from an evening paper, announcing the birth of twin sons to Lord Casselthorpe. The other wasthe card he had left with Mrs. Wybert on the day of his call; his nameon one side, announcing him; on the other the words he had written:

"Sell Consolidated Copper all you can until it goes down to 65. Do thisup to the limit of your capital and I will make good anything you lose. 

"PETER BINES. "

He read the note:

"ARLINGHAM HOTEL--7. 30. 

"MR. PETER BINES:

"_Dear Sir_:--You funny old man, you. I don't pretend to understandyour game, but you may rely on my secrecy. I am more grateful to youthan words can utter--and I will always be glad to do anything foryou. 

"_Yours very truly_, "BLANCHE CATHERTON WYBERT. 

"P. S. About that other matter--him you know--you will see from thisnotice I cut from the paper that the party won't get any title at allnow, so a dead swell New York man is in every way more eligible. Infact the other party is not to be thought of for one moment, as I ampositive you would agree with me. "

 * * * * *

He tore the note and the card to fine bits. 

"It does beat all, " he complained later to Billy Brue. "Put a beggar onhorseback and they begin right away to fuss around because the bridleain't set with diamonds--give 'em a little, and they want the wholeball of wax!"

"That's right, " said Billy Brue, with the quick sympathy of theexperienced. "That guy that doped me, he wa'n't satisfied with my goodthirty-dollar wad. Not by no means! He had to go take my breast-pinnugget from the Early Bird. "

At eleven o'clock the next morning Mauburn waited in Mrs. Drelmer'sdrawing-room for the news she might have. 

When that competent person sailed in, he saw temporary defeat writtenon her brow. His heart sank to its low level of the night before. 

"Well, I saw the creature, " she began, "and it required no time at allto reach a very definite understanding with her. I had feared it mightbe rather a delicate matter, talking to her at once, you know--and weneeded to hurry--but she's a woman one can talk to. She's made heaps ofmoney, and the poor thing is society-mad--_so_ afraid the modish worldwon't take her at her true value--but she talked very frankly aboutmarriage--really she's cool-headed for all the fire she seems tohave--and the short of it is that she's determined to marry some one ofthe smart men here in New York. The creature's fascinated by the veryidea. "

"Did you mention me?"

"You may be sure I did, but she'd read the papers, and, like so many ofthese people, she has no use at all for an Englishman without a title. Of course I couldn't be too definite with her, but she understoodperfectly, and she let me see she wouldn't hear of it at all. So she'soff the list. But don't give up. Now, there's--"

But Mauburn was determinedly downcast. 

"It's uncommon handsome of you, Mrs. Drelmer, really, but we'll have toleave off that, you know. If a chap isn't heir to a peerage or a cityfortune there's no getting on that way. "

"Why, the man is actually discouraged. Now you need some Americanpluck, old chap. An American of your age wouldn't give up. "

"But, hang it all! an American knows how to do things, you know, andlike as not he'd nothing to begin with, by Jove! Now I'd a lot to beginwith, and here it's all taken away. "

"Look at young Bines. He's had a lot taken away, but I'll wager hemakes it all back again and more too before he's forty. "

"He might in this country; he'd never do it at home, you know. "

"This country is for you as much as for him. Now, there's AugustaHartong--those mixed-pickle millionaires, you know. I was chatting withAugusta's mother only the other day, and if I'd only suspected this--"

"Awfully kind of you, Mrs. Drelmer, but it's no use. I'm fairly playedout. I shall go to see Miss Bines, and have a chat with her people, youknow. "

"Now, for heaven's sake, don't make a silly of yourself, whatever youdo! Mind, the girl released you of her own accord!"

"Awfully obliged. I'll think about it jolly well, first. See you soon. Good-bye!" And Mauburn was off. 

He was reproaching himself. "That poor girl has been eating her heartout for a word of love from me. I'm a brute!"

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The God in the Machine

Uncle Peter next morning was up to a late breakfast with the strickenfamily. Percival found him a trifle less bitter, but not less convincedin his despair. The young man himself had recovered his spiritswonderfully. The utter collapse of the old man, always so reliantbefore, had served to fire all his latent energy. He was now volublewith plans for the future; not only determined to reassure Uncle Peterthat the family would be provided for, but not a little anxious tojustify the old man's earlier praise, and refute his calumnies of thenight before. 

Mrs. Bines, so complacent overnight, was the most disconsolate one ofthe group. With her low tastes she was now regarding the loss of thefortune as a calamity to the worthy infants of her own chosen field. 

"And there, I'd promised to give five thousand dollars to the new homefor crippled children, and five thousand to St. John's Guild for thefloating hospitals this summer--just yesterday--and I do declare, Ijust couldn't stay in New York without money, and see those poor babiessuffer. "

"You couldn't stay in New York without money. Mrs. Good-thing, " saidher son, --"not even if you couldn't see a thing; but don't you welshon any of your plays--we'll make that ten thousand good if I have toget a sand-bag, and lay out a few of these lads around here some darknight. "

"But anyway you can't do much to relieve them. I don't know but whatit's honester to be poor while the authorities allow such goings on. "

"You have the makings of a very dangerous anarchist in you, ma. I'veseen that for some time. But we're an honest family all right now, withthe exception of a few properties that I'll have to sit up withnights--sit right by their sick-beds and wake them up to take theirmeddy every half hour--"

"Now, my son, don't you get to going without your sleep, " began hismother. 

"And wasn't it lucky about my sending that note to George!" saidPsyche. "Here in this morning's paper we find he isn't going to be LordCasselthorpe, after all. What _could_ I have done if we hadn't lost themoney?" From which it might be inferred that certain people who haddeclared Miss Bines to be very hard-headed were not so far wrong asthe notorious "casual observer" is very apt to be. 

"Never you mind, sis, " said her brother, cheerfully, "we'll be allright yet. You wait a little, and hear Uncle Peter take back what he'ssaid about me. Uncle Peter, I'll have you taking off that hat of yoursevery time you get sight of me, in about a year. "

He went again over the plans. The income from the One Girl was to beused in developing the other properties: the stock ranch up on theBitter Root, the other mines that had been worked but little and withcrude appliances; the irrigation and land-improvement enterprises, andthe big timber tracts. 

"I got something of an idea of it when Uncle Peter took me aroundsummer before last, and I learned a lot more getting the stuff togetherwith Coplen. Now, I'm ready to buckle down to it. " He looked at UnclePeter, hungry for a word of encouragement to soothe the hurts the oldman had put upon him. 

But all Uncle Peter would say was, "That _sounds_ very well, "compelling the inference that he regarded sound and substance asphenomena not necessarily related. 

"But give me a chance, Uncle Peter. Just don't jump on me too hard fora year!"

"Well, I know that country. There's big chances for a young man withbrains--understand?--that has got all the high-living nonsense blastedout of his upper levels--but it takes work. You _may_ dosomething--there _are_ white blackbirds--but you're on a nasty pieceof road-bed--curves all down on the outside--wheels flatted under everytruck, and you've had her down in the corner so long I doubt if you caneven slow up, say nothin' of reversin'. And think of me gettin' fooledthat way at _my_ time of life, " he continued, as if in confidence tohimself. "But then, I always was a terrible poor judge of humannature. "

"Well, have your own way; but I'll fool you again, while you'recoppering me. You watch, that's all I ask. Just sit around and talkwise about me all you want to, but watch. Now, I must go down and getto work with Fouts. Thank the Lord, we didn't have to welsh either, anymore than Mrs. Give-up there did. "

"You won't touch any more stock; you won't get that money fromShepler?"

"I won't; I won't go near Shepler, I promise you. Now you'll believe mein one thing, I know you will, Uncle Peter. " He went over to the oldman. 

"I want to thank you for pulling me up on that play as you did lastnight. You saved me, and I'm more grateful to you than I can say. Butfor you I'd have gone in and dug the hole deeper. " He made the old manshake hands with him--though Uncle Peter's hand remained limp andcheerless. "You can shake on that, at least. You saved me, and I thankyou for it. "

"Well, I'm glad you got _some_ sense, " answered the old man, grudgingly. "It's always the way in that stock game. There's alwaysgoin' to be a big killing made in Wall Street to-morrow, only to-morrownever comes. Reminds me of Hollings's old turtle out atSpokane--Hollings that keeps the Little Gem restaurant. He's got anenormous big turtle in his cellar that he's kept to my knowledge furfifteen years. Every time he gets a little turtle from the coast hetakes a can of red paint down cellar, and touches up the sign on oldBen's back--they call the turtle Ben, after Hollings's father-in-lawthat won't do a thing but lay around the house all the time, and kickabout the meals. Well, the sign on Ben's back is, 'Green Turtle SoupTo-morrow, ' and Ben is drug up to the sidewalk in front of the LittleGem. And Hollings does have turtle-soup next day, but it's always thelittle turtles that's killed, and old Ben is hiked back to his boudoiruntil another killing comes off. It's a good deal like that in WallStreet; there's killings made, but the big fellers with the signs ontheir back don't worry none. "

"You're right, Uncle Peter. It certainly wasn't my game. Will you comedown with me?"

"Me? Shucks, no! I'm jest a poor, broken old man, now. I'm goin' downto the square if I can walk that fur, and set on a bench in the sun. "

Uncle Peter did succeed in walking as far as Madison Square. He walked, indeed, with a step of amazing springiness for a man of his years. Butthere, instead of reposing in the sun, he entered a cab and was drivento the Vandevere Building, where he sent in his name to Rulon Shepler. 

He was ushered into Shepler's office after a little delay. The two menshook hands warmly. Uncle Peter was grinning now with rareenjoyment--he who had in the presence of the family shown naught butbroken age and utter despondency. 

"You rough-housed the boy considerable yesterday. "

"I never believed the fellow would hold on, " said Shepler. "I'm sureyou're right in a way about the West. There isn't another man in thissection who'd have plunged as he did. Really, Mr. Bines, the Street'snever known anything like it. Here are those matters. "

He handed the old man a dozen or so certified checks on as manydifferent banks. Each check had many figures on it. Uncle Peter placedthem in his old leather wallet. 

"I knew he'd plunge, " he said, taking the chair proffered him, nearShepler's desk. "I knew he was a natural born plunger, and I knew thatonce he gets an idea in his head you can't blast it out; makes nodifference what he starts on he'll play the string out. His pa was jestthat way. Then of course he wa'n't used to money, and he was ignorantof this game, and he didn't realise what he was doin'. He sort ofdistrusted himself along toward the last--but I kept him swelled upgood and plenty. "

"Well, I'm glad it's over, Mr. Bines. Of course I concede the relativeinsignificance of money to a young man of his qualities--"

"Not its relative insignificance, Mr. Shepler--it's plain damnedinsignificance, if you'll excuse the word. If that boy'd gone on he'd'a' been one of what Billy Brue calls them high-collared Clarences--nogood fur anything but to spend money, and get apoplexy or worse byforty. As it is now, he'll be a man. He's got his health turned on likea steam radiator, he's full of responsibility, and he's reallylong-headed. "

"How did he take the loss?"

"He acted jest like a healthy baby does when you take one toy away fromhim. He cries a minute, then forgets all about it, and grabs upsomething else to play with. His other toy was bad. What he's playin'with now will do him a lot of good. "

"He's not discouraged, then--he's really hopeful?"

"That ain't any name fur it. Why, he's actin' this mornin' jest likethe world's his oyster--and every month had an 'r' in it at that. "

"I'm delighted to hear it. I've always been taken with the chap; andI'm very glad you read him correctly. It seemed to me you were taking arisk. It would have broken the spirit of most men. "

"Well, you see I knew the stock. It's pushin', fightin' stock. Mygrandfather fought his way west to Pennsylvania when that country waswilder'n Africa, and my father fought his way to Ohio when that was thefrontier. I seen some hard times myself, and this boy's father was afighter, too. So I knew the boy had it in him, all right. He's got hisfaults, but they don't hurt him none. "

"Will he return West?"

"He will that--and the West is the only place fur him. He was gettin'bad notions about his own country here from them folks that's alwayscrackin' up the 'other side' 'sif there wa'n't any 'this side, ' worthspeakin' of in company. This was no place fur him. Mr. Shepler, thiswhole country is God's country. I don't talk much about them things, but I believe in God--a man has to if he lives so much alone in themwild places as I have--and I believe this country is His favourite. Ibelieve He set it apart fur great works. The history of the UnitedStates bears me out so fur. And I didn't want any of my stock growin'up without feelin' that he had the best native land on earth, andwithout bein' ready to fight fur it at the drop of the hat. And jestbetween you and me, I believe we can raise that kind in the Westbetter'n you can here in New York. You got a fine handsome town here, it's a corkin' good place to see--and get out of--but it ain't anybreedin' place--there ain't the room to grow. Now we produce everythingin the West, includin' men. Here you don't do anything butconsume--includin' men. If the West stopped producin' men fur you, you'd be as bad off as if it stopped producin' food. You can't grow abig man on this island any more than you can grow wheat out there onBroadway. You're all right. You folks have your uses. I ain't like oneof these crazy Populists that thinks you're rascals and all like that;but my point is that you don't get the fun out of life. You don't getthe big feelin's. Out in the West they're the flesh and blood and bone;and you people here, meanin' no disrespect--you're the dimples andwrinkles and--the warts. You spend and gamble back and forth with thatmoney we raise and dig out of the ground, and you think you're gettin'the best end of it, but you ain't. I found that out thirty-two yearsago this spring. I had a crazy fool notion then to go back there evenwhen I hadn't gone broke--and I done well to go. And that's why Iwanted that boy back there. And that's why I'm mighty proud of him, tosee he's so hot to go and take hold, like I knew he would be. "

"That's excellent. Now, Mr. Bines, I like him and I dare say you'vedone the best thing for him, unusual as it was. But don't grind him. Might it not be well to ease up a little after he's out there? Youmight let it be understood that I am willing to finance any of thosepropositions there liberally--"

"No, no--that ain't the way to handle him. Say, I don't expect to quitcussin' him fur another thirty days yet. I want him to think he ain'tgot a friend on earth but himself. Why, I'd have made this play just asI have done, Mr. Shepler, if there hadn't been a chance to get back acent of it--if we'd had to go plumb broke--back to the West in anemigrant car, with bologna and crackers to eat, that's what I'd havedone. No, sir, no help fur him!"

"Aren't you a little hard on him?"

"Not a bit; don't I know the stock, and know just what he needs? Mostmen you couldn't treat as I'm treatin' him; but with him, the harderyou bear down on him the more you'll get out of him. That was the waywith his pa--he was a different man after things got to comin' too easyfur him. This fellow, the way I'm treatin' him, will keep his head evenafter he gets things comin' easy again, or I miss my guess. He thinks Idespise him now. If you told him I was proud of him, I almost believeyou could get a bet out of him, sick as he is of gamblin'. "

"Has he suspected anything?"

"Sure, not! Why, he just thanked me about an hour ago fur savin'him--made me shake hands with him--and I could see the tears back inhis eyes. "

The old man chuckled. 

"It was like Len Carey's Nigger Jim. Len had Jim set apart on theplantation fur his own nigger. They fished and went huntin' andswimmin' together. One day they'd been swimmin', and was lyin' up onthe bank. Len got thinkin' he'd never seen any one drown. He knew Jimcouldn't swim a lick, so he thought he'd have Jim go drown. He says tohim, 'Jim, go jump off that rock there!' That was where the deep holewas. Jim was scar't, but he had to go. After he'd gone down once, Lensays to him, 'Drown, now, you damn nigger!' and Jim come up and wentdown twice more. Then Len begun to think Jim was worth a good bit ofmoney, and mebbe he'd be almighty walloped if the truth come out, so hedives in after Jim and gets him shore, and after while he brought himto. Anyway, he said, Jim had already sure-enough drowned as fur asthere was any fun in it. Well, Len Carey is an old man now, and Jim isan old white-headed nigger still hangin' around the old place, and whenLen goes back there to visit his relatives, old Nigger Jim hunts him upwith tears in his eyes, and thanks Mister Leonard fur savin' his lifethat time. Say, I felt this mornin' like Len Carey must feel them timeswhen Jim's thankin' him. "

Shepler laughed. 

"You're a rare man, Mr. Bines. I'll hope to have your cheerful, easyviews of life if I ever lose my hold here in the Street. I hope I'llhave the old Bines philosophy and the young Bines spirit. That remindsme, " he continued as Uncle Peter rose to go, "we've been prettyconfidential, Mr. Bines, and I don't mind telling you I was a bitafraid of that young man until yesterday. Oh, not on the stockproposition. On another matter. You may have noticed that night at theOldakers'--well, women, Mr. Bines, are uncertain. I know somethingabout markets and the ways of a dollar, but all I know about women isthat they're good to have. You can't know any more about them, becausethey don't know any more themselves. Just between us, now, I never feltany too sure of a certain young woman's state of mind until copperreached 51 and Union Cordage had been blown up from inside. "

They parted with warm expressions of good-will, and Uncle Peter, inhigh spirits at the success of his machinations, had himself drivenup-town. 

The only point where his plans had failed was in Mrs. Wybert's refusalto consider Mauburn after the birth of the Casselthorpe twins. Yet hefelt that matters, in spite of this happening, must go as he wishedthem to. The Englishman-Uncle Peter cherished the strong anti-Britishsentiment peculiar to his generation--would surely never marry a girlwho was all but penniless, and the consideration of an alliance withMrs. Wybert, when the fortune should be lost, had, after all, been anincident--a means of showing the girl, if she should prove to be toodeeply infatuated with Mauburn for her own peace of mind--how unworthyand mercenary he was; for he had meant, in that event, to disillusionher by disclosing something of Mrs. Wybert's history--the woman Mauburnshould prefer to her. He still counted confidently on the loss of thefortune sufficing to break the match. 

When he reached the Hightower that night for dinner, he found Percivaldown-stairs in great glee over what he conceived to be a funnysituation. 

"Don't ask me, Uncle Peter. I couldn't get it straight; but as near asI could make out, Mauburn came up here afraid the blow of losing himwas going to kill sis with a broken heart, and sis was afraid the blowwas going to kill Mauburn, because she wouldn't have married himanyway, rich or poor, after he'd lost the title. They found each otherout some way, and then Mauburn accused her of being heartless, ofcaring only for his title, and she accused him of caring only for hermoney, and he insisted she ought to marry him anyway, but she wouldn'thave it because of the twins--"

Uncle Peter rubbed his big brown hands with the first signs ofcheerfulness he had permitted Percival to detect in him. 

"Good fur Pish--that's the way to take down them conceitedBritishers--"

"But then they went at matters again from a new standpoint, and theresult is they've made it up. "

"What? Has them precious twin Casselthorpes perished?"

"Not at all, both doing finely--haven't even had colic--growingfast--probably learned to say 'fancy, now, ' by this time. But Mauburn'sgoing West with us if we'll take him. "

"Get out!"

"Fact! Say, it must have been an awful blow to him when he found siswouldn't think of him at all without his title, even if she was broke. They had a stormy time of it from all I can hear. He said he was strongenough to work and all that, and since he'd cared for her, and not forher money, it was low down of her to throw him over; then she said shewouldn't leave her mother and us, now that we might need her, not forhim or any other man--and he said that only made him love her all themore, and then he got chesty, and said he was just as good as anyAmerican, even if he never would have a title; so pretty soon they gotkind of interested in each other again, and by the time I came home itwas all over. They ratified the preliminary agreement for a merger. "

"Well, I snum!"

"That's right, go ahead and snum. I'd snum myself if I knew how--itknocked me. Better come up-stairs and congratulate the happy couple. "

"Shoo, now! I certainly am mighty disappointed in that fellow. Still he_is_ well spotted, and them freckles mean iron in the blood. Maybe wecan develop him along with the other properties. "

They found Psyche already radiant, though showing about her eyes tracesof the storm's devastations. Mauburn was looking happy; also defiantand stubborn. 

"Mr. Bines, " he said to Uncle Peter, "I hope you'll side with me. Iknow something about horses, and I've nearly a thousand pounds thatI'll be glad to put in with you out there if you can make a place forme. "

The old man looked him over quizzically. Psyche put her arm throughMauburn's. 

"I'd _have_ to marry some one, you know, Uncle Peter!"

"Don't apologise, Pish. There's room for men that can work out there, Mr. Mauburn, but there ain't any vintages or trouserings to speak of, and the hours is long. "

"Try me, Mr. Bines!"

"Well, come on! If you can't skin yourself you can hold a leg whilesomebody else skins. But you ain't met my expectations, I'll say that. "And he shook hands cordially with the Englishman. 

"I say, you know, " said Mauburn later to Psyche, "why _should_ I skinmyself? Why should I be skinned at all, you know?"

"You shouldn't, " she reassured him. "That's only Uncle Peter's way ofsaying you can help the others, even if you can't do much yourself atfirst. And won't Mrs. Drelmer be delighted to know it's all settled?"

"Well, " said Uncle Peter to Percival, later in the evening, "Pish hasdone better than you have here. It's a pity you didn't pick out somegood sensible girl, and marry her in the midst of your other doings. "

"I couldn't find one that liked cats. I saw a lot that suited everyother way but I always said to myself, 'Remember Uncle Peter'swarning!' so I'd go to an animal store and get a basket of kittens andtake them around, and not one of the dozen stood your test. Of courseI'd never disregard your advice. "

"Hum, " remarked Uncle Peter, in a tone to be noticed for its extremedryness. "Too bad, though--you certainly need a wife to take theconceit out of you. "

"I lost that in the Street, along with the rest. "

"Well, son, I ain't no ways alarmed but what you'll soon be on yourfeet again in that respect--say by next Tuesday or Wednesday. I wishthe money was comin' back as easy. "

"Well, there are girls in Montana City. "

"You could do worse. That reminds me--I happened to meet Shepler to-dayand he got kind of confidential, --talkin' over matters. He said he'dnever really felt sure about the affections of a certain young woman, especially after that night at the Oldakers'--he'd never felt dead sureof her until you went broke. He said you never could know anythingabout a woman--not really. "

"He knows something about that one, all right, if he knows she wouldn'thave any use for me now. Shepler's coming on with the ladies. I feelquite hopeful about him. "

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The Departure of Uncle Peter--And Some German Philosophy

The Bineses, with the exception of Psyche, were at breakfast a weeklater. Miss Bines had been missing since the day that Mr. And Mrs. Cecil G. H. Mauburn had left for Montana City to put the Bines home inorder. 

Uncle Peter and Mrs. Bines had now determined to go, leaving Percivalto follow when he had closed his business affairs. 

"It's like starting West again to make our fortune, " said Uncle Peter. He had suffered himself to regain something of his old cheerfulness ofmanner. 

"I wish you two would wait until they can get the car here, and go backwith me, " said Percival. "We can go back in style even if we didn'tsave much more than a get-away stake. "

But his persuasions were unavailing. 

"I can't stand it another day, " said Mrs. Bines, "and those letterskeep coming in from poor suffering people that haven't heard the news. "

"I'm too restless to stay, " declared Uncle Peter. "I declare, withspring all greenin' up this way I'd be found campin' up in Central Parksome night and took off to the calaboose. I just got to get out againwhere you can feel the wind blow and see a hundred miles and don't haveto dodge horseless horse-cars every minute. It's a wonder one of 'emain't got me in this town. You come on in the car, and do the style furthe family. One of them common Pullmans is good enough fur Marthy andme. And besides, I got to get Billy Brue back. He's goin' plumb daftlookin' night and day fur that man that got his thirty dollars and hisbreastpin. He says there'll be an ambulance backed up at the spot wherehe meets him--makes no difference if it's right on Fifth Avenue. Billy's kind of nearsighted at that, so I'm mortal afraid he'll make amistake one of these nights and take some honest man's money andtrinkets away from him. "

"Well, here's a _Sun_ editorial to take back with us, " said Percival;"you remember we came East on one. " He read aloud:

"The great fall in the price of copper, Western Trolley, and cordagestocks has ruined thousands of people all over this country. Theselosses are doubtless irreparable so far as the stocks in question areconcerned. The losers will have to look elsewhere for recovery. Thatthey will do so with good courage is not to be doubted. It might beargued with reasonable plausibility that Americans are the greatestfatalists in the world; the readiest to take chances and the leastgiven to whining when the cards go against them. 

"A case in point is that of a certain Western family whose fortune hasbeen swept away by the recent financial hurricane. If ever a man likedto match with Destiny, not 'for the beers, ' but for big stakes, theyoung head of the family in question appears to have been that man. Hepersisted in believing that the power and desire of the rich mencontrolling these three stocks were great enough to hold theirsecurities at a point far above their actual value. In this persistencehe displayed courage worthy of a better reward. A courage, moreover--the gambler's courage--that is typically American. Now he has had aplenty of that pleasure of losing which, in Mr. Fox's estimation, comesnext to the pleasure of winning. 

"From the point of view of the political economist or the moralist, thrift, saving, and contentment with a modest competence are to beencouraged, and the propensity to gamble is to be condemned. We standby the copy-book precepts. Yet it is only honest to confess that thereis something of this young American's love for chances in most of us. American life is still so fluid, the range of opportunity so great, thenational temperament so buoyant, daring, and hopeful, that it is easierfor an American to try his luck again than to sit down snugly and enjoywhat he has. The fun and the excitement of the game are more than thegame. There are Americans and plenty of them who will lose all theyhave in some magnificent scheme, and make much less fuss about it thana Paris shopkeeper would over a bad twenty-franc piece. 

"Our disabled young Croesus from the West is a luminous specimen of thetype. The country would be less interesting without his kind, and, onthe whole, less healthy--for they provide one of the needed ferments. May the young man make another fortune in his own far West--and comeonce more to rattle the dry bones of our Bourse!"

"He'll be too much stuck on Montana by the time he gets that fortune, "observed Uncle Peter. 

"I will _that, _ Uncle Peter. Still it's pleasant to know we've wontheir good opinion. "

"Excuse me fur swearin', Marthy, " said Uncle Peter, turning to Mrs. Bines, "but he can win a better opinion than that in Montana fur a damnsight less money. "

"That editor is right, " said Mrs. Bines, "what he says about Americanlife being 'fluid. ' There's altogether too much drinking goes on here, and I'm glad my son quit it. "

Percival saw them to the train. 

"Take care of yourself, " said Uncle Peter at parting. "You know I ain'tany good any more, and you got a whole family, includin' an Englishman, dependin' on you--we'll throw him on the town, though, if he don'ttake out his first papers the minute I get there. "

His last shot from the rear platform was:

"Change your name back to 'Pete, ' son, when you get west of Chicago. 'Tain't anything fancy, but it's a crackin' good business name fur ahustler!"

"All right, Uncle Peter, --and I hope I'll have a grandson that thinksas much of it as I do of yours. "

When they had gone, he went back to the work of final adjustment. Hehad the help of Coplen, whom they had sent for. With him he was busyfor a week. By lucky sales of some of the securities that had beenhypothecated they managed to save a little; but, on the whole, it waswhat Percival described it, "a lovely autopsy. "

At last the vexatious work was finished, and he was free again. At theend of the final day's work he left the office of Fouts in Wall Street, and walked up Broadway. He went slowly, enjoying the freedom from care. It was the afternoon of a day when the first summer heat had been felt, and as he loitered before shop windows or walked slowly through thatstreet where all move quickly and most very hurriedly, a welcome littlebreeze came up from the bay to fan him and encourage his spirit ofleisure. 

At Union Square, when he would have taken a car to go the remainder ofthe distance, he saw Shepler, accompanied by Mrs. Van Geist and MissMilbrey, alight from a victoria and enter a jeweller's. 

He would have passed on, but Miss Milbrey had seen him, and stoodwaiting in the doorway while Shepler and Mrs. Van Geist went on intothe store. 

"Mr. Bines--I'm _so_ glad!"

She stood, flushed with pleasure, radiant in stuff of filmy pink, withlittle flecks at her throat and waist of the first tender green of newleaves. She was unaffectedly delighted to see him. 

"You are Miss Spring?" he said when she had given him her hand--"andyou've come into all your mother had that was worth inheriting, haven'tyou?"

"Mr. Bines, shall we not see you now? I wanted so much to talk with youwhen I heard everything. Would it be impertinent to say I sympathisedwith you?"

He looked over her shoulder, in where Shepler and Mrs. Van Geist wereinspecting a tray of jewels. 

"Of course not impertinent--very kind--only I'm really not in need ofany sympathy at all. You won't understand it; but we don't care so muchfor money in the West--for the loss of it--not so much as you NewYorkers would. Besides we can always make a plenty more. "

The situation was, emphatically, not as he had so often dreamed it whenshe should marvel, perhaps regretfully, over his superiority to herhusband as a money-maker. His only relief was to belittle theimportance of his loss. 

"Of course we've lost everything, almost--but I've not been a bitdowncast about it. There's more where it came from, and no end of fungoing after it. I'm looking forward to the adventures, I can tell you. And every one will be glad to see me there; they won't think the lessof me, I assure you, because I've made a fluke here!"

"Surely, Mr. Bines, no one here could think less of you. Indeed, Ithink more of you. I think it's fine and big to go back with suchcourage. Do you know, I wish I were a man--I'd show them!"

"Really, Miss Milbrey--"

He looked over her shoulder again, and saw that Shepler was waiting forher. 

"I think your friends are impatient. "

"They can wait. Mr. Bines, I wonder if you have quite a correct idea ofall New York people. "

"Probably not; I've met so few, you know. "

"Well, of course, --but of those you've met?"

"You can't know what my ideas are. "

"I wish we might have talked more--I'm sure--when are you leaving?"

"I shall leave to-morrow. "

"And we're leaving for the country ourselves. Papa and mamma goto-morrow--and, Mr. Bines, I _should_ have liked another talk withyou--I wish we were dining at the Oldakers' again. "

He observed Shepler strolling toward them. 

"I shall be staying with Aunt Cornelia a few days after to-morrow. "

Shepler came up. 

"And I shall be leaving to-morrow, Miss Milbrey. "

"Ah, Bines, glad to see you!"

The accepted lover looked Miss Milbrey over with rather a complacentair--with the unruffled confidence of assured possession. Percivalfancied there was a look almost of regret in the girl's eyes. 

"I'm afraid, " said Shepler, "your aunt doesn't want to be kept waiting. And she's already in a fever for fear you won't prefer the necklace sheinsists you ought to prefer. "

"Tell Aunt Cornelia, please, that I shall be along in just a moment. ""She's quite impatient, you know, " urged Shepler. 

Percival extended his hand. 

"Good-bye, Miss Milbrey. Don't let me detain you. Sorry I shall not seeyou again. "

She gave him her hand uncertainly, as if she had still something tosay, but could find no words for it. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Bines. "

"Good-bye, young man, " Shepler shook hands with him cordially, "and thebest of luck to you out there. I shall hope to hear good reports fromyou. And mind, you're to look us up when you're in town again. We shallalways be glad to see you. Good-bye!"

He led the girl back to the case where the largest diamonds reposedchastely on their couches of royal velvet. 

Percival smiled as he resumed his walk--smiled with all that bittercynicism which only youth may feel to its full poignance. Yet, heartless as she was, he recalled that while she talked to him he hadimprinted an imaginary kiss deliberately upon her full scarlet lips. And now, too, he was forced to confess that, in spite of his verycertain knowledge about her, he would actually prefer to havecommunicated it through the recognised physical media. He laughedagain, more cheerfully. 

"The spring has gotten a strangle-hold on my judgment, " he said tohimself. 

At dinner that night he had the company of that estimable Germansavant, the Herr Doctor von Herzlich. He did not seek to incur theexperience, but the amiable doctor was so effusive and interested thathe saw no way of avoiding it gracefully. Returned from hisarchaeological expedition to Central America, the doctor was now on hisway back to Marburg. 

"I pleasure much in your news, " said the cheerful man over his firstglass of Rhine wine with the olive in it. "You shall now, if I havemisapprehended you not, develop a new strongness of the character. "

Percival resigned himself to listen. He was not unfamiliar with the lotof one who dines with the learned Von Herzlich. 

"Now he's off, " he said to himself. 

"Ach! It is but now that you shall begin to live. Is it not that whileyou planned the money-amassing you were deferring to live--ah, yes--until some day when you had so much more? Yes? A commonthought-failure it is--a common failure of the to-take-thoughtedness oflife--its capacities and the intentions of the scheme under which wesurvive. Ach! So few humans learn that this invitation to livespecifies not the hours, like a five-o'clock. It says--so well asFather-Mother Nature has learned to write the words to our unseeingeyes--'at once, ' but we ever put off the living we are invited to atonce--until to-morrow-next day, next year--until this or that be doneor won. So now you will find this out. Before, you would have waitedfor a time that never came--no matter the all-money you gathered. 

"Nor yet, my young friend, shall you take this matter to be of aseriousness, to be sorrow-worthy. If you take of the courage, you shallfind the world to smile to your face, and father-mother you. You recallwhat the English Huxley says--Ah! what fine, dear man, the good Huxley--hesays, yes, in the 'Genealogy of the Beasts, ' 'It is a probable hypothesisthat what the world is to organisms in general, each organism is to themolecules of which it is composed. ' So you laugh at the world, the worldit laugh back 'ha! ha! ha!'--then--soly--all your little moleculesobediently respond--you thrill with the happiness--with the power--thedesire--the capacity--you out-go and achieve. Yes? So fret not. Ach! wefret so much of what it shall be unwise to fret of. It is funny to fret. Why? Why fret? Yet but the month last, they have excavated at Nippur, fromthe pre-Sargonic strata, a lady and a gentleman of the House of Ptah. Whatyou say in New York--'a damned fine old family, ' yes, is it not? I am readtheir description, and seen of the photographs. 

"They have now the expressions of indifference--of disinterest--withoutthe prejudice--as if they say, 'Ach! those troubles of ours, threethousand eight hundred years in the B. C. --nearly come to six thousandyears before now--Ach! those troubles, ' say this philosophic-now ladyand gentleman, of the House of Ptah of Babylonia--'such asilliness--those troubles and frets; it was not the while-worth that weshould ever have sorrowed, because the scheme of time and creation issuchly big; had we grasped but its bigness, and the littleness of ourspan, should we have felt griefs? Nay, nay--_nit_, ' like thestreet-youths say--would say the lady and gentleman now so passionlessas to have philosophers become. And you, it should mean to you much. Humans are funniest when they weep and tremble before, like you say, 'the facts in the case. ' Ha! I laugh to myself at them often when Iobserve. Their funniness of the beards and eyebrows, the bald head, ofthe dress, the solemnities of manner, as it were they were persons ofweight. Ah, they are of their insignificance so loftily unconscious. Was it not great skill--to compel the admiration of the love-worthiestscientist--to create a unit of a numberless mass of units and then toenable it to feel each one the importance of the whole, as if each partwere big as the whole? So you shall not fret I say. 

"If the fret invade you, you shall do well to lie out in the friendlyspace, and look at this small topspinning of a world through the glassthat reduces. 

"Yes? You had thought it of such bigness--its concerns of a sublimetragicness? Yet see now, these funny little animals on the surface ofthe spinning-ball. How frantic, as if all things were about toeventuate, remembering not that nothing ends. So? Observe the marks oftheir silliness, their unworthiness. You have reduced the ball to sobig as a melon, yes? Watch the insects run about in the craziness, laughing, crying, loving their loves, hating their hates, fearing, fretting--killing one the other in such funny little clothes, made forsuch funny little purpose precisely--falling sick over themoney-losings--and the ball so small, but one of such many--as manystars under the earth, remember, as above it. 

"So! you are back to earth; you are a human like the rest, so foolish, so funny as any--so you say, 'Well, I shall not be more troubled againyet. I play the same game, but it is only a game, a little game to lastan afternoon--I play my part--yes--the laughing part, cryingpart--loving, hating, killing part--what matter if I say it is good?'If the Maker there be to look down, what joys him most--the coward whofears and frets, and the whine makes for his soul or body? Ach! no, itis the one who say, it is _good_--I could not better have donemyself--a great game, yes--'let her rip, ' like you West-peopleremark--'let her rip--you cannot lose _me_, ' like you say also. Ach, so! And then he say, the great Planner of it, ' Ach! I am understood atlast--good!--bright man that, ' like you say, also--'bright man that--itis of a pleasure to see him do well!'

"So, my young friend, you shall pleasure yourself still much yet. It isof an excellence to pleasure one's self judiciously. The lotus is aleguminous plant--so excellent for the salad--not for the roast. Youhave of the salad overeaten--you shall learn of your successfulcapacity for it--you shall do well, then. You have been of the recklessdeportment--you may still be of it. That is not the matter. You shallbe reckless as you like--but without your stored energy surplus to harmyou. Your environment from the now demands of you the faculties youwill most pleasure yourself in developing. You shall produce what youconsume. The gods love such. Ach, yes!"

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Some Phenomena Peculiar to Spring

He awoke early, refreshed and intensely alive. With the work done hebecame conscious of a feeling of disassociation from the surroundingsin which he had so long been at home. Many words of the talkativeGerman were running in his mind from the night before. He was glad thebusiness was off his mind. He would now go the pleasant journey, andthink on the way. 

His trunks were ready for the car; and before he went down-stairs hishand-bag was packed, and the preparations for the start completed. When, after his breakfast, he read the telegram announcing that the carhad been delayed twenty-four hours in Chicago, he was bored by thethought that he must pass another day in New York. He was eager now tobe off, and the time would hang heavily. 

He tried to recall some forgotten detail of the business that mightserve to occupy him. But the finishing had been thorough. 

He ran over in his mind the friends with whom he could spend the timeagreeably. He could recall no one he cared to see. He had no longer aninterest in the town or its people. 

He went aimlessly out on to Broadway in the full flood of a springmorning, breathing the fresh air hungrily. It turned his thought toplaces out of the grime and clamour of the city; to woods and fieldswhere he might rest and feel the stimulus of his new plans. He feltaloof and sufficient unto himself. 

He swung on to an open car bound north, and watched without interestthe early quick-moving workers thronging south on the street, andcrowding the cars that passed him. At Forty-second Street, he changedto a Boulevard car that took him to the Fort Lee Ferry at One Hundredand Twenty-fifth Street. 

Out on the shining blue river he expanded his lungs to the clean, sweetair. Excursion boats, fluttering gay streamers, worked sturdily up thestream. Little yachts, in fresh-laundered suits of canvas, dartedacross their bows or slanted in their wakes, looking like whitebutterflies. The vivid blue of the sky was flecked with bits of brokenfleece, scurrying like the yachts below. Across the river was ahigh-towering bank of green inviting him over its summit to thelanguorous freshness beyond. 

He walked off the boat on the farther side and climbed a series ofsteep wooden stairways, past a tiny cataract that foamed its way downto the river. When he reached the top he walked through a stretch ofwoods and turned off to the right, down a cool shaded road that woundaway to the north through the fresh greens of oak and chestnut. 

He was entranced at once by the royal abandon of spring, this wondroustime of secret beginnings made visible. The old earth was become as ayoung wife from the arms of an ardent spouse, blushing into new lifeand beauty for the very joy of love. He breathed the dewy freshness, and presently he whistled the "Spring Song" of Mendelssohn, thatbubbling, half-joyous, half-plaintive little prayer in melody. 

He was well into the spirit of the time and place. His soul sang. Therested muscles of his body and mind craved the resistance of obstacles. He rejoiced. He had been wise to leave the city for the fresh, unspoiled country--the city with all its mean little fears, its pettyimmoralities, and its very trifling great concerns. He did not analyse, more than to remember, once, that the not reticent German would approvehis mood. He had sought the soothing quiet with the unfailing instinctof the wounded animal. 

The mysterious green life in the woods at either side allured him withits furtive pulsing. But he kept to the road and passed on. He was notyet far enough from the town. 

Some words from a little song ran in his mind as he walked:

 "The naked boughs into green leaves slipped, The longing buds into flowers tripped, The little hills smiled as if they were glad, The little rills ran as if they were mad. 

 "There was green on the earth and blue in the sky, The chrysalis changed to a butterfly, And our lovers, the honey-bees, all a-hum, To hunt for our hearts began to come. "

When he came to a village with an electric car clanging through it, heskirted its borders, and struck off through a woodland toward theriver. Even the village was too human, too modern, for his early-paganmood. 

In the woods he felt that curious thrill of stealth, that impulse tocautious concealment, which survives in man from the remote days whenenemies beset his forest ways. On a southern hillside he found adogwood-tree with its blossomed firmament of white stars. In low, moistplaces the violets had sprung through the thatch of leaves and weresinging their purple beauties all unheard. Birds were nesting, andsquirrels chattered and scolded. 

Under these more obvious signs and sounds went the steady undertone oflife in root and branch and unfurling leaf--provoking, inciting, makinglawless whomsoever it thrilled. 

He came out of the wood on to another road that ran not far from theriver, and set off again to the north along the beaten track. 

In an old-fashioned garden in front of a small house a girl bent over aflower bed, working with a trowel. 

He stopped and looked at her over the palings. She was freshly pretty, with yellow hair blown about her face under the pushed back sunbonnetof blue. The look in her blue eyes was the look of one who had heardechoes; who had awakened with the spring to new life and longings, mysterious and unwelcome, but compelling. 

She stood up when he spoke; her sleeves were turned prettily back uponher fair round arms. 

"Yes, the road turns to the left, a bit ahead. "

She was blushing. 

"You are planting flower seeds. "

"Yes; so many flowers were killed by the cold last winter. "

"I see; there must a lot of them have died here, but their souls didn'tgo far, did they now?"

She went to digging again in the black moist earth. He lingered. Thegirl worked on, and her blush deepened. He felt a lawless impulse tovault the palings, and carry her off to be a flower for ever in somewooded glade near by. He dismissed it as impracticable. His intentionswould probably be misconstrued. 

"I hope your garden will thrive. It has a pretty pattern to follow. "

"Thank you!"

He raised his hat and passed on, thinking; thinking of all the old deadflowers, and their pretty souls that had gone to bloom in the heaven ofthe maid's face. 

Before the road turned to the left he found a path leading over to thetop of the palisade. There on a little rocky shelf, hundreds of feetabove the river, he lay a long time in the spring sun, looking over tothe farther shore, where the city crept to the south, and lost itssharp lines in the smoky distance. There he smoked and gave himself upto the moment. He was glad to be out of that rush. He could see mattersmore clearly now--appraise values more justly. He was glad ofeverything that had come. Above all, glad to go back and carry on thatbig work of his father's--his father who had done so much to redeem thewilderness--and incidentally he would redeem his own manhood. 

It will be recalled that the young man frequently expressed himselfwith regrettable inelegance; that he habitually availed himself, indeed, of a most infelicitous species of metaphor. It must not besupposed that this spring day in the spring places had reformed hismanner of delivery. When he chose to word his emotions it was stilldone in a manner to make the right-spoken grieve. Thus, going backtoward the road, after reviewing his great plans for the future, hespoke aloud: "I believe it's going to be a good game. "

When he became hungry he thought with relief that he would not becompelled to seek one of those "hurry-up" lunch places with its clamourand crowd. What was the use of all that noise and crowding and piggishhurry? A remark of the German's recurred to him:

"It is a happy man who has divined the leisure of eternity, so he feelsit, like what you say, 'in his bones. '"

When he came out on the road again he thought regretfully of the prettygirl and her flower bed. He would have liked to go back and suggestthat she sing to the seeds as she put them to sleep in their earthcradle, to make their awakening more beautiful. 

But he turned down the road that led away from the girl, and when hecame to a "wheelman's rest, " he ate many sandwiches and drank muchmilk. 

The face of the maid that served him had been no heaven for the soulsof dead flowers. Still she was a girl; and no girl could be whollywithout importance on such a day. So he thought the things he wouldhave said to her if matters had been different. 

When he had eaten, he loafed off again down the road. Through the longafternoon he walked and lazed, turning into strange lanes and by-roads, resting on grassy banks, and looking far up. He followed Doctor vonHerzlich's directions, and, going off into space, reduced the earth, watching its little continents and oceans roll toward him, and viewingthe antics of its queer inhabitants in fancy as he had often in factviewed a populous little ant-hill, with its busy, serious citizens. Then he would venture still farther--away out into timeless space, beyond even the starry refuse of creation, and insolently regard theuniverse as a tiny cloud of dust. 

When the shadows stretched in the dusky languor of the spring evening, he began to take his bearings for the return. He heard the hum andclang of an electric car off through a chestnut grove. 

The sound disturbed him, bringing premonitions of the city's unrest. Hedetermined to stay out for the night. It was restful--his car would notarrive until late the next afternoon--there was no reason why he shouldnot. He found a little wayside hotel whose weather-beaten sign wasancient enough to promise "entertainment for man and beast. "

"Just what I want, " he declared. "I'm both of them--man and beast. "

Together they ate tirelessly of young chickens broiled, and a greensalad, and a wonderful pie, with a bottle of claret that had stood backof the dingy little bar so long that it had attained, at least as toits label, a very fair antiquity. 

This time the girl was pretty again, and, he at once discovered, notindisposed to light conversation. Yet she was a shallow creature, withlittle mind for the subtler things of life and the springtime. Hedecided she was much better to look at than to talk to. With a justappreciation of her own charms she appeared to pose perpetually beforean imaginary mirror, regaling him and herself with new postures, tossing her brown head, curving her supple waist, exploiting herthousand coquetries. He was pained to note, moreover, that she was morethan conscious of the red-cheeked youth who came in from the carriageshed, whistling. 

When the man and the beast had been appeased they sat out under ablossomed apple-tree and smoked together in a fine spirit of amity. 

He was not amazed when, in the gloom, he saw the red-cheeked youth withboth arms about the girl--nor was he shocked at detecting instantlythat her struggles were meant to be futile against her assailant'smight. The birds were mating, life was forward, and Nature loves to bedemocratically lavish with her choicest secrets. Why not, then, theblooming, full curved kitchen-maid and the red-cheeked boy-of-all-work?

He smoked and saw the night fall. The dulled bronze jangle of cow-bellscame soothingly to him. An owl called a little way off. Swallowsflashed by in long graceful flights. A bat circled near, indecisively, as if with a message it hesitated to give. Once he heard the flute-likewarble of a skylark. 

He was under the clean, sharp stars of a moonless night. His keensenses tasted the pungent smoke and the softer feminine fragrance ofthe apple-blossoms. His nerves were stilled to pleasant ease, exceptwhen the laugh of the girl floated to him from the grape-arbour back ofthe house. That disturbed him to fierce longings--the clear, highmeasure of a woman's laugh floating to him in the night. And once shesang--some song common to her class. It moved him as her laugh did, making him vibrate to her, as when a practised hand flutters thestrings of a harp. He was glad without knowing why when she stopped. 

At ten o'clock he went in from under the peering little stars and fellasleep in an ancient four-poster. He dreamed that he had the world, afoot-ball, clasped to his breast, and was running down the field for again of a hundred yards. Then, suddenly, in place of the world, it wasAvice Milbrey in his grasp, struggling frantically to be free; andinstead of behaving like a gentleman he flung both arms around her andkissed her despite her struggles; kissed her time after time, until sheceased to strive against him, and lay panting and helpless in his arms. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

An Unusual Plan of Action Is Matured

He was awakened by the unaccustomed silence. As he lay with his eyesopen, his first thought was that all things had stopped--the world hadcome to its end. Then remembrance came, and he stretched in lazyenjoyment of the stillness and the soft feather bed upon which he hadslept. Finding himself too wide awake for more sleep, he went over tothe little gable window and looked out. The unfermented wine of anotherspring day came to his eager nostrils. The little ball had made anotherturn. Its cheek was coming once more into the light. Already the eastwas flushing with a wondrous vague pink. The little animals in the cityover there, he thought, would soon be tumbling out of their beds tobegin another of their funny, serious days of trial and failure; tomake ready for another night of forgetfulness, when their absurd littleant-hill should turn again away from the big blazing star. He sat along time at the window, looking out to the east, where the light wasshowing; meditating on many idle, little matters, but conscious all thetime of great power within himself. 

He felt ready now for any conflict. The need for some great immediateaction pressed upon him. He did not identify it. Something he mustdo--he must have action--and that at once. He was glad to think howUncle Peter would begin to rejoice in him--secretly at first, and thento praise him. He was equal to any work. He could not begin it quicklyenough. That queer need to do something at once was still pressing, still unidentified. 

By five he was down-stairs. The girl, fresh as a dew-sprayed rose inthe garden outside, brought him breakfast of fruit, bacon and eggs, coffee and waffles. He ate with relish, delighting meantime in thegirl's florid freshness, and even in the assertive, triumphant whistleof the youth busy at his tasks outside. 

When he set out he meant to reach the car and go back to town at once. Yet when he came to the road over which he had loitered the day before, he turned off upon it with slower steps. There was a confusing whirl ofideas in his brain, a chaos that required all his energy to feed it, sothat the spring went from his step. 

Then all at once, a new-born world cohered out of the nebula, and thesight of its measured, orderly whirling dazed him. He had been seizedwith a wish--almost an intention, so stunning in its audacity that heall but reeled under the shock. It seemed to him that the thing musthave been germinated in his mind without his knowledge; it had lainthere, gathering force while he rested, now to burst forth and dazzlehim with its shine. All that undimmed freshness of longing he had feltthe day before-all the unnamed, unidentified, nameless desires--hadflooded back upon him, but now no longer aimless. They were acutelydefinite. He wanted Avice Milbrey, --wanted her with an intensity asunreasoning as it was resistless. This was the new world he had watchedswimming out of the chaos in his mind, taking its allotted orbit in aplanetary system of possible, rational, matter-of-course proceedings. 

And Avice Milbrey was to marry Shepler, the triumphant money-king. 

He sat down by the roadside, well-nigh helpless, surrendering all hisforces to the want. 

Then there came upon him to reinforce this want a burning sense ofdefeat. He remembered Uncle Peter's first warnings in the mine about"cupboard love;" the gossip of Higbee: "If you were broke, she'd haveabout as much use for you--" all the talk he had listened to so longabout marriage for money; and, at the last, Shepler's words to UnclePeter: "I was uncertain until copper went to 51. " Those were three wiseold men who had talked, men who knew something of women and much of theworld. And they were so irritating in their certainty. What a fine playto fool them all!

The sense of defeat burned into him more deeply. He had been vanquished, cheated, scorned, shamefully flouted. The money was gone--all of UnclePeter's complaints and biting sarcasms came back to him with renewedbitterness; but his revenge on Uncle Peter would be in showing him a bigman at work, with no nonsense about him. But Shepler, who was now certain, and Higbee, who had always been certain, --especially Shepler, with hiseasy sense of superiority with a woman over any poor man. That was adifferent matter. There was a thing to think about. And he wanted AviceMilbrey. He could not, he decided, go back without her. 

Something of the old lawless spirit of adventure that had spurred onhis reckless forbears urged him to carry the girl back with him. Shedidn't love him. He would take her in spite of that; overpower her;force her to go. It was a revenge of superb audacity. Shepler had notbeen sure of her until now. Well, Shepler might be hurled from thatcertainty by one hour of determined action. 

The great wild wish narrowed itself into a definite plan. He recalledthe story Uncle Peter had told at the Oldakers' about the woman and herhair. A woman could be coerced if a man knew her weakness. He couldcoerce her. He knew it instinctively; and the instinctive beliefrallied to its support a thousand little looks from her, littleintonations of her voice, little turnings of her head when they hadbeen together. In spite of her calculations, in spite of her love ofmoney, he could make her feel her weakness. He was a man with thepower. 

It was heady wine for the morning. He described himself briefly as alunatic, and walked on again. But the crazy notion would not be gone. The day before he had been passive. Now he was active, acutely aware ofhimself and all his wants. He walked a mile trying to dismiss the idea. He sat down again, and it flooded back upon him with new force. 

Her people were gone. She had even intimated a wish to talk with himagain. It could be done quickly. He knew. He felt the primitivesuperiority of man's mere brute force over woman. He gloried in hisknotted muscles and the crushing power of his desires. 

Afterward, she would reproach him bitterly. They would both be unhappy. It was no matter. It was the present, the time when he should beliving. He would have her, and Shepler--Shepler might have had the OneGirl mine--but this girl, never!

Again he tried faithfully to walk off the obsession. Again were hisessays at sober reason unavailing. 

His mind was set as it had been when he bought the stocks day after dayagainst the advice of the best judges in the Street. He could not turnhimself back. There must be success. There could not be a givingup--and there must not be failure. 

Hour after hour he alternately walked and rested, combating andfavouring the mad project. It was a foolish little world, and peoplewere always waiting for another time to begin the living of life. TheGerman had quoted Martial: "To-morrow I will live, the fool says;to-day itself's too late. The wise lived yesterday. "

If he did go away alone he knew he would always regret it. If hecarried her triumphantly off, doubtless his regret for that wouldeventually be as great. The first regret was certain. The latter wasequally plausible; but, if it came, would it not be preferable to theother? To have held her once--to have taken her away, to have triumphedover her own calculations, and, best of all, to have triumphed over themoney-king resting fatuously confident behind his wealth, dignifying noman as rival who was not rich. The present, so, was more than anypossible future, how dire soever it might be. 

He was mad to prove to her--and to Shepler--that she was more a womanthan either had supposed, --a woman in spite of herself, weak, unreasoning; to prove to them both that a determined man has a vitalpower to coerce which no money may ever equal. 

Not until five o'clock had he by turns urged and fought himself to theferry. By that time he had given up arguing. He was dwelling entirelyupon his plan of action. Strive and grope as he would, the thing haddriven him on relentlessly. His reason could not take him beyond thereach of its goad. Far as he went he loved her even farther. Shebelonged to him. He would have her. He seemed to have been storing, theday before, a vast quantity of energy that he was now drawing lavishlyupon. For the time, he was pure, raw force, needing, to be resistless, only the guidance of a definite purpose. 

He crossed the ferry and went to the hotel, where he shaved andfreshened himself. He found Grant, the porter, waiting for him when hewent downstairs, and gave him written directions to the railroad peopleto have the car attached to the Chicago Express leaving at eight thenext morning; also instructions about his baggage. 

"I expect there will be two of us, Grant; see that the car is wellstocked; and here, take this; go to a florist's and get about fourdozen pink roses--_la France_--can you remember?--pink--don't take anyother colour, and be sure they're fresh. Have breakfast ready by thetime the train starts. "

"Yes, Mistah Puhs'val!" said Grant, and added to himself, "Yo' suttinydo ca'y yo'se'f mighty han'some, Mistah Man!"

Going out of the hotel, he met Launton Oldaker, with whom he chatted afew moments, and then bade good-bye. 

Oldaker, with a sensitive regard for the decencies, refrained fromexpressing the hearty sympathy he felt for a man who would henceforthbe compelled to live out of the world. 

Percival walked out to Broadway, revolving his plan. He saw it was butsix o'clock. He could do nothing for at least an hour. When he notedthis he became conscious of his hunger. He had eaten nothing sincemorning. He turned into a restaurant on Madison Square and ordereddinner. When he had eaten, he sat with his coffee for a final smoke ofdeliberation. He went over once more the day's arguments for andagainst the novel emprise. He had become insensible, however, to allthe dissenting ones. As a last rally, he tried to picture thedifficulties he might encounter. He faced all he could imagine. 

"By God, I'll do it!"

"_Oui, monsieur!_" said the waiter, who had been standing dreamilynear, startled into attention by the spoken words. 

"That's all--give me the check. "

As he went out the door, a young woman passed him, looking him straightin the eyes. From her light swishing skirts came the faint perfume ofthe violet. It chilled the steel of his resolution. 

He entered a carriage. It was a hot, humid night. Already the mist wasmaking grey softness of the air, dulling the street lights to ruddyorange. Northward, over the breast of Murray Hill a few late carriagestrickled down toward him. Their wheels, when they passed, made swiftreflections in the damp glare of the asphalt. 

He was pent force waiting to be translated into action. 

He drove first to the Milbrey house, on the chance that she might be athome. Jarvis answered his ring. 

"Miss Milbrey is with Mrs. Van Geist, sir. "

Jarvis spoke regretfully. Pie had reasons of his own for believing thatthe severance of the Milbrey relationship with Mr. Bines had beennothing short of calamitous. 

He rang Mrs. Van Geist's bell, five minutes later. 

"The ladies haven't come back, sir. I don't know where they might be. Perhaps at the Valners', in Fifty-second Street, sir. "

He rang the Valners' bell. 

"Mrs. Van Geist and Miss Milbrey? They left at least half an hour ago, sir. "

"Go down the avenue slowly, driver!"

At Fortieth Street he looked down to the middle of the block. 

Mrs. Van Geist, alone, was just alighting from her coupé. 

He signalled the driver. 

"Go to the other address again, in Thirty-seventh Street. "

Jarvis opened the door. 

"Yes, sir--thank you, sir--Miss Milbrey is in, sir. I'll see, sir. "

He crossed the Rubicon of a door-mat and stood in the unlighted hall. At the far end he saw light coming from a door that he knew opened intothe library. 

Jarvis came into the light. Behind him appeared Miss Milbrey in thedoorway. 

"Miss Milbrey says will you enter the library, Mr. Bines?"

CHAPTER XL. 

Some Rude Behaviour, of Which Only a Western Man Could Be Guilty

He walked quickly back. At the doorway she gave him her hand, which hetook in silence. "Why--Mr. Bines!--you wouldn't have surprised me lastnight. To-night I pictured you on your way West. "

Her gown was of dull blue dimity. She still wore her hat, an arch ofstraw over her face, with ripe red cherries nodding upon it as shemoved. He closed the door behind him. 

"Do come in. I've been having a solitary rummage among old things. Itis my last night here. We're leaving for the country to-morrow, youknow. "

She stood by the table, the light from a shaded lamp making her colourglow. 

Now she noted that he had not spoken. She turned quickly to him as ifto question. 

He took a swift little step toward her, still without speaking. Shestepped back with a sudden instinct of fright. 

He took two quick steps forward and grasped one of her wrists. He spokein cool, even tones, but the words came fast:

"I've come to marry you to-night; to take you away with me to thatWestern country. You may not like the life. You may grieve to death forall I know--but you're going. I won't plead, I won't beg, but I amgoing to take you. "

She had begun to pull away in alarm when he seized her wrist. His graspdid not bruise, it did not seem to be tight; but the hand that held itwas immovable. 

"Mr. Bines, you forget yourself. Really, this is--"

"Don't waste time. You can say all that needs to be said--I'll give youtime for that before we start--but don't waste the time saying allthose useless things. Don't waste time telling me I'm crazy. Perhaps Iam. We can settle that later. "

"Mr. Bines--how absurd! Oh! let me go! You're hurting my wrist!Oh!--don't--don't--don't! Oh!"

When he felt the slender wrist trying to writhe from his grasp he hadclosed upon it more tightly, and thrusting his other arm quickly behindher, had drawn her closely to him. Her cries and pleadings were beingsmothered down on his breast. Her struggles met only the unbending, pitiless resistance of steel. 

"Don't waste time, I tell you--can't you understand? Be sensible, --talkif you must--only talk sense. "

"Let me go at once--I demand it--quick--oh!"

"Take this hat off!"

He forced the wrist he had been holding down between them, so that shecould not free the hand, and, with his own hand thus freed, he drew outthe two long hat-pins and flung the hat with its storm-tossed cherriesacross the room. Still holding her tightly, he put the free hand on herbrow and thrust her head back, so that she was forced to look up athim. 

"Let me see you--I want to see your eyes--they're my eyes now. "

Her head strained against his hand to be down again, and all herstrength was exerted to be away. She found she could not move in anydirection. 

"Oh, you're hurting my neck. What _shall_ I do? I can't scream--thinkwhat it would mean!--you're hurting my neck!"

"You are hurting your _own_ neck--stop it!"

He kissed her face, softly, her cheeks, her eyes, her chin. 

"I've loved you so--don't--what's the use? Be sensible. My arms havestarved for you so--do you think they're going to loosen now? AviceMilbrey--Avice Milbrey--Avice Milbrey!"

His arms tightened about her as he said the name over and over. 

"That's poetry--it's all the poetry there is in the world. It's a verseI say over in the night. You can't understand it yet--it's too deep foryou. It means I must have you--and the next verse means that you musthave me--a poor man--be a poor man's wife--and all the otherverses--millions of them--mean that I'll never give you up--and there'sa lot more verses for you to write, when you understand--meaning thatyou'll never give _me_ up--and there's one in the beginning means I'mgoing to carry you out and marry you to-night--_now_, do youunderstand?--right off--this very night!"

"Oh! Oh! this is so terrible! Oh, it's _so_ awful!"

Her voice broke, and he felt her body quiver with sobs. Her face waspitifully convulsed, and tears welled in her eyes. 

"Let me _go_--let--me--_go_!"

He released her head, but still held her closely to him. Her sobs hadbecome uncontrollable. 

"Here--" he reached for the little lace-edged handkerchief that laybeside her long gloves and her purse, on the table. 

She took it mechanically. 

"Please--oh, _please_ let me go--I beg you. " She managed it withdifficulty between the convulsions that were rending her. 

He put his lips down upon the soft hair. 

"I _won't_--do you understand that? Stop talking nonsense. "

He thought there would be no end to the sobs. 

"Have it out, dear--there's plenty of time. "

Once she seemed to have stopped the tears. He turned her face up to hisown again, and softly kissed her wet eyes. Her full lips were partedbefore him, but he did not kiss them. The sobs came again. 

"There--there!--it will soon be over. "

At last she ceased to cry from sheer exhaustion, and when, with hishand under her chin, he forced up her head again, she looked at him afull minute and then closed her eyes. 

He kissed their lids. 

There came from time to time the involuntary quick little indrawings ofbreath, --the aftermath of her weeping. 

He held her so for a time, while neither spoke. She had become too weakto struggle. 

"My arms have starved for you so, " he murmured. She gave no sign. 

"Come over here. " He led her, unresisting, around to the couch at theother side of the table. 

"Sit here, and we'll talk it over sensibly, before you get ready. "

When he released her, she started quickly up toward the door that ledinto the hall. 

"_Don't_ do that--please don't be foolish. "

He locked the door, and put the key in his pocket. Then he went over tothe big folding-doors, and satisfied himself they were locked from theother side. He went back and stood in front of her. She had watched himwith dumb terror in her face. 

"Now we can talk--but there isn't much to be said. How soon can you beready?"

"You _are_ crazy!"

"Possibly--believe what you like. "

"How did you ever _dare?_ Oh, how _awful!_"

"If you haven't passed that stage, I'll hold you again. "

"No, no--_please_ don't--please stand up again. Sit over there, --I canthink better. "

"Think quickly. This is Saturday, and to-morrow is their busy day. Theymay not sit up late to-night. "

She arose with a little shrug of desperation that proclaimed her to bein the power of a mad man. She looked at her face in the oval mirror, wiping her eyes and making little passes and pats at her disorderedhair. He went over to her. 

"No, no--please go over there again. Sit down a moment--let me think. I'll talk to you presently. "

There was silence for five minutes. He watched her, while she narrowedher eyes in deep thought. 

Then he looked at his watch. 

"I can give you an hour, if you've anything to say before it'sdone--not longer. "

She drew a long breath. 

"Mr. Bines, are you mad? Can't you be rational?"

"I haven't been irrational, I give you my word, not once since I camehere. "

He looked at her steadily. All at once he saw her face go crimson. Sheturned her eyes from his with an effort. 

"I'm going back to Montana in the morning. I want you to marry meto-night--I won't even wait one more day--one more hour. I know it's athing you never dreamt of--marrying a poor man. You'll look at it asthe most disgraceful act of folly you could possibly commit, and sowill every one else here--but you'll _do_ it. To-morrow at this timeyou'll be half-way to Chicago with me. "

"Mr. Bines, --I'm perfectly reasonable and serious--I mean it--are youquite sure you didn't lose your wits when you lost your money?"

"It _may_ be considered a witless thing to marry a girl who would marryfor money--but never mind _that_--I'm used to taking chances. "

She glanced up at him, curiously. 

"You know I'm to marry Mr. Shepler the tenth of next month. "

"Your grammar is faulty--tense is wrong--You should say 'I _was_ tohave married Mr. Shepler. ' I'm fastidious about those little things, Iconfess. "

"How can you jest?"

"I can't. Don't think this is any joke. _He'll_ find out. "

"Who will find out, --what, pray?"

"He will. He's already said he was afraid there might have been somenonsense between you and me, because we talked that evening at theOldakers'. He told my grandfather he wasn't at all sure of you untilthat day I lost my money. "

"Oh, I see--and of course you'd like your revenge--carrying me off fromhim just to hurt him. "

"If you say that I'll hold you in my arms again. " He started towardher. "I've loved you _so_, I tell you--all the time--all the time. "

"Or perhaps it's a brutal revenge on me, --after thinking I'd only marryfor money. "

"I've loved you always, I tell you. "

He came up to her, more gently now, and took up her hand to kiss it. Hesaw the ring. 

"Take his ring off!"

She looked up at him with an amused little smile, but did not move. Hereached for the hand, and she put it behind her. 

"Take it off, " he said, harshly. 

He forced her hand out, took off the ring with its gleaming stone, nonetoo gently, and laid it on the table behind him. Then he covered thehand with kisses. 

"Now it's my hand. Perhaps there was a little of both those feelingsyou accuse me of--perhaps I _did_ want to triumph over both you andShepler--and the other people who said you'd never marry for anythingbut money--but do you think I'd have had either one of those desires ifI hadn't loved you? Do you think I'd have cared how many Sheplers youmarried if I hadn't loved you so, night and day?--always turning to youin spite of everything, --loving you always, under everything--always, Itell you. "

"Under what--what 'everything'?"

"When I was sure you had no heart--that you couldn't care for any manexcept a rich man--that you would marry only for money. "

"You thought that?"

"Of course I thought it. "

"What has changed you?"

"Nothing. I'm going to change it now by proving differently. I shalltake you against your will--but I shall make you love me--in the end. Iknow you--you're a woman, in spite of yourself!"

"You were entirely right about me. I would even have married youbecause of the money--"

"Tell me what it is you're holding back--don't wait. "

"Let me think--don't talk, please!"

She sat a long time silent, motionless, her eyes fixed ahead. At lengthshe stirred herself to speak. 

"You were right about me, partly--and partly wrong. I don't think I canmake you understand. I've always wanted so much from life--so much morethan it seemed possible to have. The only thing for a girl in myposition and circumstances was to make what is called a good marriage. I wanted what that would bring, too. I was torn between the desires--orrather the natural instincts and the trained desires. I had idealsabout loving and being loved, and I had the material ideals of myexperience in this world out here. 

"I was untrue to each by turns. Here--I want to show you something. "

She took up a book with closely written pages. 

"I came here to-night--I won't conceal from you that I thought of youwhen I came. It was my last time here, and you had gone, I supposed. Among other things I had out this old diary to burn, and I had foundthis, written on my eighteenth birthday, when I came out--the fond, romantic, secret ideal of a foolish girl--listen:

"The Soul of Love wed the Soul of Truth and their daughter, Joy, wasborn: who was immortal and in whom they lived for ever!'

"You see--that was the sort of moonshine I started in to live. Two orthree times I was a grievous disappointment to my people, and once ortwice, perhaps, I was disappointed myself. I was never quite sure whatI wanted. But if you think I was consistently mercenary you aremistaken. I shall tell you something more--something no one knows. There was a man I met while that ideal was still strong and beautifulto me--but after I'd come to see that here, in this life, it was noteasily to be kept. He was older than I, experienced with women--a loverof women, I came to understand in time. I was a novelty to him, a freshrecreation--he enjoyed all those romantic ideals of mine. I thoughtthen he loved me, and I worshipped him. He was married, but constantlysaid he was about to leave his wife, so she would divorce him. Ipromised to come to him when it was done. He had married for money andhe would have been poor again. I didn't mind in the least. I tell youthis to show you that I could have loved a poor man, not only wellenough to marry him, but to break with the traditions, and brave thescandal of going to him in that common way. With all I felt for him Ishould have been more than satisfied. But I came in time to see that hewas not as earnest as I had been. He wasn't capable of feeling what Ifelt. He was more cowardly than I--or rather, I was more reckless thanhe. I suspected it a long time; I became convinced of it a year ago anda little over. He became hateful to me. I had wasted my love. Then hebecame funny. But--you see--I am not altogether what you believed me. Wait a bit longer, please. 

"Then I gave up, almost--and later, I gave up entirely. And when mybrother was about to marry that woman, and Mr. Shepler asked me tomarry him, I consented. It seemed an easy way to end it all. I'd quitfondling ideals. And you had told me I must do anything I could to keepFred from marrying that woman--my people came to say the samething--and so--"

"If he had married her--if they were married now--then you would feelfree to marry me?"

"You would still be the absurdest man in New York--but we can't discussthat. He isn't going to marry her. "

"But he _has_ married her--"

"What do you mean?"

"I supposed you knew--Oldaker told me as I left the hotel. He and yourfather were witnesses. The marriage took place this afternoon at theArlingham. "

"You're not deceiving me?"

"Come, come!--_girl!_"

"Oh, _pardon_ me! please! Of course I didn't mean it--but you stunnedme. And papa said nothing to me about it before he left. The money musthave been too great a temptation to him and to Fred. She has just madesome enormous amount in copper stock or something. "

"I know, she had better advice than I had. I'd like to reward the manwho gave it to her. "

"And I was sure you were going to marry that other woman. "

"How could you think so?"

"Of course I'm not the least bit jealous--it isn't my disposition; butI _did_ think Florence Akemit wasn't the woman to make you happy--ofcourse I liked her immensely--and there were reports goingabout--everybody seemed so sure--and you were with her so much. Oh, howI did _hate_ her!"

"I tell you she is a joke and always was. "

"It's funny--that's exactly what I told Aunt Cornelia about that--thatman. "

"Let's stop joking, then. "

"How absurd you are--with my plans all made and the day set--"

There was a knock at the door. He went over and unlocked it. Jarvis wasthere. 

"Mr. Shepler, Miss Avice. "

They looked at each other. 

"Jarvis, shut that door and wait outside. "

"Yes, Mr. Bines. "

"You can't see him. "

"But I must, --we're engaged, don't you understand?--of course I must!"

"I tell you I won't let you. Can't you understand that I'm not talkingidly?"

She tried to evade him and reach the door, but she was caught again inhis arms--held close to him. 

"If you like he shall come in now. But he's not going to take you awayfrom me, as he did in that jeweller's the other night--and you can'tsee him at all except as you are now. "

She struggled to be free. 

"Oh, you're so _brutal_!"

"I haven't begun yet--"

He drew her toward the door. 

"Oh, not that--don't open it--I'll tell him--yes, I will!"

"I'm taking no more chances, and the time is short. "

Still holding her closely with one arm, he opened the door. The manstared impassively above their heads--a graven image ofunconsciousness. 

"Jarvis. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Miss Milbrey wishes you to say to Mr. Shepler that she is engaged--"

"That I'm ill, " she interrupted, still making little struggles to twistfrom his grasp, her head still bent down. 

"That she is engaged with Mr. Bines, Jarvis, and can't see him. Say itthat way--'Miss Milbrey is engaged with Mr. Bines, and can't seeyou. '". 

[Illustration: "'SAY IT THAT WAY--MISS MILBREY IS ENGAGED WITH MR. BINESAND CAN'T SEE YOU. '"]

"Yes, sir!"

He remained standing motionless, as he had been, his eyes still fixedabove them. But the eyes of Jarvis, from long training, did hot requireto be bent upon those things they needed to observe. They saw somethingnow that was at least two feet below their range. 

The girl made a little move with her right arm, which was imprisonedfast between them, and which some intuition led her captor not torestrain. The firm little hand worked its way slowly up, wentcreepingly over his shoulder and bent tightly about his neck. 

"Yes, sir, " repeated Jarvis, without the quiver of an eyelid, and went. 

He closed the door with his free hand, and they stood as they wereuntil they heard the noise of the front door closing and the softretreating footsteps of the butler. 

"Oh, you were mean--_mean_--to shame me so, " and floods of tears cameagain. 

"I hated to do it, but I _had_ to; it was a critical moment. And youcouldn't have made up your mind without it. "

She sobbed weakly in his arms, but her own arm was still tight abouthis neck. He felt it for the first time. 

"But I _had_ made up my mind--I did make it up while we talked. "

They were back on the couch. He held her close and she no longerresisted, but nestled in his arms with quick little sighs, as ifrelieved from a great strain. He kissed her forehead and hair as shedried her eyes. 

"Now, rest a little. Then we shall go. "

"I've so much to tell you. That day at the jeweller's--well, what couldI do but take one poor last little look of you--to keep?"

"Tell me if you care for me. "

"Oh, I do, I do, I do care for you. I _have_--ever since that day wewalked in the woods. I do, I _do_!"

She threw her head back and gave him her lips. 

She was crying again and trying to talk. 

"I did care for you, and that day I thought you were going to saysomething, but you didn't--you were so distant and troubled, and seemednot even to like me--though I felt sure you loved me. I had thoughtyou were going to tell me, and I'd have accepted--yes, for themoney--though I liked you so much. Why, when I first met you in thatmine and thought you were a workman, I'm not sure I wouldn't havemarried you if you had asked me. But it was different again when Ifound out about you. And that day in the woods I thought something hadcome between us. Only after dinner you seemed kinder, and I knew atonce you thought better of me, and might even seek me--I knew it in theway a woman knows things she doesn't know at all. I went into thelibrary with a candle to look into the mirror, almost sure you weregoing to come. Then I heard your steps and I was so glad--but it wasn'tyou-I'd been mistaken again-you still disliked me. I was sodisappointed and hurt and heartsick, and he kissed me and soothed me. And after that directly I saw through him, and I knew I truly did loveyou just as I'd wanted to love the man who would be my husband--onlyall that nonsense about money that had been dinned into me so long keptme from seeing it at first. But I was sure you didn't care for me whenthey talked so about you, and that--you never _did_ care for her, didyou--you _couldn't_ have cared for her, could you?--and yet, after thatnight, I'd such a queer little feeling as if you _had_ come for me, andhad seen--"

"Surely a gentleman never sees anything he wasn't meant to see. "

"I'm so glad--I should have been _so_ ashamed--"

They were still a moment, while he stroked her hair. 

"They'll be turning in early to-night, having to get up to-morrow andpreach sermons--what a dreary place heaven must be compared with this!"

She sat up quickly. 

"Oh, I'd forgotten. How awful it is. _Isn't_ it awful?"

"It will soon be over. "

"But think of my people, and what's expected of me--think of Mr. Shepler. "

"Shepler's doing some hard thinking for himself by this time. "

"Really, you're a dreadful person--"

There was a knock. 

"The cabman outside, sir, says how long is he to wait, sir?"

"Tell him to wait all night if I don't come; tell him if he moves offthat spot I'll have his license taken away. Tell him I'm the mayor'sbrother. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And, Jarvis, who's in the house besides you?"

"Miss Briggs, the maid, sir--but she's just ready to go out, sir. "

"Stop her--say Miss Milbrey wishes to ask a favour of her; and Jarvis. "

"Yes, sir!"

"Go put on that neat black street coat of yours that fits you sobeautifully in the back, and a purple cravat, and your shiny hat, andwait for us with Briggs. We shall want you in a moment. "

"Yes, Mr. Bines. "

She looked at him wonderingly. 

"We need two witnesses, you know. I learned that from Oldaker justnow. "

"But do give me a _moment_, everything is all so whirling and hazy. "

"Yes, I know--like the solar system in its nebulous state. Well, hurryand make those worlds take shape. I can give you sixty seconds to findthat I'm the North Star. Ach! I have the Doctor von Herzlich beenge-speaking with--come, come! What's the use of any more delay? I'vewasted nearly three hours here now, dilly-dallying along. But then, awoman never does know her own mind. 

"Put a thing before her--all as plain as the multiplication table--andshe must use up just so much good time telling a man that he'scrazy--and shedding tears because he won't admit that two times two arethirty-seven. " She was silent and motionless for another five minutes, thinking intently. "Come, time's up. "

She arose. 

"I'm ready. I shall marry you, if you think I'm the woman to help youin that big, new life of yours. They meant me not to know about Fred'smarriage until afterward. "

He kissed her. 

"I feel so rested and quiet now, as if I'd taken down a big old gateand let the peace rush in on me. I'm sure it's right. I'm sure I canhelp you. "

She picked up her hat and gloves. 

"Now I'll go bathe my eyes and fix my hair. "

"I can't let you out of my sight, yet. I'm incredulous. Perhaps inseventy-five or eighty years--"

"I thought you were so sure. "

"While I can reach you, yes. "

She gave a low, delicious little laugh. She reached both arms up aroundhim, pulled down his head and kissed him. 

"There--_boy!_"

She took up the hat again. 

"I'll be down in a moment. "

"I'll be up in three, if you're not. "

When she had gone he picked up an envelope and put a bill inside. 

"Jarvis, " he called. 

The butler came up from below, dressed for the street. 

"Jarvis, put this envelope in the inside of that excellent black coatof yours and hand it--afterward--to the gentleman we're going to dobusiness with. "

"Yes, Mr. Bines. "

"And put your cravat down in the back, Jarvis--it makes you lookexcited the way it is now. "

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir!"

"Is Briggs ready?" "She's waiting, sir. "

"Go out and get in the carriage, both of you. "

"Yes, sir!"

He stood in the hallway waiting for her. It was a quarter-past ten. Inanother moment she rustled softly down to him. 

"I'm trusting so much to you, and you're trusting so much to me. It's_such_ a rash step!"

"Must I--"

"No, I'm going. Couldn't we stop and take Aunt Cornelia?"

"Aunt Cornelia won't have a chance to worry about this until it's allover. We'll stop there then, if you like. "

"We'll try Doctor Prendle, then. He's almost sure to be in. "

"It won't make any difference if he isn't. We'll find one. Those horsesare rested. They can go all night if they must. "

"I have Grandmother Loekermann's wedding-ring--of course you didn'tfetch one. Trust a man to forget anything of importance. "

His grasp of her hand during the ride did not relax. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

The New Argonauts

Mrs. Van Geist came flustering out to the carriage. 

"You and Briggs may get out here, Jarvis. There, that's for you, andthat's for Briggs--and thank you both very much!"

"Child, child! what does it mean?"

"Mr. Bines is my husband, Mütterchen, and we're leaving for the West inthe morning. "

The excitement did not abate for ten minutes or so. "And do saysomething cheerful, dear, " pleaded Avice, at parting. 

"You mad child--I was always afraid you might do something like this;but I _will_ say I'm not altogether _sure_ you've acted foolishly. "

"Thank you, you dear old Mütterchen! and you'll come to see us--youshall see how happy I can be with this--this boy--this Lochinvar, Junior--I'm sure Mrs. Lochinvar always lived happily ever after. "

Mrs. Van Geist kissed them both. 

"Back to Thirty-seventh Street, driver. "

"I shall want you at seven-thirty sharp, to-morrow morning, " he said, as they alighted. "Will you be here, sure?"

"Sure, boss!"

"You'll make another one of those if you're on time. "

The driver faced the bill toward the nearest street-light and scannedit. Then he placed it tenderly in the lining of his hat, and said, fervently:

"I'll _be_ here, gent!"

"My trunks, " Avice reminded him. 

"And, driver, send an express wagon at seven sharp. Do you understand, now?"

"Sure, gent, I'll have it here at seven, and be here at seven-thirty. "

They went in. 

"You've sent Briggs off, and I've all that packing and unpacking todo. "

"You have a husband who is handy at those things. "

They went up to her room where two trunks yawned open. 

Under her directions and with her help he took out the light summerthings and replaced them with heavier gowns, stout shoes, golf-capes, and caps. 

"We'll be up on the Bitter Root ranch this summer, and you'll needheavy things, " he had told her. 

Sometimes he packed clumsily, and she was obliged to do his work over. In these intervals he studied with interest the big old room and herquaint old sampler worked in coloured worsteds that had faded to greysand dull browns: _"La Nuit Porte Conseil. "_

"Grandma Loekermann did it at the convent, ages ago, " she told him. 

"What a cautious young thing she must have been!"

She leaned against his shoulder. 

"But she eloped with her true love, young Annekje Van Schoule; left thehome in Hickory Street one night, and went far away, away up beyond OneHundred and Twenty-fifth Street, somewhere, and then wrote them aboutit. "

"And left the sampler?"

"She had her husband--she didn't need any old sampler after that--_Lemariage porte conseil, aussi, monsieur. _ And now, you've married yourwife with her wedding-ring, that came from Holland years and yearsago. "

It was after midnight when they began to pack. When they finished itwas nearly four. 

She had laid out a dark dress for the journey, but he insisted that sheput it in a suit-case, and wear the one she had on. 

"I shouldn't know you in any other--and it's the colour of your eyes. Iwant that colour all over the place. "

"But we shall be travelling. "

"In our own car. That car has been described in the public prints as a'suite of palatial apartments with all modern conveniences. '"

"I forgot. "

"We shall be going West like the old '49-ers, seeking adventure andgold. "

"Did they go in their private cars?"

"Some of them went in rolling six-horse Concords, and some walked, andsome of them pushed their baggage across in little hand-carts, but theyhad fun at it--and we shall have to work as hard when we get there. "

"Dear me! And I'm so tired already. I feel quite done up. "

She threw herself on the wide divan, and he fixed pillows under herhead. 

"You boy! I'm glad it's all over. Let's rest a moment. "

He leaned back by her, and drew her head on to his arm. 

"I'm glad, too. It's the hardest day's work I ever did. Are youcomfortable? Rest. "

"It's so good, " she murmured, nestling on his shoulder. 

"Uncle Peter took his honeymoon in a big wagon drawn by a mule team, two hundred miles over the 'Placerville and Red Dog Trail--over themountains from California to Nevada. But he says he never had so happya time. "

"He's an old dear! I'll kiss him--how is it you say--'good and plenty. 'Did our Uncle Peter elope, too?"

He chuckled. 

"Not exactly. It was more like abduction complicated with assault andbattery. Uncle Peter is pretty direct in his methods. The young lady'sfamily thought she could do better with a bloated capitalist who ownedthree-eighths of a saw-mill. But Uncle Peter and she thought shecouldn't. So Uncle Peter had to lick her father and two brothers beforehe could get her away. He would have licked the purse-proud rival, too, but the rival ran into the saw-mill he owned the three-eighths of, andbarricaded the whole eight-eighths--the-five-eighths that didn't belongto him at all, you understand--and then he threatened through a chinkto shoot somebody if Uncle Peter didn't go off about his business. SoUncle Peter went, not wanting any unnecessary trouble. I've alwayssuspected he was a pretty ready scrapper in those days, but the poorold fellow's getting a bit childish now, with all this trouble aboutlosing the money, and the hard time he had in the snow last winter. Bythe way, I forgot to ask, and it's almost too late now, but do you likecats?"

"I adore them--aren't kittens the _dearest?"_

"Well--you're healthy--and your nose doesn't really fall below thespecifications, though it doesn't promise that you're any _too_sensible, --but if you can make up for it by your infatuation for cats, perhaps it will be all right. Of course I couldn't keep you, you know, if you weren't very fond of cats, because Uncle Peter'd raise a row--"

She was quite still, and he noted from the change in her soft breathingthat she slept. With his free hand he carefully shook out a foldedsteamer rug and drew it over her. 

For an hour he watched her, feeling the arm on which she lay growingnumb. He reviewed the day and the crowded night. He _could_ dosomething after all. Among other things, now, he would drop a littlenote to Higbee and add the news of his marriage as a postscript. Shewas actually his wife. How quickly it had come. His heart was full of agreat love for her, but he could not quite repress the pride in hisachievement--and Shepler had not been sure until he was poor!

He lost consciousness himself for a little while. 

When he awoke the cold light of the morning was stealing in. He waspainfully cramped, and chilled from the open window. From outside camethe loud chattering of sparrows, and far away he could hear wagons asthey rattled across a street of Belgian blocks from asphalt to asphalt. The light had been late in coming, and he could see a sullen grey sky, full of darker clouds. 

Above the chiffonier he could see the ancient sampler. 

_"La Nuit Porte Conseil. "_ It was true. 

In the cold, pitiless light of the morning a sudden sickness ofdoubting seized him. She would awake and reproach him bitterly forcoercing her. She had been right, the night before, --it was madness. They had talked afterward so feverishly, as if to forget theirsituation. Now she would face it coldly after the sleep. 

_"La Nuit Porte Conseil. "_ Had he not been a fool? And he loved her so. He would have her anyway--no matter what she said, now. 

She stirred, and her wide-open eyes were staring up at him--staringwith hurt, troubled wonder. The amazement in them grew--she could notunderstand. 

He stopped breathing. His embrace of her relaxed. 

And then he saw remembrance--recognition--welcome--and there blazedinto her eyes such a look of whole love as makes men thrill to allgood; such a look as makes them know they are men, and dare all greatdeeds to show it. Like a sunrise, it flooded her face with dear, wondrous beauties, --and still she looked, silent, motionless, --in anecstasy of pure realisation. Then her arms closed about his neck with aswift little rushing, and he--still half-doubting, still curious--felthimself strained to her. Still more closely she clung, putting out withher intensity all his misgiving. 

She sought his lips with her own--eager, pressing. 

"Kiss me--kiss me--kiss me! Oh, it's all true--all true! My best-loveddream has come all true! I have rested so in your arms. I never knewrest before. I can't remember when I haven't awakened to doubt, andworry, and heart-sickness. And now it's peace--dear, dear, dearestdear, for ever and ever and ever. "

They sat up. 

"Now we shall go--get me away quickly. "

It was nearly seven. Outside the sky was still all gloom. 

In the rush of her reassurance he had forgotten his arm. It hung limpfrom his shoulder. 

"It was cramped. "

"And you didn't move it?"

They beat it and kneaded it gaily together, until the fingers were fullof the rushing blood and able again to close warmly over her own littlehand. 

"Now go, and let me get ready. I won't be long. "

He went below to the library, and in the dim grey light picked up abook, "The Delights of Delicate Eating. " He tried another, "101Sandwiches. " The next was "Famous Epicures of the 17th Century. " On thefloor was her diary. He placed it on the table. He heard her call himfrom the stairs:

"Bring me up that ring from the table, please!"

He went up and handed it to her through the narrowly opened door. 

As he went down the stairs he heard the bell ring somewhere below, andwent to the door. 

"Baggage!"

The two trunks were down and out. "They're to go on this car, attachedto the Chicago Express. " He wrote the directions on one of his cardsand paid the man. 

At seven-thirty the bell rang again. The cabman was there. 

"Seven-thirty, gent!"

"Avice!"

"I'm coming. And there are two bags I wish you'd get from my room. " Helet her pass him and went up for them. 

She went into the library and, taking up the diary, tore out a sheet, marked heavily upon it with a pencil around the passage she had readthe evening before, and sealed it in an envelope. She addressed it toher father, and laid it, with a paper-weight on it, upon "The Delightsof Delicate Eating, " where he would be sure to find it. 

The book itself she placed on the wood laid ready in the grate tolight, touched a match to the crumpled paper underneath and put up theblower. She stood waiting to see that the fire would burn. 

Over the mantel from its yellow canvas looked above her head thehumourously benignant eyes of old Annekje Van Schoule, who had onceremoved from Maspeth Kill on Long Island to New Haarlem on the Islandof Manhattan, and carried there, against her father's will, theyellow-haired girl he had loved. His face now seemed to be pretendingunconsciousness of the rashly acted scenes he had witnessed--lest, ifhe betrayed his consciousness, he should be forced, in spite ofhimself, to disclose his approval--a thing not fitting for an elderly, dignified Dutch burgher to do. 

"Avice!"

"Coming!"

She took up a little package she had brought with her and went out tomeet him. 

"There's one errand to do, " she said, as they entered the carriage, "but it's on our way. Have him go up Madison Avenue and deliver this. "

She showed him the package addressed: "Mr. Rulon Shepler, Personal. "

"And this, " she said, giving him an unsealed note. "Read it, please!"

He read:

"DEAR RULON SHEPLER:--I am sure you know women too well to have thoughtI loved you as a wife should love her husband. And I know your bignesstoo well to believe you will feel harshly toward me for deciding that Icould not marry you. I could of course consistently attribute my changeto consideration for you. I should have been very little comfort toyou. If I should tell you just the course I had mapped out formyself--just what latitude I proposed to claim--I am certain you wouldagree with me that I have done you an inestimable favour. 

"Yet I have not changed because I do not love you, but because I dolove some one else with all my heart; so that I claim no credit exceptfor an entirely consistent selfishness. But do try to believe, at thesame time, that my own selfishness has been a kindness to you. I sendyou a package with this hasty letter, and beg you to believe that Ishall remain--and am now for the first time--

"Sincerely yours, "AVICE MILBREY BINES. 

"P. S. I should have preferred to wait and acquaint you with my changeof intention before marrying, but my husband's plans were made and hewould not let me delay. "

He sealed the envelope, placed it securely under the cord that boundthe package, and their driver delivered it to the man who openedShepler's door. As their train emerged from the cut at Spuyten Duyviland sped to the north along the Hudson, the sun blazed forth. 

"There, boy, --I knew the sun must shine to-day. "

They had finished their breakfast. One-half of the pink roses were onthe table, and one from the other half was in her hair. 

"I ordered the sun turned on at just this point, " replied her husband, with a large air. "I wanted you to see the last of that town under acloud, so you might not be homesick so soon. "

"You don't know me. You don't know what a good wife I shall be. "

"It takes nerve to reach up for a strange support and then kick yourenvironment out from under you--as Doctor von Herzlich would have saidif he'd happened to think of it. "

"But you shall see how I'll help you with your work; I was capable ofit all the time. "

"But I had to make you. I had to pick you up just as I did that firsttime, and again down in the mine--and you were frightened because youknew this time I wouldn't let you go. "

"Only half-afraid you wouldn't--the other half I was afraid you would. They got all mixed up--I don't know which was worse. "

"Well, I admit I foozled my approach on that copper stock--but I wonyou--really my winnings in Wall Street are pretty dazzling after all, for a man who didn't know the ropes;--there's a mirror directly back ofyou, Mrs. Bines, if you wish to look at them--with a pink rose overthat kissy place just at their temple. "

She turned and looked, pretending to be quite unimpressed. 

"I always was capable of it, I tell you, --boy!"

"What hurt me worst that night, it showed you could love _some_one--you did have a heart--but you couldn't love me. "

She did not seem to hear at first, nor to comprehend when she went backover his words. Then she stared at him in sudden amazement. 

He saw his blunder and looked foolish. 

"I see--thank you for saying what you did last night--and you didn'tmind--you came to me anyway, in spite of _that_. "

She arose, and would have gone around the table to him, but he met herwith open arms. 

"Oh, you boy! you do love me, --you do!"

"I must buy you one of those nice, shiny black ear-trumpets at thefirst stop. You can't have been hearing at all well.... See, sweetheart, --out across the river. That's where our big West is, overthat way--isn't it fresh and green and beautiful?--and how fast you'regoing to it--you and your husband. I believe it's going to be a goodgame... For us both... My love... "

THE END.