THE SPORT OF THE GODS

 by

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

Author of "Lyrics of Lowly Life, " "Poems of Cabin andField, " "Candle-Lightin' Time, " "The Fanatics, " etc. 

Originally published in 1902

Contents

I. The Hamiltons

II. A Farewell Dinner

III. The Theft

IV. From a Clear Sky

V. The Justice of Men

VI. Outcasts

VII. In New York

VIII. An Evening Out

IX. His Heart's Desire

X. A Visitor from Home

XI. Broken Hopes

XII. "All the World's a Stage"

XIII. The Oakleys

XIV. Frankenstein

XV. "Dear, Damned, Delightful Town"

XVI. Skaggs's Theory

XVII. A Yellow Journal

XVIII. What Berry Found

I

THE HAMILTONS

Fiction has said so much in regret of the old days when there wereplantations and overseers and masters and slaves, that it was good tocome upon such a household as Berry Hamilton's, if for no other reasonthan that it afforded a relief from the monotony of tiresome iteration. 

The little cottage in which he lived with his wife, Fannie, who washousekeeper to the Oakleys, and his son and daughter, Joe and Kit, satback in the yard some hundred paces from the mansion of his employer. Itwas somewhat in the manner of the old cabin in the quarters, with whichusage as well as tradition had made both master and servant familiar. But, unlike the cabin of the elder day, it was a neatly furnished, modern house, the home of a typical, good-living negro. For twenty yearsBerry Hamilton had been butler for Maurice Oakley. He was one of themany slaves who upon their accession to freedom had not left the South, but had wandered from place to place in their own beloved section, waiting, working, and struggling to rise with its rehabilitatedfortunes. 

The first faint signs of recovery were being seen when he came toMaurice Oakley as a servant. Through thick and thin he remained withhim, and when the final upward tendency of his employer began hisfortunes had increased in like manner. When, having married, Oakleybought the great house in which he now lived, he left the littleservant's cottage in the yard, for, as he said laughingly, "There is notelling when Berry will be following my example and be taking a wifeunto himself. "

His joking prophecy came true very soon. Berry had long had a tendernessfor Fannie, the housekeeper. As she retained her post under the new Mrs. Oakley, and as there was a cottage ready to his hand, it promised to becheaper and more convenient all around to get married. Fannie waswilling, and so the matter was settled. 

Fannie had never regretted her choice, nor had Berry ever had cause tocurse his utilitarian ideas. The stream of years had flowed pleasantlyand peacefully with them. Their little sorrows had come, but their joyshad been many. 

As time went on, the little cottage grew in comfort. It was replenishedwith things handed down from "the house" from time to time and withothers bought from the pair's earnings. 

Berry had time for his lodge, and Fannie time to spare for her own houseand garden. Flowers bloomed in the little plot in front and behind it;vegetables and greens testified to the housewife's industry. 

Over the door of the little house a fine Virginia creeper bent and fellin graceful curves, and a cluster of insistent morning-glories clung insummer about its stalwart stock. 

It was into this bower of peace and comfort that Joe and Kitty wereborn. They brought a new sunlight into the house and a new joy to thefather's and mother's hearts. Their early lives were pleasant andcarefully guarded. They got what schooling the town afforded, but bothwent to work early, Kitty helping her mother and Joe learning the tradeof barber. 

Kit was the delight of her mother's life. She was a pretty, cheerylittle thing, and could sing like a lark. Joe too was of a cheerfuldisposition, but from scraping the chins of aristocrats came to imbibesome of their ideas, and rather too early in life bid fair to be adandy. But his father encouraged him, for, said he, "It 's de p'opahthing fu' a man what waits on quality to have quality mannahs an' towaih quality clothes. "

"'T ain't no use to be a-humo'in' dat boy too much, Be'y, " Fannie hadreplied, although she did fully as much "humo'in'" as her husband; "hitsho' do mek' him biggety, an' a biggety po' niggah is a 'bominationbefo' de face of de Lawd; but I know 't ain't no use a-talkin' to you, fu' you plum boun' up in dat Joe. "

Her own eyes would follow the boy lovingly and proudly even as shechided. She could not say very much, either, for Berry always had thereply that she was spoiling Kit out of all reason. The girl did have theprettiest clothes of any of her race in the town, and when she was tosing for the benefit of the A. M. E. Church or for the benefit of herfather's society, the Tribe of Benjamin, there was nothing too good forher to wear. In this too they were aided and abetted by Mrs. Oakley, whoalso took a lively interest in the girl. 

So the two doting parents had their chats and their jokes at eachother's expense and went bravely on, doing their duties and spoilingtheir children much as white fathers and mothers are wont to do. 

What the less fortunate negroes of the community said of them and theiroffspring is really not worth while. Envy has a sharp tongue, and whenhas not the aristocrat been the target for the plebeian's sneers?

Joe and Kit were respectively eighteen and sixteen at the time when thepreparations for Maurice Oakley's farewell dinner to his brother Franciswere agitating the whole Hamilton household. All of them had a hand inthe work: Joe had shaved the two men; Kit had helped Mrs. Oakley's maid;the mother had fretted herself weak over the shortcomings of a cook thathad been in the family nearly as long as herself, while Berry was sternand dignified in anticipation of the glorious figure he was to make inserving. 

When all was ready, peace again settled upon the Hamiltons. Mrs. Hamilton, in the whitest of white aprons, prepared to be on hand toannoy the cook still more; Kit was ready to station herself where shecould view the finery; Joe had condescended to promise to be home intime to eat some of the good things, and Berry--Berry was gorgeous inhis evening suit with the white waistcoat, as he directed the nimblewaiters hither and thither. 

II

A FAREWELL DINNER

Maurice Oakley was not a man of sudden or violent enthusiasms. Conservatism was the quality that had been the foundation of hisfortunes at a time when the disruption of the country had involved mostof the men of his region in ruin. 

Without giving any one ground to charge him with being lukewarm orrenegade to his cause, he had yet so adroitly managed his affairs thatwhen peace came he was able quickly to recover much of the ground lostduring the war. With a rare genius for adapting himself to newconditions, he accepted the changed order of things with a passiveresignation, but with a stern determination to make the most out of anygood that might be in it. 

It was a favourite remark of his that there must be some good in everysystem, and it was the duty of the citizen to find out that good andmake it pay. He had done this. His house, his reputation, hissatisfaction, were all evidences that he had succeeded. 

A childless man, he bestowed upon his younger brother, Francis, theenthusiasm he would have given to a son. His wife shared with herhusband this feeling for her brother-in-law, and with him played therole of parent, which had otherwise been denied her. 

It was true that Francis Oakley was only a half-brother to Maurice, theson of a second and not too fortunate marriage, but there was no halvingof the love which the elder man had given to him from childhood up. 

At the first intimation that Francis had artistic ability, his brotherhad placed him under the best masters in America, and later, when thepromise of his youth had begun to blossom, he sent him to Paris, although the expenditure just at that time demanded a sacrifice whichmight have been the ruin of Maurice's own career. Francis's promise hadnever come to entire fulfilment. He was always trembling on the verge ofa great success without quite plunging into it. Despite the joy whichhis presence gave his brother and sister-in-law, most of his time wasspent abroad, where he could find just the atmosphere that suited hisdelicate, artistic nature. After a visit of two months he was aboutreturning to Paris for a stay of five years. At last he was going toapply himself steadily and try to be less the dilettante. 

The company which Maurice Oakley brought together to say good-bye to hisbrother on this occasion was drawn from the best that this fine oldSouthern town afforded. There were colonels there at whose titles andthe owners' rights to them no one could laugh; there were brilliantwomen there who had queened it in Richmond, Baltimore, Louisville, andNew Orleans, and every Southern capital under the old regime, and therewere younger ones there of wit and beauty who were just beginning tohold their court. For Francis was a great favourite both with men andwomen. He was a handsome man, tall, slender, and graceful. He had theface and brow of a poet, a pallid face framed in a mass of dark hair. There was a touch of weakness in his mouth, but this was shaded and halfhidden by a full mustache that made much forgivable to beauty-lovingeyes. 

It was generally conceded that Mrs. Oakley was a hostess whose guestshad no awkward half-hour before dinner. No praise could be higher thanthis, and to-night she had no need to exert herself to maintain thisreputation. Her brother-in-law was the life of the assembly; he had witand daring, and about him there was just that hint of charming dangerthat made him irresistible to women. The guests heard the dinnerannounced with surprise, --an unusual thing, except in this house. 

Both Maurice Oakley and his wife looked fondly at the artist as he wentin with Claire Lessing. He was talking animatedly to the girl, havingchanged the general trend of the conversation to a manner and tonedirected more particularly to her. While she listened to him, her faceglowed and her eyes shone with a light that every man could not bringinto them. 

As Maurice and his wife followed him with their gaze, the same thoughtwas in their minds, and it had not just come to them, Why could notFrancis marry Claire Lessing and settle in America, instead of goingback ever and again to that life in the Latin Quarter? They did notbelieve that it was a bad life or a dissipated one, but from the littlethat they had seen of it when they were in Paris, it was at least a bittoo free and unconventional for their traditions. There were, too, temptations which must assail any man of Francis's looks and talents. They had perfect faith in the strength of his manhood, of course; butcould they have had their way, it would have been their will to hedgehim about so that no breath of evil invitation could have come nigh tohim. 

But this younger brother, this half ward of theirs, was an unrulymember. He talked and laughed, rode and walked, with Claire Lessing withthe same free abandon, the same show of uninterested good comradeship, that he had used towards her when they were boy and girl together. Therewas not a shade more of warmth or self-consciousness in his mannertowards her than there had been fifteen years before. In fact, there wasless, for there had been a time, when he was six and Claire three, thatFrancis, with a boldness that the lover of maturer years tries vainly toattain, had announced to Claire that he was going to marry her. But hehad never renewed this declaration when it came time that it would carryweight with it. 

They made a fine picture as they sat together to-night. One seeing themcould hardly help thinking on the instant that they were made for eachother. Something in the woman's face, in her expression perhaps, supplied a palpable lack in the man. The strength of her mouth and chinhelped the weakness of his. She was the sort of woman who, if ever hecame to a great moral crisis in his life, would be able to save him ifshe were near. And yet he was going away from her, giving up the pearlthat he had only to put out his hand to take. 

Some of these thoughts were in the minds of the brother and sister now. 

"Five years does seem a long while, " Francis was saying, "but if a manaccomplishes anything, after all, it seems only a short time to lookback upon. "

"All time is short to look back upon. It is the looking forward to itthat counts. It does n't, though, with a man, I suppose. He's doingsomething all the while. "

"Yes, a man is always doing something, even if only waiting; butwaiting is such unheroic business. "

"That is the part that usually falls to a woman's lot. I have no doubtthat some dark-eyed mademoiselle is waiting for you now. "

Francis laughed and flushed hotly. Claire noted the flush and wonderedat it. Had she indeed hit upon the real point? Was that the reason thathe was so anxious to get back to Paris? The thought struck a chillthrough her gaiety. She did not want to be suspicious, but what was thecause of that tell-tale flush? He was not a man easily disconcerted;then why so to-night? But her companion talked on with such innocentcomposure that she believed herself mistaken as to the reason for hismomentary confusion. 

Someone cried gayly across the table to her: "Oh, Miss Claire, you willnot dare to talk with such little awe to our friend when he comes backwith his ribbons and his medals. Why, we shall all have to bow to you, Frank!"

"You 're wronging me, Esterton, " said Francis. "No foreign decorationcould ever be to me as much as the flower of approval from the fairwomen of my own State. "

"Hear!" cried the ladies. 

"Trust artists and poets to pay pretty compliments, and this wily friendof mine pays his at my expense. "

"A good bit of generalship, that, Frank, " an old military man broke in. "Esterton opened the breach and you at once galloped in. That 's thehighest art of war. "

Claire was looking at her companion. Had he meant the approval of thewomen, or was it one woman that he cared for? Had the speech had ahidden meaning for her? She could never tell. She could not understandthis man who had been so much to her for so long, and yet did not seemto know it; who was full of romance and fire and passion, and yet lookedat her beauty with the eyes of a mere comrade. She sighed as she rosewith the rest of the women to leave the table. 

The men lingered over their cigars. The wine was old and the storiesnew. What more could they ask? There was a strong glow in FrancisOakley's face, and his laugh was frequent and ringing. Some discussioncame up which sent him running up to his room for a bit of evidence. When he came down it was not to come directly to the dining-room. Hepaused in the hall and despatched a servant to bring his brother to him. 

Maurice found him standing weakly against the railing of the stairs. Something in his air impressed his brother strangely. 

"What is it, Francis?" he questioned, hurrying to him. 

"I have just discovered a considerable loss, " was the reply in a grievedvoice. 

"If it is no worse than loss, I am glad; but what is it?"

"Every cent of money that I had to secure my letter of credit is gonefrom my bureau. "

"What? When did it disappear?"

"I went to my bureau to-night for something and found the money gone;then I remembered that when I opened it two days ago I must have leftthe key in the lock, as I found it to-night. "

"It 's a bad business, but don't let 's talk of it now. Come, let 's goback to our guests. Don't look so cut up about it, Frank, old man. It isn't as bad as it might be, and you must n't show a gloomy faceto-night. "

The younger man pulled himself together, and re-entered the room withhis brother. In a few minutes his gaiety had apparently returned. 

When they rejoined the ladies, even their quick eyes could detect in hisdemeanour no trace of the annoying thing that had occurred. His face didnot change until, with a wealth of fervent congratulations, he had badethe last guest good-bye. 

Then he turned to his brother. "When Leslie is in bed, come into thelibrary. I will wait for you there, " he said, and walked sadly away. 

"Poor, foolish Frank, " mused his brother, "as if the loss could matterto him. "

III

THE THEFT

Frank was very pale when his brother finally came to him at theappointed place. He sat limply in his chair, his eyes fixed upon thefloor. 

"Come, brace up now, Frank, and tell me about it. "

At the sound of his brother's voice he started and looked up as thoughhe had been dreaming. 

"I don't know what you 'll think of me, Maurice, " he said; "I have neverbefore been guilty of such criminal carelessness. "

"Don't stop to accuse yourself. Our only hope in this matter lies inprompt action. Where was the money?"

"In the oak cabinet and lying in the bureau drawer. Such a thing as atheft seemed so foreign to this place that I was never very particularabout the box. But I did not know until I went to it to-night that thelast time I had opened it I had forgotten to take the key out. It allflashed over me in a second when I saw it shining there. Even then I didn't suspect anything. You don't know how I felt to open that cabinet andfind all my money gone. It 's awful. "

"Don't worry. How much was there in all?"

"Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars, most of which, I am ashamed tosay, I had accepted from you. "

"You have no right to talk that way, Frank; you know I do not begrudge acent you want. I have never felt that my father did quite right inleaving me the bulk of the fortune; but we won't discuss that now. WhatI want you to understand, though, is that the money is yours as well asmine, and you are always welcome to it. "

The artist shook his head. "No, Maurice, " he said, "I can accept nomore from you. I have already used up all my own money and too much ofyours in this hopeless fight. I don't suppose I was ever cut out for anartist, or I 'd have done something really notable in this time, andwould not be a burden upon those who care for me. No, I 'll give upgoing to Paris and find some work to do. "

"Frank, Frank, be silent. This is nonsense, Give up your art? You shallnot do it. You shall go to Paris as usual. Leslie and I have perfectfaith in you. You shall not give up on account of this misfortune. Whatare the few paltry dollars to me or to you?"

"Nothing, nothing, I know. It is n't the money, it 's the principle ofthe thing. "

"Principle be hanged! You go back to Paris to-morrow, just as you hadplanned. I do not ask it, I command it. "

The younger man looked up quickly. 

"Pardon me, Frank, for using those words and at such a time. You knowhow near my heart your success lies, and to hear you talk of giving itall up makes me forget myself. Forgive me, but you 'll go back, won'tyou?"

"You are too good, Maurice, " said Frank impulsively, "and I will goback, and I 'll try to redeem myself. "

"There is no redeeming of yourself to do, my dear boy; all you have todo is to mature yourself. We 'll have a detective down and see what wecan do in this matter. "

Frank gave a scarcely perceptible start. "I do so hate such things, " hesaid; "and, anyway, what 's the use? They 'll never find out where thestuff went to. "

"Oh, you need not be troubled in this matter. I know that such thingsmust jar on your delicate nature. But I am a plain hard-headed businessman, and I can attend to it without distaste. "

"But I hate to shove everything unpleasant off on you, It 's what I 'vebeen doing all my life. "

"Never mind that. Now tell me, who was the last person you remember inyour room?"

"Oh, Esterton was up there awhile before dinner. But he was not alonetwo minutes. "

"Why, he would be out of the question anyway. Who else?"

"Hamilton was up yesterday. "

"Alone?"

"Yes, for a while. His boy, Joe, shaved me, and Jack was up for a whilebrushing my clothes. "

"Then it lies between Jack and Joe?"

Frank hesitated. 

"Neither one was left alone, though. "

"Then only Hamilton and Esterton have been alone for any time in yourroom since you left the key in your cabinet?"

"Those are the only ones of whom I know anything. What others went induring the day, of course, I know nothing about. It could n't have beeneither Esterton or Hamilton. "

"Not Esterton, no. "

"And Hamilton is beyond suspicion. "

"No servant is beyond suspicion. "

"I would trust Hamilton anywhere, " said Frank stoutly, "and withanything. "

"That 's noble of you, Frank, and I would have done the same, but wemust remember that we are not in the old days now. The negroes arebecoming less faithful and less contented, and more 's the pity, and adeal more ambitious, although I have never had any unfaithfulness on thepart of Hamilton to complain of before. "

"Then do not condemn him now. "

"I shall not condemn any one until I have proof positive of his guilt orsuch clear circumstantial evidence that my reason is satisfied. "

"I do not believe that you will ever have that against old Hamilton. "

"This spirit of trust does you credit, Frank, and I very much hope thatyou may be right. But as soon as a negro like Hamilton learns the valueof money and begins to earn it, at the same time he begins to covet someeasy and rapid way of securing it. The old negro knew nothing of thevalue of money. When he stole, he stole hams and bacon and chickens. These were his immediate necessities and the things he valued. Thepresent laughs at this tendency without knowing the cause. The presentnegro resents the laugh, and he has learned to value other things thanthose which satisfy his belly. "

Frank looked bored. 

"But pardon me for boring you. I know you want to go to bed. Go andleave everything to me. "

The young man reluctantly withdrew, and Maurice went to the telephoneand rung up the police station. 

As Maurice had said, he was a plain, hard-headed business man, and ittook very few words for him to put the Chief of Police in possession ofthe principal facts of the case. A detective was detailed to takecharge of the case, and was started immediately, so that he might beupon the ground as soon after the commission of the crime as possible. 

When he came he insisted that if he was to do anything he must questionthe robbed man and search his room at once. Oakley protested, but thedetective was adamant. Even now the presence in the room of a manuninitiated into the mysteries of criminal methods might be destroyingthe last vestige of a really important clue. The master of the house hadno alternative save to yield. Together they went to the artist's room. Alight shone out through the crack under the door. 

"I am sorry to disturb you again, Frank, but may we come in?"

"Who is with you?"

"The detective. "

"I did not know he was to come to-night. "

"The chief thought it better. "

"All right in a moment. "

There was a sound of moving around, and in a short time the youngfellow, partly undressed, opened the door. 

To the detective's questions he answered in substance what he had toldbefore. He also brought out the cabinet. It was a strong oak box, uncarven, but bound at the edges with brass. The key was still in thelock, where Frank had left it on discovering his loss. They raised thelid. The cabinet contained two compartments, one for letters and asmaller one for jewels and trinkets. 

"When you opened this cabinet, your money was gone?"

"Yes. "

"Were any of your papers touched?"

"No. "

"How about your jewels?"

"I have but few and they were elsewhere. "

The detective examined the room carefully, its approaches, and thehall-ways without. He paused knowingly at a window that overlooked theflat top of a porch. 

"Do you ever leave this window open?"

"It is almost always so. "

"Is this porch on the front of the house?"

"No, on the side. "

"What else is out that way?"

Frank and Maurice looked at each other. The younger man hesitated andput his hand to his head. Maurice answered grimly, "My butler's cottageis on that side and a little way back. "

"Uh huh! and your butler is, I believe, the Hamilton whom the younggentleman mentioned some time ago. "

"Yes. "

Frank's face was really very white now. The detective nodded again. 

"I think I have a clue, " he said simply. "I will be here again to-morrowmorning. "

"But I shall be gone, " said Frank. 

"You will hardly be needed, anyway. "

The artist gave a sigh of relief. He hated to be involved in unpleasantthings. He went as far as the outer door with his brother and thedetective. As he bade the officer good-night and hurried up the hall, Frank put his hand to his head again with a convulsive gesture, as ifstruck by a sudden pain. 

"Come, come, Frank, you must take a drink now and go to bed, " saidOakley. 

"I am completely unnerved. "

"I know it, and I am no less shocked than you. But we 've got to face itlike men. "

They passed into the dining-room, where Maurice poured out some brandyfor his brother and himself. "Who would have thought it?" he asked, ashe tossed his own down. 

"Not I. I had hoped against hope up until the last that it would turnout to be a mistake. "

"Nothing angers me so much as being deceived by the man I have helpedand trusted. I should feel the sting of all this much less if the thiefhad come from the outside, broken in, and robbed me, but this, after allthese years, is too low. "

"Don't be hard on a man, Maurice; one never knows what prompts him to adeed. And this evidence is all circumstantial. "

"It is plain enough for me. You are entirely too kind-hearted, Frank. But I see that this thing has worn you out. You must not stand heretalking. Go to bed, for you must be fresh for to-morrow morning'sjourney to New York. "

Frank Oakley turned away towards his room. His face was haggard, and hestaggered as he walked. His brother looked after him with a pitying andaffectionate gaze. 

"Poor fellow, " he said, "he is so delicately constructed that he cannotstand such shocks as these;" and then he added: "To think of that blackhound's treachery! I 'll give him all that the law sets down for him. "

He found Mrs. Oakley asleep when he reached the room, but he awakenedher to tell her the story. She was horror-struck. It was hard to have tobelieve this awful thing of an old servant, but she agreed with him thatHamilton must be made an example of when the time came. Before that, however, he must not know that he was suspected. 

They fell asleep, he with thoughts of anger and revenge, and she grievedand disappointed. 

IV

FROM A CLEAR SKY

The inmates of the Oakley house had not been long in their beds beforeHamilton was out of his and rousing his own little household. 

"You, Joe, " he called to his son, "git up f'om daih an' come righthyeah. You got to he'p me befo' you go to any shop dis mo'nin'. You, Kitty, stir yo' stumps, miss. I know yo' ma 's a-dressin' now. Ef sheain't, I bet I 'll be aftah huh in a minute, too. You all layin' 'roun', snoozin' w'en you all des' pint'ly know dis is de mo'nin' Mistah Frankgo 'way f'om hyeah. "

It was a cool Autumn morning, fresh and dew-washed. The sun was justrising, and a cool clear breeze was blowing across the land. The bluesmoke from the "house, " where the fire was already going, whirledfantastically over the roofs like a belated ghost. It was just themorning to doze in comfort, and so thought all of Berry's householdexcept himself. Loud was the complaining as they threw themselves out ofbed. They maintained that it was an altogether unearthly hour to get up. Even Mrs. Hamilton added her protest, until she suddenly remembered whatmorning it was, when she hurried into her clothes and set about gettingthe family's breakfast. 

The good-humour of all of them returned when they were seated abouttheir table with some of the good things of the night before set out, and the talk ran cheerily around. 

"I do declaih, " said Hamilton, "you all 's as bad as dem white peoplewas las' night. De way dey waded into dat food was a caution. " Hechuckled with delight at the recollection. 

"I reckon dat 's what dey come fu'. I was n't payin' so much 'tention towhat dey eat as to de way dem women was dressed. Why, Mis' Jedge Hillwas des' mo'n go'geous. "

"Oh, yes, ma, an' Miss Lessing was n't no ways behin' her, " put inKitty. 

Joe did not condescend to join in the conversation, but contentedhimself with devouring the good things and aping the manners of theyoung men whom he knew had been among last night's guests. 

"Well, I got to be goin', " said Berry, rising. "There 'll be earlybreakfas' at de 'house' dis mo'nin', so 's Mistah Frank kin ketch defus' train. "

He went out cheerily to his work. No shadow of impending disasterdepressed his spirits. No cloud obscured his sky. He was a simple, easyman, and he saw nothing in the manner of the people whom he served thatmorning at breakfast save a natural grief at parting from each other. Hedid not even take the trouble to inquire who the strange white man waswho hung about the place. 

When it came time for the young man to leave, with the privilege of anold servitor Berry went up to him to bid him good-bye. He held out hishand to him, and with a glance at his brother, Frank took it and shookit cordially. "Good-bye, Berry, " he said. Maurice could hardly restrainhis anger at the sight, but his wife was moved to tears at herbrother-in-law's generosity. 

The last sight they saw as the carriage rolled away towards the stationwas Berry standing upon the steps waving a hearty farewell andgod-speed. 

"How could you do it, Frank?" gasped his brother, as soon as they haddriven well out of hearing. 

"Hush, Maurice, " said Mrs. Oakley gently; "I think it was very noble ofhim. "

"Oh, I felt sorry for the poor fellow, " was Frank's reply. "Promise meyou won't be too hard on him, Maurice. Give him a little scare and lethim go. He 's possibly buried the money, anyhow. "

"I shall deal with him as he deserves. "

The young man sighed and was silent the rest of the way. 

"Whether I fail or succeed, you will always think well of me, Maurice?"he said in parting; "and if I don't come up to your expectations, well--forgive me--that 's all. "

His brother wrung his hand. "You will always come up to my expectations, Frank, " he said. "Won't he, Leslie?"

"He will always be our Frank, our good, generous-hearted, noble boy. Godbless him!"

The young fellow bade them a hearty good-bye, and they, knowing what hisfeelings must be, spared him the prolonging of the strain. They waitedin the carriage, and he waved to them as the train rolled out of thestation. 

"He seems to be sad at going, " said Mrs. Oakley. 

"Poor fellow, the affair of last night has broken him up considerably, but I 'll make Berry pay for every pang of anxiety that my brother hassuffered. "

"Don't be revengeful, Maurice; you know what brother Frank asked ofyou. "

"He is gone and will never know what happens, so I may be as revengefulas I wish. "

The detective was waiting on the lawn when Maurice Oakley returned. Theywent immediately to the library, Oakley walking with the firm, hardtread of a man who is both exasperated and determined, and the officergliding along with the cat-like step which is one of the attributes ofhis profession. 

"Well?" was the impatient man's question as soon as the door closed uponthem. 

"I have some more information that may or may not be of importance. "

"Out with it; maybe I can tell. "

"First, let me ask if you had any reason to believe that your butler hadany resources of his own, say to the amount of three or four hundreddollars?"

"Certainly not. I pay him thirty dollars a month, and his wife fifteendollars, and with keeping up his lodges and the way he dresses thatgirl, he can't save very much. "

"You know that he has money in the bank?"

"No. "

"Well, he has. Over eight hundred dollars. "

"What? Berry? It must be the pickings of years. "

"And yesterday it was increased by five hundred more. "

"The scoundrel!"

"How was your brother's money, in bills?"

"It was in large bills and gold, with some silver. "

"Berry's money was almost all in bills of a small denomination andsilver. "

"A poor trick; it could easily have been changed. "

"Not such a sum without exciting comment. "

"He may have gone to several places. "

"But he had only a day to do it in. "

"Then some one must have been his accomplice. "

"That remains to be proven. "

"Nothing remains to be proven. Why, it 's as clear as day that the moneyhe has is the result of a long series of peculations, and that this lastis the result of his first large theft. "

"That must be made clear to the law. "

"It shall be. "

"I should advise, though, no open proceedings against this servant untilfurther evidence to establish his guilt is found. "

"If the evidence satisfies me, it must be sufficient to satisfy anyordinary jury. I demand his immediate arrest. "

"As you will, sir. Will you have him called here and question him, orwill you let me question him at once?"

"Yes. "

Oakley struck the bell, and Berry himself answered it. 

"You 're just the man we want, " said Oakley, shortly. 

Berry looked astonished. 

"Shall I question him, " asked the officer, "or will you?"

"I will. Berry, you deposited five hundred dollars at the bankyesterday?"

"Well, suh, Mistah Oakley, " was the grinning reply, "ef you ain't debeatenes' man to fin' out things I evah seen. "

The employer half rose from his chair. His face was livid with anger. But at a sign from the detective he strove to calm himself. 

"You had better let me talk to Berry, Mr. Oakley, " said the officer. 

Oakley nodded. Berry was looking distressed and excited. He seemed notto understand it at all. 

"Berry, " the officer pursued, "you admit having deposited five hundreddollars in the bank yesterday?"

"Sut'ny. Dey ain't no reason why I should n't admit it, 'ceptin'erroun' ermong dese jealous niggahs. "

"Uh huh! well, now, where did you get this money?"

"Why, I wo'ked fu' it, o' co'se, whaih you s'pose I got it? 'T ain'tdrappin' off trees, I reckon, not roun' dis pa't of de country. "

"You worked for it? You must have done a pretty big job to have got somuch money all in a lump?"

"But I did n't git it in a lump. Why, man, I 've been savin' dat moneyfu mo'n fo' yeahs. "

"More than four years? Why did n't you put it in the bank as you gotit?"

"Why, mos'ly it was too small, an' so I des' kep' it in a ol' sock. Itol' Fannie dat some day ef de bank did n't bus' wid all de res' I had, I 'd put it in too. She was allus sayin' it was too much to have layin''roun' de house. But I des' tol' huh dat no robber was n't goin' tobothah de po' niggah down in de ya'd wid de rich white man up at dehouse. But fin'lly I listened to huh an' sposited it yistiddy. "

"You 're a liar! you 're a liar, you black thief!" Oakley broke inimpetuously. "You have learned your lesson well, but you can't cheat me. I know where that money came from. "

"Calm yourself, Mr. Oakley, calm yourself. "

"I will not calm myself. Take him away. He shall not stand here and lieto me. "

Berry had suddenly turned ashen. 

"You say you know whaih dat money come f'om? Whaih?"

"You stole it, you thief, from my brother Frank's room. "

"Stole it! My Gawd, Mistah Oakley, you believed a thing lak dat aftahall de yeahs I been wid you?"

"You 've been stealing all along. "

"Why, what shell I do?" said the servant helplessly. "I tell you, MistahOakley, ask Fannie. She 'll know how long I been a-savin' dis money. "

"I 'll ask no one. "

"I think it would be better to call his wife, Oakley. "

"Well, call her, but let this matter be done with soon. "

Fannie was summoned, and when the matter was explained to her, firstgave evidences of giving way to grief, but when the detective began toquestion her, she calmed herself and answered directly just as herhusband had. 

"Well posted, " sneered Oakley. "Arrest that man. "

Berry had begun to look more hopeful during Fannie's recital, but nowthe ashen look came back into his face. At the word "arrest" his wifecollapsed utterly, and sobbed on her husband's shoulder. 

"Send the woman away. "

"I won't go, " cried Fannie stoutly; "I 'll stay right hyeah by myhusband. You sha'n't drive me away f'om him. "

Berry turned to his employer. "You b'lieve dat I stole f'om dis houseaftah all de yeahs I 've been in it, aftah de caih I took of yo' moneyan' yo' valybles, aftah de way I 've put you to bed f'om many a dinnah, an' you woke up to fin' all yo' money safe? Now, can you b'lieve dis?"

His voice broke, and he ended with a cry. 

"Yes, I believe it, you thief, yes. Take him away. "

Berry's eyes were bloodshot as he replied, "Den, damn you! damn you! efdat 's all dese yeahs counted fu', I wish I had a-stoled it. "

Oakley made a step forward, and his man did likewise, but the officerstepped between them. 

"Take that damned hound away, or, by God! I 'll do him violence!"

The two men stood fiercely facing each other, then the handcuffs weresnapped on the servant's wrist. 

"No, no, " shrieked Fannie, "you must n't, you must n't. Oh, my Gawd! heain 't no thief. I 'll go to Mis' Oakley. She nevah will believe it. "She sped from the room. 

The commotion had called a crowd of curious servants into the hall. Fannie hardly saw them as she dashed among them, crying for hermistress. In a moment she returned, dragging Mrs. Oakley by the hand. 

"Tell 'em, oh, tell 'em, Miss Leslie, dat you don't believe it. Don'tlet 'em 'rest Berry. "

"Why, Fannie, I can't do anything. It all seems perfectly plain, and Mr. Oakley knows better than any of us, you know. "

Fannie, her last hope gone, flung herself on the floor, crying, "O Gawd!O Gawd! he 's gone fu' sho'!"

Her husband bent over her, the tears dropping from his eyes. "Nevahmin', Fannie, " he said, "nevah min'. Hit 's boun' to come out allright. "

She raised her head, and seizing his manacled hands pressed them to herbreast, wailing in a low monotone, "Gone! gone!"

They disengaged her hands, and led Berry away. 

"Take her out, " said Oakley sternly to the servants; and they lifted herup and carried her away in a sort of dumb stupor that was half a swoon. 

They took her to her little cottage, and laid her down until she couldcome to herself and the full horror of her situation burst upon her. 

V

THE JUSTICE OF MEN

The arrest of Berry Hamilton on the charge preferred by his employer wasthe cause of unusual commotion in the town. Both the accuser and theaccused were well known to the citizens, white and black, --MauriceOakley as a solid man of business, and Berry as an honest, sensiblenegro, and the pink of good servants. The evening papers had a fullstory of the crime, which closed by saying that the prisoner had amasseda considerable sum of money, it was very likely from a long series ofsmaller peculations. 

It seems a strange irony upon the force of right living, that this man, who had never been arrested before, who had never even been suspected ofwrong-doing, should find so few who even at the first telling doubtedthe story of his guilt. Many people began to remember things that hadlooked particularly suspicious in his dealings. Some others said, "I didn't think it of him. " There were only a few who dared to say, "I don'tbelieve it of him. "

The first act of his lodge, "The Tribe of Benjamin, " whose treasurer hewas, was to have his accounts audited, when they should have beenvisiting him with comfort, and they seemed personally grieved when hisbooks were found to be straight. The A. M. E. Church, of which he hadbeen an honest and active member, hastened to disavow sympathy with him, and to purge itself of contamination by turning him out. His friendswere afraid to visit him and were silent when his enemies gloated. Onevery side one might have asked, Where is charity? and gone away empty. 

In the black people of the town the strong influence of slavery wasstill operative, and with one accord they turned away from one of theirown kind upon whom had been set the ban of the white people'sdispleasure. If they had sympathy, they dared not show it. Their owninterests, the safety of their own positions and firesides, demandedthat they stand aloof from the criminal. Not then, not now, nor has itever been true, although it has been claimed, that negroes eitherharbour or sympathise with the criminal of their kind. They did not dareto do it before the sixties. They do not dare to do it now. They havebrought down as a heritage from the days of their bondage both fear anddisloyalty. So Berry was unbefriended while the storm raged around him. The cell where they had placed him was kind to him, and he could nothear the envious and sneering comments that went on about him. This waskind, for the tongues of his enemies were not. 

"Tell me, tell me, " said one, "you need n't tell me dat a bird kin flyso high dat he don' have to come down some time. An' w'en he do light, honey, my Lawd, how he flop!"

"Mistah Rich Niggah, " said another. "He wanted to dress his wife an'chillen lak white folks, did he? Well, he foun' out, he foun' out. By detime de jedge git thoo wid him he won't be hol'in' his haid so high. "

"Wy, dat gal o' his'n, " broke in old Isaac Brown indignantly, "w'y, shewould n' speak to my gal, Minty, when she met huh on de street. I reckonshe come down off'n huh high hoss now. "

The fact of the matter was that Minty Brown was no better than sheshould have been, and did not deserve to be spoken to. But none of thiswas taken into account either by the speaker or the hearers. The man wasdown, it was time to strike. 

The women too joined their shrill voices to the general cry, and wereloud in their abuse of the Hamiltons and in disparagement of theirhigh-toned airs. 

"I knowed it, I knowed it, " mumbled one old crone, rolling her blearedand jealous eyes with glee. "W'enevah you see niggahs gittin' so highdat dey own folks ain' good enough fu' 'em, look out. "

"W'y, la, Aunt Chloe I knowed it too. Dem people got so owdacious prouddat dey would n't walk up to de collection table no mo' at chu'ch, butallus set an' waited twell de basket was passed erroun'. "

"Hit 's de livin' trufe, an' I 's been seein' it all 'long. I ain't saidnuffin', but I knowed what 'uz gwine to happen. Ol' Chloe ain't livedall dese yeahs fu' nuffin', an' ef she got de gif' o' secon' sight, 'tain't fu' huh to say. "

The women suddenly became interested in this half assertion, and the oldhag, seeing that she had made the desired impression, lapsed intosilence. 

The whites were not neglecting to review and comment on the case also. It had been long since so great a bit of wrong-doing in a negro hadgiven them cause for speculation and recrimination. 

"I tell you, " said old Horace Talbot, who was noted for his kindlinesstowards people of colour, "I tell you, I pity that darky more than Iblame him. Now, here 's my theory. " They were in the bar of theContinental Hotel, and the old gentleman sipped his liquor as he talked. "It 's just like this: The North thought they were doing a great thingwhen they come down here and freed all the slaves. They thought theywere doing a great thing, and I 'm not saying a word against them. Igive them the credit for having the courage of their convictions. But Imaintain that they were all wrong, now, in turning these people looseupon the country the way they did, without knowledge of what the firstprinciple of liberty was. The natural result is that these people areirresponsible. They are unacquainted with the ways of our highercivilisation, and it 'll take them a long time to learn. You know Romewas n't built in a day. I know Berry, and I 've known him for a longwhile, and a politer, likelier darky than him you would have to go farto find. And I have n't the least doubt in the world that he took thatmoney absolutely without a thought of wrong, sir, absolutely. He saw it. He took it, and to his mental process, that was the end of it. To himthere was no injury inflicted on any one, there was no crime committed. His elemental reasoning was simply this: This man has more money than Ihave; here is some of his surplus, --I 'll just take it. Why, gentlemen, I maintain that that man took that money with the same innocence ofpurpose with which one of our servants a few years ago would haveappropriated a stray ham. "

"I disagree with you entirely, Mr. Talbot, " broke in Mr. BeachfieldDavis, who was a mighty hunter. --"Make mine the same, Jerry, only add alittle syrup. --I disagree with you. It 's simply total depravity, that's all. All niggers are alike, and there 's no use trying to do anythingwith them. Look at that man, Dodson, of mine. I had one of the finestyoung hounds in the State. You know that white pup of mine, Mr. Talbot, that I bought from Hiram Gaskins? Mighty fine breed. Well, I wasspendin' all my time and patience trainin' that dog in the daytime. Atnight I put him in that nigger's care to feed and bed. Well, do youknow, I came home the other night and found that black rascal gone? Iwent out to see if the dog was properly bedded, and by Jove, the dog wasgone too. Then I got suspicious. When a nigger and a dog go out togetherat night, one draws certain conclusions. I thought I had heard bayin'way out towards the edge of the town. So I stayed outside and watched. In about an hour here came Dodson with a possum hung over his shoulderand my dog trottin' at his heels. He 'd been possum huntin' with myhound--with the finest hound in the State, sir. Now, I appeal to youall, gentlemen, if that ain't total depravity, what is total depravity?"

"Not total depravity, Beachfield, I maintain, but the veryirresponsibility of which I have spoken. Why, gentlemen, I foresee theday when these people themselves shall come to us Southerners of theirown accord and ask to be re-enslaved until such time as they shall befit for freedom. " Old Horace was nothing if not logical. 

"Well, do you think there 's any doubt of the darky's guilt?" askedColonel Saunders hesitatingly. He was the only man who had ever thoughtof such a possibility. They turned on him as if he had been somestrange, unnatural animal. 

"Any doubt!" cried Old Horace. 

"Any doubt!" exclaimed Mr. Davis. 

"Any doubt?" almost shrieked the rest. "Why, there can be no doubt. Why, Colonel, what are you thinking of? Tell us who has got the money if hehas n't? Tell us where on earth the nigger got the money he 's beenputting in the bank? Doubt? Why, there is n't the least doubt about it. "

"Certainly, certainly, " said the Colonel, "but I thought, of course, hemight have saved it. There are several of those people, you know, who doa little business and have bank accounts. "

"Yes, but they are in some sort of business. This man makes only thirtydollars a month. Don't you see?"

The Colonel saw, or said he did. And he did not answer what he mighthave answered, that Berry had no rent and no board to pay. His clothescame from his master, and Kitty and Fannie looked to their mistress forthe larger number of their supplies. He did not call to their minds thatFannie herself made fifteen dollars a month, and that for two years Joehad been supporting himself. These things did not come up, and as far asthe opinion of the gentlemen assembled in the Continental bar went, Berry was already proven guilty. 

As for the prisoner himself, after the first day when he had pleaded"Not guilty" and been bound over to the Grand Jury, he had fallen intoa sort of dazed calm that was like the stupor produced by a drug. Hetook little heed of what went on around him. The shock had been toosudden for him, and it was as if his reason had been for the timeunseated. That it was not permanently overthrown was evidenced by hiswaking to the most acute pain and grief whenever Fannie came to him. Then he would toss and moan and give vent to his sorrow in passionatecomplaints. 

"I did n't tech his money, Fannie, you know I did n't. I wo'ked fu'every cent of dat money, an' I saved it myself. Oh, I 'll nevah be ableto git a job ag'in. Me in de lock-up--me, aftah all dese yeahs!"

Beyond this, apparently, his mind could not go. That his detention wasanything more than temporary never seemed to enter his mind. That hewould be convicted and sentenced was as far from possibility as theskies from the earth. If he saw visions of a long sojourn in prison, itwas only as a nightmare half consciously experienced and which with thestruggle must give way before the waking. 

Fannie was utterly hopeless. She had laid down whatever pride had beenhers and gone to plead with Maurice Oakley for her husband's freedom, and she had seen his hard, set face. She had gone upon her knees beforehis wife to cite Berry's long fidelity. 

"Oh, Mis' Oakley, " she cried, "ef he did steal de money, we 've gotenough saved to mek it good. Let him go! let him go!"

"Then you admit that he did steal?" Mrs. Oakley had taken her upsharply. 

"Oh, I did n't say dat; I did n't mean dat. "

"That will do, Fannie. I understand perfectly. You should have confessedthat long ago. "

"But I ain't confessin'! I ain't! He did n't----"

"You may go. "

The stricken woman reeled out of her mistress's presence, and Mrs. Oakley told her husband that night, with tears in her eyes, howdisappointed she was with Fannie, --that the woman had known it allalong, and had only just confessed. It was just one more link in thechain that was surely and not too slowly forging itself about BerryHamilton. 

Of all the family Joe was the only one who burned with a fierceindignation. He knew that his father was innocent, and his veryhelplessness made a fever in his soul. Dandy as he was, he was loyal, and when he saw his mother's tears and his sister's shame, somethingrose within him that had it been given play might have made a man ofhim, but, being crushed, died and rotted, and in the compost it made allthe evil of his nature flourished. The looks and gibes of hisfellow-employees at the barber-shop forced him to leave his work there. Kit, bowed with shame and grief, dared not appear upon the streets, where the girls who had envied her now hooted at her. So the littlefamily was shut in upon itself away from fellowship and sympathy. 

Joe went seldom to see his father. He was not heartless; but the citadelof his long desired and much vaunted manhood trembled before the sightof his father's abject misery. The lines came round his lips, and linestoo must have come round his heart. Poor fellow, he was too young forthis forcing process, and in the hot-house of pain he only grew anacrid, unripe cynic. 

At the sitting of the Grand Jury Berry was indicted. His trial followedsoon, and the town turned out to see it. Some came to laugh and scoff, but these, his enemies, were silenced by the spectacle of his grief. Invain the lawyer whom he had secured showed that the evidence against himproved nothing. In vain he produced proof of the slow accumulation ofwhat the man had. In vain he pleaded the man's former good name. Thejudge and the jury saw otherwise. Berry was convicted. He was given tenyears at hard labour. 

He hardly looked as if he could live out one as he heard his sentence. But Nature was kind and relieved him of the strain. With a cry as if hisheart were bursting, he started up and fell forward on his faceunconscious. Some one, a bit more brutal than the rest, said, "It 'sfive dollars' fine every time a nigger faints, " but no one laughed. There was something too portentous, too tragic in the degradation ofthis man. 

Maurice Oakley sat in the court-room, grim and relentless. As soon asthe trial was over, he sent for Fannie, who still kept the cottage inthe yard. 

"You must go, " he said. "You can't stay here any longer. I want none ofyour breed about me. "

And Fannie bowed her head and went away from him in silence. 

All the night long the women of the Hamilton household lay in bed andwept, clinging to each other in their grief. But Joe did not go tosleep. Against all their entreaties, he stayed up. He put out the lightand sat staring into the gloom with hard, burning eyes. 

VI

OUTCASTS

What particularly irritated Maurice Oakley was that Berry should to thevery last keep up his claim of innocence. He reiterated it to the verymoment that the train which was bearing him away pulled out of thestation. There had seldom been seen such an example of criminalhardihood, and Oakley was hardened thereby to greater severity indealing with the convict's wife. He began to urge her more strongly tomove, and she, dispirited and humiliated by what had come to her, lookedvainly about for the way to satisfy his demands. With her naturalprotector gone, she felt more weak and helpless than she had thought itpossible to feel. It was hard enough to face the world. But to have toask something of it was almost more than she could bear. 

With the conviction of her husband the last five hundred dollars hadbeen confiscated as belonging to the stolen money, but their formerdeposit remained untouched. With this she had the means at her disposalto tide over their present days of misfortune. It was not money shelacked, but confidence. Some inkling of the world's attitude towardsher, guiltless though she was, reached her and made her afraid. 

Her desperation, however, would not let her give way to fear, so she setforth to look for another house. Joe and Kit saw her go as if she werestarting on an expedition into a strange country. In all their livesthey had known no home save the little cottage in Oakley's yard. Herethey had toddled as babies and played as children and been happy andcare-free. There had been times when they had complained and wanted ahome off by themselves, like others whom they knew. They had notfailed, either, to draw unpleasant comparisons between their mode oflife and the old plantation quarters system. But now all this wasforgotten, and there were only grief and anxiety that they must leavethe place and in such a way. 

Fannie went out with little hope in her heart, and a short while aftershe was gone Joe decided to follow her and make an attempt to get work. 

"I 'll go an' see what I kin do, anyway, Kit. 'T ain't much use, Ireckon, trying to get into a bahbah shop where they shave white folks, because all the white folks are down on us. I 'll try one of thecoloured shops. "

This was something of a condescension for Berry Hamilton's son. He hadnever yet shaved a black chin or put shears to what he termed "naps, "and he was proud of it. He thought, though, that after the training hehad received from the superior "Tonsorial Parlours" where he had beenemployed, he had but to ask for a place and he would be gladlyaccepted. 

It is strange how all the foolish little vaunting things that a man saysin days of prosperity wax a giant crop around him in the days of hisadversity. Berry Hamilton's son found this out almost as soon as he hadapplied at the first of the coloured shops for work. 

"Oh, no, suh, " said the proprietor, "I don't think we got anything fu'you to do; you 're a white man's bahbah. We don't shave nothin' butniggahs hyeah, an' we shave 'em in de light o' day an' on de groun'flo'. "

"W'y, I hyeah you say dat you could n't git a paih of sheahs thoo aniggah's naps. You ain't been practisin' lately, has you?" came from theback of the shop, where a grinning negro was scraping a fellow's face. 

"Oh, yes, you 're done with burr-heads, are you? But burr-heads are goodenough fu' you now. "

"I think, " the proprietor resumed, "that I hyeahed you say you was n'tfond o' grape pickin'. Well, Josy, my son, I would n't begin it now, 'specially as anothah kin' o' pickin' seems to run in yo' fambly. "

Joe Hamilton never knew how he got out of that shop. He only knew thathe found himself upon the street outside the door, tears of anger andshame in his eyes, and the laughs and taunts of his tormentors stillringing in his ears. 

It was cruel, of course it was cruel. It was brutal. But only he knewhow just it had been. In his moments of pride he had said all thosethings, half in fun and half in earnest, and he began to wonder how hecould have been so many kinds of a fool for so long without realisingit. 

He had not the heart to seek another shop, for he knew that what wouldbe known at one would be equally well known at all the rest. The hardestthing that he had to bear was the knowledge that he had shut himself outof all the chances that he now desired. He remembered with a pang thewords of an old negro to whom he had once been impudent, "Nevah min', boy, nevah min', you 's bo'n, but you ain't daid!"

It was too true. He had not known then what would come. He had neverdreamed that anything so terrible could overtake him. Even in hisstraits, however, desperation gave him a certain pluck. He would try forsomething else for which his own tongue had not disqualified him. WithJoe, to think was to do. He went on to the Continental Hotel, wherethere were almost always boys wanted to "run the bells. " The clerklooked him over critically. He was a bright, spruce-looking youngfellow, and the man liked his looks. 

"Well, I guess we can take you on, " he said. "What 's your name?"

"Joe, " was the laconic answer. He was afraid to say more. 

"Well, Joe, you go over there and sit where you see those fellows inuniform, and wait until I call the head bellman. "

Young Hamilton went over and sat down on a bench which ran along thehotel corridor and where the bellmen were wont to stay during the dayawaiting their calls. A few of the blue-coated Mercuries were there. Upon Joe's advent they began to look askance at him and to talk amongthemselves. He felt his face burning as he thought of what they must besaying. Then he saw the head bellman talking to the clerk and looking inhis direction. He saw him shake his head and walk away. He could havecursed him. The clerk called to him. 

"I did n't know, " he said, --"I did n't know that you were BerryHamilton's boy. Now, I 've got nothing against you myself. I don't holdyou responsible for what your father did, but I don't believe our boyswould work with you. I can't take you on. "

Joe turned away to meet the grinning or contemptuous glances of thebellmen on the seat. It would have been good to be able to hurlsomething among them. But he was helpless. 

He hastened out of the hotel, feeling that every eye was upon him, everyfinger pointing at him, every tongue whispering, "There goes JoeHamilton, whose father went to the penitentiary the other day. "

What should he do? He could try no more. He was proscribed, and theletters of his ban were writ large throughout the town, where all whoran might read. For a while he wandered aimlessly about and then turneddejectedly homeward. His mother had not yet come. 

"Did you get a job?" was Kit's first question. 

"No, " he answered bitterly, "no one wants me now. "

"No one wants you? Why, Joe--they--they don't think hard of us, dothey?"

"I don't know what they think of ma and you, but they think hard of me, all right. "

"Oh, don't you worry; it 'll be all right when it blows over. "

"Yes, when it all blows over; but when 'll that be?"

"Oh, after a while, when we can show 'em we 're all right. "

Some of the girl's cheery hopefulness had come back to her in thepresence of her brother's dejection, as a woman always forgets her ownsorrow when some one she loves is grieving. But she could notcommunicate any of her feeling to Joe, who had been and seen and felt, and now sat darkly waiting his mother's return. Some presentiment seemedto tell him that, armed as she was with money to pay for what she wantedand asking for nothing without price, she would yet have no better taleto tell than he. 

None of these forebodings visited the mind of Kit, and as soon as hermother appeared on the threshold she ran to her, crying, "Oh, where arewe going to live, ma?"

Fannie looked at her for a moment, and then answered with a burst oftears, "Gawd knows, child, Gawd knows. "

The girl stepped back astonished. "Why, why!" and then with a rush oftenderness she threw her arms about her mother's neck. "Oh, you 'retired to death, " she said; "that 's what 's the matter with you. Nevermind about the house now. I 've got some tea made for you, and you justtake a cup. "

Fannie sat down and tried to drink her tea, but she could not. It stuckin her throat, and the tears rolled down her face and fell into theshaking cup. Joe looked on silently. He had been out and he understood. 

"I 'll go out to-morrow and do some looking around for a house while youstay at home an' rest, ma. "

Her mother looked up, the maternal instinct for the protection of herdaughter at once aroused. "Oh, no, not you, Kitty, " she said. 

Then for the first time Joe spoke: "You 'd just as well tell Kitty now, ma, for she 's got to come across it anyhow. "

"What you know about it? Whaih you been to?"

"I 've been out huntin' work. I 've been to Jones's bahbah shop an' tothe Continental Hotel. " His light-brown face turned brick red with angerand shame at the memory of it. "I don't think I 'll try any more. "

Kitty was gazing with wide and saddening eyes at her mother. 

"Were they mean to you too, ma?" she asked breathlessly. 

"Mean? Oh Kitty! Kitty! you don't know what it was like. It nigh killedme. Thaih was plenty of houses an' owned by people I 've knowed fu'yeahs, but not one of 'em wanted to rent to me. Some of 'em made excuses'bout one thing er t' other, but de res' come right straight out an'said dat we 'd give a neighbourhood a bad name ef we moved into it. I've almos' tramped my laigs off. I 've tried every decent place I couldthink of, but nobody wants us. "

The girl was standing with her hands clenched nervously before her. Itwas almost more than she could understand. 

"Why, we ain't done anything, " she said. "Even if they don't know anybetter than to believe that pa was guilty, they know we ain't doneanything. "

"I 'd like to cut the heart out of a few of 'em, " said Joe in histhroat. 

"It ain't goin' to do no good to look at it that a-way, Joe, " his motherreplied. "I know hit 's ha'd, but we got to do de bes' we kin. "

"What are we goin' to do?" cried the boy fiercely. "They won't let uswork. They won't let us live anywhaih. Do they want us to live on thelevee an' steal, like some of 'em do?"

"What are we goin' to do?" echoed Kitty helplessly. "I 'd go out ef Ithought I could find anythin' to work at. "

"Don't you go anywhaih, child. It 'ud only be worse. De niggah men datust to be bowin' an' scrapin' to me an' tekin' off dey hats to melaughed in my face. I met Minty--an' she slurred me right in de street. Dey 'd do worse fu' you. "

In the midst of the conversation a knock came at the door. It was amessenger from the "House, " as they still called Oakley's home, and hewanted them to be out of the cottage by the next afternoon, as the newservants were coming and would want the rooms. 

The message was so curt, so hard and decisive, that Fannie was startledout of her grief into immediate action. 

"Well, we got to go, " she said, rising wearily. 

"But where are we goin'?" wailed Kitty in affright. "There 's no placeto go to. We have n't got a house. Where 'll we go?"

"Out o' town someplace as fur away from this damned hole as we kingit. " The boy spoke recklessly in his anger. He had never sworn beforehis mother before. 

She looked at him in horror. "Joe, Joe, " she said, "you 're mekin' itwuss. You 're mekin' it ha'dah fu' me to baih when you talk dat a-way. What you mean? Whaih you think Gawd is?"

Joe remained sullenly silent. His mother's faith was too stalwart forhis comprehension. There was nothing like it in his own soul tointerpret it. 

"We 'll git de secon'-han' dealah to tek ouah things to-morrer, an' thenwe 'll go away some place, up No'th maybe. "

"Let 's go to New York, " said Joe. 

"New Yo'k?"

They had heard of New York as a place vague and far away, a city that, like Heaven, to them had existed by faith alone. All the days of theirlives they had heard of it, and it seemed to them the centre of all theglory, all the wealth, and all the freedom of the world. New York. Ithad an alluring sound. Who would know them there? Who would look downupon them?

"It 's a mighty long ways off fu' me to be sta'tin' at dis time o'life. "

"We want to go a long ways off. "

"I wonder what pa would think of it if he was here, " put in Kitty. 

"I guess he 'd think we was doin' the best we could. "

"Well, den, Joe, " said his mother, her voice trembling with emotion atthe daring step they were about to take, "you set down an' write alettah to yo' pa, an' tell him what we goin' to do, an'to-morrer--to-morrer--we 'll sta't. "

Something akin to joy came into the boy's heart as he sat down to writethe letter. They had taunted him, had they? They had scoffed at him. Buthe was going where they might never go, and some day he would come backholding his head high and pay them sneer for sneer and jibe for jibe. 

The same night the commission was given to the furniture dealer whowould take charge of their things and sell them when and for what hecould. 

From his window the next morning Maurice Oakley watched the wagonemptying the house. Then he saw Fannie come out and walk about herlittle garden, followed by her children. He saw her as she wiped hereyes and led the way to the side gate. 

"Well, they 're gone, " he said to his wife. "I wonder where they 'regoing to live?"

"Oh, some of their people will take them in, " replied Mrs. Oakleylanguidly. 

Despite the fact that his mother carried with her the rest of the moneydrawn from the bank, Joe had suddenly stepped into the place of the manof the family. He attended to all the details of their getting away witha promptness that made it seem untrue that he had never been more thanthirty miles from his native town. He was eager and excited. As thetrain drew out of the station, he did not look back upon the place whichhe hated, but Fannie and her daughter let their eyes linger upon ituntil the last house, the last chimney, and the last spire faded fromtheir sight, and their tears fell and mingled as they were whirled awaytoward the unknown. 

VII

IN NEW YORK

To the provincial coming to New York for the first time, ignorant andunknown, the city presents a notable mingling of the qualities ofcheeriness and gloom. If he have any eye at all for the beautiful, hecannot help experiencing a thrill as he crosses the ferry over the riverfilled with plying craft and catches the first sight of the spires andbuildings of New York. If he have the right stuff in him, a somethingwill take possession of him that will grip him again every time hereturns to the scene and will make him long and hunger for the placewhen he is away from it. Later, the lights in the busy streets willbewilder and entice him. He will feel shy and helpless amid the hurryingcrowds. A new emotion will take his heart as the people hasten byhim, --a feeling of loneliness, almost of grief, that with all of thesesouls about him he knows not one and not one of them cares for him. After a while he will find a place and give a sigh of relief as hesettles away from the city's sights behind his cosey blinds. It isbetter here, and the city is cruel and cold and unfeeling. This he willfeel, perhaps, for the first half-hour, and then he will be out in itall again. He will be glad to strike elbows with the bustling mob and behappy at their indifference to him, so that he may look at them andstudy them. After it is all over, after he has passed through the firstpangs of strangeness and homesickness, yes, even after he has got beyondthe stranger's enthusiasm for the metropolis, the real fever of love forthe place will begin to take hold upon him. The subtle, insidious wineof New York will begin to intoxicate him. Then, if he be wise, he willgo away, any place, --yes, he will even go over to Jersey. But if he be afool, he will stay and stay on until the town becomes all in all to him;until the very streets are his chums and certain buildings and cornershis best friends. Then he is hopeless, and to live elsewhere would bedeath. The Bowery will be his romance, Broadway his lyric, and the Parkhis pastoral, the river and the glory of it all his epic, and he willlook down pityingly on all the rest of humanity. 

It was the afternoon of a clear October day that the Hamiltons reachedNew York. Fannie had some misgivings about crossing the ferry, but onceon the boat these gave way to speculations as to what they should findon the other side. With the eagerness of youth to take in newimpressions, Joe and Kitty were more concerned with what they saw aboutthem than with what their future would hold, though they might well havestopped to ask some such questions. In all the great city they knewabsolutely no one, and had no idea which way to go to find astopping-place. 

They looked about them for some coloured face, and finally saw one amongthe porters who were handling the baggage. To Joe's inquiry he gave theman address, and also proffered his advice as to the best way to reachthe place. He was exceedingly polite, and he looked hard at Kitty. Theyfound the house to which they had been directed, and were a good dealsurprised at its apparent grandeur. It was a four-storied brick dwellingon Twenty-seventh Street. As they looked from the outside, they wereafraid that the price of staying in such a place would be too much fortheir pockets. Inside, the sight of the hard, gaudily upholsteredinstalment-plan furniture did not disillusion them, and they continuedto fear that they could never stop at this fine place. But they foundMrs. Jones, the proprietress, both gracious and willing to come to termswith them. 

As Mrs. Hamilton--she began to be Mrs. Hamilton now, to the exclusion ofFannie--would have described Mrs. Jones, she was a "big yellow woman. "She had a broad good-natured face and a tendency to run to bust. 

"Yes, " she said, "I think I could arrange to take you. I could let youhave two rooms, and you could use my kitchen until you decided whetheryou wanted to take a flat or not. I has the whole house myself, and Ikeeps roomers. But latah on I could fix things so 's you could have thewhole third floor ef you wanted to. Most o' my gent'men 's railroadgent'men, they is. I guess it must 'a' been Mr. Thomas that sent you uphere. "

"He was a little bright man down at de deepo. "

"Yes, that 's him. That 's Mr. Thomas. He 's always lookin' out to sendsome one here, because he 's been here three years hisself an' he kinrecommend my house. "

It was a relief to the Hamiltons to find Mrs. Jones so gracious andhome-like. So the matter was settled, and they took up their abode withher and sent for their baggage. 

With the first pause in the rush that they had experienced sincestarting away from home, Mrs. Hamilton began to have time forreflection, and their condition seemed to her much better as it was. Ofcourse, it was hard to be away from home and among strangers, but thearrangement had this advantage, --that no one knew them or could tauntthem with their past trouble. She was not sure that she was going tolike New York. It had a great name and was really a great place, but thevery bigness of it frightened her and made her feel alone, for she knewthat there could not be so many people together without a deal ofwickedness. She did not argue the complement of this, that the amount ofgood would also be increased, but this was because to her evil was thevery present factor in her life. 

Joe and Kit were differently affected by what they saw about them. Theboy was wild with enthusiasm and with a desire to be a part of all thatthe metropolis meant. In the evening he saw the young fellows passing bydressed in their spruce clothes, and he wondered with a sort of envywhere they could be going. Back home there had been no place much worthgoing to, except church and one or two people's houses. But these youngfellows seemed to show by their manners that they were neither going tochurch nor a family visiting. In the moment that he recognised this, arevelation came to him, --the knowledge that his horizon had been verynarrow, and he felt angry that it was so. Why should those fellows bedifferent from him? Why should they walk the streets so knowingly, soindependently, when he knew not whither to turn his steps? Well, he wasin New York, and now he would learn. Some day some greenhorn from theSouth should stand at a window and look out envying him, as he passed, red-cravated, patent-leathered, intent on some goal. Was it not better, after all, that circumstances had forced them thither? Had it not beenso, they might all have stayed home and stagnated. Well, thought he, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and somehow, with a guiltyunder-thought, he forgot to feel the natural pity for his father, toiling guiltless in the prison of his native State. 

Whom the Gods wish to destroy they first make mad. The first sign of thedemoralisation of the provincial who comes to New York is his pride athis insensibility to certain impressions which used to influence him athome. First, he begins to scoff, and there is no truth in his views nordepth in his laugh. But by and by, from mere pretending, it becomesreal. He grows callous. After that he goes to the devil very cheerfully. 

No such radical emotions, however, troubled Kit's mind. She too stood atthe windows and looked down into the street. There was a sort ofcomplacent calm in the manner in which she viewed the girls' hats anddresses. Many of them were really pretty, she told herself, but for themost part they were not better than what she had had down home. Therewas a sound quality in the girl's make-up that helped her to see throughthe glamour of mere place and recognise worth for itself. Or it may havebeen the critical faculty, which is prominent in most women, that kepther from thinking a five-cent cheese-cloth any better in New York thanit was at home. She had a certain self-respect which made her valueherself and her own traditions higher than her brother did his. 

When later in the evening the porter who had been kind to them came inand was introduced as Mr. William Thomas, young as she was, she took hisopen admiration for her with more coolness than Joe exhibited whenThomas offered to show him something of the town some day or night. 

Mr. Thomas was a loquacious little man with a confident air born of anintense admiration of himself. He was the idol of a number ofservant-girls' hearts, and altogether a decidedly dashing back-area-wayDon Juan. 

"I tell you, Miss Kitty, " he burst forth, a few minutes after beingintroduced, "they ain't no use talkin', N' Yawk 'll give you a shakin'up 'at you won't soon forget. It 's the only town on the face of theearth. You kin bet your life they ain't no flies on N' Yawk. We git thebest shows here, we git the best concerts--say, now, what 's the use o'my callin' it all out?--we simply git the best of everything. "

"Great place, " said Joe wisely, in what he thought was going to be quitea man-of-the-world manner. But he burned with shame the next minutebecause his voice sounded so weak and youthful. Then too the oracle onlysaid "Yes" to him, and went on expatiating to Kitty on the glories ofthe metropolis. 

"D'jever see the statue o' Liberty? Great thing, the statue o' Liberty. I 'll take you 'round some day. An' Cooney Island--oh, my, now that 'sthe place; and talk about fun! That 's the place for me. "

"La, Thomas, " Mrs. Jones put in, "how you do run on! Why, the strangers'll think they 'll be talked to death before they have time to breathe. "

"Oh, I guess the folks understan' me. I 'm one o' them kin' o' men 'atbelieve in whooping things up right from the beginning. I 'm neverstrange with anybody. I 'm a N' Yawker, I tell you, from the word go. Isay, Mis' Jones, let 's have some beer, an' we 'll have some music purtysoon. There 's a fellah in the house 'at plays 'Rag-time' out o' sight. "

Mr. Thomas took the pail and went to the corner. As he left the room, Mrs. Jones slapped her knee and laughed until her bust shook like jelly. 

"Mr. Thomas is a case, sho', " she said; "but he likes you all, an' I 'mmighty glad of it, fu' he 's mighty curious about the house when hedon't like the roomers. "

Joe felt distinctly flattered, for he found their new acquaintancecharming. His mother was still a little doubtful, and Kitty was sure shefound the young man "fresh. "

He came in pretty soon with his beer, and a half-dozen crabs in a bag. 

"Thought I 'd bring home something to chew. I always like to eatsomething with my beer. "

Mrs. Jones brought in the glasses, and the young man filled one andturned to Kitty. 

"No, thanks, " she said with a surprised look. 

"What, don't you drink beer? Oh, come now, you 'll get out o' that. "

"Kitty don't drink no beer, " broke in her mother with mild resentment. "I drinks it sometimes, but she don't. I reckon maybe de chillen bettergo to bed. "

Joe felt as if the "chillen" had ruined all his hopes, but Kitty rose. 

The ingratiating "N' Yawker" was aghast. 

"Oh, let 'em stay, " said Mrs. Jones heartily; "a little beer ain't goin'to hurt 'em. Why, sakes, I know my father gave me beer from the time Icould drink it, and I knows I ain't none the worse fu' it. "

"They 'll git out o' that, all right, if they live in N' Yawk, " said Mr. Thomas, as he poured out a glass and handed it to Joe. "You neither?"

"Oh, I drink it, " said the boy with an air, but not looking at hismother. 

"Joe, " she cried to him, "you must ricollect you ain't at home. What 'udyo' pa think?" Then she stopped suddenly, and Joe gulped his beer andKitty went to the piano to relieve her embarrassment. 

"Yes, that 's it, Miss Kitty, sing us something, " said the irrepressibleThomas, "an' after while we 'll have that fellah down that plays'Rag-time. ' He 's out o' sight, I tell you. "

With the pretty shyness of girlhood, Kitty sang one or two little songsin the simple manner she knew. Her voice was full and rich. It delightedMr. Thomas. 

"I say, that 's singin' now, I tell you, " he cried. "You ought to havesome o' the new songs. D' jever hear 'Baby, you got to leave'? I tellyou, that 's a hot one. I 'll bring you some of 'em. Why, you could gita job on the stage easy with that voice o' yourn. I got a frien' in oneo' the comp'nies an' I 'll speak to him about you. "

"You ought to git Mr. Thomas to take you to the th'atre some night. Hegoes lots. "

"Why, yes, what 's the matter with to-morrer night? There 's a good coonshow in town. Out o' sight. Let 's all go. "

"I ain't nevah been to nothin' lak dat, an' I don't know, " said Mrs. Hamilton. 

"Aw, come, I 'll git the tickets an' we 'll all go. Great singin', youknow. What d' you say?"

The mother hesitated, and Joe filled the breach. 

"We 'd all like to go, " he said. "Ma, we' ll go if you ain't too tired. "

"Tired? Pshaw, you 'll furgit all about your tiredness when Smithkinsgits on the stage. Y' ought to hear him sing, 'I bin huntin' fu' wo'k'!You 'd die laughing. "

Mrs. Hamilton made no further demur, and the matter was closed. 

Awhile later the "Rag-time" man came down and gave them a sample of whatthey were to hear the next night. Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Jones two-stepped, and they sent a boy after some more beer. Joe found it a very jollyevening, but Kit's and the mother's hearts were heavy as they went up tobed. 

"Say, " said Mr. Thomas when they had gone, "that little girl 's a peach, you bet; a little green, I guess, but she 'll ripen in the sun. "

VIII

AN EVENING OUT

Fannie Hamilton, tired as she was, sat long into the night with herlittle family discussing New York, --its advantages and disadvantages, its beauty and its ugliness, its morality and immorality. She hadsomewhat receded from her first position, that it was better being herein the great strange city than being at home where the very streetsshamed them. She had not liked the way that their fellow lodger lookedat Kitty. It was bold, to say the least. She was not pleased, either, with their new acquaintance's familiarity. And yet, he had said no morethan some stranger, if there could be such a stranger, would have saiddown home. There was a difference, however, which she recognised. Thomaswas not the provincial who puts every one on a par with himself, nor washe the metropolitan who complacently patronises the whole world. He wastrained out of the one and not up to the other. The intermediate onlysucceeded in being offensive. Mrs. Jones' assurance as to her guest'sfine qualities did not do all that might have been expected to reassureMrs. Hamilton in the face of the difficulties of the gentleman's manner. 

She could not, however, lay her finger on any particular point thatwould give her the reason for rejecting his friendly advances. She gotready the next evening to go to the theatre with the rest. Mr. Thomas atonce possessed himself of Kitty and walked on ahead, leaving Joe toaccompany his mother and Mrs. Jones, --an arrangement, by the way, notaltogether to that young gentleman's taste. A good many men bowed toThomas in the street, and they turned to look enviously after him. Atthe door of the theatre they had to run the gantlet of a dozen pairs ofeyes. Here, too, the party's guide seemed to be well known, for some onesaid, before they passed out of hearing, "I wonder who that little lightgirl is that Thomas is with to-night? He 's a hot one for you. "

Mrs. Hamilton had been in a theatre but once before in her life, and Joeand Kit but a few times oftener. On those occasions they had sat far upin the peanut gallery in the place reserved for people of colour. Thiswas not a pleasant, cleanly, nor beautiful locality, and by contrastwith it, even the garishness of the cheap New York theatre seemed fineand glorious. 

They had good seats in the first balcony, and here their guide had shownhis managerial ability again, for he had found it impossible, or saidso, to get all the seats together, so that he and the girl were in therow in front and to one side of where the rest sat. Kitty did not likethe arrangement, and innocently suggested that her brother take her seatwhile she went back to her mother. But her escort overruled herobjections easily, and laughed at her so frankly that from very shameshe could not urge them again, and they were soon forgotten in herwonder at the mystery and glamour that envelops the home of the drama. There was something weird to her in the alternate spaces of light andshade. Without any feeling of its ugliness, she looked at the curtain asat a door that should presently open between her and a house of wonders. She looked at it with the fascination that one always experiences forwhat either brings near or withholds the unknown. 

As for Joe, he was not bothered by the mystery or the glamour of things. But he had suddenly raised himself in his own estimation. He had gazedsteadily at a girl across the aisle until she had smiled in response. Ofcourse, he went hot and cold by turns, and the sweat broke out on hisbrow, but instantly he began to swell. He had made a decided advance inknowledge, and he swelled with the consciousness that already he wascoming to be a man of the world. He looked with a new feeling at theswaggering, sporty young negroes. His attitude towards them was not oneof humble self-depreciation any more. Since last night he had grown, and felt that he might, that he would, be like them, and it put a sortof chuckling glee into his heart. 

One might find it in him to feel sorry for this small-souled, warpedbeing, for he was so evidently the jest of Fate, if it were not that hewas so blissfully, so conceitedly, unconscious of his own nastiness. Down home he had shaved the wild young bucks of the town, and whiledoing it drunk in eagerly their unguarded narrations of their gayexploits. So he had started out with false ideals as to what was fineand manly. He was afflicted by a sort of moral and mental astigmatismthat made him see everything wrong. As he sat there to-night, he gave toall he saw a wrong value and upon it based his ignorant desires. 

When the men of the orchestra filed in and began tuning theirinstruments, it was the signal for an influx of loiterers from the door. There were a large number of coloured people in the audience, andbecause members of their own race were giving the performance, theyseemed to take a proprietary interest in it all. They discussed itsmerits and demerits as they walked down the aisle in much the same tonethat the owners would have used had they been wondering whether theentertainment was going to please the people or not. 

Finally the music struck up one of the numerous negro marches. It wasaccompanied by the rhythmic patting of feet from all parts of the house. Then the curtain went up on a scene of beauty. It purported to be agrove to which a party of picnickers, the ladies and gentlemen of thechorus, had come for a holiday, and they were telling the audience allabout it in crescendos. With the exception of one, who looked like afaded kid glove, the men discarded the grease paint, but the women undertheir make-ups ranged from pure white, pale yellow, and sickly greens tobrick reds and slate grays. They were dressed in costumes that were notprimarily intended for picnic going. But they could sing, and they didsing, with their voices, their bodies, their souls. They threwthemselves into it because they enjoyed and felt what they were doing, and they gave almost a semblance of dignity to the tawdry music andinane words. 

Kitty was enchanted. The airily dressed women seemed to her likecreatures from fairy-land. It is strange how the glare of the footlightssucceeds in deceiving so many people who are able to see through otherdelusions. The cheap dresses on the street had not fooled Kitty for aninstant, but take the same cheese-cloth, put a little water starch intoit, and put it on the stage, and she could see only chiffon. 

She turned around and nodded delightedly at her brother, but he did notsee her. He was lost, transfixed. His soul was floating on a sea ofsense. He had eyes and ears and thoughts only for the stage. His nervestingled and his hands twitched. Only to know one of those radiantcreatures, to have her speak to him, smile at him! If ever a man wasintoxicated, Joe was. Mrs. Hamilton was divided between shame at theclothes of some of the women and delight with the music. Her companionwas busy pointing out who this and that actress was, and givingjelly-like appreciation to the doings on the stage. 

Mr. Thomas was the only cool one in the party. He was quietly takingstock of his young companion, --of her innocence and charm. She was apretty girl, little and dainty, but well developed for her age. Her hairwas very black and wavy, and some strain of the South's chivalric blood, which is so curiously mingled with the African in the veins of mostcoloured people, had tinged her skin to an olive hue. 

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he leaned over and whispered to her. Hisvoice was very confidential and his lips near her ear, but she did notnotice. 

"Oh, yes, " she answered, "this is grand. How I 'd like to be an actressand be up there!"

"Maybe you will some day. "

"Oh, no, I 'm not smart enough. "

"We 'll see, " he said wisely; "I know a thing or two. "

Between the first and second acts a number of Thomas's friends strolledup to where he sat and began talking, and again Kitty's embarrassmenttook possession of her as they were introduced one by one. They treatedher with a half-courteous familiarity that made her blush. Her motherwas not pleased with the many acquaintances that her daughter wasmaking, and would have interfered had not Mrs. Jones assured her thatthe men clustered about their host's seat were some of the "best peoplein town. " Joe looked at them hungrily, but the man in front with hissister did not think it necessary to include the brother or the rest ofthe party in his miscellaneous introductions. 

One brief bit of conversation which the mother overheard especiallytroubled her. 

"Not going out for a minute or two?" asked one of the men, as he wasturning away from Thomas. 

"No, I don't think I 'll go out to-night. You can have my share. "

The fellow gave a horse laugh and replied, "Well, you 're doing a greatpiece of work, Miss Hamilton, whenever you can keep old Bill from goin'out an' lushin' between acts. Say, you got a good thing; push it along. "

The girl's mother half rose, but she resumed her seat, for the man wasgoing away. Her mind was not quiet again, however, until the people wereall in their seats and the curtain had gone up on the second act. Atfirst she was surprised at the enthusiasm over just such dancing as shecould see any day from the loafers on the street corners down home, andthen, like a good, sensible, humble woman, she came around to the ideathat it was she who had always been wrong in putting too low a value onreally worthy things. So she laughed and applauded with the rest, allthe while trying to quiet something that was tugging at her away down inher heart. 

When the performance was over she forced her way to Kitty's side, whereshe remained in spite of all Thomas's palpable efforts to get her away. Finally he proposed that they all go to supper at one of the colouredcafes. 

"You 'll see a lot o' the show people, " he said. 

"No, I reckon we 'd bettah go home, " said Mrs. Hamilton decidedly. "Dechillen ain't ust to stayin' up all hours o' nights, an' I ain't anxiousfu' 'em to git ust to it. "

She was conscious of a growing dislike for this man who treated herdaughter with such a proprietary air. Joe winced again at "de chillen. "

Thomas bit his lip, and mentally said things that are unfit forpublication. Aloud he said, "Mebbe Miss Kitty 'ud like to go an' have alittle lunch. "

"Oh, no, thank you, " said the girl; "I 've had a nice time and I don'tcare for a thing to eat. "

Joe told himself that Kitty was the biggest fool that it had ever beenhis lot to meet, and the disappointed suitor satisfied himself with thereflection that the girl was green yet, but would get bravely over that. 

He attempted to hold her hand as they parted at the parlour door, butshe drew her fingers out of his clasp and said, "Good-night; thank you, "as if he had been one of her mother's old friends. 

Joe lingered a little longer. 

"Say, that was out o' sight, " he said. 

"Think so?" asked the other carelessly. 

"I 'd like to get out with you some time to see the town, " the boy wenton eagerly. 

"All right, we 'll go some time. So long. "

"So long. "

Some time. Was it true? Would he really take him out and let him meetstage people? Joe went to bed with his head in a whirl. He slept littlethat night for thinking of his heart's desire. 

IX

HIS HEART'S DESIRE

Whatever else his visit to the theatre may have done for Joe, itinspired him with a desire to go to work and earn money of his own, tobe independent both of parental help and control, and so be able tospend as he pleased. With this end in view he set out to hunt for work. It was a pleasant contrast to his last similar quest, and he felt itwith joy. He was treated everywhere he went with courtesy, even when nosituation was forthcoming. Finally he came upon a man who was willing totry him for an afternoon. From the moment the boy rightly consideredhimself engaged, for he was master of his trade. He began his work withheart elate. Now he had within his grasp the possibility of being allthat he wanted to be. Now Thomas might take him out at any time and notbe ashamed of him. 

With Thomas, the fact that Joe was working put the boy in an entirelynew light. He decided that now he might be worth cultivating. For a weekor two he had ignored him, and, proceeding upon the principle that ifyou give corn to the old hen she will cluck to her chicks, had treatedMrs. Hamilton with marked deference and kindness. This had been withoutsuccess, as both the girl and her mother held themselves politely alooffrom him. He began to see that his hope of winning Kitty's affectionslay, not in courting the older woman but in making a friend of the boy. So on a certain Saturday night when the Banner Club was to give one ofits smokers, he asked Joe to go with him. Joe was glad to, and they setout together. Arrived, Thomas left his companion for a few moments whilehe attended, as he said, to a little business. What he really did was toseek out the proprietor of the club and some of its hangers on. 

"I say, " he said, "I 've got a friend with me to-night. He 's got somedough on him. He 's fresh and young and easy. "

"Whew!" exclaimed the proprietor. 

"Yes, he 's a good thing, but push it along kin' o' light at first; hemight get skittish. "

"Thomas, let me fall on your bosom and weep, " said a young man who, onaccount of his usual expression of innocent gloom, was called Sadness. "This is what I 've been looking for for a month. My hat was gettingdecidedly shabby. Do you think he would stand for a touch on the firstnight of our acquaintance?"

"Don't you dare? Do you want to frighten him off? Make him believe thatyou 've got coin to burn and that it 's an honour to be with you. "

"But, you know, he may expect a glimpse of the gold. "

"A smart man don't need to show nothin'. All he 's got to do is to act. "

"Oh, I 'll act; we 'll all act. "

"Be slow to take a drink from him. "

"Thomas, my boy, you 're an angel. I recognise that more and more everyday, but bid me do anything else but that. That I refuse: it 's againstnature;" and Sadness looked more mournful than ever. 

"Trust old Sadness to do his part, " said the portly proprietor; andThomas went back to the lamb. 

"Nothin' doin' so early, " he said; "let 's go an' have a drink. "

They went, and Thomas ordered. 

"No, no, this is on me, " cried Joe, trembling with joy. 

"Pshaw, your money 's counterfeit, " said his companion with finegenerosity. "This is on me, I say. Jack, what 'll you have yourself?"

As they stood at the bar, the men began strolling up one by one. Each inhis turn was introduced to Joe. They were very polite. They treated himwith a pale, dignified, high-minded respect that menaced his pocket-bookand possessions. The proprietor, Mr. Turner, asked him why he had neverbeen in before. He really seemed much hurt about it, and on being toldthat Joe had only been in the city for a couple of weeks expressedemphatic surprise, even disbelief, and assured the rest that any onewould have taken Mr. Hamilton for an old New Yorker. 

Sadness was introduced last. He bowed to Joe's "Happy to know you, Mr. Williams. "

"Better known as Sadness, " he said, with an expression of deep gloom. "Adistant relative of mine once had a great grief. I have never recoveredfrom it. "

Joe was not quite sure how to take this; but the others laughed and hejoined them, and then, to cover his own embarrassment, he did what hethought the only correct and manly thing to do, --he ordered a drink. 

"I don't know as I ought to, " said Sadness. 

"Oh, come on, " his companions called out, "don't be stiff with astranger. Make him feel at home. "

"Mr. Hamilton will believe me when I say that I have no intention ofbeing stiff, but duty is duty. I 've got to go down town to pay a bill, and if I get too much aboard, it would n't be safe walking around withmoney on me. "

"Aw, shut up, Sadness, " said Thomas. "My friend Mr. Hamilton 'll feelhurt if you don't drink with him. "

"I cert'n'y will, " was Joe's opportune remark, and he was pleased to seethat it caused the reluctant one to yield. 

They took a drink. There was quite a line of them. Joe asked thebartender what he would have. The men warmed towards him. They tookseveral more drinks with him and he was happy. Sadness put his arm abouthis shoulder and told him, with tears in his eyes, that he looked like acousin of his that had died. 

"Aw, shut up, Sadness!" said some one else. "Be respectable. "

Sadness turned his mournful eyes upon the speaker. "I won't, " hereplied. "Being respectable is very nice as a diversion, but it 'stedious if done steadily. " Joe did not quite take this, so he orderedanother drink. 

A group of young fellows came in and passed up the stairs. "Shearinganother lamb?" said one of them significantly. 

"Well, with that gang it will be well done. "

Thomas and Joe left the crowd after a while, and went to the upperfloor, where, in a long, brilliantly lighted room, tables were set outfor drinking-parties. At one end of the room was a piano, and a man satat it listlessly strumming some popular air. The proprietor joined thempretty soon, and steered them to a table opposite the door. 

"Just sit down here, Mr. Hamilton, " he said, "and you can see everybodythat comes in. We have lots of nice people here on smoker nights, especially after the shows are out and the girls come in. "

Joe's heart gave a great leap, and then settled as cold as lead. Ofcourse, those girls would n't speak to him. But his hopes rose as theproprietor went on talking to him and to no one else. Mr. Turner alwaysmade a man feel as if he were of some consequence in the world, and mena good deal older than Joe had been fooled by his manner. He talked toone in a soft, ingratiating way, giving his whole attention apparently. He tapped one confidentially on the shoulder, as who should say, "Mydear boy, I have but two friends in the world, and you are both ofthem. "

Joe, charmed and pleased, kept his head well. There is a great deal inheredity, and his father had not been Maurice Oakley's butler for somany years for nothing. 

The Banner Club was an institution for the lower education of negroyouth. It drew its pupils from every class of people and from every partof the country. It was composed of all sorts and conditions of men, educated and uneducated, dishonest and less so, of the good, the bad, and the--unexposed. Parasites came there to find victims, politiciansfor votes, reporters for news, and artists of all kinds for colour andinspiration. It was the place of assembly for a number of really brightmen, who after days of hard and often unrewarded work came there anddrunk themselves drunk in each other's company, and when they were drunktalked of the eternal verities. 

The Banner was only one of a kind. It stood to the stranger and the manand woman without connections for the whole social life. It was asubstitute--poor, it must be confessed--to many youths for the home lifewhich is so lacking among certain classes in New York. 

Here the rounders congregated, or came and spent the hours until it wastime to go forth to bout or assignation. Here too came sometimes thecurious who wanted to see something of the other side of life. Amongthese, white visitors were not infrequent, --those who were young enoughto be fascinated by the bizarre, and those who were old enough to knowthat it was all in the game. Mr. Skaggs, of the New York _Universe_, wasone of the former class and a constant visitor, --he and a "lady friend"called "Maudie, " who had a penchant for dancing to "Rag-time" melodiesas only the "puffessor" of such a club can play them. Of course, theplace was a social cesspool, generating a poisonous miasma and reekingwith the stench of decayed and rotten moralities. There is no defence tobe made for it. But what do you expect when false idealism and feveredambition come face to face with catering cupidity?

It was into this atmosphere that Thomas had introduced the boy Joe, andhe sat there now by his side, firing his mind by pointing out thedifferent celebrities who came in and telling highly flavoured storiesof their lives or doings. Joe heard things that had never come withinthe range of his mind before. 

"Aw, there 's Skaggsy an' Maudie--Maudie 's his girl, y' know, an' he 'sa reporter on the N' Yawk _Universe_. Fine fellow, Skaggsy. "

Maudie--a portly, voluptuous-looking brunette--left her escort and wentdirectly to the space by the piano. Here she was soon dancing with oneof the coloured girls who had come in. 

Skaggs started to sit down alone at a table, but Thomas called him, "Come over here, Skaggsy. "

In the moment that it took the young man to reach them, Joe wondered ifhe would ever reach that state when he could call that white man Skaggsyand the girl Maudie. The new-comer soon set all of that at ease. 

"I want you to know my friend, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Skaggs. "

"Why, how d' ye do, Hamilton? I 'm glad to meet you. Now, look a here;don't you let old Thomas here string you about me bein' any old 'Mr!'Skaggs. I 'm Skaggsy to all of my friends. I hope to count you among'em. "

It was such a supreme moment that Joe could not find words to answer, sohe called for another drink. 

"Not a bit of it, " said Skaggsy, "not a bit of it. When I meet myfriends I always reserve to myself the right of ordering the firstdrink. Waiter, this is on me. What 'll you have, gentlemen?"

They got their drinks, and then Skaggsy leaned over confidentially andbegan talking. 

"I tell you, Hamilton, there ain't an ounce of prejudice in my body. Doyou believe it?"

Joe said that he did. Indeed Skaggsy struck one as being aggressivelyunprejudiced. 

He went on: "You see, a lot o' fellows say to me, 'What do you want togo down to that nigger club for?' That 's what they call it, --'niggerclub. ' But I say to 'em, 'Gentlemen, at that nigger club, as you chooseto call it, I get more inspiration than I could get at any of thegreater clubs in New York. ' I 've often been invited to join some of theswell clubs here, but I never do it. By Jove! I 'd rather come down hereand fellowship right in with you fellows. I like coloured people, anyway. It 's natural. You see, my father had a big plantation and ownedlots of slaves, --no offence, of course, but it was the custom of thattime, --and I 've played with little darkies ever since I couldremember. "

It was the same old story that the white who associates with negroesfrom volition usually tells to explain his taste. 

The truth about the young reporter was that he was born and reared on aVermont farm, where his early life was passed in fighting for his verysubsistence. But this never troubled Skaggsy. He was a monumental liar, and the saving quality about him was that he calmly believed his ownlies while he was telling them, so no one was hurt, for the deceiverwas as much a victim as the deceived. The boys who knew him best used tosay that when Skaggs got started on one of his debauches of lying, theRecording Angel always put on an extra clerical force. 

"Now look at Maudie, " he went on; "would you believe it that she was ofa fine, rich family, and that the coloured girl she 's dancing with nowused to be her servant? She 's just like me about that. Absolutely noprejudice. "

Joe was wide-eyed with wonder and admiration, and he could n'tunderstand the amused expression on Thomas's face, nor why hesurreptitiously kicked him under the table. 

Finally the reporter went his way, and Joe's sponsor explained to himthat he was not to take in what Skaggsy said, and that there had n'tbeen a word of truth in it. He ended with, "Everybody knows Maudie, andthat coloured girl is Mamie Lacey, and never worked for anybody in herlife. Skaggsy 's a good fellah, all right, but he 's the biggest liar inN' Yawk. "

The boy was distinctly shocked. He was n't sure but Thomas was jealousof the attention the white man had shown him and wished to belittle it. Anyway, he did not thank him for destroying his romance. 

About eleven o'clock, when the people began to drop in from the plays, the master of ceremonies opened proceedings by saying that "The freeconcert would now begin, and he hoped that all present, ladies included, would act like gentlemen, and not forget the waiter. Mr. Meriweatherwill now favour us with the latest coon song, entitled 'Come back to yo'Baby, Honey. '"

There was a patter of applause, and a young negro came forward, and in astrident, music-hall voice, sung or rather recited with many gesturesthe ditty. He could n't have been much older than Joe, but already hisface was hard with dissipation and foul knowledge. He gave the songwith all the rank suggestiveness that could be put into it. Joe lookedupon him as a hero. He was followed by a little, brown-skinned fellowwith an immature Vandyke beard and a lisp. He sung his own compositionand was funny; how much funnier than he himself knew or intended, maynot even be hinted at. Then, while an instrumentalist, who seemed tohave a grudge against the piano, was hammering out the opening bars of amarch, Joe's attention was attracted by a woman entering the room, andfrom that moment he heard no more of the concert. Even when the masterof ceremonies announced with an air that, by special request, he himselfwould sing "Answer, "--the request was his own, --he did not draw theattention of the boy away from the yellow-skinned divinity who sat at anear table, drinking whiskey straight. 

She was a small girl, with fluffy dark hair and good features. A tinyfoot peeped out from beneath her rattling silk skirts. She was agood-looking young woman and daintily made, though her face was nolonger youthful, and one might have wished that with her complexion shehad not run to silk waists in magenta. 

Joe, however, saw no fault in her. She was altogether lovely to him, andhis delight was the more poignant as he recognised in her one of thegirls he had seen on the stage a couple of weeks ago. That being true, nothing could keep her from being glorious in his eyes, --not even thegrease-paint which adhered in unneat patches to her face, nor her tastefor whiskey in its unreformed state. He gazed at her in ecstasy untilThomas, turning to see what had attracted him, said with a laugh, "Oh, it 's Hattie Sterling. Want to meet her?"

Again the young fellow was dumb. Just then Hattie also noticed hisintent look, and nodded and beckoned to Thomas. 

"Come on, " he said, rising. 

"Oh, she did n't ask for me, " cried Joe, tremulous and eager. 

His companion went away laughing. 

"Who 's your young friend?" asked Hattie. 

"A fellah from the South. "

"Bring him over here. "

Joe could hardly believe in his own good luck, and his head, which wasgetting a bit weak, was near collapsing when his divinity asked him whathe 'd have? He began to protest, until she told the waiter with an airof authority to make it a little "'skey. " Then she asked him for acigarette, and began talking to him in a pleasant, soothing way betweenpuffs. 

When the drinks came, she said to Thomas, "Now, old man, you 've beenawfully nice, but when you get your little drink, you run away like agood little boy. You 're superfluous. "

Thomas answered, "Well, I like that, " but obediently gulped his whiskeyand withdrew, while Joe laughed until the master of ceremonies stood upand looked sternly at him. 

The concert had long been over and the room was less crowded when Thomassauntered back to the pair. 

"Well, good-night, " he said. "Guess you can find your way home, Mr. Hamilton;" and he gave Joe a long wink. 

"Goo'-night, " said Joe, woozily, "I be a' ri'. Goo'-night. "

"Make it another 'skey, " was Hattie's farewell remark. 

 * * * * *

It was late the next morning when Joe got home. He had a headache and asense of triumph that not even his illness and his mother's reproofcould subdue. 

He had promised Hattie to come often to the club. 

X

A VISITOR FROM HOME

Mrs. Hamilton began to question very seriously whether she had done thebest thing in coming to New York as she saw her son staying away moreand more and growing always farther away from her and his sister. Hadshe known how and where he spent his evenings, she would have had evengreater cause to question the wisdom of their trip. She knew thatalthough he worked he never had any money for the house, and she foresawthe time when the little they had would no longer suffice for Kitty andher. Realising this, she herself set out to find something to do. 

It was a hard matter, for wherever she went seeking employment, it wasalways for her and her daughter, for the more she saw of Mrs. Jones, theless she thought it well to leave the girl under her influence. Mrs. Hamilton was not a keen woman, but she had a mother's intuitions, andshe saw a subtle change in her daughter. At first the girl grew wistfuland then impatient and rebellious. She complained that Joe was away fromthem so much enjoying himself, while she had to be housed up like aprisoner. She had receded from her dignified position, and twice of anevening had gone out for a car-ride with Thomas; but as that gentlemannever included the mother in his invitation, she decided that herdaughter should go no more, and she begged Joe to take his sister outsometimes instead. He demurred at first, for he now numbered among hiscity acquirements a fine contempt for his woman relatives. Finally, however, he consented, and took Kit once to the theatre and once for aride. Each time he left her in the care of Thomas as soon as they wereout of the house, while he went to find or to wait for his dear Hattie. But his mother did not know all this, and Kit did not tell her. Thequick poison of the unreal life about her had already begun to affecther character. She had grown secretive and sly. The innocent longingwhich in a burst of enthusiasm she had expressed that first night at thetheatre was growing into a real ambition with her, and she dropped thesimple old songs she knew to practise the detestable coon ditties whichthe stage demanded. 

She showed no particular pleasure when her mother found the sort ofplace they wanted, but went to work with her in sullen silence. Mrs. Hamilton could not understand it all, and many a night she wept andprayed over the change in this child of her heart. There were times whenshe felt that there was nothing left to work or fight for. The lettersfrom Berry in prison became fewer and fewer. He was sinking into thedull, dead routine of his life. Her own letters to him fell off. It washard getting the children to write. They did not want to be bothered, and she could not write for herself. So in the weeks and months thatfollowed she drifted farther away from her children and husband and allthe traditions of her life. 

After Joe's first night at the Banner Club he had kept his promise toHattie Sterling and had gone often to meet her. She had taught him much, because it was to her advantage to do so. His greenness had dropped fromhim like a garment, but no amount of sophistication could make him deemthe woman less perfect. He knew that she was much older than he, but heonly took this fact as an additional sign of his prowess in having wonher. He was proud of himself when he went behind the scenes at thetheatre or waited for her at the stage door and bore her off under theadmiring eyes of a crowd of gapers. And Hattie? She liked him in ahalf-contemptuous, half-amused way. He was a good-looking boy and mademoney enough, as she expressed it, to show her a good time, so she waswilling to overlook his weakness and his callow vanity. 

"Look here, " she said to him one day, "I guess you 'll have to bemoving. There 's a young lady been inquiring for you to-day, and I won'tstand for that. "

He looked at her, startled for a moment, until he saw the laughter inher eyes. Then he caught her and kissed her. "What 're you givin' me?"he said. 

"It 's a straight tip, that 's what. "

"Who is it?"

"It 's a girl named Minty Brown from your home. "

His face turned brick-red with fear and shame. "Minty Brown!" hestammered. 

Had that girl told all and undone him? But Hattie was going on about herwork and evidently knew nothing. 

"Oh, you need n't pretend you don't know her, " she went on banteringly. "She says you were great friends down South, so I 've invited her tosupper. She wants to see you. "

"To supper!" he thought. Was she mocking him? Was she restraining herscorn of him only to make his humiliation the greater after a while? Helooked at her, but there was no suspicion of malice in her face, and hetook hope. 

"Well, I 'd like to see old Minty, " he said. "It 's been many a long daysince I 've seen her. "

All that afternoon, after going to the barber-shop, Joe was driven by atempest of conflicting emotions. If Minty Brown had not told his story, why not? Would she yet tell, and if she did, what would happen? Hetortured himself by questioning if Hattie would cast him off. At thevery thought his hand trembled, and the man in the chair asked him if hehad n't been drinking. 

When he met Minty in the evening, however, the first glance at herreassured him. Her face was wreathed in smiles as she came forward andheld out her hand. 

"Well, well, Joe Hamilton, " she exclaimed, "if I ain't right-down gladto see you! How are you?"

"I 'm middlin', Minty. How 's yourself?" He was so happy that he couldn't let go her hand. 

"An' jes' look at the boy! Ef he ain't got the impidence to be waihin' amustache too. You must 'a' been lettin' the cats lick yo' upper lip. Didn't expect to see me in New York, did you?"

"No, indeed. What you doin' here?"

"Oh, I got a gent'man friend what 's a porter, an' his run 's beenchanged so that he comes hyeah, an' he told me, if I wanted to come he'd bring me thoo fur a visit, so, you see, hyeah I am. I allus wasmighty anxious to see this hyeah town. But tell me, how 's Kit an' yo'ma?"

"They 're both right well. " He had forgotten them and their scorn ofMinty. 

"Whaih do you live? I 'm comin' roun' to see 'em. "

He hesitated for a moment. He knew how his mother, if not Kit, wouldreceive her, and yet he dared not anger this woman, who had his fate inthe hollow of her hand. 

She saw his hesitation and spoke up. "Oh, that 's all right. Letby-gones be by-gones. You know I ain't the kin' o' person that holds agrudge ag'in anybody. "

"That 's right, Minty, that 's right, " he said, and gave her hismother's address. Then he hastened home to prepare the way for Minty'scoming. Joe had no doubt but that his mother would see the matter quiteas he saw it, and be willing to temporise with Minty; but he hadreckoned without his host. Mrs. Hamilton might make certain concessionsto strangers on the score of expediency, but she absolutely refused toyield one iota of her dignity to one whom she had known so long as aninferior. 

"But don't you see what she can do for us, ma? She knows people that Iknow, and she can ruin me with them. "

"I ain't never bowed my haid to Minty Brown an' I ain't a-goin' to doit now, " was his mother's only reply. 

"Oh, ma, " Kitty put in, "you don't want to get talked about up here, doyou?"

"We 'd jes' as well be talked about fu' somep'n we did n't do as fu'somep'n we did do, an' it would n' be long befo' we 'd come to dat if wemade frien's wid dat Brown gal. I ain't a-goin' to do it. I 'm ashamedo' you, Kitty, fu' wantin' me to. "

The girl began to cry, while her brother walked the floor angrily. 

"You 'll see what 'll happen, " he cried; "you 'll see. "

Fannie looked at her son, and she seemed to see him more clearly thanshe had ever seen him before, --his foppery, his meanness, his cowardice. 

"Well, " she answered with a sigh, "it can't be no wuss den what 'salready happened. "

"You 'll see, you 'll see, " the boy reiterated. 

Minty Brown allowed no wind of thought to cool the fire of herdetermination. She left Hattie Sterling's soon after Joe, and he wasstill walking the floor and uttering dire forebodings when she rang thebell below and asked for the Hamiltons. 

Mrs. Jones ushered her into her fearfully upholstered parlour, and thenpuffed up stairs to tell her lodgers that there was a friend there fromthe South who wanted to see them. 

"Tell huh, " said Mrs. Hamilton, "dat dey ain't no one hyeah wants to seehuh. "

"No, no, " Kitty broke in. 

"Heish, " said her mother; "I 'm goin' to boss you a little while yit. "

"Why, I don't understan' you, Mis' Hamilton, " puffed Mrs. Jones. "She 'sa nice-lookin' lady, an' she said she knowed you at home. "

"All you got to do is to tell dat ooman jes' what I say. "

Minty Brown downstairs had heard the little colloquy, and, perceivingthat something was amiss, had come to the stairs to listen. Now hervoice, striving hard to be condescending and sweet, but growing harshwith anger, floated up from below:

"Oh, nevah min', lady, I ain't anxious to see 'em. I jest called out o'pity, but I reckon dey 'shamed to see me 'cause de ol' man 's inpenitentiary an' dey was run out o' town. "

Mrs. Jones gasped, and then turned and went hastily downstairs. 

Kit burst out crying afresh, and Joe walked the floor muttering beneathhis breath, while the mother sat grimly watching the outcome. Finallythey heard Mrs. Jones' step once more on the stairs. She came in withoutknocking, and her manner was distinctly unpleasant. 

"Mis' Hamilton, " she said, "I 've had a talk with the lady downstairs, an' she 's tol' me everything. I 'd be glad if you 'd let me have myrooms as soon as possible. "

"So you goin' to put me out on de wo'd of a stranger?"

"I 'm kin' o' sorry, but everybody in the house heard what Mis' Brownsaid, an' it 'll soon be all over town, an' that 'ud ruin the reputationof my house. "

"I reckon all dat kin be 'splained. "

"Yes, but I don't know that anybody kin 'splain your daughter allusbeing with Mr. Thomas, who ain't even divo'ced from his wife. " Sheflashed a vindictive glance at the girl, who turned deadly pale anddropped her head in her hands. 

"You daih to say dat, Mis' Jones, you dat fust interduced my gal to datman and got huh to go out wid him? I reckon you 'd bettah go now. "

And Mrs. Jones looked at Fannie's face and obeyed. 

As soon as the woman's back was turned, Joe burst out, "There, there!see what you 've done with your damned foolishness. "

Fannie turned on him like a tigress. "Don't you cuss hyeah befo' me; Iain't nevah brung you up to it, an' I won't stan' it. Go to dem whaihyou larned it, an whaih de wo'ds soun' sweet. " The boy started tospeak, but she checked him. "Don't you daih to cuss ag'in or befo' Gawddey 'll be somep'n fu' one o' dis fambly to be rottin' in jail fu'!"

The boy was cowed by his mother's manner. He was gathering his fewbelongings in a bundle. 

"I ain't goin' to cuss, " he said sullenly, "I 'm goin' out o' your way. "

"Oh, go on, " she said, "go on. It 's been a long time sence you been myson. You on yo' way to hell, an' you is been fu' lo dese many days. "

Joe got out of the house as soon as possible. He did not speak to Kitnor look at his mother. He felt like a cur, because he knew deep down inhis heart that he had only been waiting for some excuse to take thisstep. 

As he slammed the door behind him, his mother flung herself down byKit's side and mingled her tears with her daughter's. But Kit did notraise her head. 

"Dey ain't nothin' lef' but you now, Kit;" but the girl did not speak, she only shook with hard sobs. 

Then her mother raised her head and almost screamed, "My Gawd, not you, Kit!" The girl rose, and then dropped unconscious in her mother's arms. 

Joe took his clothes to a lodging-house that he knew of, and then wentto the club to drink himself up to the point of going to see Hattieafter the show. 

XI

BROKEN HOPES

What Joe Hamilton lacked more than anything else in the world was someone to kick him. Many a man who might have lived decently and become afairly respectable citizen has gone to the dogs for the want of some oneto administer a good resounding kick at the right time. It is correctiveand clarifying. 

Joe needed especially its clarifying property, for though he knewhimself a cur, he went away from his mother's house feeling himselfsomehow aggrieved, and the feeling grew upon him the more he thought ofit. His mother had ruined his chance in life, and he could never hold uphis head again. Yes, he had heard that several of the fellows at theclub had shady reputations, but surely to be the son of a thief or asupposed thief was not like being the criminal himself. 

At the Banner he took a seat by himself, and, ordering a cocktail, satglowering at the few other lonely members who had happened to drop in. There were not many of them, and the contagion of unsociability hadtaken possession of the house. The people sat scattered around atdifferent tables, perfectly unmindful of the bartender, who cursed themunder his breath for not "getting together. "

Joe's mind was filled with bitter thoughts. How long had he been awayfrom home? he asked himself. Nearly a year. Nearly a year passed in NewYork, and he had come to be what he so much desired, --a part of its fastlife, --and now in a moment an old woman's stubbornness had destroyed allthat he had builded. 

What would Thomas say when he heard it? What would the other fellowsthink? And Hattie? It was plain that she would never notice him again. He had no doubt but that the malice of Minty Brown would prompt her toseek out all of his friends and make the story known. Why had he nottried to placate her by disavowing sympathy with his mother? He wouldhave had no compunction about doing so, but he had thought of it toolate. He sat brooding over his trouble until the bartender called withrespectful sarcasm to ask if he wanted to lease the glass he had. 

He gave back a silly laugh, gulped the rest of the liquor down, and wasordering another when Sadness came in. He came up directly to Joe andsat down beside him. "Mr. Hamilton says 'Make it two, Jack, '" he saidwith easy familiarity. "Well, what 's the matter, old man? You 'relooking glum. "

"I feel glum. "

"The divine Hattie has n't been cutting any capers, has she? The dearold girl has n't been getting hysterical at her age? Let us hope not. "

Joe glared at him. Why in the devil should this fellow be so sadly gaywhen he was weighted down with sorrow and shame and disgust?

"Come, come now, Hamilton, if you 're sore because I invited myself totake a drink with you, I 'll withdraw the order. I know the heroic thingto say is that I 'll pay for the drinks myself, but I can't screw mycourage up to the point of doing so unnatural a thing. "

Young Hamilton hastened to protest. "Oh, I know you fellows now wellenough to know how many drinks to pay for. It ain't that. "

"Well, then, out with it. What is it? Have n't been up to anything, haveyou?"

The desire came to Joe to tell this man the whole truth, just what wasthe matter, and so to relieve his heart. On the impulse he did. If hehad expected much from Sadness he was disappointed, for not a muscle ofthe man's face changed during the entire recital. 

When it was over, he looked at his companion critically through a wreathof smoke. Then he said: "For a fellow who has had for a full year theadvantage of the education of the New York clubs, you are strangelyyoung. Let me see, you are nineteen or twenty now--yes. Well, thatperhaps accounts for it. It 's a pity you were n't born older. It 's apity most men are n't. They would n't have to take so much time and loseso many good things learning. Now, Mr. Hamilton, let me tell you, andyou will pardon me for it, that you are a fool. Your case is n't half asbad as that of nine-tenths of the fellows that hang around here. Now, for instance, my father was hung. "

Joe started and gave a gasp of horror. 

"Oh, yes, but it was done with a very good rope and by the best citizensof Texas, so it seems that I really ought to be very grateful to themfor the distinction they conferred upon my family, but I am not. I amungratefully sad. A man must be very high or very low to take thesensible view of life that keeps him from being sad. I must confess thatI have aspired to the depths without ever being fully able to reachthem. 

"Now look around a bit. See that little girl over there? That 's Viola. Two years ago she wrenched up an iron stool from the floor of alunch-room, and killed another woman with it. She 's nineteen, --justabout your age, by the way. Well, she had friends with a certain amountof pull. She got out of it, and no one thinks the worse of Viola. Yousee, Hamilton, in this life we are all suffering from fever, and no oneedges away from the other because he finds him a little warm. It 'sdangerous when you 're not used to it; but once you go through theparching process, you become inoculated against further contagion. Now, there 's Barney over there, as decent a fellow as I know; but he hasbeen indicted twice for pocket-picking. A half-dozen fellows whom youmeet here every night have killed their man. Others have done worsethings for which you respect them less. Poor Wallace, who is just comingin, and who looks like a jaunty ragpicker, came here about six monthsago with about two thousand dollars, the proceeds from the sale of ahouse his father had left him. He 'll sleep in one of the club chairsto-night, and not from choice. He spent his two thousand learning. But, after all, it was a good investment. It was like buying an annuity. Hebegins to know already how to live on others as they have lived on him. The plucked bird's beak is sharpened for other's feathers. From now onWallace will live, eat, drink, and sleep at the expense of others, andwill forget to mourn his lost money. He will go on this way until, broken and useless, the poor-house or the potter's field gets him. Oh, it 's a fine, rich life, my lad. I know you 'll like it. I said youwould the first time I saw you. It has plenty of stir in it, and a mannever gets lonesome. Only the rich are lonesome. It 's only theindependent who depend upon others. "

Sadness laughed a peculiar laugh, and there was a look in his terriblybright eyes that made Joe creep. If he could only have understood allthat the man was saying to him, he might even yet have turned back. Buthe did n't. He ordered another drink. The only effect that the talk ofSadness had upon him was to make him feel wonderfully "in it. " It gavehim a false bravery, and he mentally told himself that now he would notbe afraid to face Hattie. 

He put out his hand to Sadness with a knowing look. "Thanks, Sadness, "he said, "you 've helped me lots. "

Sadness brushed the proffered hand away and sprung up. "You lie, " hecried, "I have n't; I was only fool enough to try;" and he turnedhastily away from the table. 

Joe looked surprised at first, and then laughed at his friend'sretreating form. "Poor old fellow, " he said, "drunk again. Must have hadsomething before he came in. "

There was not a lie in all that Sadness had said either as to theircrime or their condition. He belonged to a peculiar class, --one thatgrows larger and larger each year in New York and which has imitators inevery large city in this country. It is a set which lives, like theleech, upon the blood of others, --that draws its life from the veins offoolish men and immoral women, that prides itself upon its well-dressedidleness and has no shame in its voluntary pauperism. Each member of theclass knows every other, his methods and his limitations, and theirloyalty one to another makes of them a great hulking, fashionablyuniformed fraternity of indolence. Some play the races a few months ofthe year; others, quite as intermittently, gamble at "shoestring"politics, and waver from party to party as time or their interests seemto dictate. But mostly they are like the lilies of the field. 

It was into this set that Sadness had sarcastically invited Joe, andJoe felt honoured. He found that all of his former feelings had beensilly and quite out of place; that all he had learned in his earlieryears was false. It was very plain to him now that to want a goodreputation was the sign of unpardonable immaturity, and that dishonourwas the only real thing worth while. It made him feel better. 

He was just rising bravely to swagger out to the theatre when MintyBrown came in with one of the club-men he knew. He bowed and smiled, butshe appeared not to notice him at first, and when she did she nudged hercompanion and laughed. 

Suddenly his little courage began to ooze out, and he knew what she mustbe saying to the fellow at her side, for he looked over at him andgrinned. Where now was the philosophy of Sadness? Evidently Minty hadnot been brought under its educating influences, and thought about thewhole matter in the old, ignorant way. He began to think of it too. Somehow old teachings and old traditions have an annoying way of comingback upon us in the critical moments of life, although one has long agorecognised how much truer and better some newer ways of thinking are. But Joe would not allow Minty to shatter his dreams by bringing up theseold notions. She must be instructed. 

He rose and went over to her table. 

"Why, Minty, " he said, offering his hand, "you ain't mad at me, areyou?"

"Go on away f'om hyeah, " she said angrily; "I don't want none o'thievin' Berry Hamilton's fambly to speak to me. "

"Why, you were all right this evening. "

"Yes, but jest out o' pity, an' you was nice 'cause you was afraid I 'dtell on you. Go on now. "

"Go on now, " said Minty's young man; and he looked menacing. 

Joe, what little self-respect he had gone, slunk out of the room andneeded several whiskeys in a neighbouring saloon to give him courage togo to the theatre and wait for Hattie, who was playing in vaudevillehouses pending the opening of her company. 

The closing act was just over when he reached the stage door. He wasthere but a short time, when Hattie tripped out and took his arm. Herface was bright and smiling, and there was no suggestion of disgust inthe dancing eyes she turned up to him. Evidently she had not heard, butthe thought gave him no particular pleasure, as it left him in suspenseas to how she would act when she should hear. 

"Let 's go somewhere and get some supper, " she said; "I 'm as hungry asI can be. What are you looking so cut up about?"

"Oh, I ain't feelin' so very good. "

"I hope you ain't lettin' that long-tongued Brown woman bother yourhead, are you?"

His heart seemed to stand still. She did know, then. 

"Do you know all about it?"

"Why, of course I do. You might know she 'd come to me first with herstory. "

"And you still keep on speaking to me?"

"Now look here, Joe, if you 've been drinking, I 'll forgive you; if youain't, you go on and leave me. Say, what do you take me for? Do youthink I 'd throw down a friend because somebody else talked about him?Well, you don't know Hat Sterling. When Minty told me that story, shewas back in my dressing-room, and I sent her out o' there a-flying, andwith a tongue-lashing that she won't forget for a month o' Sundays. "

"I reckon that was the reason she jumped on me so hard at the club. " Hechuckled. He had taken heart again. All that Sadness had said was true, after all, and people thought no less of him. His joy was unbounded. 

"So she jumped on you hard, did she? The cat!"

"Oh, she did n't say a thing to me. "

"Well, Joe, it 's just like this. I ain't an angel, you know that, but Ido try to be square, and whenever I find a friend of mine down on hisluck, in his pocket-book or his feelings, why, I give him my flipper. Why, old chap, I believe I like you better for the stiff upper lip you've been keeping under all this. "

"Why, Hattie, " he broke out, unable any longer to control himself, "you're--you 're----"

"Oh, I 'm just plain Hat Sterling, who won't throw down her friends. Nowcome on and get something to eat. If that thing is at the club, we 'llgo there and show her just how much her talk amounted to. She thinks she's the whole game, but I can spot her and then show her that she ain'tone, two, three. "

When they reached the Banner, they found Minty still there. She tried onthe two the same tactics that she had employed so successfully upon Joealone. She nudged her companion and tittered. But she had anotherperson to deal with. Hattie Sterling stared at her coldly andindifferently, and passed on by her to a seat. Joe proceeded to ordersupper and other things in the nonchalant way that the woman hadenjoined upon him. Minty began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, but itwas her business not to be beaten. She laughed outright. Hattie did notseem to hear her. She was beckoning Sadness to her side. He came and satdown. 

"Now look here, " she said, "you can't have any supper because you haven't reached the stage of magnificent hunger to make a meal palatable toyou. You 've got so used to being nearly starved that a meal don't tastegood to you under any other circumstances. You 're in on the drinks, though. Your thirst is always available. --Jack, " she called down thelong room to the bartender, "make it three. --Lean over here, I want totalk to you. See that woman over there by the wall? No, not thatone, --the big light woman with Griggs. Well, she 's come here with astory trying to throw Joe down, and I want you to help me do her. "

"Oh, that 's the one that upset our young friend, is it?" said Sadness, turning his mournful eyes upon Minty. 

"That 's her. So you know about it, do you?"

"Yes, and I 'll help do her. She must n't touch one of the fraternity, you know. " He kept his eyes fixed upon the outsider until she squirmed. She could not at all understand this serious conversation directed ather. She wondered if she had gone too far and if they contemplatedputting her out. It made her uneasy. 

Now, this same Miss Sterling had the faculty of attracting a good dealof attention when she wished to. She brought it into play to-night, andin ten minutes, aided by Sadness, she had a crowd of jolly people abouther table. When, as she would have expressed it, "everything was goingfat, " she suddenly paused and, turning her eyes full upon Minty, said ina voice loud enough for all to hear, --

"Say, boys, you 've heard that story about Joe, have n't you?"

They had. 

"Well, that 's the one that told it; she 's come here to try to throwhim and me down. Is she going to do it?"

"Well, I guess not!" was the rousing reply, and every face turnedtowards the now frightened Minty. She rose hastily and, getting herskirts together, fled from the room, followed more leisurely by thecrestfallen Griggs. Hattie's laugh and "Thank you, fellows, " followedher out. 

 * * * * *

Matters were less easy for Joe's mother and sister than they were forhim. A week or more after this, Kitty found him and told him thatMinty's story had reached their employers and that they were out ofwork. 

"You see, Joe, " she said sadly, "we 've took a flat since we moved fromMis' Jones', and we had to furnish it. We 've got one lodger, arace-horse man, an' he 's mighty nice to ma an' me, but that ain'tenough. Now we 've got to do something. "

Joe was so smitten with sorrow that he gave her a dollar and promised tospeak about the matter to a friend of his. 

He did speak about it to Hattie. 

"You 've told me once or twice that your sister could sing. Bring herdown here to me, and if she can do anything, I 'll get her a place onthe stage, " was Hattie's answer. 

When Kitty heard it she was radiant, but her mother only shook her headand said, "De las' hope, de las' hope. "

XII

"ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE"

Kitty proved herself Joe's sister by falling desperately in love withHattie Sterling the first time they met. The actress was very graciousto her, and called her "child" in a pretty, patronising way, and pattedher on the cheek. 

"It 's a shame that Joe has n't brought you around before. We 've beengood friends for quite some time. "

"He told me you an' him was right good friends. "

Already Joe took on a new importance in his sister's eyes. He must bequite a man, she thought, to be the friend of such a person as MissSterling. 

"So you think you want to go on the stage, do you?"

"Yes, 'm, I thought it might be right nice for me if I could. "

"Joe, go out and get some beer for us, and then I 'll hear your sistersing. "

Miss Sterling talked as if she were a manager and had only to snap herfingers to be obeyed. When Joe came back with the beer, Kitty drank aglass. She did not like it, but she would not offend her hostess. Afterthis she sang, and Miss Sterling applauded her generously, although theyoung girl's nervousness kept her from doing her best. The encouragementhelped her, and she did better as she became more at home. 

"Why, child, you 've got a good voice. And, Joe, you 've been keepingher shut up all this time. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. "

The young man had little to say. He had brought Kitty almost under aprotest, because he had no confidence in her ability and thought thathis "girl" would disillusion her. It did not please him now to find hissister so fully under the limelight and himself "up stage. "

Kitty was quite in a flutter of delight; not so much with the idea ofworking as with the glamour of the work she might be allowed to do. 

"I tell you, now, " Hattie Sterling pursued, throwing a brightlystockinged foot upon a chair, "your voice is too good for the chorus. Gi' me a cigarette, Joe. Have one, Kitty?--I 'm goin' to call you Kitty. It 's nice and homelike, and then we 've got to be great chums, youknow. "

Kitty, unwilling to refuse anything from the sorceress, took hercigarette and lighted it, but a few puffs set her off coughing. 

"Tut, tut, Kitty, child, don't do it if you ain't used to it. You 'lllearn soon enough. "

Joe wanted to kick his sister for having tried so delicate an art andfailed, for he had not yet lost all of his awe of Hattie. 

"Now, what I was going to say, " the lady resumed after severalcontemplative puffs, "is that you 'll have to begin in the chorus anyway and work your way up. It would n't take long for you, with yourlooks and voice, to put one of the 'up and ups' out o' the business. Only hope it won't be me. I 've had people I 've helped try to do itoften enough. "

She gave a laugh that had just a touch of bitterness in it, for shebegan to recognise that although she had been on the stage only a shorttime, she was no longer the all-conquering Hattie Sterling, in the firstfreshness of her youth. 

"Oh, I would n't want to push anybody out, " Kit expostulated. 

"Oh, never mind, you 'll soon get bravely over that feeling, and even ifyou did n't it would n't matter much. The thing has to happen. Somebody's got to go down. We don't last long in this life: it soon wears usout, and when we 're worn out and sung out, danced out and played out, the manager has no further use for us; so he reduces us to the ranks orkicks us out entirely. "

Joe here thought it time for him to put in a word. "Get out, Hat, " hesaid contemptuously; "you 're good for a dozen years yet. "

She did n't deign to notice him, save so far as a sniff goes. 

"Don't you let what I say scare you, though, Kitty. You 've got a goodchance, and maybe you 'll have more sense than I 've got, and at leastsave money--while you 're in it. But let 's get off that. It makes mesick. All you 've got to do is to come to the opera-house to-morrow andI 'll introduce you to the manager. He 's a fool, but I think we canmake him do something for you. "

"Oh, thank you, I 'll be around to-morrow, sure. "

"Better come about ten o'clock. There 's a rehearsal to-morrow, and you'll find him there. Of course, he 'll be pretty rough, he always is atrehearsals, but he 'll take to you if he thinks there 's anything in youand he can get it out. "

Kitty felt herself dismissed and rose to go. Joe did not rise. 

"I 'll see you later, Kit, " he said; "I ain't goin' just yet. Say, " headded, when his sister was gone, "you 're a hot one. What do you want togive her all that con for? She 'll never get in. "

"Joe, " said Hattie, "don't you get awful tired of being a jackass?Sometimes I want to kiss you, and sometimes I feel as if I had to kickyou. I 'll compromise with you now by letting you bring me some morebeer. This got all stale while your sister was here. I saw she did n'tlike it, and so I would n't drink any more for fear she 'd try to keepup with me. "

"Kit is a good deal of a jay yet, " Joe remarked wisely. 

"Oh, yes, this world is full of jays. Lots of 'em have seen enough tomake 'em wise, but they 're still jays, and don't know it. That 's theworst of it. They go around thinking they 're it, when they ain't evenin the game. Go on and get the beer. "

And Joe went, feeling vaguely that he had been sat upon. 

Kit flew home with joyous heart to tell her mother of her goodprospects. She burst into the room, crying, "Oh, ma, ma, Miss Hattiethinks I 'll do to go on the stage. Ain't it grand?"

She did not meet with the expected warmth of response from her mother. 

"I do' know as it 'll be so gran'. F'om what I see of dem stage peopledey don't seem to 'mount to much. De way dem gals shows demse'ves isright down bad to me. Is you goin' to dress lak dem we seen dat night?"

Kit hung her head. 

"I guess I 'll have to. "

"Well, ef you have to, I 'd ruther see you daid any day. Oh, Kit, mylittle gal, don't do it, don't do it. Don't you go down lak yo' brothahJoe. Joe 's gone. "

"Why, ma, you don't understand. Joe 's somebody now. You ought to 'veheard how Miss Hattie talked about him. She said he 's been her friendfor a long while. "

"Her frien', yes, an' his own inimy. You need n' pattern aftah dat gal, Kit. She ruint Joe, an' she 's aftah you now. "

"But nowadays everybody thinks stage people respectable up here. "

"Maybe I 'm ol'-fashioned, but I can't believe in any ooman's ladyshipwhen she shows herse'f lak dem gals does. Oh, Kit, don't do it. Ain'tyou seen enough? Don't you know enough already to stay away f'om desehyeah people? Dey don't want nothin' but to pull you down an' den laughat you w'en you 's dragged in de dust. "

"You must n't feel that away, ma. I 'm doin' it to help you. "

"I do' want no sich help. I 'd ruther starve. "

Kit did not reply, but there was no yielding in her manner. 

"Kit, " her mother went on, "dey 's somep'n I ain't nevah tol' you dat I'm goin' to tell you now. Mistah Gibson ust to come to Mis' Jones's lotsto see me befo' we moved hyeah, an' he 's been talkin' 'bout a goodmany things to me. " She hesitated. "He say dat I ain't noways ma'ied tomy po' husban', dat a pen'tentiary sentence is de same as a divo'ce, an'if Be'y should live to git out, we 'd have to ma'y ag'in. I would n'tmin' dat, Kit, but he say dat at Be'y's age dey ain't much chanst of hislivin' to git out, an' hyeah I 'll live all dis time alone, an' den haveno one to tek keer o' me w'en I git ol'. He wants me to ma'y him, Kit. Kit, I love yo' fathah; he 's my only one. But Joe, he 's gone, an' efyo go, befo' Gawd I 'll tell Tawm Gibson yes. "

The mother looked up to see just what effect her plea would have on herdaughter. She hoped that what she said would have the desired result. But the girl turned around from fixing her neck-ribbon before the glass, her face radiant. "Why, it 'll be splendid. He 's such a nice man, an'race-horse men 'most always have money. Why don't you marry him, ma?Then I 'd feel that you was safe an' settled, an' that you would n't belonesome when the show was out of town. "

"You want me to ma'y him an' desert yo' po' pa?"

"I guess what he says is right, ma. I don't reckon we 'll ever see paagain an' you got to do something. You got to live for yourself now. "

Her mother dropped her head in her hands. "All right, " she said, "I 'lldo it; I 'll ma'y him. I might as well go de way both my chillen 'sgone. Po' Be'y, po' Be'y. Ef you evah do come out, Gawd he'p you to baihwhat you 'll fin'. " And Mrs. Hamilton rose and tottered from the room, as if the old age she anticipated had already come upon her. 

Kit stood looking after her, fear and grief in her eyes. "Poor ma, " shesaid, "an' poor pa. But I know, an' I know it 's for the best. "

On the next morning she was up early and practising hard for herinterview with the managing star of "Martin's Blackbirds. "

When she arrived at the theatre, Hattie Sterling met her with frankfriendliness. 

"I 'm glad you came early, Kitty, " she remarked, "for maybe you can geta chance to talk with Martin before he begins rehearsal and gets allworked up. He 'll be a little less like a bear then. But even if youdon't see him before then, wait, and don't get scared if he tries tobluff you. His bark is a good deal worse than his bite. "

When Mr. Martin came in that morning, he had other ideas than that ofseeing applicants for places. His show must begin in two weeks, and itwas advertised to be larger and better than ever before, when reallynothing at all had been done for it. The promise of this advertisementmust be fulfilled. Mr. Martin was late, and was out of humour with everyone else on account of it. He came in hurried, fierce, and important. 

"Mornin', Mr. Smith, mornin', Mrs. Jones. Ha, ladies and gentlemen, allhere?"

He shot every word out of his mouth as if the after-taste of it wereunpleasant to him. He walked among the chorus like an angry king amonghis vassals, and his glance was a flash of insolent fire. From his headto his feet he was the very epitome of self-sufficient, brutal conceit. 

Kitty trembled as she noted the hush that fell on the people at hisentrance. She felt like rushing out of the room. She could never facethis terrible man. She trembled more as she found his eyes fixed uponher. 

"Who 's that?" he asked, disregarding her, as if she had been a stick ora stone. 

"Well, don't snap her head off. It 's a girl friend of mine that wants aplace, " said Hattie. She was the only one who would brave Martin. 

"Humph. Let her wait. I ain't got no time to hear any one now. Getyourselves in line, you all who are on to that first chorus, while I 'mgetting into my sweat-shirt. "

He disappeared behind a screen, whence he emerged arrayed, or only halfarrayed, in a thick absorbing shirt and a thin pair of woollen trousers. Then the work began. The man was indefatigable. He was like the spiritof energy. He was in every place about the stage at once, leading thechorus, showing them steps, twisting some awkward girl into shape, shouting, gesticulating, abusing the pianist. 

"Now, now, " he would shout, "the left foot on that beat. Bah, bah, stop!You walk like a lot of tin soldiers. Are your joints rusty? Do you wantoil? Look here, Taylor, if I did n't know you, I 'd take you for atruck. Pick up your feet, open your mouths, and move, move, move! Oh!"and he would drop his head in despair. "And to think that I 've got todo something with these things in two weeks--two weeks!" Then he wouldturn to them again with a sudden reaccession of eagerness. "Now, at itagain, at it again! Hold that note, hold it! Now whirl, and on the leftfoot. Stop that music, stop it! Miss Coster, you 'll learn that step inabout a thousand years, and I 've got nine hundred and ninety-nine yearsand fifty weeks less time than that to spare. Come here and try thatstep with me. Don't be afraid to move. Step like a chicken on a hotgriddle!" And some blushing girl would come forward and go through thestep alone before all the rest. 

Kitty contemplated the scene with a mind equally divided between fearand anger. What should she do if he should so speak to her? Like theothers, no doubt, smile sheepishly and obey him. But she did not like tobelieve it. She felt that the independence which she had known frombabyhood would assert itself, and that she would talk back to him, evenas Hattie Sterling did. She felt scared and discouraged, but every nowand then her friend smiled encouragingly upon her across the ranks ofmoving singers. 

Finally, however, her thoughts were broken in upon by hearing Mr. Martincry: "Oh, quit, quit, and go rest yourselves, you ancient pieces ofhickory, and let me forget you for a minute before I go crazy. Where 'sthat new girl now?"

Kitty rose and went toward him, trembling so that she could hardly walk. 

"What can you do?"

"I can sing, " very faintly. 

"Well, if that 's the voice you 're going to sing in, there won't bemany that 'll know whether it 's good or bad. Well, let 's hearsomething. Do you know any of these?"

And he ran over the titles of several songs. She knew some of them, andhe selected one. "Try this. Here, Tom, play it for her. "

It was an ordeal for the girl to go through. She had never sung beforeat anything more formidable than a church concert, where only herimmediate acquaintances and townspeople were present. Now to sing beforeall these strange people, themselves singers, made her feel faint andawkward. But the courage of desperation came to her, and she struck intothe song. At the first her voice wavered and threatened to fail her. Itmust not. She choked back her fright and forced the music from her lips. 

When she was done, she was startled to hear Martin burst into a raucouslaugh. Such humiliation! She had failed, and instead of telling her, hewas bringing her to shame before the whole company. The tears came intoher eyes, and she was about giving way when she caught a reassuring nodand smile from Hattie Sterling, and seized on this as a last hope. 

"Haw, haw, haw!" laughed Martin, "haw, haw, haw! The little one wasscared, see? She was scared, d' you understand? But did you see the gritshe went at it with? Just took the bit in her teeth and got away. Haw, haw, haw! Now, that 's what I like. If all you girls had that spirit, wecould do something in two weeks. Try another one, girl. "

Kitty's heart had suddenly grown light. She sang the second one betterbecause something within her was singing. 

"Good!" said Martin, but he immediately returned to his cold manner. "You watch these girls close and see what they do, and to-morrow beprepared to go into line and move as well as sing. "

He immediately turned his attention from her to the chorus, but noslight that he could inflict upon her now could take away the sweettruth that she was engaged and to-morrow would begin work. She wishedshe could go over and embrace Hattie Sterling. She thought kindly ofJoe, and promised herself to give him a present out of her first month'searnings. 

On the first night of the show pretty little Kitty Hamilton was pointedout as a girl who would n't be in the chorus long. The mother, who wassoon to be Mrs. Gibson, sat in the balcony, a grieved, pained look onher face. Joe was in a front row with some of the rest of the gang. Hetook many drinks between the acts, because he was proud. 

Mr. Thomas was there. He also was proud, and after the performance hewaited for Kitty at the stage door and went forward to meet her as shecame out. The look she gave him stopped him, and he let her pass withouta word. 

"Who 'd 'a' thought, " he mused, "that the kid had that much nerve? Well, if they don't want to find out things, what do they come to N' Yawk for?It ain't nobody's old Sunday-school picnic. Guess I got out easy, anyhow. "

Hattie Sterling took Joe home in a hansom. 

"Say, " she said, "if you come this way for me again, it 's all over, see? Your little sister 's a comer, and I 've got to hustle to keep upwith her. "

Joe growled and fell asleep in his chair. One must needs have a stronghead or a strong will when one is the brother of a celebrity and wouldcelebrate the distinguished one's success. 

XIII

THE OAKLEYS

A year after the arrest of Berry Hamilton, and at a time when New Yorkhad shown to the eyes of his family so many strange new sights, therewere few changes to be noted in the condition of affairs at the Oakleyplace. Maurice Oakley was perhaps a shade more distrustful of hisservants, and consequently more testy with them. Mrs. Oakley was thesame acquiescent woman, with unbounded faith in her husband's wisdom andjudgment. With complacent minds both went their ways, drank their wine, and said their prayers, and wished that brother Frank's five years werepast. They had letters from him now and then, never very cheerful intone, but always breathing the deepest love and gratitude to them. 

His brother found deep cause for congratulation in the tone of theseepistles. 

"Frank is getting down to work, " he would cry exultantly. "He is pastthe first buoyant enthusiasm of youth. Ah, Leslie, when a man begins tobe serious, then he begins to be something. " And her only answer wouldbe, "I wonder, Maurice, if Claire Lessing will wait for him?"

The two had frequent questions to answer as to Frank's doing andprospects, and they had always bright things to say of him, even whenhis letters gave them no such warrant. Their love for him made them readlarge between the lines, and all they read was good. 

Between Maurice and his brother no word of the guilty servant everpassed. They each avoided it as an unpleasant subject. Frank had neverasked and his brother had never proffered aught of the outcome of thecase. 

Mrs. Oakley had once suggested it. "Brother ought to know, " she said, "that Berry is being properly punished. "

"By no means, " replied her husband. "You know that it would only hurthim. He shall never know if I have to tell him. "

"You are right, Maurice, you are always right. We must shield Frank fromthe pain it would cause him. Poor fellow! he is so sensitive. "

Their hearts were still steadfastly fixed upon the union of this youngerbrother with Claire Lessing. She had lately come into a fortune, andthere was nothing now to prevent it. They would have written Frank tourge it, but they both believed that to try to woo him away from his artwas but to make him more wayward. That any woman could have power enoughto take him away from this jealous mistress they very much doubted. Butthey could hope, and hope made them eager to open every letter that borethe French postmark. Always it might contain news that he was cominghome, or that he had made a great success, or, better, some inquiryafter Claire. A long time they had waited, but found no such tidings inthe letters from Paris. 

At last, as Maurice Oakley sat in his library one day, the servantbrought him a letter more bulky in weight and appearance than any he hadyet received. His eyes glistened with pleasure as he read the postmark. "A letter from Frank, " he said joyfully, "and an important one, I 'llwager. "

He smiled as he weighed it in his hand and caressed it. Mrs. Oakley wasout shopping, and as he knew how deep her interest was, he hesitated tobreak the seal before she returned. He curbed his natural desire andlaid the heavy envelope down on the desk. But he could not deny himselfthe pleasure of speculating as to its contents. 

It was such a large, interesting-looking package. What might it notcontain? It simply reeked of possibilities. Had any one banteringly toldMaurice Oakley that he had such a deep vein of sentiment, he would havedenied it with scorn and laughter. But here he found himself sittingwith the letter in his hand and weaving stories as to its contents. 

First, now, it might be a notice that Frank had received the badge ofthe Legion of Honour. No, no, that was too big, and he laughed aloud athis own folly, wondering the next minute, with half shame, why helaughed, for did he, after all, believe anything was too big for thatbrother of his? Well, let him begin, anyway, away down. Let him say, forinstance, that the letter told of the completion and sale of a greatpicture. Frank had sold small ones. He would be glad of this, for hisbrother had written him several times of things that were a-doing, butnot yet of anything that was done. Or, better yet, let the letter saythat some picture, long finished, but of which the artist's pride andanxiety had forbidden him to speak, had made a glowing success, thesuccess it deserved. This sounded well, and seemed not at all beyond thebounds of possibility. It was an alluring vision. He saw the picturealready. It was a scene from life, true in detail to the point of veryminuteness, and yet with something spiritual in it that lifted it abovethe mere copy of the commonplace. At the Salon it would be hung on theline, and people would stand before it admiring its workmanship andasking who the artist was. He drew on his memory of old reading. In hismind's eye he saw Frank, unconscious of his own power or too modest toadmit it, stand unknown among the crowds around his picture waiting forand dreading their criticisms. He saw the light leap to his eyes as heheard their words of praise. He saw the straightening of his narrowshoulders when he was forced to admit that he was the painter of thework. Then the windows of Paris were filled with his portraits. Thepapers were full of his praise, and brave men and fair women mettogether to do him homage. Fair women, yes, and Frank would look uponthem all and see reflected in them but a tithe of the glory of onewoman, and that woman Claire Lessing. He roused himself and laughedagain as he tapped the magic envelope. 

"My fancies go on and conquer the world for my brother, " he muttered. "He will follow their flight one day and do it himself. "

The letter drew his eyes back to it. It seemed to invite him, to beg himeven. "No, I will not do it; I will wait until Leslie comes. She will beas glad to hear the good news as I am. "

His dreams were taking the shape of reality in his mind, and he wasbelieving all that he wanted to believe. 

He turned to look at a picture painted by Frank which hung over themantel. He dwelt lovingly upon it, seeing in it the touch of a genius. 

"Surely, " he said, "this new picture cannot be greater than that, thoughit shall hang where kings can see it and this only graces the library ofmy poor house. It has the feeling of a woman's soul with the strengthof a man's heart. When Frank and Claire marry, I shall give it back tothem. It is too great a treasure for a clod like me. Heigho, why willwomen be so long a-shopping?"

He glanced again at the letter, and his hand went out involuntarilytowards it. He fondled it, smiling. 

"Ah, Lady Leslie, I 've a mind to open it to punish you for staying solong. "

He essayed to be playful, but he knew that he was trying to make acompromise with himself because his eagerness grew stronger than hisgallantry. He laid the letter down and picked it up again. He studiedthe postmark over and over. He got up and walked to the window and backagain, and then began fumbling in his pockets for his knife. No, he didnot want it; yes, he did. He would just cut the envelope and makebelieve he had read it to pique his wife; but he would not read it. Yes, that was it. He found the knife and slit the paper. His fingerstrembled as he touched the sheets that protruded. Why would not Lesliecome? Did she not know that he was waiting for her? She ought to haveknown that there was a letter from Paris to-day, for it had been a monthsince they had had one. 

There was a sound of footsteps without. He sprang up, crying, "I 'vebeen waiting so long for you!" A servant opened the door to bring him amessage. Oakley dismissed him angrily. What did he want to go down tothe Continental for to drink and talk politics to a lot of muddle-patedfools when he had a brother in Paris who was an artist and a letter fromhim lay unread in his hand? His patience and his temper were going. Leslie was careless and unfeeling. She ought to come; he was tired ofwaiting. 

A carriage rolled up the driveway and he dropped the letter guiltily, asif it were not his own. He would only say that he had grown tired ofwaiting and started to read it. But it was only Mrs. Davis's footmanleaving a note for Leslie about some charity. 

He went back to the letter. Well, it was his. Leslie had forfeited herright to see it as soon as he. It might be mean, but it was notdishonest. No, he would not read it now, but he would take it out andshow her that he had exercised his self-control in spite of hershortcomings. He laid it on the desk once more. It leered at him. Hemight just open the sheets enough to see the lines that began it, andread no further. Yes, he would do that. Leslie could not feel hurt atsuch a little thing. 

The first line had only "Dear Brother. " "Dear Brother"! Why not thesecond? That could not hold much more. The second line held him, and thethird, and the fourth, and as he read on, unmindful now of what Lesliemight think or feel, his face turned from the ruddy glow of pleasantanxiety to the pallor of grief and terror. He was not half-way throughit when Mrs. Oakley's voice in the hall announced her coming. He didnot hear her. He sat staring at the page before him, his lips apart andhis eyes staring. Then, with a cry that echoed through the house, crumpling the sheets in his hand, he fell forward fainting to the floor, just as his wife rushed into the room. 

"What is it?" she cried. "Maurice! Maurice!"

He lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling, the letter clutched inhis hands. She ran to him and lifted up his head, but he gave no sign oflife. Already the servants were crowding to the door. She bade one ofthem to hasten for a doctor, others to bring water and brandy, and therest to be gone. As soon as she was alone, she loosed the crumpledsheets from his hand, for she felt that this must have been the cause ofher husband's strange attack. Without a thought of wrong, for they hadno secrets from each other, she glanced at the opening lines. Then sheforgot the unconscious man at her feet and read the letter through tothe end. 

The letter was in Frank's neat hand, a little shaken, perhaps, bynervousness. 

 "DEAR BROTHER, " it ran, "I know you will grieve at receiving this, and I wish that I might bear your grief for you, but I cannot, though I have as heavy a burden as this can bring to you. Mine would have been lighter to-day, perhaps, had you been more straightforward with me. I am not blaming you, however, for I know that my hypocrisy made you believe me possessed of a really soft heart, and you thought to spare me. Until yesterday, when in a letter from Esterton he casually mentioned the matter, I did not know that Berry was in prison, else this letter would have been written sooner. I have been wanting to write it for so long, and yet have been too great a coward to do so. 

 "I know that you will be disappointed in me, and just what that disappointment will cost you I know; but you must hear the truth. I shall never see your face again, or I should not dare to tell it even now. You will remember that I begged you to be easy on your servant. You thought it was only my kindness of heart. It was not; I had a deeper reason. I knew where the money had gone and dared not tell. Berry is as innocent as yourself--and I--well, it is a story, and let me tell it to you. 

 "You have had so much confidence in me, and I hate to tell you that it was all misplaced. I have no doubt that I should not be doing it now but that I have drunken absinthe enough to give me the emotional point of view, which I shall regret to-morrow. I do not mean that I am drunk. I can think clearly and write clearly, but my emotions are extremely active. 

 "Do you remember Claire's saying at the table that night of the farewell dinner that some dark-eyed mademoiselle was waiting for me? She did not know how truly she spoke, though I fancy she saw how I flushed when she said it: for I was already in love--madly so. 

 "I need not describe her. I need say nothing about her, for I know that nothing I say can ever persuade you to forgive her for taking me from you. This has gone on since I first came here, and I dared not tell you, for I saw whither your eyes had turned. I loved this girl, and she both inspired and hindered my work. Perhaps I would have been successful had I not met her, perhaps not. 

 "I love her too well to marry her and make of our devotion a stale, prosy thing of duty and compulsion. When a man does not marry a woman, he must keep her better than he would a wife. It costs. All that you gave me went to make her happy. 

 "Then, when I was about leaving you, the catastrophe came. I wanted much to carry back to her. I gambled to make more. I would surprise her. Luck was against me. Night after night I lost. Then, just before the dinner, I woke from my frenzy to find all that I had was gone. I would have asked you for more, and you would have given it; but that strange, ridiculous something which we misname Southern honour, that honour which strains at a gnat and swallows a camel, withheld me, and I preferred to do worse. So I lied to you. The money from my cabinet was not stolen save by myself. I am a liar and a thief, but your eyes shall never tell me so. 

 "Tell the truth and have Berry released. I can stand it. Write me but one letter to tell me of this. Do not plead with me, do not forgive me, do not seek to find me, for from this time I shall be as one who has perished from the earth; I shall be no more. 

 "Your brother, FRANK. "

By the time the servants came they found Mrs. Oakley as white as herlord. But with firm hands and compressed lips she ministered to hisneeds pending the doctor's arrival. She bathed his face and temples, chafed his hands, and forced the brandy between his lips. Finally hestirred and his hands gripped. 

"The letter!" he gasped. 

"Yes, dear, I have it; I have it. "

"Give it to me, " he cried. She handed it to him. He seized it and thrustit into his breast. 

"Did--did--you read it?"

"Yes, I did not know----"

"Oh, my God, I did not intend that you should see it. I wanted thesecret for my own. I wanted to carry it to my grave with me. Oh, Frank, Frank, Frank!"

"Never mind, Maurice. It is as if you alone knew it. "

"It is not, I say, it is not!"

He turned upon his face and began to weep passionately, not like a man, but like a child whose last toy has been broken. 

"Oh, my God, " he moaned, "my brother, my brother!"

"'Sh, dearie, think--it 's--it 's--Frank. "

"That 's it, that 's it--that 's what I can't forget. It 'sFrank, --Frank, my brother. "

Suddenly he sat up and his eyes stared straight into hers. 

"Leslie, no one must ever know what is in this letter, " he said calmly. 

"No one shall, Maurice; come, let us burn it. "

"Burn it? No, no, " he cried, clutching at his breast. "It must not beburned. What! burn my brother's secret? No, no, I must carry it withme, --carry it with me to the grave. "

"But, Maurice----"

"I must carry it with me. "

She saw that he was overwrought, and so did not argue with him. 

When the doctor came, he found Maurice Oakley in bed, but better. Themedical man diagnosed the case and decided that he had received somesevere shock. He feared too for his heart, for the patient constantlyheld his hands pressed against his bosom. In vain the doctor pleaded; hewould not take them down, and when the wife added her word, thephysician gave up, and after prescribing, left, much puzzled in mind. 

"It 's a strange case, " he said; "there 's something more than thenervous shock that makes him clutch his chest like that, and yet I havenever noticed signs of heart trouble in Oakley. Oh, well, business worrywill produce anything in anybody. "

It was soon common talk about the town about Maurice Oakley's attack. Inthe seclusion of his chamber he was saying to his wife:

"Ah, Leslie, you and I will keep the secret. No one shall ever know. "

"Yes, dear, but--but--what of Berry?"

"What of Berry?" he cried, starting up excitedly. "What is Berry toFrank? What is that nigger to my brother? What are his sufferings to thehonour of my family and name?"

"Never mind, Maurice, never mind, you are right. "

"It must never be known, I say, if Berry has to rot in jail. "

So they wrote a lie to Frank, and buried the secret in their breasts, and Oakley wore its visible form upon his heart. 

XIV

FRANKENSTEIN

Five years is but a short time in the life of a man, and yet many thingsmay happen therein. For instance, the whole way of a family's life maybe changed. Good natures may be made into bad ones and out of a soul offaith grow a spirit of unbelief. The independence of respectability mayharden into the insolence of defiance, and the sensitive cheek ofmodesty into the brazen face of shamelessness. It may be true that thehabits of years are hard to change, but this is not true of the firstsixteen or seventeen years of a young person's life, else Kitty Hamiltonand Joe could not so easily have become what they were. It had takenbarely five years to accomplish an entire metamorphosis of theircharacters. In Joe's case even a shorter time was needed. He was soready to go down that it needed but a gentle push to start him, and oncestarted, there was nothing within him to hold him back from the depths. For his will was as flabby as his conscience, and his pride, whichstands to some men for conscience, had no definite aim or direction. 

Hattie Sterling had given him both his greatest impulse for evil and forgood. She had at first given him his gentle push, but when she saw thathis collapse would lose her a faithful and useful slave she had soughtto check his course. Her threat of the severance of their relations hadheld him up for a little time, and she began to believe that he was safeagain. He went back to the work he had neglected, drank moderately, andacted in most things as a sound, sensible being. Then, all of a sudden, he went down again, and went down badly. She kept her promise and threwhim over. Then he became a hanger-on at the clubs, a genteel loafer. Heused to say in his sober moments that at last he was one of the boysthat Sadness had spoken of. He did not work, and yet he lived and ateand was proud of his degradation. But he soon tired of being separatedfrom Hattie, and straightened up again. After some demur she receivedhim upon his former footing. It was only for a few months. He fellagain. For almost four years this had happened intermittently. Finallyhe took a turn for the better that endured so long that Hattie Sterlingagain gave him her faith. Then the woman made her mistake. She warmed tohim. She showed him that she was proud of him. He went forth at once tocelebrate his victory. He did not return to her for three days. Then hewas battered, unkempt, and thick of speech. 

She looked at him in silent contempt for a while as he sat nursing hisaching head. 

"Well, you 're a beauty, " she said finally with cutting scorn. "Youought to be put under a glass case and placed on exhibition. "

He groaned and his head sunk lower. A drunken man is always disarmed. 

His helplessness, instead of inspiring her with pity, inflamed her withan unfeeling anger that burst forth in a volume of taunts. 

"You 're the thing I 've given up all my chances for--you, a miserable, drunken jay, without a jay's decency. No one had ever looked at youuntil I picked you up and you 've been strutting around ever since, showing off because I was kind to you, and now this is the way you payme back. Drunk half the time and half drunk the rest. Well, you knowwhat I told you the last time you got 'loaded'? I mean it too. You 'renot the only star in sight, see?"

She laughed meanly and began to sing, "You 'll have to find another babynow. "

For the first time he looked up, and his eyes were full of tears--tearsboth of grief and intoxication. There was an expression of a whipped dogon his face. 

"Do'--Ha'ie, do'--" he pleaded, stretching out his hands to her. 

Her eyes blazed back at him, but she sang on insolently, tauntingly. 

The very inanity of the man disgusted her, and on a sudden impulse shesprang up and struck him full in the face with the flat of her hand. Hewas too weak to resist the blow, and, tumbling from the chair, felllimply to the floor, where he lay at her feet, alternately weeping aloudand quivering with drunken, hiccoughing sobs. 

"Get up!" she cried; "get up and get out o' here. You sha'n't lay aroundmy house. "

He had already begun to fall into a drunken sleep, but she shook him, got him to his feet, and pushed him outside the door. "Now, go, youdrunken dog, and never put your foot inside this house again. "

He stood outside, swaying dizzily upon his feet and looking back withdazed eyes at the door, then he muttered: "Pu' me out, wi' you? Pu' meout, damn you! Well, I ki' you. See 'f I don't;" and he half walked, half fell down the street. 

Sadness and Skaggsy were together at the club that night. Five years hadnot changed the latter as to wealth or position or inclination, and hewas still a frequent visitor at the Banner. He always came in alone now, for Maudie had gone the way of all the half-world, and reached depths towhich Mr. Skaggs's job prevented him from following her. However, hemourned truly for his lost companion, and to-night he was in aparticularly pensive mood. 

Some one was playing rag-time on the piano, and the dancers werewheeling in time to the music. Skaggsy looked at them regretfully as hesipped his liquor. It made him think of Maudie. He sighed and turnedaway. 

"I tell you, Sadness, " he said impulsively, "dancing is the poetry ofmotion. "

"Yes, " replied Sadness, "and dancing in rag-time is the dialectpoetry. "

The reporter did not like this. It savoured of flippancy, and he wasabout entering upon a discussion to prove that Sadness had no soul, whenJoe, with blood-shot eyes and dishevelled clothes, staggered in andreeled towards them. 

"Drunk again, " said Sadness. "Really, it 's a waste of time for Joe tosober up. Hullo there!" as the young man brought up against him; "take aseat. " He put him in a chair at the table. "Been lushin' a bit, eh?"

"Gi' me some'n' drink. "

"Oh, a hair of the dog. Some men shave their dogs clean, and then havehydrophobia. Here, Jack!"

They drank, and then, as if the whiskey had done him good, Joe sat up inhis chair. 

"Ha'ie 's throwed me down. "

"Lucky dog! You might have known it would have happened sooner or later. Better sooner than never. "

Skaggs smoked in silence and looked at Joe. 

"I 'm goin' to kill her. "

"I would n't if I were you. Take old Sadness's advice and thank yourstars that you 're rid of her. "

"I 'm goin' to kill her. " He paused and looked at them drowsily. Then, bracing himself up again, he broke out suddenly, "Say, d' ever tell y''bout the ol' man? He never stole that money. Know he di' n'. "

He threatened to fall asleep now, but the reporter was all alert. Hescented a story. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "did you hear that? Bet the chap stole ithimself and 's letting the old man suffer for it. Great story, ain't it?Come, come, wake up here. Three more, Jack. What about your father?"

"Father? Who's father. Oh, do' bother me. What?"

"Here, here, tell us about your father and the money. If he did n'tsteal it, who did?"

"Who did? Tha' 's it, who did? Ol' man di' n' steal it, know he di' n'. "

"Oh, let him alone, Skaggsy, he don't know what he 's saying. "

"Yes, he does, a drunken man tells the truth. "

"In some cases, " said Sadness. 

"Oh, let me alone, man. I 've been trying for years to get a bigsensation for my paper, and if this story is one, I 'm a made man. "

The drink seemed to revive the young man again, and by bits Skaggs wasable to pick out of him the story of his father's arrest and conviction. At its close he relapsed into stupidity, murmuring, "She throwed medown. "

"Well, " sneered Sadness, "you see drunken men tell the truth, and youdon't seem to get much guilt out of our young friend. You 'redisappointed, are n't you?"

"I confess I am disappointed, but I 've got an idea, just the same. "

"Oh, you have? Well, don't handle it carelessly; it might go off. " AndSadness rose. The reporter sat thinking for a time and then followedhim, leaving Joe in a drunken sleep at the table. There he lay for morethan two hours. When he finally awoke, he started up as if somedetermination had come to him in his sleep. A part of the helplessnessof his intoxication had gone, but his first act was to call for morewhiskey. This he gulped down, and followed with another and another. Fora while he stood still, brooding silently, his red eyes blinking at thelight. Then he turned abruptly and left the club. 

It was very late when he reached Hattie's door, but he opened it withhis latch-key, as he had been used to do. He stopped to help himself toa glass of brandy, as he had so often done before. Then he went directlyto her room. She was a light sleeper, and his step awakened her. 

"Who is it?" she cried in affright. 

"It 's me. " His voice was steadier now, but grim. 

"What do you want? Did n't I tell you never to come here again? Get outor I 'll have you taken out. "

She sprang up in bed, glaring angrily at him. 

His hands twitched nervously, as if her will were conquering him and hewere uneasy, but he held her eye with his own. 

"You put me out to-night, " he said. 

"Yes, and I 'm going to do it again. You 're drunk. "

She started to rise, but he took a step towards her and she paused. Helooked as she had never seen him look before. His face was ashen and hiseyes like fire and blood. She quailed beneath the look. He took anotherstep towards her. 

"You put me out to-night, " he repeated, "like a dog. "

His step was steady and his tone was clear, menacingly clear. She shrankback from him, back to the wall. Still his hands twitched and his eyeheld her. Still he crept slowly towards her, his lips working and hishands moving convulsively. 

"Joe, Joe!" she said hoarsely, "what 's the matter? Oh, don't look at melike that. "

The gown had fallen away from her breast and showed the convulsivefluttering of her heart. 

He broke into a laugh, a dry, murderous laugh, and his hands sought eachother while the fingers twitched over one another like coiling serpents. 

"You put me out--you--you, and you made me what I am. " The realisationof what he was, of his foulness and degradation, seemed just to havecome to him fully. "You made me what I am, and then you sent me away. You let me come back, and now you put me out. "

She gazed at him fascinated. She tried to scream and she could not. Thiswas not Joe. This was not the boy that she had turned and twisted abouther little finger. This was a terrible, terrible man or a monster. 

He moved a step nearer her. His eyes fell to her throat. For an instantshe lost their steady glare and then she found her voice. The scream waschecked as it began. His fingers had closed over her throat just wherethe gown had left it temptingly bare. They gave it the caress of death. She struggled. They held her. Her eyes prayed to his. But his were thefire of hell. She fell back upon her pillow in silence. He had notuttered a word. He held her. Finally he flung her from him like a rag, and sank into a chair. And there the officers found him when HattieSterling's disappearance had become a strange thing. 

XV

"DEAR, DAMNED, DELIGHTFUL TOWN"

When Joe was taken, there was no spirit or feeling left in him. He movedmechanically, as if without sense or volition. The first impression hegave was that of a man over-acting insanity. But this was soon removedby the very indifference with which he met everything concerned with hiscrime. From the very first he made no effort to exonerate or tovindicate himself. He talked little and only in a dry, stupefied way. Hewas as one whose soul is dead, and perhaps it was; for all the littlesoul of him had been wrapped up in the body of this one woman, and thestroke that took her life had killed him too. 

The men who examined him were irritated beyond measure. There wasnothing for them to exercise their ingenuity upon. He left them nothingto search for. Their most damning question he answered with an apathythat showed absolutely no interest in the matter. It was as if some onewhom he did not care about had committed a crime and he had been calledto testify. The only thing which he noticed or seemed to have anyaffection for was a little pet dog which had been hers and which theysometimes allowed to be with him after the life sentence had been passedupon him and when he was awaiting removal. He would sit for hours withthe little animal in his lap, caressing it dumbly. There was a mutesorrow in the eyes of both man and dog, and they seemed to take comfortin each other's presence. There was no need of any sign between them. They had both loved her, had they not? So they understood. 

Sadness saw him and came back to the Banner, torn and unnerved by thesight. "I saw him, " he said with a shudder, "and it 'll take morewhiskey than Jack can give me in a year to wash the memory of him out ofme. Why, man, it shocked me all through. It 's a pity they did n't sendhim to the chair. It could n't have done him much harm and would havebeen a real mercy. "

And so Sadness and all the club, with a muttered "Poor devil!" dismissedhim. He was gone. Why should they worry? Only one more who had got intothe whirlpool, enjoyed the sensation for a moment, and then sweptdizzily down. There were, indeed, some who for an earnest hoursermonised about it and said, "Here is another example of the perniciousinfluence of the city on untrained negroes. Oh, is there no way to keepthese people from rushing away from the small villages and countrydistricts of the South up to the cities, where they cannot battle withthe terrible force of a strange and unusual environment? Is there no wayto prove to them that woollen-shirted, brown-jeaned simplicity isinfinitely better than broad-clothed degradation?" They wanted topreach to these people that good agriculture is better than badart, --that it was better and nobler for them to sing to God across theSouthern fields than to dance for rowdies in the Northern halls. Theywanted to dare to say that the South has its faults--no one condonesthem--and its disadvantages, but that even what they suffered from thesewas better than what awaited them in the great alleys of New York. Downthere, the bodies were restrained, and they chafed; but here the soulwould fester, and they would be content. 

This was but for an hour, for even while they exclaimed they knew thatthere was no way, and that the stream of young negro life would continueto flow up from the South, dashing itself against the hard necessitiesof the city and breaking like waves against a rock, --that, until thegods grew tired of their cruel sport, there must still be sacrifices tofalse ideals and unreal ambitions. 

There was one heart, though, that neither dismissed Joe with gratuitouspity nor sermonised about him. The mother heart had only room for griefand pain. Already it had borne its share. It had known sorrow for a losthusband, tears at the neglect and brutality of a new companion, shamefor a daughter's sake, and it had seemed already filled to overflowing. And yet the fates had put in this one other burden until it seemed itmust burst with the weight of it. 

To Fannie Hamilton's mind now all her boy's shortcomings became asnaught. He was not her wayward, erring, criminal son. She onlyremembered that he was her son, and wept for him as such. She forgot hiscurses, while her memory went back to the sweetness of his baby prattleand the soft words of his tenderer youth. Until the last she clung tohim, holding him guiltless, and to her thought they took to prison, notJoe Hamilton, a convicted criminal, but Joey, Joey, her boy, herfirstborn, --a martyr. 

The pretty Miss Kitty Hamilton was less deeply impressed. The arrestand subsequent conviction of her brother was quite a blow. She felt theshame of it keenly, and some of the grief. To her, coming as it did justat a time when the company was being strengthened and she moreimportantly featured than ever, it was decidedly inopportune, for no onecould help connecting her name with the affair. 

For a long time she and her brother had scarcely been upon speakingterms. During Joe's frequent lapses from industry he had been prone to"touch" his sister for the wherewithal to supply his various wants. When, finally, she grew tired and refused to be "touched, " he rebukedher for withholding that which, save for his help, she would never havebeen able to make. This went on until they were almost entirelyestranged. He was wont to say that "now his sister was up in the world, she had got the big head, " and she to retort that her brother "wanted touse her for a 'soft thing. '"

From the time that she went on the stage she had begun to live her ownlife, a life in which the chief aim was the possession of good clothesand the ability to attract the attention which she had learned to crave. The greatest sign of interest she showed in her brother's affair was, atfirst, to offer her mother money to secure a lawyer. But when Joeconfessed all, she consoled herself with the reflection that perhaps itwas for the best, and kept her money in her pocket with a sense ofsatisfaction. She was getting to be so very much more Joe's sister. Shedid not go to see her brother. She was afraid it might make her nervouswhile she was in the city, and she went on the road with her companybefore he was taken away. 

Miss Kitty Hamilton had to be very careful about her nerves and herhealth. She had had experiences, and her voice was not as good as itused to be, and her beauty had to be aided by cosmetics. So she wentaway from New York, and only read of all that happened when some onecalled her attention to it in the papers. 

Berry Hamilton in his Southern prison knew nothing of all this, for noletters had passed between him and his family for more than two years. The very cruelty of destiny defeated itself in this and was kind. 

XVI

SKAGGS'S THEORY

There was, perhaps, more depth to Mr. Skaggs than most people gave himcredit for having. However it may be, when he got an idea into his head, whether it were insane or otherwise, he had a decidedly tenacious way ofholding to it. Sadness had been disposed to laugh at him when heannounced that Joe's drunken story of his father's troubles had givenhim an idea. But it was, nevertheless, true, and that idea had stayedwith him clear through the exciting events that followed on that fatalnight. He thought and dreamed of it until he had made a working theory. Then one day, with a boldness that he seldom assumed when in the sacredPresence, he walked into the office and laid his plans before theeditor. They talked together for some time, and the editor seemed hardto convince. 

"It would be a big thing for the paper, " he said, "if it only pannedout; but it is such a rattle-brained, harum-scarum thing. No one underthe sun would have thought of it but you, Skaggs. "

"Oh, it 's bound to pan out. I see the thing as clear as day. There 'sno getting around it. "

"Yes, it looks plausible, but so does all fiction. You 're taking achance. You 're losing time. If it fails----"

"But if it succeeds?"

"Well, go and bring back a story. If you don't, look out. It 's againstmy better judgment anyway. Remember I told you that. "

Skaggs shot out of the office, and within an hour and a half had boardeda fast train for the South. 

It is almost a question whether Skaggs had a theory or whether he hadtold himself a pretty story and, as usual, believed it. The editor wasright. No one else would have thought of the wild thing that was in thereporter's mind. The detective had not thought of it five years before, nor had Maurice Oakley and his friends had an inkling, and here was oneof the New York _Universe's_ young men going miles to prove his ideaabout something that did not at all concern him. 

When Skaggs reached the town which had been the home of the Hamiltons, he went at once to the Continental Hotel. He had as yet formulated noplan of immediate action and with a fool's or a genius' belief in hisdestiny he sat down to await the turn of events. His first move would beto get acquainted with some of his neighbours. This was no difficultmatter, as the bar of the Continental was still the gathering-place ofsome of the city's choice spirits of the old regime. Thither he went, and his convivial cheerfulness soon placed him on terms of equality withmany of his kind. 

He insinuated that he was looking around for business prospects. Thisproved his open-sesame. Five years had not changed the Continentalfrequenters much, and Skaggs's intention immediately brought BeachfieldDavis down upon him with the remark, "If a man wants to go intobusiness, business for a gentleman, suh, Gad, there 's no finer orbetter paying business in the world than breeding blooded dogs--that is, if you get a man of experience to go in with you. "

"Dogs, dogs, " drivelled old Horace Talbot, "Beachfield 's always talkingabout dogs. I remember the night we were all discussing that Hamiltonnigger's arrest, Beachfield said it was a sign of total depravitybecause his man hunted 'possums with his hound. " The old man laughedinanely. The hotel whiskey was getting on his nerves. 

The reporter opened his eyes and his ears. He had stumbled uponsomething, at any rate. 

"What was it about some nigger's arrest, sir?" he asked respectfully. 

"Oh, it was n't anything much. Only an old and trusted servant robbedhis master, and my theory----"

"But you will remember, Mr. Talbot, " broke in Davis, "that I proved yourtheory to be wrong and cited a conclusive instance. "

"Yes, a 'possum-hunting dog. "

"I am really anxious to hear about the robbery, though. It seems such anunusual thing for a negro to steal a great amount. "

"Just so, and that was part of my theory. Now----"

"It 's an old story and a long one, Mr. Skaggs, and one of merely localrepute, " interjected Colonel Saunders. "I don't think it could possiblyinterest you, who are familiar with the records of the really greatcrimes that take place in a city such as New York. "

"Those things do interest me very much, though. I am something of apsychologist, and I often find the smallest and mostinsignificant-appearing details pregnant with suggestion. Won't you letme hear the story, Colonel?"

"Why, yes, though there 's little in it save that I am one of the fewmen who have come to believe that the negro, Berry Hamilton, is not theguilty party. "

"Nonsense! nonsense!" said Talbot; "of course Berry was guilty, but, asI said before, I don't blame him. The negroes----"

"Total depravity, " said Davis. "Now look at my dog----"

"If you will retire with me to the further table I will give youwhatever of the facts I can call to mind. "

As unobtrusively as they could, they drew apart from the others andseated themselves at a more secluded table, leaving Talbot and Daviswrangling, as of old, over their theories. When the glasses were filledand the pipes going, the Colonel began his story, interlarding itfrequently with comments of his own. 

"Now, in the first place, Mr. Skaggs, " he said when the tale was done, "I am lawyer enough to see for myself how weak the evidence was uponwhich the negro was convicted, and later events have done much toconfirm me in the opinion that he was innocent. "

"Later events?"

"Yes. " The Colonel leaned across the table and his voice fell to awhisper. "Four years ago a great change took place in Maurice Oakley. Ithappened in the space of a day, and no one knows the cause of it. From asocial, companionable man, he became a recluse, shunning visitors anddreading society. From an open-hearted, unsuspicious neighbour, hebecame secretive and distrustful of his own friends. From an activebusiness man, he has become a retired brooder. He sees no one if he canhelp it. He writes no letters and receives none, not even from hisbrother, it is said. And all of this came about in the space oftwenty-four hours. "

"But what was the beginning of it?"

"No one knows, save that one day he had some sort of nervous attack. Bythe time the doctor was called he was better, but he kept clutching hishand over his heart. Naturally, the physician wanted to examine himthere, but the very suggestion of it seemed to throw him into a frenzy;and his wife too begged the doctor, an old friend of the family, todesist. Maurice Oakley had been as sound as a dollar, and no one of thefamily had had any tendency to heart affection. "

"It is strange. "

"Strange it is, but I have my theory. "

"His actions are like those of a man guarding a secret. "

"Sh! His negro laundress says that there is an inside pocket in hisundershirts. "

"An inside pocket?"

"Yes. "

"And for what?" Skaggs was trembling with eagerness. 

The Colonel dropped his voice lower. 

"We can only speculate, " he said; "but, as I have said, I have mytheory. Oakley was a just man, and in punishing his old servant for thesupposed robbery it is plain that he acted from principle. But he isalso a proud man and would hate to confess that he had been in thewrong. So I believed that the cause of his first shock was the findingof the money that he supposed gone. Unwilling to admit this error, helets the misapprehension go on, and it is the money which he carries inhis secret pocket, with a morbid fear of its discovery, that has madehim dismiss his servants, leave his business, and refuse to see hisfriends. "

"A very natural conclusion, Colonel, and I must say that I believe you. It is strange that others have not seen as you have seen and brought thematter to light. "

"Well, you see, Mr. Skaggs, none are so dull as the people who thinkthey think. I can safely say that there is not another man in this townwho has lighted upon the real solution of this matter, though it hasbeen openly talked of for so long. But as for bringing it to light, noone would think of doing that. It would be sure to hurt Oakley'sfeelings, and he is of one of our best families. "

"Ah, yes, perfectly right. "

Skaggs had got all that he wanted; much more, in fact, than he hadexpected. The Colonel held him for a while yet to enlarge upon the viewsthat he had expressed. 

When the reporter finally left him, it was with a cheery "Good-night, Colonel. If I were a criminal, I should be afraid of that analyticalmind of yours!"

He went upstairs chuckling. "The old fool!" he cried as he flung himselfinto a chair. "I 've got it! I 've got it! Maurice Oakley must see me, and then what?" He sat down to think out what he should do to-morrow. Again, with his fine disregard of ways and means, he determined to trustto luck, and as he expressed it, "brace old Oakley. "

Accordingly he went about nine o'clock the next morning to Oakley'shouse. A gray-haired, sad-eyed woman inquired his errand. 

"I want to see Mr. Oakley, " he said. 

"You cannot see him. Mr. Oakley is not well and does not see visitors. "

"But I must see him, madam; I am here upon business of importance. "

"You can tell me just as well as him. I am his wife and transact all ofhis business. "

"I can tell no one but the master of the house himself. "

"You cannot see him. It is against his orders. "

"Very well, " replied Skaggs, descending one step; "it is his loss, notmine. I have tried to do my duty and failed. Simply tell him that I camefrom Paris. "

"Paris?" cried a querulous voice behind the woman's back. "Leslie, whydo you keep the gentleman at the door? Let him come in at once. "

Mrs. Oakley stepped from the door and Skaggs went in. Had he seenOakley before he would have been shocked at the change in hisappearance; but as it was, the nervous, white-haired man who stoodshiftily before him told him nothing of an eating secret long carried. The man's face was gray and haggard, and deep lines were cut under hisstaring, fish-like eyes. His hair tumbled in white masses over hispallid forehead, and his lips twitched as he talked. 

"You 're from Paris, sir, from Paris?" he said. "Come in, come in. "

His motions were nervous and erratic. Skaggs followed him into thelibrary, and the wife disappeared in another direction. 

It would have been hard to recognise in the Oakley of the present theman of a few years before. The strong frame had gone away to bone, andnothing of his old power sat on either brow or chin. He was as a man whotrembled on the brink of insanity. His guilty secret had been too muchfor him, and Skaggs's own fingers twitched as he saw his host's handsseek the breast of his jacket every other moment. 

"It is there the secret is hidden, " he said to himself, "and whatever itis, I must have it. But how--how? I can't knock the man down and rob himin his own house. " But Oakley himself proceeded to give him his firstcue. 

"You--you--perhaps have a message from my brother--my brother who is inParis. I have not heard from him for some time. "

Skaggs's mind worked quickly. He remembered the Colonel's story. Evidently the brother had something to do with the secret. "Now ornever, " he thought. So he said boldly, "Yes, I have a message from yourbrother. "

The man sprung up, clutching again at his breast. "You have? you have?Give it to me. After four years he sends me a message! Give it to me!"

The reporter looked steadily at the man. He knew that he was in hispower, that his very eagerness would prove traitor to his discretion. 

"Your brother bade me to say to you that you have a terrible secret, that you bear it in your breast--there--there. I am his messenger. Hebids you to give it to me. "

Oakley had shrunken back as if he had been struck. 

"No, no!" he gasped, "no, no! I have no secret. "

The reporter moved nearer him. The old man shrunk against the wall, hislips working convulsively and his hand tearing at his breast as Skaggsdrew nearer. He attempted to shriek, but his voice was husky and brokeoff in a gasping whisper. 

"Give it to me, as your brother commands. "

"No, no, no! It is not his secret; it is mine. I must carry it herealways, do you hear? I must carry it till I die. Go away! Go away!"

Skaggs seized him. Oakley struggled weakly, but he had no strength. Thereporter's hand sought the secret pocket. He felt a paper beneath hisfingers. Oakley gasped hoarsely as he drew it forth. Then raising hisvoice gave one agonised cry, and sank to the floor frothing at themouth. At the cry rapid footsteps were heard in the hallway, and Mrs. Oakley threw open the door. 

"What is the matter?" she cried. 

"My message has somewhat upset your husband, " was the cool answer. 

"But his breast is open. Your hand has been in his bosom. You have takensomething from him. Give it to me, or I shall call for help. "

Skaggs had not reckoned on this, but his wits came to the rescue. 

"You dare not call for help, " he said, "or the world will know!"

She wrung her hands helplessly, crying, "Oh, give it to me, give it tome. We 've never done you any harm. "

"But you 've harmed some one else; that is enough. "

He moved towards the door, but she sprang in front of him with thefierceness of a tigress protecting her young. She attacked him withteeth and nails. She was pallid with fury, and it was all he could do toprotect himself and yet not injure her. Finally, when her anger hadtaken her strength, he succeeded in getting out. He flew down thehall-way and out of the front door, the woman's screams following him. He did not pause to read the precious letter until he was safe in hisroom at the Continental Hotel. Then he sprang to his feet, crying, "Thank God! thank God! I was right, and the _Universe_ shall have asensation. The brother is the thief, and Berry Hamilton is an innocentman. Hurrah! Now, who is it that has come on a wild-goose chase? Who isit that ought to handle his idea carefully? Heigho, Saunders my man, thedrinks 'll be on you, and old Skaggsy will have done some good in theworld. "

XVII

A YELLOW JOURNAL

Mr. Skaggs had no qualms of conscience about the manner in which he hadcome by the damaging evidence against Maurice Oakley. It was enough forhim that he had it. A corporation, he argued, had no soul, and thereforeno conscience. How much less, then, should so small a part of a greatcorporation as himself be expected to have them?

He had his story. It was vivid, interesting, dramatic. It meant thefavour of his editor, a big thing for the _Universe_, and a fatterlining for his own pocket. He sat down to put his discovery on paperbefore he attempted anything else, although the impulse to celebrate wasvery strong within him. 

He told his story well, with an eye to every one of its salient points. He sent an alleged picture of Berry Hamilton as he had appeared at thetime of his arrest. He sent a picture of the Oakley home and of thecottage where the servant and his family had been so happy. There was astrong pen-picture of the man, Oakley, grown haggard and morose fromcarrying his guilty secret, of his confusion when confronted with thesupposed knowledge of it. The old Southern city was described, and theopinions of its residents in regard to the case given. It wasthere--clear, interesting, and strong. One could see it all as if everyphase of it were being enacted before one's eyes. Skaggs surpassedhimself. 

When the editor first got hold of it he said "Huh!" over the openinglines, --a few short sentences that instantly pricked the attentionawake. He read on with increasing interest. "This is good stuff, " hesaid at the last page. "Here 's a chance for the _Universe_ to look intothe methods of Southern court proceedings. Here 's a chance for aspread. "

The _Universe_ had always claimed to be the friend of all poor andoppressed humanity, and every once in a while it did something tosubstantiate its claim, whereupon it stood off and said to the public, "Look you what we have done, and behold how great we are, the friend ofthe people!" The _Universe_ was yellow. It was very so. But it had powerand keenness and energy. It never lost an opportunity to crow, and ifone was not forthcoming, it made one. In this way it managed to do aconsiderable amount of good, and its yellowness became forgivable, evencommendable. In Skaggs's story the editor saw an opportunity for one ofits periodical philanthropies. He seized upon it. With headlines thattook half a page, and with cuts authentic and otherwise, the tale wastold, and the people of New York were greeted next morning with theannouncement of--

 "A Burning Shame!

 A Poor and Innocent Negro made to Suffer

 for a Rich Man's Crime!

 Great Expose by the 'Universe'!

 A 'Universe' Reporter To the Rescue!

 The Whole Thing to Be Aired that the

 People may Know!"

Then Skaggs received a telegram that made him leap for joy. He was to doit. He was to go to the capital of the State. He was to beard theGovernor in his den, and he, with the force of a great paper behind him, was to demand for the people the release of an innocent man. Then therewould be another write-up and much glory for him and more shekels. In anhour after he had received his telegram he was on his way to theSouthern capital. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile in the house of Maurice Oakley there were sad times. From themoment that the master of the house had fallen to the floor in impotentfear and madness there had been no peace within his doors. At first hiswife had tried to control him alone, and had humoured the wild babblingswith which he woke from his swoon. But these changed to shrieks andcries and curses, and she was forced to throw open the doors so longclosed and call in help. The neighbours and her old friends went to herassistance, and what the reporter's story had not done, the ravings ofthe man accomplished; for, with a show of matchless cunning, hecontinually clutched at his breast, laughed, and babbled his secretopenly. Even then they would have smothered it in silence, for thehonour of one of their best families; but too many ears had heard, andthen came the yellow journal bearing all the news in emblazonedheadlines. 

Colonel Saunders was distinctly hurt to think that his confidence hadbeen imposed on, and that he had been instrumental in bringing shameupon a Southern name. 

"To think, suh, " he said generally to the usual assembly of choicespirits, --"to think of that man's being a reporter, suh, a common, ordinary reporter, and that I sat and talked to him as if he were agentleman!"

"You 're not to be blamed, Colonel, " said old Horace Talbot. "You 'vedone no more than any other gentleman would have done. The trouble isthat the average Northerner has no sense of honour, suh, no sense ofhonour. If this particular man had had, he would have kept still, andeverything would have gone on smooth and quiet. Instead of that, adistinguished family is brought to shame, and for what? To give a niggera few more years of freedom when, likely as not, he don't want it; andBerry Hamilton's life in prison has proved nearer the ideal reached byslavery than anything he has found since emancipation. Why, suhs, Ifancy I see him leaving his prison with tears of regret in his eyes. "

Old Horace was inanely eloquent for an hour over his pet theory. Butthere were some in the town who thought differently about the matter, and it was their opinions and murmurings that backed up Skaggs and madeit easier for him when at the capital he came into contact with theofficial red tape. 

He was told that there were certain forms of procedure, and certaintimes for certain things, but he hammered persistently away, themurmurings behind him grew louder, while from his sanctum the editor ofthe _Universe_ thundered away against oppression and high-handedtyranny. Other papers took it up and asked why this man should bedespoiled of his liberty any longer? And when it was replied that theman had been convicted, and that the wheels of justice could not bestopped or turned back by the letter of a romantic artist or the ravingsof a madman, there was a mighty outcry against the farce of justice thathad been played out in this man's case. 

The trial was reviewed; the evidence again brought up and examined. Thedignity of the State was threatened. At this time the State did the onething necessary to save its tottering reputation. It would notsurrender, but it capitulated, and Berry Hamilton was pardoned. 

Berry heard the news with surprise and a half-bitter joy. He had longago lost hope that justice would ever be done to him. He marvelled atthe word that was brought to him now, and he could not understand thestrange cordiality of the young white man who met him at the warden'soffice. Five years of prison life had made a different man of him. He nolonger looked to receive kindness from his fellows, and he blinked at itas he blinked at the unwonted brightness of the sun. The lines about hismouth where the smiles used to gather had changed and grown stern withthe hopelessness of years. His lips drooped pathetically, and hardtreatment had given his eyes a lowering look. His hair, that had hardlyshown a white streak, was as white as Maurice Oakley's own. Hiserstwhile quick wits were dulled and imbruted. He had lived like an ox, working without inspiration or reward, and he came forth like an oxfrom his stall. All the higher part of him he had left behind, droppingit off day after day through the wearisome years. He had put behind himthe Berry Hamilton that laughed and joked and sang and believed, foreven his faith had become only a numbed fancy. 

"This is a very happy occasion, Mr. Hamilton, " said Skaggs, shaking hishand heartily. 

Berry did not answer. What had this slim, glib young man to do with him?What had any white man to do with him after what he had suffered attheir hands?

"You know you are to go New York with me?"

"To New Yawk? What fu'?"

Skaggs did not tell him that, now that the _Universe_ had done its work, it demanded the right to crow to its heart's satisfaction. He said only, "You want to see your wife, of course?"

Berry had forgotten Fannie, and for the first time his heart thrilledwithin him at the thought of seeing her again. 

"I ain't hyeahed f'om my people fu' a long time. I did n't know what hadbecome of 'em. How 's Kit an' Joe?"

"They 're all right, " was the reply. Skaggs could n't tell him, in thisthe first hour of his freedom. Let him have time to drink the sweetnessof that all in. There would be time afterwards to taste all of thebitterness. 

Once in New York, he found that people wished to see him, some fools, some philanthropists, and a great many reporters. He had to bephotographed--all this before he could seek those whom he longed to see. They printed his picture as he was before he went to prison and as hewas now, a sort of before-and-after-taking comment, and in the morningthat it all appeared, when the _Universe_ spread itself to tell thepublic what it had done and how it had done it, they gave him his wife'saddress. 

It would be better, they thought, for her to tell him herself all thathappened. No one of them was brave enough to stand to look in his eyeswhen he asked for his son and daughter, and they shifted theirresponsibility by pretending to themselves that they were doing it forhis own good: that the blow would fall more gently upon him coming fromher who had been his wife. Berry took the address and inquired his waytimidly, hesitatingly, but with a swelling heart, to the door of theflat where Fannie lived. 

XVIII

WHAT BERRY FOUND

Had not Berry's years of prison life made him forget what little he knewof reading, he might have read the name Gibson on the door-plate wherethey told him to ring for his wife. But he knew nothing of what awaitedhim as he confidently pulled the bell. Fannie herself came to the door. The news the papers held had not escaped her, but she had suffered insilence, hoping that Berry might be spared the pain of finding her. Nowhe stood before her, and she knew him at a glance, in spite of hishaggard countenance. 

"Fannie, " he said, holding out his arms to her, and all of the pain andpathos of long yearning was in his voice, "don't you know me?"

She shrank away from him, back in the hall-way. 

"Yes, yes, Be'y, I knows you. Come in. "

She led him through the passage-way and into her room, he following witha sudden sinking at his heart. This was not the reception he hadexpected from Fannie. 

When they were within the room he turned and held out his arms to heragain, but she did not notice them. "Why, is you 'shamed o' me?" heasked brokenly. 

"'Shamed? No! Oh, Be'y, " and she sank into a chair and began rocking toand fro in her helpless grief. 

"What 's de mattah, Fannie? Ain't you glad to see me?"

"Yes, yes, but you don't know nothin', do you? Dey lef' me to tell you?"

"Lef' you to tell me? What 's de mattah? Is Joe or Kit daid? Tell me. "

"No, not daid. Kit dances on de stage fu' a livin', an', Be'y, she ain'tde gal she ust to be. Joe--Joe--Joe--he 's in pen'tentiary fu' killin' aooman. "

Berry started forward with a cry, "My Gawd! my Gawd! my little gal! myboy!"

"Dat ain't all, " she went on dully, as if reciting a rote lesson; "Iain't yo' wife no mo'. I 's ma'ied ag'in. Oh Be'y, Be'y, don't look atme lak dat. I could n't he'p it. Kit an' Joe lef' me, an' dey said depen'tentiary divo'ced you an' me, an' dat you 'd nevah come out nohow. Don't look at me lak dat, Be'y. "

"You ain't my wife no mo'? Hit 's a lie, a damn lie! You is my wife. I's a innocent man. No pen'tentiay kin tek you erway f'om me. Hit 'senough what dey 've done to my chillen. " He rushed forward and seizedher by the arm. "Dey sha'n't do no mo', by Gawd! dey sha'n't, I say!"His voice had risen to a fierce roar, like that of a hurt beast, and heshook her by the arm as he spoke. 

"Oh, don't, Be'y, don't, you hu't me. I could n't he'p it. "

He glared at her for a moment, and then the real force of the situationcame full upon him, and he bowed his head in his hands and wept like achild. The great sobs came up and stuck in his throat. 

She crept up to him fearfully and laid her hand on his head. 

"Don't cry, Be'y, " she said; "I done wrong, but I loves you yit. "

He seized her in his arms and held her tightly until he could controlhimself. Then he asked weakly, "Well, what am I goin' to do?"

"I do' know, Be'y, 'ceptin' dat you 'll have to leave me. "

"I won't! I 'll never leave you again, " he replied doggedly. 

"But, Be'y, you mus'. You 'll only mek it ha'der on me, an' Gibson 'llbeat me ag'in. "

"Ag'in!"

She hung her head: "Yes. "

He gripped himself hard. 

"Why cain't you come on off wid me, Fannie? You was mine fus'. "

"I could n't. He would fin' me anywhaih I went to. "

"Let him fin' you. You 'll be wid me, an' we 'll settle it, him an'me. "

"I want to, but oh, I can't, I can't, " she wailed. "Please go now, Be'y, befo' he gits home. He 's mad anyhow, 'cause you 're out. "

Berry looked at her hard, and then said in a dry voice, "An' so I got togo an' leave you to him?"

"Yes, you mus'; I 'm his'n now. "

He turned to the door, murmuring, "My wife gone, Kit a nobody, an' Joe, little Joe, a murderer, an' then I--I--ust to pray to Gawd an' call him'Ouah Fathah. '" He laughed hoarsely. It sounded like nothing Fannie hadever heard before. 

"Don't, Be'y, don't say dat. Maybe we don't un'erstan'. "

Her faith still hung by a slender thread, but his had given way in thatmoment. 

"No, we don't un'erstan', " he laughed as he went out of the door. "Wedon't un'erstan'. "

He staggered down the steps, blinded by his emotions, and set his facetowards the little lodging that he had taken temporarily. There seemednothing left in life for him to do. Yet he knew that he must work tolive, although the effort seemed hardly worth while. He remembered nowthat the _Universe_ had offered him the under janitorship in itsbuilding. He would go and take it, and some day, perhaps--He was notquite sure what the "perhaps" meant. But as his mind grew clearer hecame to know, for a sullen, fierce anger was smouldering in his heartagainst the man who through lies had stolen his wife from him. It wasanger that came slowly, but gained in fierceness as it grew. 

Yes, that was it, he would kill Gibson. It was no worse than his presentstate. Then it would be father and son murderers. They would hang him orsend him back to prison. Neither would be hard now. He laughed tohimself. 

And this was what they had let him out of prison for? To find out allthis. Why had they not left him there to die in ignorance? What had heto do with all these people who gave him sympathy? What did he want oftheir sympathy? Could they give him back one tithe of what he had lost?Could they restore to him his wife or his son or his daughter, his quiethappiness or his simple faith?

He went to work for the _Universe_, but night after night, armed, hepatrolled the sidewalk in front of Fannie's house. He did not knowGibson, but he wanted to see them together. Then he would strike. Hisvigils kept him from his bed, but he went to the next morning's workwith no weariness. The hope of revenge sustained him, and he took asavage joy in the thought that he should be the dispenser of justice toat least one of those who had wounded him. 

Finally he grew impatient and determined to wait no longer, but to seekhis enemy in his own house. He approached the place cautiously and wentup the steps. His hand touched the bell-pull. He staggered back. 

"Oh, my Gawd!" he said. 

There was crape on Fannie's bell. His head went round and he held to thedoor for support. Then he turned the knob and the door opened. He wentnoiselessly in. At the door of Fannie's room he halted, sick with fear. He knocked, a step sounded within, and his wife's face looked out uponhim. He could have screamed aloud with relief. 

"It ain't you!" he whispered huskily. 

"No, it 's him. He was killed in a fight at the race-track. Some o' hisfrinds are settin' up. Come in. "

He went in, a wild, strange feeling surging at his heart. She showed himinto the death-chamber. 

As he stood and looked down upon the face of his enemy, still, cold, andterrible in death, the recognition of how near he had come to crimeswept over him, and all his dead faith sprang into new life in aglorious resurrection. He stood with clasped hands, and no word passedhis lips. But his heart was crying, "Thank God! thank God! this man'sblood is not on my hands. "

The gamblers who were sitting up with the dead wondered who the old foolwas who looked at their silent comrade and then raised his eyes as if inprayer. 

 * * * * *

When Gibson was laid away, there were no formalities between Berry andhis wife; they simply went back to each other. New York held nothing forthem now but sad memories. Kit was on the road, and the father could notbear to see his son; so they turned their faces southward, back to theonly place they could call home. Surely the people could not be cruel tothem now, and even if they were, they felt that after what they hadendured no wound had power to give them pain. 

Leslie Oakley heard of their coming, and with her own hands re-openedand refurnished the little cottage in the yard for them. There thewhite-haired woman begged them to spend the rest of their days and be inpeace and comfort. It was the only amend she could make. As much tosatisfy her as to settle themselves, they took the cottage, and many anight thereafter they sat together with clasped hands listening to theshrieks of the madman across the yard and thinking of what he hadbrought to them and to himself. 

It was not a happy life, but it was all that was left to them, and theytook it up without complaint, for they knew they were powerless againstsome Will infinitely stronger than their own.