A FAR COUNTRY

By Winston Churchill

BOOK 1. 

I. 

My name is Hugh Paret. I was a corporation lawyer, but by no means atypical one, the choice of my profession being merely incidental, anddue, as will be seen, to the accident of environment. The book I amabout to write might aptly be called The Autobiography of a Romanticist. In that sense, if in no other, I have been a typical American, regardingmy country as the happy hunting-ground of enlightened self-interest, asa function of my desires. Whether or not I have completely got rid ofthis romantic virus I must leave to those the aim of whose existenceis to eradicate it from our literature and our life. A somewhat Augeantask!

I have been impelled therefore to make an attempt at setting forth, withwhat frankness and sincerity I may, with those powers of selection ofwhich I am capable, the life I have lived in this modern America; thepassions I have known, the evils I have done. I endeavour to write abiography of the inner life; but in order to do this I shall have torelate those causal experiences of the outer existence that take placein the world of space and time, in the four walls of the home, in theschool and university, in the noisy streets, in the realm of businessand politics. I shall try to set down, impartially, the motives thathave impelled my actions, to reveal in some degree the amazing mixtureof good and evil which has made me what I am to-day: to avoid the tricksof memory and resist the inherent desire to present myself other andbetter than I am. Your American romanticist is a sentimental spoiledchild who believes in miracles, whose needs are mostly baubles, whosedesires are dreams. Expediency is his motto. Innocent of a knowledgeof the principles of the universe, he lives in a state of ceaselessactivity, admitting no limitations, impatient of all restrictions. What he wants, he wants very badly indeed. This wanting things was thecorner-stone of my character, and I believe that the science of thefuture will bear me out when I say that it might have been differentlybuilt upon. Certain it is that the system of education in vogue in the70's and 80's never contemplated the search for natural corner-stones. 

At all events, when I look back upon the boy I was, I see the beginningsof a real person who fades little by little as manhood arrives andadvances, until suddenly I am aware that a stranger has taken hisplace. .. . 

I lived in a city which is now some twelve hours distant from theAtlantic seaboard. A very different city, too, it was in youth, in mygrandfather's day and my father's, even in my own boyhood, from what ithas since become in this most material of ages. 

There is a book of my photographs, preserved by my mother, which Ihave been looking over lately. First is presented a plump child of two, gazing in smiling trustfulness upon a world of sunshine; later on alean boy in plaided kilts, whose wavy, chestnut-brown hair has beenmost carefully parted on the side by Norah, his nurse. The face isstill childish. Then appears a youth of fourteen or thereabout in longtrousers and the queerest of short jackets, standing beside a marbletable against a classic background; he is smiling still in undiminishedhope and trust, despite increasing vexations and crossings, meaninglesslessons which had to be learned, disciplines to rack an aspiring soul, and long, uncomfortable hours in the stiff pew of the First PresbyterianChurch. Associated with this torture is a peculiar Sunday smell and thefaint rustling of silk dresses. I can see the stern black figure of Dr. Pound, who made interminable statements to the Lord. 

"Oh, Lord, " I can hear him say, "thou knowest. .. "

These pictures, though yellowed and faded, suggest vividly the beingI once was, the feelings that possessed and animated me, love for myplaymates, vague impulses struggling for expression in a world foreverthwarting them. I recall, too, innocent dreams of a future unidentified, dreams from which I emerged vibrating with an energy that was lost forlack of a definite objective: yet it was constantly being renewed. Ioften wonder what I might have become if it could have been harnessed, directed! Speculations are vain. Calvinism, though it had begun to makecompromises, was still a force in those days, inimical to spontaneityand human instincts. And when I think of Calvinism I see, not Dr. Pound, who preached it, but my father, who practised and embodied it. I lovedhim, but he made of righteousness a stern and terrible thing implyingnot joy, but punishment, the suppression rather than the expansion ofaspirations. His religion seemed woven all of austerity, containedno shining threads to catch my eye. Dreams, to him, were matters forsuspicion and distrust. 

I sometimes ask myself, as I gaze upon his portrait now, the duplicateof the one painted for the Bar Association, whether he ever could havefelt the secret, hot thrills I knew and did not identify with religion. His religion was real to him, though he failed utterly to make itcomprehensible to me. The apparent calmness, evenness of his life awedme. A successful lawyer, a respected and trusted citizen, was he lackingsomewhat in virility, vitality? I cannot judge him, even to-day. Inever knew him. There were times in my youth when the curtain of hisunfamiliar spirit was withdrawn a little: and once, after I had passedthe crisis of some childhood disease, I awoke to find him bending overmy bed with a tender expression that surprised and puzzled me. 

He was well educated, and from his portrait a shrewd observer mightdivine in him a genteel taste for literature. The fine features bearwitness to the influence of an American environment, yet suggestthe intellectual Englishman of Matthew Arnold's time. The face isdistinguished, ascetic, the chestnut hair lighter and thinner than myown; the side whiskers are not too obtrusive, the eyes blue-grey. Thereis a large black cravat crossed and held by a cameo pin, and the coathas odd, narrow lapels. His habits of mind were English, although heharmonized well enough with the manners and traditions of a city whoseinheritance was Scotch-Irish; and he invariably drank tea for breakfast. One of my earliest recollections is of the silver breakfast service andegg-cups which my great-grandfather brought with him from Sheffield toPhiladelphia shortly after the Revolution. His son, Dr. Hugh MoretonParet, after whom I was named, was the best known physician of the cityin the decorous, Second Bank days. 

My mother was Sarah Breck. Hers was my Scotch-Irish side. Old BenjaminBreck, her grandfather, undaunted by sea or wilderness, had comestraight from Belfast to the little log settlement by the great riverthat mirrored then the mantle of primeval forest on the hills. So muchfor chance. He kept a store with a side porch and square-paned windows, where hams and sides of bacon and sugar loaves in blue glazed paper hungbeside ploughs and calico prints, barrels of flour, of molasses and rum, all of which had been somehow marvellously transported over the passesof those forbidding mountains, --passes we blithely thread to-day indining cars and compartment sleepers. Behind the store were moored thebarges that floated down on the swift current to the Ohio, carryinggoods to even remoter settlements in the western wilderness. 

Benjamin, in addition to his emigrant's leather box, brought with himsome of that pigment that was to dye the locality for generations adeep blue. I refer, of course, to his Presbyterianism. And in order thebetter to ensure to his progeny the fastness of this dye, he marriedthe granddaughter of a famous divine, celebrated in the annals of NewEngland, --no doubt with some injustice, --as a staunch advocate on thedoctrine of infant damnation. My cousin Robert Breck had old Benjamin'sportrait, which has since gone to the Kinley's. Heaven knows who paintedit, though no great art were needed to suggest on canvas the toughfabric of that sitter, who was more Irish than Scotch. The heavystick he holds might, with a slight stretch of the imagination, be ablackthorn; his head looks capable of withstanding many blows; his handof giving many. And, as I gazed the other day at this picture hanging inthe shabby suburban parlour, I could only contrast him with his anaemicdescendants who possessed the likeness. Between the children of poorMary Kinley, --Cousin Robert's daughter, and the hardy stock of the oldcountry there is a gap indeed!

Benjamin Breck made the foundation of a fortune. It was his son whobuilt on the Second Bank the wide, corniced mansion in which to housecomfortably his eight children. There, two tiers above the river, livedmy paternal grandfather, Dr. Paret, the Breck's physician and friend;the Durretts and the Hambletons, iron-masters; the Hollisters, Sherwins, the McAlerys and Ewanses, --Breck connections, --the Willetts and Ogilvys;in short, everyone of importance in the days between the 'thirties andthe Civil War. Theirs were generous houses surrounded by shade trees, with glorious back yards--I have been told--where apricots and pears andpeaches and even nectarines grew. 

The business of Breck and Company, wholesale grocers, descended to mymother's first cousin, Robert Breck, who lived at Claremore. The verysound of that word once sufficed to give me a shiver of delight; butthe Claremore I knew has disappeared as completely as Atlantis, andthe place is now a suburb (hateful word!) cut up into building lotsand connected with Boyne Street and the business section of the cityby trolley lines. Then it was "the country, " and fairly saturated withromance. Cousin Robert, when he came into town to spend his days at thestore, brought with him some of this romance, I had almost said of thisaroma. He was no suburbanite, but rural to the backbone, professing amost proper contempt for dwellers in towns. 

Every summer day that dawned held Claremore as a possibility. And suchwas my capacity for joy that my appetite would depart completely when Iheard my mother say, questioningly and with proper wifely respect--

"If you're really going off on a business trip for a day or two, Mr. Paret" (she generally addressed my father thus formally), "I think I'llgo to Robert's and take Hugh. "

"Shall I tell Norah to pack, mother, " I would exclaim, starting up. 

"We'll see what your father thinks, my dear. "

"Remain at the table until you are excused, Hugh, " he would say. 

Released at length, I would rush to Norah, who always rejoiced withme, and then to the wire fence which marked the boundary of the Petersdomain next door, eager, with the refreshing lack of considerationcharacteristic of youth, to announce to the Peterses--who were to remainat home the news of my good fortune. There would be Tom and Alfred andRussell and Julia and little Myra with her grass-stained knees, faringforth to seek the adventures of a new day in the shady western yard. Myra was too young not to look wistful at my news, but the otherspretended indifference, seeking to lessen my triumph. And it was Juliawho invariably retorted "We can go out to Uncle Jake's farm whenever wewant to. Can't we, Tom?". .. 

No journey ever taken since has equalled in ecstasy that leisurely tripof thirteen miles in the narrow-gauge railroad that wound through hotfields of nodding corn tassels and between delicious, acrid-smellingwoods to Claremore. No silent palace "sleeping in the sun, " no edificedecreed by Kubla Khan could have worn more glamour than the house ofCousin Robert Breck. 

It stood half a mile from the drowsy village, deep in its own groundsamidst lawns splashed with shadows, with gravel paths edged--inbarbarous fashion, if you please with shells. There were flower beds ofequally barbarous design; and two iron deer, which, like the figureson Keats's Grecian urn, were ever ready poised to flee, --and yet neverfled. For Cousin Robert was rich, as riches went in those days: not onlyrich, but comfortable. Stretching behind the house were sweet meadows ofhay and red clover basking in the heat, orchards where the cows croppedbeneath the trees, arbours where purple clusters of Concords hungbeneath warm leaves: there were woods beyond, into which, under theguidance of Willie Breck, I made adventurous excursions, and in theautumn gathered hickories and walnuts. The house was a rambling, woodenmansion painted grey, with red scroll-work on its porches and horsehairfurniture inside. Oh, the smell of its darkened interior on a midsummerday! Like the flavour of that choicest of tropical fruits, themangosteen, it baffles analysis, and the nearest I can come to it is amixture of matting and corn-bread, with another element too subtle todefine. 

The hospitality of that house! One would have thought we had arrived, my mother and I, from the ends of the earth, such was the welcome we gotfrom Cousin Jenny, Cousin Robert's wife, from Mary and Helen with theflaxen pig-tails, from Willie, whom I recall as permanently withoutshoes or stockings. Met and embraced by Cousin Jenny at the station anddriven to the house in the squeaky surrey, the moment we arrived she andmy mother would put on the dressing-sacks I associated with hot weather, and sit sewing all day long in rocking-chairs at the coolest end of thepiazza. The women of that day scorned lying down, except at night, andas evening came on they donned starched dresses; I recall in particularone my mother wore, with little vertical stripes of black and white, anda full skirt. And how they talked, from the beginning of the visit untilthe end! I have often since wondered where the topics came from. 

It was not until nearly seven o'clock that the train arrived whichbrought home my Cousin Robert. He was a big man; his features and evenhis ample moustache gave a disconcerting impression of rugged integrity, and I remember him chiefly in an alpaca or seersucker coat. Though muchless formal, more democratic--in a word--than my father, I stood inawe of him for a different reason, and this I know now was becausehe possessed the penetration to discern the flaws in my youthfulcharacter, --flaws that persisted in manhood. None so quick as CousinRobert to detect deceptions which were hidden from my mother. 

His hobby was carpentering, and he had a little shop beside thestable filled with shining tools which Willie and I, in spite of theirattractions, were forbidden to touch. Willie, by dire experience, hadlearned to keep the law; but on one occasion I stole in alone, andpromptly cut my finger with a chisel. My mother and Cousin Jennyaccepted the fiction that the injury had been done with a flintarrowhead that Willie had given me, but when Cousin Robert came home andsaw my bound hand and heard the story, he gave me a certain look whichsticks in my mind. 

"Wonderful people, those Indians were!" he observed. "They could makearrowheads as sharp as chisels. "

I was most uncomfortable. .. . 

He had a strong voice, and spoke with a rising inflection and a markedaccent that still remains peculiar to our locality, although it was muchmodified in my mother and not at all noticeable in my father; with anodd nasal alteration of the burr our Scotch-Irish ancestors had broughtwith them across the seas. For instance, he always called my fatherMr. Par-r-ret. He had an admiration and respect for him that seemedto forbid the informality of "Matthew. " It was shared by others of myfather's friends and relations. 

"Sarah, " Cousin Robert would say to my mother, "you're coddling thatboy, you ought to lam him oftener. Hand him over to me for a couple ofmonths--I'll put him through his paces. .. . So you're going to send himto college, are you? He's too good for old Benjamin's grocery business. "

He was very fond of my mother, though he lectured her soundly for herweakness in indulging me. I can see him as he sat at the head of thesupper table, carving liberal helpings which Mary and Helen and Williedevoured with country appetites, watching our plates. 

"What's the matter, Hugh? You haven't eaten all your lamb. "

"He doesn't like fat, Robert, " my mother explained. 

"I'd teach him to like it if he were my boy. "

"Well, Robert, he isn't your boy, " Cousin Jenny would remind him. .. . His bark was worse than his bite. Like many kind people he made use ofbrusqueness to hide an inner tenderness, and on the train he was hailfellow well met with every Tom, Dick and Harry that commuted, --althoughthe word was not invented in those days, --and the conductor and brakemantoo. But he had his standards, and held to them. .. . 

Mine was not a questioning childhood, and I was willing to accept thescheme of things as presented to me entire. In my tenderer years, whenI had broken one of the commandments on my father's tablet (there weremore than ten), and had, on his home-coming, been sent to bed, my motherwould come softly upstairs after supper with a book in her hand; a bookof selected Bible stories on which Dr. Pound had set the seal of hisapproval, with a glazed picture cover, representing Daniel in the lions'den and an angel standing beside him. On the somewhat specious plea thatHoly Writ might have a chastening effect, she was permitted to ministerto me in my shame. The amazing adventure of Shadrach, Meshach andAbednego particularly appealed to an imagination needing littlestimulation. It never occurred to me to doubt that these gentlemen hadtriumphed over caloric laws. But out of my window, at the back of thesecond storey, I often saw a sudden, crimson glow in the sky to thesouthward, as though that part of the city had caught fire. There werethe big steel-works, my mother told me, belonging to Mr. Durrett andMr. Hambleton, the father of Ralph Hambleton and the grandfather ofHambleton Durrett, my schoolmates at Miss Caroline's. I invariablyconnected the glow, not with Hambleton and Ralph, but with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego! Later on, when my father took me to thesteel-works, and I beheld with awe a huge pot filled with molten metalthat ran out of it like water, I asked him--if I leaped into thatstream, could God save me? He was shocked. Miracles, he told me, didn'thappen any more. 

"When did they stop?" I demanded. 

"About two thousand years ago, my son, " he replied gravely. 

"Then, " said I, "no matter how much I believed in God, he wouldn't saveme if I jumped into the big kettle for his sake?"

For this I was properly rebuked and silenced. 

My boyhood was filled with obsessing desires. If God, for example, hadcast down, out of his abundant store, manna and quail in the desert, why couldn't he fling me a little pocket money? A paltry quarter ofa dollar, let us say, which to me represented wealth. To avoid thereproach of the Pharisees, I went into the closet of my bed-chamber topray, requesting that the quarter should be dropped on the north side ofLyme Street, between Stamford and Tryon; in short, as conveniently nearhome as possible. Then I issued forth, not feeling overconfident, buthoping. Tom Peters, leaning over the ornamental cast-iron fence whichseparated his front yard from the street, presently spied me scanningthe sidewalk. 

"What are you looking for, Hugh?" he demanded with interest. 

"Oh, something I dropped, " I answered uneasily. 

"What?"

Naturally, I refused to tell. It was a broiling, midsummer day; Juliaand Russell, who had been warned to stay in the shade, but who wereengaged in the experiment of throwing the yellow cat from the top ofthe lattice fence to see if she would alight on her feet, were presentlyattracted, and joined in the search. The mystery which I threw around itadded to its interest, and I was not inconsiderably annoyed. Suppose oneof them were to find the quarter which God had intended for me? Wouldthat be justice?

"It's nothing, " I said, and pretended to abandon the quest--to berenewed later. But this ruse failed; they continued obstinately tosearch; and after a few minutes Tom, with a shout, picked out of a hotcrevice between the bricks--a nickel!

"It's mine!" I cried fiercely. 

"Did you lose it?" demanded Julia, the canny one, as Tom was about togive it up. 

My lying was generally reserved for my elders. 

"N-no, " I said hesitatingly, "but it's mine all the same. It was--sentto me. "

"Sent to you!" they exclaimed, in a chorus of protest and derision. Andhow, indeed, was I to make good my claim? The Peterses, when assembled, were a clan, led by Julia and in matters of controversy, moved as one. How was I to tell them that in answer to my prayers for twenty-fivecents, God had deemed five all that was good for me?

"Some--somebody dropped it there for me. "

"Who?" demanded the chorus. "Say, that's a good one!"

Tears suddenly blinded me. Overcome by chagrin, I turned and flew intothe house and upstairs into my room, locking the door behind me. Aninterval ensued, during which I nursed my sense of wrong, and it pleasedme to think that the money would bring a curse on the Peters family. Atlength there came a knock on the door, and a voice calling my name. 

"Hugh! Hugh!"

It was Tom. 

"Hughie, won't you let me in? I want to give you the nickel. "

"Keep it!" I shouted back. "You found it. "

Another interval, and then more knocking. 

"Open up, " he said coaxingly. "I--I want to talk to you. "

I relented, and let him in. He pressed the coin into my hand. I refused;he pleaded. 

"You found it, " I said, "it's yours. "

"But--but you were looking for it. "

"That makes no difference, " I declared magnanimously. 

Curiosity overcame him. 

"Say, Hughie, if you didn't drop it, who on earth did?"

"Nobody on earth, " I replied cryptically. .. . 

Naturally, I declined to reveal the secret. Nor was this by any meansthe only secret I held over the Peters family, who never quite knew whatto make of me. They were not troubled with imaginations. Julia was alittle older than Tom and had a sharp tongue, but over him I exerciseda distinct fascination, and I knew it. Literal himself, good-natured andwarm-hearted, the gift I had of tingeing life with romance (to put thething optimistically), of creating kingdoms out of back yards--at whichJulia and Russell sniffed--held his allegiance firm. 

II. 

I must have been about twelve years of age when I realized that I waspossessed of the bard's inheritance. A momentous journey I made withmy parents to Boston about this time not only stimulated this gift, butgave me the advantage of which other travellers before me have likewiseavailed themselves--of being able to take certain poetic liberties witha distant land that my friends at home had never seen. Often during theheat of summer noons when we were assembled under the big maple besidethe lattice fence in the Peters' yard, the spirit would move me torelate the most amazing of adventures. Our train, for instance, had beenheld up in the night by a band of robbers in black masks, and rescued bya traveller who bore a striking resemblance to my Cousin Robert Breck. He had shot two of the robbers. These fabrications, once started, flowedfrom me with ridiculous ease. I experienced an unwonted exhilaration, exaltation; I began to believe that they had actually occurred. In vainthe astute Julia asserted that there were no train robbers in the east. What had my father done? Well, he had been very brave, but he had had nopistol. Had I been frightened? No, not at all; I, too, had wished fora pistol. Why hadn't I spoken of this before? Well, so many thingshad happened to me I couldn't tell them all at once. It was plain thatJulia, though often fascinated against her will, deemed this sort ofthing distinctly immoral. 

I was a boy divided in two. One part of me dwelt in a fanciful realmof his own weaving, and the other part was a commonplace and protestinginhabitant of a world of lessons, disappointments and discipline. Myinstincts were not vicious. Ideas bubbled up within me continuallyfrom an apparently inexhaustible spring, and the very strength of thelongings they set in motion puzzled and troubled my parents: what Iseem to see most distinctly now is a young mind engaged in a ceaselessstruggle for self-expression, for self-development, against the inertiaof a tradition of which my father was the embodiment. He was an enigmato me then. He sincerely loved me, he cherished ambitions concerning me, yet thwarted every natural, budding growth, until I grew unconsciouslyto regard him as my enemy, although I had an affection for him and apride in him that flared up at times. Instead of confiding to him myaspirations, vague though they were, I became more and more secretive asI grew older. I knew instinctively that he regarded these aspirationsas evidences in my character of serious moral flaws. And I would soonerhave suffered many afternoons of his favourite punishment--solitaryconfinement in my room--than reveal to him those occasional fits ofcreative fancy which caused me to neglect my lessons in order to putthem on paper. Loving literature, in his way, he was characteristicallyincapable of recognizing the literary instinct, and the symptoms of itsearly stages he mistook for inherent frivolity, for lack of respectfor the truth; in brief, for original sin. At the age of fourteen I hadbegun secretly (alas, how many things I did secretly!) to write storiesof a sort, stories that never were finished. 

He regarded reading as duty, not pleasure. He laid out books for me, which I neglected. He was part and parcel of that American environmentin which literary ambition was regarded as sheer madness. And no onewho has not experienced that environment can have any conception of thepressure it exerted to stifle originality, to thrust the new generationinto its religious and commercial moulds. Shall we ever, I wonder, develop the enlightened education that will know how to take advantageof such initiative as was mine? that will be on the watch for it, sympathize with it and guide it to fruition?

I was conscious of still another creative need, that of dramatizingmy ideas, of converting them into action. And this need was to lead mefarther than ever afield from the path of righteousness. The concreterealization of ideas, as many geniuses will testify, is an expensiveundertaking, requiring a little pocket money; and I have already touchedupon that subject. My father did not believe in pocket money. A seastory that my Cousin Donald Ewan gave me at Christmas inspired me tocompose one of a somewhat different nature; incidentally, I deemed ita vast improvement on Cousin Donald's book. Now, if I only had a boat, with the assistance of Ham Durrett and Tom Peters, Gene Hollister andPerry Blackwood and other friends, this story of mine might bestaged. There were, however, as usual, certain seemingly insuperabledifficulties: in the first place, it was winter time; in the second, nofacilities existed in the city for operations of a nautical character;and, lastly, my Christmas money amounted only to five dollars. It was myfather who pointed out these and other objections. For, after a carefulperusal of the price lists I had sent for, I had been forced to appealto him to supply additional funds with which to purchase a row-boat. Incidentally, he read me a lecture on extravagance, referred to my lastmonth's report at the Academy, and finished by declaring that he wouldnot permit me to have a boat even in the highly improbable case ofsomebody's presenting me with one. Let it not be imagined that my ardouror my determination were extinguished. Shortly after I had retired fromhis presence it occurred to me that he had said nothing to forbid mymaking a boat, and the first thing I did after school that day was toprocure, for twenty-five cents, a second-hand book on boat construction. The woodshed was chosen as a shipbuilding establishment. It wasconvenient--and my father never went into the back yard in cold weather. Inquiries of lumber-yards developing the disconcerting fact that fourdollars and seventy-five cents was inadequate to buy the materialitself, to say nothing of the cost of steaming and bending the ribs, Ireluctantly abandoned the ideal of the graceful craft I had sketched, and compromised on a flat bottom. Observe how the ways of deception leadto transgression: I recalled the cast-off lumber pile of Jarvis, the carpenter, a good-natured Englishman, coarse and fat: in ourneighbourhood his reputation for obscenity was so well known to mothersthat I had been forbidden to go near him or his shop. Grits Jarvis, hisson, who had inherited the talent, was also contraband. I can seenow the huge bulk of the elder Jarvis as he stood in the melting, soot-powdered snow in front of his shop, and hear his comments on mypertinacity. 

"If you ever wants another man's missus when you grows up, my lad, Gawd'elp 'im!"

"Why should I want another man's wife when I don't want one of my own?"I demanded, indignant. 

He laughed with his customary lack of moderation. 

"You mind what old Jarvis says, " he cried. "What you wants, you gets. "

I did get his boards, by sheer insistence. No doubt they were not veryvaluable, and without question he more than made up for them in mymother's bill. I also got something else of equal value to me at themoment, --the assistance of Grits, the contraband; daily, after school, I smuggled him into the shed through the alley, acquiring likewise theservices of Tom Peters, which was more of a triumph than it would seem. Tom always had to be "worked up" to participation in my ideas, but inthe end he almost invariably succumbed. The notion of building a boat inthe dead of winter, and so far from her native element, naturally struckhim at first as ridiculous. Where in Jehoshaphat was I going to sail itif I ever got it made? He much preferred to throw snowballs at innocentwagon drivers. 

All that Tom saw, at first, was a dirty, coal-spattered shed with dimrecesses, for it was lighted on one side only, and its temperature wassomewhere below freezing. Surely he could not be blamed for a temperedenthusiasm! But for me, all the dirt and cold and discomfort wereblotted out, and I beheld a gallant craft manned by sturdy seamenforging her way across blue water in the South Seas. Treasure Island, alas, was as yet unwritten; but among my father's books were two oldvolumes in which I had hitherto taken no interest, with crude engravingsof palms and coral reefs, of naked savages and tropical mountainscovered with jungle, the adventures, in brief, of one Captain Cook. Ialso discovered a book by a later traveller. Spurred on by a mysteriousmotive power, and to the great neglect of the pons asinorum and thestaple products of the Southern States, I gathered an amazing amount ofinformation concerning a remote portion of the globe, of head-huntersand poisoned stakes, of typhoons, of queer war-craft that crept up onyou while you were dismantling galleons, when desperate hand-to-handencounters ensued. Little by little as I wove all this into personaladventures soon to be realized, Tom forgot the snowballs and themaddened grocery-men who chased him around the block; while Grits wouldoccasionally stop sawing and cry out:--"Ah, s'y!" frequently adding thathe would be G--d--d. 

The cold woodshed became a chantry on the New England coast, the alleythe wintry sea soon to embrace our ship, the saw-horses--which stoodbetween a coal-bin on one side and unused stalls filled with rubbishand kindling on the other--the ways; the yard behind the lattice fencebecame a backwater, the flapping clothes the sails of ships that tookrefuge there--on Mondays and Tuesdays. Even my father was symbolizedwith unparalleled audacity as a watchful government which had, up to thepresent, no inkling of our semi-piratical intentions! The cook and thehousemaid, though remonstrating against the presence of Grits, werefriendly confederates; likewise old Cephas, the darkey who, from myearliest memory, carried coal and wood and blacked the shoes, washed thewindows and scrubbed the steps. 

One afternoon Tom went to work. .. . 

The history of the building of the good ship Petrel is similar to thatof all created things, a story of trial and error and waste. At last, one March day she stood ready for launching. She had even been caulked;for Grits, from an unknown and unquestionably dubious source, hadprocured a bucket of tar, which we heated over afire in the alley andsmeared into every crack. It was natural that the news of such a featas we were accomplishing should have leaked out, that the "yard" shouldhave been visited from time to time by interested friends, some of whomcame to admire, some to scoff, and all to speculate. Among the scoffers, of course, was Ralph Hambleton, who stood with his hands in his pocketsand cheerfully predicted all sorts of dire calamities. Ralph was alwaysa superior boy, tall and a trifle saturnine and cynical, with anamazing self-confidence not wholly due to the wealth of his father, theiron-master. He was older than I. 

"She won't float five minutes, if you ever get her to the water, " washis comment, and in this he was supported on general principles by Juliaand Russell Peters. Ralph would have none of the Petrel, or of the SouthSeas either; but he wanted, --so he said, --"to be in at the death. " TheHambletons were one of the few families who at that time went to the seafor the summer, and from a practical knowledge of craft in general Ralphwas not slow to point out the defects of ours. Tom and I defended herpassionately. 

Ralph was not a romanticist. He was a born leader, excelling atorganized games, exercising over boys the sort of fascination that comesfrom doing everything better and more easily than others. It was onlyduring the progress of such enterprises as this affair of the Petrelthat I succeeded in winning their allegiance; bit by bit, as Tom's hadbeen won, fanning their enthusiasm by impersonating at once Achillesand Homer, recruiting while relating the Odyssey of the expedition inglowing colours. Ralph always scoffed, and when I had no scheme on footthey went back to him. Having surveyed the boat and predicted calamity, he departed, leaving a circle of quaint and youthful figures around thePetrel in the shed: Gene Hollister, romantically inclined, yet somewhathampered by a strict parental supervision; Ralph's cousin Ham Durrett, who was even then a rather fat boy, good-natured but selfish; Don andHarry Ewan, my second cousins; Mac and Nancy Willett and Sam and SophyMcAlery. Nancy was a tomboy, not to be denied, and Sophy her shadow. Weheld a council, the all-important question of which was how to get thePetrel to the water, and what water to get her to. The river was not tobe thought of, and Blackstone Lake some six miles from town. Finally, Logan's mill-pond was decided on, --a muddy sheet on the outskirts ofthe city. But how to get her to Logan's mill-pond? Cephas was at lengthconsulted. It turned out that he had a coloured friend who went by theimpressive name of Thomas Jefferson Taliaferro (pronounced Tolliver), who was in the express business; and who, after surveying the boatwith some misgivings, --for she was ten feet long, --finally consented totransport her to "tide-water" for the sum of two dollars. But it provedthat our combined resources only amounted to a dollar and seventy-fivecents. Ham Durrett never contributed to anything. On this sum ThomasJefferson compromised. 

Saturday dawned clear, with a stiff March wind catching up the dust intoeddies and whirling it down the street. No sooner was my father safelyon his way to his office than Thomas Jefferson was reported to be inthe alley, where we assembled, surveying with some misgivings ThomasJefferson's steed, whose ability to haul the Petrel two miles seemedsomewhat doubtful. Other difficulties developed; the door in the back ofthe shed proved to be too narrow for our ship's beam. But men embarkedon a desperate enterprise are not to be stopped by such trifles, andthe problem was solved by sawing out two adjoining boards. These wereafterwards replaced with skill by the ship's carpenter, Able SeamanGrits Jarvis. Then the Petrel by heroic efforts was got into the wagon, the seat of which had been removed, old Thomas Jefferson perched himselfprecariously in the bow and protestingly gathered up his rope-patchedreins. 

"Folks'll 'low I'se plum crazy, drivin' dis yere boat, " he declared, observing with concern that some four feet of the stern projected overthe tail-board. "Ef she topples, I'll git to heaven quicker'n a bullet. "

When one is shanghaied, however, --in the hands of buccaneers, --it istoo late to withdraw. Six shoulders upheld the rear end of the Petrel, others shoved, and Thomas Jefferson's rickety horse began to moveforward in spite of himself. An expression of sheer terror might havebeen observed on the old negro's crinkled face, but his voice wasdrowned, and we swept out of the alley. Scarcely had we travelled ablock before we began to be joined by all the boys along the line ofmarch; marbles, tops, and even incipient baseball games were abandonedthat Saturday morning; people ran out of their houses, teamsters haltedtheir carts. The breathless excitement, the exaltation I had felt onleaving the alley were now tinged with other feelings, unanticipated, but not wholly lacking in delectable quality, --concern and awe at theseunforeseen forces I had raised, at this ever growing and enthusiasticbody of volunteers springing up like dragon's teeth in our path. Afterall, was not I the hero of this triumphal procession? The thought wasconsoling, exhilarating. And here was Nancy marching at my side, alittle subdued, perhaps, but unquestionably admiring and realizing thatit was I who had created all this. Nancy, who was the aptest of pupils, the most loyal of followers, though I did not yet value her devotion atits real worth, because she was a girl. Her imagination kindled at mytouch. And on this eventful occasion she carried in her arms a parcel, the contents of which were unknown to all but ourselves. At length wereached the muddy shores of Logan's pond, where two score eager handsvolunteered to assist the Petrel into her native element. 

Alas! that the reality never attains to the vision. I had beheld, in mydreams, the Petrel about to take the water, and Nancy Willett standingvery straight making a little speech and crashing a bottle of wineacross the bows. This was the content of the mysterious parcel; shehad stolen it from her father's cellar. But the number of uninvitedspectators, which had not been foreseen, considerably modified theprogramme, --as the newspapers would have said. They pushed and crowdedaround the ship, and made frank and even brutal remarks as to herseaworthiness; even Nancy, inured though she was to the masculine sex, had fled to the heights, and it looked at this supreme moment as thoughwe should have to fight for the Petrel. An attempt to muster her doughtybuccaneers failed; the gunner too had fled, --Gene Hollister; Ham Durrettand the Ewanses were nowhere to be seen, and a muster revealed only Tom, the fidus Achates, and Grits Jarvis. 

"Ah, s'y!" he exclaimed in the teeth of the menacing hordes. "Standback, carn't yer? I'll bash yer face in, Johnny. Whose boat is this?"

Shall it be whispered that I regretted his belligerency? Here, in truth, was the drama staged, --my drama, had I only been able to realize it. Thegood ship beached, the headhunters hemming us in on all sides, the sceneprepared for one of those struggles against frightful odds which I hadso graphically related as an essential part of our adventures. 

"Let's roll the cuss in the fancy collar, " proposed one of thehead-hunters, --meaning me. 

"I'll stove yer slats if yer touch him, " said Grits, and then resortedto appeal. "I s'y, carn't yer stand back and let a chap 'ave a charnst?"

The head-hunters only jeered. And what shall be said of the Captainin this moment of peril? Shall it be told that his heart was beatingwildly?--bumping were a better word. He was trying to remember thathe was the Captain. Otherwise, he must admit with shame that he, too, should have fled. So much for romance when the test comes. Will heremain to fall fighting for his ship? Like Horatius, he glanced up atthe hill, where, instead of the porch of the home where he would fainhave been, he beheld a wisp of a girl standing alone, her hat on theback of her head, her hair flying in the wind, gazing intently down athim in his danger. The renegade crew was nowhere to be seen. There arethose who demand the presence of a woman in order to be heroes. .. . 

"Give us a chance, can't you?" he cried, repeating Grits's appeal innot quite such a stentorian tone as he would have liked, while his handtrembled on the gunwale. Tom Peters, it must be acknowledged, was muchmore of a buccaneer when it was a question of deeds, for he plantedhimself in the way of the belligerent chief of the head-hunters (whospoke with a decided brogue). 

"Get out of the way!" said Tom, with a little squeak in his voice. Yetthere he was, and he deserves a tribute. 

An unlooked-for diversion saved us from annihilation, in the shape ofone who had a talent for creating them. We were bewilderingly aware of agirlish figure amongst us. 

"You cowards!" she cried. "You cowards!"

Lithe, and fairly quivering with passion, it was Nancy who showed ushow to face the head-hunters. They gave back. They would have been braveindeed if they had not retreated before such an intense little nucleusof energy and indignation!. .. 

"Ah, give 'em a chanst, " said their chief, after a moment. .. . He evenhelped to push the boat towards the water. But he did not volunteer tobe one of those to man the Petrel on her maiden voyage. Nor didLogan's pond, that wild March day, greatly resemble the South Seas. Nevertheless, my eye on Nancy, I stepped proudly aboard and seizedan "oar. " Grits and Tom followed, --when suddenly the Petrel sankconsiderably below the water-line as her builders had estimated it. Erewe fully realized this, the now friendly head-hunters had given usa shove, and we were off! The Captain, who should have been wavinggood-bye to his lady love from the poop, sat down abruptly, --the crewlikewise; not, however, before she had heeled to the scuppers, anda half-bucket of iced water had run it. Head-hunters were mere dailyepisodes in Grits's existence, but water. .. He muttered something incockney that sounded like a prayer. .. . The wind was rapidly drivingus toward the middle of the pond, and something cold and ticklish wasseeping through the seats of our trousers. We sat like statues. .. . 

The bright scene etched itself in my memory--the bare brown slopes withwhich the pond was bordered, the Irish shanties, the clothes-lines withred flannel shirts snapping in the biting wind; Nancy motionless on thebank; the group behind her, silent now, impressed in spite of itself atthe sight of our intrepidity. 

The Petrel was sailing stern first. .. . Would any of us, indeed, ever seehome again? I thought of my father's wrath turned to sorrow because hehad refused to gratify a son's natural wish and present him with a realrowboat. .. . Out of the corners of our eyes we watched the water creepingaround the gunwale, and the very muddiness of it seemed to enhance itscoldness, to make the horrors of its depths more mysterious and hideous. The voice of Grits startled us. 

"O Gawd, " he was saying, "we're a-going to sink, and I carn't swim! Theblarsted tar's give way back here. "

"Is she leaking?" I cried. 

"She's a-filling up like a bath tub, " he lamented. 

Slowly but perceptibly, in truth, the bow was rising, and above thewhistling of the wind I could hear his chattering as she settled. .. . Then several things happened simultaneously: an agonized cry behind me, distant shouts from the shore, a sudden upward lunge of the bow, andthe torture of being submerged, inch by inch, in the icy, yellow water. Despite the splashing behind me, I sat as though paralyzed until I waswaist deep and the boards turned under me, and then, with a spasmodiccontraction of my whole being I struck out--only to find my feet on themuddy bottom. Such was the inglorious end of the good ship Petrel! Forshe went down, with all hands, in little more than half a fathom ofwater. .. . It was not until then I realized that we had been blown clearacross the pond!

Figures were running along the shore. And as Tom and I emerged draggingGrits between us, --for he might have been drowned there abjectly in theshallows, --we were met by a stout and bare-armed Irishwoman whose scantyhair, I remember, was drawn into a tight knot behind her head; and whoseized us, all three, as though we were a bunch of carrots. 

"Come along wid ye!" she cried. 

Shivering, we followed her up the hill, the spectators of the tragedy, who by this time had come around the pond, trailing after. Nancy was notamong them. Inside the shanty into which we were thrust were two smallchildren crawling about the floor, and the place was filled with steamfrom a wash-tub against the wall and a boiler on the stove. With avigorous injunction to make themselves scarce, the Irishwoman slammedthe door in the faces of the curious and ordered us to remove ourclothes. Grits was put to bed in a corner, while Tom and I, providedwith various garments, huddled over the stove. There fell to my lot thered flannel shirt which I had seen on the clothes-line. She gave ushot coffee, and was back at her wash-tub in no time at all, her entirecomment on a proceeding that seemed to Tom and me to have certainelements of gravity being, "By's will be by's!" The final ironical touchwas given the anti-climax when our rescuer turned out to be the motherof the chief of the head-hunters himself! He had lingered perforce withhis brothers and sister outside the cabin until dinner time, and when hecame in he was meek as Moses. 

Thus the ready hospitality of the poor, which passed over the headsof Tom and me as we ate bread and onions and potatoes with a ravenoushunger. It must have been about two o'clock in the afternoon when webade good-bye to our preserver and departed for home. .. . 

At first we went at a dog-trot, but presently slowed down to discuss thefuture looming portentously ahead of us. Since entire concealment wasnow impossible, the question was, --how complete a confession would benecessary? Our cases, indeed, were dissimilar, and Tom's incentive tohold back the facts was not nearly so great as mine. It sometimes seemedto me in those days unjust that the Peterses were able on the wholeto keep out of criminal difficulties, in which I was more or lesscontinuously involved: for it did not strike me that their sins were notthose of the imagination. The method of Tom's father was the slipper. Heand Tom understood each other, while between my father and myself was agreat gulf fixed. Not that Tom yearned for the slipper; but he regardedits occasional applications as being as inevitable as changes in theweather; lying did not come easily to him, and left to himself he muchpreferred to confess and have the matter over with. I have alreadysuggested that I had cultivated lying, that weapon of the weaker party, in some degree, at least, in self-defence. 

Tom was loyal. Moreover, my conviction would probably deprive himfor six whole afternoons of my company, on which he was more or lessdependent. But the defence of this case presented unusual difficulties, and we stopped several times to thrash them out. We had been absent fromdinner, and doubtless by this time Julia had informed Tom's mother ofthe expedition, and anyone could see that our clothing had been wet. SoI lingered in no little anxiety behind the Peters stable while he madethe investigation. Our spirits rose considerably when he returned toreport that Julia had unexpectedly been a trump, having quieted hismother by the surmise that he was spending the day with his Aunt Fanny. So far, so good. The problem now was to decide upon what to admit. Forwe must both tell the same story. 

It was agreed that we had fallen into Logan's Pond from a raft: mysuggestion. Well, said Tom, the Petrel hadn't proved much better than araft, after all. I was in no mood to defend her. 

This designation of the Petrel as a "raft" was my first legal quibble. The question to be decided by the court was, What is a raft? just asthe supreme tribunal of the land has been required, in later years, todecide, What is whiskey? The thing to be concealed if possible was thebuilding of the "raft, " although this information was already in thepossession of a number of persons, whose fathers might at any momentsee fit to congratulate my own on being the parent of a genius. It was arisk, however, that had to be run. And, secondly, since Grits Jarvis wascontraband, nothing was to be said about him. 

I have not said much about my mother, who might have been likened onsuch occasions to a grand jury compelled to indict, yet torn betweenloyalty to an oath and sympathy with the defendant. I went through thePeters yard, climbed the wire fence, my object being to discover firstfrom Ella, the housemaid, or Hannah, the cook, how much was known inhigh quarters. It was Hannah who, as I opened the kitchen door, turnedat the sound, and set down the saucepan she was scouring. 

"Is it home ye are? Mercy to goodness!" (this on beholding my shrunkencostume) "Glory be to God you're not drownded! and your mother worritin'her heart out! So it's into the wather ye were?"

I admitted it. 

"Hannah?" I said softly. 

"What then?"

"Does mother know--about the boat?"

"Now don't ye be wheedlin'. "

I managed to discover, however, that my mother did not know, andsurmised that the best reason why she had not been told had to do withHannah's criminal acquiescence concerning the operations in the shed. Iran into the front hall and up the stairs, and my mother heard me comingand met me on the landing. 

"Hugh, where have you been?"

As I emerged from the semi-darkness of the stairway she caught sight ofmy dwindled garments, of the trousers well above my ankles. Suddenly shehad me in her arms and was kissing me passionately. As she stood beforeme in her grey, belted skirt, the familiar red-and-white cameo at herthroat, her heavy hair parted in the middle, in her eyes was an odd, appealing look which I know now was a sign of mother love strugglingwith a Presbyterian conscience. Though she inherited that conscience, I have often thought she might have succeeded in casting it off--or atleast some of it--had it not been for the fact that in spite of herselfshe worshipped its incarnation in the shape of my father. Her voicetrembled a little as she drew me to the sofa beside the window. 

"Tell me about what happened, my son, " she said. 

It was a terrible moment for me. For my affections were stillquiveringly alive in those days, and I loved her. I had for an instantan instinctive impulse to tell her the whole story, --South Sea Islandsand all! And I could have done it had I not beheld looming behind heranother figure which represented a stern and unsympathetic Authority, and somehow made her, suddenly, of small account. Not that she wouldhave understood the romance, but she would have comprehended me. I knewthat she was powerless to save me from the wrath to come. I wept. It wasbecause I hated to lie to her, --yet I did so. Fear gripped me, and--likesome respectable criminals I have since known--I understood that anyconfession I made would inexorably be used against me. .. . I wonderwhether she knew I was lying? At any rate, the case appeared to be agrave one, and I was presently remanded to my room to be held over fortrial. .. . 

Vividly, as I write, I recall the misery of the hours I have spent, while awaiting sentence, in the little chamber with the honeysucklewall-paper and steel engravings of happy but dumpy children romping inthe fields and groves. On this particular March afternoon the weatherhad become morne, as the French say; and I looked down sadly into thegrey back yard which the wind of the morning had strewn with chips fromthe Petrel. At last, when shadows were gathering in the corners of theroom, I heard footsteps. Ella appeared, prim and virtuous, yet a littlecommiserating. My father wished to see me, downstairs. It was not thefirst time she had brought that summons, and always her manner was thesame!

The scene of my trials was always the sitting room, lined with grimbooks in their walnut cases. And my father sat, like a judge, behind thebig desk where he did his work when at home. Oh, the distance between usat such an hour! I entered as delicately as Agag, and the expression inhis eye seemed to convict me before I could open my mouth. 

"Hugh, " he said, "your mother tells me that you have confessed to going, without permission, to Logan's Pond, where you embarked on a raft andfell into the water. "

The slight emphasis he contrived to put on the word raft sent a coldershiver down my spine than the iced water had done. What did he know? orwas this mere suspicion? Too late, now, at any rate, to plead guilty. 

"It was a sort of a raft, sir, " I stammered. 

"A sort of a raft, " repeated my father. "Where, may I ask, did you findit?"

"I--I didn't exactly find it, sir. "

"Ah!" said my father. (It was the moment to glance meaningly at thejury. ) The prisoner gulped. "You didn't exactly find it, then. Will youkindly explain how you came by it?"

"Well, sir, we--I--put it together. "

"Have you any objection to stating, Hugh, in plain English, that youmade it?"

"No, sir, I suppose you might say that I made it. "

"Or that it was intended for a row-boat?"

Here was the time to appeal, to force a decision as to what constituteda row-boat. 

"Perhaps it might be called a row-boat, sir, " I said abjectly. 

"Or that, in direct opposition to my wishes and commands in forbiddingyou to have a boat, to spend your money foolishly and wickedly on awhim, you constructed one secretly in the woodshed, took out a part ofthe back partition, thus destroying property that did, not belongto you, and had the boat carted this morning to Logan's Pond?" I wassilent, utterly undone. Evidently he had specific information. .. . Thereare certain expressions that are, at times, more than mere figures ofspeech, and now my father's wrath seemed literally towering. It addedvisibly to his stature. 

"Hugh, " he said, in a voice that penetrated to the very corners of mysoul, "I utterly fail to understand you. I cannot imagine how a sonof mine, a son of your mother who is the very soul of truthfulness andhonour--can be a liar. " (Oh, the terrible emphasis he put on that word!)"Nor is it as if this were a new tendency--I have punished you for itbefore. Your mother and I have tried to do our duty by you, to instilinto you Christian teaching. But it seems wholly useless. I confess thatI am at a less how to proceed. You seem to have no conscience whatever, no conception of what you owe to your parents and your God. You not onlypersistently disregard my wishes and commands, but you have, for manymonths, been leading a double life, facing me every day, while you weresecretly and continually disobeying me. I shudder to think where thisdetermination of yours to have what you desire at any price will leadyou in the future. It is just such a desire that distinguishes wickedmen from good. "

I will not linger upon a scene the very remembrance of which is painfulto this day. .. . I went from my father's presence in disgrace, in anagony of spirit that was overwhelming, to lock the door of my room anddrop face downward on the bed, to sob until my muscles twitched. For hehad, indeed, put into me an awful fear. The greatest horror of myboyish imagination was a wicked man. Was I, as he had declared, utterlydepraved and doomed in spite of myself to be one?

There came a knock at my door--Ella with my supper. I refused to open, and sent her away, to fall on my knees in the darkness and pray wildlyto a God whose attributes and character were sufficiently confused in mymind. On the one hand was the stern, despotic Monarch of the WestminsterCatechism, whom I addressed out of habit, the Father who condemned aportion of his children from the cradle. Was I one of those who he haddecreed before I was born must suffer the tortures of the flames ofhell? Putting two and two together, what I had learned in Sunday schooland gathered from parts of Dr. Pound's sermons, and the intimation ofmy father that wickedness was within me, like an incurable disease, --wasnot mine the logical conclusion? What, then, was the use of praying?. .. My supplications ceased abruptly. And my ever ready imagination, stirredto its depths, beheld that awful scene of the last day: the darkness, such as sometimes creeps over the city in winter, when the jaundicedsmoke falls down and we read at noonday by gas-light. I beheld thetortured faces of the wicked gathered on the one side, and my motheron the other amongst the blessed, gazing across the gulf at me withyearning and compassion. Strange that it did not strike me that thesight of the condemned whom they had loved in life would have marred ifnot destroyed the happiness of the chosen, about to receive their crownsand harps! What a theology--that made the Creator and Preserver of allmankind thus illogical!

III. 

Although I was imaginative, I was not morbidly introspective, and by theend of the first day of my incarceration my interest in that solutionhad waned. At times, however, I actually yearned for someone in whom Icould confide, who could suggest a solution. I repeat, I would not forworlds have asked my father or my mother or Dr. Pound, of whom I had awholesome fear, or perhaps an unwholesome one. Except at morning Biblereading and at church my parents never mentioned the name of the Deity, save to instruct me formally. Intended or no, the effect of my religioustraining was to make me ashamed of discussing spiritual matters, and naturally I failed to perceive that this was because it laidits emphasis on personal salvation. .. . I did not, however, become anunbeliever, for I was not of a nature to contemplate with equanimity agodless universe. .. . 

My sufferings during these series of afternoon confinements did not comefrom remorse, but were the result of a vague sense of injury; and theireffect was to generate within me a strange motive power, a desire to dosomething that would astound my father and eventually wring from him theconfession that he had misjudged me. To be sure, I should have to waituntil early manhood, at least, for the accomplishment of such a coup. Might it not be that I was an embryonic literary genius? Many were thebooks I began in this ecstasy of self-vindication, only to abandon themwhen my confinement came to an end. 

It was about this time, I think, that I experienced one of those shockswhich have a permanent effect upon character. It was then the customfor ladies to spend the day with one another, bringing their sewing; andsometimes, when I unexpectedly entered the sitting-room, the voices ofmy mother's visitors would drop to a whisper. One afternoon I returnedfrom school to pause at the head of the stairs. Cousin Bertha Ewan andMrs. McAlery were discussing with my mother an affair that I judged fromthe awed tone in which they spoke might prove interesting. 

"Poor Grace, " Mrs. McAlery was saying, "I imagine she's paid a heavypenalty. No man alive will be faithful under those circumstances. "

I stopped at the head of the stairs, with a delicious, guilty feeling. 

"Have they ever heard of her?" Cousin Bertha asked. 

"It is thought they went to Spain, " replied Mrs. McAlery, solemnly, yetnot without a certain zest. "Mr. Jules Hollister will not have her namementioned in his presence, you know. And Whitcomb chased them as far asNew York with a horse-pistol in his pocket. The report is that he gotto the dock just as the ship sailed. And then, you know, he went to livesomewhere out West, --in Iowa, I believe. "

"Did he ever get a divorce?" Cousin Bertha inquired. 

"He was too good a church member, my dear, " my mother reminded her. 

"Well, I'd have got one quick enough, church member or no churchmember, " declared Cousin Bertha, who had in her elements of daring. 

"Not that I mean for a moment to excuse her, " Mrs. McAlery put in, "butEdward Whitcomb did have a frightful temper, and he was awfully strictwith her, and he was old enough, anyhow, to be her father. GraceHollister was the last woman in the world I should have suspected ofdoing so hideous a thing. She was so sweet and simple. "

"Jennings was very attractive, " said my Cousin Bertha. "I don't think Iever saw a handsomer man. Now, if he had looked at me--"

The sentence was never finished, for at this crucial moment I dropped agrammar. .. . 

I had heard enough, however, to excite my curiosity to the highestpitch. And that evening, when I came in at five o'clock to study, Iasked my mother what had become of Gene Hollister's aunt. 

"She went away, Hugh, " replied my mother, looking greatly troubled. 

"Why?" I persisted. 

"It is something you are too young to understand. "

Of course I started an investigation, and the next day at school Iasked the question of Gene Hollister himself, only to discover that hebelieved his aunt to be dead! And that night he asked his mother if hisAunt Grace were really alive, after all? Whereupon complications andexplanations ensued between our parents, of which we saw only thesurface signs. .. . My father accused me of eavesdropping (which Idenied), and sentenced me to an afternoon of solitary confinement forrepeating something which I had heard in private. I have reason tobelieve that my mother was also reprimanded. 

It must not be supposed that I permitted the matter to rest. In additionto Grits Jarvis, there was another contraband among my acquaintances, namely, Alec Pound, the scrape-grace son of the Reverend Doctor Pound. Alec had an encyclopaedic mind, especially well stocked with the kind ofknowledge I now desired; first and last he taught me much, which I wouldbetter have got in another way. To him I appealed and got the story, myworst suspicions being confirmed. Mrs. Whitcomb's house had been acrossthe alley from that of Mr. Jennings, but no one knew that anythingwas "going on, " though there had been signals from the windows--theneighbours afterwards remembered. .. . 

I listened shudderingly. 

"But, " I cried, "they were both married!"

"What difference does that make when you love a woman?" Alec repliedgrandly. "I could tell you much worse things than that. "

This he proceeded to do. Fascinated, I listened with a sickeningsensation. It was a mild afternoon in spring, and we stood in the deeplimestone gutter in front of the parsonage, a little Gothic wooden houseset in a gloomy yard. 

"I thought, " said I, "that people couldn't love any more after they weremarried, except each other. "

Alec looked at me pityingly. 

"You'll get over that notion, " he assured me. 

Thus another ingredient entered my character. Denied its food athome, good food, my soul eagerly consumed and made part of itself thefermenting stuff that Alec Pound so willing distributed. And it wasfermenting stuff. Let us see what it did to me. Working slowly butsurely, it changed for me the dawning mystery of sex into an evilinstead of a holy one. The knowledge of the tragedy of Grace Hollisterstarted me to seeking restlessly, on bookshelves and elsewhere, fora secret that forever eluded me, and forever led me on. The wordfermenting aptly describes the process begun, suggesting as it doessomething closed up, away from air and sunlight, continually working insecret, engendering forces that fascinated, yet inspired me with fear. Undoubtedly this secretiveness of our elders was due to the perniciousdualism of their orthodox Christianity, in which love was carnal andtherefore evil, and the flesh not the gracious soil of the spirit, butsomething to be deplored and condemned, exorcised and transformed bythe miracle of grace. Now love had become a terrible power (gripping me)whose enchantment drove men and women from home and friends and kindredto the uttermost parts of the earth. .. . 

It was long before I got to sleep that night after my talk with AlecPound. I alternated between the horror and the romance of the story Ihad heard, supplying for myself the details he had omitted: I beheldthe signals from the windows, the clandestine meetings, the sudden anddesperate flight. And to think that all this could have happened in ourcity not five blocks from where I lay!

My consternation and horror were concentrated on the man, --and yet Irecall a curious bifurcation. Instead of experiencing that automaticrighteous indignation which my father and mother had felt, which hadanimated old Mr. Jules Hollister when he had sternly forbidden hisdaughter's name to be mentioned in his presence, which had made thesepeople outcasts, there welled up within me an intense sympathy andpity. By an instinctive process somehow linked with other experiences, I seemed to be able to enter into the feelings of these two outcasts, to understand the fearful yet fascinating nature of the impulse thathad led them to elude the vigilance and probity of a world with whichI myself was at odds. I pictured them in a remote land, shunned bymankind. Was there something within me that might eventually draw meto do likewise? The desire in me to which my father had referred, whichwould brook no opposition, which twisted and squirmed until it found itsway to its object? I recalled the words of Jarvis, the carpenter, thatif I ever set my heart on another man's wife, God help him. God help me!

A wicked man! I had never beheld the handsome and fascinating Mr. Jennings, but I visualised him now; dark, like all villains, with ablack moustache and snapping black eyes. He carried a cane. I alwaysassociated canes with villains. Whereupon I arose, groped for thematches, lighted the gas, and gazing at myself in the mirror was alittle reassured to find nothing sinister in my countenance. .. . 

Next to my father's faith in a Moral Governor of the Universe was hisbelief in the Tariff and the Republican Party. And this belief, amongothers, he handed on to me. On the cinder playground of the Academywe Republicans used to wage, during campaigns, pitched battles for theTariff. It did not take a great deal of courage to be a Republicanin our city, and I was brought up to believe that Democratswere irrational, inferior, and--with certain exceptions like theHollisters--dirty beings. There was only one degree lower, and that wasto be a mugwump. It was no wonder that the Hollisters were Democrats, for they had a queer streak in them; owing, no doubt, to the fact thatold Mr. Jules Hollister's mother had been a Frenchwoman. He looked likea Frenchman, by the way, and always wore a skullcap. 

I remember one autumn afternoon having a violent quarrel withGene Hollister that bade fair to end in blows, when he suddenlydemanded:--"I'll bet you anything you don't know why you're aRepublican. "

"It's because I'm for the Tariff, " I replied triumphantly. 

But his next question floored me. What, for example, was the Tariff? Itried to bluster it out, but with no success. 

"Do you know?" I cried finally, with sudden inspiration. 

It turned out that he did not. 

"Aren't we darned idiots, " he asked, "to get fighting over something wedon't know anything about?"

That was Gene's French blood, of course. But his question rankled. Andhow was I to know that he would have got as little satisfaction if hehad hurled it into the marching ranks of those imposing torch-lightprocessions which sometimes passed our house at night, with drumsbeating and fifes screaming and torches waving, --thousands of citizenswho were for the Tariff for the same reason as I: to wit, because theywere Republicans. 

Yet my father lived and died in the firm belief that the United Statesof America was a democracy!

Resolved not to be caught a second time in such a humiliating positionby a Democrat, I asked my father that night what the Tariff was. But Iwas too young to understand it, he said. I was to take his word for itthat the country would go to the dogs if the Democrats got in and theTariff were taken away. Here, in a nutshell, though neither he norI realized it, was the political instruction of the marching hordes. Theirs not to reason why. I was too young, they too ignorant. Such isthe method of Authority!

The steel-mills of Mr. Durrett and Mr. Hambleton, he continued, wouldbe forced to shut down, and thousands of workmen would starve. This wasjust a sample of what would happen. Prosperity would cease, he declared. That word, Prosperity, made a deep impression on me, and I recall thecertain reverential emphasis he laid on it. And while my solicitude forthe workmen was not so great as his and Mr. Durrett's, I was concernedas to what would happen to us if those twin gods, the Tariff andProsperity, should take their departure from the land. Knowing my lovefor the good things of the table, my father intimated, with a rarehumour I failed to appreciate, that we should have to live henceforthin spartan simplicity. After that, like the intelligent workman, I wasfirmer than ever for the Tariff. 

Such was the idealistic plane on which--and from a good man--I receivedmy first political instruction! And for a long time I connected thedominance of the Republican Party with the continuation of manna andquails, in other words, with nothing that had to do with the spiritualwelfare of any citizen, but with clothing and food and materialcomforts. My education was progressing. .. . 

Though my father revered Plato and Aristotle, he did not, apparently, take very seriously the contention that that government alone is good"which seeks to attain the permanent interests of the governed byevolving the character of its citizens. " To put the matter brutally, politics, despite the lofty sentiments on the transparencies intorchlight processions, had only to do with the belly, not the soul. 

Politics and government, one perceives, had nothing to do with religion, nor education with any of these. A secularized and disjointed world! Ourleading citizens, learned in the classics though some of them might be, paid no heed to the dictum of the Greek idealist, who was more practicalthan they would have supposed. "The man who does not carry his citywithin his heart is a spiritual starveling. "

One evening, a year or two after that tariff campaign, I was pretendingto study my lessons under the student lamp in the sitting-room while mymother sewed and my father wrote at his desk, when there was a ringat the door-bell. I welcomed any interruption, even though thevisitor proved to be only the druggist's boy; and there was alwaysthe possibility of a telegram announcing, for instance, the death of arelative. Such had once been the case when my Uncle Avery Paret had diedin New York, and I was taken out of school for a blissful four days forthe funeral. 

I went tiptoeing into the hall and peeped over the banisters while Ellaopened the door. I heard a voice which I recognized as that of PerryBlackwood's father asking for Mr. Paret; and then to my astonishment, Isaw filing after him into the parlour some ten or twelve persons. Withthe exception of Mr. Ogilvy, who belonged to one of our old families, and Mr. Watling, a lawyer who had married the youngest of GeneHollister's aunts, the visitors entered stealthily, after the manner ofburglars; some of these were heavy-jowled, and all had an air of mysterythat raised my curiosity and excitement to the highest pitch. I caughthold of Ella as she came up the stairs, but she tore herself free, andannounced to my father that Mr. Josiah Blackwood and other gentlemen hadasked to see him. My father seemed puzzled as he went downstairs. .. . Along interval elapsed, during which I did not make even a pretence oflooking at my arithmetic. At times the low hum of voices rose to whatwas almost an uproar, and on occasions I distinguished a marked Irishbrogue. 

"I wonder what they want?" said my mother, nervously. 

At last we heard the front door shut behind them, and my father cameupstairs, his usually serene face wearing a disturbed expression. 

"Who in the world was it, Mr. Paret?" asked my mother. 

My father sat down in the arm-chair. He was clearly making an effort forself-control. 

"Blackwood and Ogilvy and Watling and some city politicians, " heexclaimed. 

"Politicians!" she repeated. "What did they want? That is, if it'sanything you can tell me, " she added apologetically. 

"They wished me to be the Republican candidate for the mayor of thiscity. "

This tremendous news took me off my feet. My father mayor!

"Of course you didn't consider it, Mr. Paret, " my mother was saying. 

"Consider it!" he echoed reprovingly. "I can't imagine what Ogilvy andWatling and Josiah Blackwood were thinking of! They are out of theirheads. I as much as told them so. "

This was more than I could bear, for I had already pictured myselftelling the news to envious schoolmates. 

"Oh, father, why didn't you take it?" I cried. 

By this time, when he turned to me, he had regained his usualexpression. 

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hugh, " he said. "Accept apolitical office! That sort of thing is left to politicians. "

The tone in which he spoke warned me that a continuation of theconversation would be unwise, and my mother also understood that thediscussion was closed. He went back to his desk, and began writing againas though nothing had happened. 

As for me, I was left in a palpitating state of excitement which myfather's self-control or sang-froid only served to irritate and enhance, and my head was fairly spinning as, covertly, I watched his pen steadilycovering the paper. 

How could he--how could any man of flesh and blood sit down calmly afterhaving been offered the highest honour in the gift of his community! Andhe had spurned it as if Mr. Blackwood and the others had gratuitouslyinsulted him! And how was it, if my father so revered the RepublicanParty that he would not suffer it to be mentioned slightingly in hispresence, that he had refused contemptuously to be its mayor?. .. 

The next day at school, however, I managed to let it be known that theoffer had been made and declined. After all, this seemed to make myfather a bigger man than if he had accepted it. Naturally I was askedwhy he had declined it. 

"He wouldn't take it, " I replied scornfully. "Office-holding should beleft to politicians. "

Ralph Hambleton, with his precocious and cynical knowledge of theworld, minimized my triumph by declaring that he would rather be hisgrandfather, Nathaniel Durrett, than the mayor of the biggest city inthe country. Politicians, he said, were bloodsuckers and thieves, andthe only reason for holding office was that it enabled one to steal thetaxpayers' money. .. . 

As I have intimated, my vision of a future literary career waxed andwaned, but a belief that I was going to be Somebody rarely desertedme. If not a literary lion, what was that Somebody to be? Such anenvironment as mine was woefully lacking in heroic figures to satisfythe romantic soul. In view of the experience I have just related, it isnot surprising that the notion of becoming a statesman did not appealto me; nor is it to be wondered at, despite the somewhat exaggeratedrespect and awe in which Ralph's grandfather was held by my father andother influential persons, that I failed to be stirred by the elementsof greatness in the grim personality of our first citizen, theiron-master. For he possessed such elements. He lived alone in IngrainStreet in an uncompromising mansion I always associated with theSabbath, not only because I used to be taken there on decorous Sundayvisits by my father, but because it was the very quintessence ofPresbyterianism. The moment I entered its "portals"--as Mr. Hawthorneappropriately would have called them--my spirit was overwhelmed andsuffocated by its formality and orderliness. Within its stern wallsNathaniel Durrett had made a model universe of his own, such as theDeity of the Westminster Confession had no doubt meant his greater oneto be if man had not rebelled and foiled him. .. . It was a world fromwhich I was determined to escape at any cost. 

My father and I were always ushered into the gloomy library, with itshigh ceiling, with its long windows that reached almost to the rocococornice, with its cold marble mantelpiece that reminded me of atombstone, with its interminable book shelves filled with yellowbindings. On the centre table, in addition to a ponderous Bible, was oneof those old-fashioned carafes of red glass tipped with blue surmountedby a tumbler of blue tipped with red. Behind this table Mr. Durrett satreading a volume of sermons, a really handsome old man in his black tieand pleated shirt; tall and spare, straight as a ramrod, with a finelymoulded head and straight nose and sinewy hands the colour of mulberrystain. He called my father by his first name, an immense compliment, considering how few dared to do so. 

"Well, Matthew, " the old man would remark, after they had discussed Dr. Pound's latest flight on the nature of the Trinity or the depravity ofman, or horticulture, or the Republican Party, "do you have any betternews of Hugh at school?"

"I regret to say, Mr. Durrett, " my father would reply, "that he does notyet seem to be aroused to a sense of his opportunities. "

Whereupon Mr. Durrett would gimble me with a blue eye that lurkedbeneath grizzled brows, quite as painful a proceeding as if he used aniron tool. I almost pity myself when I think of what a forlorn strangerI was in their company. They two, indeed, were of one kind, and I ofanother sort who could never understand them, --nor they me. To whatdepths of despair they reduced me they never knew, and yet they weredoing it all for my good! They only managed to convince me that mylove of folly was ineradicable, and that I was on my way head firstfor perdition. I always looked, during these excruciating and personalmoments, at the coloured glass bottle. 

"It grieves me to hear it, Hugh, " Mr. Durrett invariably declared. "You'll never come to any good without study. Now when I was yourage. .. "

I knew his history by heart, a common one in this country, althoughhe made an honourable name instead of a dishonourable one. And when Icontrast him with those of his successors whom I was to know later. .. !But I shall not anticipate. American genius had not then evolved thefalse entry method of overcapitalization. A thrilling history, Mr. Durrett's, could I but have entered into it. I did not reflect then thatthis stern old man must have throbbed once; nay, fire and energy stillremained in his bowels, else he could not have continued to dominate acity. Nor did it occur to me that the great steel-works that lighted thesouthern sky were the result of a passion, of dreams similar to thosepossessing me, but which I could not express. He had founded a familywhose position was virtually hereditary, gained riches which for thosedays were great, compelled men to speak his name with a certain awe. But of what use were such riches as his when his religion and moralitycompelled him to banish from him all the joys in the power of riches tobring?

No, I didn't want to be an iron-master. But it may have been aboutthis time that I began to be impressed with the power of wealth, theadulation and reverence it commanded, the importance in which it clothedall who shared in it. .. . 

The private school I attended in the company of other boys with whom Iwas brought up was called Densmore Academy, a large, square buildingof a then hideous modernity, built of smooth, orange-red bricks withthreads of black mortar between them. One reads of happy school days, yet I fail to recall any really happy hours spent there, even in theyard, which was covered with black cinders that cut you when you fell. I think of it as a penitentiary, and the memory of the barred lowerwindows gives substance to this impression. 

I suppose I learned something during the seven years of myincarceration. All of value, had its teachers known anything of youthfulpsychology, of natural bent, could have been put into me in three. Atleast four criminally wasted years, to say nothing of the benumbingand desiccating effect of that old system of education! Chalk andchalk-dust! The Mediterranean a tinted portion of the map, Italy a man'sboot which I drew painfully, with many yawns; history no glorious epicrevealing as it unrolls the Meaning of Things, no revelation of thatwondrous distillation of the Spirit of man, but an endless marching andcounter-marching up and down the map, weary columns of figures tobe learned by rote instantly to be forgotten again. "On June the 7thGeneral So-and-so proceeded with his whole army--" where? What doesit matter? One little chapter of Carlyle, illuminated by a teacherof understanding, were worth a million such text-books. Alas, for thehatred of Virgil! "Paret" (a shiver), "begin at the one hundredand thirtieth line and translate!" I can hear myself droning out indetestable English a meaningless portion of that endless journey ofthe pious AEneas; can see Gene Hollister, with heart-rending glances ofdespair, stumbling through Cornelius Nepos in an unventilated room withchalk-rubbed blackboards and heavy odours of ink and stale lunch. AndI graduated from Densmore Academy, the best school in our city, in the80's, without having been taught even the rudiments of citizenship. 

Knowledge was presented to us as a corpse, which bit by bit wepainfully dissected. We never glimpsed the living, growing thing, neverexperienced the Spirit, the same spirit that was able magically towaft me from a wintry Lyme Street to the South Seas, the energizing, electrifying Spirit of true achievement, of life, of God himself. Littleby little its flames were smothered until in manhood there seemed nospark of it left alive. Many years were to pass ere it was to reviveagain, as by a miracle. I travelled. Awakening at dawn, I saw, framedin a port-hole, rose-red Seriphos set in a living blue that paled thesapphire; the seas Ulysses had sailed, and the company of the Argonauts. My soul was steeped in unimagined colour, and in the memory of onerapturous instant is gathered what I was soon to see of Greece, isfocussed the meaning of history, poetry and art. I was to stand oneevening in spring on the mound where heroes sleep and gaze upon theplain of Marathon between darkening mountains and the blue thread of thestrait peaceful now, flushed with pink and white blossoms of fruitand almond trees; to sit on the cliff-throne whence a Persian King hadlooked down upon a Salamis fought and lost. .. . In that port-hole glimpsea Themistocles was revealed, a Socrates, a Homer and a Phidias, anAEschylus, and a Pericles; yes, and a John brooding Revelations on hissea-girt rock as twilight falls over the waters. .. . 

I saw the Roman Empire, that Scarlet Woman whose sands were dyedcrimson with blood to appease her harlotry, whose ships were laden withtreasures from the immutable East, grain from the valley of the Nile, spices from Arabia, precious purple stuffs from Tyre, tribute and spoil, slaves and jewels from conquered nations she absorbed; and yet whosevery emperors were the unconscious instruments of a Progress they wotnot of, preserved to the West by Marathon and Salamis. With Caesar'slegions its message went forth across Hispania to the cliffs of thewild western ocean, through Hercynian forests to tribes that dwelt wheregreat rivers roll up their bars by misty, northern seas, and even toCeltic fastnesses beyond the Wall. .. . 

IV. 

In and out of my early memories like a dancing ray of sunlight flitsthe spirit of Nancy. I was always fond of her, but in extreme youth Iaccepted her incense with masculine complacency and took her allegiancefor granted, never seeking to fathom the nature of the spell I exercisedover her. Naturally other children teased me about her; but what wasworse, with that charming lack of self-consciousness and considerationfor what in after life are called the finer feelings, they teased herabout me before me, my presence deterring them not at all. I can seethem hopping around her in the Peters yard crying out:--"Nancy's in lovewith Hugh! Nancy's in love with Hugh!"

A sufficiently thrilling pastime, this, for Nancy could take care ofherself. I was a bungler beside her when it came to retaliation, andnot the least of her attractions for me was her capacity for anger: furywould be a better term. She would fly at them--even as she flew at thehead-hunters when the Petrel was menaced; and she could run like adeer. Woe to the unfortunate victim she overtook! Masculine strength, exercised apologetically, availed but little, and I have seen RussellPeters and Gene Hollister retire from such encounters humiliated andweeping. She never caught Ralph; his methods of torture were moreintelligent and subtle than Gene's and Russell's, but she was his equalwhen it came to a question of tongues. 

"I know what's the matter with you, Ralph Hambleton, " she wouldsay. "You're jealous. " An accusation that invariably put him on thedefensive. "You think all the girls are in love with you, don't you?"

These scenes I found somewhat embarrassing. Not so Nancy. Afterdiscomfiting her tormenters, or wounding and scattering them, she wouldreturn to my side. .. . In spite of her frankly expressed preferencefor me she had an elusiveness that made a continual appeal to myimagination. She was never obvious or commonplace, and long before Ibegan to experience the discomforts and sufferings of youthful loveI was fascinated by a nature eloquent with contradictions andinconsistencies. She was a tomboy, yet her own sex was enhanced ratherthan overwhelmed by contact with the other: and no matter how many treesshe climbed she never seemed to lose her daintiness. It was innate. 

She could, at times, be surprisingly demure. These impressions of herdaintiness and demureness are particularly vivid in a picture my memoryhas retained of our walking together, unattended, to Susan Blackwood'sbirthday party. She must have been about twelve years old. It was thefirst time I had escorted her or any other girl to a party; Mrs. Willetthad smiled over the proceeding, but Nancy and I took it most seriously, as symbolic of things to come. I can see Powell Street, where Nancylived, at four o'clock on a mild and cloudy December afternoon, thedecorous, retiring houses, Nancy on one side of the pavement by the ironfences and I on the other by the tree boxes. I can't remember her dress, only the exquisite sense of her slimness and daintiness comes back tome, of her dark hair in a long braid tied with a red ribbon, of herslender legs clad in black stockings of shining silk. We felt theoccasion to be somehow too significant, too eloquent for words. .. . 

In silence we climbed the flight of stone steps that led up to theBlackwood mansion, when suddenly the door was opened, letting out soundsof music and revelry. Mr. Blackwood's coloured butler, Ned, beamed at ushospitably, inviting us to enter the brightness within. The shades weredrawn, the carpets were covered with festal canvas, the foldingdoors between the square rooms were flung back, the prisms of thebig chandeliers flung their light over animated groups of matrons andchildren. Mrs. Watling, the mother of the Watling twins--too young to bepresent was directing with vivacity the game of "King William was KingJames's son, " and Mrs. McAlery was playing the piano. 

 "Now choose you East, now choose you West, Now choose the one you love the best!"

Tom Peters, in a velvet suit and consequently very miserable, refusedto embrace Ethel Hollister; while the scornful Julia lurked in a corner:nothing would induce her to enter such a foolish game. I experienceda novel discomfiture when Ralph kissed Nancy. .. . Afterwards came thefeast, from which Ham Durrett, in a pink paper cap with streamers, wasat length forcibly removed by his mother. Thus early did he betray hislove for the flesh pots. .. . 

It was not until I was sixteen that a player came and touched the keysof my soul, and it awoke, bewildered, at these first tender notes. Themusic quickened, tripping in ecstasy, to change by subtle phrases intothemes of exquisite suffering hitherto unexperienced. I knew that Iloved Nancy. 

With the advent of longer dresses that reached to her shoe tops a changehad come over her. The tomboy, the willing camp-follower who loved meand was unashamed, were gone forever, and a mysterious, transfiguredbeing, neither girl nor woman, had magically been evolved. Could it bepossible that she loved me still? My complacency had vanished; suddenlyI had become the aggressor, if only I had known how to "aggress"; butin her presence I was seized by an accursed shyness that paralyzed mytongue, and the things I had planned to say were left unuttered. It wassomething--though I did not realize it--to be able to feel like that. 

The time came when I could no longer keep this thing to myself. The needof an outlet, of a confidant, became imperative, and I sought out TomPeters. It was in February; I remember because I had ventured--withincredible daring--to send Nancy an elaborate, rosy Valentine; writtenon the back of it in a handwriting all too thinly disguised was thefollowing verse, the triumphant result of much hard thinking in schoolhours:--

 Should you of this the sender guess Without another sign, Would you repent, and rest content To be his Valentine

I grew hot and cold by turns when I thought of its possible effects onmy chances. 

One of those useless, slushy afternoons, I took Tom for a walk that ledus, as dusk came on, past Nancy's house. Only by painful degrees didI succeed in overcoming my bashfulness; but Tom, when at last I hadblurted out the secret, was most sympathetic, although the ailment fromwhich I suffered was as yet outside of the realm of his experience. I have used the word "ailment" advisedly, since he evidently put mytrouble in the same category with diphtheria or scarlet fever, remarkingthat it was "darned hard luck. " In vain I sought to explain that I didnot regard it as such in the least; there was suffering, I admitted, buta degree of bliss none could comprehend who had not felt it. He refusedto be envious, or at least to betray envy; yet he was curious, askingmany questions, and I had reason to think before we parted that hisadmiration for me was increased. Was it possible that he, too, didn'tlove Nancy? No, it was funny, but he didn't. He failed to see much ingirls: his tone remained commiserating, yet he began to take an interestin the progress of my suit. 

For a time I had no progress to report. Out of consideration for thosemembers of our weekly dancing class whose parents were Episcopalians themeetings were discontinued during Lent, and to call would have demandeda courage not in me; I should have become an object of ridicule amongmy friends and I would have died rather than face Nancy's mother and themembers of her household. I set about making ingenious plans with a viewto encounters that might appear casual. Nancy's school was dismissed attwo, so was mine. By walking fast I could reach Salisbury Street, nearSt. Mary's Seminary for Young Ladies, in time to catch her, but eventhen for many days I was doomed to disappointment. She was either incompany with other girls, or else she had taken another route; thisI surmised led past Sophy McAlery's house, and I enlisted Tom as aconfederate. He was to make straight for the McAlery's on Elm while Ifollowed Powell, two short blocks away, and if Nancy went to Sophy's andleft there alone he was to announce the fact by a preconcerted signal. Through long and persistent practice he had acquired a whistle shrillenough to wake the dead, accomplished by placing a finger of each handbetween his teeth;--a gift that was the envy of his acquaintances, andthe subject of much discussion as to whether his teeth were peculiar. Tom insisted that they were; it was an added distinction. 

On this occasion he came up behind Nancy as she was leaving Sophy's gateand immediately sounded the alarm. She leaped in the air, dropped herschool-books and whirled on him. 

"Tom Peters! How dare you frighten me so!" she cried. 

Tom regarded her in sudden dismay. 

"I--I didn't mean to, " he said. "I didn't think you were so near. "

"But you must have seen me. "

"I wasn't paying much attention, " he equivocated, --a remark notcalculated to appease her anger. 

"Why were you doing it?"

"I was just practising, " said Tom. 

"Practising!" exclaimed Nancy, scornfully. "I shouldn't think you neededto practise that any more. "

"Oh, I've done it louder, " he declared, "Listen!"

She seized his hands, snatching them away from his lips. At thiscritical moment I appeared around the corner considerably out of breath, my heart beating like a watchman's rattle. I tried to feign nonchalance. 

"Hello, Tom, " I said. "Hello, Nancy. What's the matter?"

"It's Tom--he frightened me out of my senses. " Dropping his wrists, shegave me a most disconcerting look; there was in it the suspicion of asmile. "What are you doing here, Hugh?"

"I heard Tom, " I explained. 

"I should think you might have. Where were you?"

"Over in another street, " I answered, with deliberate vagueness. Nancyhad suddenly become demure. I did not dare look at her, but I had a mostuncomfortable notion that she suspected the plot. Meanwhile we hadbegun to walk along, all three of us, Tom, obviously ill at ease anddiscomfited, lagging a little behind. Just before we reached the cornerI managed to kick him. His departure was by no means graceful. 

"I've got to go;" he announced abruptly, and turned down the sidestreet. We watched his sturdy figure as it receded. 

"Well, of all queer boys!" said Nancy, and we walked on again. 

"He's my best friend, " I replied warmly. 

"He doesn't seem to care much for your company, " said Nancy. 

"Oh, they have dinner at half past two, " I explained. 

"Aren't you afraid of missing yours, Hugh?" she asked wickedly. 

"I've got time. I'd--I'd rather be with you. " After making whichaudacious remark I was seized by a spasm of apprehension. But nothinghappened. Nancy remained demure. She didn't remind me that I hadreflected upon Tom. 

"That's nice of you, Hugh. "

"Oh, I'm not saying it because it's nice, " I faltered. "I'd rather bewith you than--with anybody. "

This was indeed the acme of daring. I couldn't believe I had actuallysaid it. But again I received no rebuke; instead came a remark that setme palpitating, that I treasured for many weeks to come. 

"I got a very nice valentine, " she informed me. 

"What was it like?" I asked thickly. 

"Oh, beautiful! All pink lace and--and Cupids, and the picture of ayoung man and a young woman in a garden. "

"Was that all?"

"Oh, no, there was a verse, in the oddest handwriting. I wonder who sentit?"

"Perhaps Ralph, " I hazarded ecstatically. 

"Ralph couldn't write poetry, " she replied disdainfully. "Besides, itwas very good poetry. "

I suggested other possible authors and admirers. She rejected them all. We reached her gate, and I lingered. As she looked down at me fromthe stone steps her eyes shone with a soft light that filled me withradiance, and into her voice had come a questioning, shy note thatthrilled the more because it revealed a new Nancy of whom I had notdreamed. 

"Perhaps I'll meet you again--coming from school, " I said. 

"Perhaps, " she answered. "You'll be late to dinner, Hugh, if you don'tgo. .. . "

I was late, and unable to eat much dinner, somewhat to my mother'salarm. Love had taken away my appetite. .. . After dinner, when I waswandering aimlessly about the yard, Tom appeared on the other side ofthe fence. 

"Don't ever ask me to do that again, " he said gloomily. 

I did meet Nancy again coming from school, not every day, but nearlyevery day. At first we pretended that there was no arrangement in this, and we both feigned surprise when we encountered one another. Itwas Nancy who possessed the courage that I lacked. One afternoon shesaid:--"I think I'd better walk with the girls to-morrow, Hugh. "

I protested, but she was firm. And after that it was an understood thingthat on certain days I should go directly home, feeling like an exile. Sophy McAlery had begun to complain: and I gathered that Sophy wasNancy's confidante. The other girls had begun to gossip. It was Nancywho conceived the brilliant idea--the more delightful because she saidnothing about it to me--of making use of Sophy. She would leave schoolwith Sophy, and I waited on the corner near the McAlery house. PoorSophy! She was always of those who piped while others danced. In thosedays she had two straw-coloured pigtails, and her plain, faithful faceis before me as I write. She never betrayed to me the excitement thatfilled her at being the accomplice of our romance. 

Gossip raged, of course. Far from being disturbed, we used it, so tospeak, as a handle for our love-making, which was carried on in aninferential rather than a direct fashion. Were they saying that we werelovers? Delightful! We laughed at one another in the sunshine. .. . Atlast we achieved the great adventure of a clandestine meeting and wentfor a walk in the afternoon, avoiding the houses of our friends. I'veforgotten which of us had the boldness to propose it. The crocuses andtulips had broken the black mould, the flower beds in the front yardswere beginning to blaze with scarlet and yellow, the lawns had turned aliving green. What did we talk about? The substance has vanished, onlythe flavour remains. 

One awoke of a morning to the twittering of birds, to walk to schoolamidst delicate, lace-like shadows of great trees acloud with old gold:the buds lay curled like tiny feathers on the pavements. Suddenly theshade was dense, the sunlight white and glaring, the odour of lilacsheavy in the air, spring in all its fulness had come, --spring and Nancy. Just so subtly, yet with the same seeming suddenness had budded and cometo leaf and flower a perfect understanding, which neverthelessremained undefined. This, I had no doubt, was my fault, and due to theincomprehensible shyness her presence continued to inspire. Although wedid not altogether abandon our secret trysts, we began to meet in morenatural ways; there were garden parties and picnics where we strayedtogether through the woods and fields, pausing to tear off, one byone, the petals of a daisy, "She loves me, she loves me not. " I neverventured to kiss her; I always thought afterwards I might have done so, she had seemed so willing, her eyes had shone so expectantly as I satbeside her on the grass; nor can I tell why I desired to kiss her savethat this was the traditional thing to do to the lady one loved. To besure, the very touch of her hand was galvanic. Paradoxically, I saw thehuman side of her, the yielding gentleness that always amazed me, yet Inever overcame my awe of the divine; she was a being sacrosanct. Whetherthis idealism were innate or the result of such romances as I had readI cannot say. .. . I got, indeed, an avowal of a sort. The weekly dancingclasses having begun again, on one occasion when she had waltzed twicewith Gene Hollister I protested. 

"Don't be silly, Hugh, " she whispered. "Of course I like you better thananyone else--you ought to know that. "

We never got to the word "love, " but we knew the feeling. 

One cloud alone flung its shadow across these idyllic days. Before Iwas fully aware of it I had drawn very near to the first greatjunction-point of my life, my graduation from Densmore Academy. We wereto "change cars, " in the language of Principal Haime. Well enough forthe fortunate ones who were to continue the academic journey, whichimplied a postponement of the serious business of life; but month aftermonth of the last term had passed without a hint from my father that Iwas to change cars. Again and again I almost succeeded in screwing upmy courage to the point of mentioning college to him, --never quite; hismanner, though kind and calm, somehow strengthened my suspicion thatI had been judged and found wanting, and doomed to "business": galleyslavery, I deemed it, humdrum, prosaic, degrading! When I thought of itat night I experienced almost a frenzy of self-pity. My father couldn'tintend to do that, just because my monthly reports hadn't always beenwhat he thought they ought to be! Gene Hollister's were no better, if asgood, and he was going to Princeton. Was I, Hugh Paret, to be deniedthe distinction of being a college man, the delights of universityexistence, cruelly separated and set apart from my friends whom I loved!held up to the world and especially to Nancy Willett as good for nothingelse! The thought was unbearable. Characteristically, I hoped againsthope. 

I have mentioned garden parties. One of our annual institutions was Mrs. Willett's children's party in May; for the Willett house had a gardenthat covered almost a quarter of a block. Mrs. Willett loved children, the greatest regret of her life being that providence had denied her alarge family. As far back as my memory goes she had been something ofan invalid; she had a sweet, sad face, and delicate hands so thin as toseem almost transparent; and she always sat in a chair under the greattree on the lawn, smiling at us as we soared to dizzy heights in theswing, or played croquet, or scurried through the paths, and in and outof the latticed summer-house with shrieks of laughter and terror. It allended with a feast at a long table made of sawhorses and boards coveredwith a white cloth, and when the cake was cut there was wild excitementas to who would get the ring and who the thimble. 

We were more decorous, or rather more awkward now, and the party beganwith a formal period when the boys gathered in a group and pretendedindifference to the girls. The girls were cleverer at it, and actuallyachieved the impression that they were indifferent. We kept an eye onthem, uneasily, while we talked. To be in Nancy's presence and not alonewith Nancy was agonizing, and I wondered at a sang-froid beyond my powerto achieve, accused her of coldness, my sufferings being the greaterbecause she seemed more beautiful, daintier, more irreproachable thanI had ever seen her. Even at that early age she gave evidence of thesocial gift, and it was due to her efforts that we forgot our bestclothes and our newly born self-consciousness. When I begged her to slipaway with me among the currant bushes she whispered:--"I can't, Hugh. I'm the hostess, you know. "

I had gone there in a flutter of anticipation, but nothing went rightthat day. There was dancing in the big rooms that looked out on thegarden; the only girl with whom I cared to dance was Nancy, and she wasbusy finding partners for the backward members of both sexes; though shewas my partner, to be sure, when it all wound up with a Virginia reel onthe lawn. Then, at supper, to cap the climax of untoward incidents, ananimated discussion was begun as to the relative merits of the variouscolleges, the girls, too, taking sides. Mac Willett, Nancy's cousin, wasgoing to Yale, Gene Hollister to Princeton, the Ewan boys to our StateUniversity, while Perry Blackwood and Ralph Hambleton and Ham Durrettwere destined for Harvard; Tom Peters, also, though he was not tograduate from the Academy for another year. I might have known thatRalph would have suspected my misery. He sat triumphantly next to Nancyherself, while I had been told off to entertain the faithful Sophy. Noticing my silence, he demanded wickedly:--"Where are you going, Hugh?"

"Harvard, I think, " I answered with as bold a front as I could muster. "I haven't talked it over with my father yet. " It was intolerable toadmit that I of them all was to be left behind. 

Nancy looked at me in surprise. She was always downright. 

"Oh, Hugh, doesn't your father mean to put you in business?" sheexclaimed. 

A hot flush spread over my face. Even to her I had not betrayed myapprehensions on this painful subject. Perhaps it was because of thisvery reason, knowing me as she did, that she had divined my fate. Couldmy father have spoken of it to anyone?

"Not that I know of, " I said angrily. I wondered if she knew how deeplyshe had hurt me. The others laughed. The colour rose in Nancy's cheeks, and she gave me an appealing, almost tearful look, but my heart hadhardened. As soon as supper was over I left the table to wander, nursingmy wrongs, in a far corner of the garden, gay shouts and laughter stillechoing in my ears. I was negligible, even my pathetic subterfuge hadbeen detected and cruelly ridiculed by these friends whom I hadalways loved and sought out, and who now were so absorbed in their ownprospects and happiness that they cared nothing for mine. And Nancy!I had been betrayed by Nancy!. .. Twilight was coming on. I rememberglancing down miserably at the new blue suit I had put on so hopefullyfor the first time that afternoon. 

Separating the garden from the street was a high, smooth board fencewith a little gate in it, and I had my hand on the latch when I heardthe sound of hurrying steps on the gravel path and a familiar voicecalling my name. 

"Hugh! Hugh!"

I turned. Nancy stood before me. 

"Hugh, you're not going!"

"Yes, I am. "

"Why?"

"If you don't know, there's no use telling you. "

"Just because I said your father intended to put you in business!Oh, Hugh, why are you so foolish and so proud? Do you suppose thatanyone--that I--think any the worse of you?"

Yes, she had read me, she alone had entered into the source of thatprevarication, the complex feelings from which it sprang. But atthat moment I could not forgive her for humiliating me. I hugged mygrievance. 

"It was true, what I said, " I declared hotly. "My father has not spoken. It is true that I'm going to college, because I'll make it true. I maynot go this year. "

She stood staring in sheer surprise at sight of my sudden, quiveringpassion. I think the very intensity of it frightened her. And then, without more ado, I opened the gate and was gone. .. . 

That night, though I did not realize it, my journey into a Far Countrywas begun. 

The misery that followed this incident had one compensating factor. Although too late to electrify Densmore and Principal Haime with myscholarship, I was determined to go to college now, somehow, sometime. I would show my father, these companions of mine, and above all Nancyherself the stuff of which I was made, compel them sooner or laterto admit that they had misjudged me. I had been possessed by similarresolutions before, though none so strong, and they had a way of sinkingbelow the surface of my consciousness, only to rise again and againuntil by sheer pressure they achieved realization. 

Yet I might have returned to Nancy if something had not occurred whichI would have thought unbelievable: she began to show a marked preferencefor Ralph Hambleton. At first I regarded this affair as the most obviousof retaliations. She, likewise, had pride. Gradually, however, a feelingof uneasiness crept over me: as pretence, her performance was altogethertoo realistic; she threw her whole soul into it, danced with Ralph asoften as she had ever danced with me, took walks with him, deferredto his opinions until, in spite of myself, I became convinced that thepreference was genuine. I was a curious mixture of self-confidence andself-depreciation, and never had his superiority seemed more patent thannow. His air of satisfaction was maddening. 

How well I remember his triumph on that hot, June morning of ourgraduation from Densmore, a triumph he had apparently achieved withoutlabour, and which he seemed to despise. A fitful breeze blew through thechapel at the top of the building; we, the graduates, sat in two rowsnext to the platform, and behind us the wooden benches nicked by manyknives--were filled with sisters and mothers and fathers, some anxious, some proud and some sad. So brief a span, like that summer's day, andyouth was gone! Would the time come when we, too, should sit by thewaters of Babylon and sigh for it? The world was upside down. 

We read the one hundred and third psalm. Then Principal Haime, inhis long "Prince Albert" and a ridiculously inadequate collar thatemphasized his scrawny neck, reminded us of the sacred associations wehad formed, of the peculiar responsibilities that rested on us, whowere the privileged of the city. "We had crossed to-day, " he said, "an invisible threshold. Some were to go on to higher institutions oflearning. Others. .. " I gulped. Quoting the Scriptures, he complimentedthose who had made the most of their opportunities. And it was thenthat he called out, impressively, the name of Ralph Forrester Hambleton. Summa cum laude! Suddenly I was seized with passionate, vehement regretsat the sound of the applause. I might have been the prize scholar, instead of Ralph, if I had only worked, if I had only realized whatthis focussing day of graduation meant! I might have been a markedindividual, with people murmuring words of admiration, of speculationconcerning the brilliancy of my future!. .. When at last my namewas called and I rose to receive my diploma it seemed as though myincompetency had been proclaimed to the world. .. 

That evening I stood in the narrow gallery of the flag-decked gymnasiumand watched Nancy dancing with Ralph. 

I let her go without protest or reproach. A mysterious lesion seemed tohave taken place, I felt astonished and relieved, yet I was heavy withsadness. My emancipation had been bought at a price. Something hithertospontaneous, warm and living was withering within me. 

V. 

It was true to my father's character that he should have waited untilthe day after graduation to discuss my future, if discussion be theproper word. The next evening at supper he informed me that he wishedto talk to me in the sitting-room, whither I followed him with a sinkingheart. He seated himself at his desk, and sat for a moment gazing at mewith a curious and benumbing expression, and then the blow fell. 

"Hugh, I have spoken to your Cousin Robert Breck about you, and he haskindly consented to give you a trial. "

"To give me a trial, sir!" I exclaimed. 

"To employ you at a small but reasonable salary. "

I could find no words to express my dismay. My dreams had come to this, that I was to be made a clerk in a grocery store! The fact that it was awholesale grocery store was little consolation. 

"But father, " I faltered, "I don't want to go into business. "

"Ah!" The sharpness of the exclamation might have betrayed to me thepain in which he was, but he recovered himself instantly. And I couldsee nothing but an inexorable justice closing in on me mechanically;a blind justice, in its inability to read my soul. "The time to havedecided that, " he declared, "was some years ago, my son. I have givenyou the best schooling a boy can have, and you have not shown the leastappreciation of your advantages. I do not enjoy saying this, Hugh, but in spite of all my efforts and of those of your mother, you haveremained undeveloped and irresponsible. My hope, as you know, was tohave made you a professional man, a lawyer, and to take you into myoffice. My father and grandfather were professional men before me. Butyou are wholly lacking in ambition. "

And I had burned with it all my life!

"I have ambition, " I cried, the tears forcing themselves to my eyes. 

"Ambition--for what, my son?"

I hesitated. How could I tell him that my longings to do something, to be somebody in the world were never more keen than at that moment?Matthew Arnold had not then written his definition of God as the streamof tendency by which we fulfil the laws of our being; and my father, at any rate, would not have acquiesced in the definition. Dimly butpassionately I felt then, as I had always felt, that I had a mission toperform, a service to do which ultimately would be revealed to me. Butthe hopelessness of explaining this took on, now, the proportions of atragedy. And I could only gaze at him. 

"What kind of ambition, Hugh?" he repeated sadly. 

"I--I have sometimes thought I could write, sir, if I had a chance. Ilike it better than anything else. I--I have tried it. And if I couldonly go to college--"

"Literature!" There was in his voice a scandalized note. 

"Why not, father?" I asked weakly. 

And now it was he who, for the first time, seemed to be at a loss toexpress himself. He turned in his chair, and with a sweep of the handindicated the long rows of musty-backed volumes. "Here, " he said, "youhave had at your disposal as well-assorted a small library as the citycontains, and you have not availed yourself of it. Yet you talk to meof literature as a profession. I am afraid, Hugh, that this is merelyanother indication of your desire to shun hard work, and I must tellyou frankly that I fail to see in you the least qualification for sucha career. You have not even inherited my taste for books. I ventureto say, for instance, that you have never even read a paragraph ofPlutarch, and yet when I was your age I was completely familiar with theLives. You will not read Scott or Dickens. "

The impeachment was not to be denied, for the classics were hateful tome. Naturally I was afraid to make such a damning admission. My fatherhad succeeded in presenting my ambition as the height of absurdity andpresumption, and with something of the despair of a shipwrecked marinermy eyes rested on the green expanses of those book-backs, Bohn'sStandard Library! Nor did it occur to him or to me that one might begreat in literature without having read so much as a gritty page ofthem. .. . 

He finished his argument by reminding me that worthless persons soughtto enter the arts in the search for a fool's paradise, and in orderto satisfy a reprehensible craving for notoriety. The implication wasclear, that imaginative production could not be classed as hard work. And he assured me that literature was a profession in which no one couldafford to be second class. A Longfellow, a Harriet Beecher Stowe, ornothing. This was a practical age and a practical country. We had indeedproduced Irvings and Hawthornes, but the future of American letters was, to say the least, problematical. We were a utilitarian people who wouldnever create a great literature, and he reminded me that the days of theromantic and the picturesque had passed. He gathered that I desired tobe a novelist. Well, novelists, with certain exceptions, were fantasticfellows who blew iridescent soap-bubbles and who had no morals. In theface of such a philosophy as his I was mute. The world appeared a drearyplace of musty offices and smoky steel-works, of coal dust, of labourwithout a spark of inspiration. And that other, the world of my dreams, simply did not exist. 

Incidentally my father had condemned Cousin Robert's wholesale grocerybusiness as a refuge of the lesser of intellect that could not achievethe professions, --an inference not calculated to stir my ambition andliking for it at the start. 

I began my business career on the following Monday morning. Atbreakfast, held earlier than usual on my account, my mother's sympathywas the more eloquent for being unspoken, while my father wore an air ofunwonted cheerfulness; charging me, when I departed, to give his kindestremembrances to my Cousin Robert Breck. With a sense of martyrdomsomehow deepened by this attitude of my parents I boarded a horse-carand went down town. Early though it was, the narrow streets of thewholesale district reverberated with the rattle of trucks and echoedwith the shouts of drivers. The day promised to be scorching. Atthe door of the warehouse of Breck and Company I was greeted by theineffable smell of groceries in which the suggestion of parched coffeeprevailed. This is the sharpest remembrance of all, and even to-daythat odour affects me somewhat in the manner that the interior of aship affects a person prone to seasickness. My Cousin Robert, in hiswell-worn alpaca coat, was already seated at his desk behind the cloudedglass partition next the alley at the back of the store, and as Ientered he gazed at me over his steel-rimmed spectacles with that samedisturbing look of clairvoyance I have already mentioned as one of hischaracteristics. The grey eyes were quizzical, and yet seemed to expressa little commiseration. 

"Well, Hugh, you've decided to honour us, have you?" he asked. 

"I'm much obliged for giving me the place, Cousin Robert, " I replied. 

But he had no use for that sort of politeness, and he saw through me, asalways. 

"So you're not too tony for the grocery business, eh?"

"Oh, no, sir. "

"It was good enough for old Benjamin Breck, " he said. "Well, I'll giveyou a fair trial, my boy, and no favouritism on account of relationship, any more than to Willie. "

His strong voice resounded through the store, and presently my cousinWillie appeared in answer to his summons, the same Willie who used tolead me, on mischief bent, through the barns and woods and fields ofClaremore. He was barefoot no longer, though freckled still, grown lankyand tall; he wore a coarse blue apron that fell below his knees, and apencil was stuck behind his ear. 

"Get an apron for Hugh, " said his father. 

Willie's grin grew wider. 

"I'll fit him out, " he said. 

"Start him in the shipping department, " directed Cousin Robert, andturned to his letters. 

I was forthwith provided with an apron, and introduced to the slim andanaemic but cheerful Johnny Hedges, the shipping clerk, hard at work inthe alley. Secretly I looked down on my fellow-clerks, as one destinedfor a higher mission, made out of better stuff, --finer stuff. Despitemy attempt to hide this sense of superiority they were swift to discoverit; and perhaps it is to my credit as well as theirs that they did notresent it. Curiously enough, they seemed to acknowledge it. Before theweek was out I had earned the nickname of Beau Brummel. 

"Say, Beau, " Johnny Hedges would ask, when I appeared of a morning, "what happened in the great world last night?"

I had an affection for them, these fellow-clerks, and I oftenwondered at their contentment with the drab lives they led, at theirself-congratulation for "having a job" at Breck and Company's. 

"You don't mean to say you like this kind of work?" I exclaimed one dayto Johnny Hedges, as we sat on barrels of XXXX flour looking out at thehot sunlight in the alley. 

"It ain't a question of liking it, Beau, " he rebuked me. "It's all verywell for you to talk, since your father's a millionaire" (a fiction sofirmly embedded in their heads that no amount of denial affected it), "but what do you think would happen to me if I was fired? I couldn'tgo home and take it easy--you bet not. I just want to shake hands withmyself when I think that I've got a home, and a job like this. I knowa feller--a hard worker he was, too who walked the pavements for threemonths when the Colvers failed, and couldn't get nothing, and took todrink, and the last I heard of him he was sleeping in police stationsand walking the ties, and his wife's a waitress at a cheap hotel. Don'tyou think it's easy to get a job. "

I was momentarily sobered by the earnestness with which he brought hometo me the relentlessness of our civilization. It seemed incredible. Ishould have learned a lesson in that store. Barring a few discordantdays when the orders came in too fast or when we were short handedbecause of sickness, it was a veritable hive of happiness; morning aftermorning clerks and porters arrived, pale, yet smiling, and laboured withcheerfulness from eight o'clock until six, and departed as cheerfullyfor modest homes in obscure neighbourhoods that seemed to me areas ofexile. They were troubled with no visions of better things. Whenthe travelling men came in from the "road" there was great hilarity. Important personages, these, looked up to by the city clerks; jolly, reckless, Elizabethan-like rovers, who had tasted of the wine ofliberty--and of other wines with the ineradicable lust for the road intheir blood. No more routine for Jimmy Bowles, who was king of them all. I shudder to think how much of my knowledge of life I owe to this Jimmy, whose stories would have filled a quarto volume, but could on no accounthave been published; for a self-respecting post-office would not haveallowed them to pass through the mails. As it was, Jimmy gave themcirculation enough. I can still see his round face, with the nose justindicated, his wicked, twinkling little eyes, and I can hear his huskyvoice fall to a whisper when "the boss" passed through the store. Jimmy, when visiting us, always had a group around him. His audacity with womenamazed me, for he never passed one of the "lady clerks" without someform of caress, which they resented but invariably laughed at. One dayhe imparted to me his code of morality: he never made love to anotherman's wife, so he assured me, if he knew the man! The secret of life hehad discovered in laughter, and by laughter he sold quantities of CousinRobert's groceries. 

Mr. Bowles boasted of a catholic acquaintance in all the cities of hisdistrict, but before venturing forth to conquer these he had learned hisown city by heart. My Cousin Robert was not aware of the fact that Mr. Bowles "showed" the town to certain customers. He even desired to showit to me, but an epicurean strain in my nature held me back. JohnnyHedges went with him occasionally, and Henry Schneider, the bill clerk, and I listened eagerly to their experiences, afterwards confiding themto Tom. .. . 

There were times when, driven by an overwhelming curiosity, I venturedinto certain strange streets, alone, shivering with cold and excitement, gripped by a fascination I did not comprehend, my eyes now averted, nowirresistibly raised toward the white streaks of light that outlined thewindows of dark houses. .. . 

One winter evening as I was going home, I encountered at the mail-boxa young woman who shot at me a queer, twisted smile. I stood still, asthough stunned, looking after her, and when halfway across the slushystreet she turned and smiled again. Prodigiously excited, I followedher, fearful that I might be seen by someone who knew me, nor was ituntil she reached an unfamiliar street that I ventured to overtake her. She confounded me by facing me. 

"Get out!" she cried fiercely. 

I halted in my tracks, overwhelmed with shame. But she continued toregard me by the light of the street lamp. 

"You didn't want to be seen with me on Second Street, did you? You'reone of those sneaking swells. "

The shock of this sudden onslaught was tremendous. I stood frozen to thespot, trembling, convicted, for I knew that her accusation was just; Ihad wounded her, and I had a desire to make amends. 

"I'm sorry, " I faltered. "I didn't mean--to offend you. And yousmiled--" I got no farther. She began to laugh, and so loudly that Iglanced anxiously about. I would have fled, but something still held me, something that belied the harshness of her laugh. 

"You're just a kid, " she told me. "Say, you get along home, and tellyour mamma I sent you. "

Whereupon I departed in a state of humiliation and self-reproach I hadnever before known, wandering about aimlessly for a long time. When atlength I arrived at home, late for supper, my mother's solicitude onlyserved to deepen my pain. She went to the kitchen herself to see if mymince-pie were hot, and served me with her own hands. My father remainedat his place at the head of the table while I tried to eat, smilingindulgently at her ministrations. 

"Oh, a little hard work won't hurt him, Sarah, " he said. "When I was hisage I often worked until eleven o'clock and never felt the worse for it. Business must be pretty good, eh, Hugh?"

I had never seen him in a more relaxing mood, a more approving one. My mother sat down beside me. .. . Words seem useless to express thecomplicated nature of my suffering at that moment, --my remorse, mysense of deception, of hypocrisy, --yes, and my terror. I tried to talknaturally, to answer my father's questions about affairs at the store, while all the time my eyes rested upon the objects of the room, familiarsince childhood. Here were warmth, love, and safety. Why could I not becontent with them, thankful for them? What was it in me that drove mefrom these sheltering walls out into the dark places? I glanced at myfather. Had he ever known these wild, destroying desires? Oh, if I onlycould have confided in him! The very idea of it was preposterous. Suchplacidity as theirs would never understand the nature of my temptations, and I pictured to myself their horror and despair at my revelation. Inimagination I beheld their figures receding while I drifted out to sea, alone. Would the tide--which was somehow within me--carry me out andout, in spite of all I could do?

 "Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core. .. . "

I did not shirk my tasks at the store, although I never got over thefeeling that a fine instrument was being employed where a coarser onewould have done equally well. There were moments when I was almostovercome by surges of self-commiseration and of impotent anger: forinstance, I was once driven out of a shop by an incensed German grocerwhom I had asked to settle a long-standing account. Yet the days passed, the daily grind absorbed my energies, and when I was not collecting, ortediously going over the stock in the dim recesses of the store, I wasrunning errands in the wholesale district, treading the burning brick ofthe pavements, dodging heavy trucks and drays and perspiring clerks whoflew about with memorandum pads in their hands, or awaiting the pleasureof bank tellers. Save Harvey, the venerable porter, I was the last toleave the store in the evening, and I always came away with the taste onmy palate of Breck and Company's mail, it being my final duty to "lick"the whole of it and deposit it in the box at the corner. The gum on theenvelopes tasted of winter-green. 

My Cousin Robert was somewhat astonished at my application. 

"We'll make a man of you yet, Hugh, " he said to me once, when I hadperformed a commission with unexpected despatch. .. . 

Business was his all-in-all, and he had an undisguised contempt forhigher education. To send a boy to college was, in his opinion, to runno inconsiderable risk of ruining him. What did they amount to when theycame home, strutting like peacocks, full of fads and fancies, and muchtoo good to associate with decent, hard-working citizens? Neverthelesswhen autumn came and my friends departed with eclat for the East, I wasdesperate indeed! Even the contemplation of Robert Breck did not consoleme, and yet here, in truth, was a life which might have served me as amodel. His store was his castle; and his reputation for integrity andsquare dealing as wide as the city. Often I used to watch him with acertain envy as he stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, and greeted fellow-merchant and banker with his genuine and dignifieddirectness. This man was his own master. They all called him "Robert, "and they made it clear by their manner that they knew they wereaddressing one who fulfilled his obligations and asked no favours. 

Crusty old Nathaniel Durrett once declared that when you bought a billof goods from Robert Breck you did not have to check up the invoice oremploy a chemist. Here was a character to mould upon. If my ambitioncould but have been bounded by Breck and Company, I, too, might havecome to stand in that doorway content with a tribute that was greaterthan Caesar's. 

I had been dreading the Christmas holidays, which were indeed to be noholidays for me. And when at length they arrived they brought with themfrom the East certain heroes fashionably clad, citizens now of a largerworld than mine. These former companions had become superior beings, they could not help showing it, and their presence destroyed the Balanceof Things. For alas, I had not wholly abjured the feminine sex afterall! And from being a somewhat important factor in the lives of RuthHollister and other young women I suddenly became of no account. Newinterests, new rivalries and loyalties had arisen in which I had noshare; I must perforce busy myself with invoices of flour and coffee andcanned fruits while sleigh rides and coasting and skating expeditionsto Blackstone Lake followed one another day after day, --for the irony ofcircumstances had decreed a winter uncommonly cold. There were eveningparties, too, where I felt like an alien, though my friends were guiltyof no conscious neglect; and had I been able to accept the situationsimply, I should not have suffered. 

The principal event of those holidays was a play given in the oldHambleton house (which later became the Boyne Club), under the directionof the lively and talented Mrs. Watling. I was invited, indeed, toparticipate; but even if I had had the desire I could not have doneso, since the rehearsals were carried on in the daytime. Nancy was theleading lady. I have neglected to mention that she too had been awayalmost continuously since our misunderstanding, for the summer in themountains, --a sojourn recommended for her mother's health; and in theautumn she had somewhat abruptly decided to go East to boarding-schoolat Farmington. During the brief months of her absence she hadmarvellously acquired maturity and aplomb, a worldliness of manner and acertain frivolity that seemed to put those who surrounded her on a lowerplane. She was only seventeen, yet she seemed the woman of thirty whoserole she played. First there were murmurs, then sustained applause. Iscarcely recognized her: she had taken wings and soared far above me, suggesting a sphere of power and luxury hitherto unimagined and beyondthe scope of the world to which I belonged. 

Her triumph was genuine. When the play was over she was immediatelysurrounded by enthusiastic admirers eager to congratulate her, to dancewith her. I too would have gone forward, but a sense of inadequacy, ofunimportance, of an inability to cope with her, held me back, and from acorner I watched her sweeping around the room, holding up her train, andleaning on the arm of Bob Lansing, a classmate whom Ralph had broughthome from Harvard. Then it was Ralph's turn: that affair seemed stillto be going on. My feelings were a strange medley of despondency andstimulation. .. . 

Our eyes met. Her partner now was Ham Durrett. Capriciously releasinghim, she stood before me, "Hugh, you haven't asked me to dance, or even told me what you thoughtof the play. "

"I thought it was splendid, " I said lamely. 

Because she refrained from replying I was farther than ever fromunderstanding her. How was I to divine what she felt? or whether anylonger she felt at all? Here, in this costume of a woman of the world, with the string of pearls at her neck to give her the final touch ofbrilliancy, was a strange, new creature who baffled and silenced me. .. . We had not gone halfway across the room when she halted abruptly. 

"I'm tired, " she exclaimed. "I don't feel like dancing just now, " andled the way to the big, rose punch-bowl, one of the Durretts' mostcherished possessions. Glancing up at me over the glass of lemonade Ihad given her she went on: "Why haven't you been to see me since I camehome? I've wanted to talk to you, to hear how you are getting along. "

Was she trying to make amends, or reminding me in this subtle way ofthe cause of our quarrel? What I was aware of as I looked at her wasan attitude, a vantage point apparently gained by contact with thatmysterious outer world which thus vicariously had laid its spell on me;I was tremendously struck by the thought that to achieve this attitudemeant emancipation, invulnerability against the aches and pains whichotherwise our fellow-beings had the power to give us; mastery overlife, --the ability to choose calmly, as from a height, what were bestfor one's self, untroubled by loves and hates. Untroubled by loves andhates! At that very moment, paradoxically, I loved her madly, but with alove not of the old quality, a love that demanded a vantage point of itsown. Even though she had made an advance--and some elusiveness in hermanner led me to doubt it I could not go to her now. I must go as aconqueror, --a conqueror in the lists she herself had chosen, where theprize is power. 

"Oh, I'm getting along pretty well, " I said. "At any rate, they don'tcomplain of me. "

"Somehow, " she ventured, "somehow it's hard to think of you as abusiness man. "

I took this for a reference to the boast I had made that I would go tocollege. 

"Business isn't so bad as it might be, " I assured her. 

"I think a man ought to go away to college, " she declared, in whatseemed another tone. "He makes friends, learns certain things, --it giveshim finish. We are very provincial here. "

Provincial! I did not stop to reflect how recently she must haveacquired the word; it summed up precisely the self-estimate at which Ihad arrived. The sting went deep. Before I could think of an effectivereply Nancy was being carried off by the young man from the East, whowas clearly infatuated. He was not provincial. She smiled back atme brightly over his shoulder. .. . In that instant were fused in oneresolution all the discordant elements within me of aspiration anddiscontent. It was not so much that I would show Nancy what I intendedto do--I would show myself; and I felt a sudden elation, and accessionof power that enabled me momentarily to despise the puppets with whomshe danced. .. . From this mood I was awakened with a start to feel a handon my shoulder, and I turned to confront her father, McAlery Willett;a gregarious, easygoing, pleasure-loving gentleman who made only apretence of business, having inherited an ample fortune from his father, unique among his generation in our city in that he paid some attentionto fashion in his dress; good living was already beginning to affect hisfigure. His mellow voice had a way of breaking an octave. 

"Don't worry, my boy, " he said. "You stick to business. These collegefellows are cocks of the walk just now, but some day you'll be able tosnap your fingers at all of 'em. "

The next day was dark, overcast, smoky, damp-the soft, unwholesomedampness that follows a spell of hard frost. I spent the morning andafternoon on the gloomy third floor of Breck and Company, making a listof the stock. I remember the place as though I had just stepped outof it, the freight elevator at the back, the dusty, iron columns, the continuous piles of cases and bags and barrels with narrow aislesbetween them; the dirty windows, spotted and soot-streaked, that lookeddown on Second Street. I was determined now to escape from all this, andI had my plan in mind. 

No sooner had I swallowed my supper that evening than I set out at aswift pace for a modest residence district ten blocks away, coming to alittle frame house set back in a yard, --one of those houses in whichthe ringing of the front door-bell produces the greatest commotion;children's voices were excitedly raised and then hushed. After a briefsilence the door was opened by a pleasant-faced, brown-bearded man, whostood staring at me in surprise. His hair was rumpled, he wore an oldhouse coat with a hole in the elbow, and with one finger he kept hisplace in the book which he held in his hand. 

"Hugh Paret!" he exclaimed. 

He ushered me into a little parlour lighted by two lamps, that boreevery evidence of having been recently vacated. Its features somehowbespoke a struggle for existence; as though its occupants hadworried much and loved much. It was a room best described by the word"home"--home made more precious by a certain precariousness. Toys andschool-books strewed the floor, a sewing-bag and apron lay across thesofa, and in one corner was a roll-topped desk of varnished oak. Theseats of the chairs were comfortably depressed. 

So this was where Mr. Wood lived! Mr. Wood, instructor in Latin andGreek at Densmore Academy. It was now borne in on me for the first timethat he did live and have his ties like any other human being, insteadof just appearing magically from nowhere on a platform in a chalky roomat nine every morning, to vanish again in the afternoon. I had formerlystood in awe of his presence. But now I was suddenly possessed by anembarrassment, and (shall I say it?) by a commiseration bordering oncontempt for a man who would consent to live thus for the sake of beinga schoolteacher. How strange that civilization should set such a highvalue on education and treat its functionaries with such neglect!

Mr. Wood's surprise at seeing me was genuine. For I had never showna particular interest in him, nor in the knowledge which he strove toimpart. 

"I thought you had forgotten me, Hugh, " he said, and added whimsically:"most boys do, when they graduate. "

I felt the reproach, which made it the more difficult for me to state myerrand. 

"I knew you sometimes took pupils in the evening, Mr. Wood. "

"Pupils, --yes, " he replied, still eyeing me. Suddenly his eyes twinkled. He had indeed no reason to suspect me of thirsting for learning. "But Iwas under the impression that you had gone into business, Hugh. "

"The fact is, sir, " I explained somewhat painfully, "that I am notsatisfied with business. I feel--as if I ought to know more. And I cameto see if you would give me lessons about three nights a week, because Iwant to take the Harvard examinations next summer. "

Thus I made it appear, and so persuaded myself, that my ambition hadbeen prompted by a craving for knowledge. As soon as he could recoverhimself he reminded me that he had on many occasions declared I had abrain. 

"Your father must be very happy over this decision of yours, " he said. 

That was the point, I told him. It was to be a surprise for my father; Iwas to take the examinations first, and inform him afterwards. 

To my intense relief, Mr. Wood found the scheme wholly laudable, andentered into it with zest. He produced examinations of precedingyears from a pigeonhole in his desk, and inside of half an hour thearrangement was made, the price of the lessons settled. They were wellwithin my salary, which recently had been raised. .. . 

When I went down town, or collecting bills for Breck and Company, I tooka text-book along with me in the street-cars. Now at last I had behindmy studies a driving force. Algebra, Latin, Greek and history becameworth while, means to an end. I astonished Mr. Wood; and sometimes hewould tilt back his chair, take off his spectacles and pull his beard. 

"Why in the name of all the sages, " he would demand, "couldn't you havedone this well at school? You might have led your class, instead ofRalph Hambleton. "

I grew very fond of Mr. Wood, and even of his thin little wife, whooccasionally flitted into the room after we had finished. I fullyintended to keep up with them in after life, but I never did. I forgotthem completely. .. . 

My parents were not wholly easy in their minds concerning me; they werebewildered by the new aspect I presented. For my lately acquired motivewas strong enough to compel me to restrict myself socially, and theevenings I spent at home were given to study, usually in my own room. Once I was caught with a Latin grammar: I was just "looking over it, " Isaid. My mother sighed. I knew what was in her mind; she had alwaysbeen secretly disappointed that I had not been sent to college. Andpresently, when my father went out to attend a trustee's meeting, theimpulse to confide in her almost overcame me; I loved her with thataffection which goes out to those whom we feel understand us, but I waslearning to restrain my feelings. She looked at me wistfully. .. . I knewthat she would insist on telling my father, and thus possibly frustratemy plans. That I was not discovered was due to a certain quixotic twistin my father's character. I was working now, and though not actuallyearning my own living, he no longer felt justified in prying into myaffairs. 

When June arrived, however, my tutor began to show signs that hisconscience was troubling him, and one night he delivered his ultimatum. The joke had gone far enough, he implied. My intentions, indeed, hefound praiseworthy, but in his opinion it was high time that my fatherwere informed of them; he was determined to call at my father's office. 

The next morning was blue with the presage of showers; blue, too, with the presage of fate. An interminable morning. My tasks had becomeutterly distasteful. And in the afternoon, so when I sat down to makeout invoices, I wrote automatically the names of the familiar customers, my mind now exalted by hope, now depressed by anxiety. The result ofan interview perhaps even now going on would determine whether or no Ishould be immediately released from a slavery I detested. Would Mr. Wood persuade my father? If not, I was prepared to take more desperatemeasures; remain in the grocery business I would not. In the evening, as I hurried homeward from the corner where the Boyne Street car haddropped me, I halted suddenly in front of the Peters house, absorbingthe scene where my childhood had been spent: each of these spreadingmaples was an old friend, and in these yards I had played and dreamed. An unaccountable sadness passed over me as I walked on toward ourgate; I entered it, gained the doorway of the house and went upstairs, glancing into the sitting room. My mother sat by the window, sewing. Shelooked up at me with an ineffable expression, in which I read a trace oftears. 

"Hugh!" she exclaimed. 

I felt very uncomfortable, and stood looking down at her. 

"Why didn't you tell us, my son?" In her voice was in truth reproach;yet mingled with that was another note, which I think was pride. 

"What has father said?" I asked. 

"Oh, my dear, he will tell you himself. I--I don't know--he will talk toyou. "

Suddenly she seized my hands and drew me down to her, and then heldme away, gazing into my face with a passionate questioning, herlips smiling, her eyes wet. What did she see? Was there a subtlerrelationship between our natures than I guessed? Did she understand bysome instinctive power the riddle within me? divine through love theforce that was driving me on she knew not whither, nor I? At the soundof my father's step in the hall she released me. He came in as thoughnothing had happened. 

"Well, Hugh, are you home?" he said. .. . 

Never had I been more impressed, more bewildered by his self-commandthan at that time. Save for the fact that my mother talked less thanusual, supper passed as though nothing had happened. Whether I hadshaken him, disappointed him, or gained his reluctant approval Icould not tell. Gradually his outward calmness turned my suspense toirritation. .. . 

But when at length we were alone together, I gained a certainreassurance. His manner was not severe. He hesitated a little beforebeginning. 

"I must confess, Hugh; that I scarcely know what to say about thisproceeding of yours. The thing that strikes me most forcibly is that youmight have confided in your mother and myself. "

Hope flashed up within me, like an explosion. 

"I--I wanted to surprise you, father. And then, you see, I thought itwould be wiser to find out first how well I was likely to do at theexaminations. "

My father looked at me. Unfortunately he possessed neither a sense ofhumour nor a sense of tragedy sufficient to meet such a situation. Forthe first time in my life I beheld him at a disadvantage; for I had, somehow, managed at length to force him out of position, and he waspuzzled. I was quick to play my trump card. 

"I have been thinking it over carefully, " I told him, "and I have madeup my mind that I want to go into the law. "

"The law!" he exclaimed sharply. 

"Why, yes, sir. I know that you were disappointed because I did not dosufficiently well at school to go to college and study for the bar. "

I felt indeed a momentary pang, but I remembered that I was fighting formy freedom. 

"You seemed satisfied where you were, " he said in a puzzled voice, "andyour Cousin Robert gives a good account of you. "

"I've tried to do the work as well as I could, sir, " I replied. "But Idon't like the grocery business, or any other business. I have a feelingthat I'm not made for it. "

"And you think, now, that you are made for the law?" he asked, with thefaint hint of a smile. 

"Yes, sir, I believe I could succeed at it. I'd like to try, " I repliedmodestly. 

"You've given up the idiotic notion of wishing to be an author?"

I implied that he himself had convinced me of the futility of such awish. I listened to his next words as in a dream. 

"I must confess to you, Hugh, that there are times when I fail tounderstand you. I hope it is as you say, that you have arrived at asettled conviction as to your future, and that this is not another ofthose caprices to which you have been subject, nor a desire to shirkhonest work. Mr. Wood has made out a strong case for you, and I havetherefore determined to give you a trial. If you pass the examinationswith credit, you may go to college, but if at any time you fail tomake good progress, you come home, and go into business again. Is thatthoroughly understood?"

I said it was, and thanked him effusively. .. . I had escaped, --the prisondoors had flown open. But it is written that every happiness hasits sting; and my joy, intense though it was, had in it a core ofremorse. .. . 

I went downstairs to my mother, who was sitting in the hall by the opendoor. 

"Father says I may go!" I said. 

She got up and took me in her arms. 

"My dear, I am so glad, although we shall miss you dreadfully. .. . Hugh?"

"Yes, mother. "

"Oh, Hugh, I so want you to be a good man!"

Her cry was a little incoherent, but fraught with a meaning that camehome to me, in spite of myself. .. . 

A while later I ran over to announce to the amazed Tom Peters that Iwas actually going to Harvard with him. He stood in the half-lightedhallway, his hands in his pockets, blinking at me. 

"Hugh, you're a wonder!" he cried. "How in Jehoshaphat did you workit?". .. 

I lay long awake that night thinking over the momentous change so soonto come into my life, wondering exultantly what Nancy Willett would saynow. I was not one, at any rate, to be despised or neglected. 

VI. 

The following September Tom Peters and I went East together. In theearly morning Boston broke on us like a Mecca as we rolled out of theold Albany station, joint lords of a "herdic. " How sharply the smell ofthe salt-laden east wind and its penetrating coolness come back to me! Iseek in vain for words to express the exhilarating effect of that brinycoolness on my imagination, and of the visions it summoned up of thenewer, larger life into which I had marvellously been transported. Wealighted at the Parker House, full-fledged men of the world, and triedto act as though the breakfast of which we partook were merely anincident, not an Event; as though we were Seniors, and not freshmen, assuming an indifference to the beings by whom we were surrounded andwho were breakfasting, too, --although the nice-looking ones with freshfaces and trim clothes were all undoubtedly Olympians. The betterto proclaim our nonchalance, we seated ourselves on a lounge of themarble-paved lobby and smoked cigarettes. This was liberty indeed! Atlength we departed for Cambridge, in another herdic. 

Boston! Could it be possible? Everything was so different here as togive the place the aspect of a dream: the Bulfinch State House, thedecorous shops, the still more decorous dwellings with the purple-panedwindows facing the Common; Back Bay, still boarded up, ivy-spread, suggestive of a mysterious and delectable existence. We crossed theCharles River, blue-grey and still that morning; traversed a nondescriptdistrict, and at last found ourselves gazing out of the windows at themellowed, plum-coloured bricks of the University buildings. .. . Allat once our exhilaration evaporated as the herdic rumbled into aside street and backed up before the door of a not-too-inviting, three-storied house with a queer extension on top. Its steps andvestibule were, however, immaculate. The bell was answered by a plainlyoverworked servant girl, of whom we inquired for Mrs. Bolton, ourlandlady. There followed a period of waiting in a parlour from which thelight had been almost wholly banished, with slippery horsehair furnitureand a marble-topped table; and Mrs. Bolton, when she appeared, dressedin rusty black, harmonized perfectly with the funereal gloom. She was atall, rawboned, severe lady with a peculiar red-mottled complexion thatsomehow reminded one of the outcropping rocks of her native New Englandsoil. 

"You want to see your rooms, I suppose, " she remarked impassively whenwe had introduced ourselves, and as we mounted the stairs behind herTom, in a whisper, nicknamed her "Granite Face. " Presently she left us. 

"Hospitable soul!" said Tom, who, with his hands in his pockets, wasgazing at the bare walls of our sitting-room. "We'll have to go intothe house-furnishing business, Hughie. I vote we don't linger hereto-day--we'll get melancholia. "

Outside, however, the sun was shining brightly, and we departedimmediately to explore Cambridge and announce our important presencesto the proper authorities. .. . We went into Boston to dine. .. . It wasnot until nine o'clock in the evening that we returned and the bottomsuddenly dropped out of things. He who has tasted that first, acutehomesickness of college will know what I mean. It usually comes at theopening of one's trunk. The sight of the top tray gave me a pang I shallnever forget. I would not have believed that I loved my mother so much!These articles had been packed by her hands; and in one corner, amongthe underclothes on which she had neatly sewed my initials, lay the newBible she had bought. "Hugh Moreton Paret, from his Mother. September, 1881. " I took it up (Tom was not looking) and tried to read a passage, but my eyes were blurred. What was it within me that pressed and presseduntil I thought I could bear the pain of it no longer? I pictured thesitting-room at home, and my father and mother there, thinking of me. Yes, I must acknowledge it; in the bitterness of that moment I longedto be back once more in the railed-off space on the floor of Breck andCompany, writing invoices. .. . 

Presently, as we went on silently with our unpacking, we became aware ofsomeone in the doorway. 

"Hello, you fellows!" he cried. "We're classmates, I guess. "

We turned to behold an ungainly young man in an ill-fitting blue suit. His face was pimply, his eyes a Teutonic blue, his yellow hair rumpled, his naturally large mouth was made larger by a friendly grin. 

"I'm Hermann Krebs, " he announced simply. "Who are you?"

We replied, I regret to say, with a distinct coolness that did not seemto bother him in the least. He advanced into the room, holding out alarge, red, and serviceable hand, evidently it had never dawned on himthat there was such a thing in the world as snobbery. But Tom and Ihad been "coached" by Ralph Hambleton and Perry Blackwood, warned to becareful of our friendships. There was a Reason! In any case Mr. Krebswould not have appealed to us. In answer to a second question he wasinformed what city we hailed from, and he proclaimed himself likewise anative of our state. 

"Why, I'm from Elkington!" he exclaimed, as though the fact sealedour future relationships. He seated himself on Tom's trunk and added:"Welcome to old Harvard!"

We felt that he was scarcely qualified to speak for "old Harvard, " butwe did not say so. 

"You look as if you'd been pall-bearers for somebody, " was his nextobservation. 

To this there seemed no possible reply. 

"You fellows are pretty well fixed here, " he went on, undismayed, gazingabout a room which had seemed to us the abomination of desolation. "Yourfolks must be rich. I'm up under the skylight. "

Even this failed to touch us. His father--he told us with undiminishedcandour--had been a German emigrant who had come over in '49, after thecause of liberty had been lost in the old country, and made eye-glassesand opera glasses. There hadn't been a fortune in it. He, Hermann, had worked at various occupations in the summer time, from peddling tofarming, until he had saved enough to start him at Harvard. Tom, who hadbeen bending over his bureau drawer, straightened up. 

"What did you want to come here for?" he demanded. 

"Say, what did you?" Mr. Krebs retorted genially. "To get an education, of course. "

"An education!" echoed Tom. 

"Isn't Harvard the oldest and best seat of learning in America?" Therewas an exaltation in Krebs's voice that arrested my attention, and mademe look at him again. A troubled chord had been struck within me. 

"Sure, " said Tom. 

"What did you come for?" Mr. Krebs persisted. 

"To sow my wild oats, " said Tom. "I expect to have something of a crop, too. "

For some reason I could not fathom, it suddenly seemed to dawn on Mr. Krebs, as a result of this statement, that he wasn't wanted. 

"Well, so long, " he said, with a new dignity that curiously belied theinformality of his farewell. 

An interval of silence followed his departure. 

"Well, he's got a crust!" said Tom, at last. 

My own feeling about Mr. Krebs had become more complicated; but I tookmy cue from Tom, who dealt with situations simply. 

"He'll come in for a few knockouts, " he declared. "Here's to oldHarvard, the greatest institution of learning in America! Oh, gee!"

Our visitor, at least, made us temporarily forget our homesickness, butit returned with redoubled intensity when we had put out the lights andgone to bed. 

Before we had left home it had been mildly hinted to us by Ralph andPerry Blackwood that scholarly eminence was not absolutely necessaryto one's welfare and happiness at Cambridge. The hint had been somewhatsuperfluous; but the question remained, what was necessary? With a viewof getting some light on this delicate subject we paid a visit the nextevening to our former friends and schoolmates, whose advice was conveyedwith a masterly circumlocution that impressed us both. There are somethings that may not be discussed directly, and the conduct of life ata modern university--which is a reflection of life in the greaterworld--is one of these. Perry Blackwood and Ham did most of the talking, while Ralph, characteristically, lay at full length on the window-seat, interrupting with an occasional terse and cynical remark very much tothe point. As a sophomore, he in particular seemed lifted immeasurablyabove us, for he was--as might have been expected already a markedman in his class. The rooms which he shared with his cousin made atremendous impression on Tom and me, and seemed palatial in comparisonto our quarters at Mrs. Bolton's, eloquent of the freedom and luxuryof undergraduate existence; their note, perhaps, was struck by theprofusion of gay sofa pillows, then something of an innovation. Theheavy, expensive furniture was of a pattern new to me; and on the mantelwere three or four photographs of ladies in the alluring costume of themusical stage, in which Tom evinced a particular interest. 

"Did grandfather send 'em?" he inquired. 

"They're Ham's, " said Ralph, and he contrived somehow to get into thosetwo words an epitome of his cousin's character. Ham was stouter, and hisclothes were more striking, more obviously expensive than ever. .. . Onour way homeward, after we had walked a block or two in silence, Tomexclaimed:--"Don't make friends with the friendless!--eh, Hughie? Weknew enough to begin all right, didn't we?". .. 

Have I made us out a pair of deliberate, calculating snobs? Well, after all it must be remembered that our bringing up had not been ofsufficient liberality to include the Krebses of this world. We did not, indeed, spend much time in choosing and weighing those whom we shouldknow and those whom we should avoid; and before the first term of thatFreshman year was over Tom had become a favourite. He had the gift ofmaking men feel that he delighted in their society, that he wished fornothing better than to sit for hours in their company, content to listento the arguments that raged about him. Once in a while he would make adroll observation that was greeted with fits of laughter. He was alwaysreferred to as "old Tom, " or "good old Tom"; presently, when he began topick out chords on the banjo, it was discovered that he had a good tenorvoice, though he could not always be induced to sing. .. . Somewhat to thejeopardy of the academic standard that my father expected me to sustain, our rooms became a rendezvous for many clubable souls whose maudlin, midnight attempts at harmony often set the cocks crowing. 

 "Free from care and despair, What care we? 'Tis wine, 'tis wine That makes the jollity. "

As a matter of truth, on these occasions it was more often beer; beertransported thither in Tom's new valise, --given him by his mother, --andstuffed with snow to keep the bottles cold. Sometimes Granite Face, adorned in a sky-blue wrapper, would suddenly appear in the doorway todeclare that we were a disgrace to her respectable house: the universityauthorities should be informed, etc. , etc. Poor woman, we wereoutrageously inconsiderate of her. .. . One evening as we came throughthe hall we caught a glimpse in the dimly lighted parlour of a youngman holding a shy and pale little girl on his lap, Annie, Mrs. Bolton'sdaughter: on the face of our landlady was an expression I had never seenthere, like a light. I should scarcely have known her. Tom and I pausedat the foot of the stairs. He clutched my arm. 

"Darned if it wasn't our friend Krebs!" he whispered. 

While I was by no means so popular as Tom, I got along fairly well. I had escaped from provincialism, from the obscure purgatory of thewholesale grocery business; new vistas, exciting and stimulating, hadbeen opened up; nor did I offend the sensibilities and prejudices ofthe new friends I made, but gave a hearty consent to a code I foundcongenial. I recognized in the social system of undergraduate life atHarvard a reflection of that of a greater world where I hoped someday to shine; yet my ambition did not prey upon me. Mere conformity, however, would not have taken me very far in a sphere from which I, incommon with many others, desired not to be excluded. .. . One day, in anidle but inspired moment, I paraphrased a song from "Pinafore, " applyingit to a college embroglio, and the brief and lively vogue it enjoyed wassufficient to indicate a future usefulness. I had "found myself. " Thiswas in the last part of the freshman year, and later on I became a sortof amateur, class poet-laureate. Many were the skits I composed, and Tomsang them. .. . 

During that freshman year we often encountered Hermann Krebs, whistlingmerrily, on the stairs. 

"Got your themes done?" he would inquire cheerfully. 

And Tom would always mutter, when he was out of earshot: "He has got acrust!"

When I thought about Krebs at all, --and this was seldom indeed, --hismanifest happiness puzzled me. Our cool politeness did not seem tobother him in the least; on the contrary, I got the impression thatit amused him. He seemed to have made no friends. And after that firstevening, memorable for its homesickness, he never ventured to repeat hisvisit to us. 

One windy November day I spied his somewhat ludicrous figure stridingahead of me, his trousers above his ankles. I was bundled up in a newulster, --of which I was secretly quite proud, --but he wore no overcoatat all. 

"Well, how are you getting along?" I asked, as I overtook him. 

He made clear, as he turned, his surprise that I should have addressedhim at all, but immediately recovered himself. 

"Oh, fine, " he responded. "I've had better luck than I expected. I'mcorrespondent for two or three newspapers. I began by washing windows, and doing odd jobs for the professors' wives. " He laughed. "I guess thatdoesn't strike you as good luck. "

He showed no resentment at my patronage, but a self-sufficiency thatmade my sympathy seem superfluous, giving the impression of an innerharmony and content that surprised me. 

"I needn't ask how you're getting along, " he said. .. . 

At the end of the freshman year we abandoned Mrs. Bolton's for moredesirable quarters. 

I shall not go deeply into my college career, recalling only suchincidents as, seen in the retrospect, appear to have had significance. Ihave mentioned my knack for song-writing; but it was not, I think, untilmy junior year there was startlingly renewed in me my youthful desire towrite, to create something worth while, that had so long been dormant. 

The inspiration came from Alonzo Cheyne, instructor in English; aremarkable teacher, in spite of the finicky mannerisms which Tomimitated. And when, in reading aloud certain magnificent passages, heforgot his affectations, he managed to arouse cravings I thought to havedeserted me forever. Was it possible, after all, that I had been rightand my father wrong? that I might yet be great in literature?

A mere hint from Alonzo Cheyne was more highly prized by the grindsthan fulsome praise from another teacher. And to his credit it shouldbe recorded that the grinds were the only ones he treated with anyseriousness; he took pains to answer their questions; but towards therest of us, the Chosen, he showed a thinly veiled contempt. None soquick as he to detect a simulated interest, or a wily effort to make himridiculous; and few tried this a second time, for he had a rapier-likegift of repartee that transfixed the offender like a moth on a pin. Hehad a way of eyeing me at times, his glasses in his hand, a queer smileon his lips, as much as to imply that there was one at least among thelost who was made for better things. Not that my work was poor, but Iknew that it might have been better. Out of his classes, however, beyondthe immediate, disturbing influence of his personality I would relapseinto indifference. .. . 

Returning one evening to our quarters, which were now in the "Yard, "I found Tom seated with a blank sheet before him, thrusting his handthrough his hair and biting the end of his penholder to a pulp. In hismuttering, which was mixed with the curious, stingless profanity ofwhich he was master, I caught the name of Cheyne, and I knew that hewas facing the crisis of a fortnightly theme. The subject assigned was anarrative of some personal experience, and it was to be handed in on themorrow. My own theme was already, written. 

"I've been holding down this chair for an hour, and I can't seem tothink of a thing. " He rose to fling himself down on the lounge. "I wishI was in Canada. "

"Why Canada?"

"Trout fishing with Uncle Jake at that club of his where he took me lastsummer. " Tom gazed dreamily at the ceiling. "Whenever I have some darnedfoolish theme like this to write I want to go fishing, and I want to golike the devil. I'll get Uncle Jake to take you, too, next summer. "

"I wish you would. "

"Say, that's living all right, Hughie, up there among the tamaracks andbalsams!" And he began, for something like the thirtieth time, to relatethe adventures of the trip. 

As he talked, the idea presented itself to me with sudden fascinationto use this incident as the subject of Tom's theme; to write it for him, from his point of view, imitating the droll style he would have had ifhe had been able to write; for, when he was interested in any matter, his oral narrative did not lack vividness. I began to ask him questions:what were the trees like, for instance? How did the French-Canadianguides talk? He had the gift of mimicry: aided by a partial knowledge ofFrench I wrote down a few sentences as they sounded. The canoe had upsetand he had come near drowning. I made him describe his sensations. 

"I'll write your theme for you, " I exclaimed, when he had finished. 

"Gee, not about that!"

"Why not? It's a personal experience. "

His gratitude was pathetic. .. . By this time I was so full of the subjectthat it fairly clamoured for expression, and as I wrote the hours flew. Once in a while I paused to ask him a question as he sat with his chairtilted back and his feet on the table, reading a detective story. Isketched in the scene with bold strokes; the desolate bois brule on themountain side, the polished crystal surface of the pool broken hereand there with the circles left by rising fish; I pictured Armand, the guide, his pipe between his teeth, holding the canoe against thecurrent; and I seemed to smell the sharp tang of the balsams, to hearthe roar of the rapids below. Then came the sudden hooking of the bigtrout, habitant oaths from Armand, bouleversement, wetness, darkness, confusion; a half-strangled feeling, a brief glimpse of green things andsunlight, and then strangulation, or what seemed like it; strangulation, the sense of being picked up and hurled by a terrific force whither? ablinding whiteness, in which it was impossible to breathe, one sharp, almost unbearable pain, then another, then oblivion. .. . Finally, awakening, to be confronted by a much worried Uncle Jake. 

By this time the detective story had fallen to the floor, and Tom washuddled up in his chair, asleep. He arose obediently and wrapped a wettowel around his head, and began to write. Once he paused long enough tomutter:--"Yes, that's about it, --that's the way I felt!" and set to workagain, mechanically, --all the praise I got for what I deemed a literaryachievement of the highest order! At three o'clock, a. M. , he finished, pulled off his clothes automatically and tumbled into bed. I had nodesire for sleep. My brain was racing madly, like an engine without agovernor. I could write! I could write! I repeated the words over andover to myself. All the complexities of my present life were blottedout, and I beheld only the long, sweet vista of the career for whichI was now convinced that nature had intended me. My immediate fortunesbecame unimportant, immaterial. No juice of the grape I had evertasted made me half so drunk. .. . With the morning, of course, came thereaction, and I suffered the after sensations of an orgie, awaking to aworld of necessity, cold and grey and slushy, and necessity alone mademe rise from my bed. My experience of the night before might have taughtme that happiness lies in the trick of transforming necessity, but itdid not. The vision had faded, --temporarily, at least; and such was thedistraction of the succeeding days that the subject of the theme passedfrom my mind. .. . 

One morning Tom was later than usual in getting home. I was writing aletter when he came in, and did not notice him, yet I was vaguely awareof his standing over me. When at last I looked up I gathered from hisexpression that something serious had happened, so mournful was hisface, and yet so utterly ludicrous. 

"Say, Hugh, I'm in the deuce of a mess, " he announced. 

"What's the matter?" I inquired. 

He sank down on the table with a groan. 

"It's Alonzo, " he said. 

Then I remembered the theme. 

"What--what's he done?" I demanded. 

"He says I must become a writer. Think of it, me a writer! He says I'm ayoung Shakespeare, that I've been lazy and hid my light under a bushel!He says he knows now what I can do, and if I don't keep up the quality, he'll know the reason why, and write a personal letter to my father. Oh, hell!"

In spite of his evident anguish, I was seized with a convulsivelaughter. Tom stood staring at me moodily. 

"You think it's funny, --don't you? I guess it is, but what's going tobecome of me? That's what I want to know. I've been in trouble before, but never in any like this. And who got me into it? You!"

Here was gratitude!

"You've got to go on writing 'em, now. " His voice became desperatelypleading. "Say, Hugh, old man, you can temper 'em down--temper 'emdown gradually. And by the end of the year, let's say, they'll be aboutnormal again. "

He seemed actually shivering. 

"The end of the year!" I cried, the predicament striking me for thefirst time in its fulness. "Say, you've got a crust!"

"You'll do it, if I have to hold a gun over you, " he announced grimly. 

Mingled with my anxiety, which was real, was an exultation thatwould not down. Nevertheless, the idea of developing Tom into aShakespeare, --Tom, who had not the slightest desire to be one I wasappalling, besides having in it an element of useless self-sacrificefrom which I recoiled. On the other hand, if Alonzo should discover thatI had written his theme, there were penalties I did not care to dwellupon. .. . With such a cloud hanging over me I passed a restless night. 

As luck would have it the very next evening in the level light under theelms of the Square I beheld sauntering towards me a dapper figure whichI recognized as that of Mr. Cheyne himself. As I saluted him he gave mean amused and most disconcerting glance; and when I was congratulatingmyself that he had passed me he stopped. 

"Fine weather for March, Paret, " he observed. 

"Yes, sir, " I agreed in a strange voice. 

"By the way, " he remarked, contemplating the bare branches above ourheads, "that was an excellent theme your roommate handed in. I had noidea that he possessed such--such genius. Did you, by any chance, happento read it?"

"Yes, sir, --I read it. "

"Weren't you surprised?" inquired Mr. Cheyne. 

"Well, yes, sir--that is--I mean to say he talks just like that, sometimes--that is, when it's anything he cares about. "

"Indeed!" said Mr. Cheyne. "That's interesting, most interesting. Inall my experience, I do not remember a case in which a gift has beendeveloped so rapidly. I don't want to give the impression--ah that thereis no room for improvement, but the thing was very well done, foran undergraduate. I must confess I never should have suspected it inPeters, and it's most interesting what you say about his clevernessin conversation. " He twirled the head of his stick, apparently lost inreflection. "I may be wrong, " he went on presently, "I have an ideait is you--" I must literally have jumped away from him. He paused amoment, without apparently noticing my panic, "that it is you who haveinfluenced Peters. "

"Sir?"

"I am wrong, then. Or is this merely commendable modesty on your part?"

"Oh, no, sir. "

"Then my hypothesis falls to the ground. I had greatly hoped, " he addedmeaningly, "that you might be able to throw some light on this mystery. "

I was dumb. 

"Paret, " he asked, "have you time to come over to my rooms for a fewminutes this evening?"

"Certainly, sir. "

He gave me his number in Brattle Street. .. . 

Like one running in a nightmare and making no progress I made my wayhome, only to learn from Hallam, --who lived on the same floor, --thatTom had inconsiderately gone to Boston for the evening, with four otherweary spirits in search of relaxation! Avoiding our club table, I tookwhat little nourishment I could at a modest restaurant, and restlesslypaced the moonlit streets until eight o'clock, when I found myselfin front of one of those low-gabled colonial houses which, on lesssoul-shaking occasions, had exercised a great charm on my imagination. My hand hung for an instant over the bell. .. . I must have rung itviolently, for there appeared almost immediately an old lady in a lacecap, who greeted me with gentle courtesy, and knocked at a little doorwith glistening panels. The latch was lifted by Mr. Cheyne himself. 

"Come in, Paret, " he said, in a tone that was unexpectedly hospitable. 

I have rarely seen a more inviting room. A wood fire burned brightlyon the brass andirons, flinging its glare on the big, white beam thatcrossed the ceiling, and reddening the square panes of the windows intheir panelled recesses. Between these were rows of books, --attractivebooks in chased bindings, red and blue; books that appealed to be takendown and read. There was a table covered with reviews and magazines inneat piles, and a lamp so shaded as to throw its light only on the whiteblotter of the pad. Two easy chairs, covered with flowered chintz, wereranged before the fire, in one of which I sank, much bewildered, uponbeing urged to do so. 

I utterly failed to recognize "Alonzo" in this new atmosphere. Andhe had, moreover, dropped the subtly sarcastic manner I was wont toassociate with him. 

"Jolly old house, isn't it?" he observed, as though I had casuallydropped in on him for a chat; and he stood, with his hands behind himstretched to the blaze, looking down at me. "It was built by a certainColonel Draper, who fought at Louisburg, and afterwards fled to Englandat the time of the Revolution. He couldn't stand the patriots, I'm notso sure that I blame him, either. Are you interested in colonial things, Mr. Paret?"

I said I was. If the question had concerned Aztec relics my answer wouldundoubtedly have been the same. And I watched him, dazedly, while hetook down a silver porringer from the shallow mantel shelf. 

"It's not a Revere, " he said, in a slightly apologetic tone as though toforestall a comment, "but it's rather good, I think. I picked it up ata sale in Dorchester. But I have never been able to identify the coat ofarms. "

He showed me a ladle, with the names of "Patience and William Simpson"engraved quaintly thereon, and took down other articles in which Imanaged to feign an interest. Finally he seated himself in the chairopposite, crossed his feet, putting the tips of his fingers together andgazing into the fire. 

"So you thought you could fool me, " he said, at length. 

I became aware of the ticking of a great clock in the corner. My mouthwas dry. 

"I am going to forgive you, " he went on, more gravely, "for severalreasons. I don't flatter, as you know. It's because you carried out thething so perfectly that I am led to think you have a gift that may becultivated, Paret. You wrote that theme in the way Peters wouldhave written it if he had not been--what shall I say?--scripturallyinarticulate. And I trust it may do you some good if I say it wassomething of a literary achievement, if not a moral one. "

"Thank you, sir, " I faltered. 

"Have you ever, " he inquired, lapsing a little into his lecture-roommanner, "seriously thought of literature as a career? Have you everthought of any career seriously?"

"I once wished to be a writer, sir, " I replied tremulously, butrefrained from telling him of my father's opinion of the profession. Ambition--a purer ambition than I had known for years--leaped within meat his words. He, Alonzo Cheyne, had detected in me the Promethean fire!

I sat there until ten o'clock talking to the real Mr. Cheyne, a humanMr. Cheyne unknown in the lecture-room. Nor had I suspected one inwhom cynicism and distrust of undergraduates (of my sort) seemed soingrained, of such idealism. He did not pour it out in preaching;delicately, unobtrusively and on the whole rather humorously he managedto present to me in a most disillusionizing light that conception of theuniversity held by me and my intimate associates. After I had left himI walked the quiet streets to behold as through dissolving mists anotherHarvard, and there trembled in my soul like the birth-struggle of aflame something of the vision later to be immortalized by St. Gaudens, the spirit of Harvard responding to the spirit of the Republic--to thecall of Lincoln, who voiced it. The place of that bronze at the cornerof Boston Common was as yet empty, but I have since stood before it togaze in wonder at the light shining in darkness on mute, uplifted faces, black faces! at Harvard's son leading them on that the light might liveand prevail. 

I, too, longed for a Cause into which I might fling myself, in whichI might lose myself. .. I halted on the sidewalk to find myself staringfrom the opposite side of the street at a familiar house, my oldlandlady's, Mrs. Bolton's, and summoned up before me was the tired, smiling face of Hermann Krebs. Was it because when he had once spoken socrudely of the University I had seen the reflection of her spirit in hiseyes? A light still burned in the extension roof--Krebs's light; anothershone dimly through the ground glass of the front door. Obeying a suddenimpulse, I crossed the street. 

Mrs. Bolton, in the sky-blue wrapper, and looking more forbiddingthan ever, answered the bell. Life had taught her to be indifferent tosurprises, and it was I who became abruptly embarrassed. 

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Paret, " she said, as though I had been a frequentcaller. I had never once darkened her threshold since I had left herhouse. 

"Yes, " I answered, and hesitated. .. . "Is Mr. Krebs in?"

"Well, " she replied in a lifeless tone, which nevertheless had in it atouch of bitterness, "I guess there's no reason why you and your friendsshould have known he was sick. "

"Sick!" I repeated. "Is he very sick?"

"I calculate he'll pull through, " she said. "Sunday the doctor gave himup. And no wonder! He hasn't had any proper food since he's be'n here!"She paused, eyeing me. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Paret, I was just goingup to him when you rang. "

"Certainly, " I replied awkwardly. "Would you be so kind as to tellhim--when he's well enough--that I came to see him, and that I'm sorry?"

There was another pause, and she stood with a hand defensively clutchingthe knob. 

"Yes, I'll tell him, " she said. 

With a sense of having been baffled, I turned away. 

Walking back toward the Yard my attention was attracted by a slowlyapproaching cab whose occupants were disturbing the quiet of the nightwith song. 

"Shollity--'tis wine, 'tis wine, that makesh--shollity. "

The vehicle drew up in front of a new and commodious building, --Ibelieve the first of those designed to house undergraduates who werewilling to pay for private bathrooms and other modern luxuries; outof one window of the cab protruded a pair of shoeless feet, out of theother a hatless head I recognized as belonging to Tom Peters; hence Isurmised that the feet were his also. The driver got down from thebox, and a lively argument was begun inside--for there were otheroccupants--as to how Mr. Peters was to be disembarked; and I gatheredfrom his frequent references to the "Shgyptian obelisk" that theengineering problem presented struck him as similar to the unloading ofCleopatra's Needle. 

"Careful, careful!" he cautioned, as certain expelling movements beganfrom within, "Easy, Ham, you jam-fool, keep the door shut, y'll breakme. "

"Now, Jerry, all heave sh'gether!" exclaimed a voice from the blacknessof the interior. 

"Will ye wait a minute, Mr. Durrett, sir?" implored the cabdriver. "You'll be after ruining me cab entirely. " (Loud roars and vigorousresistance from the obelisk, the cab rocking violently. ) "Thisgintleman" (meaning me) "will have him by the head, and I'll get hold ofhis feet, sir. " Which he did, after a severe kick in the stomach. 

"Head'sh all right, Martin. "

"To be sure it is, Mr. Peters. Now will ye rest aisy awhile, sir?"

"I'm axphyxiated, " cried another voice from the darkness, the minedvoice of Jerome Kyme, our classmate. 

"Get the tackles under him!" came forth in commanding tones fromConybear. 

In the meantime many windows had been raised and much gratuitousadvice was being given. The three occupants of the cab's seat whohad previously clamoured for Mr. Peters' removal, now inconsistentlyresisted it; suddenly he came out with a jerk, and we had him fairlyupright on the pavement minus a collar and tie and the buttons of hisevening waistcoat. Those who remained in the cab engaged in a riotousgame of hunt the slipper, while Tom peered into the dark interior, observing gravely the progress of the sport. First flew out an overcoatand a much-battered hat, finally the pumps, all of which in due timewere adjusted to his person, and I started home with him, with muchparting counsel from the other three. 

"Whereinell were you, Hughie?" he inquired. "Hunted all over for you. Had a sousin' good time. Went to Babcock's--had champagne--then to seeBabesh in--th'--Woods. Ham knows one of the Babesh had supper with fourof 'em. Nice Babesh!"

"For heaven's sake don't step on me again!" I cried. 

"Sh'poloshize, old man. But y'know I'm William Shakespheare. C'n dowhat I damplease. " He halted in the middle of the street and reciteddramatically:--

 "'Not marble, nor th' gilded monuments Of prinches sh'll outlive m' powerful rhyme. '"

"How's that, Alonzho, b'gosh?"

"Where did you learn it?" I demanded, momentarily forgetting hiscondition. 

"Fr'm Ralph, " he replied, "says I wrote it. Can't remember. .. . "

After I had got him to bed, --a service I had learned to perform withmore or less proficiency, --I sat down to consider the events of theevening, to attempt to get a proportional view. The intensity of mydisgust was not hypocritical as I gazed through the open door into thebedroom and recalled the times when I, too, had been in that condition. Tom Peters drunk, and sleeping it off, was deplorable, without doubt;but Hugh Paret drunk was detestable, and had no excuse whatever. Nordid I mean by this to set myself on a higher ethical plane, for Ifelt nothing but despair and humility. In my state of clairvoyanceI perceived that he was a better man, than I, and that his lapsesproceeded from a love of liquor and the transcendent sense ofgood-fellowship that liquor brings. 

VII. 

The crisis through which I passed at Cambridge, inaugurated by theevents I have just related, I find very difficult to portray. It was areligious crisis, of course, and my most pathetic memory concerning itis of the vain attempts to connect my yearnings and discontents withthe theology I had been taught; I began in secret to read my Bible, yetnothing I hit upon seemed to point a way out of my present predicament, to give any definite clew to the solution of my life. I was not matureenough to reflect that orthodoxy was a Sunday religion unrelated to aworld whose wheels were turned by the motives of self-interest; that itconsisted of ideals not deemed practical, since no attempt was madeto put them into practice in the only logical manner, --by reorganizingcivilization to conform with them. The implication was that theChrist who had preached these ideals was not practical. .. . There wereundoubtedly men in the faculty of the University who might have helpedme had I known of them; who might have given me, even at that time, a clew to the modern, logical explanation of the Bible as an immortalrecord of the thoughts and acts of men who had sought to do just whatI was seeking to do, --connect the religious impulse to life and makeit fruitful in life: an explanation, by the way, a thousand-fold morespiritual than the old. But I was hopelessly entangled in the meshesof the mystic, the miraculous and supernatural. If I had analyzed myyearnings, I might have realized that I wanted to renounce the life Ihad been leading, not because it was sinful, but because it was aimless. I had not learned that the Greek word for sin is "a missing of themark. " Just aimlessness! I had been stirred with the desire to performsome service for which the world would be grateful: to write greatliterature, perchance. But it had never been suggested to me that suchswellings of the soul are religious, that religion is that kind offeeling, of motive power that drives the writer and the scientist, thestatesman and the sculptor as well as the priest and the Prophet toserve mankind for the joy of serving: that religion is creative, orit is nothing: not mechanical, not a force imposed from without, but adriving power within. The "religion" I had learned was salvation fromsin by miracle: sin a deliberate rebellion, not a pathetic missing ofthe mark of life; useful service of man, not the wandering of untutoredsouls who had not been shown the way. I felt religious. I wanted to goto church, I wanted to maintain, when it was on me, that exaltation Idimly felt as communion with a higher power, with God, and which alsowas identical with my desire to write, to create. .. . 

I bought books, sets of Wordsworth and Keats, of Milton and Shelleyand Shakespeare, and hid them away in my bureau drawers lest Tom and myfriends should see them. These too I read secretly, making excuses fornot joining in the usual amusements. Once I walked to Mrs. Bolton's andinquired rather shamefacedly for Hermann Krebs, only to be informed thathe had gone out. .. . There were lapses, of course, when I went off onthe old excursions, --for the most part the usual undergraduate follies, though some were of a more serious nature; on these I do not care todwell. Sex was still a mystery. .. . Always I awoke afterwards to bitterself-hatred and despair. .. . But my work in English improved, and Iearned the commendation and friendship of Mr. Cheyne. With a wisdomfor which I was grateful he was careful not to give much sign of itin classes, but the fact that he was "getting soft on me" was evidentenough to be regarded with suspicion. Indeed the state into which I hadfallen became a matter of increasing concern to my companions, who triedevery means from ridicule to sympathy, to discover its cause and shakeme out of it. The theory most accepted was that I was in love. 

"Come on now, Hughie--tell me who she is. I won't give you away, " Tomwould beg. Once or twice, indeed, I had imagined I was in love with thesisters of Boston classmates whose dances I attended; to these partiesTom, not having overcome his diffidence in respect to what he called"social life, " never could be induced to go. 

It was Ralph who detected the true cause of my discontent. Typical as noother man I can recall of the code to which we had dedicated ourselves, the code that moulded the important part of the undergraduate worldand defied authority, he regarded any defection from it in the light oftreason. An instructor, in a fit of impatience, had once referred tohim as the Mephistopheles of his class; he had fatal attractions, and aremarkable influence. His favourite pastime was the capricious exerciseof his will on weaker characters, such as his cousin, Ham Durrett; ifthey "swore off, " Ralph made it his business to get them drunk again, and having accomplished this would proceed himself to administer a newoath and see that it was kept. Alcohol seemed to have no effect whateveron him. Though he was in the class above me, I met him frequently at aclub to which I had the honour to belong, then a suite of rooms over ashop furnished with a pool and a billiard table, easy-chairs and a bar. It has since achieved the dignity of a house of its own. 

We were having, one evening, a "religious" argument, Cinibar, Laurensand myself and some others. I can't recall how it began; I thinkCinibar had attacked the institution of compulsory chapel, which nobodydefended; there was something inherently wrong, he maintained, with areligion to which men had to be driven against their wills. Somewhat tomy surprise I found myself defending a Christianity out of which I hadbeen able to extract but little comfort and solace. Neither Laurensnor Conybear, however, were for annihilating it: although they tookthe other side of the discussion of a subject of which none of us knewanything, their attacks were but half-hearted; like me, they were stillunder the spell exerted by a youthful training. 

We were all of us aware of Ralph, who sat at some distance looking overthe pages of an English sporting weekly. Presently he flung it down. 

"Haven't you found out yet that man created God, Hughie?" he inquired. "And even if there were a personal God, what reason have you to thinkthat man would be his especial concern, or any concern of his whatever?The discovery of evolution has knocked your Christianity into a cockedhat. "

I don't remember how I answered him. In spite of the superficialityof his own arguments, which I was not learned enough to detect, I wasingloriously routed. Darwin had kicked over the bucket, and that was allthere was to it. .. . After we had left the club both Conybear and Laurensadmitted they were somewhat disturbed, declaring that Ralph had gone toofar. I spent a miserable night, recalling the naturalistic assertionshe had made so glibly, asking myself again and again how it was that thereligion to which I so vainly clung had no greater effect on my actionsand on my will, had not prevented me from lapses into degradation. AndI hated myself for having argued upon a subject that was still sacred. I believed in Christ, which is to say that I believed that in someinscrutable manner he existed, continued to dominate the world and hadsuffered on my account. 

To whom should I go now for a confirmation of my wavering beliefs? Oneof the results--it will be remembered of religion as I was taught itwas a pernicious shyness, and even though I had found a mentor andconfessor, I might have hesitated to unburden myself. This would bedifferent from arguing with Ralph Hambleton. In my predicament, as I waswandering through the yard, I came across a notice of an evening talkto students in Holder Chapel, by a clergyman named Phillips Brooks. Thiswas before the time, let me say in passing, when his sermons at Harvardwere attended by crowds of undergraduates. Well, I stood staring at thenotice, debating whether I should go, trying to screw up my courage; forI recognized clearly that such a step, if it were to be of any value, must mean a distinct departure from my present mode of life; and Irecall thinking with a certain revulsion that I should have to "turngood. " My presence at the meeting would be known the next day to all myfriends, for the idea of attending a religious gathering when one wasnot forced to do so by the authorities was unheard of in our set. Ishould be classed with the despised "pious ones" who did such thingsregularly. I shrank from the ridicule. I had, however, heard of Mr. Brooks from Ned Symonds, who was by no means of the pious type, andwhose parents attended Mr. Brooks's church in Boston. .. . I left mydecision in abeyance. But when evening came I stole away from the clubtable, on the plea of an engagement, and made my way rapidly towardHolder Chapel. I had almost reached it--when I caught a glimpse ofSymonds and of some others approaching, --and I went on, to turn again. By this time the meeting, which was in a room on the second floor, hadalready begun. Palpitating, I climbed the steps; the door of theroom was slightly ajar; I looked in; I recall a distinct sensation ofsurprise, --the atmosphere of that meeting was so different from whatI had expected. Not a "pious" atmosphere at all! I saw a very talland heavy gentleman, dressed in black, who sat, wholly at ease, on thetable! One hand was in his pocket, one foot swung clear of the ground;and he was not preaching, but talking in an easy, conversational tone tosome forty young men who sat intent on his words. I was too excited tolisten to what he was saying, I was making a vain attempt to classifyhim. But I remember the thought, for it struck me with force, --thatif Christianity were so thoroughly discredited by evolution, as RalphHambleton and other agnostics would have one believe, why should thisremarkably sane and able-looking person be standing up for it as thoughit were still an established and incontrovertible fact?

He had not, certainly, the air of a dupe or a sentimentalist, butinspired confidence by his very personality. Youthlike, I watched himnarrowly for flaws, for oratorical tricks, for all kinds of histrionicsymptoms. Again I was near the secret; again it escaped me. The argumentfor Christianity lay not in assertions about it, but in being it. Thisman was Christianity. .. . I must have felt something of this, even thoughI failed to formulate it. And unconsciously I contrasted his strength, which reinforced the atmosphere of the room, with that of RalphHambleton, who was, a greater influence over me than I have recorded, and had come to sway me more and more, as he had swayed others. Thestrength of each was impressive, yet this Mr. Brooks seemed to me thebodily presentment of a set of values which I would have kept constantlybefore my eyes. .. . I felt him drawing me, overcoming my hesitation, belittling my fear of ridicule. I began gently to open the door--whensomething happened, --one of those little things that may change thecourse of a life. The door made little noise, yet one of the men sittingin the back of the room chanced to look around, and I recognized HermannKrebs. His face was still sunken from his recent illness. Into his eyesseemed to leap a sudden appeal, an appeal to which my soul responded yetI hurried down the stairs and into the street. Instantly I regretted myretreat, I would have gone back, but lacked the courage; and I strayedunhappily for hours, now haunted by that look of Krebs, now wonderingwhat the remarkably sane-looking and informal clergyman whose presencedominated the little room had been talking about. I never learned, butI did live to read his biography, to discover what he might have talkedabout, --for he if any man believed that life and religion are one, andpreached consecration to life's task. 

Of little use to speculate whether the message, had I learned it then, would have fortified and transformed me!

In spite of the fact that I was unable to relate to a satisfyingconception of religion my new-born determination, I made up my mind, atleast, to renounce my tortuous ways. I had promised my father to bea lawyer; I would keep my promise, I would give the law a fair trial;later on, perhaps, I might demonstrate an ability to write. All verypraiseworthy! The season was Lent, a fitting time for renunciations andresolves. Although I had more than once fallen from grace, I believedmyself at last to have settled down on my true course--when somethinghappened. The devil interfered subtly, as usual--now in the person ofJerry Kyme. It should be said in justice to Jerry that he did not lookthe part. He had sunny-red, curly hair, mischievous blue eyes withlong lashes, and he harboured no respect whatever for any individual orinstitution, sacred or profane; he possessed, however, a shrewd senseof his own value, as many innocent and unsuspecting souls discoveredas early as our freshman year, and his method of putting down thepresumptuous was both effective and unique. If he liked you, there couldbe no mistake about it. 

One evening when I was engaged in composing a theme for Mr. Cheyne onno less a subject than the interpretation of the work of WilliamWordsworth, I found myself unexpectedly sprawling on the floor, in mydescent kicking the table so vigorously as to send the ink-well a footor two toward the ceiling. This, be it known, was a typical proof ofJerry's esteem. For he had entered noiselessly, jerking the back ofmy chair, which chanced to be tilted, and stood with his hands in hispockets, surveying the ruin he had wrought, watching the ink as ittrickled on the carpet. Then he picked up the book. 

"Poetry, you darned old grind!" he exclaimed disgustedly. "Say, Parry, Idon't know what's got into you, but I want you to come home with mefor the Easter holidays. It'll do you good. We'll be on the Hudson, youknow, and we'll manage to make life bearable somehow. "

I forgot my irritation, in sheer surprise. 

"Why, that's mighty good of you, Jerry--" I began, struggling to myfeet. 

"Oh, rot!" he exclaimed. "I shouldn't ask you if I didn't want you. "

There was no denying the truth of this, and after he had gone I sat fora long time with my pen in my mouth, reflecting as to whether or notI should go. For I had the instinct that here was another cross-roads, that more depended on my decision than I cared to admit. But even thenI knew what I should do. Ridiculous not to--I told myself. How could aweek or ten days with Jerry possibly affect my newborn, resolve?

Yet the prospect, now, of a visit to the Kymes' was by no means soglowing as it once would have been. For I had seen visions, I haddreamed dreams, beheld a delectable country of my very own. Ayear ago--nay, even a month ago--how such an invitation would haveglittered!. .. I returned at length to my theme, over which, beforeJerry's arrival, I had been working feverishly. But now the glamour hadgone from it. 

Presently Tom came in. 

"Anyone been here?" he demanded. 

"Jerry, " I told him. 

"What did he want?"

"He wanted me to go home with him at Easter. "

"You're going, of course. "

"I don't know. I haven't decided. "

"You'd be a fool not to, " was Tom's comment. It voiced, succinctly, aprevailing opinion. 

It was the conclusion I arrived at in my own mind. But just why I hadbeen chosen for the honour, especially at such a time, was a riddle. Jerry's invitations were charily given, and valued accordingly; and morethan once, at our table, I had felt a twinge of envy when Conybear orsomeone else had remarked, with the proper nonchalance, in answer to aquestion, that they were going to Weathersfield. Such was the name ofthe Kyme place. .. . 

I shall never forget the impression made on me by the decorous luxuryof that big house, standing amidst its old trees, halfway up the gentleslope that rose steadily from the historic highway where poor Andre wascaptured. I can see now the heavy stone pillars of its portico vignettedin a flush of tenderest green, the tulips just beginning to flame forththeir Easter colours in the well-kept beds, the stately, well-groomedevergreens, the vivid lawns, the clipped hedges. And like anoverwhelming wave of emotion that swept all before it, theimpressiveness of wealth took possession of me. For here was a kind ofwealth I had never known, that did not exist in the West, nor even inthe still Puritan environs of Boston where I had visited. It took itselffor granted, proclaimed itself complacently to have solved all problems. By ignoring them, perhaps. But I was too young to guess this. It wasorder personified, gaining effect at every turn by a multitude ofdetails too trivial to mention were it not for the fact that theyentered deeply into my consciousness, until they came to represent, collectively, the very flower of achievement. It was a wealth thataccepted tribute calmly, as of inherent right. Law and traditiondefended its sanctity more effectively than troops. Literature descendedfrom her high altar to lend it dignity; and the long, silent librarydisplayed row upon row of the masters, appropriately clad in morocco orcalf, --Smollett, Macaulay, Gibbon, Richardson, Fielding, Scott, Dickens, Irving and Thackeray, as though each had striven for a tablet here. Arthad denied herself that her canvases might be hung on these walls; andeven the Church, on that first Sunday of my visit, forgot the blood ofher martyrs that she might adorn an appropriate niche in the setting. The clergyman, at one of the dinner parties, gravely asked a blessing asupon an Institution that included and absorbed all other institutions inits being. .. . 

The note of that house was a tempered gaiety. Guests arrived from NewYork, spent the night and departed again without disturbing the eventenor of its ways. Unobtrusive servants ministered to their wants, --andto mine. .. . 

Conybear was there, and two classmates from Boston, and we were treatedwith the amiable tolerance accorded to college youths and intimates ofthe son of the house. One night there was a dance in our honour. Norhave I forgotten Jerry's sister, Nathalie, whom I had met at Class Days, a slim and willowy, exotic young lady of the Botticelli type, witha crown of burnished hair, yet more suggestive of a hothouse than ofspring. She spoke English with a French accent. Capricious, impulsive, she captured my interest because she put a high value on her favour;she drove me over the hills, informing me at length that I wassympathique--different from the rest; in short, she emphasized andintensified what I may call the Weathersfield environment, stirred up inme new and vague aspirations that troubled yet excited me. 

Then there was Mrs. Kyme, a pretty, light-hearted lady, still young, who seemed to have no intention of growing older, who romped and playedsongs for us on the piano. The daughter of an old but now impecuniousWestchester family, she had been born to adorn the position she held, she was adapted by nature to wring from it the utmost of the joys itoffered. From her, rather than from her husband, both of the childrenseemed to have inherited. I used to watch Mr. Grosvenor Kyme as he satat the end of the dinner-table, dark, preoccupied, taciturn, symbolicalof a wealth new to my experience, and which had about it a certainfabulous quality. It toiled not, neither did it spin, but grew as if bymagic, day and night, until the very conception of it was overpowering. What must it be to have had ancestors who had been clever enough to sitstill until a congested and discontented Europe had begun to pour itsthousands and hundreds of thousands into the gateway of the westernworld, until that gateway had become a metropolis? ancestors, of course, possessing what now suddenly appeared to me as the most desirable ofgifts--since it reaped so dazzling a harvest-business foresight. Fromtime to time these ancestors had continued to buy desirable corners, which no amount of persuasion had availed to make them relinquish. Leasethem, yes; sell them, never! By virtue of such a system wealth was asinevitable as human necessity; and the thought of human necessity didnot greatly bother me. Mr. Kyme's problem of life was not one of makingmoney, but of investing it. One became automatically a personage. .. . 

It was due to one of those singular coincidences--so interesting asubject for speculation--that the man who revealed to me this goldenromance of the Kyme family was none other than a resident of my owncity, Mr. Theodore Watling, now become one of our most importantand influential citizens; a corporation lawyer, new and stimulatingqualification, suggesting as it did, a deus ex machina of great affairs. That he, of all men, should come to Weathersfield astonished me, sinceI was as yet to make the connection between that finished, decorous, secluded existence and the source of its being. The evening before mydeparture he arrived in company with two other gentlemen, a Mr. Talbotand a Mr. Saxes, whose names were spoken with respect in a sphere ofwhich I had hitherto taken but little cognizance-Wall Street. Conybearinformed me that they were "magnates, ". .. We were sitting in thedrawing-room at tea, when they entered with Mr. Watling, and no soonerhad he spoken to Mrs. Kyme than his quick eye singled me out of thegroup. 

"Why, Hugh!" he exclaimed, taking my hand. "I had no idea I should meetyou here--I saw your father only last week, the day I left home. " And headded, turning to Mrs. Kyme, "Hugh is the son of Mr. Matthew Paret, whohas been the leader of our bar for many years. "

The recognition and the tribute to my father were so graciously giventhat I warmed with gratitude and pride, while Mr. Kyme smiled a little, remarking that I was a friend of Jerry's. Theodore Watling, for beinghere, had suddenly assumed in my eyes a considerable consequence, thoughthe note he struck in that house was a strange one. It was, however, hisown note, and had a certain distinction, a ring of independence, ofthe knowledge of self-worth. Dinner at Weathersfield we youngsters hadusually found rather an oppressive ceremony, with its shaded lightsand precise ritual over which Mr. Kyme presided like a high priest;conversation had been restrained. That night, as Johnnie Laurensafterwards expressed it, "things loosened up, " and Mr. Watling wasresponsible for the loosening. Taking command of the Kyme dinner tableappeared to me to be no mean achievement, but this is just what he did, without being vulgar or noisy or assertive. Suavitar in modo, forbiterin re. If, as I watched him there with a newborn pride and loyalty, Ihad paused to reconstruct the idea that the mention of his name wouldformerly have evoked, I suppose I should have found him falling shortof my notion of a gentleman; it had been my father's opinion; but Mr. Watling's marriage to Gene Hollister's aunt had given him a standingwith us at home. He possessed virility, vitality in a remarkable degree, yet some elusive quality that was neither tact nor delicacy--thoughrelated to these differentiated him from the commonplace, self-made manof ability. He was just off the type. To liken him to a clothingstore model of a well-built, broad-shouldered man with a firm neck, ahandsome, rather square face not lacking in colour and a conventional, drooping moustache would be slanderous; yet he did suggest it. Suggesting it, he redeemed it: and the middle western burr in his voicewas rather attractive than otherwise. He had not so much the air ofbelonging there, as of belonging anywhere--one of those anomalisticAmerican citizens of the world who go abroad and make intimates ofprinces. Before the meal was over he had inspired me with loyaltyand pride, enlisted the admiration of Jerry and Conybear and JohnnieLaurens; we followed him into the smoking-room, sitting down in a row ona leather lounge behind our elders. 

Here, now that the gentlemen were alone, there was an inspiringlargeness in their talk that fired the imagination. The subject wasinvestments, at first those of coal and iron in my own state, for Mr. Watling, it appeared, was counsel for the Boyne Iron Works. 

"It will pay you to keep an eye on that company, Mr. Kyme, " he said, knocking the ashes from his cigar. "Now that old Mr. Durrett's gone--"

"You don't mean to say Nathaniel Durrett's dead!" said Mr. Kyme. 

The lawyer nodded. 

"The old regime passed with him. Adolf Scherer succeeds him, and you maytake my word for it, he's a coming man. Mr. Durrett, who was a judge ofmen, recognized that. Scherer was an emigrant, he had ideas, and rose tobe a foreman. For the last few years Mr. Durrett threw everything on hisshoulders. .. . "

Little by little the scope of the discussion was enlarged until itranged over a continent, touching lightly upon lines of railroad, builtor projected, across the great west our pioneers had so lately succeededin wresting from the savages, upon mines of copper and gold hidden awayamong the mountains, and millions of acres of forest and grazinglands which a complacent government would relinquish provided certaintechnicalities were met: touching lightly, too, very lightly, --uponsenators and congressmen at Washington. And for the first time I learnedthat not the least of the functions of these representatives of thepeople was to act as the medium between capital and investment, tofacilitate the handing over of the Republic's resources to those ina position to develop them. The emphasis was laid on development, or rather on the resulting prosperity for the country: that was thejustification, and it was taken for granted as supreme. Nor was it newto me; this cult of prosperity. I recalled the torch-light processionsof the tariff enthusiasts of my childhood days, my father's championshipof the Republican Party. He had not idealized politicians, either. Forthe American, politics and ethics were strangers. 

Thus I listened with increasing fascination to these gentlemen inevening clothes calmly treating the United States as a melon patch thatexisted largely for the purpose of being divided up amongst a limitedand favored number of persons. I had a feeling of being among theinitiated. Where, it may be asked, were my ideals? Let it not besupposed that I believed myself to have lost them. If so, the impressionI have given of myself has been wholly inadequate. No, they had beentransmuted, that is all, transmuted by the alchemy of Weathersfield, by the personality of Theodore Watling into brighter visions. My eyesrarely left his face; I hung on his talk, which was interspersed withnative humour, though he did not always join in the laughter, sometimesgazing at the fire, as though his keen mind were grappling with aproblem suggested. I noted the respect in which his opinions wereheld, and my imagination was fired by an impression of the power to beachieved by successful men of his profession, by the evidence of theirindispensability to capital itself. .. . At last when the gentlemen roseand were leaving the room, Mr. Watling lingered, with his hand on myarm. 

"Of course you're going through the Law School, Hugh, " he said. 

"Yes, sir, " I replied. 

"Good!" he exclaimed emphatically. "The law, to-day, is more of acareer than ever, especially for a young man with your antecedents andadvantages, and I know of no city in the United States where I wouldrather start practice, if I were a young man, than ours. In the nexttwenty years we shall see a tremendous growth. Of course you'll be goinginto your father's office. You couldn't do better. But I'll keep an eyeon you, and perhaps I'll be able to help you a little, too. "

I thanked him gratefully. 

A famous artist, who started out in youth to embrace a military careerand who failed to pass an examination at West Point, is said to haveremarked that if silicon had been a gas he would have been a soldier. I am afraid I may have given the impression that if I had not goneto Weathersfield and encountered Mr. Watling I might not have been alawyer. This impression would be misleading. And while it is certainthat I have not exaggerated the intensity of the spiritual experienceI went through at Cambridge, a somewhat belated consideration for thetruth compels me to register my belief that the mood would in any casehave been ephemeral. The poison generated by the struggle of my naturewith its environment had sunk too deep, and the very education thatwas supposed to make a practical man of me had turned me into asentimentalist. I became, as will be seen, anything but a practical manin the true sense, though the world in which I had been brought up andcontinued to live deemed me such. My father was greatly pleased whenI wrote him that I was now more than ever convinced of the wisdom ofchoosing the law as my profession, and was satisfied that I had cometo my senses at last. He had still been prepared to see me "go off at atangent, " as he expressed it. On the other hand, the powerful effectof the appeal made by Weathersfield and Mr. Watling must not beunderestimated. Here in one object lesson was emphasized a host ofsuggestions each of which had made its impression. And when I returnedto Cambridge Alonzo Cheyne knew that he had lost me. .. . 

I pass over the rest of my college course, and the years I spent at theHarvard Law School, where were instilled into me without difficulty thedictums that the law was the most important of all professions, thatthose who entered it were a priestly class set aside to guard fromprofanation that Ark of the Covenant, the Constitution of the UnitedStates. In short, I was taught law precisely as I had been taughtreligion, --scriptural infallibility over again, --a static law and astatic theology, --a set of concepts that were supposed to be equal toany problems civilization would have to meet until the millennium. What we are wont to call wisdom is often naively innocent of impendingchange. It has no barometric properties. 

I shall content myself with relating one incident only of this period. In the January of my last year I went with a party of young men andgirls to stay over Sunday at Beverly Farms, where Mrs. Fremantle--ayoung Boston matron had opened her cottage for the occasion. This"cottage, " a roomy, gabled structure, stood on a cliff, at the foot ofwhich roared the wintry Atlantic, while we danced and popped corn beforethe open fires. During the daylight hours we drove about the country insleighs, or made ridiculous attempts to walk on snow-shoes. 

On Sunday afternoon, left temporarily to my own devices, I wanderedalong the cliff, crossing into the adjoining property. The wind hadfallen; the waves, much subdued, broke rhythmically against the rocks;during the night a new mantle of snow had been spread, and theclouds were still low and menacing. As I strolled I became aware of amotionless figure ahead of me, --one that seemed oddly familiar; the setof the shabby overcoat on the stooping shoulders, the unconscious posecontributed to a certain sharpness of individuality; in the act ofchallenging my memory, I halted. The man was gazing at the seascape, and his very absorption gave me a sudden and unfamiliar thrill. The wordabsorption precisely expresses my meaning, for he seemed indeed to havebecome a part of his surroundings, --an harmonious part. Presentlyhe swung about and looked at me as though he had expected to find methere--and greeted me by name. 

"Krebs!" I exclaimed. 

He smiled, and flung out his arm, indicating the scene. His eyes at thatmoment seemed to reflect the sea, --they made the gaunt face suddenlybeautiful. 

"This reminds me of a Japanese print, " he said. 

The words, or the tone in which he spoke, curiously transformed thepicture. It was as if I now beheld it, anew, through his vision: thegrey water stretching eastward to melt into the grey sky, the massed, black trees on the hillside, powdered with white, the snow in rounded, fantastic patches on the huge boulders at the foot of the cliff. Krebsdid not seem like a stranger, but like one whom I had known always, --onewho stood in a peculiar relationship between me and something greater Icould not define. The impression was fleeting, but real. .. . I rememberwondering how he could have known anything about Japanese prints. 

"I didn't think you were still in this part of the country, " I remarkedawkwardly. 

"I'm a reporter on a Boston newspaper, and I've been sent up here tointerview old Mr. Dome, who lives in that house, " and he pointed to aroof above the trees. "There is a rumour, which I hope to verify, thathe has just given a hundred thousand dollars to the University. "

"And--won't he see you?"

"At present he's taking a nap, " said Krebs. "He comes here occasionallyfor a rest. "

"Do you like interviewing?" I asked. 

He smiled again. 

"Well, I see a good many different kinds of people, and that'sinteresting. "

"But--being a reporter?" I persisted. 

This continued patronage was not a conscious expression of superiorityon my part, but he did not seem to resent it. He had aroused mycuriosity. 

"I'm going into the law, " he said. 

The quiet confidence with which he spoke aroused, suddenly, a twingeof antagonism. He had every right to go into the law, of course, and yet!. .. My query would have made it evident to me, had I beenintrospective in those days, that the germ of the ideal of theprofession, implanted by Mr. Watling, was expanding. Were notinfluential friends necessary for the proper kind of career? and wherewere Krebs's? In spite of the history of Daniel Webster and a longline of American tradition, I felt an incongruity in my classmate'saspiration. And as he stood there, gaunt and undoubtedly hungry, hiseyes kindling, I must vaguely have classed him with the revolutionariesof all the ages; must have felt in him, instinctively, a menace to thestability of that Order with which I had thrown my fortunes. And yetthere were comparatively poor men in the Law School itself who had notmade me feel this way! He had impressed me against my will, taken me bysurprise, commiseration had been mingled with other feelings that sprangout of the memory of the night I had called on him, when he had beensick. Now I resented something in him which Tom Peters had called"crust. "

"The law!" I repeated. "Why?"

"Well, " he said, "even when I was a boy, working at odd jobs, I used tothink if I could ever be a lawyer I should have reached the top notch ofhuman dignity. "

Once more his smile disarmed me. 

"And now" I asked curiously. 

"You see, it was an ideal with me, I suppose. My father was responsiblefor that. He had the German temperament of '48, and when he fled to thiscountry, he expected to find Utopia. " The smile emerged again, likethe sun shining through clouds, while fascination and antagonism againstruggled within me. "And then came frightful troubles. For years hecould get only enough work to keep him and my mother alive, but he neverlost his faith in America. 'It is man, ' he would say, 'man has to growup to it--to liberty. ' Without the struggle, liberty would be worthnothing. And he used to tell me that we must all do our part, we who hadcome here, and not expect everything to be done for us. He had made thatmistake. If things were bad, why, put a shoulder to the wheel and helpto make them better. 

"That helped me, " he continued, after a moment's pause. "For I've seena good many things, especially since I've been working for a newspaper. I've seen, again and again, the power of the law turned against thosewhom it was intended to protect, I've seen lawyers who care a greatdeal more about winning cases than they do about justice, who prostitutetheir profession to profit making, --profit making for themselves andothers. And they are often the respectable lawyers, too, men of highstanding, whom you would not think would do such things. They are on theside of the powerful, and the best of them are all retained by richmen and corporations. And what is the result? One of the worst evils, Ithink, that can befall a country. The poor man goes less and less to thecourts. He is getting bitter, which is bad, which is dangerous. But menwon't see it. "

It was on my tongue to refute this, to say that everybody had a chance. I could indeed recall many arguments that had been drilled into me;quotations, even, from court decisions. But something prevented me fromdoing this, --something in his manner, which was neither argumentativenor combative. 

"That's why I am going into the law, " he added. "And I intend to stayin it if I can keep alive. It's a great chance for me--for all of us. Aren't you at the Law School?"

I nodded. Once more, as his earnest glance fell upon me, came thatsuggestion of a subtle, inexplicable link between us; but before I couldreply, steps were heard behind us, and an elderly servant, bareheaded, was seen coming down the path. 

"Are you the reporter?" he demanded somewhat impatiently of Krebs. "Ifyou want to see Mr. Dome, you'd better come right away. He's going outfor a drive. "

For a while, after he had shaken my hand and departed, I stood in thesnow, looking after him. .. . 

VIII

On the Wednesday of that same week the news of my father's sudden andserious illness came to me in a telegram, and by the time I arrived athome it was too late to see him again alive. It was my first experiencewith death, and what perplexed me continually during the following dayswas an inability to feel the loss more deeply. When a child, I had beeneasily shaken by the spectacle of sorrow. Had I, during recent years, asa result of a discovery that emotions arising from human relationshipslead to discomfort and suffering, deliberately been forming a shell, until now I was incapable of natural feelings? Of late I had seemedcloser to my father, and his letters, though formal, had given evidenceof his affection; in his repressed fashion he had made it clear that helooked forward to the time when I was to practise with him. Why was itthen, as I gazed upon his fine features in death, that I experiencedno intensity of sorrow? What was it in me that would not break down? Heseemed worn and tired, yet I had never thought of him as weary, neverattributed to him any yearning. And now he was released. 

I wondered what had been his private thoughts about himself, hisprivate opinions about life; and when I reflect now upon my lack ofreal knowledge at five and twenty, I am amazed at the futility of anexpensive education which had failed to impress upon me the simple, basic fact that life was struggle; that either development orretrogression is the fate of all men, that characters are nevercompletely made, but always in the making. I had merely a disconcertingglimpse of this truth, with no powers of formulation, as I sat beside mymother in the bedroom, where every article evoked some childhood scene. Here was the dent in the walnut foot-board of the bed made, one wintryday, by the impact of my box of blocks; the big arm-chair, coveredwith I know not what stiff embroidery, which had served on countlessoccasions as a chariot driven to victory. I even remembered how everyWednesday morning I had been banished from the room, which had been solarge a part of my childhood universe, when Ella, the housemaid, hadflung open all its windows and crowded its furniture into the hall. 

The thought of my wanderings since then became poignant, almostterrifying. The room, with all its memories, was unchanged. How safe Ihad been within its walls! Why could I not have been, content with whatit represented? of tradition, of custom, --of religion? And what was itwithin me that had lured me away from these?

I was miserable, indeed, but my misery was not of the kind I thought itought to be. At moments, when my mother relapsed into weeping, I glancedat her almost in wonder. Such sorrow as hers was incomprehensible. Onceshe surprised and discomfited me by lifting her head and gazing fixedlyat me through her tears. 

I recall certain impressions of the funeral. There, among thepall-bearers, was my Cousin Robert Breck, tears in the furrows of hischeeks. Had he loved my father more than I? The sight of his grief movedme suddenly and strongly. .. . It seemed an age since I had worked inhis store, and yet here he was still, coming to town every morning andreturning every evening to Claremore, loving his friends, and mourningthem one by one. Was this, the spectacle presented by my Cousin Robert, the reward of earthly existence? Were there no other prizes save thoseknown as greatness of character and depth of human affections? CousinRobert looked worn and old. The other pall-bearers, men of weight, oflong standing in the community, were aged, too; Mr. Blackwood, and Mr. Jules Hollister; and out of place, somehow, in this new church building. It came to me abruptly that the old order was gone, --had slipped awayduring my absence. The church I had known in boyhood had been torn downto make room for a business building on Boyne Street; the edifice inwhich I sat was expensive, gave forth no distinctive note; seeminglytransitory with its hybrid interior, its shiny oak and blue and redorgan-pipes, betokening a compromised and weakened faith. Nondescript, likewise, seemed the new minister, Mr. Randlett, as he prayed unctuouslyin front of the flowers massed on the platform. I vaguely resented hislaudatory references to my father. 

The old church, with its severity, had actually stood for something. Itwas the Westminster Catechism in wood and stone, and Dr. Pound had beenthe human incarnation of that catechism, the fit representative of awrathful God, a militant shepherd who had guarded with vigilance hisrespectable flock, who had protested vehemently against the sins of theworld by which they were surrounded, against the "dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers and idolaters, and whosoever lovethand maketh a lie. " How Dr. Pound would have put the emphasis of theEverlasting into those words!

Against what was Mr. Randlett protesting?

My glance wandered to the pews which held the committees from variousorganizations, such as the Chamber of Commerce and the Bar Association, which had come to do honour to my father. And there, differentiated fromthe others, I saw the spruce, alert figure of Theodore Watling. He, too, represented a new type and a new note, --this time a forceful note, a secular note that had not belonged to the old church, and seemedlikewise anomalistic in the new. .. . 

During the long, slow journey in the carriage to the cemetery my motherdid not raise her veil. It was not until she reached out and seizedmy hand, convulsively, that I realized she was still a part of myexistence. 

In the days that followed I became aware that my father's death hadremoved a restrictive element, that I was free now to take withoutcriticism or opposition whatever course in life I might desire. It maybe that I had apprehended even then that his professional ideals wouldnot have coincided with my own. Mingled with this sense of emancipationwas a curious feeling of regret, of mourning for something I had nevervalued, something fixed and dependable for which he had stood, a rockand a refuge of which I had never availed myself!. .. When his will wasopened it was found that the property had been left to my mother duringher lifetime. It was larger than I had thought, four hundred thousanddollars, shrewdly invested, for the most part, in city real estate. Myfather had been very secretive as to money matters, and my mother had nointerest in them. 

Three or four days later I received in the mail a typewritten lettersigned by Theodore Watling, expressing sympathy for my bereavement, andasking me to drop in on him, down town, before I should leave the city. In contrast to the somewhat dingy offices where my father had practisedin the Blackwood Block, the quarters of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon onthe eighth floor of the new Durrett Building were modern to a degree, finished in oak and floored with marble, with a railed-off space whereyoung women with nimble fingers played ceaselessly on typewriters. Oneof them informed me that Mr. Watling was busy, but on reading my cardadded that she would take it in. Meanwhile, in company with two otherswho may have been clients, I waited. This, then, was what it meant to bea lawyer of importance, to have, like a Chesterfield, an ante-room whereclients cooled their heels and awaited one's pleasure. .. 

The young woman returned, and led me through a corridor to a door onwhich was painted Mr. Wailing. 

I recall him tilted back in his chair in a debonnair manner beside hispolished desk, the hint of a smile on his lips; and leaning close to himwas a yellow, owl-like person whose eyes, as they turned to me, gave theimpression of having stared for years into hard, artificial lights. Mr. Watling rose briskly. 

"How are you, Hugh?" he said, the warmth of his greeting tempered byjust the note of condolence suitable to my black clothes. "I'm gladyou came. I wanted to see you before you went back to Cambridge. I mustintroduce you to Judge Bering, of our State Supreme Court. Judge, thisis Mr. Paret's boy. "

The judge looked me over with a certain slow impressiveness, and gave mea soft and fleshy hand. 

"Glad to know you, Mr. Paret. Your father was a great loss to our bar, "he declared. 

I detected in his tone and manner a slight reservation that could not becalled precisely judicial dignity; it was as though, in these few words, he had gone to the limit of self-commitment with a stranger--a strikingcontrast to the confidential attitude towards Mr. Watling in which I hadsurprised him. 

"Judge, " said Mr. Watling, sitting down again, "do you recall that timewe all went up to Mr. Paret's house and tried to induce him to run formayor? That was before you went on the lower bench. "

The judge nodded gloomily, caressing his watch chain, and suddenly roseto go. 

"That will be all right, then?" Mr. Watling inquired cryptically, witha smile. The other made a barely perceptible inclination of the head anddeparted. Mr. Watling looked at me. "He's one of the best men we have onthe bench to-day, " he added. There was a trace of apology in his tone. 

He talked a while of my father, to whom, so he said, he had looked upever since he had been admitted to the bar. 

"It would be a pleasure to me, Hugh, as well as a matter of pride, " hesaid cordially, but with dignity, "to have Matthew Paret's son in myoffice. I suppose you will be wishing to take your mother somewhere thissummer, but if you care to come here in the autumn, you will be welcome. You will begin, of course, as other young men begin, --as I began. ButI am a believer in blood, and I'll be glad to have you. Mr. Fowndes andMr. Ripon feel the same way. " He escorted me to the door himself. 

Everywhere I went during that brief visit home I was struck by change, by the crumbling and decay of institutions that once had held me inthrall, by the superimposition of a new order that as yet had assumedno definite character. Some of the old landmarks had disappeared; therewere new and aggressive office buildings, new and aggressive residences, new and aggressive citizens who lived in them, and of whom my motherspoke with gentle deprecation. Even Claremore, that paradise of mychildhood, had grown shrivelled and shabby, even tawdry, I thought, whenwe went out there one Sunday afternoon; all that once representedthe magic word "country" had vanished. The old flat piano, made inPhiladelphia ages ago, the horsehair chairs and sofa had been replacedby a nondescript furniture of the sort displayed behind plate-glasswindows of the city's stores: rocking-chairs on stands, upholstered inclashing colours, their coiled springs only half hidden by tassels, and"ornamental" electric fixtures, instead of the polished coal-oil lamps. Cousin Jenny had grown white, Willie was a staid bachelor, Helen an oldmaid, while Mary had married a tall, anaemic young man with glasses, Walter Kinley, whom Cousin Robert had taken into the store. As Icontemplated the Brecks odd questions suggested themselves: did honestyand warm-heartedness necessarily accompany a lack of artistic taste?and was virtue its own reward, after all? They drew my mother into thehouse, took off her wraps, set her down in the most comfortable rocker, and insisted on making her a cup of tea. 

I was touched. I loved them still, and yet I was conscious ofreservations concerning them. They, too, seemed a little on thedefensive with me, and once in a while Mary was caustic in her remarks. 

"I guess nothing but New York will be good enough for Hugh now. He'll betaking Cousin Sarah away from us. "

"Not at all, my dear, " said my mother, gently, "he's going into Mr. Watling's office next autumn. "

"Theodore Watling?" demanded Cousin Robert, pausing in his carving. 

"Yes, Robert. Mr. Watling has been good enough to say that he would liketo have Hugh. Is there anything--?"

"Oh, I'm out of date, Sarah, " Cousin Robert replied, vigorously severingthe leg of the turkey. "These modern lawyers are too smart for me. Watling's no worse than the others, I suppose, --only he's got moreability. "

"I've never heard anything against him, " said my mother in a painedvoice. "Only the other day McAlery Willett congratulated me that Hughwas going to be with him. "

"You mustn't mind Robert, Sarah, " put in Cousin Jenny, --a remarkreminiscent of other days. 

"Dad has a notion that his generation is the only honest one, " saidHelen, laughingly, as she passed a plate. 

I had gained a sense of superiority, and I was quite indifferent toCousin Robert's opinion of Mr. Watling, of modern lawyers in general. More than once a wave of self-congratulation surged through me that Ihad possessed the foresight and initiative to get out of the wholesalegrocery business while there was yet time. I looked at Willie, stillfreckled, still literal, still a plodder, at Walter Kinley, and Ithought of the drabness of their lives; at Cousin Robert himself as hesat smoking his cigar in the bay-window on that dark February day, andsuddenly I pitied him. The suspicion struck me that he had not prosperedof late, and this deepened to a conviction as he talked. 

"The Republican Party is going to the dogs, " he asserted. 

"It used to be an honourable party, but now it is no better than theother. Politics are only conducted, now, for the purpose of makingunscrupulous men rich, sir. For years I furnished this city with goodgroceries, if I do say it myself. I took a pride in the fact that theinmates of the hospitals, yes, and the dependent poor in the city'sinstitutions, should have honest food. You can get anything out of thecity if you are willing to pay the politicians for it. I lost my citycontracts. Why? Because I refused to deal with scoundrels. Weill andCompany and other unscrupulous upstarts are willing to do so, and poisonthe poor and the sick with adulterated groceries! The first thing I knewwas that the city auditor was holding back my bills for supplies, andpaying Weill's. That's what politics and business, yes, sir, and thelaw, have come to in these days. If a man wants to succeed, he must turninto a rascal. "

I was not shocked, but I was silent, uncomfortable, wishing that it weretime to take the train back to the city. Cousin Robert's face wasmore worn than I had thought, and I contrasted him inevitably withthe forceful person who used to stand, in his worn alpaca coat, on thepavement in front of his store, greeting with clear-eyed content hisfellow merchants of the city. Willie Breck, too, was silent, and WalterKinley took off his glasses and wiped them. In the meanwhile Helen hadleft the group in which my mother sat, and, approaching us, laid herhands on her father's shoulders. 

"Now, dad, " she said, in affectionate remonstrance, "you're excitedabout politics again, and you know it isn't good for you. And besides, they're not worth it. "

"You're right, Helen, " he replied. Under the pressure of her hands hemade a strong effort to control himself, and turned to address my motheracross the room. 

"I'm getting to be a crotchety old man, " he said. "It's a good thing Ihave a daughter to remind me of it. "

"It is a good thing, Robert, " said my mother. 

During the rest of our visit he seemed to have recovered something ofhis former spirits and poise, taking refuge in the past. They talkedof their own youth, of families whose houses had been landmarks on theSecond Bank. 

"I'm worried about your Cousin Robert, Hugh, " my mother confided to me, when we were at length seated in the train. "I've heard rumours thatthings are not so well at the store as they might be. " We looked outat the winter landscape, so different from that one which had thrilledevery fibre of my being in the days when the railroad on which wetravelled had been a winding narrow gauge. The orchards--those thatremained--were bare; stubble pricked the frozen ground where tasselshad once waved in the hot, summer wind. We flew by row after row ofginger-bread, suburban houses built on "villa plots, " and I read inlarge letters on a hideous sign-board, "Woodbine Park. "

"Hugh, have you ever heard anything against--Mr. Watling?"

"No, mother, " I said. "So far as I knew, he is very much looked up to bylawyers and business men. He is counsel, I believe, for Mr. Blackwood'sstreet car line on Boyne Street. And I told you, I believe, that I methim once at Mr. Kyme's. "

"Poor Robert!" she sighed. "I suppose business trouble does make onebitter, --I've seen it so often. But I never imagined that it wouldovertake Robert, and at his time of life! It is an old and respectedfirm, and we have always had a pride in it. ". .. 

That night, when I was going to bed, it was evident that the subject wasstill in her mind. She clung to my hand a moment. 

"I, too, am afraid of the new, Hugh, " she said, a little tremulously. "We all grow so, as age comes on. "

"But you are not old, mother, " I protested. 

"I have a feeling, since your father has gone, that I have lived mylife, my dear, though I'd like to stay long enough to see you happilymarried--to have grandchildren. I was not young when you were born. " Andshe added, after a little while, "I know nothing about business affairs, and now--now that your father is no longer here, sometimes I'm afraid--"

"Afraid of what, mother?"

She tried to smile at me through her tears. We were in the oldsitting-room, surrounded by the books. 

"I know it's foolish, and it isn't that I don't trust you. I know thatthe son of your father couldn't do anything that was not honourable. Andyet I am afraid of what the world is becoming. The city is growing sofast, and so many new people are coming in. Things are not the same. Robert is right, there. And I have heard your father say the same thing. Hugh, promise me that you will try to remember always what he was, andwhat he would wish you to be!"

"I will, mother, " I answered. "But I think you would find that CousinRobert exaggerates a little, makes things seem worse than they reallyare. Customs change, you know. And politics were never well--Sundayschools. " I, too, smiled a little. "Father knew that. And he would nevertake an active part in them. "

"He was too fine!" she exclaimed. 

"And now, " I continued, "Cousin Robert has happened to come in contactwith them through business. That is what has made the difference in him. Before, he always knew they were corrupt, but he rarely thought aboutthem. "

"Hugh, " she said suddenly, after a pause, "you must remember onething, --that you can afford to be independent. I thank God that yourfather has provided for that!"

I was duly admitted, the next autumn, to the bar of my own state, andwas assigned to a desk in the offices of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon. Larry Weed was my immediate senior among the apprentices, and Larry wasa hero-worshipper. I can see him now. He suggested a bullfrog as he satin the little room we shared in common, his arms akimbo over a law book, his little legs doubled under him, his round, eyes fixed expectantlyon the doorway. And even if I had not been aware of my good fortunein being connected with such a firm as Theodore Watling's, Larry wouldshortly have brought it home to me. During those weeks when I was makingmy first desperate attempts at briefing up the law I was sometimesinterrupted by his exclamations when certain figures went by in thecorridor. 

"Say, Hugh, do you know who that was?"

"No. "

"Miller Gorse. "

"Who's he?"

"Do you mean to say you never heard of Miller Gorse?"

"I've been away a long time, " I would answer apologetically. A person ofsome importance among my contemporaries at Harvard, I had looked forwardto a residence in my native city with the complacency of one who hasseen something of the world, --only to find that I was the least in thenew kingdom. And it was a kingdom. Larry opened up to me something ofthe significance and extent of it, something of the identity of the menwho controlled it. 

"Miller Gorse, " he said impressively, "is the counsel for the railroad. "

"What railroad? You mean the--" I was adding, when he interrupted mepityingly. 

"After you've been here a while you'll find out there's only onerailroad in this state, so far as politics are concerned. The Ashuelaand Northern, the Lake Shore and the others don't count. "

I refrained from asking any more questions at that time, but afterwardsI always thought of the Railroad as spelled with a capital. 

"Miller Gorse isn't forty yet, " Larry told me on another occasion. "That's doing pretty well for a man who comes near running this state. "

For the sake of acquiring knowledge, I endured Mr. Weed's patronage. Iinquired how Mr. Gorse ran the state. 

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, " he assured me. 

"But Mr. Barbour's president of the Railroad. "

"Sure. Once in a while they take something up to him, but as a rule heleaves things to Gorse. "

Whereupon I resolved to have a good look at Mr. Gorse at the firstopportunity. One day Mr. Watling sent out for some papers. 

"He's in there now;" said Larry. "You take 'em. "

"In there" meant Mr. Watling's sanctum. And in there he was. I had onlya glance at the great man, for, with a kindly but preoccupied "Thankyou, Hugh, " Mr. Watling took the papers and dismissed me. Heaviness, blackness and impassivity, --these were the impressions of Mr. Gorsewhich I carried away from that first meeting. The very solidity of hisflesh seemed to suggest the solidity of his position. Such, say thepsychologists, is the effect of prestige. 

I remember well an old-fashioned picture puzzle in one of my boyhoodbooks. The scene depicted was to all appearances a sylvan, peaceful one, with two happy lovers seated on a log beside a brook; but presently, asone gazed at the picture, the head of an animal stood forth among thebranches, and then the body; more animals began to appear, bit by bit; atiger, a bear, a lion, a jackal, a fox, until at last, whenever Ilooked at the page, I did not see the sylvan scene at all, but only thepredatory beasts of the forest. So, one by one, the figures of the realrulers of the city superimposed themselves for me upon the simple anddemocratic design of Mayor, Council, Board of Aldermen, Police Force, etc. , that filled the eye of a naive and trusting electorate whichfondly imagined that it had something to say in government. Miller Gorsewas one of these rulers behind the screen, and Adolf Scherer, of theBoyne Iron Works, another; there was Leonard Dickinson of the CornNational Bank; Frederick Grierson, becoming wealthy in city real estate;Judah B. Tallant, who, though outlawed socially, was deferred to as theowner of the Morning Era; and even Ralph Hambleton, rapidly supersedingthe elderly and conservative Mr. Lord, who had hitherto managed thegreat Hambleton estate. Ralph seemed to have become, in a somewhatgnostic manner, a full-fledged financier. Not having studied law, he hadbeen home for four years when I became a legal fledgling, and duringthe early days of my apprenticeship I was beholden to him for many"eye openers" concerning the conduct of great affairs. I remember himsauntering into my room one morning when Larry Weed had gone out on anerrand. 

"Hello, Hughie, " he said, with his air of having nothing to do. "Grinding it out? Where's Watling?"

"Isn't he in his office?"

"No. "

"Well, what can we do for you?" I asked. 

Ralph grinned. 

"Perhaps I'll tell you when you're a little older. You're too young. "And he sank down into Larry Weed's chair, his long legs protruding onthe other side of the table. "It's a matter of taxes. Some time ago Ifound out that Dickinson and Tallant and others I could mention werepaying a good deal less on their city property than we are. We don'tpropose to do it any more--that's all. "

"How can Mr. Watling help you?" I inquired. 

"Well, I don't mind giving you a few tips about your profession, Hughie. I'm going to get Watling to fix it up with the City Hall gang. OldLord doesn't like it, I'll admit, and when I told him we had beencontributing to the city long enough, that I proposed swinging into linewith other property holders, he began to blubber about disgrace and whatmy grandfather would say if he were alive. Well, he isn't alive. A gooddeal of water has flowed under the bridges since his day. It's a merematter of business, of getting your respectable firm to retain a CityHall attorney to fix it up with the assessor. "

"How about the penitentiary?" I ventured, not too seriously. 

"I shan't go to the penitentiary, neither will Watling. What I do is topay a lawyer's fee. There isn't anything criminal in that, is there?"

For some time after Ralph had departed I sat reflecting upon this newknowledge, and there came into my mind the bitterness of Cousin RobertBreck against this City Hall gang, and his remarks about lawyers. Irecalled the tone in which he had referred to Mr. Watling. But Ralph'sphilosophy easily triumphed. Why not be practical, and become masterof a situation which one had not made, and could not alter, insteadof being overwhelmed by it? Needless to say, I did not mention theconversation to Mr. Watling, nor did he dwindle in my estimation. Thesenecessary transactions did not interfere in any way with his personalrelationships, and his days were filled with kindnesses. And was notMr. Ripon, the junior partner, one of the evangelical lights of thecommunity, conducting advanced Bible classes every week in the Churchof the Redemption?. .. The unfolding of mysteries kept me alert. And Iunderstood that, if I was to succeed, certain esoteric knowledge mustbe acquired, as it were, unofficially. I kept my eyes and ears open, andapplied myself, with all industry, to the routine tasks with which everyyoung man in a large legal firm is familiar. I recall distinctly mypride when, the Board of Aldermen having passed an ordinance loweringthe water rates, I was intrusted with the responsibility of going beforethe court in behalf of Mr. Ogilvy's water company, obtaining a temporaryrestricting order preventing the ordinance from going at once intoeffect. Here was an affair in point. Were it not for lawyers of thecalibre of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon, hard-earned private propertywould soon be confiscated by the rapacious horde. Once in a while I wasmade aware that Mr. Watling had his eye on me. 

"Well, Hugh, " he would say, "how are you getting along? That's right, stick to it, and after a while we'll hand the drudgery over to somebodyelse. "

He possessed the supreme quality of a leader of men in that he tookpains to inform himself concerning the work of the least of hissubordinates; and he had the gift of putting fire into a young man bya word or a touch of the hand on the shoulder. It was not difficult forme, therefore, to comprehend Larry Weed's hero-worship, the loyalty ofother members of the firm or of those occupants of the office whom Ihave not mentioned. My first impression of him, which I had got at JerryKyme's, deepened as time went on, and I readily shared the belief ofthose around me that his legal talents easily surpassed those of any ofhis contemporaries. I can recall, at this time, several noted cases inthe city when I sat in court listening to his arguments with thrillsof pride. He made us all feel--no matter how humble may have been ourcontributions to the preparation--that we had a share in his triumphs. We remembered his manner with judges and juries, and strove to emulateit. He spoke as if there could be no question as to his being rightas to the law and the facts, and yet, in some subtle way that batedanalysis, managed not to antagonize the court. Victory was in the air inthat office. I do not mean to say there were not defeats; but frequentlythese defeats, by resourcefulness, by a never-say-die spirit, by aconsummate knowledge, not only of the law, but of other things at whichI have hinted, were turned into ultimate victories. We fought cases fromone court to another, until our opponents were worn out or the decisionwas reversed. We won, and that spirit of winning got into the blood. What was most impressed on me in those early years, I think, was thediscovery that there was always a path--if one were clever enough tofind it--from one terrace to the next higher. Staying power was the mostprized of all the virtues. One could always, by adroitness, compel alegal opponent to fight the matter out all over again on new ground, orat least on ground partially new. If the Court of Appeals should failone, there was the Supreme Court; there was the opportunity, also, toshift from the state to the federal courts; and likewise the much-prizeddevice known as a change of venue, when a judge was supposed to be"prejudiced. "

IX. 

As my apprenticeship advanced I grew more and more to the inhabitants ofour city into two kinds, the who were served, and the inefficient, whowere separate efficient, neglected; but the mental process of which theclassification was the result was not so deliberate as may be supposed. Sometimes, when an important client would get into trouble, the affairtook me into the police court, where I saw the riff-raff of the citypenned up, waiting to have justice doled out to them: weary women whohad spent the night in cells, indifferent now as to the front theypresented to the world, the finery rued that they had tended socarefully to catch the eyes of men on the darkened streets; brazen younggirls, who blazed forth defiance to all order; derelict men, sodden andhopeless, with scrubby beards; shifty looking burglars and pickpockets. All these I beheld, at first with twinges of pity, later to mass themwith the ugly and inevitable with whom society had to deal somehow. Lawyers, after all, must be practical men. I came to know the justicesof these police courts, as well as other judges. And underlying myacquaintance with all of them was the knowledge--though not on thethreshold of my consciousness--that they depended for their living, every man of them, those who were appointed and those who were elected, upon a political organization which derived its sustenance from theelement whence came our clients. Thus by degrees the sense of belongingto a special priesthood had grown on me. 

I recall an experience with that same Mr. Nathan. Weill, the wholesalegrocer of whose commerce with the City Hall my Cousin Robert Breck hadso bitterly complained. Late one afternoon Mr. Weill's carriage ranover a child on its way up-town through one of the poorer districts. Theparents, naturally, were frantic, and the coachman was arrested. Thiswas late in the afternoon, and I was alone in the office when thetelephone rang. Hurrying to the police station, I found Mr. Weill ina state of excitement and abject fear, for an ugly crowd had gatheredoutside. 

"Could not Mr. Watling or Mr. Fowndes come?" demanded the grocer. 

With an inner contempt for the layman's state of mind on such occasionsI assured him of my competency to handle the case. He was impressed, Ithink, by the sergeant's deference, who knew what it meant to have suchan office as ours interfere with the affair. I called up the prosecutingattorney, who sent to Monahan's saloon, close by, and procured a releasefor the coachman on his own recognizance, one of many signed in blankand left there by the justice for privileged cases. The coachman washustled out by a back door, and the crowd dispersed. 

The next morning, while a score or more of delinquents sat in theanxious seats, Justice Garry recognized me and gave me precedence. AndMr. Weill, with a sigh of relief, paid his fine. 

"Mr. Paret, is it?" he asked, as we stood together for a moment onthe sidewalk outside the court. "You have managed this well. I willremember. "

He was sued, of course. When he came to the office he insisted ondiscussing the case with Mr. Watling, who sent for me. 

"That is a bright young man, " Mr. Weill declared, shaking my hand. "Hewill get on. "

"Some day, " said Mr. Watling, "he may save you a lot of money, Weill. "

"When my friend Mr. Watling is United States Senator, --eh?"

Mr. Watling laughed. "Before that, I hope. I advise you to compromisethis suit, Weill, " he added. "How would a thousand dollars strike you?I've had Paret look up the case, and he tells me the little girl has hadto have an operation. "

"A thousand dollars!" cried the grocer. "What right have these people tolet their children play on the streets? It's an outrage. "

"Where else have the children to play?" Mr. Watling touched his arm. "Weill, " he said gently, "suppose it had been your little girl?" Thegrocer pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his bald forehead. But herallied a little. 

"You fight these damage cases for the street railroads all through thecourts. "

"Yes, " Mr. Watling agreed, "but there a principle is involved. If therailroads once got into the way of paying damages for every carelessemployee, they would soon be bankrupt through blackmail. But here youhave a child whose father is a poor janitor and can't afford sickness. And your coachman, I imagine, will be more particular in the future. "

In the end Mr. Weill made out a cheque and departed in a good humour, convinced that he was well out of the matter. Here was one of manyinstances I could cite of Mr. Watling's tenderness of heart. I felt, moreover, as if he had done me a personal favour, since it was I who hadrecommended the compromise. For I had been to the hospital and had seenthe child on the cot, --a dark little thing, lying still in her pain, with the bewildered look of a wounded animal. .. . 

Not long after this incident of Mr. Weill's damage suit I obtained amore or less definite promotion by the departure of Larry Weed. He hadsuddenly developed a weakness of the lungs. Mr. Watling got him a placein Denver, and paid his expenses west. 

The first six or seven years I spent in the office of Wading, Fowndesand Ripon were of importance to my future career, but there is littleto relate of them. I was absorbed not only in learning law, but inacquiring that esoteric knowledge at which I have hinted--not to behad from my seniors and which I was convinced was indispensable toa successful and lucrative practice. My former comparison of theorganization of our city to a picture puzzle wherein the dominatingfigures become visible only after long study is rather inadequate. Abetter analogy would be the human anatomy: we lawyers, of course, werethe brains; the financial and industrial interests the body, helplesswithout us; the City Hall politicians, the stomach that must continuallybe fed. All three, law, politics and business, were interdependent, united by a nervous system too complex to be developed here. In theseyears, though I worked hard and often late, I still found time forconvivialities, for social gaieties, yet little by little withoutrealizing the fact, I was losing zest for the companionship of my formerintimates. My mind was becoming polarized by the contemplation ofone object, success, and to it human ties were unconsciously beingsacrificed. 

Tom Peters began to feel this, even at a time when I believedmyself still to be genuinely fond of him. Considering our respectivetemperaments in youth, it is curious that he should have been the firstto fall in love and marry. One day he astonished me by announcing hisengagement to Susan Blackwood. 

"That ends the liquor, Hughie, " he told me, beamingly. "I promised herI'd eliminate it. "

He did eliminate it, save for mild relapses on festive occasions. A moreseemingly incongruous marriage could scarcely be imagined, and yet itwas a success from the start. From a slim, silent, self-willed girlSusan had grown up into a tall, rather rawboned and energetic youngwoman. She was what we called in those days "intellectual, " and hadgone in for kindergartens, and after her marriage she turned out to beexcessively domestic; practising her theories, with entire success, upona family that showed a tendency to increase at an alarming rate. Tom, needless to say, did not become intellectual. He settleddown--prematurely, I thought--into what is known as a family man, curiously content with the income he derived from the commissionbusiness and with life in general; and he developed a somewhat criticalview of the tendencies of the civilization by which he was surrounded. Susan held it also, but she said less about it. In the comfortable butunpretentious house they rented on Cedar Street we had many discussions, after the babies had been put to bed and the door of the living-roomclosed, in order that our voices might not reach the nursery. PerryBlackwood, now Tom's brother-in-law, was often there. He, too, hadlapsed into what I thought was an odd conservatism. Old Josiah, hisfather, being dead, he occupied himself mainly with looking aftercertain family interests, among which was the Boyne Street car line. Among "business men" he was already getting the reputation of being alittle difficult to deal with. I was often the subject of their banter, and presently I began to suspect that they regarded my career andbeliefs with some concern. This gave me no uneasiness, though at limesI lost my temper. I realized their affection for me; but privatelyI regarded them as lacking in ambition, in force, in the fightingqualities necessary for achievement in this modern age. Perhaps, unconsciously, I pitied them a little. 

"How is Judah B. To-day, Hughie?" Tom would inquire. "I hear you've puthim up for the Boyne Club, now that Mr. Watling has got him out of thatlibel suit. "

"Carter Ives is dead, " Perry would add, sarcastically, "let bygones bebygones. "

It was well known that Mr. Tallant, in the early days of his newspaper, had blackmailed Mr. Ives out of some hundred thousand dollars. Andthat this, more than any other act, stood in the way, with certainrecalcitrant gentlemen, of his highest ambition, membership in theBoyne. 

"The trouble with you fellows is that you refuse to deal with conditionsas you find them, " I retorted. "We didn't make them, and we can't changethem. Tallant's a factor in the business life of this city, and he hasto be counted with. "

Tom would shake his head exasperatingly. 

"Why don't you get after Ralph?" I demanded. "He doesn't antagonizeTallant, either. "

"Ralph's hopeless, " said Tom. "He was born a pirate, you weren't, Hughie. We think there's a chance for his salvation, don't we, Perry?"

I refused to accept the remark as flattering. 

Another object of their assaults was Frederick Grierson, who by thistime had emerged from obscurity as a small dealer in real estate into amanipulator of blocks and corners. 

"I suppose you think it's a lawyer's business to demand an ethicalbill of health of every client, " I said. "I won't stand up for all ofTallant's career, of course, but Mr. Wading has a clear right to takehis cases. As for Grierson, it seems to me that's a matter of giving adog a bad name. Just because his people weren't known here, and becausehe has worked up from small beginnings. To get down to hard-pan, youfellows don't believe in democracy, --in giving every man a chance toshow what's in him. "

"Democracy is good!" exclaimed Perry. "If the kind of thing we're comingto is democracy, God save the state!". .. 

On the other hand I found myself drawing closer to Ralph Hambleton, sometimes present at these debates, as the only one of my boyhoodfriends who seemed to be able to "deal with conditions as he foundthem. " Indeed, he gave one the impression that, if he had had the makingof them, he would not have changed them. 

"What the deuce do you expect?" I once heard him inquire withgood-natured contempt. "Business isn't charity, it's war. 

"There are certain things, " maintained Perry, stoutly, "that gentlemenwon't do. "

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Ralph, stretching his slim six feet two: We weresitting in the Boyne Club. "It's ungentlemanly to kill, or burn a townor sink a ship, but we keep armies and navies for the purpose. For aman with a good mind, Perry, you show a surprising inability to thinkthings, out to a logical conclusion. What the deuce is competition, whenyou come down to it? Christianity? Not by a long shot! If our nationsare slaughtering men and starving populations in other countries, --arecarried on, in fact, for the sake of business, if our churches arefilled with business men and our sky pilots pray for the government, youcan't expect heathen individuals like me to do business on a Christianbasis, --if there is such a thing. You can make rules for croquet, butnot for a game that is based on the natural law of the survival of thefittest. The darned fools in the legislatures try it occasionally, butwe all know it's a sop to the 'common people. ' Ask Hughie here if thereever was a law put on the statute books that his friend Watling couldn'tget 'round'? Why, you've got competition even among the churches. Yours, where I believe you teach in the Sunday school, would go bankrupt if itproclaimed real Christianity. And you'll go bankrupt if you practiseit, Perry, my boy. Some early, wide-awake, competitive, red-blooded birdwill relieve you of the Boyne Street car line. "

It was one of this same new and "fittest" species who had alreadyrelieved poor Mr. McAlery Willett of his fortune. Mr. Willett was atrusting soul who had never known how to take care of himself or hismoney, people said, and now that he had lost it they blamed him. Somehad been saved enough for him and Nancy to live on in the old house, with careful economy. It was Nancy who managed the economy, whoaccomplished remarkable things with a sum they would have deemed povertyin former days. Her mother had died while I was at Cambridge. Reversesdid not subdue Mr. Willett's spirits, and the fascination modern"business" had for him seemed to grow in proportion to the misfortunesit had caused him. He moved into a tiny office in the Durrett Building, where he appeared every morning about half-past ten to occupy himselfwith heaven knows what short cuts to wealth, with prospectuses ofcompanies in Mexico or Central America or some other distant place:once, I remember, it was a tea, company in which he tried to interesthis friends, to raise in the South a product he maintained would surpassOrange Pekoe. In the afternoon between three and four he would turn upat the Boyne Club, as well groomed, as spruce as ever, generally with aflower in his buttonhole. He never forgot that he was a gentleman, and he had a gentleman's notions of the fitness of things, and it wasagainst his principles to use, a gentleman's club for the furtherance ofhis various enterprises. 

"Drop into my office some day, Dickinson, " he would say. "I think I'vegot something there that might interest you!"

He reminded me, when I met him, that he had always predicted I would getalong in life. .. . 

The portrait of Nancy at this period is not so easily drawn. The declineof the family fortunes seemed to have had as little effect upon her asupon her father, although their characters differed sharply. Somethingof that spontaneity, of that love of life and joy in it she hadpossessed in youth she must have inherited from McAlery Willett, but these qualities had disappeared in her long before the coming offinancial reverses. She was nearing thirty, and in spite of her beautyand the rarer distinction that can best be described as breeding, shehad never married. Men admired her, but from a distance; she kept themat arm's length, they said: strangers who visited the city invariablypicked her out of an assembly and asked who she was; one man from NewYork who came to visit Ralph and who had been madly in love with her, she had amazed many people by refusing, spurning all he might havegiven her. This incident seemed a refutation of the charge that she wascalculating. As might have been foretold, she had the social gift ina remarkable degree, and in spite of the limitations of her purse theknack of dressing better than other women, though at that time theorganization of our social life still remained comparatively simple, thecustom of luxurious and expensive entertainment not having yet set in. 

The more I reflect upon those days, the more surprising does it seemthat I was not in love with her. It may be that I was, unconsciously, for she troubled my thoughts occasionally, and she represented all thequalities I admired in her sex. The situation that had existed at thetime of our first and only quarrel had been reversed, I was on thehighroad to the worldly success I had then resolved upon, Nancy waspoor, and for that reason, perhaps, prouder than ever. If she wasinaccessible to others, she had the air of being peculiarly inaccessibleto me--the more so because some of the superficial relics of ourintimacy remained, or rather had been restored. Her very manner ofcamaraderie seemed paradoxically to increase the distance between us. Itpiqued me. Had she given me the least encouragement, I am sure I shouldhave responded; and I remember that I used occasionally to speculate asto whether she still cared for me, and took this method of hiding herreal feelings. Yet, on the whole, I felt a certain complacency about itall; I knew that suffering was disagreeable, I had learned how to avoidit, and I may have had, deep within me, a feeling that I might marry herafter all. Meanwhile my life was full, and gave promise of becoming evenfuller, more absorbing and exciting in the immediate future. 

One of the most fascinating figures, to me, of that Order being woven, like a cloth of gold, out of our hitherto drab civilization, --an Orderinto which I was ready and eager to be initiated, --was that of AdolfScherer, the giant German immigrant at the head of the Boyne IronWorks. His life would easily lend itself to riotous romance. In the oldcountry, in a valley below the castle perched on the rack above, he hadbegun life by tending his father's geese. What a contrast to "Steeltown"with its smells and sickening summer heat, to the shanty where Mrs. Scherer took boarders and bent over the wash-tub! She, too, was animmigrant, but lived to hear her native Wagner from her own box atCovent Garden; and he to explain, on the deck of an imperial yacht, to the man who might have been his sovereign certain processes in themanufacture of steel hitherto untried on that side of the Atlantic. Incomparison with Adolf Scherer, citizen of a once despised democracy, theminor prince in whose dominions he had once tended geese was of smallaccount indeed!

The Adolf Scherer of that day--though it is not so long ago as timeflies--was even more solid and impressive than the man he afterwardsbecame, when he reached the dizzier heights from which he deliveredto an eager press opinions on politics and war, eugenics and woman'ssuffrage and other subjects that are the despair of specialists. Had hestuck to steel, he would have remained invulnerable. But even thenhe was beginning to abandon the field of production for that ofexploitation: figuratively speaking, he had taken to soap, which withthe aid of water may be blown into beautiful, iridescent bubbles tocharm the eye. Much good soap, apparently, has gone that way, never tobe recovered. Everybody who was anybody began to blow bubbles about thattime, and the bigger the bubble the greater its attraction for investorsof hard-earned savings. Outside of this love for financial iridescence, let it be called, Mr. Scherer seemed to care little then for glitterof any sort. Shortly after his elevation to the presidency of the BoyneIron Works he had been elected a member of the Boyne Club, --an honour ofwhich, some thought, he should have been more sensible; but generally, when in town, he preferred to lunch at a little German restaurantannexed to a saloon, where I used often to find him literally toweringabove the cloth, --for he was a giant with short legs, --his napkintucked into his shirt front, engaged in lively conversation with theministering Heinrich. The chef at the club, Mr. Scherer insisted, couldproduce nothing equal to Heinrich's sauer-kraut and sausage. My earliestrelationship with Mr. Scherer was that of an errand boy, of bringingto him for his approval papers which might not be intrusted to a commonmessenger. His gruffness and brevity disturbed me more than I cared toconfess. I was pretty sure that he eyed me with the disposition of theself-made to believe that college educations and good tailors werethe heaviest handicaps with which a young man could be burdened: and Isuspected him of an inimical attitude toward the older families of thecity. Certain men possessed his confidence; and he had built, as itwere, a stockade about them, sternly keeping the rest of the worldoutside. In Theodore Watling he had a childlike faith. 

Thus I studied him, with a deliberation which it is the purpose of thesechapters to confess, though he little knew that he was being made thesubject of analysis. Nor did I ever venture to talk with him, but heldstrictly to my role of errand boy, --even after the conviction came overme that he was no longer indifferent to my presence. The day arrived, after some years, when he suddenly thrust toward me a big, hairy handthat held the document he was examining. 

"Who drew this, Mr. Paret!" he demanded. 

Mr. Ripon, I told him. 

The Boyne Works were buying up coal-mines, and this was a contractlooking to the purchase of one in Putman County, provided, after acertain period of working, the yield and quality should come up tospecifications. Mr. Scherer requested me to read one of the sections, which puzzled him. And in explaining it an idea flashed over me. 

"Do you mind my making a suggestion, Mr. Scherer?" I ventured. 

"What is it?" he asked brusquely. 

I showed him how, by the alteration of a few words, the difficulty towhich he had referred could not only be eliminated, but that certainpossible penalties might be evaded, while the apparent meaning of thesection remained unchanged. In other words, it gave the Boyne Iron Worksan advantage that was not contemplated. He seized the paper, staredat what I had written in pencil on the margin, and then stared at me. Abruptly, he began to laugh. 

"Ask Mr. Wading what he thinks of it?"

"I intended to, provided it had your approval, sir, " I replied. 

"You have my approval, Mr. Paret, " he declared, rather cryptically, andwith the slight German hardening of the v's into which he relapsed attimes. "Bring it to the Works this afternoon. "

Mr. Wading agreed to the alteration. He looked at me amusedly. 

"Yes, I think that's an improvement, Hugh, " he said. I had a feelingthat I had gained ground, and from this time on I thought I detected achange in his attitude toward me; there could be no doubt about the newattitude of Mr. Scherer, who would often greet me now with a smile anda joke, and sometimes went so far as to ask my opinions. .. . Then, aboutsix months later, came the famous Ribblevale case that aroused the moralindignation of so many persons, among whom was Perry Blackwood. 

"You know as well as I do, Hugh, how this thing is being manipulated, "he declared at Tom's one Sunday evening; "there was nothing the matterwith the Ribblevale Steel Company--it was as right as rain beforeLeonard Dickinson and Grierson and Scherer and that crowd you train withbegan to talk it down at the Club. Oh, they're very compassionate. I'veheard 'em. Dickinson, privately, doesn't think much of Ribblevale paper, and Pugh" (the president of the Ribblevale) "seems worried and looksbadly. It's all very clever, but I'd hate to tell you in plain wordswhat I'd call it. "

"Go ahead, " I challenged him audaciously. "You haven't any proof thatthe Ribblevale wasn't in trouble. "

"I heard Mr. Pugh tell my father the other day it was a d--d outrage. Hecouldn't catch up with these rumours, and some of his stockholders wereliquidating. "

"You, don't suppose Pugh would want to admit his situation, do you?" Iasked. 

"Pugh's a straight man, " retorted Perry. "That's more than I can sayfor any of the other gang, saving your presence. The unpleasant truth isthat Scherer and the Boyne people want the Ribblevale, and you ought toknow it if you don't. " He looked at me very hard through the glasses hehad lately taken to wearing. Tom, who was lounging by the fire, shiftedhis position uneasily. I smiled, and took another cigar. 

"I believe Ralph is right, Perry, when he calls you a sentimentalist. For you there's a tragedy behind every ordinary business transaction. The Ribblevale people are having a hard time to keep their heads abovewater, and immediately you smell conspiracy. Dickinson and Scherer havebeen talking it down. How about it, Tom?"

But Tom, in these debates, was inclined to be noncommittal, although itwas clear they troubled him. 

"Oh, don't ask me, Hughie, " he said. 

"I suppose I ought to cultivate the scientific point of view, and lookwith impartial interest at this industrial cannibalism, " returned Perry, sarcastically. "Eat or be eaten that's what enlightened self-interesthas come to. After all, Ralph would say, it is nature, the insect worldover again, the victim duped and crippled before he is devoured, and thelawyer--how shall I put it?--facilitating the processes of swallowingand digesting. .. . "

There was no use arguing with Perry when he was in this vein. .. . 

Since I am not writing a technical treatise, I need not go into thedetails of the Ribblevale suit. Since it to say that the affair, aftera while, came apparently to a deadlock, owing to the impossibility ofgetting certain definite information from the Ribblevale books, whichhad been taken out of the state. The treasurer, for reasons of his own, remained out of the state also; the ordinary course of summoning himbefore a magistrate in another state had naturally been resorted to, butthe desired evidence was not forthcoming. 

"The trouble is, " Mr. Wading explained to Mr. Scherer, "that there is nolaw in the various states with a sufficient penalty attached that willcompel the witness to divulge facts he wishes to conceal. "

It was the middle of a February afternoon, and they were seated in deep, leather chairs in one corner of the reading room of the Boyne Club. Theyhad the place to themselves. Fowndes was there also, one leg twistedaround the other in familiar fashion, a bored look on his long andsallow face. Mr. Wading had telephoned to the office for me to bringthem some papers bearing on the case. 

"Sit down, Hugh, " he said kindly. 

"Now we have present a genuine legal mind, " said Mr. Scherer, in theplayful manner he had adopted of late, while I grinned appreciativelyand took a chair. Mr. Watling presently suggested kidnapping theRibblevale treasurer until he should promise to produce the books as theonly way out of what seemed an impasse. But Mr. Scherer brought down ahuge fist on his knee. 

"I tell you it is no joke, Watling, we've got to win that suit, " heasserted. 

"That's all very well, " replied Mr. Watling. "But we're a respectablefirm, you know. We haven't had to resort to safe-blowing, as yet. "

Mr. Scherer shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say it were a matterof indifference to him what methods were resorted to. Mr. Watling's eyesmet mine; his glance was amused, yet I thought I read in it a queryas to the advisability, in my presence, of going too deeply into thequestion of ways and means. I may have been wrong. At any rate, itssudden effect was to embolden me to give voice to an idea that had begunto simmer in my mind, that excited me, and yet I had feared to utter it. This look of my chief's, and the lighter tone the conversation had takendecided me. 

"Why wouldn't it be possible to draw up a bill to fit the situation?" Iinquired. 

Mr. Wading started. 

"What do you mean?" he asked quickly. 

All three looked at me. I felt the blood come into my face, but it wastoo late to draw back. 

"Well--the legislature is in session. And since, as Mr. Watling says, there is no sufficient penalty in other states to compel the witness toproduce the information desired, why not draw up a bill and--and haveit passed--" I paused for breath--"imposing a sufficient penalty on homecorporations in the event of such evasions. The Ribblevale Steel Companyis a home corporation. "

I had shot my bolt. .. . There followed what was for me an anxioussilence, while the three of them continued to stare at me. Mr. Watlingput the tips of his fingers together, and I became aware that he was notoffended, that he was thinking rapidly. 

"By George, why not, Fowndes?" he demanded. 

"Well, " said Fowndes, "there's an element of risk in such a proceeding Ineed not dwell upon. "

"Risk!" cried the senior partner vigorously. "There's risk ineverything. They'll howl, of course. But they howl anyway, and nobodyever listens to them. They'll say it's special legislation, and thePilot will print sensational editorials for a few days. But what ofit? All of that has happened before. I tell you, if we can't see thosebooks, we'll lose the suit. That's in black and white. And, as a matterof justice, we're entitled to know what we want to know. "

"There might be two opinions as to that, " observed Fowndes, with hissardonic smile. 

Mr. Watling paid no attention to this remark. He was already deep inthought. It was characteristic of his mind to leap forward, seize asuggestion that often appeared chimerical to a man like Fowndes and turnit into an accomplished Fact. "I believe you've hit it, Hugh, " he said. "We needn't bother about the powers of the courts in other states. We'llput into this bill an appeal to our court for an order on the clerkto compel the witness to come before the court and testify, and we'llprovide for a special commissioner to take depositions in the statewhere the witness is. If the officers of a home corporation who areoutside of the state refuse to testify, the penalty will be that theration goes into the hands of a receiver. "

Fowndes whistled. 

"That's going some!" he said. 

"Well, we've got to go some. How about it, Scherer?"

Even Mr. Scherer's brown eyes were snapping. 

"We have got to win that suit, Watling. "

We were all excited, even Fowndes, I think, though he remainedexpressionless. Ours was the tense excitement of primitive man in chase:the quarry which had threatened to elude us was again in view, and notunlikely to fall into our hands. Add to this feeling, on my part, the thrill that it was I who had put them on the scent. I had all thesensations of an aspiring young brave who for the first time is admittedto the councils of the tribe!

"It ought to be a popular bill, too, " Mr. Schemer was saying, with asmile of ironic appreciation at the thought of demagogues advocating it. "We should have one of Lawler's friends introduce it. "

"Oh, we shall have it properly introduced, " replied Mr. Wading. 

"It may come back at us, " suggested Fowndes pessimistically. "The BoyneIron Works is a home corporation too, if I am not mistaken. "

"The Boyne Iron Works has the firm of Wading, Fowndes and Ripon behindit, " asserted Mr. Scherer, with what struck me as a magnificent faith. 

"You mustn't forget Paret, " Mr. Watling reminded him, with a wink at me. 

We had risen. Mr. Scherer laid a hand on my arm. 

"No, no, I do not forget him. He will not permit me to forget him. "

A remark, I thought, that betrayed some insight into my character. .. Mr. Watling called for pen and paper and made then and there a draft of theproposed bill, for no time was to be lost. It was dark when we leftthe Club, and I recall the elation I felt and strove to conceal as Iaccompanied my chief back to the office. The stenographers and clerkswere gone; alone in the library we got down the statutes and set towork to perfect the bill from the rough draft, on which Mr. Fowndes hadwritten his suggestions. I felt that a complete yet subtle change hadcome over my relationship with Mr. Watling. 

In the midst of our labours he asked me to call up the attorney for theRailroad. Mr. Gorse was still at his office. 

"Hello! Is that you, Miller?" Mr. Watling said. "This is Wading. Whencan I see you for a few minutes this evening? Yes, I am leaving forWashington at nine thirty. Eight o'clock. All right, I'll be there. "

It was almost eight before he got the draft finished to hissatisfaction, and I had picked it out on the typewriter. As I handed itto him, my chief held it a moment, gazing at me with an odd smile. 

"You seem to have acquired a good deal of useful knowledge, here andthere, Hugh, " he observed. 

"I've tried to keep my eyes open, Mr. Watling, " I said. 

"Well, " he said, "there are a great many things a young man practisinglaw in these days has to learn for himself. And if I hadn't given youcredit for some cleverness, I shouldn't have wanted you here. There'sonly one way to look at--at these matters we have been discussing, myboy, that's the common-sense way, and if a man doesn't get that point ofview by himself, nobody can teach it to him. I needn't enlarge upon it. "

"No, sir, " I said. 

He smiled again, but immediately became serious. 

"If Mr. Gorse should approve of this bill, I'm going to send you down tothe capital--to-night. Can you go?"

I nodded. 

"I want you to look out for the bill in the legislature. Of course therewon't be much to do, except to stand by, but you will get a better ideaof what goes on down there. "

I thanked him, and told him I would do my best. 

"I'm sure of that, " he replied. "Now it's time to go to see Gorse. "

The legal department of the Railroad occupied an entire floor of theCorn Bank building. I had often been there on various errands, having onoccasions delivered sealed envelopes to Mr. Gorse himself, approachinghim in the ordinary way through a series of offices. But now, followingMr. Watling through the dimly lighted corridor, we came to a dooron which no name was painted, and which was presently opened by astenographer. There was in the proceeding a touch of mystery thatrevived keenly my boyish love for romance; brought back the days when Ihad been, in turn, Captain Kidd and Ali Baba. 

I have never realized more strongly than in that moment thepsychological force of prestige. Little by little, for five years, anestimate of the extent of Miller Gorse's power had been coming home tome, and his features stood in my mind for his particular kind of power. He was a tremendous worker, and often remained in his office until tenand eleven at night. He dismissed the stenographer by the wave of a handwhich seemed to thrust her bodily out of the room. 

"Hello, Miller, " said Mr. Watling. 

"Hello, Theodore, " replied Mr. Gorse. 

"This is Paret, of my office. "

"I know, " said Mr. Gorse, and nodded toward me. I was impressed by thefelicity with which a cartoonist of the Pilot had once caricatured himby the use of curved lines. The circle of the heavy eyebrows ended atthe wide nostrils; the mouth was a crescent, but bowed downwards; theheavy shoulders were rounded. Indeed, the only straight line to bediscerned about him was that of his hair, black as bitumen, bangedacross his forehead; even his polished porphyry eyes were constructed onsome curvilinear principle, and never seemed to focus. It might be saidof Mr. Gorse that he had an overwhelming impersonality. One could neverbe quite sure that one's words reached the mark. 

In spite of the intimacy which I knew existed between them, in mypresence at least Mr. Gorse's manner was little different with Mr. Watling than it was with other men. Mr. Wading did not seem to mind. He pulled up a chair close to the desk and began, without anypreliminaries, to explain his errand. 

"It's about the Ribblevale affair, " he said. "You know we have a suit. "

Gorse nodded. 

"We've got to get at the books, Miller, --that's all there is to it. Itold you so the other day. Well, we've found out a way, I think. "

He thrust his hand in his pocket, while the railroad attorney remainedimpassive, and drew out the draft of the bill. Mr. Gorse read it, thenread it over again, and laid it down in front of him. 

"Well, " he said. 

"I want to put that through both houses and have the governor'ssignature to it by the end of the week. "

"It seems a little raw, at first sight, Theodore, " said Mr. Gorse, withthe suspicion of a smile. 

My chief laughed a little. 

"It's not half so raw as some things I might mention, that went throughlike greased lightning, " he replied. "What can they do? I believe itwill hold water. Tallant's, and most of the other newspapers in thestate, won't print a line about it, and only Socialists and Populistsread the Pilot. They're disgruntled anyway. The point is, there's noother way out for us. Just think a moment, bearing in mind what I'vetold you about the case, and you'll see it. "

Mr. Gorse took up the paper again, and read the draft over. 

"You know as well as I do, Miller, how dangerous it is to leave thisRibblevale business at loose ends. The Carlisle steel people and theLake Shore road are after the Ribblevale Company, and we can't affordto run any risk of their getting it. It's logically a part of the Boyneinterests, as Scherer says, and Dickinson is ready with the money forthe reorganization. If the Carlisle people and the Lake Shore get it, the product will be shipped out by the L and G, and the Railroad willlose. What would Barbour say?"

Mr. Barbour, as I have perhaps mentioned, was the president of theRailroad, and had his residence in the other great city of the state. Hewas then, I knew, in the West. 

"We've got to act now, " insisted Mr. Watling. "That's open and shut. If you have any other plan, I wish you'd trot it out. If not, I wanta letter to Paul Varney and the governor. I'm going to send Paret downwith them on the night train. "

It was clear to me then, in the discussion following, that Mr. Watling'sgift of persuasion, though great, was not the determining factor inMr. Gorse's decision. He, too, possessed boldness, though he preferredcaution. Nor did the friendship between the two enter into thetransaction. I was impressed more strongly than ever with the factthat a lawsuit was seldom a mere private affair between two persons orcorporations, but involved a chain of relationships and nine timesout of ten that chain led up to the Railroad, which nearly always wasvitally interested in these legal contests. Half an hour of masterlypresentation of the situation was necessary before Mr. Gorse becameconvinced that the introduction of the bill was the only way out for allconcerned. 

"Well, I guess you're right, Theodore, " he said at length. Whereuponhe seized his pen and wrote off two notes with great rapidity. These heshowed to Mr. Watling, who nodded and returned them. They were foldedand sealed, and handed to me. One was addressed to Colonel Paul Varney, and the other to the Hon. W. W. Trulease, governor of the state. 

"You can trust this young man?" demanded Mr. Gorse. 

"I think so, " replied Mr. Watling, smiling at me. "The bill was his ownidea. "

The railroad attorney wheeled about in his chair and looked at me;looked around me, would better express it, with his indefinite, encompassing yet inclusive glance. I had riveted his attention. And fromhenceforth, I knew, I should enter into his calculations. He had madefor me a compartment in his mind. 

"His own idea!" he repeated. 

"I merely suggested it, " I was putting in, when he cut me short. 

"Aren't you the son of Matthew Paret?"

"Yes, " I said. 

He gave me a queer glance, the significance of which I leftuntranslated. My excitement was too great to analyze what he meant bythis mention of my father. .. . 

When we reached the sidewalk my chief gave me a few partinginstructions. 

"I need scarcely say, Hugh, " he added, "that your presence in thecapital should not be advertised as connected with this--legislation. They will probably attribute it to us in the end, but if you'rereasonably careful, they'll never be able to prove it. And there's nouse in putting our cards on the table at the beginning. "

"No indeed, sir!" I agreed. 

He took my hand and pressed it. 

"Good luck, " he said. "I know you'll get along all right. "

BOOK 2. 

X. 

This was not my first visit to the state capital. Indeed, some of thatrecondite knowledge, in which I took a pride, had been gained on theoccasions of my previous visits. Rising and dressing early, I beheldout of the car window the broad, shallow river glinting in the morningsunlight, the dome of the state house against the blue of the sky. Even at that early hour groups of the gentlemen who made our laws werescattered about the lobby of the Potts House, standing or seated withineasy reach of the gaily coloured cuspidors that protected the marblefloor: heavy-jawed workers from the cities mingled with moon-faced butastute countrymen who manipulated votes amongst farms and villages; fator cadaverous, Irish, German or American, all bore in common a certainindefinable stamp. Having eaten my breakfast in a large dining-roomthat resounded with the clatter of dishes, I directed my steps tothe apartment occupied from year to year by Colonel Paul Barney, generalissimo of the Railroad on the legislative battlefield, --aposition that demanded a certain uniqueness of genius. 

"How do you do, sir, " he said, in a guarded but courteous tone as heopened the door. I entered to confront a group of three or four figures, silent and rather hostile, seated in a haze of tobacco smoke around amarble-topped table. On it reposed a Bible, attached to a chain. 

"You probably don't remember me, Colonel, " I said. "My name is Pared, and I'm associated with the firm of Watling, Fowndes, and Ripon. "

His air of marginality, --heightened by a grey moustache and goatee a laNapoleon Third, --vanished instantly; he became hospitable, ingratiating. 

"Why--why certainly, you were down heah with Mr. Fowndes two years ago. "The Colonel spoke with a slight Southern accent. "To be sure, sir. I'vehad the honour of meeting your father. Mr. Norris, of North Haven, meetMr. Paret--one of our rising lawyers. .. " I shook hands with them alland sat down. Opening his long coat, Colonel Varney revealed two rows ofcigars, suggesting cartridges in a belt. These he proceeded to handout as he talked. "I'm glad to see you here, Mr. Paret. You must stayawhile, and become acquainted with the men who--ahem--are shaping thedestinies of a great state. It would give me pleasure to escort youabout. "

I thanked him. I had learned enough to realize how important arethe amenities in politics and business. The Colonel did most of theconversing; he could not have filled with efficiency and ease theimportant post that was his had it not been for the endless fund ofhumorous anecdotes at his disposal. One by one the visitors left, eachassuring me of his personal regard: the Colonel closed the door, softly, turning the key in the lock; there was a sly look in his black eyes ashe took a chair in proximity to mine. 

"Well, Mr. Paret, " he asked softly, "what's up?"

Without further ado I handed him Mr. Gorse's letter, and another Mr. Watling had given me for him, which contained a copy of the bill. Heread these, laid them on the table, glancing at me again, stroking hisgoatee the while. He chuckled. 

"By gum!" he exclaimed. "I take off my hat to Theodore Watling, alwaysdid. " He became contemplative. "It can be done, Mr. Paret, but it'sgoing to take some careful driving, sir, some reaching out and flicking'em when they r'ar and buck. Paul Varney's never been stumped yet. Just as soon as this is introduced we'll have Gates and Armstrong downhere--they're the Ribblevale attorneys, aren't they? I thought so, --andthe best legal talent they can hire. And they'll round up all thedisgruntled fellows, you know, --that ain't friendly to the Railroad. We've got to do it quick, Mr. Paret. Gorse gave you a letter to theGovernor, didn't he?"

"Yes, " I said. 

"Well, come along. I'll pass the word around among the boys, just to let'em know what to expect. " His eyes glittered again. "I've beenfollowing this Ribblevale business, " he added, "and I understand LeonardDickinson's all ready to reorganize that company, when the time comes. He ought to let me in for a little, on the ground floor. "

I did not venture to make any promises for Mr. Dickinson. 

"I reckon it's just as well if you were to meet me at the Governor'soffice, " the Colonel added reflectively, and the hint was not lost onme. "It's better not to let 'em find out any sooner than they have towhere this thing comes from, --you understand. " He looked at his watch. "How would nine o'clock do? I'll be there, with Trulease, when youcome, --by accident, you understand. Of course he'll be reasonable, butwhen they get to be governors they have little notions, you know, andyou've got to indulge 'em, flatter 'em a little. It doesn't hurt, forwhen they get their backs up it only makes more trouble. "

He put on a soft, black felt hat, and departed noiselessly. .. 

At nine o'clock I arrived at the State House and was ushered into agreat square room overlooking the park. The Governor was seated at adesk under an elaborate chandelier, and sure enough, Colonel Varney wasthere beside him; making barely perceptible signals. 

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Paret, " said Mr. Trulease. "Your name is a familiar one in your city, sir. And I gatherfrom your card that you are associated with my good friend, TheodoreWatling. "

I acknowledged it. I was not a little impressed by the perfect blend ofcordiality, democratic simplicity and impressiveness Mr. Trulease hadachieved. For he had managed, in the course of a long political career, to combine in exact proportions these elements which, in the publicmind, should up the personality of a chief executive. Momentarilyhe overcame the feeling of superiority with which I had entered hispresence; neutralized the sense I had of being associated now with thehigher powers which had put him where he was. For I knew all about his"record. "

"You're acquainted with Colonel Varney?" he inquired. 

"Yes, Governor, I've met the Colonel, " I said. 

"Well, I suppose your firm is getting its share of business these days, "Mr. Trulease observed. I acknowledged it was, and after discussing for afew moments the remarkable growth of my native city the Governor tappedon his desk and inquired what he could do for me. I produced the letterfrom the attorney for the Railroad. The Governor read it gravely. 

"Ah, " he said, "from Mr. Gorse. " A copy of the proposed bill wasenclosed, and the Governor read that also, hemmed and hawed a little, turned and handed it to Colonel Varney, who was sitting with a detachedair, smoking contemplatively, a vacant expression on his face. "What doyou think of this, Colonel?"

Whereupon the Colonel tore himself away from his reflections. 

"What's that, Governor?"

"Mr. Gorse has called my attention to what seems to him a flaw in ourstatutes, an inability to obtain testimony from corporations whose booksare elsewhere, and who may thus evade, he says, to a certain extent, thesovereign will of our state. "

The Colonel took the paper with an admirable air of surprise, adjustedhis glasses, and became absorbed in reading, clearing his throat once ortwice and emitting an exclamation. 

"Well, if you ask me, Governor, " he said, at length, "all I can say isthat I am astonished somebody didn't think of this simple remedy beforenow. Many times, sir, have I seen justice defeated because we had nosuch legislation as this. "

He handed it back. The Governor studied it once more, and coughed. 

"Does the penalty, " he inquired, "seem to you a little severe?"

"No, sir, " replied the Colonel, emphatically. "Perhaps it is because Iam anxious, as a citizen, to see an evil abated. I have had an intimateknowledge of legislation, sir, for more than twenty years in thisstate, and in all that time I do not remember to have seen a bill moreconcisely drawn, or better calculated to accomplish the ends of justice. Indeed, I often wondered why this very penalty was not imposed. Foreignmagistrates are notoriously indifferent as to affairs in another statethan their own. Rather than go into the hands of a receiver I venture tosay that hereafter, if this bill is made a law, the necessary testimonywill be forthcoming. "

The Governor read the bill through again. 

"If it is introduced, Colonel, " he said, "the legislature and the peopleof the state ought to have it made clear to them that its aim isto remedy an injustice. A misunderstanding on this point would beunfortunate. "

"Most unfortunate, Governor. "

"And of course, " added the Governor, now addressing me, "it would beimproper for me to indicate what course I shall pursue in regard to itif it should come to me for my signature. Yet I may go so far as to saythat the defect it seeks to remedy seems to me a real one. Come in andsee me, Mr. Paret, when you are in town, and give my cordial regards toMr. Watling. "

So gravely had the farce been carried on that I almost laughed, despitethe fact that the matter in question was a serious one for me. TheGovernor held out his hand, and I accepted my dismissal. 

I had not gone fifty steps in the corridor before I heard the Colonel'svoice in my ear. 

"We had to give him a little rope to go through with his act, " hewhispered confidentially. "But he'll sign it all right. And now, ifyou'll excuse me, Mr. Paret, I'll lay a few mines. See you at the hotel, sir. "

Thus he indicated, delicately, that it would be better for me to keepout of sight. On my way to the Potts House the bizarre elements inthe situation struck me again with considerable force. It seemed soridiculous, so puerile to have to go through with this political farcein order that a natural economic evolution might be achieved. Withoutdoubt the development of certain industries had reached a stagewhere the units in competition had become too small, when a greaterconcentration of capital was necessary. Curiously enough, in this mentalargument of justification, I left out all consideration of the size ofthe probable profits to Mr. Scherer and his friends. Profits and brainswent together. And, since the Almighty did not limit the latter, whyshould man attempt to limit the former? We were playing for high butjustifiable stakes; and I resented the comedy which an hypocriticalinsistence on the forms of democracy compelled us to go through. Itseemed unworthy of men who controlled the destinies of state and nation. The point of view, however, was consoling. As the day wore on I satin the Colonel's room, admiring the skill with which he conducted thecampaign: a green country lawyer had been got to introduce the bill, ithad been expedited to the Committee on the Judiciary, which would havean executive session immediately after dinner. I had ventured to inquireabout the hearings. 

"There won't be any hearings, sir, " the Colonel assured me. "We own thatcommittee from top to bottom. "

Indeed, by four o'clock in the afternoon the message came that thecommittee had agreed to recommend the bill. 

Shortly after that the first flurry occurred. There came a knock at thedoor, followed by the entrance of a stocky Irish American of about fortyyears of age, whose black hair was plastered over his forehead. Hissea-blue eyes had a stormy look. 

"Hello, Jim, " said the Colonel. "I was just wondering where you were. "

"Sure, you must have been!" replied the gentleman sarcastically. 

But the Colonel's geniality was unruffled. 

"Mr. Maker, " he said, "you ought to know Mr. Paret. Mr. Maker is therepresentative from Ward Five of your city, and we can always count onhim to do the right thing, even if he is a Democrat. How about it, Jim?"

Mr. Maker relighted the stump of his cigar. 

"Take a fresh one, Jim, " said the Colonel, opening a bureau drawer. 

Mr. Maker took two. 

"Say, Colonel, " he demanded, "what's this bill that went into thejudiciary this morning?"

"What bill?" asked the Colonel, blandly. 

"So you think I ain't on?" Mr. Maker inquired. 

The Colonel laughed. 

"Where have you been, Jim?"

"I've been up to the city, seem' my wife--that's where I've been. "

The Colonel smiled, as at a harmless fiction. 

"Well, if you weren't here, I don't see what right you've got tocomplain. I never leave my good Democratic friends on the outside, doI?"

"That's all right, " replied Mr. Maker, doggedly, "I'm on, I'm here now, and that bill in the Judiciary doesn't pass without me. I guess I canstop it, too. How about a thousand apiece for five of us boys?"

"You're pretty good at a joke, Jim, " remarked the Colonel, stroking hisgoatee. 

"Maybe you're looking for a little publicity in this here game, "retorted Mr. Maker, darkly. "Say, Colonel, ain't we always treated theRailroad on the level?"

"Jim, " asked the Colonel, gently, "didn't I always take care of you?"

He had laid his hand on the shoulder of Mr. Maker, who appeared slightlymollified, and glanced at a massive silver watch. 

"Well, I'll be dropping in about eight o'clock, " was his significantreply, as he took his leave. 

"I guess we'll have to grease the wheels a little, " the Colonel remarkedto me, and gazed at the ceiling. .. . 

The telegram apropos of the Ward Five leader was by no means the onlycipher message I sent back during my stay. I had not needed to be toldthat the matter in hand would cost money, but Mr. Watling's partinginstruction to me had been to take the Colonel's advice as to specificsums, and obtain confirmation from Fowndes. Nor was it any surprise tome to find Democrats on intimate terms with such a stout Republicanas the Colonel. Some statesman is said to have declared that he knewneither Easterners nor Westerners, Northerners nor Southerners, butonly Americans; so Colonel Varney recognized neither Democrats norRepublicans; in our legislature party divisions were sunk in a greaterloyalty to the Railroad. 

At the Colonel's suggestion I had laid in a liberal supply of cigarsand whiskey. The scene in his room that evening suggested a session ofa sublimated grand lodge of some secret order, such were the mysteriouscomings and goings, knocks and suspenses. One after another the"important" men duly appeared and were introduced, the Colonel supplyingthe light touch. 

"Why, cuss me if it isn't Billy! Mr. Paret, I want you to shake handswith Mr. Donovan, the floor leader of the 'opposition, ' sir. Mr. Donovanhas had the habit of coming up here for a friendly chat ever since hefirst came down to the legislature. How long is it, Billy?"

"I guess it's nigh on to fifteen years, Colonel. "

"Fifteen years!" echoed the Colonel, "and he's so good a Democrat ithasn't changed his politics a particle. "

Mr. Donovan grinned in appreciation of this thrust, helped himselfliberally from the bottle on the mantel, and took a seat on the bed. Wehad a "friendly chat. "

Thus I made the acquaintance also of the Hon. Joseph Mecklin, Speakerof the House, who unbent in the most flattering way on learning myidentity. 

"Mr. Paret's here on that little matter, representing Watling, Fowndesand Ripon, " the Colonel explained. And it appeared that Mr. Mecklinknew all about the "little matter, " and that the mention of the firmof Watling, Fowndes and Ripon had a magical effect in these parts. ThePresident of the Senate, the Hon. Lafe Giddings, went so far as to saythat he hoped before long to see Mr. Watling in Washington. By no meansthe least among our callers was the Hon. Fitch Truesdale, editor of theSt. Helen's Messenger, whose editorials were of the trite effectivenessthat is taken widely for wisdom, and were assiduously copied every weekby other state papers and labeled "Mr. Truesdale's Common Sense. " Atcountless firesides in our state he was known as the spokesman of theplain man, who was blissfully ignorant of the fact that Mr. Truesdalewas owned body and carcass by Mr. Cyrus Ridden, the principalmanufacturer of St. Helen's and a director in several subsidiary linesof the Railroad. In the legislature, the Hon. Fitch's function was thatof the moderate counsellor and bellwether for new members, hence nothingcould have been more fitting than the choice of that gentleman for thehonour of moving, on the morrow, that Bill No. 709 ought to pass. 

Mr. Truesdale reluctantly consented to accept a small "loan" that wouldhelp to pay the mortgage on his new press. .. . 

When the last of the gathering had departed, about one o'clock in themorning, I had added considerably to my experience, gained a prettyaccurate idea of who was who in the legislature and politics of thestate, and established relationships--as the Colonel reminded me--likelyto prove valuable in the future. It seemed only gracious to congratulatehim on his management of the affair, --so far. He appeared pleased, andsqueezed my hand. 

"Well, sir, it did require a little delicacy of touch. And if I dosay it myself, it hasn't been botched, " he admitted. "There ain't anoutsider, as far as I can learn, who has caught on to the nigger inthe wood-pile. That's the great thing, to keep 'em ignorant as long aspossible. You understand. They yell bloody murder when they do find out, but generally it's too late, if a bill's been handled right. "

I found myself speculating as to who the "outsiders" might be. NoRibblevale attorneys were on the spot as yet, --of that I was satisfied. In the absence of these, who were the opposition? It seemed to me asthough I had interviewed that day every man in the legislature. 

I was very tired. But when I got into bed, it was impossible to sleep. My eyes smarted from the tobacco smoke; and the events of the day, in disorderly manner, kept running through my head. The tide ofmy exhilaration had ebbed, and I found myself struggling against arevulsion caused, apparently, by the contemplation of Colonel Varney andhis associates; the instruments, in brief, by which our triumph over ouropponents was to be effected. And that same idea which, when launchedamidst the surroundings of the Boyne Club, had seemed so brilliant, nowtook on an aspect of tawdriness. Another thought intruded itself, --thatof Mr. Pugh, the president of the Ribblevale Company. My father hadknown him, and some years before I had traveled halfway across the statein his company; his kindliness had impressed me. He had spent a largepart of his business life, I knew, in building up the Ribblevale, andnow it was to be wrested from him; he was to be set aside, perhapsforced to start all over again when old age was coming on! In vain Iaccused myself of sentimentality, and summoned all my arguments to provethat in commerce efficiency must be the only test. The image of Mr. Pughwould not down. 

I got up and turned on the light, and took refuge in a novel I had inmy bag. Presently I grew calmer. I had chosen. I had succeeded. And nowthat I had my finger at last on the nerve of power, it was no time toweaken. 

It was half-past six when I awoke and went to the window, relieved tofind that the sun had scattered my morbid fancies with the darkness;and I speculated, as I dressed, whether the thing called consciencewere not, after all, a matter of nerves. I went downstairs through thetobacco-stale atmosphere of the lobby into the fresh air and sparklysunlight of the mild February morning, and leaving the business districtI reached the residence portion of the little town. The front steps ofsome of the comfortable houses were being swept by industrious servantgirls, and out of the chimneys twisted, fantastically, rich blue smoke;the bare branches of the trees were silver-grey against the sky; gainingat last an old-fashioned, wooden bridge, I stood for awhile gazing atthe river, over the shallows of which the spendthrift hand of nature hadflung a shower of diamonds. And I reflected that the world was for thestrong, for him who dared reach out his hand and take what itoffered. It was not money we coveted, we Americans, but power, theself-expression conferred by power. A single experience such as I hadhad the night before would since to convince any sane man that democracywas a failure, that the world-old principle of aristocracy would assertitself, that the attempt of our ancestors to curtail political power hadmerely resulted in the growth of another and greater economic power thatbade fair to be limitless. As I walked slowly back into town I felt areluctance to return to the noisy hotel, and finding myself in front ofa little restaurant on a side street, I entered it. There was but oneother customer in the place, and he was seated on the far side of thecounter, with a newspaper in front of him; and while I was ordering mybreakfast I was vaguely aware that the newspaper had dropped, and thathe was looking at me. In the slight interval that elapsed before mybrain could register his identity I experienced a distinct shock ofresentment; a sense of the reintrusion of an antagonistic value at amoment when it was most unwelcome. .. . 

The man had risen and was coming around the counter. He was HermannKrebs. 

"Paret!" I heard him say. 

"You here?" I exclaimed. 

He did not seem to notice the lack of cordiality in my tone. He appearedso genuinely glad to see me again that I instantly became rather ashamedof my ill nature. 

"Yes, I'm here--in the legislature, " he informed me. 

"A Solon!"

"Exactly. " He smiled. "And you?" he inquired. 

"Oh, I'm only a spectator. Down here for a day or two. "

He was still lanky, his clothes gave no evidence of an increasedprosperity, but his complexion was good, his skin had cleared. I wasmore than ever baked by a resolute good humour, a simplicity that wasnot innocence, a whimsical touch seemingly indicative of a state of mindthat refused to take too seriously certain things on which I set store. What right had he to be contented with life?

"Well, I too am only a spectator here, " he laughed. "I'm neither fish, flesh nor fowl, nor good red herring. "

"You were going into the law, weren't you?" I asked. "I remember yousaid something about it that day we met at Beverly Farms. "

"Yes, I managed it, after all. Then I went back home to Elkington to tryto make a living. "

"But somehow I have never thought of you as being likely to developpolitical aspirations, Krebs, " I said. 

"I should say not! he exclaimed. 

"Yet here you are, launched upon a political career! How did it happen?"

"Oh, I'm not worrying about the career, " he assured me. "I got here byaccident, and I'm afraid it won't happen again in a hurry. You see, thehands in those big mills we have in Elkington sprang a surprise on themachine, and the first thing I knew I was nominated for the legislature. A committee came to my boarding-house and told me, and there was thedeuce to pay, right off. The Railroad politicians turned in and workedfor the Democratic candidate, of course, and the Hutchinses, who own themills, tried through emissaries to intimidate their operatives. "

"And then?" I asked. 

"Well, --I'm here, " he said. 

"Wouldn't you be accomplishing more, " I inquired, "if you hadn'tantagonized the Hutchinses?"

"It depends upon what you mean by accomplishment, " he answered, somildly that I felt more rued than ever. 

"Well, from what you say, I suppose you're going in for reform, thatthese workmen up at Elkington are not satisfied with their conditionsand imagine you can help to better them. Now, provided the conditionsare not as good as they might be, how are you going to improve them ifyou find yourself isolated here, as you say?"

"In other words, I should cooperate with Colonel Varney and otherdisinterested philanthropists, " he supplied, and I realized that I waslosing my temper. 

"Well, what can you do?" I inquired defiantly. 

"I can find out what's going on, " he said. "I have already learnedsomething, by the way. "

"And then?" I asked, wondering whether the implication were personal. 

"Then I can help--disseminate the knowledge. I may be wrong, but Ihave an idea that when the people of this country learn how theirlegislatures are conducted they will want to change things. "

"That's right!" echoed the waiter, who had come up with mygriddle-cakes. "And you're the man to tell 'em, Mr. Krebs. "

"It will need several thousand of us to do that, I'm afraid, " saidKrebs, returning his smile. 

My distaste for the situation became more acute, but I felt that I wasthrown on the defensive. I could not retreat, now. 

"I think you are wrong, " I declared, when the waiter had departed toattend to another customer. "The people the great majority of them, atleast are indifferent, they don't want to be bothered with politics. There will always be labour agitation, of course, --the more wages thosefellows get, the more they want. We pay the highest wages in the worldto-day, and the standard of living is higher in this country thananywhere else. They'd ruin our prosperity, if we'd let 'em. "

"How about the thousands of families who don't earn enough to livedecently even in times of prosperity?" inquired Krebs. 

"It's hard, I'll admit, but the inefficient and the shiftless are boundto suffer, no matter what form of government you adopt. "

"You talk about standards of living, --I could show you some examples ofstandards to make your heart sick, " he said. "What you don't realize, perhaps, is that low standards help to increase the inefficient of whomyou complain. "

He smiled rather sadly. "The prosperity you are advocating, " he added, after a moment, "is a mere fiction, it is gorging the few at the expenseof the many. And what is being done in this country is to store up anexplosive gas that some day will blow your superstructure to atoms ifyou don't wake up in time. "

"Isn't that a rather one-sided view, too?" I suggested. 

"I've no doubt it may appear so, but take the proceedings in thislegislature. I've no doubt you know something about them, and that youwould maintain they are justified on account of the indifference of thepublic, and of other reasons, but I can cite an instance that is simplylegalized thieving. " For the first time a note of indignation crept intoKrebs's voice. "Last night I discovered by a mere accident, in talkingto a man who came in on a late train, that a bill introduced yesterday, which is being rushed through the Judiciary Committee of the House--anapparently innocent little bill--will enable, if it becomes a law, theBoyne Iron Works, of your city, to take possession of the RibblevaleSteel Company, lock, stock, and barrel. And I am told it was conceivedby a lawyer who claims to be a respectable member of his profession, andwho has extraordinary ability, Theodore Watling. "

Krebs put his hand in his pocket and drew out a paper. "Here's a copyof it, --House Bill 709. " His expression suddenly changed. "Perhaps Mr. Watling is a friend of yours. "

"I'm with his firm, " I replied. .. . 

Krebs's fingers closed over the paper, crumpling it. 

"Oh, then, you know about this, " he said. He was putting the paper backinto his pocket when I took it from him. But my adroitness, so carefullyschooled, seemed momentarily to have deserted me. What should I say? Itwas necessary to decide quickly. 

"Don't you take rather a--prejudiced view of this, Krebs?" I said. "Uponmy word, I can't see why you should accept a rumour running around thelobbies that Mr. Watling drafted this bill for a particular purpose. "

He was silent. But his eyes did not leave my face. 

"Why should any sensible man, a member of the legislature, take stock inthat kind of gossip?" I insisted. "Why not judge this bill by its face, without heeding a cock and bull story as to how it may have originated?It is a good bill, or a bad bill? Let's see what it says. "

I read it. 

"So far as I can see, it is legislation which we ought to have had longago, and tends to compel a publicity in corporation affairs that is muchneeded, to put a stop to practices which every decent citizen deplores. "

He drew the paper out of my hand. 

"You needn't go on, Paret, " he told me. "It's no use. "

"Well, I'm sorry we don't agree, " I said, and got up. I left himtwisting the paper in his fingers. 

Beside the clerk's desk in the Potts House, relating one of hisanecdotes, I spied Colonel Varney, and managed presently to draw himupstairs to his room. "What's the matter?" he asked. 

"Do you know a man named Krebs in the House?" I said. 

"From Elkington? Why, that's the man the Hutchinses let slipthrough, --the Hutchinses, who own the mills over there. The agitatorsput up a job on them. " The Colonel was no longer the genial and socialpurveyor of anecdotes. He had become tense, alert, suspicious. "What'she up to?"

"He's found out about this bill, " I replied. 

"How?"

"I don't know. But someone told him that it originated in our office, and that we were going to use it in our suit against the Ribblevale. "

I related the circumstances of my running across Krebs, speaking ofhaving known him at Harvard. Colonel Varney uttered an oath, and strodeacross to the window, where he stood looking down into the street frombetween the lace curtains. 

"We'll have to attend to him, right off, " he said. 

I was surprised to find myself resenting the imputation, and deeply. "I'm afraid he's one of those who can't be 'attended to, '" I answered. 

"You mean that he's in the employ of the Ribblevale people?" the Colonelinquired. 

"I don't mean anything of the kind, " I retorted, with more heat, perhaps, than I realized. The Colonel looked at me queerly. 

"That's all right, Mr. Paret. Of course I don't want to question yourjudgment, sir. And you say he's a friend of yours. "

"I said I knew him at college. "

"But you will pardon me, " the Colonel went on, "when I tell you thatI've had some experience with that breed, and I have yet to see one of'em you couldn't come to terms with in some way--in some way, " he added, significantly. I did not pause to reflect that the Colonel's attitude, from his point of view (yes, and from mine, --had I not adopted it?)was the logical one. In that philosophy every man had his price, orhis weakness. Yet, such is the inconsistency of human nature, I was nowunable to contemplate this attitude with calmness. 

"Mr. Krebs is a lawyer. Has he accepted a pass from the Railroad?" Idemanded, knowing the custom of that corporation of conferring thisdelicate favour on the promising young talent in my profession. 

"I reckon he's never had the chance, " said Mr. Varney. 

"Well, has he taken a pass as a member of the legislature?"

"No, --I remember looking that up when he first came down. Sent thatback, if I recall the matter correctly. " Colonel Varney went to a deskin the corner of the room, unlocked it, drew forth a black book, andrunning his fingers through the pages stopped at the letter K. "Yes, sent back his legislative pass, but I've known 'em to do that when theywere holding out for something more. There must be somebody who can getclose to him. "

The Colonel ruminated awhile. Then he strode to the door and called outto the group of men who were always lounging in the hall. 

"Tell Alf Young I want to see him, Fred. "

I waited, by no means free from uneasiness and anxiety, from a certainlack of self-respect that was unfamiliar. Mr. Young, the Colonelexplained, was a legal light in Galesburg, near Elkington, --the Railroadlawyer there. And when at last Mr. Young appeared he proved to be anoily gentleman of about forty, inclining to stoutness, with one of those"blue, " shaven faces. 

"Want me, Colonel?" he inquired blithely, when the door had closedbehind him; and added obsequiously, when introduced to me, "Glad to meetyou, Mr. Paret. My regards to Mr. Watling, when you go back. 

"Alf, " demanded the Colonel, "what do you know of this fellow Krebs?"

Mr. Young laughed. Krebs was "nutty, " he declared--that was all therewas to it. 

"Won't he--listen to reason?"

"It's been tried, Colonel. Say, he wouldn't know a hundred-dollar billif you showed him one. "

"What does he want?"

"Oh, something, --that's sure, they all want something. " Mr. Youngshrugged his shoulder expressively, and by a skillful manipulationof his lips shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the otherwithout raising his hands. "But it ain't money. I guess he's got anotion that later on the labour unions'll send him to the United StatesSenate some day. He's no slouch, either, when it comes to law. I cantell you that. "

"No--no flaw in his--record?" Colonel Varney's agate eyes sought thoseof Mr. Young, meaningly. 

"That's been tried, too, " declared the Galesburg attorney. "Say, you canbelieve it or not, but we've never dug anything up so far. He's been tooslick for us, I guess. "

"Well, " exclaimed the Colonel, at length, "let him squeal and be d--d!He can't do any more than make a noise. Only I hoped we'd be able togrease this thing along and slide it through the Senate this afternoon, before they got wind of it. "

"He'll squeal, all right, until you smother him, " Mr. Young observed. 

"We'll smother him some day!" replied the Colonel, savagely. 

Mr. Young laughed. 

But as I made my way toward the State House I was conscious of a feelingof relief. I had no sooner gained a front seat in the gallery of theHouse of Representatives when the members rose, the Senate marchedgravely in, the Speaker stopped jesting with the Chaplain, and over theChaplain's face came suddenly an agonized expression. Folding his handsacross his stomach he began to call on God with terrific fervour, in anintense and resounding voice. I was struck suddenly by the irony of itall. Why have a legislature when Colonel Paul Varney was so efficient!The legislature was a mere sop to democratic prejudice, to pray overit heightened the travesty. Suppose there were a God after all? notnecessarily the magnified monarch to whom these pseudo-democrats prayed, but an Intelligent Force that makes for righteousness. How did He, orIt, like to be trifled with in this way? And, if He existed, would notHis disgust be immeasurable as He contemplated that unctuous figure inthe "Prince Albert" coat, who pretended to represent Him?

As the routine business began I searched for Krebs, to find himpresently at a desk beside a window in the rear of the hall making noteson a paper; there was, confessedly, little satisfaction in the thoughtthat the man whose gaunt features I contemplated was merely one of thoseimpractical idealists who beat themselves to pieces against the forcesthat sway the world and must forever sway it. I should be compelled toadmit that he represented something unique in that assembly if he hadthe courage to get up and oppose House Bill 709. I watched him narrowly;the suggestion intruded itself--perhaps he had been "seen, " as theColonel expressed it. I repudiated it. I grew impatient, feverish; themonotonous reading of the clerk was interrupted now and then by thesharp tones of the Speaker assigning his various measures to this orthat committee, "unless objection is offered, " while the members movedabout and murmured among themselves; Krebs had stopped making notes; hewas looking out of the window. At last, without any change of emphasisin his droning voice, the clerk announced the recommendation of theCommittee on Judiciary that House Bill 709 ought to pass. 

Down in front a man had risen from his seat--the felicitous Mr. Truesdale. Glancing around at his fellow-members he then began toexplain in the impressive but conversational tone of one whose counselsare in the habit of being listened to, that this was merely a littlemeasure to remedy a flaw in the statutes. Mr. Truesdale believed incorporations when corporations were good, and this bill was calculatedto make them good, to put an end to jugglery and concealment. Our greatstate, he said, should be in the forefront of such wise legislation, which made for justice and a proper publicity; but the bill in questionwas of greater interest to lawyers than to laymen, a committee composedlargely of lawyers had recommended it unanimously, and he was sure thatno opposition would develop in the House. In order not to take up theirtime he asked: therefore, that it be immediately put on its second andthird reading and allowed to pass. 

He sat down, and I looked at Krebs. Could he, could any man, any lawyer, have the presumption to question such an obviously desirable measure, to arraign the united judgment of the committee's legal talent? Suchwas the note Mr. Truesdale so admirably struck. As though fascinated, I continued to gaze at Krebs. I hated him, I desired to see himhumiliated, and yet amazingly I found myself wishing with almost equalvehemence that he would be true to himself. He was rising, --slowly, timidly, I thought, his hand clutching his desk lid, his voice soundingwholly inadequate as he addressed the Speaker. The Speaker hesitated, his tone palpably supercilious. 

"The gentleman from--from Elkington, Mr. Krebs. "

There was a craning of necks, a staring, a tittering. I burned withvicarious shame as Krebs stood there awkwardly, his hand still holdingthe desk. There were cries of "louder" when he began; some picked uptheir newspapers, while others started conversations. The Speaker rappedwith his gavel, and I failed to hear the opening words. Krebs paused, and began again. His speech did not, at first, flow easily. 

"Mr. Speaker, I rise to protest against this bill, which in my opinionis not so innocent as the gentleman from St. Helen's would have theHouse believe. It is on a par, indeed, with other legislation that inpast years has been engineered through this legislature under the guiseof beneficent law. No, not on a par. It is the most arrogant, the mostmonstrous example of special legislation of them all. And while I do notexpect to be able to delay its passage much longer than the time I shallbe on my feet--"

"Then why not sit down?" came a voice, just audible. 

As he turned swiftly toward the offender his profile had an eagle-likeeffect that startled me, seemingly realizing a new quality in the man. It was as though he had needed just the stimulus of that interruption toelectrify and transform him. His awkwardness disappeared; and if hewas a little bombastic, a little "young, " he spoke with the fire ofconviction. 

"Because, " he cried, "because I should lose my self-respect for life ifI sat here and permitted the political organization of a railroad, themembers of which are here under the guise of servants of the people, tocow me into silence. And if it be treason to mention the name of thatRailroad in connection with its political tyranny, then make the most ofit. " He let go of the desk, and tapped the copy of the bill. "What arethe facts? The Boyne Iron Works, under the presidency of Adolf Scherer, has been engaged in litigation with the Ribblevale Steel Company forsome years: and this bill is intended to put into the hands of theattorneys for Mr. Scherer certain information that will enable him toget possession of the property. Gentlemen, that is what 'legal practice'has descended to in the hands of respectable lawyers. This deviceoriginated with the resourceful Mr. Theodore Watling, and if it hadnot had the approval of Mr. Miller Gorse, it would never have got anyfarther than the judiciary committee. It was confided to the skillfulcare of Colonel Paul Varney to be steered through this legislature, as hundreds of other measures have been steered through, --withoutunnecessary noise. It may be asked why the Railroad should bother itselfby lending its political organization to private corporations? I willtell you. Because corporations like the Boyne corporation are a part ofa network of interests, these corporations aid the Railroad to maintainits monopoly, and in return receive rebates. "

Krebs had raised his voice as the murmurs became louder. At this pointa sharp-faced lawyer from Belfast got to his feet and objected that thegentleman from Elkington was wasting the time of the House, indulgingin hearsay. His remarks were not germane, etc. The Speaker rappedagain, with a fine show of impartiality, and cautioned the member fromElkington. 

"Very well, " replied Krebs. "I have said what I wanted to say on thatscore, and I know it to be the truth. And if this House does not find itgermane, the day is coming when its constituents will. "

Whereupon he entered into a discussion of the bill, dissecting it withmore calmness, with an ability that must have commanded, even fromsome hostile minds, an unwilling respect. The penalty, he said, wasoutrageous, hitherto unheard of in law, --putting a corporation in thehands of a receiver, at the mercy of those who coveted it, becauseone of its officers refused, or was unable, to testify. He might be inChina, in Timbuctoo when the summons was delivered at his last or usualplace of abode. Here was an enormity, an exercise of tyrannical powerexceeding all bounds, a travesty on popular government. .. . He ended bypointing out the significance of the fact that the committee had givenno hearings; by declaring that if the bill became a law, it wouldinevitably react upon the heads of those who were responsible for it. 

He sat down, and there was a flutter of applause from the scatteredaudience in the gallery. 

"By God, that's the only man in the whole place!"

I was aware, for the first time, of a neighbour at my side, --a solid, red-faced man, evidently a farmer. His trousers were tucked into hisboots, and his gnarled and powerful hands, ingrained with dirt, clutchedthe arms of the seat as he leaned forward. 

"Didn't he just naturally lambaste 'em?" he cried excitedly. "They'lldown him, I guess, --but say, he's right. A man would lose hisself-respect if he didn't let out his mind at them hoss thieves, wouldn't he? What's that fellow's name?"

I told him. 

"Krebs, " he repeated. "I want to remember that. Durned if I don't shakehands with him. "

His excitement astonished me. Would the public feel like that, if theyonly knew?. .. The Speaker's gavel had come down like a pistol shot. 

One "war-hoss"--as my neighbour called them--after another proceeded tocrush the member from Elkington. It was, indeed, very skillfully done, and yet it was a process from which I did not derive, somehow, muchpleasure. Colonel Varney's army had been magnificently trained to meetjust this kind of situation: some employed ridicule, others declared, inimpassioned tones, that the good name of their state had been wantonlyassailed, and pointed fervently to portraits on the walls of patriotsof the past, --sentiments that drew applause from the fickle gallery. Onegentleman observed that the obsession of a "railroad machine" was a suresymptom of a certain kind of insanity, of which the first speaker hadgiven many other evidences. The farmer at my side remained staunch. 

"They can't fool me, " he said angrily, "I know 'em. Do you see thatfellow gettin' up to talk now? Well, I could tell you a few things abouthim, all right. He comes from Glasgow, and his name's Letchworth. He'sdone more harm in his life than all the criminals he's kept out ofprison, --belongs to one of the old families down there, too. "

I had, indeed, remarked Letchworth's face, which seemed to me peculiarlyevil, its lividity enhanced by a shock of grey hair. His method waswithering sarcasm, and he was clearly unable to control his animus. .. . 

No champion appeared to support Krebs, who sat pale and tense while thisdenunciation of him was going on. Finally he got the floor. His voicetrembled a little, whether with passion, excitement, or nervousness itwas impossible to say. But he contented himself with a brief defiance. If the bill passed, he declared, the men who voted for it, the men whowere behind it, would ultimately be driven from political life by anindignant public. He had a higher opinion of the voters of the statethan those who accused him of slandering it, than those who sat silentand had not lifted their voices against this crime. 

When the bill was put to a vote he demanded a roll call. Ten membersbesides himself were recorded against House Bill No. 709!

In spite of this overwhelming triumph my feelings were not whollythose of satisfaction when I returned to the hotel and listened to theexultations and denunciations of such politicians as Letchworth, Young, and Colonel Varney. Perhaps an image suggesting Hermann Krebs as somesplendid animal at bay, dragged down by the hounds, is too strong:he had been ingloriously crushed, and defeat, even for the sake ofconviction, was not an inspiring spectacle. .. . As the chase swepton over his prostrate figure I rapidly regained poise and a sense ofproportion; a "master of life" could not permit himself to be tossedabout by sentimentality; and gradually I grew ashamed of my bad quarterof an hour in the gallery of the House, and of the effect of it--whichlingered awhile--as of a weakness suddenly revealed, which must at allcosts be overcome. I began to see something dramatic and sensational inKrebs's performance. .. . 

The Ribblevale Steel Company was the real quarry, after all. And suchhad been the expedition, the skill and secrecy, with which our affairwas conducted, that before the Ribblevale lawyers could arrive, alarmedand breathless, the bill had passed the House, and their only realchance of halting it had been lost. For the Railroad controlled theHouse, not by owning the individuals composing it, but through theleaders who dominated it, --men like Letchworth and Truesdale. These, and Colonel Varney, had seen to it that men who had any parliamentaryability had been attended to; all save Krebs, who had proved a surprise. There were indeed certain members who, although they had railroad passesin their pockets (which were regarded as just perquisites, --theRailroad being so rich!), would have opposed the bill if they hadfelt sufficiently sure of themselves to cope with such veterans asLetchworth. Many of these had allowed themselves to be won over or cowedby the oratory which had crushed Krebs. 

Nor did the Ribblevale people--be it recorded--scruple to fight firewith fire. Their existence, of course, was at stake, and there was nopublic to appeal to. A part of the legal army that rushed to the aid ofour adversaries spent the afternoon and most of the night organizingall those who could be induced by one means or another to reverse theirsentiments, and in searching for the few who had grievances againstthe existing power. The following morning a motion was introduced toreconsider; and in the debate that followed, Krebs, still defiant, tookan active part. But the resolution required a two-thirds vote, and waslost. 

When the battle was shifted to the Senate it was as good as lost. TheJudiciary Committee of the august body did indeed condescend to givehearings, at which the Ribblevale lawyers exhausted their energy andingenuity without result with only two dissenting votes the billwas calmly passed. In vain was the Governor besieged, entreated, threatened, --it was said; Mr. Trulease had informed protesters--soColonel Varney gleefully reported--that he had "become fully convincedof the inherent justice of the measure. " On Saturday morning he signedit, and it became a law. .. . 

Colonel Varney, as he accompanied me to the train, did not conceal hisjubilation. 

"Perhaps I ought not to say it, Mr. Paret, but it couldn't have beendone neater. That's the art in these little affairs, to get 'em runnin'fast, to get momentum on 'em before the other party wakes up, and thenhe can't stop 'em. " As he shook hands in farewell he added, with moregravity: "We'll see each other often, sir, I guess. My very best regardsto Mr. Watling. "

Needless to say, I had not confided to him the part I had played inoriginating House Bill No. 709, now a law of the state. But as the trainrolled on through the sunny winter landscape a sense of well-being, of importance and power began to steal through me. I was victoriouslybearing home my first scalp, --one which was by no means to bedespised. .. . It was not until we reached Rossiter, about five o'clock, that I was able to get the evening newspapers. Such was the perfectionof the organization of which I might now call myself an integral partthat the "best" publications contained only the barest mention, --andthat in the legislative news, --of the signing of the bill. I readwith complacency and even with amusement the flaring headlines I hadanticipated in Mr. Lawler's 'Pilot. '

"The Governor Signs It!"

"Special legislation, forced through by the Railroad Lobby, which willdrive honest corporations from this state. "

"Ribblevale Steel Company the Victim. "

It was common talk in the capital, the article went on to say, thatTheodore Watling himself had drawn up the measure. .. . Perusing theeditorial page my eye fell on the name, Krebs. One member of thelegislature above all deserved the gratitude of the people of thestate, --the member from Elkington. "An unknown man, elected in spite ofthe opposition of the machine, he had dared to raise his voice againstthis iniquity, " etc. , etc. 

We had won. That was the essential thing. And my legal experiencehad taught me that victory counts; defeat is soon forgotten. Even thediscontented, half-baked and heterogeneous element from which the Pilotgot its circulation had short memories. 

XI. 

The next morning, which was Sunday, I went to Mr. Watling's house in, Fillmore Street--a new residence at that time, being admired as thedernier cri in architecture. It had a mediaeval look, queer dormers ina steep roof of red tiles, leaded windows buried deep in walls of roughstone. Emerging from the recessed vestibule on a level with the streetwere the Watling twins, aglow with health, dressed in identical costumesof blue. They had made their bow to society that winter. 

"Why, here's Hugh!" said Frances. "Doesn't he look pleased withhimself?"

"He's come to take us to church, " said Janet. 

"Oh, he's much too important, " said Frances. "He's made a killing ofsome sort, --haven't you, Hugh?". .. 

I rang the bell and stood watching them as they departed, reflectingthat I was thirty-two years of age and unmarried. Mr. Watling, surrounded with newspapers and seated before his library fire, glancedup at me with a welcoming smile: how had I borne the legislative baptismof fire? Such, I knew, was its implication. 

"Everything went through according to schedule, eh? Well, I congratulateyou, Hugh, " he said. 

"Oh, I didn't have much to do with it, " I answered, smiling back at him. "I kept out of sight. "

"That's an art in itself. "

"I had an opportunity, at close range, to study the methods of ourlawmakers. "

"They're not particularly edifying, " Mr. Watling replied. "But theyseem, unfortunately, to be necessary. "

Such had been my own thought. 

"Who is this man Krebs?" he inquired suddenly. "And why didn't Varneyget hold of him and make him listen to reason?"

"I'm afraid it wouldn't have been any use, " I replied. "He was in myclass at Harvard. I knew him--slightly. He worked his way through, andhad a pretty hard time of it. I imagine it affected his ideas. "

"What is he, a Socialist?"

"Something of the sort. " In Theodore Watling's vigorous, sanity-exhalingpresence Krebs's act appeared fantastic, ridiculous. "He has queernotions about a new kind of democracy which he says is coming. I thinkhe is the kind of man who would be willing to die for it. "

"What, in these days!" Mr. Watling looked at me incredulously. "Ifthat's so, we must keep an eye on him, a sincere fanatic is a good dealmore dangerous than a reformer who wants something. There are such men, "he added, "but they are rare. How was the Governor, Trulease?" he askedsuddenly. "Tractable?"

"Behaved like a lamb, although he insisted upon going through with hislittle humbug, " I said. 

Mr. Watling laughed. "They always do, " he observed, "and waste a lot ofvaluable time. You'll find some light cigars in the corner, Hugh. "

I sat down beside him and we spent the morning going over the detailsof the Ribblevale suit, Mr. Watling delegating to me certain mattersconnected with it of a kind with which I had not hitherto beenentrusted; and he spoke again, before I left, of his intention oftaking me into the firm as soon as the affair could be arranged. Walkinghomeward, with my mind intent upon things to come, I met my mother atthe corner of Lyme Street coming from church. Her face lighted up atsight of me. 

"Have you been working to-day, Hugh?" she asked. 

I explained that I had spent the morning with Mr. Watling. 

"I'll tell you a secret, mother. I'm going to be taken into the firm. "

"Oh, my dear, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed. "I often think, if only yourfather were alive, how happy he would be, and how proud of you. I wishhe could know. Perhaps he does know. "

Theodore Watling had once said to me that the man who can best keephis own counsel is the best counsel for other men to keep. I did not goabout boasting of the part I had played in originating the now famousBill No. 709, the passage of which had brought about the capitulation ofthe Ribblevale Steel Company to our clients. But Ralph Hambleton knew ofit, of course. 

"That was a pretty good thing you pulled off, Hughie, " he said. "Ididn't think you had it in you. "

It was rank patronage, of course, yet I was secretly pleased. As theyears went on I was thrown more and more with him, though in boyhoodthere had been between us no bond of sympathy. About this time he wasbeginning to increase very considerably the Hambleton fortune, and alittle later I became counsel for the Crescent Gas and Electric Company, in which he had shrewdly gained a controlling interest. Even toward thecolossal game of modern finance his attitude was characteristicallythat of the dilettante, of the amateur; he played it, as it were, contemptuously, even as he had played poker at Harvard, with a cynicalaudacity that had a peculiarly disturbing effect upon his companions. Hebluffed, he raised the limit in spite of protests, and when he lost onealways had the feeling that he would ultimately get his money back twiceover. At the conferences in the Boyne Club, which he often attended, hismanner toward Mr. Dickinson and Mr. Scherer and even toward Miller Gorsewas frequently one of thinly veiled amusement at their seriousness. I often wondered that they did not resent it. But he was a privilegedperson. 

His cousin, Ham Durrett, whose inheritance was even greater than Ralph'shad been, had also become a privileged person whose comings and goingsand more reputable doings were often recorded in the newspapers. Hamhad attained to what Gene Hollister aptly but inadvertently called"notoriety": as Ralph wittily remarked, Ham gave to polo and women thatwhich might have gone into high finance. He spent much of his time inthe East; his conduct there and at home would once have created a blackscandal in our community, but we were gradually leaving our Calvinismbehind us and growing more tolerant: we were ready to Forgive much towealth especially if it was inherited. Hostesses lamented the fact thatHam was "wild, " but they asked him to dinners and dances to meet theirdaughters. 

If some moralist better educated and more far-seeing than PerryBlackwood (for Perry had become a moralist) had told these hostessesthat Hambleton Durrett was a victim of our new civilization, they wouldhave raised their eyebrows. They deplored while they coveted. If Ham hadbeen told he was a victim of any sort, he would have laughed. 

He enjoyed life; he was genial and jovial, both lavish andparsimonious, --this latter characteristic being the curious survival ofthe trait of the ancestors to which he owed his millions. He was growingeven heavier, and decidedly red in the face. 

Perry used to take Ralph to task for not saving Ham from his iniquities, and Ralph would reply that Ham was going to the devil anyway, and noteven the devil himself could stop him. 

"You can stop him, and you know it, " Perry retorted indignantly. 

"What do you want me to do with him?" asked Ralph. "Convert him to thesaintly life I lead?"

This was a poser. 

"That's a fact, " sand Perry, "you're no better than he is. "

"I don't know what you mean by 'better, '" retorted Ralph, grinning. "I'mwiser, that's all. " (We had been talking about the ethics of businesswhen Perry had switched off to Ham. ) "I believe, at least, in restraintof trade. Ham doesn't believe in restraint of any kind. "

When, therefore, the news suddenly began to be circulated in the BoyneClub that Ham was showing a tendency to straighten up, surprise andincredulity were genuine. He was drinking less, --much less; and it wassaid that he had severed certain ties that need not again be definitelymentioned. The theory of religious regeneration not being tenable, itwas naturally supposed that he had fallen in love; the identity ofthe unknown lady becoming a fruitful subject of speculation amongthe feminine portion of society. The announcement of the marriage ofHambleton Durrett would be news of the first magnitude, to beabsorbed eagerly by the many who had not the honour of hisacquaintance, --comparable only to that of a devastating flood or amurder mystery or a change in the tariff. 

Being absorbed in affairs that seemed more important, the subject didnot interest me greatly. But one cold Sunday afternoon, as I made myway, in answer to her invitation, to see Nancy Willett, I found myselfwondering idly whether she might not be by way of making a shrewd guessas to the object of Hambleton's affections. It was well known that hehad entertained a hopeless infatuation for her; and some were inclinedto attribute his later lapses to her lack of response. He still calledon her, and her lectures, which she delivered like a great aunt witha recondite knowledge of the world, he took meekly. But even she hadseemed powerless to alter his habits. .. . 

Powell Street, that happy hunting-ground of my youth, had changed itscharacter, become contracted and unfamiliar, sooty. The McAlerys andother older families who had not decayed with the neighbourhood wererapidly deserting it, moving out to the new residence district knownas "the Heights. " I came to the Willett House. That, too, had an air ofshabbiness, --of well-tended shabbiness, to be sure; the stone steps hadbeen scrupulously scrubbed, but one of them was cracked clear across, and the silver on the polished name-plate was wearing off; even the actof pulling the knob of a door-bell was becoming obsolete, so used hadwe grown to pushing porcelain buttons in bright, new vestibules. As Iwaited for my summons to be answered it struck me as remarkable thatneither Nancy nor her father had been contaminated by the shabbinessthat surrounded them. 

She had managed rather marvellously to redeem one room from theold-fashioned severity of the rest of the house, the library behindthe big "parlour. " It was Nancy's room, eloquent of her daintiness andtaste, of her essential modernity and luxuriousness; and that evening, as I was ushered into it, this quality of luxuriousness, of beingable to shut out the disagreeable aspects of life that surroundedand threatened her, particularly impressed me. She had not lackedopportunities to escape. I wondered uneasily as I waited why she hadnot embraced them. I strayed about the room. A coal fire burned in thegrate, the red-shaded lamps gave a subdued but cheerful light; someimpulse led me to cross over to the windows and draw aside the heavyhangings. Dusk was gathering over that garden, bleak and frozen now, where we had romped together as children. How queer the place seemed!How shrivelled! Once it had had the wide range of a park. There, stillweathering the elements, was the old-fashioned latticed summer-house, but the fruit-trees that I recalled as clouds of pink and white weregone. .. . A touch of poignancy was in these memories. I dropped thecurtain, and turned to confront Nancy, who had entered noiselessly. 

"Well, Hugh, were you dreaming?" she said. 

"Not exactly, " I replied, embarrassed. "I was looking at the garden. "

"The soot has ruined it. My life seems to be one continual struggleagainst the soot, --the blacks, as the English call them. It's a moreexpressive term. They are like an army, you know, overwhelming in theirrelentless invasion. Well, do sit down. It is nice of you to come. You'll have some tea, won't you?"

The maid had brought in the tray. Afternoon tea was still rather a newcustom with us, more of a ceremony than a meal; and as Nancy handedme my cup and the thinnest of slices of bread and butter I found theintimacy of the situation a little disquieting. Her manner was indeedintimate, and yet it had the odd and disturbing effect of making herseem more remote. As she chatted I answered her perfunctorily, while allthe time I was asking myself why I had ceased to desire her, whetherthe old longing for her might not return--was not even now returning? Imight indeed go far afield to find a wife so suited to me as Nancy. Shehad beauty, distinction, and position. She was a woman of whom any manmight be proud. .. . 

"I haven't congratulated you yet, Hugh, " she said suddenly, "now thatyou are a partner of Mr. Watling's. I hear on all sides that you are onthe high road to a great success. "

"Of course I'm glad to be in the firm, " I admitted. 

It was a new tack for Nancy, rather a disquieting one, this discussionof my affairs, which she had so long avoided or ignored. "You aregetting what you have always wanted, aren't you?"

I wondered in some trepidation whether by that word "always" she wasmaking a deliberate reference to the past. 

"Always?" I repeated, rather fatuously. 

"Nearly always, ever since you have been a man. "

I was incapable of taking advantage of the opening, if it were one. Shewas baffling. 

"A man likes to succeed in his profession, of course, " I said. 

"And you made up your mind to succeed more deliberately than most men. Ineedn't ask you if you are satisfied, Hugh. Success seems to agree withyou, --although I imagine you will never be satisfied. "

"Why do you say that?" I demanded. 

"I haven't known you all your life for nothing. I think I know you muchbetter than you know yourself. "

"You haven't acted as if you did, " I exclaimed. 

She smiled. 

"Have you been interested in what I thought about you?" she asked. 

"That isn't quite fair, Nancy, " I protested. "You haven't given me muchevidence that you did think about me. "

"Have I received much encouragement to do so?" she inquired. 

"But you haven't seemed to invite--you've kept me at arm's length. "

"Oh, don't fence!" she cried, rather sharply. 

I had become agitated, but her next words gave me a shock that wasmomentarily paralyzing. 

"I asked you to come here to-day, Hugh, because I wished you to knowthat I have made up my mind to marry Hambleton Durrett. "

"Hambleton Durrett!" I echoed stupidly. "Hambleton Durrett!"

"Why not?"

"Have you--have you accepted him?"

"No. But I mean to do so. "

"You--you love him?"

"I don't see what right you have to ask. "

"But you just said that you invited me here to talk frankly. "

"No, I don't love him. "

"Then why, in heaven's name, are you going to marry him?"

She lay back in her chair, regarding me, her lips slightly parted. Allat once the full flavour of her, the superfine quality was revealedafter years of blindness. --Nor can I describe the sudden rebellion, therevulsion that I experienced. Hambleton Durrett! It was an outrage, a sacrilege! I got up, and put my hand on the mantel. Nancy remainedmotionless, inert, her head lying back against the chair. Could it bethat she were enjoying my discomfiture? There is no need to confess thatI knew next to nothing of women; had I been less excited, I might havemade the discovery that I still regarded them sentimentally. Certainromantic axioms concerning them, garnered from Victorian literature, passed current in my mind for wisdom; and one of these declared thatthey were prone to remain true to an early love. Did Nancy still carefor me? The query, coming as it did on top of my emotion, brought withit a strange and overwhelming perplexity. Did I really care for her? Themany years during which I had practised the habit of caution beganto exert an inhibiting pressure. Here was a situation, an opportunitysuddenly thrust upon me which might never return, and which I wasutterly unprepared to meet. Would I be happy with Nancy, after all? Herexpression was still enigmatic. 

"Why shouldn't I marry him?" she demanded. 

"Because he's not good enough for you. "

"Good!" she exclaimed, and laughed. "He loves me. He wants me withoutreservation or calculation. " There was a sting in this. "And is he anyworse, " she asked slowly, "than many others who might be mentioned?"

"No, " I agreed. I did not intend to be led into the thankless anddisagreeable position of condemning Hambleton Durrett. "But why have youwaited all these years if you did not mean to marry a man of ability, aman who has made something of himself?"

"A man like you, Hugh?" she said gently. 

I flushed. 

"That isn't quite fair, Nancy. "

"What are you working for?" she suddenly inquired, straightening up. 

"What any man works for, I suppose. "

"Ah, there you have hit it, --what any man works for in our world. Power, --personal power. You want to be somebody, --isn't that it? Not thenoblest ambition, you'll have to admit, --not the kind of thing we usedto dream about, when we did dream. Well, when we find we can't realizeour dreams, we take the next best thing. And I fail to see why youshould blame me for taking it when you yourself have taken it. HambletonDurrett can give it to me. He'll accept me on my own terms, he won'tinterfere with me, I shan't be disillusionized, --and I shall have aposition which I could not hope to have if I remained unmarried, a verymarked position as Hambleton Durrett's wife. I am thirty, you know. "

Her frankness appalled me. 

"The trouble with you, Hugh, is that you still deceive yourself. Youthrow a glamour over things. You want to keep your cake and eat it too. 

"I don't see why you say that. And marriage especially--"

She took me up. 

"Marriage! What other career is open to a woman? Unless she is married, and married well, according to the money standard you men have set up, she is nobody. We can't all be Florence Nightingales, and I am unableto imagine myself a Julia Ward Howe or a Harriet Beecher Stowe. What isleft? Nothing but marriage. I'm hard and cynical, you will say, but Ihave thought, and I'm not afraid, as I have told you, to look things inthe face. There are very few women, I think, who would not take the realthing if they had the chance before it were too late, who wouldn't bewilling to do their own cooking in order to get it. "

She fell silent suddenly. I began to pace the room. 

"For God's sake, don't do this, Nancy!" I begged. 

But she continued to stare into the fire, as though she had not heardme. 

"If you had made up your mind to do it, why did you tell me?" I asked. 

"Sentiment, I suppose. I am paying a tribute to what I once was, to whatyou once were, " she said. "A--a sort of good-bye to sentiment. "

"Nancy!" I said hoarsely. 

She shook her head. 

"No, Hugh. Surely you can't misjudge me so!" she answered reproachfully. "Do you think I should have sent for you if I had meant--that!"

"No, no, I didn't think so. But why not? You--you cared once, and youtell me plainly you don't love him. It was all a terrible mistake. Wewere meant for each other. "

"I did love you then, " she said. "You never knew how much. And there isnothing I wouldn't give to bring it all back again. But I can't. It'sgone. You're gone, and I'm gone. I mean what we were. Oh, why did youchange?"

"It was you who changed, " I declared, bewildered. 

"Couldn't you see--can't you see now what you did? But perhaps youcouldn't help it. Perhaps it was just you, after all. "

"What I did?"

"Why couldn't you have held fast to your faith? If you had, you wouldhave known what it was I adored in you. Oh, I don't mind telling younow, it was just that faith, Hugh, that faith you had in life, thatfaith you had in me. You weren't cynical and calculating, like RalphHambleton, you had imagination. I--I dreamed, too. And do you rememberthe time when you made the boat, and we went to Logan's Pond, and yousank in her?"

"And you stayed, " I went on, "when all the others ran away? You ran downthe hill like a whirlwind. "

She laughed. 

"And then you came here one day, to a party, and said you were going toHarvard, and quarrelled with me. "

"Why did you doubt met" I asked agitatedly. "Why didn't you let me seethat you still cared?"

"Because that wasn't you, Hugh, that wasn't your real self. Do yousuppose it mattered to me whether you went to Harvard with the others?Oh, I was foolish too, I know. I shouldn't have said what I did. Butwhat is the use of regrets?" she exclaimed. "We've both run after thepractical gods, and the others have hidden their faces from us. It maybe that we are not to blame, either of us, that the practical gods aretoo strong. We've learned to love and worship them, and now we can't dowithout them. "

"We can try, Nancy, " I pleaded. 

"No, " she answered in a low voice, "that's the difference between youand me. I know myself better than you know yourself, and I know youbetter. " She smiled again. "Unless we could have it all back again, Ishouldn't want any of it. You do not love me--"

I started once more to protest. 

"No, no, don't say it!" she cried. 

"You may think you do, just this moment, but it's only because--you'vebeen moved. And what you believe you want isn't me, it's what I was. ButI'm not that any more, --I'm simply recalling that, don't you see? Andeven then you wouldn't wish me, now, as I was. That sounds involved, but you must understand. You want a woman who will be wrapped up in yourcareer, Hugh, and yet who will not share it, --who will devote herselfbody and soul to what you have become. A woman whom you can shape. Andyou won't really love her, but only just so much of her as may becomethe incarnation of you. Well, I'm not that kind of woman. I might havebeen, had you been different. I'm not at all sure. Certainly I'm notthat kind now, even though I know in my heart that the sort of careeryou have made for yourself, and that I intend to make for myself is alldross. But now I can't do without it. "

"And yet you are going to marry Hambleton Durrett!" I said. 

She understood me, although I regretted my words at once. 

"Yes, I am going to marry him. " There was a shade of bitterness, ofdefiance in her voice. "Surely you are not offering me the--the otherthing, now. Oh, Hugh!"

"I am willing to abandon it all, Nancy. "

"No, " she said, "you're not, and I'm not. What you can't see and won'tsee is that it has become part of you. Oh, you are successful, you willbe more and more successful. And you think I should be somebody, as yourwife, Hugh, more perhaps, eventually, than I shall be as Hambleton's. But I should be nobody, too. I couldn't stand it now, my dear. You mustrealize that as soon as you have time to think it over. We shall befriends. "

The sudden gentleness in her voice pierced me through and through. Sheheld out her hand. Something in her grasp spoke of a resolution whichcould not be shaken. 

"And besides, " she added sadly, "I don't love you any more, Hugh. I'mmourning for something that's gone. I wanted to have just this one talkwith you. But we shan't mention it again, --we'll close the book. ". .. 

At that I fled out of the house, and at first the thought of her asanother man's wife, as Hambleton Durrett's wife, was seemingly not tobe borne. It was incredible! "We'll close the book. " I found myselfrepeating the phrase; and it seemed then as though something within meI had believed dead--something that formerly had been all of me--hadrevived again to throb with pain. 

It is not surprising that the acuteness of my suffering was of shortduration, though I remember certain sharp twinges when the announcementof the engagement burst on the city. There was much controversy over thequestion as to whether or not Ham Durrett's reform would be permanent;but most people were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt; itwas time he settled down and took the position in the community that wasto be expected of one of his name; and as for Nancy, it was generallyagreed that she had done well for herself. She was not made forpoverty--and who so well as she was fitted for the social leadership ofour community?

They were married in Trinity Church in the month of May, and I was oneof Ham's attendants. Ralph was "best man. " For the last time the oldWillett mansion in Powell Street wore the gala air of former days;carpets were spread over the sidewalk, and red and white awnings; roomswere filled with flowers and flung open to hundreds of guests. Ifound the wedding something of an ordeal. I do not like to dwell uponit--especially upon that moment when I came to congratulate Nancy as shestood beside Ham at the end of the long parlour. She seemed to have noregrets. I don't know what I expected of her--certainly not tears andtragedy. She seemed taller than ever, and very beautiful in her veil andwhite satin gown and the diamonds Ham had given her; very much mistressof herself, quite a contrast to Ham, who made no secret of his elation. She smiled when I wished her happiness. 

"We'll be home in the autumn, Hugh, and expect to see a great deal ofyou, " she said. 

As I paused in a corner of the room my eye fell upon Nancy's father. McAlery Willett's elation seemed even greater than Ham's. With agardenia in his frock-coat and a glass of champagne in his hand he wentfrom group to group; and his familiar laughter, which once had seemedso full of merriment and fun, gave me to-day a somewhat scandalizedfeeling. I heard Ralph's voice, and turned to discover him standingbeside me, his long legs thrust slightly apart, his hands in hispockets, overlooking the scene with typical, semi-contemptuousamusement. 

"This lets old McAlery out, anyway, " he said. 

"What do you mean?" I demanded. 

"One or two little notes of his will be cancelled, sooner orlater--that's all. "

For a moment I was unable to speak. 

"And do you think that she--that Nancy found out--?" I stammered. 

"Well, I'd be willing to take that end of the bet, " he replied. "Whythe deuce should she marry Ham? You ought to know her well enough tounderstand how she'd feel if she discovered some of McAlery's financialcoups? Of course it's not a thing I talk about, you understand. Are yougoing to the Club?"

"No, I'm going home, " I said. I was aware of his somewhat compassionatesmile as I left him. .. . 

XII. 

One November day nearly two years after my admission as junior member ofthe firm of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon seven gentlemen met at luncheonin the Boyne Club; Mr. Barbour, President of the Railroad, Mr. Scherer, of the Boyne Iron Works and other corporations, Mr. Leonard Dickinson, of the Corn National Bank, Mr. Halsey, a prominent banker from the othergreat city of the state, Mr. Grunewald, Chairman of the Republican StateCommittee, and Mr. Frederick Grierson, who had become a very importantman in our community. At four o'clock they emerged from the club:citizens in Boyne Street who saw them chatting amicably on the stepslittle suspected that in the last three hours these gentlemen had chosenand practically elected the man who was to succeed Mr. Wade as UnitedStates Senator in Washington. Those were the days in which great affairswere simply and efficiently handled. No democratic nonsense aboutleaving the choice to an electorate that did not know what it wanted. 

The man chosen to fill this high position was Theodore Watling. He saidhe would think about the matter. 

In the nation at large, through the defection of certain Northern statesneither so conservative nor fortunate as ours, the Democratic party wasin power, which naturally implies financial depression. There was noquestion about our ability to send a Republican Senator; the choice inthe Boyne Club was final; but before the legislature should ratify it, a year or so hence, it were just as well that the people of the stateshould be convinced that they desired Mr. Watling more than any otherman; and surely enough, in a little while such a conviction sprangup spontaneously. In offices and restaurants and hotels, men began tosuggest to each other what a fine thing it would be if Theodore Watlingmight be persuaded to accept the toga; at the banks, when customerscalled to renew their notes and tight money was discussed and Democratsexcoriated, it was generally agreed that the obvious thing to do wasto get a safe man in the Senate. From the very first, Watling sentimentstirred like spring sap after a hard winter. 

The country newspapers, watered by providential rains, began to putforth tender little editorial shoots, which Mr. Judah B. Tallantpresently collected and presented in a charming bouquet in the MorningEra. "The Voice of the State Press;" thus was the column headed; and theremarks of the Hon. Fitch Truesdale, of the St. Helen's Messenger, weregiven a special prominence. Mr. Truesdale was the first, in his section, to be inspired by the happy thought that the one man preeminently fittedto represent the state in the present crisis, when her great industrieshad been crippled by Democratic folly, was Mr. Theodore Watling. TheRossiter Banner, the Elkington Star, the Belfast Recorder, and I knownot how many others simultaneously began to sing Mr. Watling's praises. 

"Not since the troublous times of the Civil War, " declared the MorningEra, "had the demand for any man been so unanimous. " As a proof of it, there were the country newspapers, "which reflected the sober opinion ofthe firesides of the common people. "

There are certain industrious gentlemen to whom little credit is given, and who, unlike the average citizen who reserves his enthusiasm forelection time, are patriotic enough to labour for their country's goodall the year round. When in town, it was their habit to pay a friendlycall on the Counsel for the Railroad, Mr. Miller Gorse, in the CornBank Building. He was never too busy to converse with them; or, itmight better be said, to listen to them converse. Let some legallyand politically ambitious young man observe Mr. Gorse's method. Did heinquire what the party worker thought of Mr. Watling for the Senate? Notat all! But before the party worker left he was telling Mr. Gorse thatpublic sentiment demanded Mr. Watling. After leaving Mr. Gorse theywended their way to the Durrett Building and handed their cards overthe rail of the offices of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon. Mr. Watling shookhands with scores of them, and they departed, well satisfied with theflavour of his cigars and intoxicated by his personality. He had amarvellous way of cutting short an interview without giving offence. Some of them he turned over to Mr. Paret, whom he particularly desiredthey should know. Thus Mr. Paret acquired many valuable additions to hisacquaintance, cultivated a memory for names and faces that was to standhim in good stead; and kept, besides, an indexed note-book into which heput various bits of interesting information concerning each. Thoughnot immediately lucrative, it was all, no doubt, part of a lawyer'seducation. 

During the summer and the following winter Colonel Paul Varney cameoften to town and spent much of his time in Mr. Paret's office smokingMr. Watling's cigars and discussing the coming campaign, in which hetook a whole-souled interest. 

"Say, Hugh, this is goin' slick!" he would exclaim, his eyes glitteringlike round buttons of jet. "I never saw a campaign where they fell inthe way they're doing now. If it was anybody else but Theodore Watling, it would scare me. You ought to have been in Jim Broadhurst's campaign, "he added, referring to the junior senator, "they wouldn't wood up atall, they was just listless. But Gorse and Barbour and the rest wantedhim, and we had to put him over. I reckon he is useful down there inWashington, but say, do you know what he always reminded me of? Oneof those mud-turtles I used to play with as a boy up in ColumbiaCounty, --shuts up tight soon as he sees you coming. Now Theodore Watlingain't like that, any way of speaking. We can get up some enthusiasmfor a man of his sort. He's liberal and big. He's made his pile, and hedon't begrudge some of it to the fellows who do the work. Mark my words, when you see a man who wants a big office cheap, look out for him. "

This, and much more wisdom I imbibed while assenting to my chief'sgreatness. For Mr. Varney was right, --one could feel enthusiasm forTheodore Watling; and my growing intimacy with him, the sense that Iwas having a part in his career, a share in his success, became for themoment the passion of my life. As the campaign progressed I gave moreand more time to it, and made frequent trips of a confidential natureto the different counties of the state. The whole of my being wasenergized. The national fever had thoroughly pervaded my blood--thenational fever to win. Prosperity--writ large--demanded it, and TheodoreWatling personified, incarnated the cause. I had neither the time northe desire to philosophize on this national fever, which animated allmy associates: animated, I might say, the nation, which was beginning toget into a fever about games. If I remember rightly, it was aboutthis time that golf was introduced, tennis had become a commonplace, professional baseball was in full swing; Ham Durrett had even organizeda local polo team. .. . The man who failed to win something tangiblein sport or law or business or politics was counted out. Such was thespirit of America, in the closing years of the nineteenth century. 

And yet, when one has said this, one has failed to express the nationalGeist in all its subtlety. In brief, the great American sport was not somuch to win the game as to beat it; the evasion of rules challengedour ingenuity; and having won, we set about devising methods whereby itwould be less and less possible for us winners to lose in the future. Nobetter illustration of this tendency could be given than the developmentwhich had recently taken place in the field of our city politics, hitherto the battle-ground of Irish politicians who had fought oneanother for supremacy. Individualism had been rampant, competitionthe custom; you bought an alderman, or a boss who owned four or fivealdermen, and then you never could be sure you were to get what youwanted, or that the aldermen and the bosses would "stay bought. " Butnow a genius had appeared, an American genius who had arisen swiftlyand almost silently, who appealed to the imagination, and whose name wasoften mentioned in a whisper, --the Hon. Judd Jason, sometimes known asthe Spider, who organized the City Hall and capitalized it; an ultimateand logical effect--if one had considered it--of the Manchester schoolof economics. Enlightened self-interest, stripped of sentiment, endson Judd Jasons. He ran the city even as Mr. Sherrill ran his departmentstore; you paid your price. It was very convenient. Being a genius, Mr. Jason did not wholly break with tradition, but retained those elementsof the old muddled system that had their value, chartering steamboatsfor outings on the river, giving colossal picnics in Lowry Park. Thepoor and the wanderer and the criminal (of the male sex at least) werecared for. But he was not loved, as the rough-and-tumble Irishmen hadbeen loved; he did not make himself common; he was surrounded by an auraof mystery which I confess had not failed of effect on me. Once, andonly once during my legal apprenticeship, he had been pointed out tome on the street, where he rarely ventured. His appearance was notimpressive. .. . 

Mr. Jason could not, of course, prevent Mr. Watling's election, evendid he so desire, but he did command the allegiance of several citycandidates--both democratic and republican--for the state legislature, who had as yet failed to announce their preferences for United StatesSenator. It was important that Mr. Watling's vote should be large, asindicative of a public reaction and repudiation of Democratic nationalfolly. This matter among others was the subject of discussion oneJuly morning when the Republican State Chairman was in the city; Mr. Grunewald expressed anxiety over Mr. Jason's continued silence. It wasexpedient that somebody should "see" the boss. 

"Why not Paret?" suggested Leonard Dickinson. Mr. Watling was notpresent at this conference. "Paret seems to be running Watling'scampaign, anyway. "

It was settled that I should be the emissary. With lively sensations ofcuriosity and excitement, tempered by a certain anxiety as to myability to match wits with the Spider, I made my way to his "lair"over Monahan's saloon, situated in a district that was anything butrespectable. The saloon, on the ground floor, had two apartments; thebar-room proper where Mike Monahan, chamberlain of the establishment, was wont to stand, red faced and smiling, to greet the courtiers, bigand little, the party workers, the district leaders, the hangers-onready to be hired, the city officials, the police judges, --yes, andthe dignified members of state courts whose elections depended on Mr. Jason's favour: even Judge Bering, whose acquaintance I had made the dayI had come, as a law student, to Mr. Watling's office, unbent from timeto time sufficiently to call there for a small glass of rye and water, and to relate, with his owl-like gravity, an anecdote to the "boys. " Thesaloon represented Democracy, so dear to the American public. Hereall were welcome, even the light-fingered gentlemen who enjoyed theprivilege of police protection; and who sometimes, through fortuitouscircumstances, were hauled before the very magistrates with whomthey had rubbed elbows on the polished rail. Behind the bar-room, andseparated from it by swinging doors only the elite ventured to thrustapart, was an audience chamber whither Mr. Jason occasionally descended. Anecdote and political reminiscence gave place here to matters of highpolicy. 

I had several times come to the saloon in the days of my apprenticeshipin search of some judge or official, and once I had run down herethe city auditor himself. Mike Monahan, whose affair it was toknow everyone, recognized me. It was part of his business, also, tounderstand that I was now a member of the firm of Watling, Fowndes andRipon. 

"Good morning to you, Mr. Paret, " he said suavely. We held a colloquyin undertones over the bar, eyed by the two or three customers who werepresent. Mr. Monahan disappeared, but presently returned to whisper:"Sure, he'll see you, " to lead the way through the swinging doors and upa dark stairway. I came suddenly on a room in the greatest disorder, itstables and chairs piled high with newspapers and letters, its windowsstreaked with soot. From an open door on its farther side issued avoice. 

"Is that you, Mr. Paret? Come in here. "

It was little less than a command. 

"Heard of you, Mr. Paret. Glad to know you. Sit down, won't you?"

The inner room was almost dark. I made out a bed in the corner, andpropped up in the bed a man; but for the moment I was most aware of apair of eyes that flared up when the man spoke, and died down againwhen he became silent. They reminded me of those insects which in mychildhood days we called "lightning bugs. " Mr. Jason gave me a handlike a woman's. I expressed my pleasure at meeting him, and took a chairbeside the bed. 

"I believe you're a partner of Theodore Watling's now aren't you? Smartman, Watling. "

"He'll make a good senator, " I replied, accepting the opening. 

"You think he'll get elected--do you?" Mr. Jason inquired. 

I laughed. 

"Well, there isn't much doubt about that, I imagine. "

"Don't know--don't know. Seen some dead-sure things go wrong in mytime. "

"What's going to defeat him?" I asked pleasantly. 

"I don't say anything, " Mr. Jason replied. "But I've known funny thingsto happen--never does to be dead sure. "

"Oh, well, we're as sure as it's humanly possible to be, " I declared. The eyes continued to fascinate me, they had a peculiar, disquietingeffect. Now they died down, and it was as if the man's very presence hadgone out, as though I had been left alone; and I found it exceedinglydifficult, under the circumstances, to continue to address him. Suddenlyhe flared up again. 

"Watling send you over here?" he demanded. 

"No. As a matter of fact, he's out of town. Some of Mr. Watling'sfriends, Mr. Grunewald and Mr. Dickinson, Mr. Gorse and others, suggested that I see you, Mr. Jason. "

There came a grunt from the bed. 

"Mr. Watling has always valued your friendship and support, " I said. 

"What makes him think he ain't going to get it?"

"He hasn't a doubt of it, " I went on diplomatically. "But we felt--andI felt personally, that we ought to be in touch with you, to work alongwith you, to keep informed how things are going in the city. "

"What things?"

"Well--there are one or two representatives, friends of yours, whohaven't come out for Mr. Watling. We aren't worrying, we know you'll dothe right thing, but we feel that it would have a good deal of influencein some other parts of the state if they declared themselves. And thenyou know as well as I do that this isn't a year when any of uscan afford to recognize too closely party lines; the Democraticadministration has brought on a panic, the business men in that partyare down on it, and it ought to be rebuked. And we feel, too, that someof the city's Democrats ought to be loyal to Mr. Watling, --not that weexpect them to vote for him in caucus, but when it comes to the jointballot--"

"Who?" demanded Mr. Jason. 

"Senator Dowse and Jim Maher, for instance, " I suggested. 

"Jim voted for Bill 709 all right--didn't he?" said Mr. Jason abruptly. 

"That's just it, " I put in boldly. "We'd like to induce him to come inwith us this time. But we feel that--the inducement would better comethrough you. "

I thought Mr. Jason smiled. By this time I had grown accustomed tothe darkness, the face and figure of the man in the bed had becomediscernible. Power, I remember thinking, chooses odd houses for itself. Here was no overbearing, full-blooded ward ruffian brimming withvitality, but a thin, sallow little man in a cotton night-shirt, withiron-grey hair and a wiry moustache; he might have been an overworkedclerk behind a dry-goods counter; and yet somehow, now that I had talkedto him, I realized that he never could have been. Those extraordinaryeyes of his, when they were functioning, marked his individuality asunique. It were almost too dramatic to say that he required darkness tomake his effect, but so it seemed. I should never forget him. He had intruth been well named the Spider. 

"Of course we haven't tried to get in touch with them. We are leavingthem to you, " I added. 

"Paret, " he said suddenly, "I don't care a damn about Grunewald--neverdid. I'd turn him down for ten cents. But you can tell Theodore Watlingfor me, and Dickinson, that I guess the 'inducement' can be fixed. "

I felt a certain relief that the interview had come to an end, that themoment had arrived for amenities. To my surprise, Mr. Jason anticipatedme. 

"I've been interested in you, Mr. Paret, " he observed. "Know who youare, of course, knew you were in Watling's office. Then some of the boysspoke about you when you were down at the legislature on that Ribblevalematter. Guess you had more to do with that bill than came out in thenewspapers--eh?"

I was taken off my guard. 

"Oh, that's talk, " I said. 

"All right, it's talk, then? But I guess you and I will have some moretalk after a while, --after Theodore Watling gets to be United StatesSenator. Give him my regards, and--and come in when I can do anythingfor you, Mr. Paret. "

Thanking him, I groped my way downstairs and let myself out by a sidedoor Monahan had shown me into an alleyway, thus avoiding the saloon. As I walked slowly back to the office, seeking the shade of the awnings, the figure in the darkened room took on a sinister aspect that troubledme. .. . 

The autumn arrived, the campaign was on with a whoop, and I had my firsttaste of "stump" politics. The acrid smell of red fire brings it backto me. It was a medley of railroad travel, of committees provided withbadges--and cigars, of open carriages slowly drawn between lines ofbewildered citizens, of Lincoln clubs and other clubs marching inserried ranks, uniformed and helmeted, stalwarts carrying torches andbanners. And then there were the draughty opera-houses with the sylvanscenery pushed back and plush chairs and sofas pushed forward; withan ominous table, a pitcher of water on it and a glass, near thefootlights. The houses were packed with more bewildered citizens. What awonderful study of mob-psychology it would have offered! Men who had notthought of the grand old Republican party for two years, and who had notcared much about it when they had entered the dooms, after an hour or sowent mad with fervour. The Hon. Joseph Mecklin, ex-Speaker of theHouse, with whom I traveled on occasions, had a speech referring to themartyred President, ending with an appeal to the revolutionary fatherswho followed Washington with bleeding feet. The Hon. Joseph possessedthat most valuable of political gifts, presence; and when with quiveringvoice he finished his peroration, citizens wept with him. What it allhad to do with the tariff was not quite clear. Yet nobody seemed to missthe connection. 

We were all of us most concerned, of course, about the working-manand his dinner pail, --whom the Democrats had wantonly thrown out ofemployment for the sake of a doctrinaire theory. They had put him incompetition with the serf of Europe. Such was the subject-matter of myown modest addresses in this, my maiden campaign. I had the sense tosee myself in perspective; to recognize that not for me, a dignified andsubstantial lawyer of affairs, were the rhetorical flights of the Hon. Joseph Mecklin. I spoke with a certain restraint. Not too dryly, I hope. But I sought to curb my sentiments, my indignation, at the manner inwhich the working-man had been treated; to appeal to the common senserather than to the passions of my audiences. Here were the statistics!(drawn, by the way, from the Republican Campaign book). Unscrupulousdemagogues--Democratic, of course--had sought to twist and evade them. Let this terrible record of lack of employment and misery be comparedwith the prosperity under Republican rule. 

"One of the most effective speakers in this campaign for the restorationof Prosperity, " said the Rossiter Banner, "is Mr. Hugh Paret, ofthe firm of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon. Mr. Paret's speech at theOpera-House last evening made a most favourable impression. Mr. Paretdeals with facts. And his thoughtful analysis of the situation intowhich the Democratic party has brought this country should convince anysane-minded voter that the time has come for a change. "

I began to keep a scrap-book, though I locked it up in the drawer ofmy desk. In it are to be found many clippings of a similarly gratifyingtenor. .. . 

Mecklin and I were well contrasted. In this way, incidentally, I mademany valuable acquaintances among the "solid" men of the state, thelocal capitalists and manufacturers, with whom my manner of dealing withpublic questions was in particular favour. These were practical men;they rather patronized the Hon. Joseph, thus estimating, to a nicety, amans value; or solidity, or specific gravity, it might better be said, since our universe was one of checks and balances. The Hon. Joseph andhis like, skyrocketing through the air, were somehow necessary in thescheme of things, but not to be taken too seriously. Me they did takeseriously, these provincial lords, inviting me to their houses andopening their hearts. Thus, when we came to Elkington, Mr. Mecklinreposed in the Commercial House, on the noisy main street. Fortunatelyfor him, the clanging of trolley cars never interfered with hisslumbers. I slept in a wide chamber in the mansion of Mr. Ezra Hutchins. There were many Hutchinses in Elkington, --brothers and cousins anduncles and great-uncles, --and all were connected with the woollenmills. But there is always one supreme Hutchins, and Ezra was he: tall, self-contained, elderly, but well preserved through frugal living, essentially American and typical of his class, when he entered the lobbyof the Commercial House that afternoon the babel of political discussionwas suddenly hushed; politicians, traveling salesmen and the members ofthe local committee made a lane for him; to him, the Hon. Joseph and Iwere introduced. Mr. Hutchins knew what he wanted. He was cordial toMr. Mecklin, but he took me. We entered a most respectable surrey withtassels, driven by a raw-boned coachman in a black overcoat, drawn bytwo sleek horses. 

"How is this thing going, Paret?" he asked. 

I gave him Mr. Grunewald's estimated majority. 

"What do you think?" he demanded, a shrewd, humorous look in his blueeyes. 

"Well, I think we'll carry the state. I haven't had Grunewald'sexperience in estimating. "

Ezra Hutchins smiled appreciatively. 

"What does Watling think?"

"He doesn't seem to be worrying much. "

"Ever been in Elkington before?"

I said I hadn't. 

"Well, a drive will do you good. "

It was about four o'clock on a mild October afternoon. The little town, of fifteen thousand inhabitants or so, had a wonderful setting in thewidening valley of the Scopanong, whose swiftly running waters furnishedthe power for the mills. We drove to these through a gateway over whichthe words "No Admittance" were conspicuously painted, past long brickbuildings that bordered the canals; and in the windows I caught sightof drab figures of men and women bending over the machines. Half of thebuildings, as Mr. Hutchins pointed out, were closed, --mute witnessesof tariff-tinkering madness. Even more eloquent of democratic folly wasthat part of the town through which we presently passed, streets linedwith rows of dreary houses where the workers lived. Children wereplaying on the sidewalks, but theirs seemed a listless play; listless, too, were the men and women who sat on the steps, --listless, andsomewhat sullen, as they watched us passing. Ezra Hutchins seemed toread my thought. 

"Since the unions got in here I've had nothing but trouble, " he said. "I've tried to do my duty by my people, God knows. But they won't seewhich side their bread's buttered on. They oppose me at every step, theyvote against their own interests. Some years ago they put up a job onus, and sent a scatter-brained radical to the legislature. "

"Krebs. "

"Do you know him?"

"Slightly. He was in my class at Harvard. .. . Is he still here?" I asked, after a pause. 

"Oh, yes. But he hasn't gone to the legislature this time, we've seen tothat. His father was a respectable old German who had a little shop andmade eye-glasses. The son is an example of too much education. He's anotoriety seeker. Oh, he's clever, in a way. He's given us a good dealof trouble, too, in the courts with damage cases. ". .. 

We came to a brighter, more spacious, well-to-do portion of the town, where the residences faced the river. In a little while the waterswidened into a lake, which was surrounded by a park, a gift to thecity of the Hutchins family. Facing it, on one side, was the HutchinsLibrary; on the other, across a wide street, where the mapleswere turning, were the Hutchinses' residences of various dates ofconstruction, from that of the younger George, who had lately married awife, and built in bright yellow brick, to the old-fashioned mansion ofEzra himself. This, he told me, had been good enough for his father, andwas good enough for him. The picture of it comes back to me, now, withsingular attractiveness. It was of brick, and I suppose a modificationof the Georgian; the kind of house one still sees in out-of-the waycorners of London, with a sort of Dickensy flavour; high and square anduncompromising, with small-paned windows, with a flat roof surroundedby a low balustrade, and many substantial chimneys. The third storey waslower than the others, separated from them by a distinct line. On oneside was a wide porch. Yellow and red leaves, the day's fall, scatteredthe well-kept lawn. Standing in the doorway of the house was a girl inwhite, and as we descended from the surrey she came down the walk tomeet us. She was young, about twenty. Her hair was the colour of therusset maple leaves. 

"This is Mr. Paret, Maude. " Mr. Hutchins looked at his watch as does aman accustomed to live by it. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Paret, I havesomething important to attend to. Perhaps Mr. Paret would like to lookabout the grounds?" He addressed his daughter. 

I said I should be delighted, though I had no idea what grounds weremeant. As I followed Maude around the house she explained that all theHutchins connection had a common back yard, as she expressed it. Inreality, there were about two blocks of the property, extending behindall the houses. There were great trees with swings, groves, orchardswhere the late apples glistened between the leaves, an old-fashionedflower garden loath to relinquish its blooming. In the distance theshadowed western ridge hung like a curtain of deep blue velvet againstthe sunset. 

"What a wonderful spot!" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, it is nice, " she agreed, "we were all brought up here--I mean mycousins and myself. There are dozens of us. And dozens left, " she added, as the shouts and laughter of children broke the stillness. 

A boy came running around the corner of the path. He struck out atMaude. With a remarkably swift movement she retaliated. 

"Ouch!" he exclaimed. 

"You got him that time, " I laughed, and, being detected, she suddenlyblushed. It was this act that drew my attention to her, that definedher as an individual. Before that I had regarded her merely as a shy andprovincial girl. Now she was brimming with an unsuspected vitality. Acertain interest was aroused, although her shyness towards me was notaltered. I found it rather a flattering shyness. 

"It's Hugh, " she explained, "he's always trying to be funny. Speak toMr. Paret, Hugh. "

"Why, that's my name, too, " I said. 

"Is it?"

"She knocked my hat off a little while ago, " said Hugh. "I was onlygetting square. "

"Well, you didn't get square, did you?" I asked. 

"Are you going to speak in the tows hall to-night?" the boy demanded. Iadmitted it. He went off, pausing once to stare back at me. .. . Maude andI walked on. 

"It must be exciting to speak before a large audience, " she said. "If Iwere a man, I think I should like to be in politics. "

"I cannot imagine you in politics, " I answered. 

She laughed. 

"I said, if I were a man. "

"Are you going to the meeting?"

"Oh, yes. Father promised to take me. He has a box. "

I thought it would be pleasant to have her there. 

"I'm afraid you'll find what I have to say rather dry, " I said. 

"A woman can't expect to understand everything, " she answered quickly. 

This remark struck me favourably. I glanced at her sideways. She was nota beauty, but she was distinctly well-formed and strong. Her face wasoval, her features not quite regular, --giving them a certain charm; hercolour was fresh, her eyes blue, the lighter blue one sees on Chineseware: not a poetic comparison, but so I thought of them. She wasapparently not sophisticated, as were most of the young women at homewhom I knew intimately (as were the Watling twins, for example, with oneof whom, Frances, I had had, by the way, rather a lively flirtation thespring before); she seemed refreshingly original, impressionable andplastic. .. . 

We walked slowly back to the house, and in the hallway I met Mrs. Hutchins, a bustling, housewifely lady, inclined to stoutness, whosecreased and kindly face bore witness to long acquiescence in thediscipline of matrimony, to the contentment that results from anessentially circumscribed and comfortable life. She was, I learnedlater, the second Mrs. Hutchins, and Maude their only child. Thechildren of the first marriage, all girls, had married and scattered. 

Supper was a decorous but heterogeneous meal of the old-fashioned sortthat gives one the choice between tea and cocoa. It was something ofan occasion, I suspected. The minister was there, the Reverend Mr. Doddridge, who would have made, in appearance at least, a perfectPuritan divine in a steeple hat and a tippet. Only--he was no longerthe leader of the community; and even in his grace he had the air ofdeferring to the man who provided the bounties of which we were aboutto partake rather than to the Almighty. Young George was there, Mr. Hutchins's nephew, who was daily becoming more and more of a factor inthe management of the mills, and had built the house of yellow brickthat stood out so incongruously among the older Hutchinses' mansions, and marked a transition. I thought him rather a yellow-brick gentlemanhimself for his assumption of cosmopolitan manners. His wife was apretty, discontented little woman who plainly deplored her environment, longed for larger fields of conquest: George, she said, must remainwhere he was, for the present at least, --Uncle Ezra depended on him; butElkington was a prosy place, and Mrs. George gave the impression thatshe did not belong here. They went to the city on occasions; bothcities. And when she told me we had a common acquaintance in Mrs. Hambleton Durrett--whom she thought so lovely!--I knew that she hadtaken Nancy as an ideal: Nancy, the social leader of what was to Mrs. George a metropolis. 

Presently the talk became general among the men, the subject being thecampaign, and I the authority, bombarded with questions I strove toanswer judicially. What was the situation in this county and in that?the national situation? George indulged in rather a vigorous arraignmentof the demagogues, national and state, who were hurting business inorder to obtain political power. The Reverend Mr. Doddridge assented, deploring the poverty that the local people had brought on themselvesby heeding the advice of agitators; and Mrs. Hutchins, who spent much ofher time in charity work, agreed with the minister when he declaredthat the trouble was largely due to a decline in Christian belief. EzraHutchins, too, nodded at this. 

"Take that man Krebs, for example, " the minister went on, stimulated bythis encouragement, "he's an atheist, pure and simple. " A sympatheticshudder went around the table at the word. George alone smiled. "OldKrebs was a free-thinker; I used to get my glasses of him. He was atleast a conscientious man, a good workman, which is more than can besaid for the son. Young Krebs has talent, and if only he had devotedhimself to the honest practice of law, instead of stirring updissatisfaction among these people, he would be a successful manto-day. "

Mr. Hutchins explained that I was at college with Krebs. 

"These people must like him, " I said, "or they wouldn't have sent him tothe legislature. "

"Well, a good many of them do like him, " the minister admitted. "You see, he actually lives among them. They believe his socialisticdoctrines because he's a friend of theirs. "

"He won't represent this town again, that's sure, " exclaimed George. "You didn't see in the papers that he was nominated, --did you, Paret?"

"But if the mill people wanted him, George, how could it be prevented?"his wife demanded. 

George winked at me. 

"There are more ways of skinning a cat than one, " he said cryptically. 

"Well, it's time to go to the meeting, I guess, " remarked Ezra, rising. Once more he looked at his watch. 

We were packed into several family carriages and started off. In frontof the hall the inevitable red fire was burning, its quivering lightreflected on the faces of the crowd that blocked the street. They stoodsilent, strangely apathetic as we pushed through them to the curb, andthe red fire went out suddenly as we descended. My temporary sense ofdepression, however, deserted me as we entered the hall, which was welllighted and filled with people, who clapped when the Hon. Joseph andI, accompanied by Mr. Doddridge and the Hon. Henry Clay Mellish fromPottstown, with the local chairman, walked out on the stage. A glanceover the audience sufficed to ascertain that that portion of thepopulation whose dinner pails we longed to fill was evidently notpresent in large numbers. But the farmers had driven in from thehills, while the merchants and storekeepers of Elkington had turned outloyally. 

The chairman, in introducing me, proclaimed me as a coming man, anddeclared that I had already achieved, in the campaign, considerablenotoriety. As I spoke, I was pleasantly aware of Maude Hutchins leaningforward a little across the rail of the right-hand stage box--for thetown hall was half opera-house; her attitude was one of semi-absorbedadmiration; and the thought that I had made an impression on herstimulated me. I spoke with more aplomb. Somewhat to my surprise, Ifound myself making occasional, unexpected witticisms that drew laughterand applause. Suddenly, from the back of the hall, a voice calledout:--"How about House Bill 709?"

There was a silence, then a stirring and craning of necks. It was myfirst experience of heckling, and for the moment I was taken aback. Ithought of Krebs. He had, indeed, been in my mind since I had risen tomy feet, and I had scanned the faces before me in search of his. But itwas not his voice. 

"Well, what about Bill 709?" I demanded. 

"You ought to know something about it, I guess, " the voice responded. 

"Put him out!" came from various portions of the hall. 

Inwardly, I was shaken. Not--in orthodox language from any "convictionof sin. " Yet it was my first intimation that my part in the legislationreferred to was known to any save a select few. I blamed Krebs, and ahot anger arose within me against him. After all, what could they prove?

"No, don't put him out, " I said. "Let him come up here to the platform. I'll yield to him. And I'm entirely willing to discuss with him anddefend any measures passed in the legislature of this state by aRepublican majority. Perhaps, " I added, "the gentleman has a copy of thelaw in his pocket, that I may know what he is talking about, and answerhim intelligently. "

At this there was wild applause. I had the audience with me. Theoffender remained silent and presently I finished my speech. After thatMr. Mecklin made them cheer and weep, and Mr. Mellish made them laugh. The meeting had been highly successful. 

"You polished him off, all right, " said George Hutchins, as he took myhand. 

"Who was he?"

"Oh, one of the local sore-heads. Krebs put him up to it, of course. "

"Was Krebs here?" I asked. 

"Sitting in the corner of the balcony. That meeting must have made himfeel sick. " George bent forward and whispered in my ear: "I thought Bill709 was Watling's idea. "

"Oh, I happened to be in the Potts House about that time, " I explained. 

George, of whom it may be gathered that he was not whollyunsophisticated, grinned at me appreciatively. 

"Say, Paret, " he replied, putting his hand through my arm, "there'sa little legal business in prospect down here that will require somehandling, and I wish you'd come down after the campaign and talk itover, with us. I've just about made up my mind that you're he man totackle it. "

"All right, I'll come, " I said. 

"And stay with me, " said George. .. . 

We went to his yellow-brick house for refreshments, salad and ice-creamand (in the face of the Hutchins traditions) champagne. Others had beeninvited in, some twenty persons. .. . Once in a while, when I looked up, I met Maude's eyes across the room. I walked home with her, slowly, thelength of the Hutchinses' block. Floating over the lake was a waningOctober moon that cast through the thinning maples a lace-work ofshadows at our feet; I had the feeling of well-being that comes toheroes, and the presence of Maude Hutchins was an incense, a vestalincense far from unpleasing. Yet she had reservations which appealed tome. Hers was not a gushing provincialism, like that of Mrs. George. 

"I liked your speech so much, Mr. Paret, " she told me. "It seemed sosensible and--controlled, compared to the others. I have never thought agreat deal about these things, of course, and I never understood beforewhy taking away the tariff caused so much misery. You made that quiteplain. 

"If so, I'm glad, " I said. 

She was silent a moment. 

"The working people here have had a hard time during the last year, "she went on. "Some of the mills had to be shut down, you know. It hastroubled me. Indeed, it has troubled all of us. And what has made itmore difficult, more painful is that many of them seem actually todislike us. They think it's father's fault, and that he could run allthe mills if he wanted to. I've been around a little with mother andsometimes the women wouldn't accept any help from us; they said they'drather starve than take charity, that they had the right to work. Butfather couldn't run the mills at a loss--could he?"

"Certainly not, " I replied. 

"And then there's Mr. Krebs, of whom we were speaking at supper, and whoputs all kinds of queer notions into their heads. Father says he's ananarchist. I heard father say at supper that he was at Harvard with you. Did you like him?"

"Well, " I answered hesitatingly, "I didn't know him very well. "

"Of course not, " she put in. "I suppose you couldn't have. "

"He's got these notions, " I explained, "that are mischievous andcrazy--but I don't dislike him. "

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" she answered quietly. "I like him, too--he seems so kind, so understanding. "

"Do you know him?"

"Well, --" she hesitated--"I feel as though I do. I've only met him once, and that was by accident. It was the day the big strike began, lastspring, and I had been shopping, and started for the mills to get fatherto walk home with me, as I used to do. I saw the crowds blocking thestreets around the canal. At first I paid no attention to them, butafter a while I began to be a little uneasy, there were places where Ihad to squeeze through, and I couldn't help seeing that something waswrong, and that the people were angry. Men and women were talkingin loud voices. One woman stared at me, and called my name, and saidsomething that frightened me terribly. I went into a doorway--and thenI saw Mr. Krebs. I didn't know who he was. He just said, 'You'd bettercome with me, Miss Hutchins, ' and I went with him. I thought afterwardsthat it was a very courageous thing for him to do, because he was sopopular with the mill people, and they had such a feeling against us. Yet they didn't seem to resent it, and made way for us, and Mr. Krebsspoke to many of them as we passed. After we got to State Street, Iasked him his name, and when he told me I was speechless. He took offhis hat and went away. He had such a nice face--not at all ugly when youlook at it twice--and kind eyes, that I just couldn't believe him to beas bad as father and George think he is. Of course he is mistaken, " sheadded hastily, "but I am sure he is sincere, and honestly thinks he canhelp those people by telling them what he does. "

The question shot at me during the meeting rankled still; I wanted tobelieve that Krebs had inspired it, and her championship of him gaveme a twinge of jealousy, --the slightest twinge, to be sure, yet aperceptible one. At the same time, the unaccountable liking I hadfor the man stirred to life. The act she described had been socharacteristic. 

"He's one of the born rebels against society, " I said glibly. "Yet I dothink he's sincere. "

Maude was grave. "I should be sorry to think he wasn't, " she replied. After I had bidden her good night at the foot of the stairs, and gone tomy room, I reflected how absurd it was to be jealous of Krebs. Whatwas Maude Hutchins to me? And even if she had been something to me, shenever could be anything to Krebs. All the forces of our civilizationstood between the two; nor was she of a nature to take plunges of thatsort. The next day, as I lay back in my seat in the parlour-car andgazed at the autumn landscape, I indulged in a luxurious contemplationof the picture she had made as she stood on the lawn under the treesin the early morning light, when my carriage had driven away; and I hadturned, to perceive that her eyes had followed me. I was not in lovewith her, of course. I did not wish to return at once to Elkington, butI dwelt with a pleasant anticipation upon my visit, when the campaignshould be over, with George. 

XIII. 

"The good old days of the Watling campaign, " as Colonel Paul Varney iswont to call them, are gone forever. And the Colonel himself, whostuck to his gods, has been through the burning, fiery furnace ofInvestigation, and has come out unscathed and unrepentant. The flames ofinvestigation, as a matter of fact, passed over his head in their vainattempt to reach the "man higher up, " whose feet they licked; but himthey did not devour, either. A veteran in retirement, the Colonel isliving under his vine and fig tree on the lake at Rossiter; the vinebears Catawba grapes, of which he is passionately fond; the fig tree, the Bartlett pears he gives to his friends. He has saved somethingfrom the spoils of war, but other veterans I could mention are not sofortunate. The old warriors have retired, and many are dead; thegood old methods are becoming obsolete. We never bothered about thosemischievous things called primaries. Our county committees, our statecommittees chose the candidates for the conventions, which turned aroundand chose the committees. Both the committees and the conventions--underadvice--chose the candidates. Why, pray, should the people complain, when they had everything done for them? The benevolent parties, bothDemocratic and Republican, even undertook the expense of printing theballots! And generous ballots they were (twenty inches long and fivewide!), distributed before election, in order that the voters might havethe opportunity of studying and preparing them: in order that Democratsof delicate feelings might take the pains to scratch out all theDemocratic candidates, and write in the names of the Republicancandidates. Patriotism could go no farther than this. .. . 

I spent the week before election in the city, where I had theopportunity of observing what may be called the charitable side ofpolitics. For a whole month, or more, the burden of existence had beenlifted from the shoulders of the homeless. No church or organization, looked out for these frowsy, blear-eyed and ragged wanderers who hadfailed to find a place in the scale of efficiency. For a whole month, Isay, Mr. Judd Jason and his lieutenants made them their especial care;supported them in lodging-houses, induced the night clerks to give themattention; took the greatest pains to ensure them the birth-right which, as American citizens, was theirs, --that of voting. They were not onlygiven homes for a period, but they were registered; and in the abundanceof good feeling that reigned during this time of cheer, even theforeigners were registered! On election day they were driven, likevisiting notables, in carryalls and carriages to the polls! Some ofthem, as though in compensation for ills endured between elections, voted not once, but many times; exercising judicial functions for whichthey should be given credit. For instance, they were convinced thatthe Hon. W. W. Trulease had made a good governor; and they were Watlingenthusiasts, --intent on sending men to the legislature who would votefor him for senator; yet there were cases in which, for the minoroffices, the democrat was the better man!

It was a memorable day. In spite of Mr. Lawler's Pilot, which was asa voice crying in the wilderness, citizens who had wives and homes andresponsibilities, business men and clerks went to the voting boothsand recorded their choice for Trulease, Watling and Prosperity: andworking-men followed suit. Victory was in the air. Even the policemenwore happy smiles, and in some instances the election officersthemselves in absent-minded exuberance thrust bunches of ballots intothe boxes!

In response to an insistent demand from his fellow-citizens Mr. Watling, the Saturday evening before, had made a speech in the Auditorium, deckedwith bunting and filled with people. For once the Morning Era didnot exaggerate when it declared that the ovation had lasted fully tenminutes. "A remarkable proof" it went on to say, "of the esteem andconfidence in which our fellow-citizen is held by those who know himbest, his neighbours in the city where he has given so many instancesof his public spirit, where he has achieved such distinction in thepractice of the law. He holds the sound American conviction that theoffice should seek the man. His address is printed in another column, and we believe it will appeal to the intelligence and sober judgment ofthe state. It is replete with modesty and wisdom. "

Mr. Watling was introduced by Mr. Bering of the State Supreme Court (acandidate for re-election), who spoke with deliberation, with owl-likeimpressiveness. He didn't believe in judges meddling in politics, butthis was an unusual occasion. (Loud applause. ) Most unusual. He hadcome here as a man, as an American, to pay his tribute to another man, along-time friend, whom he thought to stand somewhat aside and abovemere party strife, to represent values not merely political. .. . Soaccommodating and flexible is the human mind, so "practical" may itbecome through dealing with men and affairs, that in listening to JudgeBering I was able to ignore the little anomalies such a situation mighthave suggested to the theorist, to the mere student of the institutionsof democracy. The friendly glasses of rye and water Mr. Bering hadtaken in Monahan's saloon, the cases he had "arranged" for the firm ofWatling, Fowndes and Ripon were forgotten. Forgotten, too, when TheodoreWatling stood up and men began, to throw their hats in the air, --werethe cavilling charges of Mr. Lawler's Pilot that, far from the officeseeking the man, our candidate had spent over a hundred thousand dollarsof his own money, to say nothing of the contributions of Mr. Scherer, Mr. Dickinson and the Railroad! If I had been troubled with any weak, ethical doubts, Mr. Watling would have dispelled them; he had red bloodin his veins, a creed in which he believed, a rare power of expressinghimself in plain, everyday language that was often colloquial, butnever--as the saying goes--"cheap. " The dinner-pail predicament wasreal to him. He would present a policy of our opponents charmingly, evenpersuasively, and then add, after a moment's pause: "There is only oneobjection to this, my friends--that it doesn't work. " It was all in theway he said it, of course. The audience would go wild with approval, and shouts of "that's right" could be heard here and there. Then heproceeded to show why it didn't work. He had the faculty of bringinghis lessons home, the imagination to put himself into the daily life ofthose who listened to him, --the life of the storekeeper, the clerk, ofthe labourer and of the house-wife. The effect of this can scarcelybe overestimated. For the American hugs the delusion that there are noclass distinctions, even though his whole existence may be an effortto rise out of once class into another. "Your wife, " he told them once, "needs a dress. Let us admit that the material for the dress is a littlecheaper than it was four years ago, but when she comes to look into thefamily stocking--" (Laughter. ) "I needn't go on. If we could have thingscheaper, and more money to buy them with, we should all be happy, andthe Republican party could retire from business. "

He did not once refer to the United States Senatorship. 

It was appropriate, perhaps, that many of us dined on the evening ofelection day at the Boyne Club. There was early evidence of a Republicanland-slide. And when, at ten o'clock, it was announced that Mr. Truleasewas re-elected by a majority which exceeded Mr. Grunewald's most hopefulestimate, that the legislature was "safe, " that Theodore Watling wouldbe the next United States Senator, a scene of jubilation ensued withinthose hallowed walls which was unprecedented. Chairs were pushed back, rugs taken up, Gene Hollister played the piano and a Virginia reelstarted; in a burst of enthusiasm Leonard Dickinson ordered champagnefor every member present. The country was returning to its senses. Theodore Watling had preferred, on this eventful night, to remainquietly at home. But presently carriages were ordered, and a"delegation" of enthusiastic friends departed to congratulate him;Dickinson, of course, Grierson, Fowndes, Ogilvy, and Grunewald. We foundJudah B. Tallant there, --in spite of the fact that it was a busy nightfor the Era; and Adolf Scherer himself, in expansive mood, was fillingthe largest of the library chairs. Mr. Watling was the least excitedof them all; remarkably calm, I thought, for a man on the verge ofrealizing his life's high ambition. He had some old brandy, and a boxof cigars he had been saving for an occasion. He managed to convey toeveryone his appreciation of the value of their cooperation. .. . 

It was midnight before Mr. Scherer arose to take his departure. Heseized Mr. Watling's hand, warmly, in both of his own. 

"I have never, " he said, with a relapse into the German f's, "Ihave never had a happier moment in my life, my friend, than when Icongratulate you on your success. " His voice shook with emotion. "Alas, we shall not see so much of you now. "

"He'll be on guard, Scherer, " said Leonard Dickinson, putting his armaround my chief. 

"Good night, Senator, " said Tallant, and all echoed the word, whichstruck me as peculiarly appropriate. Much as I had admired Mr. Watlingbefore, it seemed indeed as if he had undergone some subtle change inthe last few hours, gained in dignity and greatness by the action of thepeople that day. When it came my turn to bid him good night, he retainedmy hand in his. 

"Don't go yet, Hugh, " he said. 

"But you must be tired, " I objected. 

"This sort of thing doesn't make a man tired, " he laughed, leading meback to the library, where he began to poke the fire into a blaze. "Sitdown awhile. You must be tired, I think, --you've worked hard in thiscampaign, a good deal harder than I have. I haven't said much about it, but I appreciate it, my boy. " Mr. Watling had the gift of expressing hisfeelings naturally, without sentimentality. I would have given much forthat gift. 

"Oh, I liked it, " I replied awkwardly. 

I read a gentle amusement in his eyes, and also the expression ofsomething else, difficult to define. He had seated himself, and wasabsently thrusting at the logs with the poker. 

"You've never regretted going into law?" he asked suddenly, to mysurprise. 

"Why, no, sir, " I said. 

"I'm glad to hear that. I feel, to a considerable extent, responsiblefor your choice of a profession. "

"My father intended me to be a lawyer, " I told him. "But it's true thatyou gave me my--my first enthusiasm. "

He looked up at me at the word. 

"I admired your father. He seemed to me to be everything that a lawyershould be. And years ago, when I came to this city a raw country boyfrom upstate, he represented and embodied for me all the fine traditionsof the profession. But the practice of law isn't what it was in his day, Hugh. "

"No, " I agreed, "that could scarcely be expected. "

"Yes, I believe you realize that, " he said. "I've watched you, I'vetaken a personal pride in you, and I have an idea that eventuallyyou will succeed me here--neither Fowndes nor Ripon have the peculiarability you have shown. You and I are alike in a great many respects, and I am inclined to think we are rather rare, as men go. We are able tokeep one object vividly in view, so vividly as to be able to work forit day and night. I could mention dozens who had and have more naturaltalent for the law than I, more talent for politics than I. The samething may be said about you. I don't regard either of us as naturallawyers, such as your father was. He couldn't help being a lawyer. "

Here was new evidence of his perspicacity. 

"But surely, " I ventured, "you don't feel any regrets concerning yourcareer, Mr. Watling?"

"No, " he said, "that's just the point. But no two of us are made whollyalike. I hadn't practised law very long before I began to realize thatconditions were changing, that the new forces at work in our industriallife made the older legal ideals impracticable. It was a case ofchoosing between efficiency and inefficiency, and I chose efficiency. Well, that was my own affair, but when it comes to influencing others--"He paused. "I want you to see this as I do, not for the sake ofjustifying myself, but because I honestly believe there is more to itthan expediency, --a good deal more. There's a weak way of looking atit, and a strong way. And if I feel sure you understand it, I shall besatisfied. 

"Because things are going to change in this country, Hugh. They arechanging, but they are going to change more. A man has got to make uphis mind what he believes in, and be ready to fight for it. We'll haveto fight for it, sooner perhaps than we realize. We are a nation dividedagainst ourselves; democracy--Jacksonian democracy, at all events, isa flat failure, and we may as well acknowledge it. We have a politicalsystem we have outgrown, and which, therefore, we have had to nullify. There are certain needs, certain tendencies of development in nationsas well as in individuals, --needs stronger than the state, strongerthan the law or constitution. In order to make our resources effective, combinations of capital are more and more necessary, and no more to bedenied than a chemical process, given the proper ingredients, can bethwarted. The men who control capital must have a free hand, or thestructure will be destroyed. This compels us to do many things which wewould rather not do, which we might accomplish openly and unopposed ifconditions were frankly recognized, and met by wise statesmanship whichsought to bring about harmony by the reshaping of laws and policies. Doyou follow me?"

"Yes, " I answered. "But I have never heard the situation statedso clearly. Do you think the day will come when statesmanship willrecognize this need?"

"Ah, " he said, "I'm afraid not--in my time, at least. But we shall haveto develop that kind of statesmen or go on the rocks. Public opinionin the old democratic sense is a myth; it must be made by strongindividuals who recognize and represent evolutionary needs, otherwiseit's at the mercy of demagogues who play fast and loose with theprejudice and ignorance of the mob. The people don't value the vote, they know nothing about the real problems. So far as I can see, theyare as easily swayed to-day as the crowd that listened to Mark Antony'soration about Caesar. You've seen how we have to handle them, in thiselection and--in other matters. It isn't a pleasant practice, somethingwe'd indulge in out of choice, but the alternative is unthinkable. We'dhave chaos in no time. We've just got to keep hold, you understand--wecan't leave it to the irresponsible. "

"Yes, " I said. In this mood he was more impressive than I had ever knownhim, and his confidence flattered and thrilled me. 

"In the meantime, we're criminals, " he continued. "From now on we'llhave to stand more and more denunciation from the visionaries, thedissatisfied, the trouble makers. We may as well make up our minds toit. But we've got something on our side worth fighting for, and the manwho is able to make that clear will be great. "

"But you--you are going to the Senate, " I reminded him. 

He shook his head. 

"The time has not yet come, " he said. "Confusion and misunderstandingmust increase before they can diminish. But I have hopes of you, Hugh, or I shouldn't have spoken. I shan't be here now--of course I'll keep intouch with you. I wanted to be sure that you had the right view of thisthing. "

"I see it now, " I said. "I had thought of it, but never--never asa whole--not in the large sense in which you have expressed it. " Toattempt to acknowledge or deprecate the compliment he had paid me wasimpossible; I felt that he must have read my gratitude and appreciationin my manner. 

"I mustn't keep you up until morning. " He glanced at the clock, and wentwith me through the hall into the open air. A meteor darted throughthe November night. "We're like that, " he observed, staring after it, a"flash across the darkness, and we're gone. "

"Only--there are many who haven't the satisfaction of a flash, " I wasmoved to reply. 

He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder as he bade me good night. 

"Hugh, you ought to get married. I'll have to find a nice girl for you, "he said. With an elation not unmingled with awe I made my way homeward. 

Theodore Watling had given me a creed. 

A week or so after the election I received a letter from George Hutchinsasking me to come to Elkington. I shall not enter into the details ofthe legal matter involved. Many times that winter I was a guest at theyellow-brick house, and I have to confess, as spring came on, thatI made several trips to Elkington which business necessity did notabsolutely demand. 

I considered Maude Hutchins, and found the consideration rather adelightful process. As became an eligible and successful young man, Iwas careful not to betray too much interest; and I occupied myself atfirst with a review of what I deemed her shortcomings. Not that I wasthinking of marriage--but I had imagined the future Mrs. Paret as tall;Maude was up to my chin: again, the hair of the fortunate lady was tobe dark, and Maude's was golden red: my ideal had esprit, lightnessof touch, the faculty of seizing just the aspect of a subject thatdelighted me, and a knowledge of the world; Maude was simple, direct, and in a word provincial. Her provinciality, however, was negativerather than positive, she had no disagreeable mannerisms, her voice wasnot nasal; her plasticity appealed to me. I suppose I was lost withoutknowing it when I began to think of moulding her. 

All of this went on at frequent intervals during the winter, and whileI was organizing the Elkington Power and Traction Company for George Ifound time to dine and sup at Maude's house, and to take walks withher. I thought I detected an incense deliciously sweet; by no meansoverpowering, like the lily's, but more like the shy fragrance of thewood flower. I recall her kind welcomes, the faint deepening of colourin her cheeks when she greeted me, and while I suspected that she lookedup to me she had a surprising and tantalizing self-command. 

There came moments when I grew slightly alarmed, as, for instance, oneSunday in the early spring when I was dining at the Ezra Hutchins'shouse and surprised Mrs. Hutchins's glance on me, suspecting her ofseeking to divine what manner of man I was. I became self-conscious; Idared not look at Maude, who sat across the table; thereafter I began tofeel that the Hutchins connection regarded me as a suitor. I hadgrown intimate with George and his wife, who did not refrain from slyallusions; and George himself once remarked, with characteristic tact, that I was most conscientious in my attention to the traction affair; Ihave reason to believe they were even less delicate with Maude. This wasthe logical time to withdraw--but I dallied. The experience was becomingmore engrossing, --if I may so describe it, --and spring was approaching. The stars in their courses were conspiring. I was by no means as yeta self-acknowledged wooer, and we discussed love in its lighter phasesthrough the medium of literature. Heaven forgive me for calling it so!About that period, it will be remembered, a mushroom growth of volumesof a certain kind sprang into existence; little books with "artistic"bindings and wide margins, sweetened essays, some of them written inbeautiful English by dilettante authors for drawing-room consumption;and collections of short stories, no doubt chiefly bought byphilanderers like myself, who were thus enabled to skate on thin iceover deep water. It was a most delightful relationship that these helpedto support, and I fondly believed I could reach shore again whenever Ichose. 

There came a Sunday in early May, one of those days when the feminineassumes a large importance. I had been to the Hutchinses' church; andMaude, as she sat and prayed decorously in the pew beside me, suddenlyincreased in attractiveness and desirability. Her voice was very sweet, and I felt a delicious and languorous thrill which I identified not onlywith love, but also with a reviving spirituality. How often the two seemto go hand in hand!

She wore a dress of a filmy material, mauve, with a design in goldthread running through it. Of late, it seemed, she had had more newdresses: and their modes seemed more cosmopolitan; at least to themasculine eye. How delicately her hair grew, in little, shining wisps, around her white neck! I could have reached out my hand and touchedher. And it was this desire, --although by no means overwhelming, --thatstartled me. Did I really want her? The consideration of this vitalquestion occupied the whole time of the sermon; made me distrait atdinner, --a large family gathering. Later I found myself alone with herona bench in the Hutchinses' garden where we had walked the day of myarrival, during the campaign. 

The gardens were very different, now. The trees had burst forth againinto leaf, the spiraea bushes seemed weighted down with snow, and with anote like that of the quivering bass string of a 'cello the bees hummedamong the fruit blossoms. And there beside me in her filmy dresswas Maude, a part of it all--the meaning of all that set my beingclamouring. She was like some ripened, delicious flower ready to bepicked. .. . One of those pernicious, make-believe volumes had fallen onthe bench between us, for I could not read any more; I could not think;I touched her hand, and when she drew it gently away I glanced at her. Reason made a valiant but hopeless effort to assert itself. Was I surethat I wanted her--for life? No use! I wanted her now, no matterwhat price that future might demand. An awkward silence fell betweenus--awkward to me, at least--and I, her guide and mentor, became banal, apologetic, confused. I made some idiotic remark about being together inthe Garden of Eden. 

"I remember Mr. Doddridge saying in Bible class that it was supposedto be on the Euphrates, " she replied. "But it's been destroyed by theflood. "

"Let's make another--one of our own, " I suggested. 

"Why, how silly you are this afternoon. "

"What's to prevent us--Maude?" I demanded, with a dry throat. 

"Nonsense!" she laughed. In proportion as I lost poise she seemed togain it. 

"It's not nonsense, " I faltered. "If we were married. "

At last the fateful words were pronounced--irrevocably. And, instead ofqualms, I felt nothing but relief, joy that I had been swept along bythe flood of feeling. She did not look at me, but gazed straight aheadof her. 

"If I love you, Maude?" I stammered, after a moment. 

"But I don't love you, " she replied, steadily. 

Never in my life had I been so utterly taken aback. 

"Do you mean, " I managed to say, "that after all these months you don'tlike me a little?"

"'Liking' isn't loving. " She looked me full in the face. "I like youvery much. "

"But--" there I stopped, paralyzed by what appeared to me thequintessence of feminine inconsistency and caprice. Yet, as I stared ather, she certainly did not appear capricious. It is not too much tosay that I was fairly astounded at this evidence of self-command anddecision, of the strength of mind to refuse me. Was it possible that shehad felt nothing and I all? I got to my feet. 

"I hate to hurt your feelings, " I heard her say. "I'm very sorry. ". .. She looked up at me. Afterwards, when reflecting on the scene, I seemedto remember that there were tears in her eyes. I was not in acondition to appreciate her splendid sincerity. I was overwhelmed andinarticulate. I left her there, on the bench, and went back to George's, announcing my intention of taking the five o'clock train. .. . 

Maude Hutchins had become, at a stroke, the most desirable of women. I have often wondered how I should have felt on that five-hour journeyback to the city if she had fallen into my arms! I should have persuadedmyself, no doubt, that I had not done a foolish thing in yielding to animpulse and proposing to an inexperienced and provincial young woman, yet there would have been regrets in the background. Too deeplychagrined to see any humour in the situation, I settled down in aPullman seat and went over and over again the event of that afternoonuntil the train reached the city. 

As the days wore on, and I attended to my cases, I thought of Maudea great deal, and in those moments when the pressure of business wasrelaxed, she obsessed me. She must love me, --only she did not realizeit. That was the secret! Her value had risen amazingly, become supreme;the very act of refusing me had emphasized her qualifications as a wife, and I now desired her with all the intensity of a nature which hadbeen permitted always to achieve its objects. The inevitable process ofidealization began. In dusty offices I recalled her freshness as she hadsat beside me in the garden, --the freshness of a flower; with Berkeleyansubjectivism I clothed the flower with colour, bestowed it withfragrance. I conferred on Maude all the gifts and graces that woman hadpossessed since the creation. And I recalled, with mingled bitternessand tenderness, the turn of her head, the down on her neck, thehalf-revealed curve of her arm. .. . In spite of the growing sordidness ofLyme Street, my mother and I still lived in the old house, for whichshe very naturally had a sentiment. In vain I had urged her from time totime to move out into a brighter and fresher neighbourhood. It would betime enough, she said, when I was married. 

"If you wait for that, mother, " I answered, "we shall spend the rest ofour lives here. "

"I shall spend the rest of my life here, " she would declare. "Butyou--you have your life before you, my dear. You would be so much morecontented if--if you could find some nice girl. I think you live--toofeverishly. "

I do not know whether or not she suspected me of being in love, norindeed how much she read of me in other ways. I did not confide in her, nor did it strike me that she might have yearned for confidences; thoughsometimes, when I dined at home, I surprised her gentle face--framednow with white hair--lifted wistfully toward me across the table. Our relationship, indeed, was a pathetic projection of that which hadexisted in my childhood; we had never been confidants then. The worldin which I lived and fought, of great transactions and mercilessconsequences frightened her; her own world was more limited than ever. She heard disquieting things, I am sure, from Cousin Robert Breck, whohad become more and more querulous since the time-honoured firm of Breckand Company had been forced to close its doors and the home at Claremorehad been sold. My mother often spent the day in the scrolled suburbancottage with the coloured glass front door where he lived with theKinleys and Helen. .. . 

If my mother suspected that I was anticipating marriage, and saidnothing, Nancy Durrett suspected and spoke out. 

Life is such a curious succession of contradictions and surprises thatI record here without comment the fact that I was seeing much moreof Nancy since her marriage than I had in the years preceding it. Acomradeship existed between us. I often dined at her house and hadfallen into the habit of stopping there frequently on my way home in theevening. Ham did not seem to mind. What was clear, at any rate, was thatNancy, before marriage, had exacted some sort of an understanding bywhich her "freedom" was not to be interfered with. She was the firstamong us of the "modern wives. "

Ham, whose heartstrings and purse-strings were oddly intertwined, hadstipulated that they were to occupy the old Durrett mansion; but whenNancy had made it "livable, " as she expressed it, he is said to haveremarked that he might as well have built a new house and been done withit. Not even old Nathaniel himself would have recognized his home whenNancy finished what she termed furnishing: out went the horsehair, thehideous chandeliers, the stuffy books, the Recamier statuary, and anarmy of upholsterers, wood-workers, etc. , from Boston and New Yorkinvaded the place. The old mahogany doors were spared, but matched nowby Chippendale and Sheraton; the new, polished floors were covered withOriental rugs, the dreary Durrett pictures replaced by good canvases andtapestries. Nancy had what amounted to a genius for interior effects, and she was the first to introduce among us the luxury that was to growmore and more prevalent as our wealth increased by leaps and bounds. Only Nancy's luxury, though lavish, was never vulgar, and her housewhen completed had rather marvellously the fine distinction of some oldLondon mansion filled with the best that generations could contribute. It left Mrs. Frederick Grierson--whose residence on the Heights hadhitherto been our "grandest"--breathless with despair. 

With characteristic audacity Nancy had chosen old Nathaniel's sanctumfor her particular salon, into which Ham himself did not dare to venturewithout invitation. It was hung in Pompeiian red and had a littlewrought-iron balcony projecting over the yard, now transformed by anexpert into a garden. When I had first entered this room after themetamorphosis had taken place I inquired after the tombstone mantel. 

"Oh, I've pulled it up by the roots, " she said. 

"Aren't you afraid of ghosts?" I inquired. 

"Do I look it?" she asked. And I confessed that she didn't. Indeed, all ghosts were laid, nor was there about her the slightest evidence ofmourning or regret. One was forced to acknowledge her perfection in thepart she had chosen as the arbitress of social honours. The candidateswere rapidly increasing; almost every month, it seemed, someone turnedup with a fortune and the aspirations that go with it, and it was Mrs. Durrett who decided the delicate question of fitness. With these, and with the world at large, her manner might best be described asdifficult; and I was often amused at the way in which she contrivedto keep them at arm's length and make them uncomfortable. With herintimates--of whom there were few--she was frank. 

"I suppose you enjoy it, " I said to her once. 

"Of course I enjoy it, or I shouldn't do it, " she retorted. "It isn'tthe real thing, as I told you once. But none of us gets the real thing. It's power. .. . Just as you enjoy what you're doing--sorting out theunfit. It's a game, it keeps us from brooding over things we can't help. And after all, when we have good appetites and are fairly happy, whyshould we complain?"

"I'm not complaining, " I said, taking up a cigarette, "since I stillenjoy your favour. "

She regarded me curiously. 

"And when you get married, Hugh?"

"Sufficient unto the day, " I replied. 

"How shall I get along, I wonder, with that simple and unsophisticatedlady when she appears?"

"Well, " I said, "you wouldn't marry me. "

She shook her head at me, and smiled. .. . 

"No, " she corrected me, "you like me better as Hams' wife than you wouldhave as your own. "

I merely laughed at this remark. .. . It would indeed have been difficultto analyze the new relationship that had sprung up between us, to saywhat elements composed it. The roots of it went back to the beginningof our lives; and there was much of sentiment in it, no doubt. Sheunderstood me as no one else in the world understood me, and she wasfond of me in spite of it. 

Hence, when I became infatuated with Maude Hutchins, after that Sundaywhen she so unexpectedly had refused me, I might have known that Nancy'ssuspicions would be aroused. She startled me by accusing me, out of aclear sky, of being in love. I denied it a little too emphatically. 

"Why shouldn't you tell me, Hugh, if it's so?" she asked. "I didn'thesitate to tell you. "

It was just before her departure for the East to spend the summer. Wewere on the balcony, shaded by the big maple that grew at the end of thegarden. 

"But there's nothing to tell, " I insisted. 

She lay back in her chair, regarding me. 

"Did you think that I'd be jealous?"

"There's nothing to be jealous about. "

"I've always expected you to get married, Hugh. I've even predicted thetype. "

She had, in truth, with an accuracy almost uncanny. 

"The only thing I'm afraid of is that she won't like me. She lives inthat place you've been going to so much, lately, --doesn't she?"

Of course she had put two and two together, my visits to Elkington andmy manner, which I had flattered myself had not been distrait. On thechance that she knew more, from some source, I changed my tactics. 

"I suppose you mean Maude Hutchins, " I said. 

Nancy laughed. 

"So that's her name!"

"It's the name of a girl in Elkington. I've been doing legal work forthe Hutchinses, and I imagine some idiot has been gossiping. She's justa young girl--much too young for me. "

"Men are queer creatures, " she declared. "Did you think I should bejealous?"

It was exactly what I had thought, but I denied it. 

"Why should you be--even if there were anything to be jealous about?You didn't consult me when you got married. You merely announced anirrevocable decision. "

Nancy leaned forward and laid her hand on my arm. 

"My dear, " she said, "strange as it may seem, I want you to be happy. Idon't want you to make a mistake, Hugh, too great a mistake. "

I was surprised and moved. Once more I had a momentary glimpse of thereal Nancy. .. . 

Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ralph Hambleton. .. . 

XIV. 

However, thoughts of Maude continued to possess me. She still appearedthe most desirable of beings, and a fortnight after my repulse, withoutany excuse at all, I telegraphed the George Hutchinses that I was comingto pay them a visit. Mrs. George, wearing a knowing smile, met me at thestation in a light buck-board. 

"I've asked Maude to dinner, " she said. .. . 

Thus with masculine directness I returned to the charge, and Maude'scontinued resistance but increased my ardour; could not see why shecontinued to resist me. 

"Because I don't love you, " she said. 

This was incredible. I suggested that she didn't know what love was, andshe admitted it was possible: she liked me very, very much. I told her, sagely, that this was the best foundation for matrimony. That might be, but she had had other ideas. For one thing, she felt that she did notknow me. .. . In short, she was charming and maddening in her defensiveruses, in her advances and retreats, for I pressed her hard duringthe four weeks which followed, and in them made four visits. Flingingcaution to the winds, I did not even pretend to George that I was comingto see him on business. I had the Hutchins family on my side, for theyhad the sense to see that the match would be an advantageous one; I evensummoned up enough courage to talk to Ezra Hutchins on the subject. 

"I'll not attempt to influence Maude, Mr. Paret--I've always said Iwouldn't interfere with her choice. But as you are a young man of soundhabits, sir, successful in your profession, I should raise no objection. I suppose we can't keep her always. "

To conceal his emotion, he pulled out the watch he lived by. "Why, it'schurch time!" he said. .. . I attended church regularly at Elkington. .. . 

On a Sunday night in June, following a day during which victory seemedmore distant than ever, with startling unexpectedness Maude capitulated. She sat beside me on the bench, obscured, yet the warm night quiveredwith her presence. I felt her tremble. .. . I remember the first exquisitetouch of her soft cheek. How strange it was that in conquest the tumultof my being should be stilled, that my passion should be transmuted intoawe that thrilled yet disquieted! What had I done? It was as though Ihad suddenly entered an unimagined sanctuary filled with holy flame. .. . 

Presently, when we began to talk, I found myself seeking more familiarlevels. I asked her why she had so long resisted me, accusing her ofhaving loved me all the time. 

"Yes, I think I did, Hugh. Only--I didn't know it. "

"You must have felt something, that afternoon when I first proposed toyou!"

"You didn't really want me, Hugh. Not then. "

Surprised, and a little uncomfortable at this evidence of intuition, Istarted to protest. It seemed to me then as though I had always wantedher. 

"No, no, " she exclaimed, "you didn't. You were carried away by yourfeelings--you hadn't made up your mind. Indeed, I can't see why you wantme now. "

"You believe I do, " I said, and drew her toward me. 

"Yes, I--I believe it, now. But I can't see why. There must be so manyattractive girls in the city, who know so much more than I do. "

I sought fervidly to reassure her on this point. .. . At length when wewent into the house she drew away from me at arm's length and gave meone long searching look, as though seeking to read my soul. 

"Hugh, you will always love me--to the very end, won't you?"

"Yes, " I whispered, "always. "

In the library, one on each side of the table, under the lamp, EzraHutchins and his wife sat reading. Mrs. Hutchins looked up, and I sawthat she had divined. 

"Mother, I am engaged to Hugh, " Maude said, and bent over and kissedher. Ezra and I stood gazing at them. Then he turned to me and pressedmy hand. 

"Well, I never saw the man who was good enough for her, Hugh. But Godbless you, my son. I hope you will prize her as we prize her. "

Mrs. Hutchins embraced me. And through her tears she, too, looked longinto my face. When she had released me Ezra had his watch in his hand. 

"If you're going on the ten o'clock train, Hugh--"

"Father!" Maude protested, laughing, "I must say I don't call that verypolite. ". .. 

In the train I slept but fitfully, awakening again and again to recallthe extraordinary fact that I was now engaged to be married, to goover the incidents of the evening. Indifferent to the backings andthe bumpings of the car, the voices in the stations, the clanging oflocomotive bells and all the incomprehensible startings and stoppings, exalted yet troubled I beheld Maude luminous with the love I hadamazingly awakened, a love somewhere beyond my comprehension. For herindeed marriage was made in heaven. But for me? Could I rise now to theideal that had once been mine, thrust henceforth evil out of my life?Love forever, live always in this sanctuary she had made for me? Wouldthe time come when I should feel a sense of bondage?. .. 

The wedding was set for the end of September. I continued to go everyweek to Elkington, and in August, Maude and I spent a fortnight at thesea. There could be no doubt as to my mother's happiness, as to herapproval of Maude; they loved each other from the beginning. I canpicture them now, sitting together with their sewing on the porch of thecottage at Mattapoisett. Out on the bay little white-caps danced in thesunlight, sail-boats tacked hither and thither, the strong cape breeze, laden with invigorating salt, stirred Maude's hair, and occasionallyplayed havoc with my papers. 

"She is just the wife for you, Hugh, " my mother confided to me. "If Ihad chosen her myself I could not have done better, " she added, with asmile. 

I was inclined to believe it, but Maude would have none of thisillusion. 

"He just stumbled across me, " she insisted. .. . 

We went on long sails together, towards Wood's Hole and the open sea, the sprays washing over us. Her cheeks grew tanned. .. . Sometimes, whenI praised her and spoke confidently of our future, she wore a troubledexpression. 

"What are you thinking about?" I asked her once. 

"You mustn't put me on a pedestal, " she said gently. "I want you to seeme as I am--I don't want you to wake up some day and be disappointed. I'll have to learn a lot of things, and you'll have to teach me. I can'tget used to the fact that you, who are so practical and successful inbusiness, should be such a dreamer where I am concerned. "

I laughed, and told her, comfortably, that she was talking nonsense. 

"What did you think of me, when you first knew me?" I inquired. 

"Well, " she answered, with the courage that characterized her, "Ithought you were rather calculating, that you put too high a price onsuccess. Of course you attracted me. I own it. "

"You hid your opinions rather well, " I retorted, somewhat discomfited. 

She flushed. 

"Have you changed them?" I demanded. 

"I think you have that side, and I think it a weak side, Hugh. It's hardto tell you this, but it's better to say so now, since you ask me. I dothink you set too high a value on success. '

"Well, now that I know what success really is, perhaps I shall reform, "I told her. 

"I don't like to think that you fool yourself, " she replied, with aperspicacity I should have found extraordinary. 

Throughout my life there have been days and incidents, some trivial, some important, that linger in my memory because they are saturated with"atmosphere. " I recall, for instance, a gala occasion in youth when mymother gave one of her luncheon parties; on my return from school, thehouse and its surroundings wore a mysterious, exciting and unfamiliarlook, somehow changed by the simple fact that guests sat decorouslychatting in a dining-room shining with my mother's best linen andtreasured family silver and china. The atmosphere of my wedding-day isno less vivid. The house of Ezra Hutchins was scarcely recognizable:its doors and windows were opened wide, and all the morning people werebeing escorted upstairs to an all-significant room that contained acollection like a jeweller's exhibit, --a bewildering display. There wasa massive punch-bowl from which dangled the card of Mr. And Mrs. AdolfScherer, a really wonderful tea set of old English silver given bySenator and Mrs. Watling, and Nancy Willett, with her certainty ofgood taste, had sent an old English tankard of the time of the secondCharles. The secret was in that room. And it magically transformed forme (as I stood, momentarily alone, in the doorway where I had firstbeheld Maude) the accustomed scene, and charged with undivinedsignificance the blue shadows under the heavy foliage of the maples. TheSeptember sunlight was heavy, tinged with gold. .. . 

So fragmentary and confused are the events of that day that a cubistliterature were necessary to convey the impressions left upon me. I hadsomething of the feeling of a recruit who for the first time is takingpart in a brilliant and complicated manoeuvre. Tom and Susan Petersflit across the view, and Gene Hollister and Perry Blackwood and theEwanses, --all of whom had come up in a special car; Ralph Hambletonwas "best man, " looking preternaturally tall in his frock-coat: andhis manner, throughout the whole proceeding, was one of good-naturedtolerance toward a folly none but he might escape. 

"If you must do it, Hughie, I suppose you must, " he had said to me. "I'll see you through, of course. But don't blame me afterwards. "

Maude was a little afraid of him. .. . 

I dressed at George's; then, like one of those bewildering shifts ofa cinematograph, comes the scene in church, the glimpse of my mother'swistful face in the front pew; and I found myself in front of theaustere Mr. Doddridge standing beside Maude--or rather beside a womanI tried hard to believe was Maude--so veiled and generally encased wasshe. I was thinking of this all the time I was mechanically answeringMr. Doddridge, and even when the wedding march burst forth and I led herout of the church. It was as though they had done their best to disguiseher, to put our union on the other-worldly plane that was deemed tobe its only justification, to neutralize her sex at the very moment itshould have been most enhanced. Well, they succeeded. If I had not beenas conventional as the rest, I should have preferred to have run awaywith her in the lavender dress she wore when I first proposed to her. Itwas only when we had got into the carriage and started for the house andshe turned to me her face from which the veil had been thrown back thatI realized what a sublime meaning it all had for her. Her eyes werewet. Once more I was acutely conscious of my inability to feel deeply atsupreme moments. For months I had looked forward with anticipation andimpatience to my wedding-day. 

I kissed her gently. But I felt as though she had gone to heaven, andthat the face I beheld enshrouded were merely her effigy. Commonplacewords were inappropriate, yet it was to these I resorted. 

"Well--it wasn't so bad after all! Was it?"

She smiled at me. 

"You don't want to take it back?"

She shook her head. 

"I think it was a beautiful wedding, Hugh. I'm so glad we had a goodday. ". .. 

She seemed shy, at once very near and very remote. I held her handawkwardly until the carriage stopped. 

A little later we were standing in a corner of the parlour, theatmosphere of which was heavy with the scent of flowers, submitting tothe onslaught of relatives. Then came the wedding breakfast: croquettes, champagne, chicken salad, ice-cream, the wedding-cake, speeches and morekisses. .. . I remember Tom Peters holding on to both my hands. 

"Good-bye, and God bless you, old boy, " he was saying. Susan, in view ofthe occasion, had allowed him a little more champagne than usual--enoughto betray his feelings, and I knew that these had not changed since ourcollege days. I resolved to see more of him. I had neglected him andundervalued his loyalty. .. . He had followed me to my room in George'shouse where I was dressing for the journey, and he gave it as hisdeliberate judgment that in Maude I had "struck gold. "

"She's just the girl for you, Hughie, " he declared. "Susan thinks so, too. "

Later in the afternoon, as we sat in the state-room of the car thatwas bearing us eastward, Maude began to cry. I sat looking at herhelplessly, unable to enter into her emotion, resenting it a little. YetI tried awkwardly to comfort her. 

"I can't bear to leave them, " she said. 

"But you will see them often, when we come back, " I reassured her. Itwas scarcely the moment for reminding her of what she was getting inreturn. This peculiar family affection she evinced was beyond me; Ihad never experienced it in any poignant degree since I had gone as afreshman to Harvard, and yet I was struck by the fact that her emotionswere so rightly placed. It was natural to love one's family. I began tofeel, vaguely, as I watched her, that the new relationship into whichI had entered was to be much more complicated than I had imagined. Twilight was coming on, the train was winding through the mountainpasses, crossing and re-crossing a swift little stream whose banks weremassed with alder; here and there, on the steep hillsides, blazedthe goldenrod. .. . Presently I turned, to surprise in her eyes a wide, questioning look, --the look of a child. Even in this irrevocable hourshe sought to grasp what manner of being was this to whom she hadconfided her life, and with whom she was faring forth into the unknown. The experience was utterly unlike my anticipation. Yet I responded. Thekiss I gave her had no passion in it. 

"I'll take good care of you, Maude, " I said. 

Suddenly, in the fading light, she flung her arms around me, pressing metightly, desperately. 

"Oh, I know you will, Hugh, dear. And you'll forgive me, won't you, forbeing so horrid to-day, of all days? I do love you!"

Neither of us had ever been abroad. And although it was before the daysof swimming-pools and gymnasiums and a la carte cafes on ocean liners, the Atlantic was imposing enough. Maude had a more lasting capacity forpleasure than I, a keener enjoyment of new experiences, and as she laybeside me in the steamer-chair where I had carefully tucked her shewould exclaim:

"I simply can't believe it, Hugh! It seems so unreal. I'm sure I shallwake up and find myself back in Elkington. "

"Don't speak so loud, my dear, " I cautioned her. There were some veryformal-looking New Yorkers next us. 

"No, I won't, " she whispered. "But I'm so happy I feel as though Ishould like to tell everyone. "

"There's no need, " I answered smiling. 

"Oh, Hugh, I don't want to disgrace you!" she exclaimed, in real alarm. "Otherwise, so far as I am concerned, I shouldn't care who knew. "

People smiled at her. Women came up and took her hands. And on thefourth day the formidable New Yorkers unexpectedly thawed. 

I had once thought of Maude as plastic. Then I had discovered she hada mind and will of her own. Once more she seemed plastic; her love hadmade her so. Was it not what I had desired? I had only to express awish, and it became her law. Nay, she appealed to me many times a day toknow whether she had made any mistakes, and I began to drill her in mysilly traditions, --gently, very gently. 

"Well, I shouldn't be quite so familiar with people, quite so ready tomake acquaintances, Maude. You have no idea who they may be. Some ofthem, of course, like the Sardells, I know by reputation. "

The Sardells were the New Yorkers who sat next us. 

"I'll try, Hugh, to be more reserved, more like the wife of an importantman. " She smiled. 

"It isn't that you're not reserved, " I replied, ignoring the latter halfof her remark. "Nor that I want you to change, " I said. "I only want toteach you what little of the world I know myself. "

"And I want to learn, Hugh. You don't know how I want to learn!"

The sight of mist-ridden Liverpool is not a cheering one for theAmerican who first puts foot on the mother country's soil, a Liverpoolof yellow-browns and dingy blacks, of tilted funnels pouring out smokeinto an atmosphere already charged with it. The long wharves and shedroofs glistened with moisture. 

"Just think, Hugh, it's actually England!" she cried, as we stood on thewet deck. But I felt as though I'd been there before. 

"No wonder they're addicted to cold baths, " I replied. "They must feelperfectly at home in them, especially if they put a little lampblack inthe water. "

Maude laughed. 

"You grumpy old thing!" she exclaimed. 

Nothing could dampen her ardour, not the sight of the rain-soaked stonehouses when we got ashore, nor even the frigid luncheon we ate in thelugubrious hotel. For her it was all quaint and new. Finally we foundourselves established in a compartment upholstered in light grey, withtassels and arm-supporters, on the window of which was pasted a posterwith the word reserved in large, red letters. The guard inquiredrespectfully, as the porter put our new luggage in the racks, whether wehad everything we wanted. The toy locomotive blew its toy whistle, andwe were off for the north; past dingy, yellow tenements of the smokingfactory towns, and stretches of orderly, hedge-spaced rain-sweptcountry. The quaint cottages we glimpsed, the sight of distant, statelymansions on green slopes caused Maude to cry out with rapture:--"Oh, Hugh, there's a manor-house!"

More vivid than were the experiences themselves of that journey are thememories of them. We went to windswept, Sabbath-keeping Edinburgh, tohigh Stirling and dark Holyrood, and to Abbotsford. It was throughSir Walter's eyes we beheld Melrose bathed in autumn light, by his aidrepeopled it with forgotten monks eating their fast-day kale. 

And as we sat reading and dreaming in the still, sunny corners I forgot, that struggle for power in which I had been so furiously engaged sinceleaving Cambridge. Legislatures, politicians and capitalists recededinto a dim background; and the gift I had possessed, in youth, of livingin a realm of fancy showed astonishing signs of revival. 

"Why, Hugh, " Maude exclaimed, "you ought to have been a writer!"

"You've only just begun to fathom my talents, " I replied laughingly. "Did you think you'd married just a dry old lawyer?"

"I believe you capable of anything, " she said. .. . 

I grew more and more to depend on her for little things. 

She was a born housewife. It was pleasant to have her do all thepacking, while I read or sauntered in the queer streets about the inns. And she took complete charge of my wardrobe. 

She had a talent for drawing, and as we went southward through Englandshe made sketches of the various houses that took our fancy--suggestionsfor future home-building; we spent hours in the evenings in the innsitting-rooms incorporating new features into our residence, continuallymodifying our plans. Now it was a Tudor house that carried us away, now a Jacobean, and again an early Georgian with enfolding wings and awrought-iron grill. A stage of bewilderment succeeded. 

Maude, I knew, loved the cottages best. She said they were more"homelike. " But she yielded to my liking for grandeur. 

"My, I should feel lost in a palace like that!" she cried, as we gazedat the Marquis of So-and-So's country-seat. 

"Well, of course we should have to modify it, " I admitted. "Perhaps--perhaps our family will be larger. "

She put her hand on my lips, and blushed a fiery red. .. . 

We examined, with other tourists, at a shilling apiece historic mansionswith endless drawing-rooms, halls, libraries, galleries filled withfamily portraits; elaborate, formal bedrooms where famous sovereignshad slept, all roped off and carpeted with canvas strips to protectthe floors. Through mullioned windows we caught glimpses of gardens andgeometrical parterres, lakes, fountains, statuary, fantastic topiaryand distant stretches of park. Maude sighed with admiration, but did notcovet. She had me. But I was often uncomfortable, resenting the vulgar, gaping tourists with whom we were herded and the easy familiarity ofthe guides. These did not trouble Maude, who often annoyed me by askingnaive questions herself. I would nudge her. 

One afternoon when, with other compatriots, we were being hurriedthrough a famous castle, the guide unwittingly ushered us into adrawing-room where the owner and several guests were seated about atea-table. I shall never forget the stares they gave us before we hadtime precipitately to retreat, nor the feeling of disgust and rebellionthat came over me. This was heightened by the remark of a heavy, six-foot Ohioan with an infantile face and a genial manner. 

"I notice that they didn't invite us to sit down and have a bite, " hesaid. "I call that kind of inhospitable. "

"It was 'is lordship himself!" exclaimed the guide, scandalized. 

"You don't say!" drawled our fellow-countryman. "I guess I owe youanother shilling, my friend. "

The guide, utterly bewildered, accepted it. The transatlantic point ofview towards the nobility was beyond him. 

"His lordship could make a nice little income if he set up as a sideshow, " added the Ohioan. 

Maude giggled, but I was furious. And no sooner were we outside thegates than I declared I should never again enter a private residence bythe back door. 

"Why, Hugh, how queer you are sometimes, " she said. 

"I maybe queer, but I have a sense of fitness, " I retorted. 

She asserted herself. 

"I can't see what difference it makes. They didn't know us. And if theyadmit people for money--"

"I can't help it. And as for the man from Ohio--"

"But he was so funny!" she interrupted. "And he was really very nice. "

I was silent. Her point of view, eminently sensible as it was, exasperated me. We were leaning over the parapet of a little-stonebridge. Her face was turned away from me, but presently I realized thatshe was crying. Men and women, villagers, passing across the bridge, looked at us curiously. I was miserable, and somewhat appalled;resentful, yet striving to be gentle and conciliatory. I assured herthat she was talking nonsense, that I loved her. But I did not reallylove her at that moment; nor did she relent as easily as usual. It wasnot until we were together in our sitting-room, a few hours later, thatshe gave in. I felt a tremendous sense of relief. 

"Hugh, I'll try to be what you want. You know I am trying. But don'tkill what is natural in me. "

I was touched by the appeal, and repentant. .. 

It is impossible to say when the little worries, annoyances anddisagreements began, when I first felt a restlessness creeping over me. I tried to hide these moods from her, but always she divined them. Andyet I was sure that I loved Maude; in a surprisingly short period I hadbecome accustomed to her, dependent on her ministrations and the normal, cosy intimacy of our companionship. I did not like to think that thekeen edge of the enjoyment of possession was wearing a little, whileat the same time I philosophized that the divine fire, when legalized, settles down to a comfortable glow. The desire to go home that grew uponme I attributed to the irritation aroused by the spectacle of a fixedsocial order commanding such unquestioned deference from the many whowere content to remain resignedly outside of it. Before the settingin of the Liberal movement and the "American invasion" England was acountry in which (from my point of view) one must be "somebody" in orderto be happy. I was "somebody" at home; or at least rapidly becomingso. .. . 

London was shrouded, parliament had risen, and the great houseswere closed. Day after day we issued forth from a musty and highlyrespectable hotel near Piccadilly to a gloomy Tower, a soggy HamptonCourt or a mournful British Museum. Our native longing for luxury--orrather my native longing--impelled me to abandon Smith's Hotel for ahuge hostelry where our suite overlooked the Thames, where we ran acrossa man I had known slightly at Harvard, and other Americans with whomwe made excursions and dined and went to the theatre. Maude liked thesepersons; I did not find them especially congenial. My life-long habitof unwillingness to accept what life sent in its ordinary course wasasserting itself; but Maude took her friends as she found them, and Iwas secretly annoyed by her lack of discrimination. In addition to this, the sense of having been pulled up by the roots grew upon me. 

"Suppose, " Maude surprised me by suggesting one morning as we satat breakfast watching the river craft flit like phantoms through theyellow-green fog--"suppose we don't go to France, after all, Hugh?"

"Not go to France!" I exclaimed. "Are you tired of the trip?"

"Oh, Hugh!" Her voice caught. "I could go on, always, if you werecontent. "

"And--what makes you think that I'm not content?"

Her smile had in it just a touch of wistfulness. 

"I understand you, Hugh, better than you think. You want to get backto your work, and--and I should be happier. I'm not so silly and soignorant as to think that I can satisfy you always. And I'd like to getsettled at home, --I really should. "

There surged up within me a feeling of relief. I seized her hand as itlay on the table. 

"We'll come abroad another time, and go to France, " I said. "Maude, you're splendid!"

She shook her head. 

"Oh, no, I'm not. "

"You do satisfy me, " I insisted. "It isn't that at all. But I think, perhaps, it would be wiser to go back. It's rather a crucial timewith me, now that Mr. Watling's in Washington. I've just arrived at aposition where I shall be able to make a good deal of money, and lateron--"

"It isn't the money, Hugh, " she cried, with a vehemence which struckme as a little odd. "I sometimes think we'd be a great deal happierwithout--without all you are going to make. "

I laughed. 

"Well, I haven't made it yet. "

She possessed the frugality of the Hutchinses. And some times mylavishness had frightened her, as when we had taken the suite of roomswe now occupied. 

"Are you sure you can afford them, Hugh?" she had asked when we firstsurveyed them. 

I began married life, and carried it on without giving her anyconception of the state of my finances. She had an allowance from thefirst. 

As the steamer slipped westward my spirits rose, to reach a climax ofexhilaration when I saw the towers of New York rise gleaming like hugestalagmites in the early winter sun. Maude likened them more happily--togigantic ivory chessmen. Well, New York was America's chessboard, andthe Great Players had already begun to make moves that astonished theworld. As we sat at breakfast in a Fifth Avenue hotel I ran my eyeeagerly over the stock-market reports and the financial news, andrallied Maude for a lack of spirits. 

"Aren't you glad to be home?" I asked her, as we sat in a hansom. 

"Of course I am, Hugh!" she protested. "But--I can't look upon New Yorkas home, somehow. It frightens me. "

I laughed indulgently. 

"You'll get used to it, " I said. "We'll be coming here a great deal, offand on. "

She was silent. But later, when we took a hansom and entered the streamsof traffic, she responded to the stimulus of the place: the movement, the colour, the sight of the well-appointed carriages, of the well-fed, well-groomed people who sat in them, the enticement of the shops inwhich we made our purchases had their effect, and she became cheerfulagain. .. . 

In the evening we took the "Limited" for home. 

We lived for a month with my mother, and then moved into our own house. It was one which I had rented from Howard Ogilvy, and it stood on thecorner of Baker and Clinton streets, near that fashionable neighbourhoodcalled "the Heights. " Ogilvy, who was some ten years older than I, andwho belonged to one of our old families, had embarked on a career thenbecoming common, but which at first was regarded as somewhatmeteoric: gradually abandoning the practice of law, and perceiving thepossibilities of the city of his birth, he had "gambled" in real estateand other enterprises, such as our local water company, until he hadquadrupled his inheritance. He had built a mansion on Grant Avenue, thewide thoroughfare bisecting the Heights. The house he had vacated wasnot large, but essentially distinctive; with the oddity characteristicof the revolt against the banal architecture of the 80's. The curvesof the tiled roof enfolded the upper windows; the walls were thick, thenote one of mystery. I remember Maude's naive delight when we inspectedit. 

"You'd never guess what the inside was like, would you, Hugh?" shecried. 

From the panelled box of an entrance hall one went up a few steps to adrawing-room which had a bowed recess like an oriel, and window-seats. The dining-room was an odd shape, and was wainscoted in oak; it had atiled fireplace and (according to Maude) the "sweetest" china closetbuilt into the wall. There was a "den" for me, and an octagonalreception-room on the corner. Upstairs, the bedrooms were quite asunusual, the plumbing of the new pattern, heavy and imposing. Maudeexpressed the air of seclusion when she exclaimed that she could almostimagine herself in one of the mediaeval towns we had seen abroad. 

"It's a dream, Hugh, " she sighed. "But--do you think we can affordit?". .. 

"This house, " I announced, smiling, "is only a stepping-stone to thepalace I intend to build you some day. "

"I don't want a palace!" she cried. "I'd rather live here, like this, always. "

A certain vehemence in her manner troubled me. I was charmed by thisdisposition for domesticity, and yet I shrank from the contemplation ofits permanency. I felt vaguely, at the time, the possibility of a futureconflict of temperaments. Maude was docile, now. But would she remaindocile? and was it in her nature to take ultimately the position thatwas desirable for my wife? Well, she must be moulded, before it were toolate. Her ultra-domestic tendencies must be halted. As yet blissfullyunaware of the inability of the masculine mind to fathom the subtletiesof feminine relationships, I was particularly desirous that Maude andNancy Durrett should be intimates. The very day after our arrival, andwhile we were still at my mother's, Nancy called on Maude, and took herout for a drive. Maude told me of it when I came home from the office. 

"Dear old Nancy!" I said. "I know you liked her. "

"Of course, Hugh. I should like her for your sake, anyway. She's--she'sone of your oldest and best friends. "

"But I want you to like her for her own sake. "

"I think I shall, " said Maude. She was so scrupulously truthful! "I wasa little afraid of her, at first. "

"Afraid of Nancy!" I exclaimed. 

"Well, you know, she's much older than I. I think she is sweet. But sheknows so much about the world--so much that she doesn't say. I can'tdescribe it. "

I smiled. 

"It's only her manner. You'll get used to that, when you know what shereally is. "

"Oh, I hope so, " answered Maude. "I'm very anxious to like her--I dolike her. But it takes me such a lot of time to get to know people. "

Nancy asked us to dinner. 

"I want to help Maude all I can, --if she'll let me, " Nancy said. 

"Why shouldn't she let you?" I asked. 

"She may not like me, " Nancy replied. 

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. 

Nancy smiled. 

"It won't be my fault, at any rate, if she doesn't, " she said. "I wantedher to meet at first just the right people your old friends and a fewothers. It is hard for a woman--especially a young woman--coming amongstrangers. " She glanced down the table to where Maude sat talking toHam. "She has an air about her, --a great deal of self-possession. "

I, too, had noticed this, with pride and relief. For I knew Maude hadbeen nervous. 

"You are luckier than you deserve to be, " Nancy reminded me. "But I hopeyou realize that she has a mind of her own, that she will form her ownopinions of people, independently of you. "

I must have betrayed the fact that I was a little startled, for theremark came as a confirmation of what I had dimly felt. 

"Of course she has, " I agreed, somewhat lamely. "Every woman has, who isworth her salt. "

Nancy's smile bespoke a knowledge that seemed to transcend my own. 

"You do like her?" I demanded. 

"I like her very much indeed, " said Nancy, a little gravely. "She's simple, she's real, she has that which so few of us possessnowadays--character. But--I've got to be prepared for the possibilitythat she may not get along with me. "

"Why not?" I demanded. 

"There you are again, with your old unwillingness to analyze a situationand face it. For heaven's sake, now that you have married her, studyher. Don't take her for granted. Can't you see that she doesn't care forthe things that amuse me, that make my life?"

"Of course, if you insist on making yourself out a hardened, sophisticated woman--" I protested. But she shook her head. 

"Her roots are deeper, --she is in touch, though she may not realize it, with the fundamentals. She is one of those women who are race-makers. "

Though somewhat perturbed, I was struck by the phrase. And I lost sightof Nancy's generosity. She looked me full in the face. 

"I wonder whether you can rise to her, " she said. "If I were you, Ishould try. You will be happier--far happier than if you attempt to useher for your own ends, as a contributor to your comfort and an auxiliaryto your career. I was afraid--I confess it--that you had married anaspiring, simpering and empty-headed provincial like that Mrs. GeorgeHutchins' whom I met once, and who would sell her soul to be at mytable. Well, you escaped that, and you may thank God for it. You've gota chance, think it over. 

"A chance!" I repeated, though I gathered something of her meaning. 

"Think it over, said Nancy again. And she smiled. 

"But--do you want me to bury myself in domesticity?" I demanded, withoutgrasping the significance of my words. 

"You'll find her reasonable, I think. You've got a chance now, Hugh. Don't spoil it. "

She turned to Leonard Dickinson, who sat on her other side. .. . 

When we got home I tried to conceal my anxiety as to Maude's impressionsof the evening. I lit a cigarette, and remarked that the dinner had beena success. 

"Do you know what I've been wondering all evening?" Maude asked. "Whyyou didn't marry Nancy instead of me. "

"Well, " I replied, "it just didn't come off. And Nancy was telling me atdinner how fortunate I was to have married you. "

Maude passed this. 

"I can't see why she accepted Hambleton Durrett. It seems horrible thatsuch a woman as she is could have married--just for money. 

"Nancy has an odd streak in her, " I said. "But then we all have oddstreaks. She's the best friend in the world, when she is your friend. "

"I'm sure of it, " Maude agreed, with a little note of penitence. 

"You enjoyed it, " I ventured cautiously. 

"Oh, yes, " she agreed. "And everyone was so nice to me--for your sake ofcourse. "

"Don't be ridiculous!" I said. "I shan't tell you what Nancy and theothers said about you. "

Maude had the gift of silence. 

"What a beautiful house!" she sighed presently. "I know you'll think mesilly, but so much luxury as that frightens me a little. In England, in those places we saw, it seemed natural enough, but in America--! Andthey all your friends--seem to take it as a matter of course. "

"There's no reason why we shouldn't have beautiful things and wellserved dinners, too, if we have the money to pay for them. "

"I suppose not, " she agreed, absently. 

XV. 

That winter many other entertainments were given in our honour. But theconviction grew upon me that Maude had no real liking for the socialside of life, that she acquiesced in it only on my account. Thus, at thevery outset of our married career, an irritant developed: signs of it, indeed, were apparent from the first, when we were preparing the housewe had rented for occupancy. Hurrying away from my office at oddtimes to furniture and department stores to help decide such momentousquestions as curtains, carpets, chairs and tables I would often spy thetall, uncompromising figure of Susan Peters standing beside Maude's, while an obliging clerk spread out, anxiously, rugs or wall-papers fortheir inspection. 

"Why don't you get Nancy to help you, too!" I ventured to ask her once. 

"Ours is such a little house--compared to Nancy's, Hugh. "

My attitude towards Susan had hitherto remained undefined. She was Tom'swife and Tom's affair. In spite of her marked disapproval of the moderntrend in business and social life, --a prejudice she had communicated toTom, as a bachelor I had not disliked her; and it was certain that theseviews had not mitigated Tom's loyalty and affection for me. Susan hadbeen my friend, as had her brother Perry, and Lucia, Perry's wife:they made no secret of the fact that they deplored in me what they werepleased to call plutocratic obsessions, nor had their disapproval alwaysbeen confined to badinage. Nancy, too, they looked upon as a renegade. I was able to bear their reproaches with the superior good nature thatsprings from success, to point out why the American tradition to whichthey so fatuously clung was a things of the past. The habit of takingdinner with them at least once a week had continued, and their argumentsrather amused me. If they chose to dwell in a backwater out of touchwith the current of great affairs, this was a matter to be deplored, but I did not feel strongly enough to resent it. So long as I remaineda bachelor the relationship had not troubled me, but now that I wasmarried I began to consider with some alarm its power to affect mywelfare. 

It had remained for Nancy to inform me that I had married a woman with amind of her own. I had flattered myself that I should be able to controlMaude, to govern her predilections, and now at the very beginning ofour married life she was showing a disquieting tendency to choose forherself. To be sure, she had found my intimacy with the Peterses andBlackwoods already formed; but it was an intimacy from which I wasgrowing away. I should not have quarrelled with her if she had notdiscriminated: Nancy made overtures, and Maude drew back;Susan presented herself, and with annoying perversity and in anextraordinarily brief time Maude had become her intimate. It seemedto me that she was always at Susan's, lunching or playing with thechildren, who grew devoted to her; or with Susan, choosing carpets andclothes; while more and more frequently we dined with the Peterses andthe Blackwoods, or they with us. With Perry's wife Maude was scarcelyless intimate than with Susan. This was the more surprising to me sinceLucia Blackwood was a dyed-in-the-wool "intellectual, " a graduate ofRadcliffe, the daughter of a Harvard professor. Perry had fallen inlove with her during her visit to Susan. Lucia was, perhaps, the mostinfluential of the group; she scorned the world, she held strong viewson the higher education of women; she had long discarded orthodoxyfor what may be called a Cambridge stoicism of simple living and highthinking; while Maude was a strict Presbyterian, and not in the leastgiven to theories. When, some months after our homecoming, I venturedto warn her gently of the dangers of confining one's self to acoterie--especially one of such narrow views--her answer was ratherbewildering. 

"But isn't Tom your best friend?" she asked. 

I admitted that he was. 

"And you always went there such a lot before we were married. "

This, too, was undeniable. "At the same time, " I replied, "I have otherfriends. I'm fond of the Blackwoods and the Peterses, I'm not advocatingseeing less of them, but their point of view, if taken without anyantidote, is rather narrowing. We ought to see all kinds, " I suggested, with a fine restraint. 

"You mean--more worldly people, " she said with her disconcertingdirectness. 

"Not necessarily worldly, " I struggled on. "People who know more of theworld--yes, who understand it better. "

Maude sighed. 

"I do try, Hugh, --I return their calls, --I do try to be nice to them. But somehow I don't seem to get along with them easily--I'm not myself, they make me shy. It's because I'm provincial. "

"Nonsense!" I protested, "you're not a bit provincial. " And it was true;her dignity and self-possession redeemed her. 

Nancy was not once mentioned. But I think she was in both our minds. .. . 

Since my marriage, too, I had begun to resent a little the attitude ofTom and Susan and the Blackwoods of humorous yet affectionate tolerancetoward my professional activities and financial creed, though Maudeshowed no disposition to take this seriously. I did suspect, however, that they were more and more determined to rescue Maude from what theywould have termed a frivolous career; and on one of these occasions--soexasperating in married life when a slight cause for pique temptshusband or wife to try to ask myself whether this affair were onlya squall, something to be looked for once in a while on the seas ofmatrimony, and weathered: or whether Maude had not, after all, beenright when she declared that I had made a mistake, and that we werenot fitted for one another? In this gloomy view endless years ofincompatibility stretched ahead; and for the first time I beganto rehearse with a certain cold detachment the chain of apparentlyaccidental events which had led up to my marriage: to consider thegradual blindness that had come over my faculties; and finally to wonderwhether judgment ever entered into sexual selection. Would Maude haverelapsed into this senseless fit if she had realized how fortunate shewas? For I was prepared to give her what thousands of women longed for, position and influence. My resentment rose again against Perry and Tom, and I began to attribute their lack of appreciation of my achievementsto jealousy. They had not my ability; this was the long and short ofit. .. . I pondered also, regretfully, on my bachelor days. And for thefirst time, I, who had worked so hard to achieve freedom, feltthe pressure of the yoke I had fitted over my own shoulders. I hadvoluntarily, though unwittingly, returned to slavery. This was whathad happened. And what was to be done about it? I would not considerdivorce. 

Well, I should have to make the best of it. Whether this conclusionbrought on a mood of reaction, I am unable to say. I was stillannoyed by what seemed to the masculine mind a senseless and dramaticperformance on Maude's part, an incomprehensible case of "nerves. "Nevertheless, there stole into my mind many recollections of Maude'saffection, many passages between us; and my eye chanced to fall onthe ink-well she had bought me out of the allowance I gave her. Anunanticipated pity welled up within me for her loneliness, her despairin that room upstairs. I got up--and hesitated. A counteracting, inhibiting wave passed through me. I hardened. I began to walk up anddown, a prey to conflicting impulses. Something whispered, "go toher"; another voice added, "for your own peace of mind, at any rate. " Irejected the intrusion of this motive as unworthy, turned out the lightand groped my way upstairs. The big clock in the hall struck twelve. 

I listened outside the door of the bedroom, but all was silent within. Iknocked. 

"Maude!" I said, in a low voice. 

There was no response. 

"Maude--let me in! I didn't mean to be unkind--I'm sorry. "

After an interval I heard her say: "I'd rather stay here, --to-night. "

But at length, after more entreaty and self-abasement on my part, she opened the door. The room was dark. We sat down together on thewindow-seat, and all at once she relaxed and her head fell on myshoulder, and she began weeping again. I held her, the alternating moodsstill running through me. 

"Hugh, " she said at length, "how could you be so cruel? when you know Ilove you and would do anything for you. "

"I didn't mean to be cruel, Maude, " I answered. 

"I know you didn't. But at times you seem so--indifferent, and you can'tunderstand how it hurts. I haven't anybody but you, now, and it's inyour power to make me happy or--or miserable. "

Later on I tried to explain my point of view, to justify myself. 

"All I mean, " I concluded at length, "is that my position is a littledifferent from Perry's and Tom's. They can afford to isolate themselves, but I'm thrown professionally with the men who are building up thiscity. Some of them, like Ralph Hambleton and Mr. Ogilvy, I've known allmy life. Life isn't so simple for us, Maude--we can't ignore the socialside. "

"I understand, " she said contentedly. "You are more of a manof affairs--much more than Tom or Perry, and you have greaterresponsibilities and wider interests. I'm really very proud of you. Only--don't you think you are a little too sensitive about yourself, when you are teased?"

I let this pass. .. . 

I give a paragraph from a possible biography of Hugh Paret which, asthen seemed not improbable, might in the future have been written bysome aspiring young worshipper of success. 

"On his return from a brief but delightful honeymoon in England Mr. Paret took up again, with characteristic vigour, the practice ofthe law. He was entering upon the prime years of manhood; goldenopportunities confronted him as, indeed, they confronted other men--butParet had the foresight to take advantage of them. And his trainingunder Theodore Watling was now to produce results. .. . The reputationshad already been made of some of that remarkable group of financialgeniuses who were chiefly instrumental in bringing about the industrialevolution begun after the Civil War: at the same time, as is wellknown, a political leadership developed that gave proof of a deplorableblindness to the logical necessity of combinations in business. Thelawyer with initiative and brains became an indispensable factor, " etc. , etc. 

The biography might have gone on to relate my association with andimportant services to Adolf Scherer in connection with his constructivedream. Shortly after my return from abroad, in answer to his summons, Ifound him at Heinrich's, his napkin tucked into his shirt front, and adish of his favourite sausages before him. 

"So, the honeymoon is over!" he said, and pressed my hand. "You areright to come back to business, and after awhile you can have anotherhoneymoon, eh? I have had many since I married. And how long do youthink was my first? A day! I was a foreman then, and the wedding was atsix o'clock in the morning. We went into the country, the wife and I. "

He laid down his knife and fork, possessed by the memory. "I have grownrich since, and we've been to Europe and back to Germany, and travelledon the best ships and stayed at the best hotels, but I never enjoyeda holiday more than that day. It wasn't long afterwards I went to Mr. Durrett and told him how he could save much money. He was always readyto listen, Mr. Durrett, when an employee had anything to say. He was abig man, --an iron-master. Ah, he would be astonished if only he couldwake up now!"

"He would not only have to be an iron-master, " I agreed, "but afinancier and a railroad man to boot. "

"A jack of all trades, " laughed Mr. Scherer. "That's what we are--menin my position. Well, it was comparatively simple then, when we had noSherman law and crazy statutes, such as some of the states are passing, to bother us. What has got into the politicians, that they are indulgingin such foolishness?" he exclaimed, more warmly. "We try to build up atrade for this country, and they're doing their best to tie our handsand tear it down. When I was in Washington the other day I was talkingwith one of those Western senators whose state has passed those laws. He said to me, 'Mr. Scherer, I've been making a study of the Boyne IronWorks. You are clever men, but you are building up monopolies which wepropose to stop. ' 'By what means?'" I asked. "'Rebates, for one, 'said he, 'you get preferential rates from your railroad which give youadvantages over your competitors. ' Foolishness!" Mr. Scherer exclaimed. "I tell him the railroad is a private concern, built up by privateenterprise, and it has a right to make special rates for large shippers. No, --railroads are public carriers with no right to make special rates. I ask him what else he objects to, and he says patented processes. As ifwe don't have a right to our own patents! We buy them. I buy them, whenother steel companies won't touch 'em. What is that but enterprise, andbusiness foresight, and taking risks? And then he begins to talk aboutthe tariff taking money out of the pockets of American consumers andmaking men like me rich. I have come to Washington to get the tariffraised on steel rails; and Watling and other senators we send down thereare raising it for us. We are building up monopolies! Well, suppose weare. We can't help it, even if we want to. Has he ever made a studyof the other side of the question--the competition side? Of course hehasn't. "

He brought down his beer mug heavily on the table. In times ofexcitement his speech suggested the German idiom. Abruptly his air grewmysterious; he glanced around the room, now becoming empty, and loweredhis voice. 

"I have been thinking a long time, I have a little scheme, " he said, "and I have been to Washington to see Watling, to talk over it. Well, hethinks much of you. Fowndes and Ripon are good lawyers, but they are notsmart like you. See Paret, he says, and he can come down and talk to me. So I ask you to come here. That is why I say you are wise to get home. Honeymoons can wait--eh?"

I smiled appreciatively. 

"They talk about monopoly, those Populist senators, but I ask you whatis a man in my place to do? If you don't eat, somebody eats you--is itnot so? Like the boa-constrictors--that is modern business. Look atthe Keystone Plate people, over there at Morris. For years we sold themsteel billets from which to make their plates, and three months agothey serve notice on us that they are getting ready to make their ownbillets, they buy mines north of the lakes and are building their plant. Here is a big customer gone. Next year, maybe, the Empire Tube Companygoes into the business of making crude steel, and many more thousands oftons go from us. What is left for us, Paret?"

"Obviously you've got to go into the tube and plate businessyourselves, " I said. 

"So!" cried Mr. Scherer, triumphantly, "or it is close up. We are notfools, no, we will not lie down and be eaten like lambs for any law. Dickinson can put his hand on the capital, and I--I have already boughta tract on the lakes, at Bolivar, I have already got a plant designedwith the latest modern machinery. I can put the ore right there, I cansend the coke back from here in cars which would otherwise be empty, andmanufacture tubes at eight dollars a ton less than they are selling. Ifwe can make tubes we can make plates, and if we can make plates we canmake boilers, and beams and girders and bridges. .. . It is not like itwas but where is it all leading, my friend? The time will come--is righton us now, in respect to many products--when the market will be floodedwith tubes and plates and girders, and then we'll have to find a way tolimit production. And the inefficient mills will all be forced to shutdown. "

The logic seemed unanswerable, even had I cared to answer it. .. . Heunfolded his campaign. The Boyne Iron Works was to become the Boyne IronWorks, Ltd. , owner of various subsidiary companies, some of which wereas yet blissfully ignorant of their fate. All had been thought out ascalmly as the partition of Poland--only, lawyers were required; andultimately, after the process of acquisition should have been completed, a delicate document was to be drawn up which would pass through themeshes of that annoying statutory net, the Sherman Anti-trust Law. Newmines were to be purchased, extending over a certain large area; widecoal deposits; little strips of railroad to tap them. The competition ofthe Keystone Plate people was to be met by acquiring and bringing upto date the plate mills of King and Son, over the borders of a sisterstate; the Somersworth Bridge and Construction Company and the GringSteel and Wire Company were to be absorbed. When all of this shouldhave been accomplished, there would be scarcely a process in the steelindustry, from the smelting of the ore to the completion of a bridge, which the Boyne Iron Works could not undertake. Such was the beginningof the "lateral extension" period. 

"Two can play at that game, " Mr. Scherer said. "And if those fellowscould only be content to let well enough alone, to continue buying theircrude steel from us, there wouldn't be any trouble. ". .. 

It was evident, however, that he really welcomed the "trouble, " thathe was going into battle with enthusiasm. He had already picked out hispoints of attack and was marching on them. Life, for him, would havebeen a poor thing without new conflicts to absorb his energy; and he hadalready made of the Boyne Iron Works, with its open-hearth furnaces, amarvel of modern efficiency that had opened the eyes of the Steel world, and had drawn the attention of a Personality in New York, --a Personalitywho was one of the new and dominant type that had developed with suchamazing rapidity, the banker-dinosaur; preying upon and superseding theindustrial-dinosaur, conquering type of the preceding age, builderof the railroads, mills and manufactories. The banker-dinosaurs, thegigantic ones, were in Wall Street, and strove among themselves forthe industrial spoils accumulated by their predecessors. It wascharacteristic of these monsters that they never fought in the openunless they were forced to. Then the earth rocked, huge economicstructures tottered and fell, and much dust arose to obscure thevision of smaller creatures, who were bewildered and terrified. Suchdisturbances were called "panics, " and were blamed by the newspaperson the Democratic party, or on the reformers who had wantonly assailedestablished institutions. These dominant bankers had contrived to gaincontrol of the savings of thousands and thousands of fellow-citizens whohad deposited them in banks or paid them into insurance companies, andwith the power thus accumulated had sallied forth to capture railroadsand industries. The railroads were the strategic links. With these inhand, certain favoured industrial concerns could be fed, and othersstarved into submission. 

Adolf Scherer might be said to represent a transitional type. For he wasnot only an iron-master who knew every detail of his business, who keptit ahead of the times; he was also a strategist, wise in his generation, making friends with the Railroad while there had yet been time, atlength securing rebates and favours. And when that Railroad (whichhad been constructed through the enterprise and courage of such menas Nathaniel Durrett) had passed under the control of thebanker-personality to whom I have referred, and had become part of asystem, Adolf Scherer remained in alliance, and continued to receivefavours. .. . I can well remember the time when the ultimate authorityof our Railroad was transferred, quietly, to Wall Street. AlexanderBarbour, its president, had been a great man, but after that he bowed, in certain matters, to a greater one. 

I have digressed. .. . Mr. Scherer unfolded his scheme, talking about"units" as calmly as though they were checkers on a board instead ofhuge, fiery, reverberating mills where thousands and thousands of humanbeings toiled day and night--beings with families, and hopes and fears, whose destinies were to be dominated by the will of the man who satopposite me. But--did not he in his own person represent the triumph ofthat American creed of opportunity? He, too, had been through the fire, had sweated beside the blasts, had handled the ingots of steel. He wasone of the "fittest" who had survived, and looked it. Had he no memoriesof the terrors of that struggle?. .. Adolf Scherer had grown to be agiant. And yet without me, without my profession he was a helplessgiant, at the mercy of those alert and vindictive lawmakers who soughtto restrain and hamper him, to check his growth with their webs. Howstimulating the idea of his dependence! How exhilarating too, the thought that that vision which had first possessed me as anundergraduate--on my visit to Jerry Kyme--was at last to be realized!I had now become the indispensable associate of the few who divided thespoils, I was to have a share in these myself. 

"You're young, Paret, " Mr. Scherer concluded. "But Watling hasconfidence in you, and you will consult him frequently. I believe in theyoung men, and I have already seen something of you--so?". .. 

When I returned to the office I wrote Theodore Watling a letterexpressing my gratitude for the position he had, so to speak, willed me, of confidential legal adviser to Adolf Scherer. Though the opportunityhad thrust itself upon me suddenly, and sooner than I expected it, I wasdetermined to prove myself worthy of it. I worked as I had never workedbefore, making trips to New York to consult leading members of thisnew branch of my profession there, trips to Washington to see my formerchief. There were, too, numerous conferences with local personages, withMr. Dickinson and Mr. Grierson, and Judah B. Tallant, --whose newspaperwas most useful; there were consultations and negotiations of a delicatenature with the owners and lawyers of other companies to be "taken in. "Nor was it all legal work, in the older and narrower sense. Men who areplaying for principalities are making war. Some of our operations hadall the excitement of war. There was information to be got, and it wasgot--somehow. Modern war involves a spy system, and a friendly telephonecompany is not to be despised. And all of this work from first to lasthad to be done with extreme caution. Moribund distinctions of right andwrong did not trouble me, for the modern man labours religiously when heknows that Evolution is on his side. 

For all of these operations a corps of counsel had been employed, including the firm of Harrington and Bowes next to Theodore Watling, Joel Harrington was deemed the ablest lawyer in the city. We organizedin due time the corporation known as the Boyne Iron Works, Limited; atrust agreement was drawn up that was a masterpiece of its kind, onethat caused, first and last, meddling officials in the Department ofJustice at Washington no little trouble and perplexity. I was proud ofthe fact that I had taken no small part in its composition. .. . In short, in addition to certain emoluments and opportunities for investment, Iemerged from the affair firmly established in the good graces of AdolfScherer, and with a reputation practically made. 

A year or so after the Boyne Company, Ltd. , came into existence Ichanced one morning to go down to the new Ashuela Hotel to meet a NewYorker of some prominence, and was awaiting him in the lobby, when Ioverheard a conversation between two commercial travellers who weresitting with their backs to me. 

"Did you notice that fellow who went up to the desk a moment ago?" askedone. 

"The young fellow in the grey suit? Sure. Who is he? He looks as if hewas pretty well fixed. "

"I guess he is, " replied the first. "That's Paret. He's Scherer'sconfidential counsel. He used to be Senator Watling's partner, but theysay he's even got something on the old man. "

In spite of the feverish life I led, I was still undoubtedlyyoung-looking, and in this I was true to the incoming type of successfulman. Our fathers appeared staid at six and thirty. Clothes, of course, made some difference, and my class and generation did not wear thesombre and cumbersome kind, with skirts and tails; I patronized a tailorin New York. My chestnut hair, a little darker than my father's hadbeen, showed no signs of turning grey, although it was thinning a littleat the crown of the forehead, and I wore a small moustache, clipped ina straight line above the mouth. This made me look less like a collegeyouth. Thanks to a strong pigment in my skin, derived probably fromScotch-Irish ancestors, my colour was fresh. I have spoken of my life asfeverish, and yet I am not so sure that this word completely describesit. It was full to overflowing--one side of it; and I did not miss (savevaguely, in rare moments of weariness) any other side that might havebeen developed. I was busy all day long, engaged in affairs I deemed tobe alone of vital importance in the universe. I was convinced that thewelfare of the city demanded that supreme financial power should remainin the hands of the group of men with whom I was associated, and whosebattles I fought in the courts, in the legislature, in the city council, and sometimes in Washington, --although they were well cared for there. By every means ingenuity could devise, their enemies were to be drivenfrom the field, and they were to be protected from blackmail. 

A sense of importance sustained me; and I remember in that firstflush of a success for which I had not waited too long--what a secretsatisfaction it was to pick up the Era and see my name embedded incertain dignified notices of board meetings, transactions of weight, orcases known to the initiated as significant. "Mr. Scherer's interestswere taken care of by Mr. Hugh Paret. " The fact that my triumphs weremodestly set forth gave me more pleasure than if they had been trumpetedin headlines. Although I might have started out in practice for myself, my affection and regard for Mr. Watling kept me in the firm, whichbecame Watling, Fowndes and Paret, and a new, arrangement was enteredinto: Mr. Ripon retired on account of ill health. 

There were instances, however, when a certain amount of annoyingpublicity was inevitable. Such was the famous Galligan case, whichoccurred some three or four years after my marriage. Aloysius Galliganwas a brakeman, and his legs had become paralyzed as the result of anaccident that was the result of defective sills on a freight car. Hehad sued, and been awarded damages of $15, 000. To the amazement andindignation of Miller Gorse, the Supreme Court, to which the Railroadhad appealed, affirmed the decision. It wasn't the single payment of$15, 000 that the Railroad cared about, of course; a precedent might beestablished for compensating maimed employees which would be expensivein the long run. Carelessness could not be proved in this instance. Gorse sent for me. I had been away with Maude at the sea for two months, and had not followed the case. 

"You've got to take charge, Paret, and get a rehearing. See Bering, and find out who in the deuce is to blame for this. Chesley's one, ofcourse. We ought never to have permitted his nomination for the SupremeBench. It was against my judgment, but Varney and Gill assured me thathe was all right. "

I saw Judge Bering that evening. We sat on a plush sofa in the parlourof his house in Baker Street. 

"I had a notion Gorse'd be mad, " he said, "but it looked to me as ifthey had it on us, Paret. I didn't see how we could do anything else butaffirm without being too rank. Of course, if he feels that way, and youwant to make a motion for a rehearing, I'll see what can be done. "

"Something's got to be done, " I replied. "Can't you see what such adecision lets them in for?"

"All right, " said the judge, who knew an order when he heard one, "Iguess we can find an error. " He was not a little frightened by thereport of Mr. Gorse's wrath, for election-day was approaching. "Say, youwouldn't take me for a sentimental man, now, would you?"

I smiled at the notion of it. 

"Well, I'll own up to you this kind of got under my skin. That Galliganis a fine-looking fellow, if there ever was one, and he'll never be ofa bit of use any more. Of course the case was plain sailing, and theyought to have had the verdict, but that lawyer of his handled it to thequeen's taste, if I do say so. He made me feel real bad, by God, --as ifit was my own son Ed who'd been battered up. Lord, I can't forget thelook in that man Galligan's eyes. I hate to go through it again, andreverse it, but I guess I'll have to, now. "

The Judge sat gazing at the flames playing over his gas log. 

"Who was the lawyer?" I asked. 

"A man by the name of Krebs, " he replied. "Never heard of him before. He's just moved to the city. "

"This city?" I ejaculated. 

The Judge glanced at me interestedly. 

"This city, of course. What do you know about him?"

"Well, " I answered, when I had recovered a little from the shock--for itwas a distinct shock--"he lived in Elkington. He was the man who stirredup the trouble in the legislature about Bill 709. "

The Judge slapped his knee. 

"That fellow!" he exclaimed, and ruminated. "Why didn't somebody tellme?" he added, complainingly. "Why didn't Miller Gorse let me know aboutit, instead of licking up a fuss after it's all over?". .. 

Of all men of my acquaintance I had thought the Judge the last to growmaudlin over the misfortunes of those who were weak or unfortunateenough to be defeated and crushed in the struggle for existence, and itwas not without food for reflection that I departed from his presence. To make Mr. Bering "feel bad" was no small achievement, and Krebs hadbeen responsible for it, of course, --not Galligan. Krebs had turned uponce more! It seemed as though he were destined to haunt me. Well, Imade up my mind that he should not disturb me again, at any rate: I, atleast, had learned to eliminate sentimentality from business, and itwas not without deprecation I remembered my experience with him at theCapital, when he had made me temporarily ashamed of my connection withBill 709. I had got over that. And when I entered the court room (thetribunal having graciously granted a rehearing on the ground that it hadcommitted an error in the law!) my feelings were of lively curiosityand zest. I had no disposition to underrate his abilities, but I wasfortified by the consciousness of a series of triumphs behind me, bya sense of association with prevailing forces against which he washelpless. I could afford to take a superior attitude in regard to onewho was destined always to be dramatic. 

As the case proceeded I was rather disappointed on the whole that hewas not dramatic--not even as dramatic as he had been when he defiedthe powers in the Legislature. He had changed but little, he still woreill-fitting clothes, but I was forced to acknowledge that he seemed tohave gained in self-control, in presence. He had nodded at me before thecase was called, as he sat beside his maimed client; and I had been onthe alert for a hint of reproach in his glance: there was none. I smiledback at him. .. . 

He did not rant. He seemed to have rather a remarkable knowledge of thelaw. In a conversational tone he described the sufferings of the man inthe flannel shirt beside him, but there could be no question of the factthat he did produce an effect. The spectators were plainly moved, andit was undeniable that some of the judges wore rather a sheepish look asthey toyed with their watch chains or moved the stationery in frontof them. They had seen maimed men before, they had heard impassioned, sentimental lawyers talk about wives and families and God and justice. Krebs did none of this. Just how he managed to bring the thing hometo those judges, to make them ashamed of their role, just how hemanaged--in spite of my fortified attitude to revive something of thatsense of discomfort I had experienced at the State House is difficult tosay. It was because, I think, he contrived through the intensity of hisown sympathy to enter into the body of the man whose cause he pleaded, to feel the despair in Galligan's soul--an impression that was curiouslyconveyed despite the dignified limits to which he confined his speech. It was strange that I began to be rather sorry for him, that I felt acertain reluctant regret that he should thus squander his powers againstoverwhelming odds. What was the use of it all!

At the end his voice became more vibrant--though he did not raise it--ashe condemned the Railroad for its indifference to human life, for itscontention that men were cheaper than rolling-stock. 

I encountered him afterward in the corridor. I had made a point ofseeking him out, perhaps from some vague determination to prove that ourlast meeting in the little restaurant at the Capital had left no tracesof embarrassment in me: I was, in fact, rather aggressively anxious toreveal myself to him as one who has thriven on the views he condemned, as one in whose unity of mind there is no rift. He was alone, apparentlywaiting for someone, leaning against a steam radiator in one of hisawkward, angular poses, looking out of the court-house window. 

"How are you?" I said blithely. "So you've left Elkington for a widerfield. " I wondered whether my alert cousin-in-law, George Hutchins, hadmade it too hot for him. 

He turned to me unexpectedly a face of profound melancholy; hisexpression had in it, oddly, a trace of sternness; and I was somewhattaken aback by this evidence that he was still bearing vicariously thetroubles of his client. So deep had been the thought I had apparentlyinterrupted that he did not realize my presence at first. 

"Oh, it's you, Paret. Yes, I've left Elkington, " he said. 

"Something of a surprise to run up against you suddenly, like this. "

"I expected to see you, " he answered gravely, and the slight emphasis hegave the pronoun implied not only a complete knowledge of the situationand of the part I had taken in it, but also a greater rebuke than if hisaccusation had been direct. But I clung to my affability. 

"If I can do anything for you, let me know, " I told him. He saidnothing, he did not even smile. At this moment he was opportunely joinedby a man who had the appearance of a labour leader, and I walked away. I was resentful; my mood, in brief, was that of a man who has donesomething foolish and is inclined to talk to himself aloud: but the moodwas complicated, made the more irritating by the paradoxical factthat that last look he had given me seemed to have borne the traces ofaffection. .. . 

It is perhaps needless to add that the court reversed its formerdecision. 

XVI. 

The Pilot published a series of sensational articles and editorialsabout the Galligan matter, a picture of Galligan, an account of thedestitute state of his wife and family. The time had not yet arrivedwhen such newspapers dared to attack the probity of our courts, buta system of law that permitted such palpable injustice because oftechnicalities was bitterly denounced. What chance had a poor managainst such a moloch as the railroad, even with a lawyer of suchability as had been exhibited by Hermann Krebs? Krebs was praised, andthe attention of Mr. Lawler's readers was called to the fact that Krebswas the man who, some years before, had opposed single-handed in thelegislature the notorious Bill No. 709. It was well known in certaincircles--the editorial went on to say--that this legislation had beendrawn by Theodore Watling in the interests of the Boyne Iron Works, etc. , etc. Hugh Paret had learned at the feet of an able master. Thisfirst sight of my name thus opprobriously flung to the multitude gaveme an unpleasant shock. I had seen Mr. Scherer attacked, Mr. Gorseattacked, and Mr. Watling: I had all along realized, vaguely, that myturn would come, and I thought myself to have acquired a compensatingphilosophy. I threw the sheet into the waste basket, presently picked itout again and reread the sentence containing my name. Well, there werecertain penalties that every career must pay. I had become, at last, a marked man, and I recognized the fact that this assault would be theforerunner of many. 

I tried to derive some comfort and amusement from the thought of certainoperations of mine that Mr. Lawler had not discovered, that wouldhave been matters of peculiar interest to his innocent public: certainextra-legal operations at the time when the Bovine corporation was beingformed, for instance. And how they would have licked their chops hadthey learned of that manoeuvre by which I had managed to have one ofMr. Scherer's subsidiary companies in another state, with property andassets amounting to more than twenty millions, reorganized under thelaws of New Jersey, and the pending case thus transferred to the Federalcourt, where we won hands down! This Galligan affair was nothing tothat. Nevertheless, it was annoying. As I sat in the street car onmy way homeward, a man beside me was reading the Pilot. I had a queersensation as he turned the page, and scanned the editorial; and I couldnot help wondering what he and the thousands like him thought of me;what he would say if I introduced myself and asked his opinion. Perhapshe did not think at all: undoubtedly he, and the public at large, wereused to Mr. Lawler's daily display of "injustices. " Nevertheless, likeslow acid, they must be eating into the public consciousness. It was anoutrage--this freedom of the press. 

With renewed exasperation I thought of Krebs, of his disturbing andalmost uncanny faculty of following me up. Why couldn't he have remainedin Elkington? Why did he have to follow me here, to make capital outof a case that might never have been heard of except for him?. .. I wasstill in this disagreeable frame of mind when I turned the corner by myhouse and caught sight of Maude, in the front yard, bending bareheadedover a bed of late flowers which the frost had spared. The evening wassharp, the dusk already gathering. 

"You'll catch cold, " I called to her. 

She looked up at the sound of my voice. 

"They'll soon be gone, " she sighed, referring to the flowers. "I hatewinter. "

She put her hand through my arm, and we went into the house. Thecurtains were drawn, a fire was crackling on the hearth, the lamps werelighted, and as I dropped into a chair this living-room of ours seemedto take on the air of a refuge from the vague, threatening sinisterthings of the world without. I felt I had never valued it before. Maudetook up her sewing and sat down beside the table. 

"Hugh, " she said suddenly, "I read something in the newspaper--"

My exasperation flared up again. 

"Where did you get that disreputable sheet?" I demanded. 

"At the dressmaker's!" she answered. "I--I just happened to see thename, Paret. "

"It's just politics, " I declared, "stirring up discontent bymisrepresentation. Jealousy. "

She leaned forward in her chair, gazing into the flames. 

"Then it isn't true that this poor man, Galligan--isn't that hisname?--was cheated out of the damages he ought to have to keep himselfand his family alive?"

"You must have been talking to Perry or Susan, " I said. "They seem to beconvinced that I am an oppressor of the poor. 

"Hugh!" The tone in which she spoke my name smote me. "How can you saythat? How can you doubt their loyalty, and mine? Do you think they wouldundermine you, and to me, behind your back?"

"I didn't mean that, of course, Maude. I was annoyed about somethingelse. And Tom and Perry have an air of deprecating most of theenterprises in which I am professionally engaged. It's very well forthem to talk. All Perry has to do is to sit back and take in receiptsfrom the Boyne Street car line, and Tom is content if he gets a fewcommissions every week. They're like militiamen criticizing soldiersunder fire. I know they're good friends of mine, but sometimes I losepatience with them. "

I got up and walked to the window, and came back again and stood beforeher. 

"I'm sorry for this man, Galligan, " I went on, "I can't tell you howsorry. But few people who are not on the inside, so to speak, grasp thefact that big corporations, like the Railroad, are looked upon as fairgame for every kind of parasite. Not a day passes in which attempts arenot made to bleed them. Some of these cases are pathetic. It had costthe Railroad many times fifteen thousand dollars to fight Galligan'scase. But if they had paid it, they would have laid themselves open tothousands of similar demands. Dividends would dwindle. The stockholdershave a right to a fair return on their money. Galligan claims that therewas a defective sill on the car which is said to have caused the wreck. If damages are paid on that basis, it means the daily inspection ofevery car which passes over their lines. And more than that: there arecertain defects, as in the present case, which an inspection would notreveal. When a man accepts employment on a railroad he assumes a certainamount of personal risk, --it's not precisely a chambermaid's job. Andthe lawyer who defends such cases, whatever his personal feelings maybe, cannot afford to be swayed by them. He must take the larger view. "

"Why didn't you tell me about it before?" she asked. 

"Well, I didn't think it of enough importance--these things are all inthe day's work. "

"But Mr. Krebs? How strange that he should be here, connected with thecase!"

I made an effort to control myself. 

"Your old friend, " I said. "I believe you have a sentiment about him. "

She looked up at me. 

"Scarcely that, " she replied gravely, with the literalness that oftencharacterized her, "but he isn't a person easily forgotten. He may bequeer, one may not agree with his views, but after the experience I hadwith him I've never been able to look at him in the way George does, forinstance, or even as father does. "

"Or even as I do, " I supplied. 

"Well, perhaps not even as you do, " she answered calmly. "I believe youonce told me, however, that you thought him a fanatic, but sincere. "

"He's certainly a fanatic!" I exclaimed. 

"But sincere, Hugh-you still think him sincere. "

"You seem a good deal concerned about a man you've laid eyes on butonce. "

She considered this. 

"Yes, it is surprising, " she admitted, "but it's true. I was sorryfor him, but I admired him. I was not only impressed by his courage intaking charge of me, but also by the trust and affection the work-peopleshowed. He must be a good man, however mistaken he may be in the methodshe employs. And life is cruel to those people. "

"Life is-life, " I observed. "Neither you nor I nor Krebs is able tochange it. "

"Has he come here to practice?" she asked, after a moment. 

"Yes. Do you want me to invite him to dinner?" and seeing that she didnot reply I continued: "In spite of my explanation I suppose you think, because Krebs defended the man Galligan, that a monstrous injustice hasbeen done. "

"That is unworthy of you, " she said, bending over her stitch. 

I began to pace the room again, as was my habit when overwrought. 

"Well, I was going to tell you about this affair if you had notforestalled me by mentioning it yourself. It isn't pleasant to bevilified by rascals who make capital out of vilification, and a man hasa right to expect some sympathy from his wife. "

"Did I ever deny you that, Hugh?" she asked. "Only you don't ever seemto need it, to want it. "

"And there are things, " I pursued, "things in a man's province that awoman ought to accept from her husband, things which in the very natureof the case she can know nothing about. "

"But a woman must think for herself, " she declared. "She shouldn'tbecome a mere automaton, --and these questions involve so much! Peopleare discussing them, the magazines and periodicals are beginning to takethem up. "

I stared at her, somewhat appalled by this point of view. There had, indeed, been signs of its development before now, but I had not heededthem. And for the first time I beheld Maude in a new light. 

"Oh, it's not that I don't trust you, " she continued, "I'm open toconviction, but I must be convinced. Your explanation of this Galligancase seems a sensible one, although it's depressing. But life is hardand depressing sometimes I've come to realize that. I want to think overwhat you've said, I want to talk over it some more. Why won't you tellme more of what you are doing? If you only would confide in me--as youhave now! I can't help seeing that we are growing farther and fartherapart, that business, your career, is taking all of you and leaving menothing. " She faltered, and went on again. "It's difficult to tell youthis--you never give me the chance. And it's not for my sake alone, butfor yours, too. You are growing more and more self-centred, surroundingyourself with a hard shell. You don't realize it, but Tom notices it, Perry notices it, it hurts them, it's that they complain of. Hugh!"she cried appealingly, sensing my resentment, forestalling the wordsof defence ready on my lips. "I know that you are busy, that many mendepend on you, it isn't that I'm not proud of you and your success, butyou don't understand what a woman craves, --she doesn't want only to be agood housekeeper, a good mother, but she wants to share a little, atany rate, in the life of her husband, in his troubles as well as in hissuccesses. She wants to be of some little use, of some little help tohim. "

My feelings were reduced to a medley. 

"But you are a help to me--a great help, " I protested. 

She shook her head. "I wish I were, " she said. 

It suddenly occurred to me that she might be. I was softened, andalarmed by the spectacle she had revealed of the widening breach betweenus. I laid my hand on her shoulder. 

"Well, I'll try to do better, Maude. "

She looked up at me, questioningly yet gratefully, through a mist oftears. But her reply--whatever it might have been--was forestalled bythe sound of shouts and laughter in the hallway. She sprang up and ranto the door. 

"It's the children, " she exclaimed, "they've come home from Susan'sparty!"

It begins indeed to look as if I were writing this narrative upsidedown, for I have said nothing about children. Perhaps one reason forthis omission is that I did not really appreciate them, that I foundit impossible to take the same minute interest in them as Tom, forinstance, who was, apparently, not content alone with the six which hepossessed, but had adopted mine. One of them, little Sarah, said "UncleTom" before "Father. " I do not mean to say that I had not occasionalmoments of tenderness toward them, but they were out of my thoughts muchof the time. I have often wondered, since, how they regarded me; how, in their little minds, they defined the relationship. Generally, when Iarrived home in the evening I liked to sit down before my study fire andread the afternoon newspapers or a magazine; but occasionally I went atonce to the nursery for a few moments, to survey with complacency themedley of toys on the floor, and to kiss all three. They received mycaresses with a certain shyness--the two younger ones, at least, asthough they were at a loss to place me as a factor in the establishment. They tumbled over each other to greet Maude, and even Tom. If I were anenigma to them, what must they have thought of him? Sometimes I woulddiscover him on the nursery floor, with one or two of his own children, building towers and castles and railroad stations, or forts to beattacked and demolished by regiments of lead soldiers. He was growingcomfortable-looking, if not exactly stout; prematurely paternal, oddlywilling to renounce the fiercer joys of life, the joys of acquisition, of conquest, of youth. 

"You'd better come home with me, Chickabiddy, " he would say, "thatfather of yours doesn't appreciate you. He's too busy getting rich. "

"Chickabiddy, " was his name for little Sarah. Half of the name stuck toher, and when she was older we called her Biddy. 

She would gaze at him questioningly, her eyes like blue flower cups, astrange little mixture of solemnity and bubbling mirth, of shynessand impulsiveness. She had fat legs that creased above the tops of theabsurd little boots that looked to be too tight; sometimes sherolled and tumbled in an ecstasy of abandon, and again she would sitmotionless, as though absorbed in dreams. Her hair was like corn silk inthe sun, twisting up into soft curls after her bath, when she sat rosilypresiding over her supper table. 

As I look back over her early infancy, I realize that I loved her, although it is impossible for me to say how much of this love isretrospective. Why I was not mad about her every hour of the day is apuzzle to me now. Why, indeed, was I not mad about all three of them?There were moments when I held and kissed them, when something withinme melted: moments when I was away from them, and thought of them. Butthese moments did not last. The something within me hardened again, I became indifferent, my family was wiped out of my consciousness asthough it had never existed. 

There was Matthew, for instance, the oldest. When he arrived, he was toMaude a never-ending miracle, she would have his crib brought into herroom, and I would find her leaning over the bedside, gazing at him witha rapt expression beyond my comprehension. To me he was just a brick-redmorsel of humanity, all folds and wrinkles, and not at all remarkable inany way. Maude used to annoy me by getting out of bed in the middle ofthe night when he cried, and at such times I was apt to wonder at theodd trick the life-force had played me, and ask myself why I got marriedat all. It was a queer method of carrying on the race. Later on, I beganto take a cursory interest in him, to watch for signs in him of certaincharacteristics of my own youth which, in the philosophy of my manhood, I had come to regard as defects. And it disturbed me somewhat to seethese signs appear. I wished him to be what I had become by force ofwill--a fighter. But he was a sensitive child, anxious for approval;not robust, though spiritual rather than delicate; even in comparativeinfancy he cared more for books than toys, and his greatest joy was inbeing read to. In spite of these traits--perhaps because of them--therewas a sympathy between us. From the time that he could talk the childseemed to understand me. Occasionally I surprised him gazing at me witha certain wistful look that comes back to me as I write. 

Moreton, Tom used to call Alexander the Great because he was a fighterfrom the cradle, beating his elder brother, too considerate tostrike back, and likewise--when opportunity offered--his sister; andappropriating their toys. A self-sufficient, doughty young man, with theround head that withstands many blows, taking by nature to competitionand buccaneering in general. I did not love him half so much as I didMatthew--if such intermittent emotions as mine may be called love. Itwas a standing joke of mine--which Maude strongly resented--that Moretonresembled Cousin George of Elkington. 

Imbued with the highest ambition of my time, I had set my barque on agreat circle, and almost before I realized it the barque was burdenedwith a wife and family and the steering had insensibly become moredifficult; for Maude cared nothing about the destination, and when Itook any hand off the wheel our ship showed a tendency to make for aquiet harbour. Thus the social initiative, which I believed should havebeen the woman's, was thrust back on me. It was almost incredible, yetindisputable, in a day when most American women were credited with acraving for social ambition that I, of all men, should have marrieda wife in whom the craving was wholly absent! She might have had whatother women would have given their souls for. There were many reasonswhy I wished her to take what I deemed her proper place in the communityas my wife--not that I cared for what is called society in the narrowsense; with me, it was a logical part of a broader scheme of life; anauxiliary rather than an essential, but a needful auxiliary; a means ofdignifying and adorning the position I was taking. Not only that, butI felt the need of intercourse--of intercourse of a lighter and moreconvivial nature with men and women who saw life as I saw it. In theevenings when we did not go out into that world our city afforded ennuitook possession of me: I had never learned to care for books, I had noresources outside of my profession, and when I was not working on somelegal problem I dawdled over the newspapers and went to bed. I don'tmean to imply that our existence, outside of our continued intimacy withthe Peterses and the Blackwoods, was socially isolated. We gave littledinners that Maude carried out with skill and taste; but it was Iwho suggested them; we went out to other dinners, sometimes toNancy's--though we saw less and less of her--sometimes to other houses. But Maude had given evidence of domestic tastes and a disinclination forgaiety that those who entertained more were not slow to sense. I shouldhave liked to take a larger house, but I felt the futility of suggestingit; the children were still small, and she was occupied with them. Meanwhile I beheld, and at times with considerable irritation, thesocial world changing, growing larger and more significant, a moreimportant function of that higher phase of American existence the newcentury seemed definitely to have initiated. A segregative process wasaway to which Maude was wholly indifferent. Our city was throwing offits social conservatism; wealth (which implied ability and superiority)was playing a greater part, entertainments were more luxurious, linesmore strictly drawn. We had an elaborate country club for those whocould afford expensive amusements. Much of this transformation had beendue to the initiative and leadership of Nancy Durrett. .. . 

Great and sudden wealth, however, if combined with obscure antecedentsand questionable qualifications, was still looked upon askance. In spiteof the fact that Adolf Scherer had "put us on the map, " the family ofthe great iron-master still remained outside of the social pale. He himself might have entered had it not been for his wife, who wassupposed to be "queer, " who remained at home in her house oppositeGallatin Park and made little German cakes, --a huge house which anunknown architect had taken unusual pains to make pretentious andhideous, for it was Rhenish, Moorish and Victorian by turns. Itsgeometric grounds matched those of the park, itself a monument tobad taste in landscape. The neighbourhood was highly respectable, andinhabited by families of German extraction. There were two flaxen-haireddaughters who had just graduated from an expensive boarding-school inNew York, where they had received the polish needful for future careers. But the careers were not forthcoming. 

I was thrown constantly with Adolf Scherer; I had earned his gratitude, I had become necessary to him. But after the great coup whereby he hadfulfilled Mr. Watling's prophecy and become the chief factor in ourbusiness world he began to show signs of discontent, of an irritabilitythat seemed foreign to his character, and that puzzled me. One day, however, I stumbled upon the cause of this fermentation, to wonder thatI had not discovered it before. In many ways Adolf Scherer was a child. We were sitting in the Boyne Club. 

"Money--yes!" he exclaimed, apropos of some demand made upon him bya charitable society. "They come to me for my money--there is alwaysScherer, they say. He will make up the deficit in the hospitals. Butwhat is it they do for me? Nothing. Do they invite me to their houses, to their parties?"

This was what he wanted, then, --social recognition. I said nothing, butI saw my opportunity: I had the clew, now, to a certain attitude he hadadopted of late toward me, an attitude of reproach; as though, in returnfor his many favours to me, there were something I had left undone. Andwhen I went home I asked Maude to call on Mrs. Scherer. 

"On Mrs. Scherer!" she repeated. 

"Yes, I want you to invite them to dinner. " The proposal seemed to takeaway her breath. "I owe her husband a great deal, and I think he feelshurt that the wives of the men he knows down town haven't taken up hisfamily. " I felt that it would not be wise, with Maude, to announce myrather amazing discovery of the iron-master's social ambitions. 

"But, Hugh, they must be very happy, they have their friends. And afterall this time wouldn't it seem like an intrusion?"

"I don't think so, " I said, "I'm sure it would please him, and them. Youknow how kind he's been to us, how he sent us East in his private carlast year. "

"Of course I'll go if you wish it, if you're sure they feel that way. "She did make the call, that very week, and somewhat to my surprisereported that she liked Mrs. Scherer and the daughters: Maude's likesand dislikes, needless to say, were not governed by matters of policy. 

"You were right, Hugh, " she informed me, almost with enthusiasm, "they did seem lonely. And they were so glad to see me, it was ratherpathetic. Mr. Scherer, it seems, had talked to them a great deal aboutyou. They wanted to know why I hadn't come before. That was ratherembarrassing. Fortunately they didn't give me time to talk, I neverheard people talk as they do. They all kissed me when I went away, andcame down the steps with me. And Mrs. Scherer went into the conservatoryand picked a huge bouquet. There it is, " she said, laughingly, pointingto several vases. "I separated the colours as well as I could when I gothome. We had coffee, and the most delicious German cakes in the Turkishroom, or the Moorish room, whichever it is. I'm sure I shan't be able toeat anything more for days. When do you wish to have them for dinner?"

"Well, " I said, "we ought to have time to get the right people to meetthem. We'll ask Nancy and Ham. "

Maude opened her eyes. 

"Nancy! Do you think Nancy would like them?"

"I'm going to give her a chance, anyway, " I replied. .. . 

It was, in some ways, a memorable dinner. I don't know what I expectedin Mrs. Scherer--from Maude's description a benevolent and somewhatstupid, blue-eyed German woman, of peasant extraction. There could be nodoubt about the peasant extraction, but when she hobbled into our littleparlour with the aid of a stout, gold-headed cane she dominated it. Her very lameness added to a distinction that evinced itself in adozen ways. Her nose was hooked, her colour high, --despite the yearsin Steelville, --her peculiar costume heightened the effect of herpersonality; her fire-lit black eyes bespoke a spirit accustomed torule, and instead of being an aspirant for social honours, she seemed toconfer them. Conversation ceased at her entrance. 

"I'm sorry we are late, my dear, " she said, as she greeted Maudeaffectionately, "but we have far to come. And this is your husband!"she exclaimed, as I was introduced. She scrutinized me. "I have heardsomething of you, Mr. Paret. You are smart. Shall I tell you thesmartest thing you ever did?" She patted Maude's shoulder. "When youmarried your wife--that was it. I have fallen in love with her. If youdo not know it, I tell you. "

Next, Nancy was introduced. 

"So you are Mrs. Hambleton Durrett?"

Nancy acknowledged her identity with a smile, but the next remark was abombshell. 

"The leader of society. "

"Alas!" exclaimed Nancy, "I have been accused of many terrible things. "

Their glances met. Nancy's was amused, baffling, like a spark in amber. Each, in its way, was redoubtable. A greater contrast between two womencould scarcely have been imagined. It was well said (and not snobbishly)that generations had been required to make Nancy's figure: she wore adress of blue sheen, the light playing on its ripples; and as she stood, apparently wholly at ease, looking down at the wife of Adolf Scherer, she reminded me of an expert swordsman who, with remarkable skill, waskeeping a too pressing and determined aspirant at arm's length. I waskeenly aware that Maude did not possess this gift, and I realized forthe first time something of the similarity between Nancy's career and myown. She, too, in her feminine sphere, exercised, and subtly, a power inwhich human passions were deeply involved. 

If Nancy Durrett symbolized aristocracy, established order and prestige, what did Mrs. Scherer represent? Not democracy, mob rule--certainly. Thestocky German peasant woman with her tightly drawn hair and heavy jewelsseemed grotesquely to embody something that ultimately would haveits way, a lusty and terrible force in the interests of which my ownservices were enlisted; to which the old American element in businessand industry, the male counterpart of Nancy Willett, had alreadysuccumbed. And now it was about to storm the feminine fastnesses! Ibeheld a woman who had come to this country with a shawl aver her headtransformed into a new species of duchess, sure of herself, scorning thedelicate euphemisms in which Fancy's kind were wont to refer to asocialrealm, that was no less real because its boundaries had not definitelybeen defined. She held her stick firmly, and gave Nancy an indomitablelook. 

"I want you to meet my daughters. Gretchen, Anna, come here and beintroduced to Mrs. Durrett. "

It was not without curiosity I watched these of the second generation asthey made their bows, noted the differentiation in the type for whichan American environment and a "finishing school" had been responsible. Gretchen and Anna had learned--in crises, such as the present--torestrain the superabundant vitality they had inherited. If theircheekbones were a little too high, their Delft blue eyes a little toosmall, their colour was of the proverbial rose-leaves and cream. GeneHollister's difficulty was to know which to marry. They were nicegirls, --of that there could be no doubt; there was no false modesty intheir attitude toward "society"; nor did they pretend--as so many sillypeople did, that they were not attempting to get anywhere in particular, that it was less desirable to be in the centre than on the dubious outerwalks. They, too, were so glad to meet Mrs. Durrett. 

Nancy's eyes twinkled as they passed on. 

"You see what I have let you in for?" I said. 

"My dear Hugh, " she replied, "sooner or later we should have had to facethem anyhow. I have recognized that for some time. With their money, andMr. Scherer's prestige, and the will of that lady with the stick, ina few years we should have had nothing to say. Why, she's a femaleNapoleon. Hilda's the man of the family. "

After that, Nancy invariably referred to Mrs. Scherer as Hilda. 

If Mrs. Scherer was a surprise to us, her husband was a still greaterone; and I had difficulty in recognizing the Adolf Scherer who cameto our dinner party as the personage of the business world before whomlesser men were wont to cringe. He seemed rather mysteriously to haveshed that personality; become an awkward, ingratiating, rather tooexuberant, ordinary man with a marked German accent. From time to timeI found myself speculating uneasily on this phenomenon as I glanced downthe table at his great torso, white waist-coated for the occasion. Hewas plainly "making up" to Nancy, and to Mrs. Ogilvy, who sat oppositehim. On the whole, the atmosphere of our entertainment was ratherelectric. "Hilda" was chiefly responsible for this; her frankness wasof the breath-taking kind. Far from attempting to hide or ignorethe struggle by which she and her husband had attained their presentposition, she referred with the utmost naivete to incidents in hercareer, while the whole table paused to listen. 

"Before we had a carriage, yes, it was hard for me to get about. I hadto be helped by the conductors into the streetcars. I broke my hip whenwe lived in Steelville, and the doctor was a numbskull. He should be putin prison, is what I tell Adolf. I was standing on a clothes-horse, whenit fell. I had much washing to do in those days. "

"And--can nothing be done, Mrs. Scherer?" asked Leonard Dickinson, sympathetically. 

"For an old woman? I am fifty-five. I have had many doctors. I would putthem all in prison. How much was it you paid Dr. Stickney, in New York, Adolf? Five thousand dollars? And he did nothing--nothing. I'd rather bepoor again, and work. But it is well to make the best of it. ". .. 

"Your grandfather was a fine man, Mr. Durrett, " she informed Hambleton. "It is a pity for you, I think, that you do not have to work. "

Ham, who sat on her other side, was amused. 

"My grandfather did enough work for both of us, " he said. 

"If I had been your grandfather, I would have started you in puddling, "she observed, as she eyed with disapproval the filling of his thirdglass of champagne. "I think there is too much gay life, too much gamesfor rich young men nowadays. You will forgive me for saying what I thinkto young men?"

"I'll forgive you for not being my grandfather, at any rate, " repliedHam, with unaccustomed wit. 

She gazed at him with grim humour. 

"It is bad for you I am not, " she declared. 

There was no gainsaying her. What can be done with a lady who will notrecognize that morality is not discussed, and that personalities aretabooed save between intimates. Hilda was a personage as well as aTartar. Laws, conventions, usages--to all these she would conform whenit pleased her. She would have made an admirable inquisitorial judge, and quite as admirable a sick nurse. A rare criminal lawyer, likewise, was wasted in her. She was one of those individuals, I perceived, whoseloyalties dominate them; and who, in behalf of those loyalties, carrychips on their shoulders. 

"It is a long time that I have been wanting to meet you, " she informedme. "You are smart. "

I smiled, yet I was inclined to resent her use of the word, though Iwas by no means sure of the shade of meaning she meant to put into it. I had, indeed, an uneasy sense of the scantiness of my fund of humour tomeet and turn such a situation; for I was experiencing, now, with her, the same queer feeling I had known in my youth in the presence of CousinRobert Breck--the suspicion that this extraordinary person saw throughme. It was as though she held up a mirror and compelled me to look at mysoul features. I tried to assure myself that the mirror was distorted. Ilost, nevertheless, the sureness of touch that comes from the convictionof being all of a piece. She contrived to resolve me againinto conflicting elements. I was, for the moment, no longer theself-confident and triumphant young attorney accustomed to carry allbefore him, to command respect and admiration, but a complicated beingwhose unity had suddenly been split. I glanced around the table atOgilvy, at Dickinson, at Ralph Hambleton. These men were functioningtruly. But was I? If I were not, might not this be the reason for thelack of synthesis--of which I was abruptly though vaguely aware betweenmy professional life, my domestic relationships, and my relationshipswith friends. The loyalty of the woman beside me struck me forcibly asa supreme trait. Where she had given, she did not withdraw. She hadconferred it instantly on Maude. Did I feel that loyalty towards asingle human being? towards Maude herself--my wife? or even towardsNancy? I pulled myself together, and resolved to give her credit forusing the word "smart" in its unobjectionable sense. After all; Dickenshad so used it. 

"A lawyer must needs know something of what he is about, Mrs. Scherer, if he is to be employed by such a man as your husband, " I replied. 

Her black eyes snapped with pleasure. 

"Ah, I suppose that is so, " she agreed. "I knew he was a great man whenI married him, and that was before Mr. Nathaniel Durrett found it out. "

"But surely you did not think, in those days, that he would be as bigas he has become? That he would not only be president of the Boyne IronWorks, but of a Boyne Iron Works that has exceeded Mr. Durrett's wildestdreams. "

She shook her head complacently. 

"Do you know what I told him when he married me? I said, 'Adolf, it is apity you are born in Germany. ' And when he asked me why, I told him thatsome day he might have been President of the United States. "

"Well, that won't be a great deprivation to him, " I remarked. "Mr. Scherer can do what he wants, and the President cannot. "

"Adolf always does as he wants, " she declared, gazing at him as he satbeside the brilliant wife of the grandson of the man whose red-shirtedforeman he had been. "He does what he wants, and gets what he wants. Heis getting what he wants now, " she added, with such obvious meaningthat I found no words to reply. "She is pretty, that Mrs. Durrett, andclever, --is it not so?"

I agreed. A new and indescribable note had come into Mrs. Scherer'svoice, and I realized that she, too, was aware of that flaw in theredoubtable Mr. Scherer which none of his associates had guessed. Itwould have been strange if she had not discovered it. "She is beautiful, yes, " the lady continued critically, "but she is not to compare withyour wife. She has not the heart, --it is so with all your people ofsociety. For them it is not what you are, but what you have done, andwhat you have. "

The banality of this observation was mitigated by the feeling she threwinto it. 

"I think you misjudge Mrs. Durrett, " I said, incautiously. "She hasnever before had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Scherer of appreciatinghim. "

"Mrs. Durrett is an old friend of yours?" she asked. 

"I was brought up with her. "

"Ah!" she exclaimed, and turned her penetrating glance upon me. I wasstartled. Could it be that she had discerned and interpreted thoserenascent feelings even then stirring within me, and of which I myselfwas as yet scarcely conscious? At this moment, fortunately for me, thewomen rose; the men remained to smoke; and Scherer, as they discussedmatters of finance, became himself again. I joined in the conversation, but I was thinking of those instants when in flashes of understanding myeyes had met Nancy's; instants in which I was lifted out of my humdrum, deadly serious self and was able to look down objectively upon the lifeI led, the life we all led--and Nancy herself; to see with her the comicirony of it all. Nancy had the power to give me this exquisite sense ofdetachment that must sustain her. And was it not just this sustenanceshe could give that I needed? For want of it I was hardening, crystallizing, growing blind to the joy and variety of existence. Nancy could have saved me; she brought it home to me that I neededsalvation. .. . I was struck by another thought; in spite of ourseparation, in spite of her marriage and mine, she was still nearer tome--far nearer--than any other being. 

Later, I sought her out. She looked up at me amusedly from thewindow-seat in our living-room, where she had been talking to theScherer girls. 

"Well, how did you get along with Hilda?" she asked. "I thought I sawyou struggling. "

"She's somewhat disconcerting, " I said. "I felt as if she were turningme inside out. "

Nancy laughed. 

"Hilda's a discovery--a genius. I'm going to have them to dinnermyself. "

"And Adolf?" I inquired. "I believe she thought you were preparing torun away with him. You seemed to have him hypnotized. "

"I'm afraid your great man won't be able to stand--elevation, " shedeclared. "He'll have vertigo. He's even got it now, at this littleheight, and when he builds his palace on Grant Avenue, and later movesto New York, I'm afraid he'll wobble even more. "

"Is he thinking of doing all that?" I asked. 

"I merely predict New York--it's inevitable, " she replied. "GrantAvenue, yes; he wants me to help him choose a lot. He gave me tenthousand dollars for our Orphans' Home, but on the whole I think Iprefer Hilda even if she doesn't approve of me. "

Nancy rose. The Scherers were going. While Mr. Scherer pressed my handin a manner that convinced me of his gratitude, Hilda was bidding anaffectionate good night to Maude. A few moments later she bore herhusband and daughters away, and we heard the tap-tap of her cane on thewalk outside. .. . 

XVII. 

The remembrance of that dinner when with my connivance the Scherersmade their social debut is associated in my mind with the coming of thefulness of that era, mad and brief, when gold rained down like mannafrom our sooty skies. Even the church was prosperous; the Rev. CareyHeddon, our new minister, was well abreast of the times, typical of thenew and efficient Christianity that has finally buried the hatchet withenlightened self-interest. He looked like a young and prosperous man ofbusiness, and indeed he was one. 

The fame of our city spread even across the Atlantic, reaching obscurehamlets in Europe, where villagers gathered up their lares andpenates, mortgaged their homes, and bought steamship tickets fromphilanthropists, --philanthropists in diamonds. Our Huns began to arrive, their Attilas unrecognized among them: to drive our honest Americans andIrish and Germans out of the mills by "lowering the standard ofliving. " Still--according to the learned economists in our universities, enlightened self-interest triumphed. Had not the honest Americans andGermans become foremen and even presidents of corporations? What greatervindication for their philosophy could be desired?

The very aspect of the city changed like magic. New buildings spranghigh in the air; the Reliance Trust (Mr. Grierson's), the SchererBuilding, the Hambleton Building; a stew hotel, the Ashuela, tookproper care of our visitors from the East, --a massive, grey stone, thousand-awninged affair on Boyne Street, with a grill where it becamethe fashion to go for supper after the play, and a head waiter who knewin a few weeks everyone worth knowing. 

To return for a moment to the Huns. Maude had expressed a desire tosee a mill, and we went, one afternoon, in Mr. Scherer's carriage toSteelville, with Mr. Scherer himself, --a bewildering, educative, almostterrifying experience amidst fumes and flames, gigantic forces andtitanic weights. It seemed a marvel that we escaped being crushed orburned alive in those huge steel buildings reverberating with sound. They appeared a very bedlam of chaos, instead of the triumph of order, organization and human skill. Mr. Scherer was very proud of it all, andours was a sort of triumphal procession, accompanied by superintendents, managers and other factotums. I thought of my childhood image ofShadrach, Meshach and Abednego, and our progress through the flamesseemed no less remarkable and miraculous. 

Maude, with alarm in her eyes, kept very close to me, as I supplementedthe explanations they gave her. I had been there many times before. 

"Why, Hugh, " she exclaimed, "you seem to know a lot about it!"

Mr. Scherer laughed. 

"He's had to talk about it once or twice in court--eh, Hugh? You didn'trealize how clever your husband was did you, Mrs. Paret?"

"But this is so--complicated, " she replied. "It is overwhelming. "

"When I found out how much trouble he had taken to learn about mybusiness, " added Mr. Scherer, "there was only one thing to do. Makehim my lawyer. Hugh, you have the floor, and explain the open-hearthprocess. "

I had almost forgotten the Huns. I saw Maude gazing at them with a newkind of terror. And when we sat at home that evening they still hauntedher. 

"Somehow, I can't bear to think about them, " she said. "I'm sure we'llhave to pay for it, some day. "

"Pay for what?" I asked. 

"For making them work that way. And twelve hours! It can't be right, while we have so much, and are so comfortable. "

"Don't be foolish, " I exclaimed. "They're used to it. They thinkthemselves lucky to get the work--and they are. Besides, you give themcredit for a sensitiveness that they don't possess. They wouldn't knowwhat to do with such a house as this if they had it. "

"I never realized before that our happiness and comfort were built onsuch foundations;" she said, ignoring my remark. 

"You must have seen your father's operatives, in Elkington, many times aweek. "

"I suppose I was too young to think about such things, " she reflected. "Besides, I used to be sorry for them, sometimes. But these men at thesteel mills--I can't tell you what I feel about them. The sight of theirgreat bodies and their red, sullen faces brought home to me the crueltyof life. Did you notice how some of them stared at us, as though theywere but half awake in the heat, with that glow on their faces? It mademe afraid--afraid that they'll wake up some day, and then they will beterrible. I thought of the children. It seems not only wicked, but madto bring ignorant foreigners over here and make them slaves like that, and so many of them are hurt and maimed. I can't forget them. "

"You're talking Socialism, " I said crossly, wondering whether Lucia hadtaken it up as her latest fad. 

"Oh, no, I'm not, " said Maude, "I don't know what Socialism is. I'mtalking about something that anyone who is not dazzled by all thisluxury we are living in might be able to see, about something which, when it comes, we shan't be able to help. "

I ridiculed this. The prophecy itself did not disturb me half as muchas the fact that she had made it, as this new evidence that she wasbeginning to think for herself, and along lines so different from my owndevelopment. 

While it lasted, before novelists, playwrights, professors and ministersof the Gospel abandoned their proper sphere to destroy it, thatGolden Age was heaven; the New Jerusalem--in which we had ceased tobelieve--would have been in the nature of an anticlimax to any of ourarchangels of finance who might have attained it. The streets of our owncity turned out to be gold; gold likewise the acres of unused, scrubbyland on our outskirts, as the incident of the Riverside Franchise--whichI am about to relate--amply proved. 

That scheme originated in the alert mind of Mr. Frederick Grierson, andin spite of the fact that it has since become notorious in the eyes ofa virtue-stricken public, it was entered into with all innocence at thetime: most of the men who were present at the "magnate's" table at theBoyne Club the day Mr. Grierson broached it will vouch for this. Hecasually asked Mr. Dickinson if he had ever noticed a tract lying on theriver about two miles beyond the Heights, opposite what used to be inthe old days a road house. 

"This city is growing so fast, Leonard, " said Grierson, lighting aspecial cigar the Club kept for him, "that it might pay a few of us toget together and buy that tract, have the city put in streets and sewersand sell it in building lots. I think I can get most of it at less thanthree hundred dollars an acre. "

Mr. Dickinson was interested. So were Mr. Ogilvy and Ralph Hambleton, and Mr. Scherer, who chanced to be there. Anything Fred Grierson had tosay on the question of real estate was always interesting. He went on todescribe the tract, its size and location. 

"That's all very well, Fred, " Dickinson objected presently, "but how areyour prospective householders going to get out there?"

"Just what I was coming to, " cried Grierson, triumphantly, "we'll geta franchise, and build a street-railroad out Maplewood Avenue, anextension of the Park Street line. We can get the franchise for nextto nothing, if we work it right. " (Mr. Grierson's eye fell on me), "andsell it out to the public, if you underwrite it, for two million or so. "

"Well, you've got your nerve with you, Fred, as usual, " said Dickinson. But he rolled his cigar in his mouth, an indication, to those who knewhim well, that he was considering the matter. When Leonard Dickinsondidn't say "no" at once, there was hope. "What do you think the propertyholders on Maplewood Avenue would say? Wasn't it understood, whenthat avenue was laid out, that it was to form part of the system ofboulevards?"

"What difference does it make what they say?" Ralph interposed. 

Dickinson smiled. He, too, had an exaggerated respect for Ralph. We allthought the proposal daring, but in no way amazing; the public existedto be sold things to, and what did it matter if the Maplewood residents, as Ralph said; and the City Improvement League protested?

Perry Blackwood was the Secretary of the City Improvement League, theobject of which was to beautify the city by laying out a system ofparkways. 

The next day some of us gathered in Dickinson's office and decided thatGrierson should go ahead and get the options. This was done; not, ofcourse, in Grierson's name. The next move, before the formation of theRiverside Company, was to "see" Mr. Judd Jason. The success or failureof the enterprise was in his hands. Mahomet must go to the mountain, andI went to Monahan's saloon, first having made an appointment. It was notthe first time I had been there since I had made that first memorablevisit, but I never quite got over the feeling of a neophyte beforeBuddha, though I did not go so far as to analyze the reason, --that inMr. Jason I was brought face to face with the concrete embodiment ofthe philosophy I had adopted, the logical consequence of enlightenedself-interest. If he had ever heard of it, he would have made nopretence of being anything else. Greatness, declares some modernphilosopher, has no connection with virtue; it is the continued, strongand logical expression of some instinct; in Mr. Jason's case, thepredatory instinct. And like a true artist, he loved his career foritself--not for what its fruits could buy. He might have built a palaceon the Heights with the tolls he took from the disreputable houses ofthe city; he was contented with Monahan's saloon: nor did he seek topropitiate a possible God by endowing churches and hospitals with aportion of his income. Try though I might, I never could achieve theperfection of this man's contempt for all other philosophies. The veryfact of my going there in secret to that dark place of his from outof the bright, respectable region in which I lived was in itself anacknowledgment of this. I thought him a thief--a necessary thief--andhe knew it: he was indifferent to it; and it amused him, I think, tosee clinging to me, when I entered his presence, shreds of that moralitywhich those of my world who dealt with him thought so needful for thesake of decency. 

He was in bed, reading newspapers, as usual. An empty coffee-cup and aplate were on the littered table. 

"Sit down, sit down, Paret, " he said. "What do you hear from theSenator?"

I sat down, and gave him the news of Mr. Watling. He seemed, as usual, distrait, betraying no curiosity as to the object of my call, his lean, brown fingers playing with the newspapers on his lap. Suddenly, heflashed out at me one of those remarks which produced the uncannyconviction that, so far as affairs in the city were concerned, he wasomniscient. 

"I hear somebody has been getting options on that tract of land beyondthe Heights, on the river. "

He had "focussed. "

"How did you hear that?" I asked. 

He smiled. 

"It's Grierson, ain't it?"

"Yes, it's Grierson, " I said. 

"How are you going to get your folks out there?" he demanded. 

"That's what I've come to see you about. We want a franchise forMaplewood Avenue. "

"Maplewood Avenue!" He lay back with his eyes closed, as though tryingto visualize such a colossal proposal. .. . 

When I left him, two hours later, the details were all arranged, down toMr. Jason's consideration from Riverside Company and the "fee" whichhis lawyer, Mr. Bitter, was to have for "presenting the case" beforethe Board of Aldermen. I went back to lunch at the Boyne Club, and toreceive the congratulations of my friends. The next week the RiversideCompany was formed, and I made out a petition to the Board of Aldermenfor a franchise; Mr. Bitter appeared and argued: in short, the procedureso familiar to modern students of political affairs was gone through. The Maplewood Avenue residents rose en masse, supported by the CityImprovement League. Perry Blackwood, as soon as he heard of thepetition, turned up at my office. By this time I was occupying Mr. Watling's room. 

"Look here, " he began, as soon as the office-boy had closed the doorbehind him, "this is going it a little too strong. "

"What is?" I asked, leaning back in my chair and surveying him. 

"This proposed Maplewood Avenue Franchise. Hugh, " he said, "you and Ihave been friends a good many years, Lucia and I are devoted to Maude. "

I did not reply. 

"I've seen all along that we've been growing apart, " he added sadly. "You've got certain ideas about things which I can't share. I supposeI'm old fashioned. I can't trust myself to tell you what I think--whatTom and I think about this deal. "

"Go ahead, Perry, " I said. 

He got up, plainly agitated, and walked to the window. Then he turned tome appealingly. 

"Get out of it, for God's sake get out of it, before it's too late. Foryour own sake, for Maude's, for the children's. You don't realize whatyou are doing. You may not believe me, but the time will come when thesefellows you are in with will be repudiated by the community, --theirmoney won't help them. Tom and I are the best friends you have, " headded, a little irrelevantly. 

"And you think I'm going to the dogs. "

"Now don't take it the wrong way, " he urged. 

"What is it you object to about the Maplewood franchise?" I asked. "Ifyou'll look at a map of the city, you'll see that development is boundto come on that side. Maplewood Avenue is the natural artery, somebody will build a line out there, and if you'd rather have easterncapitalists--"

"Why are you going to get this franchise?" he demanded. "Because wehaven't a decent city charter, and a healthy public spirit, you fellowsare buying it from a corrupt city boss, and bribing a corrupt board ofaldermen. That's the plain language of it. And it's only fair to warnyou that I'm going to say so, openly. "

"Be sensible, " I answered. "We've got to have street railroads, --yourfamily has one. We know what the aldermen are, what political conditionsare. If you feel this way about it, the thing to do is to try to changethem. But why blame me for getting a franchise for a company in the onlymanner in which, under present conditions, a franchise can be got? Doyou want the city to stand still? If not, we have to provide for the newpopulation. "

"Every time you bribe these rascals for a franchise you entrench them, "he cried. "You make it more difficult to oust them. But you mark mywords, we shall get rid of them some day, and when that fight comes, Iwant to be in it. "

He had grown very much excited; and it was as though this excitementsuddenly revealed to me the full extent of the change that had takenplace in him since he had left college. As he stood facing me, almostglaring at me through his eye-glasses, I beheld a slim, nervous, fault-finding doctrinaire, incapable of understanding the world as itwas, lacking the force of his pioneer forefathers. I rather pitied him. 

"I'm sorry we can't look at this thing alike, Perry, " I told him. "You've said solve pretty hard things, but I realize that you hold yourpoint of view in good faith, and that you have come to me as an oldfriend. I hope it won't make any difference in our personal relations. "

"I don't see how it can help making a difference, " he answered slowly. His excitement had cooled abruptly: he seemed dazed. At this moment myprivate stenographer entered to inform me that I was being called up onthe telephone from New York. "Well, you have more important affairs toattend to, I won't bother you any more, " he added. 

"Hold on, " I exclaimed, "this call can wait. I'd like to talk it overwith you. "

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use, Hugh, " he said, and went out. 

After talking with the New York client whose local interests Irepresented I sat thinking over the conversation with Perry. ConsideringMaude's intimacy with and affection for the Blackwoods, the affair wasawkward, opening up many uncomfortable possibilities; and it was theprospect of discomfort that bothered me rather than regret for theprobable loss of Perry's friendship. I still believed myself to have anaffection for him: undoubtedly this was a sentimental remnant. .. . 

That evening after dinner Tom came in alone, and I suspected that Perryhad sent him. He was fidgety, ill at ease, and presently asked if Icould see him a moment in my study. Maude's glance followed us. 

"Say, Hugh, this is pretty stiff, " he blurted out characteristically, when the door was closed. 

"I suppose you mean the Riverside Franchise, " I said. He looked up atme, miserably, from the chair into which he had sunk, his hands in hispockets. 

"You'll forgive me for talking about it, won't you? You used to lectureme once in a while at Cambridge, you know. "

"That's all right--go ahead, " I replied, trying to speak amiably. 

"You know I've always admired you, Hugh, --I never had your ability, "he began painfully, "you've gone ahead pretty fast, --the truth is thatPerry and I have been worried about you for some time. We've triednot to be too serious in showing it, but we've felt that these modernbusiness methods were getting into your system without your realizingit. There are some things a man's friends can tell him, and it's theirduty to tell him. Good God, haven't you got enough, Hugh, --enoughsuccess and enough money, without going into a thing like this Riversidescheme?"

I was intensely annoyed, if not angry; and I hesitated a moment to calmmyself. 

"Tom, you don't understand my position, " I said. "I'm willing to discussit with you, now that you've opened up the subject. Perry's been talkingto you, I can see that. I think Perry's got queer ideas, --to be plainwith you, and they're getting queerer. "

He sat down again while, with what I deemed a rather exemplary patience, I went over the arguments in favour of my position; and as I talked, it clarified in my own mind. It was impossible to apply to business anindividual code of ethics, --even to Perry's business, to Tom's business:the two were incompatible, and the sooner one recognized that thebetter: the whole structure of business was built up on natural, asopposed to ethical law. We had arrived at an era of frankness--that wasthe truth--and the sooner we faced this truth the better for our peaceof mind. Much as we might deplore the political system that had grownup, we had to acknowledge, if we were consistent, that it was the baseon which our prosperity was built. I was rather proud of having evolvedthis argument; it fortified my own peace of mind, which had beendisturbed by Tom's attitude. I began to pity him. He had not been verysuccessful in life, and with the little he earned, added to Susan'sincome, I knew that a certain ingenuity was required to make both endsmeet. He sat listening with a troubled look. A passing phase of feelingclouded for a brief moment my confidence when there arose in my mind anunbidden memory of my youth, of my father. He, too, had mistrusted myingenuity. I recalled how I had out-manoeuvred him and gone to college;I remembered the March day so long ago, when Tom and I had stood on thecorner debating how to deceive him, and it was I who had suggested thenice distinction between a boat and a raft. Well, my father's illogicalattitude towards boyhood nature, towards human nature, had forced meinto that lie, just as the senseless attitude of the public to-dayforced business into a position of hypocrisy. 

"Well, that's clever, " he said, slowly and perplexedly, when I hadfinished. "It's damned clever, but somehow it looks to me all wrong. Ican't pick it to pieces. " He got up rather heavily. "I--I guess I oughtto be going. Susan doesn't know where I am. "

I was exasperated. It was clear, though he did not say so, that hethought me dishonest. The pain in his eyes had deepened. 

"If you feel that way--" I said. 

"Oh, God, I don't know how I feel!" he cried. "You're the oldest friendI have, Hugh, --I can't forget that. We'll say nothing more about it. " Hepicked up his hat and a moment later I heard the front door closebehind him. I stood for a while stock-still, and then went into theliving-room, where Maude was sewing. 

"Why, where's Tom?" she inquired, looking up. 

"Oh, he went home. He said Susan didn't know where he was. "

"How queer! Hugh, was there anything the matter? Is he in trouble?" sheasked anxiously. 

I stood toying with a book-mark, reflecting. She must inevitably come tosuspect that something had happened, and it would be as well to fortifyher. 

"The trouble is, " I said after a moment, "that Perry and Tom would liketo run modern business on the principle of a charitable institution. Unfortunately, it is not practical. They're upset because I have beenretained by a syndicate whose object is to develop some land out beyondMaplewood Avenue. They've bought the land, and we are asking the cityto give us a right to build a line out Maplewood Avenue, which is theobvious way to go. Perry says it will spoil the avenue. That's nonsense, in the first place. The avenue is wide, and the tracks will be in agrass plot in the centre. For the sake of keeping tracks off that avenuehe would deprive people of attractive homes at a small cost, of thegood air they can get beyond the heights; he would stunt the city'sdevelopment. "

"That does seem a little unreasonable, " Maude admitted. "Is that all heobjects to?"

"No, he thinks it an outrage because, in order to get the franchise, wehave to deal with the city politicians. Well, it so happens, and alwayshas happened, that politics have been controlled by leaders, whomPerry calls 'bosses, ' and they are not particularly attractive men. Youwouldn't care to associate with them. My father once refused to be mayorof the city for this reason. But they are necessities. If the peopledidn't want them, they'd take enough interest in elections to throw themout. But since the people do want them, and they are there, every timea new street-car line or something of that sort needs to be built theyhave to be consulted, because, without their influence nothing could bedone. On the other hand, these politicians cannot afford to ignore menof local importance like Leonard Dickinson and Adolf Scherer and MillerGorse who represent financial substance and' responsibility. If a newstreet-railroad is to be built, these are the logical ones to build it. You have just the same situation in Elkington, on a smaller scale. 

"Your family, the Hutchinses, own the mills and the street-railroads, and any new enterprise that presents itself is done with their money, because they are reliable and sound. "

"It isn't pleasant to think that there are such people as thepoliticians, is it?" said Maude, slowly. 

"Unquestionably not, " I agreed. "It isn't pleasant to think of someother crude forces in the world. But they exist, and they have to bedealt with. Suppose the United States should refuse to trade with Russiabecause, from our republican point of view, we regarded her governmentas tyrannical and oppressive? or to cooperate with England in someundertaking for the world's benefit because we contended that she ruledIndia with an iron hand? In such a case, our President and Senate wouldbe scoundrels for making and ratifying a treaty. Yet here are Perry andTom, and no doubt Susan and Lucia, accusing me, a lifetime friend, ofdishonesty because I happen to be counsel for a syndicate that wishes tobuild a street-railroad for the convenience of the people of the city. "

"Oh, no, not of dishonesty!" she exclaimed. "I can't--I won't believethey would do that. "

"Pretty near it, " I said. "If I listened to them, I should have to giveup the law altogether. "

"Sometimes, " she answered in a low voice, "sometimes I wish you would. "

"I might have expected that you would take their point of view. "

As I was turning away she got up quickly and put her hand on myshoulder. 

"Hugh, please don't say such things--you've no right to say them. "

"And you?" I asked. 

"Don't you see, " she continued pleadingly, "don't you see that we aregrowing apart? That's the only reason I said what I did. It isn't that Idon't trust you, that I don't want you to have your work, that I demandall of you. I know a woman can't ask that, --can't have it. But if youwould only give me--give the children just a little, if I could feelthat we meant something to you and that this other wasn't graduallybecoming everything, wasn't absorbing you more and more, killing thebest part of you. It's poisoning our marriage, it's poisoning all yourrelationships. "

In that appeal the real Maude, the Maude of the early days of ourmarriage flashed forth again so vividly that I was taken aback. Iunderstood that she had had herself under control, had worn a mask--amask I had forced on her; and the revelation of the continued existenceof that other Maude was profoundly disturbing. Was it true, as she said, that my absorption in the great game of modern business, in the modernAmerican philosophy it implied was poisoning my marriage? or was itthat my marriage had failed to satisfy and absorb me? I was touched--butsentimentally touched: I felt that this was a situation that ought totouch me; I didn't wish to face it, as usual: I couldn't acknowledge tomyself that anything was really wrong. .. I patted her on the shoulder, Ibent over and kissed her. 

"A man in my position can't altogether choose just how busy he will be, "I said smiling. "Matters are thrust upon me which I have to accept, andI can't help thinking about some of them when I come home. But we'll gooff for a real vacation soon, Maude, to Europe--and take the children. "

"Oh, I hope so, " she said. 

From this time on, as may be supposed, our intercourse with both theBlackwoods began to grow less frequent, although Maude continued to seea great deal of Lucia; and when we did dine in their company, orthey with us, it was quite noticeable that their former raillery wassuppressed. Even Tom had ceased to refer to me as the young Napoleonof the Law: he clung to me, but he too kept silent on the subject ofbusiness. Maude of course must have noticed this, must have sensed thechange of atmosphere, have known that the Blackwoods, at least, weremaintaining appearances for her sake. She did not speak to me of thechange, nor I to her; but when I thought of her silence, it was tosuspect that she was weighing the question which had led up to thedifference between Perry and me, and I had a suspicion that the factthat I was her husband would not affect her ultimate decision. Thisfaculty of hers of thinking things out instead of accepting my views anddecisions was, as the saying goes, getting a little "on my nerves": thatshe of all women should have developed it was a recurring and unpleasantsurprise. I began at times to pity myself a little, to feel the need ofsympathetic companionship--feminine companionship. .. . 

I shall not go into the details of the procurement of what became knownas the Riverside Franchise. In spite of the Maplewood residents, of theCity Improvement League and individual protests, we obtained it withabsurd ease. Indeed Perry Blackwood himself appeared before the PublicUtilities Committee of the Board of Aldermen, and was listened towith deference and gravity while he discoursed on the defacement of abeautiful boulevard to satisfy the greed of certain private individuals. Mr. Otto Bitter and myself, who appeared for the petitioners, hada similar reception. That struggle was a tempest in a tea-pot. Thereformer raged, but he was feeble in those days, and the great publicbelieved what it read in the respectable newspapers. In Mr. JudahB. Tallant's newspaper, for instance, the Morning Era, there weresemi-playful editorials about "obstructionists. " Mr. Perry Blackwoodwas a well-meaning, able gentleman of an old family, etc. , but with asentiment for horse-cars. The Era published also the resolutions which(with interesting spontaneity!) had been passed by our Board of Tradeand Chamber of Commerce and other influential bodies in favour of thefranchise; the idea--unknown to the public--of Mr. Hugh Paret, whowrote drafts of the resolutions and suggested privately to Mr. LeonardDickinson that a little enthusiasm from these organizations might behelpful. Mr. Dickinson accepted the suggestion eagerly, wondering why hehadn't thought of it himself. The resolutions carried some weight with apublic that did not know its right hand from its left. 

After fitting deliberation, one evening in February the Board ofAldermen met and granted the franchise. Not unanimously, oh, no! Mr. Jason was not so simple as that! No further visits to Monahan's saloonon my part, in this connection were necessary; but Mr. Otto Bitter metme one day in the hotel with a significant message from the boss. 

"It's all fixed, " he informed me. "Murphy and Scott and Ottheimer andGrady and Loth are the decoys. You understand?"

"I think I gather your meaning, " I said. 

Mr. Bitter smiled by pulling down one corner of a crooked mouth. 

"They'll vote against it on principle, you know, " he added. "We get alittle something from the Maple Avenue residents. "

I've forgotten what the Riverside Franchise cost. The sum was paid in alump sum to Mr. Bitter as his "fee, "--so, to their chagrin, a grand jurydiscovered in later years, when they were barking around Mr. Jason'shole with an eager district attorney snapping his whip over them. I remember the cartoon. The municipal geese were gone, but it wasimpossible to prove that this particular fox had used his enlightenedreason in their procurement. Mr. Bitter was a legally authorized fox, and could take fees. How Mr. Jason was to be rewarded by the landcompany's left-hand, unknown, to the land company's right hand, became aproblem worthy of a genius. The genius was found, but modesty forbidsme to mention his name, and the problem was solved, to wit: the landcompany bought a piece of downtown property from--Mr. Ryerson, who wasMr. Grierson's real estate man and the agent for the land company, fora consideration of thirty thousand dollars. An unconfirmed rumour had itthat Mr. Ryerson turned over the thirty thousand to Mr. Jason. Then theRiverside Company issued a secret deed of the same property back to Mr. Ryerson, and this deed was not recorded until some years later. 

Such are the elaborate transactions progress and prosperity demand. Nature is the great teacher, and we know that her ways are at timescomplicated and clumsy. Likewise, under the "natural" laws of economics, new enterprises are not born without travail, without the aid of legalphysicians well versed in financial obstetrics. One hundred and fiftyto two hundred thousand, let us say, for the right to build tracks onMaplewood Avenue, and we sold nearly two million dollars worth of thesecurities back to the public whose aldermen had sold us the franchise. Is there a man so dead as not to feel a thrill at this achievement?And let no one who declares that literary talent and imagination arenonexistent in America pronounce final judgment until he reads thatprospectus, in which was combined the best of realism and symbolism, for the labours of Alonzo Cheyne were not to be wasted, after all. Mr. Dickinson, who was a director in the Maplewood line, got a handsomeunderwriting percentage, and Mr. Berringer, also a director, on thebonds and preferred stock he sold. Mr. Paret, who entered both companieson the ground floor, likewise got fees. Everybody was satisfied exceptthe trouble makers, who were ignored. In short, the episode of theRiverside Franchise is a triumphant proof of the contention thatbusiness men are the best fitted to conduct the politics of theircountry. 

We had learned to pursue our happiness in packs, we knew that theHappy Hunting-Grounds are here and now, while the Reverend Carey Heddoncontinued to assure the maimed, the halt and the blind that theirkingdom was not of this world, that their time was coming later. Couldthere have been a more idyl arrangement! Everybody should have beensatisfied, but everybody was not. Otherwise these pages would never havebeen written. 

BOOK 3. 

XVIII. 

As the name of our city grew to be more and more a byword for sudden andfabulous wealth, not only were the Huns and the Slavs, the Czechs andthe Greeks drawn to us, but it became the fashion for distinguishedEnglishmen and Frenchmen and sometimes Germans and Italians to pay us avisit when they made the grand tour of America. They had been told thatthey must not miss us; scarcely a week went by in our community--so itwas said--in which a full-fledged millionaire was not turned out. Ourvisitors did not always remain a week, --since their rapid journeyingsfrom the Atlantic to the Pacific, from Canada to the Gulf rarelyoccupied more than four, --but in the books embodying their maturecomments on the manners, customs and crudities of American civilizationno less than a chapter was usually devoted to us; and most of theadjectives in their various languages were exhausted in the attemptto prove how symptomatic we were of the ambitions and ideals ofthe Republic. The fact that many of these gentlemen--literary andotherwise--returned to their own shores better fed and with largerbalances in the banks than when they departed is neither here nor there. Egyptians are proverbially created to be spoiled. 

The wiser and more fortunate of these travellers and students of lifebrought letters to Mr. And Mrs. Hambleton Durrett. That household wassymptomatic--if they liked--of the new order of things; and it was rareindeed when both members of it were at home to entertain them. If Mr. Durrett were in the city, and they did not happen to be Britons withsporting proclivities, they simply were not entertained: when Mrs. Durrett received them dinners were given in their honour on the Durrettgold plate, and they spent cosey and delightful hours conversing withher in the little salon overlooking the garden, to return to theirhotels and jot down paragraphs on the superiority of the Americanwomen over the men. These particular foreigners did not lay eyes on Mr. Durrett, who was in Florida or in the East playing polo or engaged insome other pursuit. One result of the lavishness and luxury that amazedthem they wrote--had been to raise the standard of culture of the women, who were our leisure class. But the travellers did not remain longenough to arrive at any conclusions of value on the effect of luxury andlavishness on the sacred institution of marriage. 

If Mr. Nathaniel Durrett could have returned to his native city afterfifteen years or so in the grave, not the least of the phenomena tostartle him would have been that which was taking place in his ownhouse. For he would have beheld serenely established in that formerabode of Calvinism one of the most reprehensible of exotic abominations, a 'mariage de convenance;' nor could he have failed to observe, moreover, the complacency with which the descendants of his friends, the pew holders in Dr. Pound's church, regarded the matter: and not onlythese, but the city at large. The stronghold of Scotch Presbyterianismhad become a London or a Paris, a Gomorrah!

Mrs. Hambleton Durrett went her way, and Mr. Durrett his. The less saidabout Mr. Durrett's way--even in this suddenly advanced age--the better. As for Nancy, she seemed to the distant eye to be walking through lifein a stately and triumphant manner. I read in the newspapers of herdoings, her comings and goings; sometimes she was away for monthstogether, often abroad; and when she was at home I saw her, butinfrequently, under conditions more or less formal. Not that she wasformal, --or I: our intercourse seemed eloquent of an intimacy in atantalizing state of suspense. Would that intimacy ever be renewed? Thiswas a question on which I sometimes speculated. The situation that hadsuspended or put an end to it, as the case might be, was never referredto by either of us. 

One afternoon in the late winter of the year following that in whichwe had given a dinner to the Scherers (where the Durretts had rathermarvellously appeared together) I left my office about three o'clock--amost unusual occurrence. I was restless, unable to fix my mind on mywork, filled with unsatisfied yearnings the object of which I soughtto keep vague, and yet I directed my steps westward along Boyne Streetuntil I came to the Art Museum, where a loan exhibition was being held. I entered, bought a catalogue, and presently found myself standingbefore number 103, designated as a portrait of Mrs. HambletonDurrett, --painted in Paris the autumn before by a Polish artist thenmuch in vogue, Stanislaus Czesky. Nancy--was it Nancy?--was standingfacing me, tall, superb in the maturity of her beauty, with one handresting on an antique table, a smile upon her lips, a gentle mockery inher eyes as though laughing at the world she adorned. With the smileand the mockery--somehow significant, too, of an achievedinaccessibility--went the sheen of her clinging gown and the glintof the heavy pearls drooping from her high throat to her waist. Thesecaught the eye, but failed at length to hold it, for even as I lookedthe smile faded, the mockery turned to wistfulness. So I thought, andlooked again--to see the wistfulness: the smile had gone, the pearlsseemed heavier. Was it a trick of the artist? had he seen what I saw, or thought I saw? or was it that imagination which by now I might havelearned to suspect and distrust. Wild longings took possession of me, for the portrait had seemed to emphasize at once how distant now she wasfrom me, and yet how near! I wanted to put that nearness to the test. Had she really changed? did anyone really change? and had I not beena fool to accept the presentment she had given me? I remembered thosemoments when our glances had met as across barriers in flashesof understanding. After all, the barriers were mere relics of thesuperstition of the past. What if I went to her now? I felt that Ineeded her as I never had needed anyone in all my life. .. . I was arousedby the sound of lowered voices beside me. 

"That's Mrs. Hambleton Durrett, " I heard a woman say. "Isn't shebeautiful?"

The note of envy struck me sharply--horribly. Without waiting to listento the comment of her companion I hurried out of the building into thecold, white sunlight that threw into bold relief the mediocre houses ofthe street. Here was everyday life, but the portrait had suggested thatwhich might have been--might be yet. What did I mean by this? I didn'tknow, I didn't care to define it, --a renewal of her friendship, of ourintimacy. My being cried out for it, and in the world in which I livedwe took what we wanted--why not this? And yet for an instant I stood onthe sidewalk to discover that in new situations I was still subjectto unaccountable qualms of that thing I had been taught to call"conscience"; whether it were conscience or not must be left tothe psychologists. I was married--terrible word! the shadow of thatInstitution fell athwart me as the sun went under a cloud; but thesun came out again as I found myself walking toward the Durrett housereflecting that numbers of married men called on Nancy, and that whatI had in mind in regard to her was nothing that the court would havepronounced an infringement upon the Institution. .. . I reached hersteps, the long steps still guarded by the curved wrought-iron railingsreminiscent of Nathaniel's day, though the "portals" were gone, a modernvestibule having replaced them; I rang the bell; the butler, flung openthe doors. He, at any rate, did not seem surprised to see me here, hegreeted me with respectful cordiality and led me, as a favoured guest, through the big drawing-room into the salon. 

"Mr. Paret, Madam!"

Nancy, rose quickly from the low chair where she sat cutting the pagesof a French novel. 

"Hugh!" she exclaimed. "I'm out if anyone calls. Bring tea, " she addedto the man, who retired. For a moment we stood gazing at each other, questioningly. "Well, won't you sit down and stay awhile?" she asked. 

I took a chair on the opposite side of the fire. 

"I just thought I'd drop in, " I said. 

"I am flattered, " said Nancy, "that a person so affaire should findtime to call on an old friend. Why, I thought you never left your officeuntil seven o'clock. "

"I don't, as a rule, but to-day I wasn't particularly busy, and Ithought I'd go round to the Art Museum and look at your portrait. "

"More flattery! Hugh, you're getting quite human. What do you think ofit?"

"I like it. I think it quite remarkable. "

"Have a cigarette!"

I took one. 

"So you really like it, " she said. 

"Don't you?"

"Oh, I think it's a trifle--romantic, " she replied "But that's Czesky. He made me quite cross, --the feminine presentation of America, thespoiled woman who has shed responsibilities and is beginning to have aglimpse--just a little one--of the emptiness of it all. "

I was stirred. 

"Then why do you accept it, if it isn't you?" I demanded. "One doesn'trefuse Czesky's canvases, " she replied. "And what difference does itmake? It amused him, and he was fairly subtle about it. Only those whoare looking for romance, like you, are able to guess what he meant, and they would think they saw it anyway, even if he had paintedme--extinct. "

"Extinct!" I repeated. 

She laughed. 

"Hugh, you're a silly old goose!"

"That's why I came here, I think, to be told so, " I said. 

Tea was brought in. A sense of at-homeness stole over me, --I was more athome here in this room with Nancy, than in any other place in the world;here, where everything was at once soothing yet stimulating, expressiveof her, even the smaller objects that caught my eye, --the crystalinkstand tipped with gold, the racks for the table books, herpaper-cutter. Nancy's was a discriminating luxury. And her talk! Thelightness with which she touched life, the unexplored depths of her, guessed at but never fathomed! Did she feel a little the need of me as Ifelt the need of her?

"Why, I believe you're incurably romantic, Hugh, " she said laughingly, when the men had left the room. "Here you are, what they call a paragonof success, a future senator, Ambassador to England. I hear of thoseremarkable things you have done--even in New York the other day a manwas asking me if I knew Mr. Paret, and spoke of you as one of the comingmen. I suppose you will be moving there, soon. A practical success! Italways surprises me when I think of it, I find it difficult to rememberwhat a dreamer you were and here you turn out to be still a dreamer!Have you discovered, too, the emptiness of it all?" she inquiredprovokingly. "I must say you don't look it"--she gave me a critical, quizzical glance--"you look quite prosperous and contented, as thoughyou enjoyed your power. "

I laughed uneasily. 

"And then, " she continued, "and then one day when your luncheon hasdisagreed with you--you walk into a gallery and see a portrait of--of anold friend for whom in youth, when you were a dreamer, you professed asentimental attachment, and you exclaim that the artist is a discerningman who has discovered the secret that she has guarded so closely. She'ssorry that she ever tried to console herself with baubles it's whatyou've suspected all along. But you'll just run around to see foryourself--to be sure of it. " And she handed me my tea. "Come now, confess. Where are your wits--I hear you don't lack them in court. "

"Well, " I said, "if that amuses you--"

"It does amuse me, " said Nancy, twining her fingers across her knee andregarding me smilingly, with parted lips, "it amuses me a lot--it's socharacteristic. "

"But it's not true, it's unjust, " I protested vigorously, smiling, too, because the attack was so characteristic of her. 

"What then?" she demanded. 

"Well, in the first place, my luncheon didn't disagree with me. It neverdoes. "

She laughed. "But the sentiment--come now--the sentiment? Do youperceive any hint of emptiness--despair?"

Our chairs were very close, and she leaned forward a little. 

"Emptiness or no emptiness, " I said a little tremulously, "I know that Ihaven't been so contented, so happy for a long time. "

She sat very still, but turned her gaze on the fire. 

"You really wouldn't want to find that, Hugh, " she said in anothervoice, at which I exclaimed. "No, I'm not being sentimental. But, to beserious, I really shouldn't care to think that of you. I'd like to thinkof you as a friend--a good friend--although we don't see very much ofone another. "

"But that's why I came, Nancy, " I explained. "It wasn't just animpulse--that is, I've been thinking of you a great deal, all along. Imiss you, I miss the way you look at things--your point of view. I can'tsee any reason why we shouldn't see something of each other--now--"

She continued to stare into the fire. 

"No, " she said at length, "I suppose there isn't any reason. " Her moodseemed suddenly to change as she bent over and extinguished the flameunder the kettle. "After all, " she added gaily, "we live in a tolerantage, we've reached the years of discretion, and we're both tooconventional to do anything silly--even if we wanted to--which we don't. We're neither of us likely to quarrel with the world as it is, I think, and we might as well make fun of it together. We'll begin with ourfriends. What do you think of Mr. Scherer's palace?"

"I hear you're building it for him. "

"I told him to get Eyre, " said Nancy, laughingly, "I was afraid he'drepeat the Gallatin Park monstrosity on a larger scale, and Eyre's theonly man in this country who understands the French. It's been ratheramusing, " she went on, "I've had to fight Hilda, and she's no meanantagonist. How she hates me! She wanted a monstrosity, of course, amodernized German rock-grotto sort of an affair, I can imagine. She'sbeen so funny when I've met her at dinner. 'I understand you take agreat interest in the house, Mrs. Durrett. ' Can't you hear her?"

"Well, you did get ahead of her, " I said. 

"I had to. I couldn't let our first citizen build a modern Rhine castle, could I? I have some public spirit left. And besides, I expect to buildon Grant Avenue myself. "

"And leave here?"

"Oh, it's too grubby, it's in the slums, " said Nancy. "But I really oweyou a debt of gratitude, Hugh, for the Scherers. "

"I'm told Adolf's lost his head over you. "

"It's not only over me, but over everything. He's so ridiculously proudof being on the board of the Children's Hospital. .. . You ought to hearhim talking to old Mrs. Ogilvy, who of course can't get used to himat all, --she always has the air of inquiring what he's doing in thatgalley. She still thinks of him as Mr. Durrett's foreman. "

The time flew. Her presence was like a bracing, tingling atmosphere inwhich I felt revived and exhilarated, self-restored. For Nancy did notquestion--she took me as I was. We looked out on the world, as it were, from the same window, and I could not help thinking that ours, afterall, was a large view. The topics didn't matter--our conversation wasfragrant with intimacy; and we were so close to each other it seemedincredible that we ever should be parted again. At last the little clockon the mantel chimed an hour, she started and looked up. 

"Why, it's seven, Hugh!" she exclaimed, rising. "I'd no idea it was solate, and I'm dining with the Dickinsons. I've only just time to dress. "

"It's been like a reunion, hasn't it?--a reunion after many years, " Isaid. I held her hand unconsciously--she seemed to be drawing me to her, I thought she swayed, and a sudden dizziness seized me. Then she drewaway abruptly, with a little cry. I couldn't be sure about the cry, whether I heard it or not, a note was struck in the very depths of me. 

"Come in again, " she said, "whenever you're not too busy. " And a minutelater I found myself on the street. 

This was the beginning of a new intimacy with Nancy, resembling the oldintimacy yet differing from it. The emotional note of our parting onthe occasion I have just related was not again struck, and when Iwent eagerly to see her again a few days later I was conscious oflimitations, --not too conscious: the freedom she offered and which Igladly accepted was a large freedom, nor am I quite sure that even Iwould have wished it larger, though there were naturally moments whenI thought so: when I asked myself what I did wish, I found no answer. Though I sometimes chafed, it would have been absurd of me to object toa certain timidity or caution I began to perceive in her that had beenabsent in the old Nancy; but the old Nancy had ceased to exist, and hereinstead was a highly developed, highly specialized creature in whom Idelighted; and after taking thought I would not have robbed her offine acquired attribute. As she had truly observed, we were bothconventional; conventionality was part of the price we had willinglypaid for membership in that rarer world we had both achieved. It wasa world, to be sure, in which we were rapidly learning to take the lawinto our own hands without seeming to defy it, in order that the fearof it might remain in those less fortunately placed and endowed: wehad begun with the appropriation of the material property of ourfellow-citizens, which we took legally; from this point it was, ofcourse, merely a logical step to take--legally, too other gentlemen'shuman property--their wives, in short: the more progressive East had setus our example, but as yet we had been chary to follow it. 

About this time rebellious voices were beginning to make themselvesheard in the literary wilderness proclaiming liberty--liberty of thesexes. There were Russian novels and French novels, and pioneer Englishnovels preaching liberty with Nietzschean stridency, or taking it forgranted. I picked these up on Nancy's table. 

"Reading them?" she said, in answer to my query. "Of course I'm readingthem. I want to know what these clever people are thinking, even if Idon't always agree with them, and you ought to read them too. It's quitetrue what foreigners say about our men, --that they live in a groove, that they haven't any range of conversation. "

"I'm quite willing to be educated, " I replied. "I haven't a doubt that Ineed it. "

She was leaning back in her chair, her hands behind her head, a postureshe often assumed. She looked up at me amusedly. 

"I'll acknowledge that you're more teachable than most of them, " shesaid. "Do you know, Hugh, sometimes you puzzle me greatly. When you arehere and we're talking together I can never think of you as you are outin the world, fighting for power--and getting it. I suppose it's partof your charm, that there is that side of you, but I never consciouslyrealize it. You're what they call a dual personality. "

"That's a pretty hard name!" I exclaimed. 

She laughed. 

"I can't help it--you are. Oh, not disagreeably so, quitenormally--that's the odd thing about you. Sometimes I believe that youwere made for something different, that in spite of your success youhave missed your 'metier. '"

"What ought I to have been?"

"How can I tell? A Goethe, perhaps--a Goethe smothered by atwentieth-century environment. Your love of adventure isn't dead, it'sbeen merely misdirected, real adventure, I mean, forth faring, strayinginto unknown paths. Perhaps you haven't yet found yourself. "

"How uncanny!" I said, stirred and startled. 

"You have a taste for literature, you know, though you've buried it. Give me Turgeniev. We'll begin with him. .. . "

Her reading and the talks that followed it were exciting, amazinglystimulating. .. . Once Nancy gave me an amusing account of a debate whichhad taken place in the newly organized woman's discussion club to whichshe belonged over a rather daring book by an English novelist. Mrs. Dickinson had revolted. 

"No, she wasn't really shocked, not in the way she thought she was, "said Nancy, in answer to a query of mine. 

"How was she shocked, then?"

"As you and I are shocked. "

"But I'm not shocked, " I protested. 

"Oh, yes, you are, and so am I--not on the moral side, nor is it themoral aspect that troubles Lula Dickinson. She thinks it's the moralaspect, but it's really the revolutionary aspect, the menace to thoseprecious institutions from which we derive our privileges and comforts. "

I considered this, and laughed. 

"What's the use of being a humbug about it, " said Nancy. 

"But you're talking like a revolutionary, " I said. 

"I may be talking like one, but I'm not one. I once had the makingsof one--of a good one, --a 'proper' one, as the English would say. " Shesighed. 

"You regret it?" I asked curiously. 

"Of course I regret it!" she cried. "What woman worth her salt doesn'tregret it, doesn't want to live, even if she has to suffer for it?And those people--the revolutionaries, I mean, the rebels--they live, they're the only ones who do live. The rest of us degenerate in apainless paralysis we think of as pleasure. Look at me! I'm incapableof committing a single original act, even though I might conceive one. Well, there was a time when I should have been equal to anything andwouldn't have cared a--a damn. "

I believed her. .. . 

I fell into the habit of dropping in on Nancy at least twice a week onmy way from the office, and I met her occasionally at other houses. Idid not tell Maude of that first impulsive visit; but one evening a fewweeks later she asked me where I had been, and when I told her shemade no comment. I came presently to the conclusion that this renewedintimacy did not trouble her--which was what I wished to believe. Ofcourse I had gone to Nancy for a stimulation I failed to get at home, and it is the more extraordinary, therefore, that I did not become morediscontented and restless: I suppose this was because I had grownto regard marriage as most of the world regarded it, as somethinginevitable and humdrum, as a kind of habit it is useless to try to shakeoff. But life is so full of complexities and anomalies that I still hada real affection for Maude, and I liked her the more because she didn'texpect too much of me, and because she didn't complain of my friendshipwith Nancy although I should vehemently have denied there was anythingto complain of. I respected Maude. If she was not a squaw, she performedreligiously the traditional squaw duties, and made me comfortable: andthe fact that we lived separate mental existences did not trouble mebecause I never thought of hers--or even that she had one. She had thechildren, and they seemed to suffice. She never renewed her appeal formy confidence, and I forgot that she had made it. 

Nevertheless I always felt a tug at my heartstrings when June camearound and it was time for her and the children to go to Mattapoisettfor the summer; when I accompanied them, on the evening of theirdeparture, to the smoky, noisy station and saw deposited in thesleeping-car their luggage and shawls and bundles. They always took theevening train to Boston; it was the best. Tom and Susan were invariablythere with candy and toys to see them off--if Susan and her children hadnot already gone--and at such moments my heart warmed to Tom. And I wasastonished as I clung to Matthew and Moreton and little Biddy atthe affection that welled up within me, saddened when I kissed Maudegood-bye. She too was sad, and always seemed to feel compunctions fordeserting me. 

"I feel so selfish in leaving you all alone!" she would say. "If itweren't for the children--they need the sea air. But I know you don'tmiss me as I miss you. A man doesn't, I suppose. .. . Please don't work sohard, and promise me you'll come on and stay a long time. You can if youwant to. We shan't starve. " She smiled. "That nice room, which is yours, at the southeast corner, is always waiting for you. And you do like thesea, and seeing the sail-boats in the morning. "

I felt an emptiness when the train pulled out. I did love my family, after all! I would go back to the deserted house, and I could not bearto look in at the nursery door, at the little beds with covers flungover them. Why couldn't I appreciate these joys when I had them?

One evening, as we went home in an open street-car together, after sucha departure, Tom blurted out:--"Hugh, I believe I care for your familyas much as for my own. I often wonder if you realize how wonderful thesechildren are! My boys are just plain ruffians--although I think they'repretty decent ruffians, but Matthew has a mind--he's thoughtful--andan imagination. He'll make a name for himself some day if he's steeredproperly and allowed to develop naturally. Moreton's more like my boys. And as for Chickabiddy!--" words failed him. 

I put my hand on his knee. I actually loved him again as I had lovedand yearned for him as a child, --he was so human, so dependable. And whycouldn't this feeling last? He disapproved--foolishly, I thought--ofmy professional career, and this was only one of his limitations. ButI knew that he was loyal. Why hadn't I been able to breathe and bereasonably happy in that atmosphere of friendship and love in which Ihad been placed--or rather in which I had placed myself?. .. Before thesummer was a day or two older I had grown accustomed to being alone, and enjoyed the liberty; and when Maude and the children returned in theautumn, similarly, it took me some days to get used to the restrictionsimposed by a household. I run the risk of shocking those who read thisby declaring that if my family had been taken permanently out of mylife, I should not long have missed them. But on the whole, in thoseyears my marriage relation might be called a negative one. There weremoments, as I have described, when I warmed to Maude, moments when Ifelt something akin to a violent antagonism aroused by little mannerismsand tricks she had. The fact that we got along as well as we didwas probably due to the orthodox teaching with which we had beeninoculated, --to the effect that matrimony was a moral trial, ashaking-down process. But moral trials were ceasing to appeal to people, and more and more of them were refusing to be shaken down. We didn't cutthe Gordian knot, but we managed to loosen it considerably. 

I have spoken of a new species of titans who inhabited the giantbuildings in Wall Street, New York, and fought among themselves forpossession of the United States of America. It is interesting to notethat in these struggles a certain chivalry was observed among thecombatants, no matter how bitter the rivalry: for instance, it wasdeemed very bad form for one of the groups of combatants to take thepublic into their confidence; cities were upset and stirred to thecore by these conflicts, and the citizens never knew who was doingthe fighting, but imagined that some burning issue was at stake thatconcerned them. As a matter of fact the issue always did concern them, but not in the way they supposed. 

Gradually, out of the chaotic melee in which these titans were engagedhad emerged one group more powerful than the rest and more respectable, whose leader was the Personality to whom I have before referred. He andhis group had managed to gain control of certain conservative fortressesin various cities such as the Corn National Bank and the AshuelaTelephone Company--to mention two of many: Adolf Scherer was his ally, and the Boyne Iron Works, Limited, was soon to be merged by him into agreater corporation still. Leonard Dickinson might be called his localgovernor-general. We manned the parapets and kept our ears constantly tothe ground to listen for the rumble of attacks; but sometimes they burstupon us fiercely and suddenly, without warning. Such was the assault onthe Ashuela, which for years had exercised an apparently secure monopolyof the city's telephone service, which had been able to ignore withcomplacency the shrillest protests of unreasonable subscribers. Throughthe Pilot it was announced to the public that certain benevolent"Eastern capitalists" were ready to rescue them from their thraldom ifthe city would grant them a franchise. Mr. Lawler, the disinterestednessof whose newspaper could not be doubted, fanned the flame day by day, sent his reporters about the city gathering instances of the haughtyneglect of the Ashuela, proclaiming its instruments antiquated comparedwith those used in more progressive cities, as compared with the verylatest inventions which the Automatic Company was ready to installprovided they could get their franchise. And the prices! These, too, would fall--under competition. It was a clever campaign. If the citywould give them a franchise, that Automatic Company--so well named!would provide automatic instruments. Each subscriber, by means of anumerical disk, could call up any other, subscriber; there would be nocentral operator, no listening, no tapping of wires; the number ofcalls would be unlimited. As a proof of the confidence of these Easterngentlemen in our city, they were willing to spend five millions, andpresent more than six hundred telephones free to the city departments!What was fairer, more generous than this! There could be no doubt thatpopular enthusiasm was enlisted in behalf of the "Eastern Capitalists, "who were made to appear in the light of Crusaders ready to rescue agroaning people from the thrall of monopoly. The excitement approachedthat of a presidential election, and became the dominant topic atquick-lunch counters and in street-cars. Cheap and efficient service!Down with the Bastille of monopoly!

As counsel for the Ashuela, Mr. Ogilvy sent for me, and by certainsecret conduits of information at my disposal I was not long indiscovering the disquieting fact that a Mr. Orthwein, who was describedas a gentleman with fat fingers and a plausible manner, had been in townfor a week and had been twice seen entering and emerging from Monahan'ssaloon. In short, Mr. Jason had already been "seen. " Nevertheless Iwent to him myself, to find him for the first time in my experienceabsolutely non-committal. 

"What's the Ashuela willing to do?" he demanded. 

I mentioned a sum, and he shook his head. I mentioned another, and stillhe shook his head. 

"Come 'round again, " he said. .. 

I was compelled to report this alarming situation to Ogilvy andDickinson and a few chosen members of a panicky board of directors. 

"It's that damned Grannis crowd, " said Dickinson, mentioning anaggressive gentleman who had migrated from Chicago to Wall Street somefive years before in a pink collar. 

"But what's to be done?" demanded Ogilvy, playing nervously with a goldpencil on the polished table. He was one of those Americans who in acommercial atmosphere become prematurely white, and today his boyish, smooth-shaven face was almost as devoid of colour as his hair. EvenLeonard Dickinson showed anxiety, which was unusual for him. 

"You've got to fix it, Hugh, " he said. 

I did not see my way, but I had long ago learned to assume the unruffledair and judicial manner of speaking that inspires the layman with almostsuperstitious confidence in the lawyer. .. . 

"We'll find a way out, " I said. 

Mr. Jason, of course, held the key to the situation, and just how Iwas to get around him was problematical. In the meantime there was thepublic: to permit the other fellow to capture that was to be lacking inordinary prudence; if its votes counted for nothing, its savings weredesirable; and it was fast getting into a state of outrage againstmonopoly. The chivalry of finance did not permit of a revelation thatMr. Grannis and his buccaneers were behind the Automatic, but it waspossible to direct and strengthen the backfire which the Era and otherconservative newspapers had already begun. Mr. Tallant for delicatereasons being persona non grata at the Boyne Club, despite the fact thathe had so many friends there, we met for lunch in a private room at thenew hotel, and as we sipped our coffee and smoked our cigars we planneda series of editorials and articles that duly appeared. They madea strong appeal to the loyalty of our citizens to stand by the homecompany and home capital that had taken generous risks to give themservice at a time when the future of the telephone business was by nomeans assured; they belittled the charges made by irresponsible andinterested "parties, " and finally pointed out, not without effect, thatone logical consequence of having two telephone companies would be tocompel subscribers in self-defence to install two telephones instead ofone. And where was the saving in that?

"Say, Paret, " said Judah B. When we had finished our labours; "if youever get sick of the law, I'll give you a job on the Era's staff. Thisis fine, the way you put it. It'll do a lot of good, but how in hell areyou going to handle Judd?. .. "

For three days the inspiration was withheld. And then, as I wasstrolling down Boyne Street after lunch gazing into the store windows itcame suddenly, without warning. Like most inspirations worth anything, it was very simple. Within half an hour I had reached Monahan's saloonand found Mr. Jason out of bed, but still in his bedroom, seatedmeditatively at the window that looked over the alley. 

"You know the crowd in New York behind this Automatic company as wellas I do, Jason, " I said. "Why do you want to deal with them when we'vealways been straight with you, when we're ready to meet them and go onebetter? Name your price. "

"Suppose I do--what then, " he replied. "This thing's gone prettyfar. Under that damned new charter the franchise has got to be bidfor--hasn't it? And the people want this company. There'll be a howlfrom one end of this town to the other if we throw 'em down. "

"We'll look out for the public, " I assured him, smiling. 

"Well, " he said, with one of his glances that were like flashes, "whatyou got up your sleeve?"

"Suppose another telephone company steps in, and bids a little higherfor the franchise. That relieves, your aldermen of all responsibility, doesn't it?"

"Another telephone company!" he repeated. 

I had already named it on my walk. 

"The Interurban, " I said. 

"A dummy company?" said Mr. Jason. 

"Lively enough to bid something over a hundred thousand to the city forits franchise, " I replied. 

Judd Jason, with a queer look, got up and went to a desk in adark corner, and after rummaging for a few moments in one of thepigeon-holes, drew forth a glass cylinder, which he held out as heapproached me. 

"You get it, Mr. Paret, " he said. 

"What is it?" I asked, "a bomb!"

"That, " he announced, as he twisted the tube about in his long fingers, holding it up to the light, "is the finest brand of cigars ever made inCuba. A gentleman who had every reason to be grateful to me--I won'tsay who he was--gave me that once. Well, the Lord made me so's I can'tappreciate any better tobacco than those five-cent 'Bobtails' Monahan'sgot downstairs, and I saved it. I saved it for the man who would putsomething over me some day, and--you get it. "

"Thank you, " I said, unconsciously falling in with the semi-ceremony ofhis manner. "I do not flatter myself that the solution I have suggesteddid not also occur to you. "

"You'll smoke it?" he asked. 

"Surely. "

"Now? Here with me?"

"Certainly, " I agreed, a little puzzled. As I broke the seal, pulled outthe cork and unwrapped the cigar from its gold foil he took a stick andrapped loudly on the floor. After a brief interval footsteps wereheard on the stairs and Mike Monahan, white aproned and scarlet faced, appeared at the door. 

"Bobtails, " said Mr. Jason, laconically. 

"It's them I thought ye'd be wanting, " said the saloon-keeper, holdingout a handful. Judd Jason lighted one, and began smoking reflectively. 

I gazed about the mean room, with its litter of newspapers and reports, its shabby furniture, and these seemed to have become incongruous, outof figure in the chair facing me keeping with the thoughtful figure inthe chair facing me. 

"You had a college education, Mr. Paret, " he remarked at length. 

"Yes. "

"Life's a queer thing. Now if I'd had a college education, like you, andyou'd been thrown on the world, like me, maybe I'd be livin' up there onGrant Avenue and you'd be down here over the saloon. "

"Maybe, " I said, wondering uneasily whether he meant to imply asimilarity in our gifts. But his manner remained impassive, speculative. 

"Ever read Carlyle's 'French Revolution'?" he asked suddenly. 

"Why, yes, part of it, a good while ago. "

"When you was in college?"

"Yes. "

"I've got a little library here, " he said, getting up and raising theshades and opening the glass doors of a bookcase which had escaped myattention. He took down a volume of Carlyle, bound in half calf. 

"Wouldn't think I cared for such things, would you?" he demanded as hehanded it to me. 

"Well, you never can tell what a man's real tastes are until you knowhim, " I observed, to conceal my surprise. 

"That's so, " he agreed. "I like books--some books. If I'd had aneducation, I'd have liked more of 'em, known more about 'em. Now I canread this one over and over. That feller Carlyle was a genius, he couldlook right into the bowels of the volcano, and he was on to how men andwomen feet down there, how they hate, how they square 'emselves whenthey get a chance. "

He had managed to bring before me vividly that terrible, volcanic flowon Versailles of the Paris mob. He put back the book and resumed hisseat. 

"And I know how these people fed down here, below the crust, " he wenton, waving his cigar out of the window, as though to indicate the wholeof that mean district. "They hate, and their hate is molten hell. I'vebeen through it. "

"But you've got on top, " I suggested. 

"Sure, I've got on top. Do you know why? it's because I hated--that'swhy. A man's feelings, if they're strong enough, have a lot to do withwhat he becomes. "

"But he has to have ability, too, " I objected. 

"Sure, he has to have ability, but his feeling is the driving power ifhe feels strong enough, he can make a little ability go a long way. "

I was struck by the force of this remark. I scarcely recognized JuddJason. The man, as he revealed himself, had become at once more sinisterand more fascinating. 

"I can guess how some of those Jacobins felt when they had thearistocrats in the dock. They'd got on top--the Jacobins, I mean. It'shuman nature to want to get on top--ain't it?" He looked at me andsmiled, but he did not seem to expect a reply. "Well, what you callsociety, rich, respectable society like you belong to would have madea bum and a criminal out of me if I hadn't been too smart for 'em, andit's a kind of satisfaction to have 'em coming down here to Monahan'sfor things they can't have without my leave. I've got a half Nelson on'em. I wouldn't live up on Grant Avenue if you gave me Scherer's newhouse. "

I was silent. 

"Instead of starting my career in college, I started in jail, " he wenton, apparently ignoring any effect he may have produced. So subtly, sodispassionately indeed was he delivering himself of these remarks thatit was impossible to tell whether he meant their application to bepersonal, to me, or general, to my associates. "I went to jail when Iwas fourteen because I wanted a knife to make kite sticks, and I stole arazor from a barber. I was bitter when they steered me into a lockup inHickory Street. It was full of bugs and crooks, and they put me inthe same cell with an old-timer named 'Red' Waters; who was one of theslickest safe-blowers around in those days. Red took a shine to me, found out I had a head piece, and said their gang could use a cleverboy. If I'd go in with him, I could make all kinds of money. I guessI might have joined the gang if Red hadn't kept talking--about howthe boss of his district named Gallagher would come down and get himout, --and sure enough Gallagher did come down and get him out. I thoughtI'd rather be Gallagher than Red--Red had to serve time once in a while. Soon as he got out I went down to Gallagher's saloon, and there wasRed leaning over the bar. 'Here's a smart kid! he says, 'He and me wereroom-mates over in Hickory Street. ' He got to gassing me, and telling meI'd better come along with him, when Gallagher came in. 'What is it ye'dlike to be, my son?' says he. A politician, I told him. I was throughgoing to jail. Gallagher had a laugh you could hear all over the place. He took me on as a kind of handy boy around the establishment, and byand by I began to run errands and find out things for him. I was boss ofthat ward myself when I was twenty-six. .. . How'd you like that cigar?"

I praised it. 

"It ought to have been a good one, " he declared. "Well, I don't want tokeep you here all afternoon telling you my life story. "

I assured him I had been deeply interested. 

"Pretty slick idea of yours, that dummy company, Mr. Paret. Go ahead andorganize it. " He rose, which was contrary to his custom on the departureof a visitor. "Drop in again. We'll talk about the books. ". .. 

I walked slowly back reflecting on this conversation, upon the motivesimpelling Mr. Jason to become thus confidential; nor was it the mostcomforting thought in the world that the artist in me had appealed tothe artist in him, that he had hailed me as a breather. But for thegrace of God I might have been Mr. Jason and he Mr. Paret: undoubtedlythat was what he had meant to imply. .. And I was forced to admit that hehad succeeded--deliberately or not--in making the respectable Mr. Paretjust a trifle uncomfortable. 

In the marble vestibule of the Corn National Bank I ran into Tallant, holding his brown straw hat in his hand and looking a little moremoth-eaten than usual. 

"Hello, Paret, " he said "how is that telephone business getting along?"

"Is Dickinson in?" I asked. 

Tallant nodded. 

We went through the cool bank, with its shining brass and red mahogany, its tiled floor, its busy tellers attending to files of clients, tothe president's sanctum in the rear. Leonard Dickinson, very spruce anddignified in a black cutaway coat, was dictating rapidly to a woman, stenographer, whom he dismissed when he saw us. The door was shut. 

"I was just asking Paret about the telephone affair, " said Mr. Tallant. 

"Well, have you found a way out?" Leonard Dickinson looked questioninglyat me. 

"It's all right, " I answered. "I've seen Jason. "

"All right!" they both ejaculated at once. 

"We win, " I said. 

They stood gazing at me. Even Dickinson, who was rarely ruffled, seemedexcited. 

"Do you mean to say you've fixed it?" he demanded. 

I nodded. They stared at me in amazement. 

"How the deuce did you manage it?"

"We organize the Interurban Telephone Company, and bid for thefranchise--that's all. "

"A dummy company!" cried Tallant. "Why, it's simple as ABC!"

Dickinson smiled. He was tremendously relieved, and showed it. 

"That's true about all great ideas, Tallant, " he said. "They're simple, only it takes a clever man to think of them. "

"And Jason agrees?" Tallant demanded. 

I nodded again. "We'll have to outbid the Automatic people. I haven'tseen Bitter yet about the--about the fee. "

"That's all right, " said Leonard Dickinson, quickly. "I take off myhat to you. You've saved us. You can ask any fee you like, " he addedgenially. "Let's go over to--to the Ashuela and get some lunch. " He hadbeen about to say the Club, but he remembered Mr. Tallant's presence intime. "Nothing's worrying you, Hugh?" he added, as we went out, followedby the glances of his employees. 

"Nothing, " I said. .. . 

XVIX. 

Making money in those days was so ridiculously easy! The trouble was toknow how to spend it. One evening when I got home I told Maude I had asurprise for her. 

"A surprise?" she asked, looking up from a little pink smock she wasmaking for Chickabiddy. 

"I've bought that lot on Grant Avenue, next to the Ogilvys'. "

She dropped her sewing, and stared at me. 

"Aren't you pleased?" I asked. "At last we are going to have a house ofour very own. What's the matter?"

"I can't bear the thought of leaving here. I'm so used to it. I've grownto love it. It's part of me. "

"But, " I exclaimed, a little exasperated, "you didn't expect to livehere always, did you? The house has been too small for us for years. I thought you'd be delighted. " (This was not strictly true, for I hadrather expected some such action on her part. ) "Most women would. Ofcourse, if it's going to make such a difference to you as that, I'llsell the lot. That won't be difficult. "

I got up, and started to go into my study. She half rose, and her sewingfell to the floor. 

"Oh, why are we always having misunderstandings? Do sit down a minute, Hugh. Don't think I'm not appreciative, " she pleaded. "It was--such ashock. "

I sat down rather reluctantly. 

"I can't express what I think, " she continued, rather breathlessly, "butsometimes I'm actually frightened, we're going through life so fast inthese days, and it doesn't seem as if we were getting the real thingsout of it. I'm afraid of your success, and of all the money you'remaking. "

I smiled. 

"I'm not so rich yet, as riches go in these days, that you need bealarmed, " I said. 

She looked at me helplessly a moment. 

"I feel that it isn't--right, somehow, that you'll pay for it, thatwe'll pay for it. Goodness knows, we have everything we want, and moretoo. This house--this house is real, and I'm afraid that won't be ahome, won't be real. That we'll be overwhelmed with--with things!". .. 

She was interrupted by the entrance of the children. But after dinner, when she had seen them to bed, as was her custom, she came downstairsinto my study and said quietly:--"I was wrong, Hugh. If you want tobuild a house, if you feel that you'd be happier, I have no right toobject. Of course my sentiment for this house is natural, the childrenwere born here, but I've realized we couldn't live here always. "

"I'm glad you look at it that way, " I replied. "Why, we're alreadygetting cramped, Maude, and now you're going to have a governess I don'tknow where you'd put her. "

"Not too large, a house, " she pleaded. "I know you think I'm silly, butthis extravagance we see everywhere does make me uneasy. Perhaps it'sbecause I'm provincial, and always shall be. "

"Well, we must have a house large enough to be comfortable in, " I said. "There's no reason why we shouldn't be comfortable. " I thought it aswell not to confess my ambitions, and I was greatly relieved that shedid not reproach me for buying the lot without consulting her. Indeed, Iwas grateful for this unanticipated acquiescence, I felt nearer to her, than I had for a long time. I drew up another chair to my desk. 

"Sit down and we'll make a few sketches, just for fun, " I urged. 

"Hugh, " she said presently, as we were blacking out prospective rooms, "do you remember all those drawings and plans we made in England, on ourwedding trip, and how we knew just what we wanted, and changed our mindsevery few days? And now we're ready to build, and haven't any ideas atall!"

"Yes, " I answered--but I did not look at her. 

"I have the book still--it's in the attic somewhere, packed away in abox. I suppose those plans would seem ridiculous now. "

It was quite true, --now that we were ready to build the home that hadbeen deferred so long, now that I had the money to spend without stinton its construction, the irony of life had deprived me of those strongdesires and predilections I had known on my wedding trip. What a joy itwould have been to build then! But now I found myself: wholly lacking indefinite ideas as to style and construction. Secretly, I looked forwardto certain luxuries, such as a bedroom and dressing-room and warm tiledbathroom all to myself bachelor privacies for which I had longed. Twomornings later at the breakfast table Maude asked me if I had thought ofan architect. 

"Why, Archie Lammerton, I suppose. Who else is there? Have you anyoneelse in mind?"

"N-no, " said Maude. "But I heard of such a clever man in Boston, whodoesn't charge Mr. Lammerton's prices; and who designs such beautifulprivate houses. "

"But we can afford to pay Lammerton's prices, " I replied, smiling. "Andwhy shouldn't we have the best?"

"Are you sure--he is the best, Hugh?"

"Everybody has him, " I said. 

Maude smiled in return. 

"I suppose that's a good reason, " she answered. 

"Of course it's a good reason, " I assured her. "These people--the peoplewe know--wouldn't have had Lammerton unless he was satisfactory. What'sthe matter with his houses?"

"Well, " said Maude, "they're not very original. I don't say they're notgood, in away, but they lack a certain imagination. It's difficult forme to express what I mean, 'machine made' isn't precisely the idea, butthere should be a certain irregularity in art--shouldn't there? I saw areproduction in one of the architectural journals of a house in Bostonby a man named Frey, that seemed to me to have great charm. "

Here was Lucia, unmistakably. 

"That's all very well, " I said impatiently, "but when one has to live ina house, one wants something more than artistic irregularity. Lammertonknows how to build for everyday existence; he's a practical man, as wellas a man of taste, he may not be a Christopher Wrenn, but he understandsconveniences and comforts. His chimneys don't smoke, his windows aretight, he knows what systems of heating are the best, and whom to goto: he knows what good plumbing is. I'm rather surprised you don'tappreciate that, Maude, you're so particular as to what kind of roomsthe children shall have, and you want a schoolroom-nursery with all thelatest devices, with sun and ventilation. The Berringers wouldn't havehad him, the Hollisters and Dickinsons wouldn't have had him if his worklacked taste. "

"And Nancy wouldn't have had him, " added Maude, and she smiled oncemore. 

"Well, I haven't consulted Nancy, or anyone else, " I replied--a littletartly, perhaps. "You don't seem to realize that some fashions may havea basis of reason. They are not all silly, as Lucia seems to think. IfLammerton builds satisfactory houses, he ought to be forgiven for beingthe fashion, he ought to have a chance. " I got up to leave. "Let's seewhat kind of a plan he'll draw up, at any rate. "

Her glance was almost indulgent. 

"Of course, Hugh. I want you to be satisfied, to be pleased, " she said. 

"And you?" I questioned, "you are to live in the house more than I. "

"Oh, I'm sure it will turn out all right, " she replied. "Now you'dbetter run along, I know you're late. "

"I am late, " I admitted, rather lamely. "If you don't care forLammerton's drawings, we'll get another architect. "

Several years before Mr. Lammerton had arrived among us with a BeauxArts moustache and letters of introduction to Mrs. Durrett and others. We found him the most adaptable, the most accommodating of youngmen, always ready to donate his talents and his services to privatetheatricals, tableaux, and fancy-dress balls, to take a place at atable at the last moment. One of his most appealing attributes was his"belief" in our city, --a form of patriotism that culminated, in lateryears, in "million population" clubs. I have often heard him declare, when the ladies had left the dining-room, that there was positively nolimit to our future growth; and, incidentally, to our future wealth. Such sentiments as these could not fail to add to any man's popularity, and his success was a foregone conclusion. Almost before we knew it hewas building the new Union Station of which he had foreseen the need, to take care of the millions to which our population was to be swelled;building the new Post Office that the unceasing efforts of TheodoreWatling finally procured for us: building, indeed, Nancy's new house, the largest of our private mansions save Mr. Scherer's, a commissionthat had immediately brought about others from the Dickinsons and theBerringers. .. . That very day I called on him in his offices at the topof one of our new buildings, where many young draftsmen were bendingover their boards. I was ushered into his private studio. 

"I suppose you want something handsome, Hugh, " he said, looking at meover his cigarette, "something commensurate with these fees I hear youare getting. "

"Well, I want to be comfortable, " I admitted. 

We lunched at the Club together, where we talked over the requirements. 

When he came to dinner the next week and spread out his sketch on theliving-room table Maude drew in her breath. 

"Why, Hugh, " she exclaimed in dismay, "it's as big as--as big as theWhite House!"

"Not quite, " I answered, laughing with Archie. "We may as well take ourease in our old age. "

"Take our ease!" echoed Maude. "We'll rattle 'round in it. I'll neverget used to it. "

"After a month, Mrs. Paret, I'll wager you'll be wondering how you evergot along without it, " said Archie. 

It was not as big as the White House, yet it could not be called small. I had seen, to that. The long facade was imposing, dignified, with atouch of conventionality and solidity in keeping with my standing in thecity. It was Georgian, of plum-coloured brick with marble trimmings andmarble wedges over the ample windows, some years later I saw the houseby Ferguson, of New York, from which Archie had cribbed it. At one end, off the dining-room, was a semicircular conservatory. There was a smallportico, with marble pillars, and in the ample, swift sloping roofmany dormers; servants' rooms, Archie explained. The look of anxietyon Maude's face deepened as he went over the floor plans, thereception-room; dining room to seat thirty, the servants' hall;and upstairs Maude's room, boudoir and bath and dress closet, my"apartments" adjoining on one side and the children's on the other, andthe guest-rooms with baths. .. . 

Maude surrendered, as one who gives way to the inevitable. When theactual building began we both of us experienced, I think; a certain mildexcitement; and walked out there, sometimes with the children, in thespring evenings, and on Sunday afternoons. "Excitement" is, perhaps, toostrong a word for my feelings: there was a pleasurable anticipationon my part, a looking forward to a more decorous, a more luxuriousexistence; a certain impatience at the delays inevitable in building. But a new legal commercial enterprise of magnitude began to absorb meat his time, and somehow the building of this home--the first that wepossessed was not the event it should have been; there were moments whenI felt cheated, when I wondered what had become of that capacity forenjoyment which in my youth had been so keen. I remember indeed, onegrey evening when I went there alone, after the workmen had departed, and stood in the litter of mortar and bricks and boards gazing at thecompleted front of the house. It was even larger than I had imagined itfrom the plans; in the Summer twilight there was an air about it, --ifnot precisely menacing, at least portentous, with its gaping windowsand towering roof. I was a little tired from a hard day; I had theodd feeding of having raised up something with which--momentarilyat least--I doubted my ability to cope: something huge, impersonal;something that ought to have represented a fireside, a sanctuary, andyet was the embodiment of an element quite alien to the home; a restlesselement with which our American atmosphere had, by invisible degrees, become charged. As I stared at it, the odd fancy seized me that thebuilding somehow typified my own career. .. . I had gained something, intruth, but had I not also missed something? something a different homewould have embodied?

Maude and the children had gone, to the seaside. 

With a vague uneasiness I turned away from the contemplation of thosewalls. The companion mansions were closed, their blinds tightly drawn;the neighbourhood was as quiet as the country, save for a slight butpersistent noise that impressed itself on my consciousness. I walkedaround the house to spy in the back yard; a young girl rather stealthilygathering laths, and fragments of joists and flooring, and loadingthem into a child's express-wagon. She started when she saw me. She waslittle, more than a child, and the loose calico dress she wore seemedto emphasize her thinness. She stood stock-still, staring at me withfrightened yet defiant eyes. I, too, felt a strange timidity in herpresence. 

"Why do you stop?" I asked at length. 

"Say, is this your heap?" she demanded. 

I acknowledged it. A hint of awe widened her eyes. Then site glanced atthe half-filled wagon. 

"This stuff ain't no use to you, is it?"

"No, I'm glad to have you take it. "

She shifted to the other foot, but did not continue her gathering. An impulse seized me, I put down my walkingstick and began picking uppieces of wood, flinging them into the wagon. I looked at her again, rather furtively; she had not moved. Her attitude puzzled me, for itwas one neither of surprise nor of protest. The spectacle of the"millionaire" owner of the house engaged in this menial occupation gaveher no thrills. I finished the loading. 

"There!" I said, and drew a dollar bill out of my pocket and gave it toher. Even then she did not thank me, but took up the wagon tongue andwent off, leaving on me a disheartening impression of numbness, oflife crushed out. I glanced up once more at the mansion I had built formyself looming in the dusk, and walked hurriedly away. .. . 

One afternoon some three weeks after we had moved into the new house, I came out of the Club, where I had been lunching in conference withScherer and two capitalists from New York. It was after four o'clock, the day was fading, the street lamps were beginning to cast sicklystreaks of jade-coloured light across the slush of the pavements. It wasthe sight of this slush (which for a brief half hour that morninghad been pure snow, and had sent Matthew and Moreton and Biddy intoecstasies at the notion of a "real Christmas"), that brought to my mindthe immanence of the festival, and the fact that I had as yet bought nopresents. Such was the predicament in which I usually found myself onChristmas eve; and it was not without a certain sense of annoyance atthe task thus abruptly confronting me that I got into my automobile anddirected the chauffeur to the shopping district. The crowds surged alongthe wet sidewalks and overflowed into the street, and over the heads ofthe people I stared at the blazing shop-windows decked out in Christmasgreens. My chauffeur, a bristly-haired Parisian, blew his horninsolently, men and women jostled each other to get out of the way, their holiday mood giving place to resentment as they stared into thewindows of the limousine. With the American inability to sit still Ishifted from one corner of the seat to another, impatient at the slowprogress of the machine: and I felt a certain contempt for human beings, that they should make all this fuss, burden themselves with all thesesenseless purchases, for a tradition. The automobile stopped, and Ifought my way across the sidewalk into the store of that time-honouredfirm, Elgin, Yates and Garner, pausing uncertainly before the verycounter where, some ten years before, I had bought an engagement ring. Young Mr. Garner himself spied me, and handing over a customer to atired clerk, hurried forward to greet me, his manner implying that myentrance was in some sort an event. I had become used to this aroma ofdeference. 

"What can I show you, Mr. Paret?" he asked. 

"I don't know--I'm looking around, " I said, vaguely, bewildered by theglittering baubles by which I was confronted. What did Maude want? WhileI was gazing into the case, Mr. Garner opened a safe behind him, layingbefore me a large sapphire set with diamonds in a platinum brooch; abeautiful stone, in the depths of it gleaming a fire like a star in anarctic sky. I had not given Maude anything of value of late. Decidedly, this was of value; Mr. Garner named the price glibly; if Mrs. Paretdidn't care for it, it might be brought back or exchanged. I took it, with a sigh of relief. Leaving the store, I paused on the edge of therushing stream of humanity, with the problem of the children's giftsstill to be solved. I thought of my own childhood, when at ChristmastideI had walked with my mother up and down this very street, so changedand modernized now; recalling that I had had definite desires, desperateones; but my imagination failed me when I tried to summon up theemotions connected with them. I had no desires now: I could buy anythingin reason in the whole street. What did Matthew and Moreton want? andlittle Biddy? Maude had not "spoiled" them; but they didn't seem to haveany definite wants. The children made me think, with a sudden softening, of Tom Peters, and I went into a tobacconist's and bought him a box ofexpensive cigars. Then I told the chauffeur to take me to a toy-shop, where I stood staring through a plate-glass window at the elaborateplaythings devised for the modern children of luxury. In the centrewas a toy man-of-war, three feet in length, with turrets and guns, andpropellers and a real steam-engine. As a boy I should have dreamed aboutit, schemed for it, bartered my immortal soul for it. But--if I gaveit to Matthew, what was there for Moreton? A steam locomotive caught myeye, almost as elaborate. Forcing my way through the doors, I captureda salesman, and from a state bordering on nervous collapse he becamegalvanized into an intense alertness and respect when he understood mydesires. He didn't know the price of the objects in question. He broughtthe proprietor, an obsequious little German who, on learning my name, repeated it in every sentence. For Biddy I chose a doll that was all buthuman; when held by a young woman for my inspection, it elicited murmursof admiration from the women shoppers by whom we were surrounded. Theproprietor promised to make a special delivery of the three articlesbefore seven o'clock. .. . 

Presently the automobile, after speeding up the asphalt of Grant Avenue, stopped before the new house. In spite of the change that house had madein my life, in three weeks I had become amazingly used to it; yet I hadan odd feeling that Christmas eve as I stood under the portico withmy key in the door, the same feeling of the impersonality of the placewhich I had experienced before. Not that for one moment I would haveexchanged it for the smaller house we had left. I opened the door. Howoften, in that other house, I had come in the evening seeking quiet, mybrain occupied with a problem, only to be annoyed by the romping of thechildren on the landing above. A noise in one end of it echoed to theother. But here, as I entered the hall, all was quiet: a dignified, deep-carpeted stairway swept upward before me, and on either side werewide, empty rooms; and in the subdued light of one of them I saw a darkfigure moving silently about--the butler. He came forward to relieveme, deftly, of my hat and overcoat. Well, I had it at last, thisestablishment to which I had for so long looked forward. And yet thatevening, as I hesitated in the hall, I somehow was unable to grasp thatit was real and permanent, the very solidity of the walls and doorsparadoxically suggested transientness, the butler a flitting ghost. Howstill the place was! Almost oppressively still. I recalled oddly a storyof a peasant who, yearning for the great life, had stumbled upon anempty palace, its tables set with food in golden dishes. Before two dayshad passed he had fled from it in horror back to his crowded cottage andhis drudgery in the fields. Never once had the sense of possession ofthe palace been realized. Nor did I feel that I possessed this house, though I had the deeds of it in my safe and the receipted bills in myfiles. It eluded me; seemed, in my bizarre mood of that evening, almostto mock me. "You have built me, " it seemed to say, "but I am strongerthan you, because you have not earned me. " Ridiculous, when the yearsof my labour and the size of my bank account were considered! Such, however, is the verbal expression of my feeling. Was the house empty, after all? Had something happened? With a slight panicky sensation Iclimbed the stairs, with their endless shallow treads, to hurry throughthe silent hallway to the schoolroom. Reassuring noises came faintlythrough the heavy door. I opened it. Little Biddy was careening roundand round, crying out:--"To-morrow's Chris'mas! Santa Claus is comingtonight. "

Matthew was regarding her indulgently, sympathetically, Moreton ratherscornfully. The myth had been exploded for both, but Matthew stillhugged it. That was the difference between them. Maude, seated on thefloor, perceived me first, and glanced up at me with a smile. 

"It's father!" she said. 

Biddy stopped in the midst of a pirouette. At the age of seven she wasstill shy with me, and retreated towards Maude. 

"Aren't we going to have a tree, father?" demanded Moreton, aggressively. "Mother won't tell us--neither will Miss Allsop. "

Miss Allsop was their governess. 

"Why do you want a tree?" I asked. 

"Oh, for Biddy, " he said. 

"It wouldn't be Christmas without a tree, " Matthew declared, "--andSanta Claus, " he added, for his sister's benefit. 

"Perhaps Santa Claus, when he sees we've got this big house, will thinkwe don't need anything, and go on to some poorer children, " said Maude. "You wouldn't blame him if he did that, --would you?"

The response to this appeal cannot be said to have been enthusiastic. .. . 

After dinner, when at last all of them were in bed, we dressed the tree;it might better be said that Maude and Miss Allsop dressed it, while Igave a perfunctory aid. Both the women took such a joy in the process, vying with each other in getting effects, and as I watched them eagerlydraping the tinsel and pinning on the glittering ornaments I wonderedwhy it was that I was unable to find the same joy as they. Thus it hadbeen every Christmas eve. I was always tired when I got home, and afterdinner relaxation set in. 

An electrician had come while we were at the table, and had fastened onthe little electric bulbs which did duty as candles. 

"Oh, " said Maude, as she stood off to survey the effect, "isn't itbeautiful! Come, Miss Allsop, let's get the presents. "

They flew out of the room, and presently hurried back with their armsfull of the usual parcels: parcels from Maude's family in Elkington, from my own relatives, from the Blackwoods and the Peterses, from Nancy. In the meantime I had had my own contributions brought up, the man ofwar, the locomotive, the big doll. Maude stood staring. 

"Hugh, they'll be utterly ruined!" she exclaimed. 

"The boys might as well have something instructive, " I replied, "and asfor Biddy--nothing's too good for her. "

"I might have known you wouldn't forget them, although you are sobusy. ". .. . 

We filled the three stockings hung by the great fireplace. Then, witha last lingering look at the brightness of the tree, she stood in thedoorway and turned the electric switch. 

"Not before seven to-morrow morning, Miss Allsop, " she said. "Hugh, youwill get up, won't you? You mustn't miss seeing them. You can go back tobed again. "

I promised. 

Evidently, this was Reality to Maude. And had it not been one ofmy dreams of marriage, this preparing for the children's Christmas, remembering the fierce desires of my own childhood? It struck me, afterI had kissed her good night and retired to my dressing-room, that fiercedesires burned within me still, but the objects towards which theirflames leaped out differed. That was all. Had I remained a child, sincemy idea of pleasure was still that of youth? The craving far excitement, adventure, was still unslaked; the craving far freedom as keen as ever. During the whole of my married life, I had been conscious of an innerprotest against "settling down, " as Tom Peters had settled down. Thesmaller house from which we had moved, with its enforced propinquity, hard emphasized the bondage of marriage. Now I had two rooms to myself, in the undisputed possession of which I had taken a puerile delight. Onone side of my dressing-room Archie Lammerton had provided a hugecloset containing the latest devices for the keeping of a multitudinouswardrobe; there was a reading-lamp, and the easiest of easy-chairs, imported from England, while between the windows were shelves ofItalian walnut which I had filled with the books I had bought while atCambridge, and had never since opened. As I sank down in my chairthat odd feeling of uneasiness, of transience and unreality, ofunsatisfaction I had had ever since we had moved suddenly becameintensified, and at the very moment when I had gained everything Ihad once believed a man could desire! I was successful, I was rich, myhealth had not failed, I had a wife who catered to my wishes, lovablechildren who gave no trouble and yet--there was still the void to befilled, the old void I had felt as a boy, the longing for somethingbeyond me, I knew not what; there was the strange inability to taste anyof these things, the need at every turn for excitement, for a stimulus. My marriage had been a disappointment, though I strove to conceal thisfrom myself; a disappointment because it had not filled the requirementsof my category--excitement and mystery: I had provided the settingand lacked the happiness. Another woman Nancy--might have given me theneeded stimulation; and yet my thoughts did not dwell on Nancy thatnight, my longings were not directed towards her, but towards thevision of a calm, contented married happiness I had looked forward toin youth, --a vision suddenly presented once more by the sight of Maude'ssimple pleasure in dressing the Christmas tree. What restless, fiendishelement in me prevented my enjoying that? I had something of the fearfulfeeling of a ghost in my own house and among my own family, of a spiritdoomed to wander, unable to share in what should have been my own, inwhat would have saved me were I able to partake of it. Was it too lateto make that effort?. .. Presently the strains of music pervaded myconsciousness, the chimes of Trinity ringing out in the damp night theChristmas hymn, Adeste Fideles. It was midnight it was Christmas. Howclear the notes rang through the wet air that came in at my window! Backinto the dim centuries that music led me, into candle-lit Gothic chapelsof monasteries on wind-swept heights above the firs, and cathedralsin mediaeval cities. Twilight ages of war and scourge and stress andstorm--and faith. "Oh, come, all ye Faithful!" What a strange thing, that faith whose flame so marvellously persisted, piercing the gloom;the Christmas myth, as I had heard someone once call it. Did it possessthe power to save me? Save me from what? Ah, in this hour I knew. Inthe darkness the Danger loomed up before me, vague yet terrible, and Itrembled. Why was not this Thing ever present, to chasten and sober me?The Thing was myself. 

Into my remembrance, by what suggestion I know not, came that Marchevening when I had gone to Holder Chapel at Harvard to listen to apreacher, a personality whose fame and influence had since spreadthroughout the land. Some dim fear had possessed me then. I recalledvividly the man, and the face of Hermann Krebs as I drew back from thedoorway. .. . 

When I awoke my disquieting, retrospective mood had disappeared, andyet there clung to me, minus the sanction of fear or reward or revealedtruth, a certain determination to behave, on this day at least, morelike a father and a husband: to make an effort to enter into the spiritof the festival, and see what happened. I dressed in cheerful haste, took the sapphire pendant from its velvet box, tiptoed into the stillsilent schoolroom and hung it on the tree, flooding on the electriclight that set the tinsel and globes ablaze. No sooner had I done thisthan I heard the patter of feet in the hallway, and a high-pitchedvoice--Biddy's--crying out:--"It's Santa Claus!"

Three small, flannel-wrappered figures stood in the doorway. 

"Why, it's father!" exclaimed Moreton. 

"And he's all dressed!" said Matthew. 

"Oh-h-h!" cried Biddy, staring at the blazing tree, "isn't itbeautiful!"

Maude was close behind them. She gave an exclamation of delightedsurprise when she saw me, and then stood gazing with shining eyes atthe children, especially at Biddy, who stood dazzled by the glory of theconstellation confronting her. .. . Matthew, too, wished to prolong themoment of mystery. It was the practical Moreton who cried:--"Let's seewhat we've got!"

The assault and the sacking began. I couldn't help thinking as I watchedthem of my own wildly riotous, Christmas-morning sensations, when allthe gifts had worn the aura of the supernatural; but the arrival ofthese toys was looked upon by my children as a part of the natural orderof the universe. At Maude's suggestion the night before we had placed mypresents, pieces de resistance, at a distance from the tree, in the hopethat they would not be spied at once, that they would be in some sort aclimax. It was Matthew who first perceived the ship, and identified it, by the card, as his property. To him it was clearly wonderful, but nomiracle. He did not cry out, or call the attention of the others to it, but stood with his feet apart, examining it, his first remark beinga query as to why it didn't fly the American flag. It's ensign wasBritish. Then Moreton saw the locomotive, was told that it was his, andtook possession of it violently. Why wasn't there more track? Wouldn'tI get more track? I explained that it would go by steam, and he beganunscrewing the cap on the little boiler until he was distracted by theman-of-war, and with natural acquisitiveness started to take possessionof that. Biddy was bewildered by the doll, which Maude had taken up andwas holding in her lap. She had had talking dolls before, and dollsthat closed their eyes; she recognized this one, indeed, as a sort ofsuper-doll, but her little mind was modern, too, and set no limits onwhat might be accomplished. She patted it, but was more impressed by theraptures of Miss Allsop, who had come in and was admiring it with someextravagance. Suddenly the child caught sight of her stocking, until nowforgotten, and darted for the fireplace. 

I turned to Maude, who stood beside me, watching them. 

"But you haven't looked on the tree yourself, " I reminded her. 

She gave me an odd, questioning glance, and got up and set down thedoll. As she stood for a moment gazing at the lights, she seemed verygirlish in her dressing-gown, with her hair in two long plaits down herback. 

"Oh, Hugh!" She lifted the pendant from the branch and held it up. Her gratitude, her joy at receiving a present was deeper than thechildren's!

"You chose it for me?"

I felt something like a pang when I thought how little trouble it hadbeen. 

"If you don't like it, " I said, "or wish to have it changed--"

"Changed!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "Do you think I'd change it?Only--it's much too valuable--"

I smiled. .. . Miss Allsop deftly undid the clasp and hung it aroundMaude's neck. 

"How it suits you, Mrs. Paret!" she cried. .. . 

This pendant was by no means the only present I had given Maude inrecent years, and though she cared as little for jewels as for dress sheseemed to attach to it a peculiar value and significance that disturbedand smote me, for the incident had revealed a love unchanged andunchangeable. Had she taken my gift as a sign that my indifference wasmelting?

As I went downstairs and into the library to read the financial page ofthe morning newspaper I asked myself, with a certain disquiet, whether, in the formal, complicated, and luxurious conditions in which we nowlived it might be possible to build up new ties and common interests. I reflected that this would involve confessions and confidences onmy part, since there was a whole side of my life of which Maude knewnothing. I had convinced myself long ago that a man's business careerwas no affair of his wife's: I had justified that career to myself: yetI had always had a vague feeling that Maude, had she known the details, would not have approved of it. Impossible, indeed, for a woman to graspthese problems. They were outside of her experience. 

Nevertheless, something might be done to improve our relationship, something which would relieve me of that uneasy lack of unity I feltwhen at home, of the lassitude and ennui I was wont to feel creepingover me on Sundays and holidays. .. . 

XX. 

I find in relating those parts of my experience that seem to be ofmost significance I have neglected to tell of my mother's death, whichoccurred the year before we moved to Grant Avenue. She had clung therest of her days to the house in which I had been born. Of late yearsshe had lived in my children, and Maude's devotion to her had beenunflagging. Truth compels me to say that she had long ceased to be afactor in my life. I have thought of her in later years. 

Coincident with the unexpected feeling of fruitlessness that came tome with the Grant Avenue house, of things achieved but not realized orappreciated, was the appearance of a cloud on the business horizon; orrather on the political horizon, since it is hard to separate the tworealms. There were signs, for those who could read, of a rising popularstorm. During the earliest years of the new century the politicalatmosphere had changed, the public had shown a tendency to growrestless; and everybody knows how important it is for financialoperations, for prosperity, that the people should mind their ownbusiness. In short, our commercial-romantic pilgrimage began to meetwith unexpected resistance. It was as though the nation were enteringinto a senseless conspiracy to kill prosperity. 

In the first place, in regard to the Presidency of the United States, a cog had unwittingly been slipped. It had always been recognized--as Ihave said--by responsible financial personages that the impulses ofthe majority of Americans could not be trusted, that these--who hadinherited illusions of freedom--must be governed firmly yet withdelicacy; unknown to them, their Presidents must be chosen for them, precisely as Mr. Watling had been chosen for the people of our state, and the popular enthusiasm manufactured later. There were informalmeetings in New York, in Washington, where candidates were discussed;not that such and such a man was settled upon, --it was a process ofelimination. Usually the affair had gone smoothly. For instance, a whilebefore, a benevolent capitalist of the middle west, an intimate of AdolfScherer, had become obsessed with the idea that a friend of his wasthe safest and sanest man for the head of the nation, had convinced hisfellow-capitalists of this, whereupon he had gone ahead to spend hisenergy and his money freely to secure the nomination and election ofthis gentleman. 

The Republican National Committee, the Republican National Conventionwere allowed to squabble to their hearts' content as to whether Smith, Jones or Brown should be nominated, but it was clearly understood thatif Robinson or White were chosen there would be no corporation campaignfunds. This applied also to the Democratic party, on the rare occasionswhen it seemed to have an opportunity of winning. Now, however, throughan unpardonable blunder, there had got into the White House a Presidentwho was inclined to ignore advice, who appealed over the heads of the"advisers" to the populace; who went about tilting at the industrialstructures we had so painfully wrought, and in frequent blasts ofpresidential messages enunciated new and heretical doctrines; whoattacked the railroads, encouraged the brazen treason of labour unions, inspired an army of "muck-rakers" to fill the magazines with the wildestand most violent of language. State legislatures were emboldened topass mischievous and restrictive laws, and much of my time began tobe occupied in inducing, by various means, our courts to declare theseunconstitutional. How we sighed for a business man or a lawyer in theWhite House! The country had gone mad, the stock-market trembled, the cry of "corporation control" resounded everywhere, and everywheredemagogues arose to inaugurate "reform campaigns, " in an abortiveattempt to "clean up politics. " Down with the bosses, who were the toolsof the corporations!

In our own city, which we fondly believed to be proof against theprevailing madness, a slight epidemic occurred; slight, yet momentarilyalarming. Accidents will happen, even in the best regulated politicalorganizations, --and accidents in these days appeared to be the rule. A certain Mr. Edgar Greenhalge, a middle-aged, mild-mannered andinoffensive man who had made a moderate fortune in wholesale drugs, waselected to the School Board. Later on some of us had reason to suspectthat Perry Blackwood--with more astuteness than he had been given creditfor--was responsible for Mr. Greenhalge's candidacy. At any rate, he wasnot a man to oppose, and in his previous life had given no hint that hemight become a trouble maker. Nothing happened for several months. But one day on which I had occasion to interview Mr. Jason on a littlematter of handing over to the Railroad a piece of land belonging to thecity, which was known as Billings' Bowl, he inferred that Mr. Greenhaigemight prove a disturber of that profound peace with which the cityadministration had for many years been blessed. 

"Who the hell is he?" was Mr. Jason's question. 

It appeared that Mr. G. 's private life had been investigated, withdisappointingly barren results; he was, seemingly, an anomalistic beingin our Nietzschean age, an unaggressive man; he had never sold any drugsto the city; he was not a church member; nor could it be learned thathe had ever wandered into those byways of the town where Mr. Jason mighteasily have got trace of him: if he had any vices, he kept them lockedup in a safe-deposit box that could not be "located. " He was verygenial, and had a way of conveying disturbing facts--when he wished toconvey them--under cover of the most amusing stories. Mr. Jason was nota man to get panicky. Greenhalge could be handled all right, only--whatwas there in it for Greenhalge?--a nut difficult for Mr. Jason to crack. The two other members of the School Board were solid. Here again thewisest of men was proved to err, for Mr. Greenhalge turned out to havepowers of persuasion; he made what in religious terms would have beencalled a conversion in the case of another member of the board, an hitherto staunch old reprobate by the name of Muller, anex-saloon-keeper in comfortable circumstances to whom the idea of publicoffice had appealed. 

Mr. Greenhalge, having got wind of certain transactions that interestedhim extremely, brought them in his good-natured way to the knowledge ofMr. Gregory, the district attorney, suggesting that he investigate. Mr. Gregory smiled; undertook, as delicately as possible, to convey toMr. Greenhalge the ways of the world, and of the political worldin particular, wherein, it seemed, everyone was a good fellow. Mr. Greenhalge was evidently a good fellow, and didn't want to make troubleover little things. No, Mr. Greenhalge didn't want to make trouble;he appreciated a comfortable life as much as Mr. Gregory; he told thedistrict attorney a funny story which might or might not have had anapplication to the affair, and took his leave with the remark that hehad been happy to make Mr. Gregory's acquaintance. On his departurethe district attorney's countenance changed. He severely rebuked asubordinate for some trivial mistake, and walked as rapidly as he couldcarry his considerable weight to Monahan's saloon. .. . One of the thingsMr. Gregory had pointed out incidentally was that Mr. Greenhalge'sevidence was vague, and that a grand jury wanted facts, which might bedifficult to obtain. Mr. Greenhalge, thinking over the suggestion, sent for Krebs. In the course of a month or two the investigationwas accomplished, Greenhalge went back to Gregory; who repeated hishomilies, whereupon he was handed a hundred or so typewritten pages ofevidence. 

It was a dramatic moment. 

Mr. Gregory resorted to pleading. He was sure that Mr. Greenhalge didn'twant to be disagreeable, it was true and unfortunate that such thingswere so, but they would be amended: he promised all his influence toamend them. The public conscience, said Mr. Gregory, was being aroused. Now how much better for the party, for the reputation, the fair name ofthe city if these things could be corrected quietly, and nobody indictedor tried! Between sensible and humane men, wasn't that the obvious way?After the election, suit could be brought to recover the money. But Mr. Greenhalge appeared to be one of those hopeless individuals without aspark of party loyalty; he merely continued to smile, and to suggestthat the district attorney prosecute. Mr. Gregory temporized, andpresently left the city on a vacation. A day or two after his secondvisit to the district attorney's office Mr. Greenhalge had a callfrom the city auditor and the purchasing agent, who talked abouttheir families, --which was very painful. It was also intimated to Mr. Greenhalge by others who accosted him that he was just the man formayor. He smiled, and modestly belittled his qualifications. .. . 

Suddenly, one fine morning, a part of the evidence Krebs had gatheredappeared in the columns of the Mail and State, a new and enterprisingnewspaper for which the growth and prosperity of our city wereresponsible; the sort of "revelations" that stirred to amazement andwrath innocent citizens of nearly every city in our country: politicsand "graft" infesting our entire educational system, teachers andjanitors levied upon, prices that took the breath away paid to favouredfirms for supplies, specifications so worded that reasonable bids werebarred. The respectable firm of Ellery and Knowles was involved. In spite of our horror, we were Americans and saw the humour ofthe situation, and laughed at the caricature in the Mail and Staterepresenting a scholar holding up a pencil and a legend under it, "No, it's not gold, but it ought to be. "

Here I must enter into a little secret history. Any affair thatthreatened the integrity of Mr. Jason's organization was of seriousmoment to the gentlemen of the financial world who found thatorganization invaluable and who were also concerned about the fair nameof their community; a conference in the Boyne Club decided that the cityofficials were being persecuted, and entitled therefore to "the verybest of counsel, "--in this instance, Mr. Hugh Paret. It was also thoughtwise by Mr. Dickinson, Mr. Gorse, and Mr. Grierson, and by Mr. Parethimself that he should not appear in the matter; an aspiring youngattorney, Mr. Arbuthnot, was retained to conduct the case in public. Thus capital came to the assistance of Mr. Jason, a fund was raised, and I was given carte blanche to defend the miserable city auditor andpurchasing agent, both of whom elicited my sympathy; for they were stoutmen, and rapidly losing weight. Our first care was to create a delay inthe trial of the case in order to give the public excitement a chance todie down. For the public is proverbially unable to fix its attentionfor long on one object, continually demanding the distraction that ournewspapers make it their business to supply. Fortunately, a murder wascommitted in one of our suburbs, creating a mystery that filled the"extras" for some weeks, and this was opportunely followed by theembezzlement of a considerable sum by the cashier of one of our statebanks. Public interest was divided between baseball and the tracking ofthis criminal to New Zealand. 

Our resentment was directed, not so much against Commissioner Greenhalgeas against Krebs. It is curious how keen is the instinct of men likeGrierson, Dickinson, Tallant and Scherer for the really dangerousopponent. Who the deuce was this man Krebs? Well, I could supply themwith some information: they doubtless recalled the Galligan, case; andMiller Gorse, who forgot nothing, also remembered his opposition in thelegislature to House Bill 709. He had continued to be the obscure legalchampion of "oppressed" labour, but how he had managed to keep body andsoul together I knew not. I had encountered him occasionally in courtcorridors or on the street; he did not seem to change much; nor did heappear in our brief and perfunctory conversations to bear any resentmentagainst me for the part I had taken in the Galligan affair. I avoidedhim when it was possible. .. . I had to admit that he had done aremarkably good piece of work in collecting Greenhalge's evidence, andhow the erring city officials were to be rescued became a matter ofserious concern. Gregory, the district attorney, was in an abject funk;in any case a mediocre lawyer, after the indictment he was no help atall. I had to do all the work, and after we had selected the particular"Railroad" judge before whom the case was to be tried, I talked itover with him. His name was Notting, he understood perfectly what wasrequired of him, and that he was for the moment the chief bulwark onwhich depended the logical interests of capital and sane government fortheir defence; also, his re-election was at stake. It was indicatedto newspapers (such as the Mail and State) showing a desire to keepup public interest in the affair that their advertising matter mightdecrease; Mr. Sherrill's great department store, for instance, did notapprove of this sort of agitation. Certain stationers, booksellersand other business men had got "cold feet, " as Mr. Jason put it, theprospect of bankruptcy suddenly looming ahead of them, --since the CornNational Bank held certain paper. .. . 

In short, when the case did come to trial, it "blew up, " as one of ourward leaders dynamically expressed it. Several important witnesses weremysteriously lacking, and two or three school-teachers had suddenlydecided--to take a trip to Europe. The district attorney was ill, and assigned the prosecution to a mild assistant; while a scepticaljury--composed largely of gentlemen who had the business interests ofthe community, and of themselves, at heart returned a verdict of "notguilty. " This was the signal for severely dignified editorials in Mr. Tallant's and other conservative newspapers, hinting that it might bewell in the future for all well-meaning but misguided reformers tothink twice before subjecting the city to the cost of such trials, anduselessly attempting to inflame public opinion and upset legitimatebusiness. The Era expressed the opinion that no city in the UnitedStates was "more efficiently and economically governed than our own. ""Irregularities" might well occur in every large organization; and itwould better have become Mr. Greenhalge if, instead of hiring an unknownlawyer thirsting for notoriety to cook up charges, he had called theattention of the proper officials to the matter, etc. , etc. The Pilotalone, which relied on sensation for its circulation, kept hammeringaway for a time with veiled accusations. But our citizens had becomeweary. .. . 

As a topic, however, this effective suppression of reform was referredto with some delicacy by my friends and myself. Our interference hadbeen necessary and therefore justified, but we were not particularlyproud of it, and our triumph had a temporarily sobering effect. It wasabout this time, if I remember correctly, that Mr. Dickinson gave thebeautiful stained-glass window to the church. .. . 

Months passed. One day, having occasion to go over to the Boyne IronWorks to get information at first hand from certain officials, andhaving finished my business, I boarded a South Side electric carstanding at the terminal. Just before it started Krebs came down theaisle of the car and took the seat in front of me. 

"Well, " I said, "how are you?" He turned in surprise, and thrust hisbig, bony hand across the back of the seat. "Come and sit here. "He came. "Do you ever get back to Cambridge in these days?" I askedcordially. 

"Not since I graduated from newspaper work in Boston. That's a good manyyears ago. By the way, our old landlady died this year. "

"Do you mean--?" "Granite Face, " I was about to say. I had forgottenher name, but that homesick scene when Tom and I stood before our opentrunks, when Krebs had paid us a visit, came back to me. "You've kept intouch with her?" I asked, in surprise. 

"Well, " said Krebs, "she was one of the few friends I had at Cambridge. I had a letter from the daughter last week. She's done very well, and isan instructor in biology in one of the western universities. "

I was silent a moment. 

"And you, --you never married, did you?" I inquired, somewhatirrelevantly. 

His semi-humorous gesture seemed to deny that such a luxury was forhim. The conversation dragged a little; I began to feel the curiosity heinvariably inspired. What was his life? What were his beliefs? And I waspossessed by a certain militancy, a desire to "smoke him out. " I didnot stop to reflect that mine was in reality a defensive rather than anaggressive attitude. 

"Do you live down here, in this part of the city?" I asked. 

No, he boarded in Fowler Street. I knew it as in a district given overto the small houses of working-men. 

"I suppose you are still a socialist. "

"I suppose I am, " he admitted, and added, "at any rate, that is as nearas you can get to it. "

"Isn't it fairly definite?"

"Fairly, if my notions are taken in general as the antithesis of whatyou fellows believe. "

"The abolition of property, for instance. "

"The abolition of too much property. "

"What do you mean by 'too much'?"

"When it ceases to be real to a man, when it represents more than hisneed, when it drives him and he becomes a slave to it. "

Involuntarily I thought of my new house, --not a soothing reflection. 

"But who is going to decree how much property, a man should have?"

"Nobody--everybody. That will gradually tend to work itself out as webecome more sensible and better educated, and understand more clearlywhat is good for us. "

I retorted with the stock, common-sense phrase. 

"If we had a division to-morrow, within a few years or so the mostefficient would contrive to get the bulk of it back in their hands. "

"That's so, " he admitted. "But we're not going to have a divisionto-morrow. "

"Thank God!" I exclaimed. 

He regarded me. 

"The 'efficient' will have to die or be educated first. That will taketime. "

"Educated!"

"Paret, have you ever read any serious books on what you callsocialism?" he asked. 

I threw out an impatient negative. I was going on to protest that I wasnot ignorant of the doctrine. 

"Oh, what you call socialism is merely what you believe to be the moreor less crude and utopian propaganda of an obscure political party. That isn't socialism. Nor is the anomalistic attempt that the ChristianSocialists make to unite modern socialistic philosophy with Christianorthodoxy, socialism. "

"What is socialism, then?" I demanded, somewhat defiantly. 

"Let's call it education, science, " he said smilingly, "economics andgovernment based on human needs and a rational view of religion. Ithas been taught in German universities, and it will be taught in ourswhenever we shall succeed in inducing your friends, by one means oranother, not to continue endowing them. Socialism, in the proper sense, is merely the application of modern science to government. "

I was puzzled and angry. What he said made sense somehow, but it soundedto me like so much gibberish. 

"But Germany is a monarchy, " I objected. 

"It is a modern, scientific system with monarchy as its superstructure. It is anomalous, but frank. The monarchy is there for all men to see, and some day it will be done away with. We are supposedly a democracy, and our superstructure is plutocratic. Our people feel the burden, butthey have not yet discovered what the burden is. "

"And when they do?" I asked, a little defiantly. 

"When they do, " replied Krebs, "they will set about making theplutocrats happy. Now plutocrats are discontented, and never satisfied;the more they get, the more they want, the more they are troubled bywhat other people have. "

I smiled in spite of myself. 

"Your interest in--in plutocrats is charitable, then?"

"Why, yes, " he said, "my interest in all kinds of people is charitable. However improbable it may seem, I have no reason to dislike or envypeople who have more than they know what to do with. " And the worst ofit was he looked it. He managed somehow simply by sitting there with hisstrange eyes fixed upon me--in spite of his ridiculous philosophy--tobelittle my ambitions, to make of small worth my achievements, to bringhome to me the fact that in spite of these I was neither contented norhappy though he kept his humour and his poise, he implied an experiencethat was far deeper, more tragic and more significant than mine. I wasgoaded into making an injudicious remark. 

"Well, your campaign against Ennerly and Jackson fell through, didn'tit?" Ennerly and Jackson were the city officials who had been tried. 

"It wasn't a campaign against them, " he answered. "And considering thesubordinate part I took in it, it could scarcely be called mine. "

"Greenhalge turned to you to get the evidence. "

"Well, I got it, " he said. 

"What became of it?"

"You ought to know. "

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say, Paret, " he answered slowly. "You ought to know, ifanyone knows. "

I considered this a moment, more soberly. I thought I might have countedon my fingers the number of men cognizant of my connection with thecase. I decided that he was guessing. 

"I think you should explain that, " I told him. 

"The time may come, when you'll have to explain it. "

"Is that a threat?" I demanded. 

"A threat?" he repeated. "Not at all. "

"But you are accusing me--"

"Of what?" he interrupted suddenly. 

He had made it necessary for me to define the nature of his charges. 

"Of having had some connection with the affair in question. "

"Whatever else I may be, I'm not a fool, " he said quietly. "Neither thedistrict attorney's office, nor young Arbuthnot had brains enough toget them out of that scrape. Jason didn't have influence enough withthe judiciary, and, as I happen to know, there was a good deal of moneyspent. "

"You may be called upon to prove it, " I retorted, rather hotly. 

"So I may. "

His tone, far from being defiant, had in it a note of sadness. I lookedat him. What were his potentialities? Was it not just possible that Ishould have to revise my idea of him, acknowledge that he might becomemore formidable than I had thought?

There was an awkward silence. 

"You mustn't imagine, Paret, that I have any personal animus againstyou, or against any of the men with whom you're associated, " he went on, after a moment. "I'm sorry you're on that side, that's all, --I toldyou so once before. I'm not calling you names, I'm not talking aboutmorality and immorality. Immorality, when you come down to it, is oftenjust the opposition to progress that comes from blindness. I don'tmake the mistake of blaming a few individuals for the evils of modernindustrial society, and on the other hand you mustn't blame individualsfor the discomforts of what you call the reform movement, for thatmovement is merely a symptom--a symptom of a disease due to a changein the structure of society. We'll never have any happiness or realprosperity until we cure that disease. I was inclined to blame you once, at the capital that time, because it seemed to me that a man with allthe advantages you have had and a mind like yours didn't have muchexcuse. But I've thought about it since; I realize now that I've had agood many more 'advantages' than you, and to tell you the truth, I don'tsee how you could have come out anywhere else than where you are, --allyour surroundings and training were against it. That doesn't mean thatyou won't grasp the situation some day--I have an idea you will. It'sjust an idea. The man who ought to be condemned isn't the man thatdoesn't understand what's going on, but the man who comes to understandand persists in opposing it. " He rose and looked down at me with thequeer, disturbing smile I remembered. "I get off at this corner, " headded, rather diffidently. "I hope you'll forgive me for being personal. I didn't mean to be, but you rather forced it on me. "

"Oh, that's all right, " I replied. The car stopped, and he hurriedoff. I watched his tall figure as it disappeared among the crowd on thesidewalk. .. . 

I returned to my office in one of those moods that are the moredisagreeable because conflicting. To-day in particular I had beenaroused by what Tom used to call Krebs's "crust, " and as I sat at mydesk warm waves of resentment went through me at the very notion of histelling me that my view was limited and that therefore my professionalconduct was to be forgiven! It was he, the fanatic, who saw things inthe larger scale! an assumption the more exasperating because at themoment he made it he almost convinced me that he did, and I was unableto achieve for him the measure of contempt I desired, for the incident, the measure of ridicule it deserved. My real animus was due to the factthat he had managed to shake my self-confidence, to take the flavour outof my achievements, --a flavour that was in the course of an hour tobe completely restored by one of those interesting coincidencesoccasionally occurring in life. A young member of my staff entered witha telegram; I tore it open, and sat staring at it a moment before Irealized that it brought to me the greatest honour of my career. 

The Banker-Personality in New York had summoned me for consultation. To be recognized by him conferred indeed an ennoblement, the Star andGarter, so to speak, of the only great realm in America, that of highfinance; and the yellow piece of paper I held in my hand instantlyre-magnetized me, renewed my energy, and I hurried home to pack mybag in order to catch the seven o'clock train. I announced the news toMaude. 

"I imagine it's because he knows I have made something of a study of thecoal roads situation, " I added. 

"I'm glad, Hugh, " she said. "I suppose it's a great compliment. "

Never had her inadequacy to appreciate my career been more apparent! Ilooked at her curiously, to realize once more with peculiar sharpnesshow far we were apart; but now the resolutions I had made--and nevercarried out--on that first Christmas in the new home were lacking. Indeed, it was the futility of such resolutions that struck me at thismoment. If her manner had been merely one of indifference, it would ina way have been easier to bear; she was simply incapable of grasping thesignificance of the event, the meaning to me of the years of unceasing, ambitious effort it crowned. 

"Yes, it is something of a recognition, " I replied. "Is there anythingI can get for you in New York? I don't know how long I shall haveto stay--I'll telegraph you when I'm getting back. " I kissed her andhurried out to the automobile. As I drove off I saw her still standingin the doorway looking after me. .. . In the station I had a few minutesto telephone Nancy. 

"If you don't see me for a few days it's because I've gone to New York, "I informed her. 

"Something important, I'm sure. "

"How did you guess?" I demanded, and heard her laugh. 

"Come back soon and tell me about it, " she said, and I walked, exhilarated, to the train. .. . As I sped through the night, staring outof the window into the darkness, I reflected on the man I was going tosee. But at that time, although he represented to me the quintessenceof achievement and power, I did not by any means grasp the many sidedsignificance of the phenomenon he presented, though I was keenlyaware of his influence, and that men spoke of him with bated breath. Presidents came and went, kings and emperors had responsibilities andwere subject daily to annoyances, but this man was a law unto himself. He did exactly what he chose, and compelled other men to do it. Wherevercommerce reigned, --and where did it not?--he was king and head of itsHoly Empire, Pope and Emperor at once. For he had his code of ethics, his religion, and those who rebelled, who failed to conform, heexcommunicated; a code something like the map of Europe, --apparentlyinconsistent in places. What I did not then comprehend was that he wasthe American Principle personified, the supreme individual assertion ofthe conviction that government should remain modestly in the backgroundwhile the efficient acquired the supremacy that was theirs by naturalright; nor had I grasped at that time the crowning achievement of aunity that fused Christianity with those acquisitive dispositions saidto be inherent in humanity. In him the Lion and the Lamb, the Eagle andthe Dove dwelt together in amity and power. 

New York, always a congenial place to gentlemen of vitality and meansand influential connections, had never appeared to me more sparkling, more inspiring. Winter had relented, spring had not as yet begun. Andas I sat in a corner of the dining-room of my hotel looking out on thesunlit avenue I was conscious of partaking of the vigour and confidenceof the well-dressed, clear-eyed people who walked or drove past mywindow with the air of a conquering race. What else was there in theworld more worth having than this conquering sense? Religion might offercharms to the weak. Yet here religion itself became sensible, and worethe garb of prosperity. The stonework of the tall church on the cornerwas all lace; and the very saints in their niches, who had knownmartyrdom and poverty, seemed to have renounced these as foolish, andto look down complacently on the procession of wealth and power. . Across the street, behind a sheet of glass, was a carrosserie where weredisplayed the shining yellow and black panels of a closed automobile, the cost of which would have built a farm-house and stocked a barn. 

At eleven o'clock, the appointed hour, I was in Wall Street. Sending inmy name, I was speedily ushered into a room containing a table, aroundwhich were several men; but my eyes were drawn at once to the figure ofthe great banker who sat, massive and preponderant, at one end, smokinga cigar, and listening in silence to the conversation I had interrupted. He rose courteously and gave me his hand, and a glance that isunforgettable. 

"It is good of you to come, Mr. Paret, " he said simply, as thoughhis summons had not been a command. "Perhaps you know some of thesegentlemen. "

One of them was our United States Senator, Theodore Watling. He, asit turned out, had been summoned from Washington. Of course I saw himfrequently, having from time to time to go to Washington on variouserrands connected with legislation. Though spruce and debonnair as ever, in the black morning coat he invariably wore, he appeared older than hehad on the day when I had entered his office. He greeted me warmly, asalways. 

"Hugh, I'm glad to see you here, " he said, with a slight emphasis on thelast word. My legal career was reaching its logical climax, the climaxhe had foreseen. And he added, to the banker, that he had brought me up. 

"Then he was trained in a good school, " remarked that personage, affably. 

Mr. Barbour, the president of our Railroad, was present, and nodded tome kindly; also a president of a smaller road. In addition, there weretwo New York attorneys of great prominence, whom I had met. The banker'sown special lieutenant of the law, Mr. Clement T. Grolier, for whom Ilooked, was absent; but it was forthwith explained that he was offering, that morning, a resolution of some importance in the Convention of hisChurch, but that he would be present after lunch. 

"I have asked you to come here, Mr. Paret, " said the banker, "not onlybecause I know something personally of your legal ability, but becauseI have been told by Mr. Scherer and Mr. Barbour that you happen to haveconsiderable knowledge of the situation we are discussing, as well assome experience with cases involving that statute somewhat hazy to layminds, the Sherman anti-trust law. "

A smile went around the table. Mr. Watling winked at me; I nodded, butsaid nothing. The banker was not a man to listen to superfluous words. The keynote of his character was despatch. .. . 

The subject of the conference, like many questions bitterly debated andfought over in their time, has in the year I write these words come tobe of merely academic interest. Indeed, the very situation we discussedthat day has been cited in some of our modern text-books as a classicconsequence of that archaic school of economics to which the name ofManchester is attached. Some half dozen or so of the railroads runningthrough the anthracite coal region had pooled their interests, --anextremely profitable proceeding. The public paid. We deemed it quitelogical that the public should pay--having been created largely forthat purpose; and very naturally we resented the fact that the meddlingPerson who had got into the White House without asking anybody'sleave, --who apparently did not believe in the infallibility of our legalBible, the Constitution, --should maintain that the anthracite roadshad formed a combination in restraint of trade, should lay downthe preposterous doctrine--so subversive of the Rights of Man--thatrailroads should not own coal mines. Congress had passed a law to meetthis contention, suit had been brought, and in the lower court thegovernment had won. 

As the day wore on our numbers increased, we were joined by otherlawyers of renown, not the least of whom was Mr. Grolier himself, freshfrom his triumph over religious heresy in his Church Convention. Thenote of the conference became tinged with exasperation, and certaingentlemen seized the opportunity to relieve their pent-up feelings onthe subject of the President and his slavish advisers, --some of whom, before they came under the spell of his sorcery, had once been soundlawyers and sensible men. With the exception of the great Bankerhimself, who made few comments, Theodore Watling was accorded the mostdeference; as one of the leaders of that indomitable group of senatorswho had dared to stand up against popular clamour, his opinions wereof great value, and his tactical advice was listened to with respect. Ifelt more pride than ever in my former chief, who had lost none of hischarm. While in no way minimizing the seriousness of the situation, hiswisdom was tempered, as always, with humour; he managed, as it were, to neutralize the acid injected into the atmosphere by other gentlemenpresent; he alone seemed to bear no animus against the Author of ourtroubles; suave and calm, good natured, he sometimes brought the companyinto roars of laughter and even succeeded in bringing occasionalsmiles to the face of the man who had summoned us--when relating somecharacteristic story of the queer genius whom the fates (undoubtedly asa practical joke) had made the chief magistrate of the United States ofAmerica. All geniuses have weaknesses; Mr. Wading had made a study ofthe President's, and more than once had lured him into an impasse. The case had been appealed to the Supreme Court, and Mr. Wading, withremarkable conciseness and penetration, reviewed the characteristics ofeach and every member of that tribunal, all of whom he knew intimately. They were, of course, not subject to "advice, " as were some of thegentlemen who sat on our state courts; no sane and self-respectingAmerican would presume to "approach" them. Nevertheless they were human, and it were wise to take account, in the conduct of the case, of theprobable bias of each individual. 

The President, overstepping his constitutional, Newtonian limits, mightpropose laws, Congress might acquiesce in them, but the Supreme Court, after listening to lawyers like Grolier (and he bowed to the attorney), made them: made them, he might have added, without responsibility to anyman in our unique Republic that scorned kings and apotheosized lawyers. A Martian with a sense of humour witnessing a stormy session of Congresswould have giggled at the thought of a few tranquil gentlemen in anotherroom of the Capitol waiting to decide what the people's representativesmeant--or whether they meant anything. .. . 

For the first time since I had known Theodore Watling, however, I sawhim in the shadow of another individual; a man who, like a powerfulmagnet, continually drew our glances. When we spoke, we almostinvariably addressed him, his rare words fell like bolts upon theconsciousness. There was no apparent rift in that personality. 

When, about five o'clock, the conference was ended and we weredismissed, United States Senator, railroad presidents, field-marshals ofthe law, the great banker fell into an eager conversation with Grolierover the Canon on Divorce, the subject of warm debate in the conventionthat day. Grolier, it appeared, had led his party against thetheological liberals. He believed that law was static, but none knewbetter its plasticity; that it was infallible, but none so well as hecould find a text on either side. His reputation was not of the popular, newspaper sort, but was known to connoisseurs, editors, financiers, statesmen and judges, --to those, in short, whose business it is to makethemselves familiar with the instruments of power. He was the banker'schief legal adviser, the banker's rapier of tempered steel, sheathedfrom the vulgar view save when it flashed forth on a swift errand. 

"I'm glad to be associated with you in this case, Mr. Paret, " Mr. Grolier said modestly, as we emerged into the maelstrom of Wall Street. "If you can make it convenient to call at my office in the morning, we'll go over it a little. And I'll see you in a day or two inWashington, Watling. Keep your eye on the bull, " he added, with atwinkle, "and don't let him break any more china than you can help. Idon't know where we'd be if it weren't for you fellows. "

By "you fellows, " he meant Mr. Watling's distinguished associates in theSenate. .. . 

Mr. Watling and I dined together at a New York club. It was not a dinnerof herbs. There was something exceedingly comfortable about that club, where the art of catering to those who had earned the right to becatered to came as near perfection as human things attain. From thegreat, heavily curtained dining-room the noises of the city had beencarefully excluded; the dust of the Avenue, the squalour and smells ofthe brown stone fronts and laddered tenements of those gloomy districtslying a pistol-shot east and west. We had a vintage champagne, andafterwards a cigar of the club's special importation. 

"Well, " said Mr. Watling, "mow that you're a member of the royalcouncil, what do you think of the King?"

"I've been thinking a great deal about him, " I said, and indeed it wastrue. He had made, perhaps, his greatest impression when I had shakenhis hand in parting. The manner in which he had looked at me then hadpuzzled me; it was as though he were seeking to divine something inme that had escaped him. "Why doesn't the government take him over?" Iexclaimed. 

Mr. Watling smiled. 

"You mean, instead of his mines and railroads and other properties?"

"Yes. But that's your idea. Don't you remember you said something ofthe kind the night of the election, years ago? It occurred to me to-day, when I was looking at him. "

"Yes, " he agreed thoughtfully, "if some American genius could find a wayto legalize that power and utilize the men who created it the worstof our problems would be solved. A man with his ability has a right topower, and none would respond more quickly or more splendidly to a callof the government than he. All this fight is waste, Hugh, damnedwaste of the nation's energy. " Mr. Watling seldom swore. "Look at thePresident! There's a man of remarkable ability, too. And those twooughtn't to be fighting each other. The President's right, in a way. Yes, he is, though I've got to oppose him. "

I smiled at this from Theodore Watling, though I admired him the morefor it. And suddenly, oddly, I happened to remember what Krebs had said, that our troubles were not due to individuals, but to a disease that haddeveloped in industrial society. If the day should come when such men asthe President and the great banker would be working together, was itnot possible, too, that the idea of Mr. Watling and the vision of Krebsmight coincide? I was struck by a certain seeming similarity in theirviews; but Mr. Watling interrupted this train of thought by continuingto express his own. 

"Well, --they're running right into a gale when they might be sailingwith it, " he said. 

"You think we'll have more trouble?" I asked. 

"More and more, " he replied. "It'll be worse before it's better I'mafraid. " At this moment a club servant announced his cab, and he rose. "Well, good-bye, my son, " he said. "I'll hope to see you in Washingtonsoon. And remember there's no one thinks any more of you than I do. "

I escorted him to the door, and it was with a real pang I saw him waveto me from his cab as he drove away. My affection for him was never morealive than in this hour when, for the first time in my experience, hehad given real evidence of an inner anxiety and lack of confidence inthe future. 

XXI. 

In spite of that unwonted note of pessimism from Mr. Watling, I wenthome in a day or two flushed with my new honours, and it wasimpossible not to be conscious of the fact that my aura of prestige wasincreased--tremendously increased--by the recognition I had received. Acertain subtle deference in the attitude of the small minority whoowed allegiance to the personage by whom I had been summoned was moresatisfying than if I had been acclaimed at the station by thousandsof my fellow-citizens who knew nothing of my journey and of itssignificance, even though it might have a concern for them. To men likeBerringer, Grierson and Tallant and our lesser great lights the bankerwas a semi-mythical figure, and many times on the day of my return I wasstopped on the street to satisfy the curiosity of my friends as tomy impressions. Had he, for instance, let fall any opinions, prognostications on the political and financial situation? Dickinsonand Scherer were the only other men in the city who had the honour of apersonal acquaintance with him, and Scherer was away, abroad, gatheringfurniture and pictures for the house in New York Nancy had predicted, and which he had already begun to build! With Dickinson I lunched inprivate, in order to give him a detailed account of the conference. Byfive o'clock I was ringing the door-bell of Nancy's new mansion on GrantAvenue. It was several blocks below my own. 

"Well, how does it feel to be sent for by the great sultan?" sheasked, as I stood before her fire. "Of course, I have always known thatultimately he couldn't get along without you. "

"Even if he has been a little late in realizing it, " I retorted. 

"Sit down and tell me all about him, " she commanded. 

"I met him once, when Ham had the yacht at Bar Harbor. "

"And how did he strike you?"

"As somewhat wrapped up in himself, " said Nancy. 

We laughed together. 

"Oh, I fell a victim, " she went on. "I might have sailed off with him, if he had asked me. "

"I'm surprised he didn't ask you. "

"I suspect that it was not quite convenient, " she said. "Women aresecondary considerations to sultans, we're all very well when theyhaven't anything more serious to occupy them. Of course that's why theyfascinate us. What did he want with you, Hugh?"

"He was evidently afraid that the government would win the coal roadssuit unless I was retained. "

"More laurels!" she sighed. "I suppose I ought to be proud to know you. "

"That's exactly what I've been trying to impress on you all theseyears, " I declared. "I've laid the laurels at your feet, in vain. "

She sat with her head back on the cushions, surveying me. 

"Your dress is very becoming, " I said irrelevantly. 

"I hoped it would meet your approval, " she mocked. 

"I've been trying to identify the shade. It's elusive--like you. "

"Don't be banal. .. . What is the colour?"

"Poinsetta!"

"Pretty nearly, " she agreed, critically. 

I took the soft crepe between my fingers. 

"Poet!" she smiled. "No, it isn't quite poinsetta. It's nearer thered-orange of a tree I remember one autumn, in the White Mountains, with the setting sun on it. But that wasn't what we were talking about. Laurels! Your laurels. "

"My laurels, " I repeated. "Such as they are, I fling them into yourlap. "

"Do you think they increase your value to me, Hugh?"

"I don't know, " I said thickly. 

She shook her head. 

"No, it's you I like--not the laurels. "

"But if you care for me--?" I began. 

She lifted up her hands and folded them behind the knot of her hair. 

"It's extraordinary how little you have changed since we were children, Hugh. You are still sixteen years old, that's why I like you. If you gotto be the sultan of sultans yourself, I shouldn't like you any better, or any worse. "

"And yet you have just declared that power appeals to you!"

"Power--yes. But a woman--a woman like me--wants to be first, ornothing. "

"You are first, " I asserted. "You always have been, if you had onlyrealized it. "

She gazed up at me dreamily. 

"If you had only realized it! If you had only realized that all I wantedof you was to be yourself. It wasn't what you achieved. I didn't wantyou to be like Ralph or the others. "

"Myself? What are you trying to say?"

"Yourself. Yes, that is what I like about you. If you hadn't been insuch a hurry--if you hadn't misjudged me so. It was the power in you, the craving, the ideal in you that I cared for--not the fruits of it. The fruits would have come naturally. But you forced them, Hugh, forquicker results. "

"What kind of fruits?" I asked. 

"Ah, " she exclaimed, "how can I tell what they might have been! You havestriven and striven, you have done extraordinary things, but have theymade you any happier? have you got what you want?"

I stooped down and seized her wrists from behind her head. 

"I want you, Nancy, " I said. "I have always wanted you. You're morewonderful to-day than you have ever been. I could find myself--withyou. "

She closed her eyes. A dreamy smile was on her face, and she layunresisting, very still. In that tremendous moment, for which it seemedI had waited a lifetime, I could have taken her in my arms--and yet Idid not. I could not tell why: perhaps it was because she seemed to havepassed beyond me--far beyond--in realization. And she was so still!

"We have missed the way, Hugh, " she whispered, at last. 

"But we can find it again, if we seek it together, " I urged. 

"Ah, if I only could!" she said. "I could have once. But now I'mafraid--afraid of getting lost. " Slowly she straightened up, her handsfalling into her lap. I seized them again, I was on my knees in frontof her, before the fire, and she, intent, looking down at me, into me, through me it seemed--at something beyond which yet was me. 

"Hugh, " she asked, "what do you believe? Anything?"

"What do I believe?"

"Yes. I don't mean any cant, cut-and-dried morality. The world isgetting beyond that. But have you, in your secret soul, any religionat all? Do you ever think about it? I'm not speaking aboutanything orthodox, but some religion--even a tiny speck of it, agerm--harmonizing with life, with that power we feel in us we seek toexpress and continually violate. "

"Nancy!" I exclaimed. 

"Answer me--answer me truthfully, " she said. .. . 

I was silent, my thoughts whirling like dust atoms in a storm. 

"You have always taken things--taken what you wanted. But they haven'tsatisfied you, convinced you that that is all of life. "

"Do you mean--that we should renounce?" I faltered. 

"I don't know what I mean. I am asking, Hugh, asking. Haven't you anyclew? Isn't there any voice in you, anywhere, deep down, that can tellme? give me a hint? just a little one?"

I was wracked. My passion had not left me, it seemed to be heightened, and I pressed her hands against her knees. It was incredible that myhands should be there, in hers, feeling her. Her beauty seemed as fresh, as un-wasted as the day, long since, when I despaired of her. And yetand yet against the tumult and beating of this passion striving to throbdown thought, thought strove. Though I saw her as a woman, my senses andmy spirit commingled and swooned together. 

"This is life, " I murmured, scarcely knowing what I said. 

"Oh, my dear!" she cried, and her voice pierced me with pain, "are we tobe lost, overpowered, engulfed, swept down its stream, to come up belowdrifting--wreckage? Where, then, would be your power? I'm not speakingof myself. Isn't life more than that? Isn't it in us, too, --in you?Think, Hugh. Is there no god, anywhere, but this force we feel, restlessly creating only to destroy? You must answer--you must findout. "

I cannot describe the pleading passion in her voice, as though hell andheaven were wrestling in it. The woman I saw, tortured yet uplifted, didnot seem to be Nancy, yet it was the woman I loved more than life itselfand always had loved. 

"I can't think, " I answered desperately, "I can only feel--and Ican't express what I feel. It's mixed, it's dim, and yet bright andshining--it's you. "

"No, it's you, " she said vehemently. "You must interpret it. " Her voicesank: "Could it be God?" she asked. 

"God!" I exclaimed sharply. 

Her hands fell away from mine. .. . The silence was broken only by thecrackling of the wood fire as a log turned over and fell. Never before, in all our intercourse that I could remember, had she spoken to me aboutreligion. .. . With that apparent snap in continuity incomprehensible tothe masculine mind-her feminine mood had changed. Elements I had neversuspected, in Nancy, awe, even a hint of despair, entered into it, and when my hand found hers again, the very quality of its convulsivepressure seemed to have changed. I knew then that it was her soul Iloved most; I had been swept all unwittingly to its very altar. 

"I believe it is God, " I said. But she continued to gaze at me, her lipsparted, her eyes questioning. 

"Why is it, " she demanded, "that after all these centuries of certaintywe should have to start out to find him again? Why is it when somethinghappens like--like this, that we should suddenly be torn with doubtsabout him, when we have lived the best part of our lives without so muchas thinking of him?"

"Why should you have qualms?" I said. "Isn't this enough? and doesn't itpromise--all?"

"I don't know. They're not qualms--in the old sense. " She smiled downat me a little tearfully. "Hugh, do you remember when we used to go toSunday-school at Dr. Pound's church, and Mrs. Ewan taught us? I reallybelieved something then--that Moses brought down the ten commandments ofGod from the mountain, all written out definitely for ever and ever. AndI used to think of marriage" (I felt a sharp twinge), "of marriage assomething sacred and inviolable, --something ordained by God himself. Itought to be so--oughtn't it? That is the ideal. "

"Yes--but aren't you confusing--?" I began. 

"I am confusing and confused. I shouldn't be--I shouldn't care if thereweren't something in you, in me, in our--friendship, something I can'texplain, something that shines still through the fog and the smoke inwhich we have lived our lives--something which, I think, we saw cleareras children. We have lost it in our hasty groping. Oh, Hugh, I couldn'tbear to think that we should never find it! that it doesn't reallyexist! Because I seem to feel it. But can we find it this way, my dear?"Her hand tightened on mine. 

"But if the force drawing us together, that has always drawn ustogether, is God?" I objected. 

"I asked you, " she said. "The time must come when you must answer, Hugh. It may be too late, but you must answer. "

"I believe in taking life in my own hands, " I said. 

"It ought to be life, " said Nancy. "It--it might have been life. .. . Itis only when a moment, a moment like this comes that the quality of whatwe have lived seems so tarnished, that the atmosphere which we ourselveshave helped to make is so sordid. When I think of the intrigues, anddivorces, the self-indulgences, --when I think of my own marriage--" hervoice caught. "How are we going to better it, Hugh, this way? Am I toget that part of you I love, and are you to get what you crave in me?Can we just seize happiness? Will it not elude us just as much as thoughwe believed firmly in the ten commandments?"

"No, " I declared obstinately. 

She shook her head. 

"What I'm afraid of is that the world isn't made that way--for you--forme. We're permitted to seize those other things because they're justbaubles, we've both found out how worthless they are. And the worstof it is they've made me a coward, Hugh. It isn't that I couldn't dowithout them, I've come to depend on them in another way. It's becausethey give me a certain protection, --do you see? they've come to stand inthe place of the real convictions we've lost. And--well, we've taken thebaubles, can we reach out our hands and take--this? Won't we be punishedfor it, frightfully punished?"

"I don't care if we are, " I said, and surprised myself. 

"But I care. It's weak, it's cowardly, but it's so. And yet I want toface the situation--I'm trying to get you to face it, to realize howterrible it is. "

"I only know that I want you above everything else in the world--I'lltake care of you--"

I seized her arms, I drew her down to me. 

"Don't!" she cried. "Oh, don't!" and struggled to her feet and stoodbefore me panting. "You must go away now--please, Hugh. I can't bear anymore--I want to think. "

I released her. She sank into the chair and hid her face in herhands. .. . 

As may be imagined, the incident I have just related threw my lifeinto a tangle that would have floored a less persistent optimist andromanticist than myself, yet I became fairly accustomed to treading whatthe old moralists called the devious paths of sin. In my passion Ihad not hesitated to lay down the doctrine that the courageous andthe strong took what they wanted, --a doctrine of which I had been aconsistent disciple in the professional and business realm. A logicalbuccaneer, superman, "master of life" would promptly have extended thisdoctrine to the realm of sex. Nancy was the mate for me, and Nancy andI, our development, was all that mattered, especially my development. Let every man and woman look out for his or her development, and in theend the majority of people would be happy. This was going Adam Smith onebetter. When it came to putting that theory into practice, however, one needed convictions: Nancy had been right when she had implied thatconvictions were precisely what we lacked; what our world in generallacked. We had desires, yes convictions, no. What we wanted we got notby defying the world, but by conforming to it: we were ready to defyonly when our desires overcame the resistance of our synapses, and eventhen not until we should have exhausted every legal and conventionalmeans. 

A superman with a wife and family he had acquired before a great passionhas made him a superman is in rather a predicament, especially if hebe one who has achieved such superhumanity as he possesses not bychallenging laws and conventions, but by getting around them. My wifeand family loved me; and paradoxically I still had affection for them, or thought I had. But the superman creed is, "be yourself, realizeyourself, no matter how cruel you may have to be in order to do so. " Onetrouble with me was that remnants of the Christian element of pity stillclung to me. I would be cruel if I had to, but I hoped I shouldn't haveto: something would turn up, something in the nature of an interveningmiracle that would make it easy for me. Perhaps Maude would take theinitiative and relieve me. .. . Nancy had appealed for a justifyingdoctrine, and it was just what I didn't have and couldn't evolve. In themeanwhile it was quite in character that I should accommodate myself toa situation that might well be called anomalous. 

This "accommodation" was not unaccompanied by fever. My longing torealize my love for Nancy kept me in a constant state of tension--of"nerves"; for our relationship had merely gone one step farther, wehad reached a point where we acknowledged that we loved each other, andparadoxically halted there; Nancy clung to her demand for new sanctionswith a tenacity that amazed and puzzled and often irritated me. And yet, when I look back upon it all, I can see that some of the difficultylay with me: if she had her weakness--which she acknowledged--I hadmine--and kept it to myself. It was part of my romantic nature not towant to break her down. Perhaps I loved the ideal better than the womanherself, though that scarcely seems possible. 

We saw each other constantly. And though we had instinctively begun tobe careful, I imagine there was some talk among our acquaintances. It isto be noted that the gossip never became riotous, for we had alwaysbeen friends, and Nancy had a saving reputation for coldness. It seemedincredible that Maude had not discovered my secret, but if she knewof it, she gave no sign of her knowledge. Often, as I looked at her, Iwished she would. I can think of no more expressive sentence in regardto her than the trite one that she pursued the even tenor of her way;and I found the very perfection of her wifehood exasperating. Ourrelationship would, I thought, have been more endurable if we hadquarrelled. And yet we had grown as far apart, in that big house, asthough we had been separated by a continent; I lived in my apartments, she in hers; she consulted me about dinner parties and invitations; for, since we had moved to Grant Avenue, we entertained and went out morethan before. It seemed as though she were making every effort consistentwith her integrity and self-respect to please me. Outwardly sheconformed to the mould; but I had long been aware that inwardly a personhad developed. It had not been a spontaneous development, but one inresistance to pressure; and was probably all the stronger for thatreason. At times her will revealed itself in astonishing and unexpectedflashes, as when once she announced that she was going to changeMatthew's school. 

"He's old enough to go to boarding-school, " I said. "I'll look up aplace for him. "

"I don't wish him to go to boarding-school yet, Hugh, " she said quietly. 

"But that's just what he needs, " I objected. "He ought to have therubbing-up against other boys that boarding-school will give him. Matthew is timid, he should have learned to take care of himself. And hewill make friendships that will help him in a larger school. "

"I don't intend to send him, " Maude said. 

"But if I think it wise?"

"You ought to have begun to consider such things many years ago. Youhave always been too--busy to think of the children. You have left themto me. I am doing the best I can with them. "

"But a man should have something to say about boys. He understandsthem. "

"You should have thought of that before. "

"They haven't been old enough. "

"If you had taken your share of responsibility for them, I would listento you. "

"Maude!" I exclaimed reproachfully. 

"No, Hugh, " she went on, "you have been too busy making money. You haveleft them to me. It is my task to see that the money they are to inheritdoesn't ruin them. "

"You talk as though it were a great fortune, " I said. 

But I did not press the matter. I had a presentiment that to press itmight lead to unpleasant results. 

It was this sense of not being free, of having gained everything butfreedom that was at times galling in the extreme: this sense of livingwith a woman for whom I had long ceased to care, a woman with a bafflingwill concealed beneath an unruffled and serene exterior. At moments Ilooked at her across the table; she did not seem to have aged much: hercomplexion was as fresh, apparently, as the day when I had first walkedwith her in the garden at Elkington; her hair the same wonderful colour;perhaps she had grown a little stouter. There could be no doubt aboutthe fact that her chin was firmer, that certain lines had come into herface indicative of what is called character. Beneath her pliability shewas now all firmness; the pliability had become a mockery. It cannotbe said that I went so far as to hate her for this, --when it was in mymind, --but my feelings were of a strong antipathy. And then again therewere rare moments when I was inexplicably drawn to her, not by love andpassion; I melted a little in pity, perhaps, when my eyes were openedand I saw the tragedy, yet I am not referring now to such feelings asthese. I am speaking of the times when I beheld her as the blamelesscompanion of the years, the mother of my children, the woman I was usedto and should--by all canons I had known--have loved. .. . 

And there were the children. Days and weeks passed when I scarcelysaw them, and then some little incident would happen to give me anunexpected wrench and plunge me into unhappiness. One evening I camehome from a long talk with Nancy that had left us both wrought up, andI had entered the library before I heard voices. Maude was seated underthe lamp at the end of the big room reading from "Don Quixote"; Matthewand Biddy were at her feet, and Moreton, less attentive, at a littledistance was taking apart a mechanical toy. I would have tiptoed out, but Biddy caught sight of me. 

"It's father!" she cried, getting up and flying to me. 

"Oh, father, do come and listen! The story's so exciting, isn't it, Matthew?"

I looked down into the boy's eyes shining with an expression thatsuddenly pierced my heart with a poignant memory of myself. Matthew wasfar away among the mountains and castles of Spain. 

"Matthew, " demanded his sister, "why did he want to go fighting with allthose people?"

"Because he was dotty, " supplied Moreton, who had an interesting habitof picking up slang. 

"It wasn't at all, " cried Matthew, indignantly, interrupting Maude'srebuke of his brother. 

"What was it, then?" Moreton demanded. 

"You wouldn't understand if I told you, " Matthew was retorting, whenMaude put her hand on his lips. 

"I think that's enough for to-night, " she said, as she closed the book. "There are lessons to do--and father wants to read his newspaper inquiet. "

This brought a protest from Biddy. 

"Just a little more, mother! Can't we go into the schoolroom? We shan'tdisturb father there. "

"I'll read to them--a few minutes, " I said. 

As I took the volume from her and sat down Maude shot at me a swift lookof surprise. Even Matthew glanced at me curiously; and in his glance Ihad, as it were, a sudden revelation of the boy's perplexity concerningme. He was twelve, rather tall for his age, and the delicate modellingof his face resembled my father's. He had begun to think. . What did hethink of me?

Biddy clapped her hands, and began to dance across the carpet. 

"Father's going to read to us, father's going to read to us, " she cried, finally clambering up on my knee and snuggling against me. 

"Where is the place?" I asked. 

But Maude had left the room. She had gone swiftly and silently. 

"I'll find it, " said Moreton. 

I began to read, but I scarcely knew what I was reading, my fingerstightening over Biddy's little knee. .. . 

Presently Miss Allsop, the governess, came in. She had been sent byMaude. There was wistfulness in Biddy's voice as I kissed her goodnight. 

"Father, if you would only read oftener!" she said, "I like it when youread--better than anyone else. ". .. . 

Maude and I were alone that night. As we sat in the library after oursomewhat formal, perfunctory dinner, I ventured to ask her why she hadgone away when I had offered to read. 

"I couldn't bear it, Hugh, " she answered. 

"Why?" I asked, intending to justify myself. 

She got up abruptly, and left me. I did not follow her. In my heart Iunderstood why. .. . 

Some years had passed since Ralph's prophecy had come true, and Perryand the remaining Blackwoods had been "relieved" of the BoyneStreet line. The process need not be gone into in detail, being thetime-honoured one employed in the Ribblevale affair of "running down"the line, or perhaps it would be better to say "showing it up. " Ithad not justified its survival in our efficient days, it had heldout--thanks to Perry--with absurd and anachronous persistence againstthe inevitable consolidation. Mr. Tallant's newspaper had publishedmany complaints of the age and scarcity of the cars, etc. ; and alarmedholders of securities, in whose vaults they had lain since timeimmemorial, began to sell. .. . I saw little of Perry in those days, as Ihave explained, but one day I met him in the Hambleton Building, and hewas white. 

"Your friends are doing thus, Hugh, " he said. 

"Doing what?"

"Undermining the reputation of a company as sound as any in this city, a company that's not overcapitalized, either. And we're giving betterservice right now than any of your consolidated lines. ". .. 

He was in no frame of mind to argue with; the conversation wasdistinctly unpleasant. I don't remember what I said something to theeffect that he was excited, that his language was extravagant. But afterhe had walked off and left me I told Dickinson that he ought to be givena chance, and one of our younger financiers, Murphree, went to Perry andpointed out that he had nothing to gain by obstruction; if he were onlyreasonable, he might come into the new corporation on the same termswith the others. 

All that Murphree got for his pains was to be ordered out of the officeby Perry, who declared that he was being bribed to desert the otherstockholders. 

"He utterly failed to see the point of view, " Murphree reported in someastonishment to Dickinson. 

"What else did he say?" Mr. Dickinson asked. 

Murphree hesitated. 

"Well--what?" the banker insisted. 

"He wasn't quite himself, " said Murphree, who was a comparative newcomerin the city and had a respect for the Blackwood name. "He said that thatwas the custom of thieves: when they were discovered, they offered todivide. He swore that he would get justice in the courts. "

Mr. Dickinson smiled. .. . 

Thus Perry, through his obstinacy and inability to adapt himself to newconditions, had gradually lost both caste and money. He resigned fromthe Boyne Club. I was rather sorry for him. Tom naturally took thematter to heart, but he never spoke of it; I found that I was seeingless of him, though we continued to dine there at intervals, and hestill came to my house to see the children. Maude continued to seeLucia. For me, the situation would have been more awkward had I beenless occupied, had my relationship with Maude been a closer one. Neitherdid she mention Perry in those days. The income that remained to himbeing sufficient for him and his family to live on comfortably, he beganto devote most of his time to various societies of a semipublic natureuntil--in the spring of which I write his activities suddenly becameconcentrated in the organization of a "Citizens Union, " whose avowedobject was to make a campaign against "graft" and political corruptionthe following autumn. This announcement and the call for a mass-meetingin Kingdon Hall was received by the newspapers with a good-naturedridicule, and in influential quarters it was generally hinted that thiswas Mr. Blackwood's method of "getting square" for having been deprivedof the Boyne Street line. It was quite characteristic of Ralph Hambletonthat he should go, out of curiosity, to the gathering at Kingdon Hall, and drop into my office the next morning. 

"Well, Hughie, they're after you, " he said with a grin. 

"After me? Why not include yourself?"

He sat down and stretched his long legs and his long arms, and smiled ashe gaped. 

"Oh, they'll never get me, " he said. And I knew, as I gazed at him, thatthey never would. 

"What sort of things did they say?" I asked. 

"Haven't you read the Pilot and the Mail and State?"

"I just glanced over them. Did they call names?"

"Call names! I should say they did. They got drunk on it, workedthemselves up like dervishes. They didn't cuss you personally, --that'llcome later, of course. Judd Jason got the heaviest shot, but theysaid he couldn't exist a minute if it wasn't for the 'respectable'crowd--capitalists, financiers, millionaires and their legal tools. Factis, they spoke a good deal of truth, first and last, in a fool kind ofway. "

"Truth!" I exclaimed irritatedly. 

Ralph laughed. He was evidently enjoying himself. 

"Is any of it news to you, Hughie, old boy?"

"It's an outrage. "

"I think it's funny, " said Ralph. "We haven't had such a circus foryears. Never had. Of course I shouldn't like to see you go behind thebars, --not that. But you fellows can't expect to go on forever skimmingoff the cream without having somebody squeal sometime. You ought to bereasonable. "

"You've skimmed as much cream as anybody else. "

"You've skimmed the cream, Hughie, --you and Dickinson and Scherer andGrierson and the rest, --I've only filled my jug. Well, these fellowsare going to have a regular roof-raising campaign, take the lid off ofeverything, dump out the red-light district some of our friends are sofond of. "

"Dump it where?" I asked curiously. 

"Oh, " answered Ralph, "they didn't say. Out into the country, anywhere. "

"But that's damned foolishness, " I declared. 

"Didn't say it wasn't, " Ralph admitted. "They talked a lot of that, too, incidentally. They're going to close the saloons and dance halls andmake this city sadder than heaven. When they get through, it'll all beover but the inquest. "

"What did Perry do?" I asked. 

"Well, he opened the meeting, --made a nice, precise, gentlemanly speech. Greenhalge and a few young highbrows and a reformed crook named Harroddid most of the hair-raising. They're going to nominate Greenhalge formayor; and he told 'em something about that little matter of the schoolboard, and said he would talk more later on. If one of the ablestlawyers in the city hadn't been hired by the respectable crowd and a lotof other queer work done, the treasurer and purchasing agent would bedoing time. They seemed to be interested, all right. "

I turned over some papers on my desk, just to show Ralph that he hadn'tsucceeded in disturbing me. 

"Who was in the audience? anyone you ever heard of?" I asked. 

"Sure thing. Your cousin Robert Breck; and that son-in-law ofhis--what's his name? And some other representatives of our oldestfamilies, --Alec Pound. He's a reformer now, you know. They put him onthe resolutions committee. Sam Ogilvy was there, he'd be classed asrespectably conservative. And one of the Ewanses. I could name a fewothers, if you pressed me. That brother of Fowndes who looks like anup-state minister. A lot of women--Miller Gorse's sister, Mrs. Datchet, who never approved of Miller. Quite a genteel gathering, I give you myword, and all astonished and mad as hell when the speaking was over. Mrs. Datchet said she had been living in a den of iniquity and vice, anddidn't know it. "

"It must have been amusing, " I said. 

"It was, " said Ralph. "It'll be more amusing later on. Oh, yes, therewas another fellow who spoke I forgot to mention--that queer Dick whowas in your class, Krebs, got the school board evidence, looked as ifhe'd come in by freight. He wasn't as popular as the rest, but he's gotmore sense than all of them put together. "

"Why wasn't he popular?"

"Well, he didn't crack up the American people, --said they deserved allthey got, that they'd have to learn to think straight and be straightbefore they could expect a square deal. The truth was, they secretlyenvied these rich men who were exploiting their city, and just as longas they envied them they hadn't any right to complain of them. He wasgoing into this campaign to tell the truth, but to tell all sides ofit, and if they wanted reform, they'd have to reform themselves first. Iadmired his nerve, I must say. "

"He always had that, " I remarked. "How did they take it?"

"Well, they didn't like it much, but I think most of them had a respectfor him. I know I did. He has a whole lot of assurance, an air ofknowing what he's talking about, and apparently he doesn't give acontinental whether he's popular or not. Besides, Greenhalge had crackedhim up to the skies for the work he'd done for the school board. "

"You talk as if he'd converted you, " I said. 

Ralph laughed as he rose and stretched himself. 

"Oh, I'm only the intelligent spectator, you ought to know that by thistime, Hughie. But I thought it might interest you, since you'll have togo on the stump and refute it all. That'll be a nice job. So long. "

And he departed. Of course I knew that he had been baiting me, his scentfor the weaknesses of his friends being absolutely fiendish. I was angrybecause he had succeeded, --because he knew he had succeeded. All themorning uneasiness possessed me, and I found it difficult to concentrateon the affairs I had in hand. I felt premonitions, which I tried in vainto suppress, that the tide of the philosophy of power and mightwere starting to ebb: I scented vague calamities ahead, calamities Iassociated with Krebs; and when I went out to the Club for lunchthis sense of uneasiness, instead of being dissipated, was increased. Dickinson was there, and Scherer, who had just got back from Europe; thetalk fell on the Citizens Union, which Scherer belittled with an air ofconsequence and pompousness that struck me disagreeably, and with aneye newly critical I detected in him a certain disintegration, deterioration. Having dismissed the reformers, he began to tell of hisexperiences abroad, referring in one way or another to the people ofconsequence who had entertained him. 

"Hugh, " said Leonard Dickinson to me as we walked to the bank together, "Scherer will never be any good any more. Too much prosperity. And he'sbegun to have his nails manicured. "

After I had left the bank president an uncanny fancy struck me that inAdolf Scherer I had before me a concrete example of the effect of myphilosophy on the individual. .. . 

Nothing seemed to go right that spring, and yet nothing was absolutelywrong. At times I became irritated, bewildered, out of tune, and unableto understand why. The weather itself was uneasy, tepid, with longspells of hot wind and dust. I no longer seemed to find refuge in mywork. I was unhappy at home. After walking for many years in confidenceand security along what appeared to be a certain path, I had suddenlycome out into a vague country in which it was becoming more and moredifficult to recognize landmarks. I did not like to confess this; andyet I heard within me occasional whispers. Could it be that I, HughParet, who had always been so positive, had made a mess of my life?There were moments when the pattern of it appeared to have fallen apart, resolved itself into pieces that refused to fit into each other. 

Of course my relationship with Nancy had something to do with this. .. . 

One evening late in the spring, after dinner, Maude came into thelibrary. 

"Are you busy, Hugh?" she asked. 

I put down my newspapers. 

"Because, " she went on, as she took a chair near the table where I waswriting, "I wanted to tell you that I have decided to go to Europe, andtake the children. "

"To Europe!" I exclaimed. The significance of the announcement failed atonce to register in my brain, but I was aware of a shock. 

"Yes. "

"When?" I asked. 

"Right away. The end of this month. "

"For the summer?"

"I haven't decided how long I shall stay. "

I stared at her in bewilderment. In contrast to the agitation I feltrising within me, she was extraordinarily calm, unbelievably so. 

"But where do you intend to go in Europe?"

"I shall go to London for a month or so, and after that to some quietplace in France, probably at the sea, where the children can learnFrench and German. After that, I have no plans. "

"But--you talk as if you might stay indefinitely. "

"I haven't decided, " she repeated. 

"But why--why are you doing this?"

I would have recalled the words as soon as I had spoken them. Therewas the slightest unsteadiness in her voice as she replied:--"Is itnecessary to go into that, Hugh? Wouldn't it be useless as well as alittle painful? Surely, going to Europe without one's husband is not anunusual thing in these days. Let it just be understood that I want togo, that the children have arrived at an age when it will do them good. "

I got up and began to walk up and down the room, while she watched mewith a silent calm which was incomprehensible. In vain I summoned myfaculties to meet it. 

I had not thought her capable of such initiative. 

"I can't see why you want to leave me, " I said at last, though witha full sense of the inadequacy of the remark, and a suspicion of itshypocrisy. 

"That isn't quite true, " she answered. "In the first place, you don'tneed me. I am not of the slightest use in your life, I haven't been afactor in it for years. You ought never to have married me, --it was alla terrible mistake. I began to realize that after we had been marrieda few months--even when we were on our wedding trip. But I was tooinexperienced--perhaps too weak to acknowledge it to myself. In the lastfew years I have come to see it plainly. I should have been a fool if Ihadn't. I am not your wife in any real sense of the word, I cannot holdyou, I cannot even interest you. It's a situation that no woman withself-respect can endure. "

"Aren't those rather modern sentiments, for you, Maude?" I said. 

She flushed a little, but otherwise retained her remarkable composure. 

"I don't care whether they are 'modern' or not, I only know that myposition has become impossible. "

I walked to the other end of the room, and stood facing the carefullydrawn curtains of the windows; fantastically, they seemed to representthe impasse to which my mind had come. Did she intend, ultimately, toget a divorce? I dared not ask her. The word rang horribly in my ears, though unpronounced; and I knew then that I lacked her courage, and theknowledge was part of my agony. 

I turned. 

"Don't you think you've overdrawn things, Maude exaggerated them? Nomarriages are perfect. You've let your mind dwell until it has becomeinflamed on matters which really don't amount to much. "

"I was never saner, Hugh, " she replied instantly. And indeed I wasforced to confess that she looked it. That new Maude I had seen emergingof late years seemed now to have found herself; she was no longer thewoman I had married, --yielding, willing to overlook, anxious to please, living in me. 

"I don't influence you, or help you in any way. I never have. "

"Oh, that's not true, " I protested. 

But she cut me short, going on inexorably:--"I am merely yourhousekeeper, and rather a poor one at that, from your point of view. Youignore me. I am not blaming you for it--you are made that way. It'strue that you have always supported me in luxury, --that might have beenenough for another woman. It isn't enough for me--I, too, have a life tolive, a soul to be responsible for. It's not for my sake so much as forthe children's that I don't want it to be crushed. "

"Crushed!" I repeated. 

"Yes. You are stifling it. I say again that I'm not blaming you, Hugh. You are made differently from me. All you care for, really, is yourcareer. You may think that you care, at times, for--other things, but itisn't so. "

I took, involuntarily, a deep breath. Would she mention Nancy? Was it inreality Nancy who had brought about this crisis? And did Maude suspectthe closeness of that relationship?

Suddenly I found myself begging her not to go; the more astonishingsince, if at any time during the past winter this solution had presenteditself to me as a possibility, I should eagerly have welcomed it! Butshould I ever have had the courage to propose a separation? I evenwished to delude myself now into believing that what she suggested wasin reality not a separation. I preferred to think of it as a trip. .. . Avision of freedom thrilled me, and yet I was wracked and torn. I had anidea that she was suffering, that the ordeal was a terrible one forher; and at that moment there crowded into my mind, melting me, incidentafter incident of our past. 

"It seems to me that we have got along pretty well together, Maude. Ihave been negligent--I'll admit it. But I'll try to do better in thefuture. And--if you'll wait a month or so, I'll go to Europe with you, and we'll have a good time. "

She looked at me sadly, --pityingly, I thought. 

"No, Hugh, I've thought it all out. You really don't want me. You onlysay this because you are sorry for me, because you dislike to have yourfeelings wrung. You needn't be sorry for me, I shall be much happieraway from you. "

"Think it over, Maude, " I pleaded. "I shall miss you and the children. Ihaven't paid much attention to them, either, but I am fond of them, anddepend upon them, too. "

She shook her head. 

"It's no use, Hugh. I tell you I've thought it all out. You don't carefor the children, you were never meant to have any. "

"Aren't you rather severe in your judgments?"

"I don't think so, " she answered. "I'm willing to admit my faults, thatI am a failure so far as you are concerned. Your ideas of life and mineare far apart. "

"I suppose, " I exclaimed bitterly, "that you are referring to myprofessional practices. "

A note of weariness crept into her voice. I might have known that shewas near the end of her strength. 

"No, I don't think it's that, " she said dispassionately. "I prefer toput it down, that part of it, to a fundamental difference of ideas. Ido not feel qualified to sit in judgment on that part of your life, although I'll admit that many of the things you have done, in commonwith the men with whom you are associated, have seemed to me unjust andinconsiderate of the rights and feelings of others. You have alienatedsome of your best friends. If I were to arraign you at all, it would beon the score of heartlessness. But I suppose it isn't your fault, thatyou haven't any heart. "

"That's unfair, " I put in. 

"I don't wish to be unfair, " she replied. "Only, since you ask me, Ihave to tell you that that is the way it seems to me. I don't wantto introduce the question of right and wrong into this, Hugh, I'm notcapable of unravelling it; I can't put myself into your life, and seethings from your point of view, weigh your problems and difficulties. Inthe first place, you won't let me. I think I understand you, partly--butonly partly. You have kept yourself shut up. But why discuss it? I havemade up my mind. "

The legal aspect of the matter occurred to me. What right had she toleave me? I might refuse to support her. Yet even as these thoughts cameI rejected them; I knew that it was not in me to press this point. Andshe could always take refuge with her father; without the children, ofcourse. But the very notion sickened me. I could not bear to think ofMaude deprived of the children. I had seated myself again at the table. I put my hand to my forehead. 

"Don't make it hard, Hugh, " I heard her say, gently. "Believe me, itis best. I know. There won't be any talk about it, --right away, at anyrate. People will think it natural that I should wish to go abroad forthe summer. And later--well, the point of view about such affairs haschanged. They are better understood. "

She had risen. She was pale, still outwardly composed, --but I had astrange, hideous feeling that she was weeping inwardly. 

"Aren't you coming back--ever?" I cried. 

She did not answer at once. 

"I don't know, " she said, "I don't know, " and left the room abruptly. .. . 

I wanted to follow her, but something withheld me. I got up and walkedaround the room in a state of mind that was near to agony, taking oneof the neglected books out of the shelves, glancing at its meaninglessprint, and replacing it; I stirred the fire, opened the curtains andgazed out into the street and closed them again. I looked around me, a sudden intensity of hatred seized me for this big, silent, luxurioushouse; I recalled Maude's presentiment about it. Then, thinking I mightstill dissuade her, I went slowly up the padded stairway--to find herdoor locked; and a sense of the finality of her decision came over me. Iknew then that I could not alter it even were I to go all the lengths ofabjectness. Nor could I, I knew, have brought myself to have feigned alove I did not feel. 

What was it I felt? I could not define it. Amazement, for one thing, that Maude with her traditional, Christian view of marriage should havecome to such a decision. I went to my room, undressed mechanically andgot into bed. .. . 

She gave no sign at the breakfast table of having made the decision ofthe greatest moment in our lives; she conversed as usual, asked aboutthe news, reproved the children for being noisy; and when the childrenhad left the table there were no tears, reminiscences, recriminations. In spite of the slight antagonism and envy of which I wasconscious, --that she was thus superbly in command of the situation, that she had developed her pinions and was thus splendidly able to usethem, --my admiration for her had never been greater. I made an effortto achieve the frame of mind she suggested: since she took it so calmly, why should I be tortured by the tragedy of it? Perhaps she had ceased tolove me, after all! Perhaps she felt nothing but relief. At any rate, I was grateful to her, and I found a certain consolation, a sop to mypride in the reflection that the initiative must have been hers to take. I could not have deserted her. 

"When do you think of leaving?" I asked. 

"Two weeks from Saturday on the Olympic, if that is convenient for you. "Her manner seemed one of friendly solicitude. "You will remain in thehouse this summer, as usual, I suppose?"

"Yes, " I said. 

It was a sunny, warm morning, and I went downtown in the motor almostblithely. It was the best solution after all, and I had been a fool tooppose it. .. . At the office, there was much business awaiting me;yet once in a while, during the day, when the tension relaxed, therecollection of what had happened flowed back into my consciousness. Maude was going!

I had telephoned Nancy, making an appointment for the afternoon. Sometimes--not too frequently--we were in the habit of going out intothe country in one of her motors, a sort of landaulet, I believe, inwhich we were separated from the chauffeur by a glass screen. She waswaiting for me when I arrived, at four; and as soon as we had shot clearof the city, "Maude is going away, " I told her. 

"Going away?" she repeated, struck more by the tone of my voice than bywhat I had said. 

"She announced last night that she was going abroad indefinitely. "

I had been more than anxious to see how Nancy would take the news. Aflush gradually deepened in her cheeks. 

"You mean that she is going to leave you?"

"It looks that way. In fact, she as much as said so. "

"Why?" said Nancy. 

"Well, she explained it pretty thoroughly. Apparently, it isn't a suddendecision, " I replied, trying to choose my words, to speak composedly asI repeated the gist of our conversation. Nancy, with her face averted, listened in silence--a silence that continued some time after I hadceased to speak. 

"She didn't--she didn't mention--?" the sentence remained unfinished. 

"No, " I said quickly, "she didn't. She must know, of course, but I'msure that didn't enter into it. "

Nancy's eyes as they returned to me were wet, and in them was anexpression I had never seen before, --of pain, reproach, of questioning. It frightened me. 

"Oh, Hugh, how little you know!" she cried. 

"What do you mean?" I demanded. 

"That is what has brought her to this decision--you and I. "

"You mean that--that Maude loves me? That she is jealous?" I don't knowhow I managed to say it. 

"No woman likes to think that she is a failure, " murmured Nancy. 

"Well, but she isn't really, " I insisted. "She could have made anotherman happy--a better man. It was all one of those terrible mistakes ourmodern life seems to emphasize so. "

"She is a woman, " Nancy said, with what seemed a touch of vehemence. "It's useless to expect you to understand. .. . Do you remember what Isaid to you about her? How I appealed to you when you married to try toappreciate her?"

"It wasn't that I didn't appreciate her, " I interrupted, surprised thatNancy should have recalled this, "she isn't the woman for me, we aren'tmade for each other. It was my mistake, my fault, I admit, but I don'tagree with you at all, that we had anything to do with her decision. Itis just the--the culmination of a long period of incompatibility. Shehas come to realize that she has only one life to live, and she seemshappier, more composed, more herself than she has ever been since ourmarriage. Of course I don't mean to say it isn't painful for her. .. . But I am sure she isn't well, that it isn't because of our seeing oneanother, " I concluded haltingly. 

"She is finer than either of us, Hugh, --far finer. "

I did not relish this statement. 

"She's fine, I admit. But I can't see how under the circumstances any ofus could have acted differently. " And Nancy not replying, I continued:"She has made up her mind to go, --I suppose I could prevent it by takingextreme measures, --but what good would it do? Isn't it, after all, the most sensible, the only way out of a situation that has becomeimpossible? Times have changed, Nancy, and you yourself have been thefirst to admit it. Marriage is no longer what it was, and peopleare coming to look upon it more sensibly. In order to perpetuate theinstitution, as it was, segregation, insulation, was the only course. Men segregated their wives, women their husbands, --the only logicalmethod of procedure, but it limited the individual. Our mothers andfathers thought it scandalous if husband or wife paid visits alone. Itwasn't done. But our modern life has changed all that. A marriage, to bea marriage, should be proof against disturbing influences, should leavethe individuals free; the binding element should be love, not the forceof an imposed authority. You seemed to agree to all this. "

"Yes, I know, " she admitted. "But I cannot think that happiness willever grow out of unhappiness. "

"But Maude will not be unhappy, " I insisted. "She will be happier, farhappier, now that she has taken the step. "

"Oh, I wish I thought so, " Nancy exclaimed. "Hugh, you always believewhat you want to believe. And the children. How can you bear to partwith them?"

I was torn, I had a miserable sense of inadequacy. 

"I shall miss them, " I said. "I have never really appreciated them. Iadmit I don't deserve to have them, and I am willing to give them up foryou, for Maude. .. "

We had made one of our favourite drives among the hills on the far sideof the Ashuela, and at six were back at Nancy's house. I did not goin, but walked slowly homeward up Grant Avenue. It had been a tryingafternoon. I had not expected, indeed, that Nancy would have rejoiced, but her attitude, her silences, betraying, as they did, compunctions, seemed to threaten our future happiness. 

XXII. 

One evening two or three days later I returned from the office to gazeup at my house, to realize suddenly that it would be impossible for meto live there, in those great, empty rooms, alone; and I told Maude thatI would go to the Club--during her absence. I preferred to keep upthe fiction that her trip would only be temporary. She forbore fromcontradicting me, devoting herself efficiently to the task of closingthe house, making it seem, somehow, a rite, --the final rite in hercapacity as housewife. The drawing-room was shrouded, and the library;the books wrapped neatly in paper; a smell of camphor pervaded theplace; the cheerful schoolroom was dismantled; trunks and travellingbags appeared. The solemn butler packed my clothes, and I arranged fora room at the Club in the wing that recently had been added for theaccommodation of bachelors and deserted husbands. One of the ironies ofthose days was that the children began to suggest again possibilities ofhappiness I had missed--especially Matthew. With all his gentleness, theboy seemed to have a precocious understanding of the verities, and thecapacity for suffering which as a child I had possessed. But he had moreself-control. Though he looked forward to the prospect of new scenes andexperiences with the anticipation natural to his temperament, I thoughthe betrayed at moments a certain intuition as to what was going on. 

"When are you coming over, father?" he asked once. "How soon will yourbusiness let you?"

He had been brought up in the belief that my business was a tyrant. 

"Oh, soon, Matthew, --sometime soon, " I said. 

I had a feeling that he understood me, not intellectually, butemotionally. What a companion he might have been!. .. Moreton and Biddymoved me less. They were more robust, more normal, less introspectiveand imaginative; Europe meant nothing to them, but they were franklydelighted and excited at the prospect of going on the ocean, askingdozens of questions about the great ship, impatient to embark. .. .. 

"I shan't need all that, Hugh, " Maude said, when I handed her a letterof credit. "I--I intend to live quite simply, and my chief expenseswill be the children's education. I am going to give them the best, ofcourse. "

"Of course, " I replied. "But I want you to live over there as you havebeen accustomed to live here. It's not exactly generosity on my part, --Ihave enough, and more than enough. "

She took the letter. 

"Another thing--I'd rather you didn't go to New York with us, Hugh. Iknow you are busy--"

"Of course I'm going, " I started to protest. 

"No, " she went on, firmly. "I'd rather you didn't. The hotel people willput me on the steamer very comfortably, --and there are other reasonswhy I do not wish it. " I did not insist. .. . On the afternoon of herdeparture, when I came uptown, I found her pinning some roses on herjacket. 

"Perry and Lucia sent them, " she informed me. She maintained thefriendly, impersonal manner to the very end; but my soul, as we droveto the train, was full of un-probed wounds. I had had roses put inher compartments in the car; Tom and Susan Peters were there with moreroses, and little presents for the children. Their cheerfulness seemedforced, and I wondered whether they suspected that Maude's absence wouldbe prolonged. 

"Write us often, and tell us all about it, dear, " said Susan, as shesat beside Maude and held her hand; Tom had Biddy on his knee. Maude waspale, but smiling and composed. 

"I hope to get a little villa in France, near the sea, " she said. "I'llsend you a photograph of it, Susan. "

"And Chickabiddy, when she comes back, will be rattling off French likea native, " exclaimed Tom, giving her a hug. 

"I hate French, " said Biddy, and she looked at him solemnly. "I wish youwere coming along, Uncle Tom. "

Bells resounded through the great station. The porter warned us off. Ikissed the children one by one, scarcely realizing what I was doing. Ikissed Maude. She received my embrace passively. 

"Good-bye, Hugh, " she said. 

I alighted, and stood on the platform as the train pulled out. Thechildren crowded to the windows, but Maude did not appear. .. . I foundmyself walking with Tom and Susan past hurrying travellers and portersto the Decatur Street entrance, where my automobile stood waiting. 

"I'll take you home, Susan, " I said. 

"We're ever so much obliged, Hugh, " she answered, "but the street-carsgo almost to ferry's door. We're dining there. "

Her eyes were filled with tears, and she seemed taller, more ungainlythan ever--older. A sudden impression of her greatness of heart wasborne home to me, and I grasped the value of such rugged friendship ashers--as Tom's. 

"We shouldn't know how to behave in an automobile, " he said, as thoughto soften her refusal. And I stood watching their receding figures asthey walked out into the street and hailed the huge electric car thatcame to a stop beyond them. Above its windows was painted "The AshuelaTraction Company, " a label reminiscent of my professional activities. Then I heard the chauffeur ask:--"Where do you wish to go, sir?"

"To the Club, " I said. 

My room was ready, my personal belongings, my clothes had been laid out, my photographs were on the dressing-table. I took up, mechanically, theevening newspaper, but I could not read it; I thought of Maude, of thechildren, memories flowed in upon me, --a flood not to be dammed. .. . Presently the club valet knocked at my door. He had a dinner card. 

"Will you be dining here, sir?" he inquired. 

I went downstairs. Fred Grierson was the only man in the dining-room. 

"Hello, Hugh, " he said, "come and sit down. I hear your wife's goneabroad. "

"Yes, " I answered, "she thought she'd try it instead of the South Shorethis summer. "

Perhaps I imagined that he looked at me queerly. I had made a great dealof money out of my association with Grierson, I had valued very highlybeing an important member of the group to which he belonged; butto-night, as I watched him eating and drinking greedily, I hated himeven as I hated myself. And after dinner, when he started talking with aridicule that was a thinly disguised bitterness about the Citizens Unionand their preparations for a campaign I left him and went to bed. 

Before a week had passed my painful emotions had largely subsided, andwith my accustomed resiliency I had regained the feeling of self-respectso essential to my happiness. I was free. My only anxiety was for Nancy, who had gone to New York the day after my last talk with her; and it wasonly by telephoning to her house that I discovered when she was expectedto return. .. . I found her sitting beside one of the open French windowsof her salon, gazing across at the wooded hills beyond the Ashuela. Shewas serious, a little pale; more exquisite, more desirable than ever;but her manner implied the pressure of control, and her voice was notquite steady as she greeted me. 

"You've been away a long time, " I said. 

"The dressmakers, " she answered. Her colour rose a little. "I thoughtthey'd never get through. "

"But why didn't you drop me a line, let me know when you were coming?"I asked, taking a chair beside her, and laying my hand on hers. She drewit gently away. 

"What's the matter?" I asked. 

"I've been thinking it all over--what we're doing. It doesn't seemright, it seems terribly wrong. "

"But I thought we'd gone over all that, " I replied, as patiently as Icould. "You're putting it on an old-fashioned, moral basis. "

"But there must be same basis, " she urged. "There are responsibilities, obligations--there must be!--that we can't get away from. I can't helpfeeling that we ought to stand by our mistakes, and by our bargains;we made a choice--it's cheating, somehow, and if we take this--what wewant--we shall be punished for it. "

"But I'm willing to be punished, to suffer, as I told you. If you lovedme--"

"Hugh!" she exclaimed, and I was silent. "You don't understand, "she went on, a little breathlessly, "what I mean by punishment isdeterioration. Do you remember once, long ago, when you came to mebefore I was married, I said we'd both run after false gods, and thatwe couldn't do without them? Well, and now this has come; it seems sowonderful to me, coming again like that after we had passed it by, afterwe thought it had gone forever; it's opened up visions for me that Inever hoped to see again. It ought to restore us, dear--that's what I'mtrying to say--to redeem us, to make us capable of being what we weremeant to be. If it doesn't do that, if it isn't doing so, it's the mosthorrible of travesties, of mockeries. If we gain life only to have itturn into death--slow death; if we go to pieces again, utterly. For nowthere's hope. The more I think, the more clearly I see that we can'ttake any step without responsibilities. If we take this, you'll have me, and I'll have you. And if we don't save each other--"

"But we will, " I said. 

"Ah, " she exclaimed, "if we could start new, without any past. I marriedHam with my eyes open. "

"You couldn't know that he would become--well, as flagrant as he is. Youdidn't really know what he was then. "

"There's no reason why I shouldn't have anticipated it. I can't claimthat I was deceived, that I thought my marriage was made in heaven. Ientered into a contract, and Ham has kept his part of it fairly well. He hasn't interfered with my freedom. That isn't putting it on a highplane, but there is an obligation involved. You yourself, in your lawpractice, are always insisting upon the sacredness of contract as thevery basis of our civilization. "

Here indeed would have been a home thrust, had I been vulnerable atthe time. So intent was I on overcoming her objections, that I resortedunwittingly to the modern argument I had more than once declared incourt to be anathema-the argument of the new reform in reference to thecommon law and the constitution. 

"A contract, no matter how seriously entered into at the time it wasmade, that later is seen to violate the principles of humanity should bevoid. And not only this, but you didn't consent that he should disgraceyou. "

Nancy winced. 

"I never told you that he paid my father's debts, I never told anyone, "she said, in a low voice. 

"Even then, " I answered after a moment, "you ought to see that it'stoo terrible a price to pay for your happiness. And Ham hasn't everpretended to consider you in any way. It's certain you didn't agree thathe should do--what he is doing. "

"Suppose I admitted it, " she said, "there remain Maude and yourchildren. Their happiness, their future becomes my responsibility aswell as yours. "

"But I don't love Maude, and Maude doesn't love me. I grant it's myfault, that I did her a wrong in marrying her, but she is right inleaving me. I should be doing her a double wrong. And the children willbe happy with her, they will be well brought up. I, too, have thoughtthis out, Nancy, " I insisted, "and the fact is that in our respectivemarriages we have been, each of us, victims of our time, of oureducation. We were born in a period of transition, we inherited viewsof life that do not fit conditions to-day. It takes courage to achievehappiness, initiative to emancipate one's self from a morality thatbegins to hamper and bind. To stay as we are, to refuse to take what isoffered us, is to remain between wind and water. I don't mean that weshould do anything--hastily. We can afford to take a reasonable time, tobe dignified about it. But I have come to the conclusion that the onlything that matters in the world is a love like ours, and its fulfilment. Achievement, success, are empty and meaningless without it. And you dolove me--you've admitted it. "

"Oh, I don't want to talk about it, " she exclaimed, desperately. 

"But we have to talk about it, " I persisted. "We have to thrash it out, to see it straight, as you yourself have said. "

"You speak of convictions, Hugh, --new convictions, in place of the oldwe have discarded. But what are they? And is there no such thingas conscience--even though it be only an intuition of happiness orunhappiness? I do care for you, I do love you--"

"Then why not let that suffice?" I exclaimed, leaning towards her. 

She drew back. 

"But I want to respect you, too, " she said. 

I was shocked, too shocked to answer. 

"I want to respect you, " she repeated, more gently. "I don't want tothink that--that what we feel for each other is--unconsecrated. "

"It consecrates itself, " I declared. 

She shook her head. 

"Surely it has its roots in everything that is fine in both of us. "

"We both went wrong, " said Nancy. "We both sought to wrest power andhappiness from the world, to make our own laws. How can we assertthat--this is not merely a continuation of it?"

"But can't we work out our beliefs together?" I demanded. "Won't youtrust me, trust our love for one another?"

Her breath came and went quickly. 

"Oh, you know that I want you, Hugh, as much as you want me, and more. The time may come when I can't resist you. "

"Why do you resist me?" I cried, seizing her hands convulsively, andswept by a gust of passion at her confession. 

"Try to understand that I am fighting for both of us!" she pleaded--anappeal that wrung me in spite of the pitch to which my feelings had beenraised. "Hugh, dear, we must think it out. Don't now. "

I let her hands drop. .. . 

Beyond the range of hills rising from the far side of the Ashuela wasthe wide valley in which was situated the Cloverdale Country Club, withits polo field, golf course and tennis courts; and in this samevalley some of our wealthy citizens, such as Howard Ogilvy and LeonardDickinson, had bought "farms, " week-end playthings for spring andautumn. Hambleton Durrett had started the fashion. Capriciously, as hedid everything else, he had become the owner of several hundred acresof pasture, woodland and orchard, acquired some seventy-five head ofblooded stock, and proceeded to house them in model barns and milk bymachinery; for several months he had bored everyone in the Boyne Clubwhom he could entice into conversation on the subject of the records ofpedigreed cows, and spent many bibulous nights on the farm in companywith those parasites who surrounded him when he was in town. Thenanother interest had intervened; a feminine one, of course, and hisenergies were transferred (so we understood) to the reconstruction andfurnishing of a little residence in New York, not far from Fifth Avenue. The farm continued under the expert direction of a superintendentwho was a graduate of the State Agricultural College, and a selectclientele, which could afford to pay the prices, consumed the milk andcream and butter. Quite consistent with their marital relations wasthe fact that Nancy should have taken a fancy to the place after Ham'sinterest had waned. Not that she cared for the Guernseys, or Jerseys, or whatever they may have been; she evinced a sudden passion forsimplicity, --occasional simplicity, at least, --for a contrast to andescape from a complicated life of luxury. She built another house forthe superintendent banished him from the little farmhouse (where Ham hadkept two rooms); banished along with the superintendent the stiff plushfurniture, the yellow-red carpets, the easels and the melodeon, anddecked it out in bright chintzes, with wall-papers to match, daintymuslin curtains, and rag-carpet rugs on the hardwood floors. Thepseudo-classic porch over the doorway, which had suggested a cemetery, was removed, and a wide piazza added, furnished with wicker loungingchairs and tables, and shaded with gay awnings. 

Here, to the farm, accompanied by a maid, she had been in the habitof retiring from time to time, and here she came in early July. Here, dressed in the simplest linen gowns of pink or blue or white, I found aNancy magically restored to girlhood, --anew Nancy, betraying only tracesof the old, a new Nancy in a new Eden. We had all the setting, all theillusion of that perfect ideal of domesticity, love in a cottage. Nancyand I, who all our lives had spurned simplicity, laughed over the joywe found in it: she made a high art of it, of course; we had our simpledinners, which Mrs. Olsen cooked and served in the open air; sometimeson the porch, sometimes under the great butternut tree spreading itsshade over what in a more elaborate country-place, would have beencalled a lawn, --an uneven plot of grass of ridges and hollows that randown to the orchard. Nancy's eyes would meet mine across the littletable, and often our gaze would wander over the pastures below, lucentgreen in the level evening light, to the darkening woods beyond, gilt-tipped in the setting sun. There were fields of ripening yellowgrain, of lusty young corn that grew almost as we watched it: thewarm winds of evening were heavy with the acrid odours of fecundity. Fecundity! In that lay the elusive yet insistent charm of that country;and Nancy's, of course, was the transforming touch that made itparadise. It was thus, in the country, I suggested that we should spendthe rest of our existence. What was the use of amassing money, whenhappiness was to be had so simply?

"How long do you think you could stand it?" she asked, as she handed mea plate of blackberries. 

"Forever, with the right woman, " I announced. 

"How long could the woman stand it?". .. . She humoured, smilingly, mycrystal-gazing into our future, as though she had not the heart todeprive me of the pleasure. 

"I simply can't believe in it, Hugh, " she said when I pressed her for ananswer. 

"Why not?"

"I suppose it's because I believe in continuity, I haven't the romantictemperament, --I always see the angel with the flaming sword. It isn'tthat I want to see him. "

"But we shall redeem ourselves, " I said. "It won't be curiosity andidleness. We are not just taking this thing, and expecting to givenothing for it in return. "

"What can we give that is worth it?" she exclaimed, with one of herrevealing flashes. 

"We won't take it lightly, but seriously, " I told her. "We shall findsomething to give, and that something will spring naturally out of ourlove. We'll read together, and think and plan together. "

"Oh, Hugh, you are incorrigible, " was all she said. 

The male tendency in me was forever strained to solve her, to deducefrom her conversation and conduct a body of consistent law. The effortwas useless. Here was a realm, that of Nancy's soul, in which there wasapparently no such thing as relevancy. In the twilight, after dinner, we often walked through the orchard to a grassy bank beside the littlestream, where we would sit and watch the dying glow in the sky. After arain its swollen waters were turbid, opaque yellow-red with the clayof the hills; at other times it ran smoothly, temperately, almost clearbetween the pasture grasses and wild flowers. Nancy declared that itreminded her of me. We sat there, into the lush, warm nights, and themoon shone down on us, or again through long silences we searched thebewildering, starry chart of the heavens, with the undertones of thenight-chorus of the fields in our ears. Sometimes she let my head restupon her knee; but when, throbbing at her touch, with the life-forcepulsing around us, I tried to take her in my arms, to bring her lips tomine, she resisted me with an energy of will and body that I could notovercome, I dared not overcome. She acknowledged her love for me, shepermitted me to come to her, she had the air of yielding but neveryielded. Why, then, did she allow the words of love to pass? and howdraw the line between caresses? I was maddened and disheartened by thatelusive resistance in her--apparently so frail a thing!--that neitherargument nor importunity could break down. Was there something lackingin me? or was it that I feared to mar or destroy the love she had. This, surely, had not been the fashion of other loves, called unlawful, theclassic instances celebrated by the poets of all ages rose to mock me. 

"Incurably romantic, " she had called me, in calmer moments, when I wasable to discuss our affair objectively. And once she declared that I hadno sense of tragedy. We read "Macbeth" together, I remember, one rainySunday. The modern world, which was our generation, would seem to becut off from all that preceded it as with a descending knife. It wasprecisely from "the sense of tragedy" that we had been emancipated: fromthe "agonized conscience, " I should undoubtedly have said, had I beenacquainted then with Mr. Santayana's later phrase. Conscience--the oldkind of conscience, --and nothing inherent in the deeds themselves, madethe tragedy; conscience was superstition, the fear of the wrath of thegods: conscience was the wrath of the gods. Eliminate it, and behold!there were no consequences. The gods themselves, that kind of gods, became as extinct as the deities of the Druids, the Greek fates, theterrible figures of German mythology. Yes, and as the God of Christianorthodoxy. 

Had any dire calamities overtaken the modern Macbeths, of whose personallives we happened to know something? Had not these great ones brokenwith impunity all the laws of traditional morality? They ground thefaces of the poor, played golf and went to church with serene minds, untroubled by criticism; they appropriated, quite freely, other men'smoney, and some of them other men's wives, and yet they were not haggardwith remorse. The gods remained silent. Christian ministers regardedthese modern transgressors of ancient laws benignly and accepted theircontributions. Here, indeed, were the supermen of the mad German prophetand philosopher come to life, refuting all classic tragedy. It is truethat some of these supermen were occasionally swept away by disease, which in ancient days would have been regarded as a retributive scourge, but was in fact nothing but the logical working of the laws of hygiene, the result of overwork. Such, though stated more crudely, were mycontentions when desire did not cloud my brain and make me incoherent. And I did not fail to remind Nancy, constantly, that this was the pathon which her feet had been set; that to waver now was to perish. Shesmiled, yet she showed concern. 

"But suppose you don't get what you want?" she objected. "What then?Suppose one doesn't become a superman? or a superwoman? What's to happento one? Is there no god but the superman's god, which is himself? Arethere no gods for those who can't be supermen? or for those who mayrefuse to be supermen?"

To refuse, I maintained, were a weakness of the will. 

"But there are other wills, " she persisted, "wills over which thesuperman may conceivably have no control. Suppose, for example, thatyou don't get me, that my will intervenes, granting it to be conceivablethat your future happiness and welfare, as you insist, depend upon yourgetting me--which I doubt. "

"You've no reason to doubt it. "

"Well, granting it, then. Suppose the orthodoxies and superstitionssucceed in inhibiting me. I may not be a superwoman, but my will, or myconscience, if you choose, may be stronger than yours. If you don't getwhat you want, you aren't happy. In other words, you fail. Where areyour gods then? The trouble with you, my dear Hugh, is that you havenever failed, " she went on, "you've never had a good, hard fall, you'vealways been on the winning side, and you've never had the world againstyou. No wonder you don't understand the meaning and value of tragedy. "

"And you?" I asked. 

"No, " she agreed, "nor I. Yet I have come to feel, instinctively, thatsomehow concealed in tragedy is the central fact of life, the truereality, that nothing is to be got by dodging it, as we have dodged it. Your superman, at least the kind of superman you portray, is petrified. Something vital in him, that should be plastic and sensitive, has turnedto stone. "

"Since when did you begin to feel this?" I inquired uneasily. 

"Since--well, since we have been together again, in the last month ortwo. Something seems to warn me that if we take--what we want, we shan'tget it. That's an Irish saying, I know, but it expresses my meaning. Imay be little, I may be superstitious, unlike the great women of historywho have dared. But it's more than mere playing safe--my instinct, Imean. You see, you are involved. I believe I shouldn't hesitate ifonly myself were concerned, but you are the uncertain quantity--moreuncertain than you have any idea; you think you know yourself, you thinkyou have analyzed yourself, but the truth is, Hugh, you don't know themeaning of struggle against real resistance. "

I was about to protest. 

"I know that you have conquered in the world of men and affairs, " shehurried on, "against resistance, but it isn't the kind of resistanceI mean. It doesn't differ essentially from the struggle in the animalkingdom. "

I bowed. "Thank you, " I said. 

She laughed a little. 

"Oh, I have worshipped success, too. Perhaps I still do--that isn't thepoint. An animal conquers his prey, he is in competition, in constantcombat with others of his own kind, and perhaps he brings to bear acertain amount of intelligence in the process. Intelligence isn't thepoint, either. I know what I'm saying is trite, it's banal, it soundslike moralizing, and perhaps it is, but there is so much confusionto-day that I think we are in danger of losing sight of the simplerverities, and that we must suffer for it. Your super-animal, yoursupreme-stag subdues the other stags, but he never conquers himself, henever feels the need of it, and therefore he never comprehends what wecall tragedy. "

"I gather your inference, " I said, smiling. 

"Well, " she admitted, "I haven't stated the case with the shade ofdelicacy it deserves, but I wanted to make my meaning clear. Wehave raised up a class in America, but we have lost sight, a little--considerably, I think--of the distinguishing humancharacteristics. The men you were eulogizing are lords of the forest, more or less, and we women, who are of their own kind, what they havemade us, surrender ourselves in submission and adoration to thelordly stag in the face of all the sacraments that have been painfullyinaugurated by the race for the very purpose of distinguishing us fromanimals. It is equivalent to saying that there is no moral law; or, ifthere is, nobody can define it. We deny, inferentially, a human realm asdistinguished from the animal, and in the denial it seems to me we arecutting ourselves off from what is essential human development. We arereverting to the animal. I have lost and you have lost--not entirely, perhaps, but still to a considerable extent--the bloom of that fervour, of that idealism, we may call it, that both of us possessed when we werein our teens. We had occasional visions. We didn't know what they meant, or how to set about their accomplishment, but they were not, at least, mere selfish aspirations; they implied, unconsciously no doubt, anelement of service, and certainly our ideal of marriage had somethingfine in it. "

"Isn't it for a higher ideal of marriage that we are searching?" Iasked. 

"If that is so, " Nancy objected, "then all the other elements of ourlives are sadly out of tune with it. Even the most felicitous union ofthe sexes demands sacrifice, an adjustment of wills, and these are thevery things we balk at; and the trouble with our entire class in thiscountry is that we won't acknowledge any responsibility, there's nosacrifice in our eminence, we have no sense of the whole. "

"Where did you get all these ideas?" I demanded. 

She laughed. 

"Well, " she admitted, "I've been thrashing around a little; and I'veread some of the moderns, you know. Do you remember my telling youI didn't agree with them? and now this thing has come on melike a judgment. I've caught their mania for liberty, forself-realization--whatever they call it--but their remedies are vague, they fail to convince me that individuals achieve any quality by justtaking what they want, regardless of others. ". .. . 

I was unable to meet this argument, and the result was that when I wasaway from her I too began to "thrash around" among the books in a vainsearch for a radical with a convincing and satisfying philosophy. Thus we fly to literature in crises of the heart! There was no lackof writers who sought to deal--and deal triumphantly with the verysituation in which I was immersed. I marked many passages, to read themover to Nancy, who was interested, but who accused me of being willingto embrace any philosophy, ancient or modern, that ran with the streamof my desires. It is worth recording that the truth of this struck home. On my way back to the city I reflected that, in spite of my protestsagainst Maude's going--protests wholly sentimental and impelled by thedesire to avoid giving pain on the spot--I had approved of her departurebecause I didn't want her. On the other hand I had to acknowledge if Ihadn't wanted Nancy, or rather, if I had become tired of her, I shouldhave been willing to endorse her scruples. .. . It was not a comfortingthought. 

One morning when I was absently opening the mail I found at my office Ipicked up a letter from Theodore Watling, written from a seaside resortin Maine, the contents of which surprised and touched me, troubled me, and compelled me to face a situation with which I was wholly unpreparedto cope. He announced that this was to be his last term in the Senate. He did not name the trouble his physician had discovered, but he hadbeen warned that he must retire from active life. "The specialist whomI saw in New York, " he went on, "wished me to resign at once, but when Ipointed out to him how unfair this would be to my friends in the state, to my party as a whole--especially in these serious and unsettledtimes--he agreed that I might with proper care serve out the remainderof my term. I have felt it my duty to write to Barbour and Dickinson andone or two others in order that they might be prepared and that no timemay be lost in choosing my successor. It is true that the revolt withinthe party has never gained much headway in our state, but in these daysit is difficult to tell when and where a conflagration may break out, or how far it will go. I have ventured to recommend to them the man whoseems to me the best equipped to carry on the work I have been trying todo here--in short, my dear Hugh, yourself. The Senate, as you know, isnot a bed of roses just now for those who think as we do; but I have theless hesitancy in making the recommendation because I believe you arenot one to shun a fight for the convictions we hold in common, andbecause you would regard, with me, the election of a senator with thenew views as a very real calamity. If sound business men and lawyersshould be eliminated from the Senate, I could not contemplate with anypeace of mind what might happen to the country. In thus urging you, Iknow you will believe me when I say that my affection and judgment areequally involved, for it would be a matter of greater pride than I canexpress to have you follow me here as you have followed me at home. AndI beg of you seriously to consider it. .. . I understand that Maude andthe children are abroad. Remember me to them affectionately when youwrite. If you can find it convenient to come here, to Maine, to discussthe matter, you may be sure of a welcome. In any case, I expect to bein Washington in September for a meeting of our special committee. Sincerely and affectionately yours, Theodore Watling. "

It was characteristic of him that the tone of the letter should beuniformly cheerful, that he should say nothing whatever of the blowthis must be to his ambitions and hopes; and my agitation at the new anddisturbing prospect thus opened up for me was momentarily swept away byfeelings of affection and sorrow. A sharp realization came to me of howmuch I admired and loved this man, and this was followed by a pangat the thought of the disappointment my refusal would give him. Complications I did not wish to examine were then in the back of mymind; and while I still sat holding the letter in my hand the telephonerang, and a message came from Leonard Dickinson begging me to call atthe bank at once. 

Miller Gorse was there, and Tallant, waving a palm-leaf while sittingunder the electric fan. They were all very grave, and they began to talkabout the suddenness of Mr. Watling's illness and to speculate upon itsnature. Leonard Dickinson was the most moved of the three; but they wereall distressed, and showed it--even Tallant, whom I had never creditedwith any feelings; they spoke about the loss to the state. At lengthGorse took a cigar from his pocket and lighted it; the smoke, impelledby the fan, drifted over the panelled partition into the bank. 

"I suppose Mr. Watling mentioned to you what he wrote to us, " he said. 

"Yes, " I admitted. 

"Well, " he asked, "what do you think of it?"

"I attribute it to Mr. Watling's friendship, " I replied. 

"No, " said Gorse, in his businesslike manner, "Watling's right, there'sno one else. " Considering the number of inhabitants of our state, thisremark had its humorous aspect. 

"That's true, " Dickinson put in, "there's no one else available whounderstands the situation as you do, Hugh, no one else we can trust aswe trust you. I had a wire from Mr. Barbour this morning--he agrees. We'll miss you here, but now that Watling will be gone we'll need youthere. And he's right--it's something we've got to decide on right away, and get started on soon, we can't afford to wobble and run any chancesof a revolt. "

"It isn't everybody the senatorship comes to on a platter--especially atyour age, " said Tallant. 

"To tell you the truth, " I answered, addressing Dickinson, "I'm notprepared to talk about it now. I appreciate the honour, but I'm not atall sure I'm the right man. And I've been considerably upset by thisnews of Mr. Watling. "

"Naturally you would be, " said the banker, sympathetically, "and weshare your feelings. I don't know of any man for whom I have a greateraffection than I have for Theodore Wading. We shouldn't have mentionedit now, Hugh, if Watling hadn't started the thing himself, if it weren'timportant to know where we stand right away. We can't afford to lose theseat. Take your time, but remember you're the man we depend upon. "

Gorse nodded. I was aware, all the time Dickinson was speaking, ofbeing surrounded by the strange, disquieting gaze of the counsel for theRailroad. .. . 

I went back to my office to spend an uneasy morning. My sorrow forMr. Watling was genuine, but nevertheless I found myself compelled toconsider an honour no man lightly refuses. Had it presented itself atany other time, had it been due to a happier situation than that broughtabout by the illness of a man whom I loved and admired, I should havethought the prospect dazzling indeed, part and parcel of my amazingluck. But now--now I was in an emotional state that distorted thefactors of life, all those things I hitherto had valued; even such aprize as this I weighed in terms of one supreme desire: how would theacceptance of the senatorship affect the accomplishment of this desire?That was the question. I began making rapid calculations: the actualelection would take place in the legislature a year from the followingJanuary; provided I were able to overcome Nancy's resistance--which Iwas determined to do--nothing in the way of divorce proceedings could bethought of for more than a year; and I feared delay. On the other hand, if we waited until after I had been duly elected to get my divorce andmarry Nancy my chances of reelection would be small. What did I care forthe senatorship anyway--if I had her? and I wanted her now, as soon as Icould get her. She--a life with her represented new values, new valuesI did not define, that made all I had striven for in the past of littleworth. This was a bauble compared with the companionship of the womanI loved, the woman intended for me, who would give me peace of mind andsoul and develop those truer aspirations that had long been thwarted andstarved for lack of her. Gradually, as she regained the ascendency overmy mind she ordinarily held--and from which she had been temporarilydisplaced by the arrival of Mr. Watling's letter and the talk in thebank--I became impatient and irritated by the intrusion. But what answershould I give to Dickinson and Gorse? what excuse for declining such anoffer? I decided, as may be imagined, to wait, to temporize. 

The irony of circumstances--of what might have been--prevented now mylaying this trophy at Nancy's feet, for I knew I had only to mention thematter to be certain of losing her. 

XXIII. 

I had bought a small automobile, which I ran myself, and it was mycustom to arrive at the farm every evening about five o'clock. But as Ilook back upon those days they seem to have lost succession, to be fusedtogether, as it were, into one indeterminable period by the intensepressure of emotion; unsatisfied emotion, --and the state of physical andmental disorganization set up by it is in the retrospect not a littleterrifying. The world grew more and more distorted, its affairs wereneglected, things upon which I had set high values became as nothing. And even if I could summon back something of the sequence of ourintercourse, it would be a mere repetition--growing on my part moreirrational and insistent--of what I have already related. There werelong, troubled, and futile silences when we sat together on the porchor in the woods and fields; when I wondered whether it were weaknessor strength that caused Nancy to hold out against my importunities:the fears she professed of retribution, the benumbing effects of theconventional years, or the deep-rooted remnants of a Calvinism which--asshe proclaimed--had lost definite expression to persist as an intuition. I recall something she said when she turned to me after one of thesesilences. 

"Do you know how I feel sometimes? as though you and I had wanderedtogether into a strange country, and lost our way. We have lost our way, Hugh--it's all so clandestine, so feverish, so unnatural, so unrelatedto life, this existence we're leading. I believe it would be better ifit were a mere case of physical passion. I can't help it, " she went on, when I had exclaimed against this, "we are too--too complicated, you aretoo complicated. It's because we want the morning stars, don't you see?"She wound her fingers tightly around mine. "We not only want this, butall of life besides--you wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. Oh, I know it. That's your temperament, you were made that way, and Ishouldn't be satisfied if you weren't. The time would come when youwould blame me I don't mean vulgarly--and I couldn't stand that. If youweren't that way, if that weren't your nature, I mean, I should havegiven way long ago. "

I made some sort of desperate protest. 

"No, if I didn't know you so well I believe I should have given in longago. I'm not thinking of you alone, but of myself, too. I'm afraid Ishouldn't be happy, that I should begin to think--and then I couldn'tstop. The plain truth, as I've told you over and over again, is that I'mnot big enough. " She continued smiling at me, a smile on which I couldnot bear to look. "I was wrong not to have gone away, " I heard her say. "I will go away. "

I was, at the time, too profoundly discouraged to answer. .. . 

One evening after an exhausting talk we sat, inert, on the grass hummockbeside the stream. Heavy clouds had gathered in the sky, the light haddeepened to amethyst, the valley was still, swooning with expectancy, louder and louder the thunder rolled from behind the distant hills, andpresently a veil descended to hide them from our view. Great drops beganto fall, unheeded. 

"We must go in, " said Nancy, at length. 

I followed her across the field and through the orchard. From the porchwe stood gazing out at the whitening rain that blotted all save thenearer landscape, and the smell of wet, midsummer grasses will always beassociated with the poignancy of that moment. .. . At dinner, between theintervals of silence, our talk was of trivial things. We made a merepretence of eating, and I remember having my attention arrested by thesight of a strange, pitying expression on the face of Mrs. Olsen, whowaited on us. Before that the woman had been to me a mere ministeringautomaton. But she must have had ideas and opinions, this transportedSwedish peasant. .. . Presently, having cleared the table, she retired. .. . The twilight deepened to dusk, to darkness. The storm, having spent theintensity of its passion in those first moments of heavy downpour andwind, had relaxed to a gentle rain that pattered on the roof, and fromthe stream came recurringly the dirge of the frogs. All I could seeof Nancy was the dim outline of her head and shoulders: she seemedfantastically to be escaping me, to be fading, to be going; in suddendesperation I dropped on my knees beside her, and I felt her handsstraying with a light yet agonized touch, over my head. 

"Do you think I haven't suffered, too? that I don't suffer?" I heard herask. 

Some betraying note for which I had hitherto waited in vain must havepierced to my consciousness, yet the quiver of joy and the swift, convulsive movement that followed it seemed one. Her strong, lithe bodywas straining in my arms, her lips returning my kisses. .. . Clinging toher hands, I strove to summon my faculties of realization; and I beganto speak in broken, endearing sentences. 

"It's stronger than we are--stronger than anything else in the world, "she said. 

"But you're not sorry?" I asked. 

"I don't want to think--I don't care, " she replied. "I only know that Ilove you. I wonder if you will ever know how much!"

The moments lengthened into hours, and she gently reminded me that itwas late. The lights in the little farmhouses near by had long beenextinguished. I pleaded to linger; I wanted her, more of her, all of herwith a fierce desire that drowned rational thought, and I feared thatsomething might still come between us, and cheat me of her. 

"No, no, " she cried, with fear in her voice. "We shall have to thinkit out very carefully--what we must do. We can't afford to make anymistakes. "

"We'll talk it all over to-morrow, " I said. 

With a last, reluctant embrace I finally left her, walked blindly towhere the motor car was standing, and started the engine. I looked back. Outlined in the light of the doorway I saw her figure in what seemed anattitude of supplication. .. . 

I drove cityward through the rain, mechanically taking the familiarturns in the road, barely missing a man in a buggy at a four-corners. He shouted after me, but the world to which he belonged didn't exist. Ilived again those moments that had followed Nancy's surrender, seekingto recall and fix in my mind every word that had escaped from herlips--the trivial things that to lovers are so fraught with meaning. I lived it all over again, as I say, but the reflection of it, thoughintensely emotional, differed from the reality in that now I wassomewhat able to regard the thing, to regard myself, objectively; todefine certain feelings that had flitted in filmy fashion through myconsciousness, delicate shadows I recognized at the time as related tosadness. When she had so amazingly yielded, the thought for which mymind had been vaguely groping was that the woman who lay there in myarms, obscured by the darkness, was not Nancy at all! It was as if thisone precious woman I had so desperately pursued had, in the capture, lost her identity, had mysteriously become just woman, in all hersignificance, yes, and helplessness. The particular had merged(inevitably, I might have known) into the general: the temporary hadbecome the lasting, with a chain of consequences vaguely implied thateven in my joy gave me pause. For the first time in my life I had aglimpse of what marriage might mean, --marriage in a greater sense thanI had ever conceived it, a sort of cosmic sense, implying obligationstranscending promises and contracts, calling for greatness of soul of akind I had not hitherto imagined. Was there in me a grain of doubt of myability to respond to such a high call? I began to perceive that such aunion as we contemplated involved more obligations than one not opposedto traditional views of morality. I fortified myself, however, --ifindeed I really needed fortification in a mood prevailingly triumphantand exalted, --with the thought that this love was different, the realthing, the love of maturity steeped in the ideals of youth. Here was alove for which I must be prepared to renounce other things on which Iset a high value; prepared, in case the world, for some reason, shouldnot look upon us with kindliness. It was curious that such reflectionsas these should have been delayed until after the achievement of myabsorbing desire, more curious that they should have followed so closelyon the heels of it. The affair had shifted suddenly from a basisof adventure, of uncertainty; to one of fact, of commitment; I amexaggerating my concern in order to define it; I was able to persuademyself without much difficulty that these little, cloudy currents inthe stream of my joy were due to a natural reaction from the tremendousstrain of the past weeks, mere morbid fancies. 

When at length I reached my room at the Club I sat looking out at therain falling on the shining pavements under the arc-lights. Though wavesof heat caused by some sudden recollection or impatient longingstill ran through my body, a saner joy of anticipation was succeedingemotional tumult, and I reflected that Nancy had been right in insistingthat we walk circumspectly in spite of passion. After all, I hadoutwitted circumstance, I had gained the prize, I could afford to wait alittle. We should talk it over to-morrow, --no, to-day. The luminous faceof the city hall clock reminded me that midnight was long past. .. . 

I awoke with the consciousness of a new joy, suddenly to identify itwith Nancy. She was mine! I kept repeating it as I dressed; summoningher, not as she had lain in my arms in the darkness--though theintoxicating sweetness of that pervaded me--but as she had beenbefore the completeness of her surrender, dainty, surrounded by thingsexpressing an elusive, uniquely feminine personality. I could affordto smile at the weather, at the obsidian sky, at the rain stillfalling persistently; and yet, as I ate my breakfast, I felt a certainimpatience to verify what I knew was a certainty, and hurried tothe telephone booth. I resented the instrument, its possibilitiesof betrayal, her voice sounded so matter-of-fact as she bade me goodmorning and deplored the rain. 

"I'll be out as soon as I can get away, " I said. "I have a meeting atthree, but it should be over at four. " And then I added irresistibly:"Nancy, you're not sorry? You--you still--?"

"Yes, don't be foolish, " I heard her reply, and this time the telephonedid not completely disguise the note for which I strained. I saidsomething more, but the circuit was closed. .. . 

I shall not attempt to recount the details of our intercourse duringthe week that followed. There were moments of stress and strain when itseemed to me that we could not wait, moments that strengthened Nancy'sresolution to leave immediately for the East: there were other, calmerperiods when the wisdom of her going appealed to me, since ourultimate union would be hastened thereby. We overcame by degrees thedistastefulness of the discussion of ways and means. .. . We spent anunforgettable Sunday among the distant high hills, beside a little lakeof our own discovery, its glinting waters sapphire and chrysoprase. A grassy wood road, at the inviting entrance to which we left theautomobile, led down through an undergrowth of laurel to a pebblyshore, and there we lunched; there we lingered through the long summerafternoon, Nancy with her back against a tree, I with my head in herlap gazing up at filmy clouds drifting imperceptibly across the sky, listening to the droning notes of the bees, notes that sometimes rosein a sharp crescendo, and again were suddenly hushed. The smell of thewood-mould mingled with the fainter scents of wild flowers. She hadbrought along a volume by a modern poet: the verses, as Nancy readthem, moved me, --they were filled with a new faith to which my beingresponded, the faith of the forth-farer; not the faith of the anchor, but of the sail. I repeated some of the lines as indications of a creedto which I had long been trying to convert her, though lacking theexpression. She had let the book fall on the grass. I remember how shesmiled down at me with the wisdom of the ages in her eyes, seeking myhand with a gesture that was almost maternal. 

"You and the poets, " she said, "you never grow up. I suppose that's thereason why we love you--and these wonderful visions of freedom you have. Anyway, it's nice to dream, to recreate the world as one would like tohave it. "

"But that's what you and I are doing, " I insisted. 

"We think we're doing it--or rather you think so, " she replied. "Andsometimes, I admit that you almost persuade me to think so. Never quite. What disturbs me, " she continued, "is to find you and the poets foundingyour new freedom on new justifications, discarding the old law onlyto make a new one, --as though we could ever get away from necessities, escape from disagreeable things, except in dreams. And then, thisdelusion of believing that we are masters of our own destiny--" Shepaused and pressed my fingers. 

"There you go-back to predestination!" I exclaimed. 

"I don't go back to anything, or forward to anything, " she exclaimed. "Women are elemental, but I don't expect you to understand it. Laws andcodes are foreign to us, philosophies and dreams may dazzle us for themoment, but what we feel underneath and what we yield to are the primalforces, the great necessities; when we refuse joys it's because we knowthese forces by a sort of instinct, when we're overcome it's with a fullknowledge that there's a price. You've talked a great deal, Hugh, aboutcarving out our future. I listened to you, but I resisted you. It wasn'tthe morality that was taught me as a child that made me resist, it wassomething deeper than that, more fundamental, something I feel butcan't yet perceive, and yet shall perceive some day. It isn't that I'mclinging to the hard and fast rules because I fail to see any others, itisn't that I believe that all people should stick together whetherthey are happily married or not, but--I must say it even now--I have afeeling I can't define that divorce isn't for us. I'm not talking aboutright and wrong in the ordinary sense--it's just what I feel. I'veceased to think. "

"Nancy!" I reproached her. 

"I can't help it--I don't want to be morbid. Do you remember my askingyou about God?--the first day this began? and whether you had a god?Well, that's the trouble with us all to-day, we haven't any God, we'rewanderers, drifters. And now it's just life that's got hold of us, mydear, and swept us away together. That's our justification--if we neededone--it's been too strong for us. " She leaned back against the tree andclosed her eyes. "We're like chips in the torrent of it, Hugh. ". .. . 

It was not until the shadow of the forest had crept far across the lakeand the darkening waters were still that we rose reluctantly to put thedishes in the tea basket and start on our homeward journey. The tawnyfires of the sunset were dying down behind us, the mist stealing, ghostlike, into the valleys below; in the sky a little moon curled likea freshly cut silver shaving, that presently turned to gold, the whitestar above it to fire. 

Where the valleys widened we came to silent, decorous little towns andvillages where yellow-lit windows gleaming through the trees suggestedrefuge and peace, while we were wanderers in the night. It was Nancy'smood; and now, in the evening's chill, it recurred to me poignantly. In one of these villages we passed a church, its doors flung open; thecongregation was singing a familiar hymn. I slowed down the car; I felther shoulder pressing against my own, and reached out my hand and foundhers. 

"Are you warm enough?" I asked. .. . 

We spoke but little on that drive, we had learned the futility of wordsto express the greater joys and sorrows, the love that is compounded ofthese. 

It was late when we turned in between the white dates and made our wayup the little driveway to the farmhouse. I bade her good night on thesteps of the porch. 

"You do love me, don't you?" she whispered, clinging to me with asudden, straining passion. "You will love me, always no matter whathappens?"

"Why, of course, Nancy, " I answered. 

"I want to hear you say it, 'I love you, I shall love you always. '"

I repeated it fervently. .. . 

"No matter what happens?"

"No matter what happens. As if I could help it, Nancy! Why are you sosad to-night?"

"Ah, Hugh, it makes me sad--I can't tell why. It is so great, it is soterrible, and yet it's so sweet and beautiful. "

She took my face in her hands and pressed a kiss against my forehead. .. . 

The next day was dark. At two o'clock in the afternoon the electriclight was still burning over my desk when the telephone rang and I heardNancy's voice. 

"Is that you, Hugh?"

"Yes. "

"I have to go East this afternoon. "

"Why?" I asked. Her agitation had communicated itself to me. "I thoughtyou weren't going until Thursday. What's the matter?"

"I've just had a telegram, " she said. "Ham's been hurt--I don't know howbadly--he was thrown from a polo pony this morning at Narragansett, inpractice, and they're taking him to Boston to a private hospital. Thetelegram's from Johnny Shephard. I'll be at the house in town at four. "

Filled with forebodings I tried in vain to suppress I dropped the workI was doing and got up and paced the room, pausing now and again to gazeout of the window at the wet roofs and the grey skies. I was aghast atthe idea of her going to Ham now even though he were hurt badly hurt;and yet I tried to think it was natural, that it was fine of her torespond to such a call. And she couldn't very well refuse his summons. But it was not the news of her husband's accident that inspired thegreater fear, which was quelled and soothed only to rise again whenI recalled the note I had heard in her voice, a note eloquent oftragedy--of tragedy she had foreseen. At length, unable to remain whereI was any longer, I descended to the street and walked uptown in therain. The Durrett house was closed, the blinds of its many windowsdrawn, but Nancy was watching for me and opened the door. So used hadI grown to seeing her in the simple linen dresses she had worn in thecountry, a costume associated with exclusive possession, that the sightof her travelling suit and hat renewed in me an agony of apprehension. The unforeseen event seemed to have transformed her once more. Her veilwas drawn up, her face was pale, in her eyes were traces of tears. 

"You're going?" I asked, as I took her hands. 

"Hugh, I have to go. "

She led me through the dark, shrouded drawing room into the little salonwhere the windows were open on the silent city-garden. I took her in myarms; she did not resist, as I half expected, but clung to me with whatseemed desperation. 

"I have to go, dear--you won't make it too hard for me! It'sonly--ordinary decency, and there's no one else to go to him. "

She drew me to the sofa, her eyes beseeching me. 

"Listen, dear, I want you to see it as I see it. I know that you will, that you do. I should never be able to forgive myself if I stayed awaynow, I--neither of us could ever be happy about it. You do see, don'tyou?" she implored. 

"Yes, " I admitted agitatedly. 

Her grasp on my hand tightened. 

"I knew you would. But it makes me happier to hear you say it. "

We sat for a moment in helpless silence, gazing at one another. Slowlyher eyes had filled. 

"Have you heard anything more?" I managed to ask. 

She drew a telegram from her bag, as though the movement were a relief. 

"This is from the doctor in Boston--his name is Magruder. They have gotHam there, it seems. A horse kicked him in the head, after he fell, --hehad just recovered consciousness. "

I took the telegram. The wordy seemed meaningless, all save those ofthe last sentence. "The situation is serious, but by no means hopeless. "Nancy had not spoken of that. The ignorant cruelty of its convention!The man must have known what Hambleton Durrett was! Nancy read mythoughts, and took the paper from my hand. 

"Hugh, dear, if it's hard for you, try to understand that it's terriblefor me to think that he has any claim at all. I realize now, as I neverdid before, how wicked it was in me to marry him. I hate him, I can'tbear the thought of going near him. "

She fell into wild weeping. I tried to comfort her, who couldnot comfort myself; I don't remember my inadequate words. We wereoverwhelmed, obliterated by the sense of calamity. .. . It was she whochecked herself at last by an effort that was almost hysterical. 

"I mustn't yield to it!" she said. "It's time to leave and the traingoes at six. No, you mustn't come to the station, Hugh--I don't thinkI could stand it. I'll send you a telegram. " She rose. "You must gonow--you must. "

"You'll come back to me?" I demanded thickly, as I held her. 

"Hugh, I am yours, now and always. How can you doubt it?"

At last I released her, when she had begged me again. And I foundmyself a little later walking past the familiar, empty houses of thosestreets. .. . 

The front pages of the evening newspapers announced the accident toHambleton Durrett, and added that Mrs. Durrett, who had been lingeringin the city, had gone to her husband's bedside. The morning paperscontained more of biography and ancestry, but had little to add to thebulletin; and there was no lack of speculation at the Club and elsewhereas to Ham's ability to rally from such a shock. I could not bear tolisten to these comments: they were violently distasteful to me. Theunforeseen accident and Nancy's sudden departure had thrown my lifecompletely out of gear: I could not attend to business, I dared notgo away lest the news from Nancy be delayed. I spent the hours in anexhausting mental state that alternated between hope and fear, astate of unmitigated, intense desire, of balked realization, sometimesheightening into that sheer terror I had felt when I had detected overthe telephone that note in her voice that seemed of despair. Had she hada presentiment, all along, that something would occur to separate us?As I went back over the hours we had passed together since she hadacknowledged her love, in spite of myself the conviction grew on me thatshe had never believed in the reality of our future. Indeed, she hadexpressed her disbelief in words. Had she been looking all along for asign--a sign of wrath? And would she accept this accident of Ham's assuch?

Retrospection left me trembling and almost sick. 

It was not until the second morning after her departure that I receiveda telegram giving the name of her Boston hotel, and saying that therewas to be a consultation that day, and as soon as it had taken place shewould write. Such consolation as I could gather from it was derived fromfour words at the end, --she missed me dreadfully. Some tremor of pityfor her entered into my consciousness, without mitigating greatly thewildness of my resentment, of my forebodings. 

I could bear no longer the city, the Club, the office, the daily contactwith my associates and clients. Six hours distant, near Rossiter, was asmall resort in the mountains of which I had heard. I telegraphed Nancyto address me there, notified the office, packed my bag, and waitedimpatiently for midday, when I boarded the train. At seven I reached alittle station where a stage was waiting to take me to Callender's Mill. 

It was not until morning that I beheld my retreat, when little wisps ofvapour were straying over the surface of the lake, and the steep greenslopes that rose out of the water on the western side were still inshadow. The hotel, a much overgrown and altered farm-house, stood, surrounded by great trees, in an ancient clearing that sloped gentlyto the water's edge, where an old-fashioned, octagonal summerhouseoverlooked a landing for rowboats. The resort, indeed, was a survival ofsimpler times. .. . 

In spite of the thirty-odd guests, people of very moderate incomes whoknew the place and had come here year after year, I was as much alone asif I had been the only sojourner. The place was so remote, so peacefulin contrast to the city I had left, which had become intolerable. And atnight, during hours of wakefulness, the music of the waters falling overthe dam was soothing. I used to walk down there and sit on the stones ofthe ruined mill; or climb to the crests on the far side of the pond togaze for hours westward where the green billows of the Alleghenies lostthemselves in the haze. I had discovered a new country; here, when ourtrials should be over, I would bring Nancy, and I found distractionin choosing sites for a bungalow. In my soul hope flowered with littlewatering. Uncertain news was good news. After two days of an impatienceall but intolerable, her first letter arrived, I learned that thespecialists had not been able to make a diagnosis, and I began to takeheart again. At times, she said, Ham was delirious and difficult tomanage; at other times he sank into a condition of coma; and again heseemed to know her and Ralph, who had come up from Southampton, where hehad been spending the summer. One doctor thought that Ham's remarkablevitality would pull him through, in spite of what his life had been. The shock--as might have been surmised--had affected the brain. .. . Theletters that followed contained no additional news; she did not dwellon the depressing reactions inevitable from the situation in which shefound herself--one so much worse than mine; she expressed a continuallonging for me; and yet I had trouble to convince myself that theydid not lack the note of reassurance for which I strained as I eagerlyscanned them--of reassurance that she had no intention of permitting herhusband's condition to interfere with that ultimate happiness on whichit seemed my existence depended. I tried to account for the absenceof this note by reflecting that the letters were of necessity brief, hurriedly scratched off at odd moments; and a natural delicacy wouldprevent her from referring to our future at such a time. They recordedno change in Ham's condition save that the periods of coma had ceased. The doctors were silent, awaiting the arrival in this country of acertain New York specialist who was abroad. She spent most of her daysat the hospital, returning to the hotel at night exhausted: the peopleshe knew in the various resorts around Boston had been most kind, sending her flowers, and calling when in town to inquire. At length camethe news that the New York doctor was home again; and coming to Boston. In that letter was a sentence which rang like a cry in my ears: "Oh, Hugh, I think these doctors know now what the trouble is, I think Iknow. They are only waiting for Dr. Jameson to confirm it. "

It was always an effort for me to control my impatience after the firstrattling was heard in the morning of the stage that brought the mail, and I avoided the waiting group in front of the honeycombed partition ofboxes beside the "office. " On the particular morning of which I am nowwriting the proprietor himself handed me a letter of ominous thicknesswhich I took with me down to the borders of the lake before tearing openthe flap. In spite of the calmness and restraint of the first lines, because of them, I felt creeping over me an unnerving sensation I knewfor dread. .. . 

"Hugh, the New York doctor has been here. It is as I have feared forsome weeks, but I couldn't tell you until I was sure. Ham is not exactlyinsane, but he is childish. Sometimes I think that is even worse. I havehad a talk with Dr. Jameson, who has simply confirmed the opinion whichthe other physicians have gradually been forming. The accident hasprecipitated a kind of mental degeneration, but his health, otherwise, will not be greatly affected. 

"Jameson was kind, but very frank, for which I was grateful. He did nothesitate to say that it would have been better if the accident had beenfatal. Ham won't be helpless, physically. Of course he won't be able toplay polo, or take much active exercise. If he were to be helpless, Icould feel that I might be of some use, at least of more use. He knowshis friends. Some of them have been here to see him, and he talks quiterationally with them, with Ralph, with me, only once in a while he sayssomething silly. It seems odd to write that he is not responsible, sincehe never has been, --his condition is so queer that I am at a loss todescribe it. The other morning, before I arrived from the hotel and whenthe nurse was downstairs, he left the hospital, and we found him severalblocks along Commonwealth Avenue, seated on a bench, without a hat--hewas annoyed that he had forgotten it, and quite sensible otherwise. Webegan by taking him out every morning in an automobile. To-day he had awalk with Ralph, and insisted on going into a club here, to which theyboth belong. Two or three men were there whom they knew, and he talkedto them about his fall from the pony and told them just how it happened. 

"At such times only a close observer can tell from his manner thateverything is not right. 

"Ralph, who always could manage him, prevented his taking anything todrink. He depends upon Ralph, and it will be harder for me when he isnot with us. His attitude towards me is just about what it has alwaysbeen. I try to amuse him by reading the newspapers and with games;we have a chess-board. At times he seems grateful, and then he willsuddenly grow tired and hard to control. Once or twice I have had tocall in Dr. Magruder, who owns the hospital. 

"It has been terribly hard for me to write all this, but I had to do it, in order that you might understand the situation completely. Hugh dear, I simply can't leave him. This has been becoming clearer and clearer tome all these weeks, but it breaks my heart to have to write it. Ihave struggled against it, I have lain awake nights trying to findjustification for going to you, but it is stronger than I. I am afraidof it--I suppose that's the truth. Even in those unforgettable days atthe farm I was afraid of it, although I did not know what it was to be. Call it what you like, say that I am weak. I am willing to acknowledgethat it is weakness. I wish no credit for it, it gives me no glow, thethought of it makes my heart sick. I'm not big enough I suppose that'sthe real truth. I once might have been; but I'm not now, --the years ofthe life I chose have made a coward of me. It's not a question ofmorals or duty it's simply that I can't take the thing for which my soulcraves. It's too late. If I believed in prayer I'd pray that you mightpity and forgive me. I really can't expect you to understand what Ican't myself explain. Oh, I need pity--and I pity you, my dear. I canonly hope that you will not suffer as I shall, that you will find reliefaway to work out your life. But I will not change my decision, I cannotchange it. Don't come on, don't attempt to see me now. I can't stand anymore than I am standing, I should lose my mind. "

Here the letter was blotted, and some words scratched out. I was unableto reconstruct them. 

"Ralph and I, " she proceeded irrelevantly, "have got Ham to agree to goto Buzzard's Bay, and we have taken a house near Wareham. Write and tellme that you forgive and pity me. I love you even more, if such a thingis possible, than I have ever loved you. This is my only comfort andcompensation, that I have had and have been able to feel such a love, and I know I shall always feel it. --Nancy. " The first effect of thisletter was a paralyzing one. I was unable to realize or believe thething that had happened to me, and I sat stupidly holding the sheetin my hand until I heard voices along the path, and then I fledinstinctively, like an animal, to hide my injury from any persons Imight meet. I wandered down the shore of the lake, striking at lengthinto the woods, seeking some inviolable shelter; nor was I conscious ofphysical effort until I found myself panting near the crest of the ridgewhere there was a pasture, which some ancient glacier had strewn withgreat boulders. Beside one of these I sank. Heralded by the deep tonesof bells, two steers appeared above the shoulder of a hill and stoodstaring at me with bovine curiosity, and fell to grazing again. A fleetof white clouds, like ships pressed with sail, hurried across the sky asthough racing for some determined port; and the shadows they cast alongthe hillsides accentuated the high brightness of the day, emphasizedthe vivid and hateful beauty of the landscape. My numbness began to bepenetrated by shooting pains, and I grasped little by little the fulnessof my calamity, until I was in the state of wild rebellion of one whomlife for the first time has foiled in a supreme desire. There was nofate about this thing, it was just an absurd accident. The operation ofthe laws of nature had sent a man to the ground: another combination ofcircumstances would have killed him, still another, and he would havearisen unhurt. But because of this particular combination my happinesswas ruined, and Nancy's! She had not expected me to understand. Well, I didn't understand, I had no pity, in that hour I felt a resentmentalmost amounting to hate; I could see only unreasoning superstition inthe woman I wanted above everything in the world. Women of other dayshad indeed renounced great loves: the thing was not unheard of. But thatthis should happen in these times--and to me! It was unthinkablethat Nancy of all women shouldn't be emancipated from the thralls ofreligious inhibition! And if it wasn't "conscience, " what was it?

Was it, as she said, weakness, lack of courage to take life when itwas offered her?. .. I was suddenly filled with the fever of composingarguments to change a decision that appeared to me to be the result ofa monstrous caprice and delusion; writing them out, as they occurredto me, in snatches on the backs of envelopes--her envelopes. ThenI proceeded to make the draft of a letter, the effort required forcomposition easing me until the draft was finished; when I started forthe hotel, climbing fences, leaping streams, making my way acrossrock faces and through woods; halting now and then as some reenforcingargument occurred to me to write it into my draft at the proper placeuntil the sheets were interlined and blurred and almost illegible. Itwas already three o'clock when I reached my room, and the mail left atfour. I began to copy and revise my scrawl, glancing from time to timeat my watch, which I had laid on the table. Hurriedly washing myface and brushing my hair, I arrived downstairs just as the stage wasleaving. .. . 

After the letter had gone still other arguments I might have added beganto occur to me, and I regretted that I had not softened some of thethings I wrote and made others more emphatic. In places argumenthad degenerated into abject entreaty. Never had my desire been soimportunate as now, when I was in continual terror of losing her. Norcould I see how I was to live without her, life lacking a motive beingincomprehensible: yet the fire of optimism in me, though died down toashes, would not be extinguished. At moments it flared up into whatalmost amounted to a conviction that she could not resist my appeal. Ihad threatened to go to her, and more than once I started packing. .. . 

Three days later I received a brief note in which she managed to conveyto me, though tenderly and compassionately, that her decision wasunalterable. If I came on, she would refuse to see me. I took theafternoon stage and went back to the city, to plunge into affairs again;but for weeks my torture was so acute that it gives me pain to recallit, to dwell upon it to-day. .. . And yet, amazing as it may seem, therecame a time when hope began to dawn again out of my despair. Perhapsmy life had not been utterly shattered, after all: perhaps Ham Durrettwould get well: such things happened, and Nancy would no longer have anexcuse for continuing to refuse me. Little by little my anger at whatI had now become convinced was her weakness cooled, and--thoughparadoxically I had continued to love her in spite of the torture forwhich she was responsible, in spite of the resentment I felt, I meltedtoward her. True to my habit of reliance on miracles, I tried toreconcile myself to a period of waiting. 

Nevertheless I was faintly aware--consequent upon if not as a result ofthis tremendous experience--of some change within me. It was not onlythat I felt at times a novel sense of uneasiness at being a prey toaccidents, subject to ravages of feeling; the unity of mind that hadhitherto enabled me to press forward continuously toward a concretegoal showed signs of breaking up:--the goal had lost its desirability. I seemed oddly to be relapsing into the states of questioning that hadcharacterized my earlier years. Perhaps it would be an exaggeration tosay that I actually began to speculate on the possible existence of arealm where the soul might find a refuge from the buffetings of life, from which the philosophy of prosperity was powerless to save it. .. . 

XXIV. 

It was impossible, of course, that my friends should have failed toperceive the state of disorganization I was in, and some of them atleast must have guessed its cause. Dickinson, on his return from Maine, at once begged me to go away. I rather congratulated myself that Tom hadchosen these months for a long-delayed vacation in Canada. His passionfor fishing still persisted. 

In spite of the fact I have noted, that I had lost a certain zest forresults, to keep busy seemed to be the only way to relieve my mind ofan otherwise intolerable pressure: and I worked sometimes far into theevening. In the background of my thoughts lay the necessity of coming toa decision on the question of the senatorship; several times Dickinsonand Gorse had spoken of it, and I was beginning to get letters frominfluential men in other parts of the state. They seemed to take it forgranted that there was no question of my refusing. The time came whenI had grown able to consider the matter with a degree of calmness. What struck me first, when I began to debate upon it, was that thesenatorship offered a new and possibly higher field for my energies, while at the same time the office would be a logical continuation of asignal legal career. I was now unable to deny that I no longer felt anyexhilaration at the prospect of future legal conquests similar to thoseof the past; but once in the Senate, I might regain something of thatintense conviction of fighting for a just and sound cause with whichTheodore Wading had once animated me: fighting there, in the Capitol atWashington, would be different; no stigma of personal gain attached toit; it offered a nearer approach to the ideal I had once more begun toseek, held out hopes of a renewal of my unity of mind. Mr. Watling haddeclared that there was something to fight for; I had even glimpsedthat something, but I had to confess that for some years I had not beenconsciously fighting for it. I needed something to fight for. 

There was the necessity, however, of renewing my calculations. IfHambleton Durrett should recover, even during the ensuing year, andif Nancy relented it would not be possible for us to be divorced andmarried for some time. I still clung tenaciously to the belief thatthere were no relationships wholly unaffected by worldly triumphs, andas Senator I should have strengthened my position. It did notstrike me--even after all my experience--that such a course as I nowcontemplated had a parallel in the one that I had pursued in regard toher when I was young. 

It seemed fitting that Theodore Watling should be the first to know ofmy decision. I went to Washington to meet him. It pained me to see himlooking more worn, but he was still as cheerful, as mentally vigorous asever, and I perceived that he did not wish to dwell upon his illness. I did venture to expostulate with him on the risk he must be running inserving out his term. We were sitting in the dining room of his house. 

"We've only one life to live, Hugh, " he answered, smiling at me, "and wemight as well get all out of it we can. A few years more or less doesn'tmake much difference--and I ought to be satisfied. I'd resign now, toplease my wife, to please my friends, but we can't trust this governorto appoint a safe man. How little we suspected when we elected him thathe'd become infected. You never can tell, in these days, can you?"

It was the note of devotion to his cause that I had come to hear: Ifelt it renewing me, as I had hoped. The threat of disease, the louderclamourings of the leaders of the mob had not sufficed to dismayhim--though he admitted more concern over these. My sympathy andaffection were mingled with the admiration he never failed to inspire. 

"But you, Hugh, " he said concernedly, "you're not looking very well, myson. You must manage to take a good rest before coming here--before thecampaign you'll have to go through. We can't afford to have anythinghappen to you--you're too young. "

I wondered whether he had heard anything. .. . He spoke to me again aboutthe work to be done, the work he looked to me to carry on. 

"We'll have to watch for our opportunity, " he said, "and when it comeswe can handle this new movement not by crushing it, but by guiding it. I've come to the conclusion that there is a true instinct in it, thatthere are certain things we have done which have been mistakes, andwhich we can't do any more. But as for this theory that all wisdomresides in the people, it's buncombe. What we have to do is to work outa practical programme. "

His confidence in me had not diminished. It helped to restore confidencein myself. 

The weather was cool and bracing for September, and as we drove in amotor through the beautiful avenues of the city he pointed out a housefor me on one of the circles, one of those distinguished residences, instances of a nascent good taste, that are helping to redeem thepolyglot aspect of our national capital. Mr. Watling spoke--rathertactfully, I thought--of Maude and the children, and ventured thesurmise that they would be returning in a few months. I interpretedthis, indeed, as in rather the nature of a kindly hint that such aprocedure would be wise in view of the larger life now dawning for me, but I made no comment. .. . He even sympathized with Nancy Durrett. 

"She did the right thing, Hugh, " he said, with the admirable casualmanner he possessed of treating subjects which he knew to be delicate. "Nancy's a fine woman. Poor devil!" This in reference to Ham. .. . 

Mr. Watling reassured me on the subject of his own trouble, maintainingthat he had many years left if he took care. He drove me to the station. I travelled homeward somewhat lifted out of myself by this visit to him;with some feeling of spaciousness derived from Washington itself, withits dignified Presidential Mansion among the trees, its granite shaftdrawing the eye upward, with its winged Capitol serene upon the hill. Should we deliver these heirlooms to the mob? Surely Democracy meantmore than that!

All this time I had been receiving, at intervals, letters from Maude andthe children. Maude's were the letters of a friend, and I found it easyto convince myself that their tone was genuine, that the separation hadbrought contentment to her; and those independent and self-sufficientelements in her character I admired now rather than deplored. AtEtretat, which she found much to her taste, she was living quietly, butmaking friends with some American and English, and one French family ofthe same name, Buffon, as the great naturalist. The father was a retiredsilk manufacturer; they now resided in Paris, and had been very kindin helping her to get an apartment in that city for the winter. Shehad chosen one on the Avenue Kleber, not far from the Arc. It isinteresting, after her arraignment of me, that she should have takensuch pains to record their daily life for my benefit in her clear, conscientious handwriting. I beheld Biddy, her dresses tucked above slimlittle knees, playing in the sand on the beach, her hair flying in thewind and lighted by the sun which gave sparkle to the sea. I saw Maudeherself in her beach chair, a book lying in her lap, its pages whippedby the breeze. And there was Moreton, who must be proving something ofa handful, since he had fought with the French boys on the beach andthrown a "rock" through the windows of the Buffon family. I remember oneof his letters--made perfect after much correcting and scratching, --inwhich he denounced both France and the French, and appealed to meto come over at once to take him home. Maude had enclosed it withoutcomment. This letter had not been written under duress, as most of hiswere. 

Matthew's letters--he wrote faithfully once a week--I kept in a littlepile by themselves and sometimes reread them. I wondered whether itwere because of the fact that I was his father--though a most inadequateone--that I thought them somewhat unusual. He had learned French--Maudewrote--with remarkable ease. I was particularly struck in these letterswith the boy's power of observation, with his facile use of language, with the vivid simplicity of his descriptions of the life around him, ofhis experiences at school. The letters were thoughtful--not dashed offin a hurry; they gave evidence in every line of the delicacy of feelingthat was, I think, his most appealing quality, and I put them down withthe impression strong on me that he, too, longed to return home, butwould not say so. There was a certain pathos in this youthful restraintthat never failed to touch me, even in those times when I had been mostobsessed with love and passion. .. . The curious effect of these letterswas that of knowing more than they expressed. He missed me, he wished toknow when I was coming over. And I was sometimes at a loss whether to begrateful to Maude or troubled because she had as yet given him no hintof our separation. What effect would it have on him when it should berevealed to him?. .. It was through Matthew I began to apprehend certainelements in Maude I had both failed to note and appreciate; her littlemannerisms that jarred, her habits of thought that exasperated, wereforgotten, and I was forced to confess that there was something fine inthe achievement of this attitude of hers that was without ill will orresentment, that tacitly acknowledged my continued rights and interestin the children. It puzzled and troubled me. 

The Citizens Union began its campaign early that autumn, long beforethe Hons. Jonathan Parks and Timothy MacGuire--Republican and Democraticcandidates for Mayor--thought of going on the stump. For several weeksthe meetings were held in the small halls and club rooms of varioussocieties and orders in obscure portions of the city. 

The forces of "privilege and corruption" were not much alarmed. PerryBlackwood accused the newspapers of having agreed to a "conspiracy ofsilence"; but, as Judah B. Tallant remarked, it was the business of thepress to give the public what it wanted, and the public as yet hadn'tshown much interest in the struggle being waged in its behalf. When themeetings began to fill up it would be time to report them in the columnsof the Era. Meanwhile, however, the city had been quietly visited byan enterprising representative of a New York periodical of the newtype that developed with the opening years of the century--one making aspecialty of passionate "muck-raking. " And since the people of Americalove nothing better than being startled, Yardley's Weekly had acquireda circulation truly fabulous. The emissary of the paper had attendedseveral of the Citizens meetings; interviewed, it seemed, manypersons: the result was a revelation to make the blood of politicians, capitalists and corporation lawyers run cold. I remember very well theday it appeared on our news stands, and the heated denunciations itevoked at the Boyne Club. Ralph Hambleton was the only one who took itcalmly, who seemed to derive a certain enjoyment from the affair. Hadhe been a less privileged person, they would have put him in chancery. Leonard Dickinson asserted that Yardley's should be sued for libel. 

"There's just one objection to that, " said Ralph. 

"What?" asked the banker. 

"It isn't libel. "

"I defy them to prove it, " Dickinson snapped. "It's a d--d outrage!There isn't a city or village in the country that hasn't exactly thesame conditions. There isn't any other way to run a city--"

"That's what Mr. Krebs says, " Ralph replied, "that the people ought toput Judd Jason officially in charge. He tells 'em that Jason is probablya more efficient man than Democracy will be able to evolve in a coon'sage, that we ought to take him over, instead of letting the capitalistshave him. "

"Did Krebs say that?" Dickinson demanded. 

"You can't have read the article very thoroughly, Leonard, " Ralphcommented. "I'm afraid you only picked out the part of it thatcompliments you. This fellow seems to have been struck by Krebs, sayshe's a coming man, that he's making original contributions to thepeople's cause. Quite a tribute. You ought to read it. "

Dickinson, who had finished his lunch, got up and left the table afterlighting his cigar. Ralph's look followed him amusedly. 

"I'm afraid it's time to cash in and be good, " he observed. 

"We'll get that fellow Krebs yet, " said Grierson, wrathfully. MillerGorse alone made no remarks, but in spite of his silence he emanated ananimosity against reform and reformers that seemed to charge the veryatmosphere, and would have repressed any man but Ralph. .. . 

I sat in my room at the Club that night and reread the article, and ifits author could have looked into my soul and observed the emotions hehad set up, he would, no doubt, have experienced a grim satisfaction. For I, too, had come in for a share of the comment. Portions of thematter referring to me stuck in my brain like tar, such as the referenceto my father, to the honoured traditions of the Parets and the Breckswhich I had deliberately repudiated. I had less excuse than many others. The part I had played in various reprehensible transactions such as theRiverside Franchise and the dummy telephone company affair was dweltupon, and I was dismissed with the laconic comment that I was a graduateof Harvard. .. . 

My associates and myself were referred to collectively as a "gang, " withthe name of our city prefixed; we were linked up with and compared tothe gangs of other cities--the terminology used to describe us beingthat of the police reporter. We "operated, " like burglars; we "looted":only, it was intimated in one place, "second-story men" were angelscompared to us, who had never seen the inside of a penitentiary. Herewe were, all arraigned before the bar of public opinion, the relentlessDickinson, the surfeited Scherer, the rapacious Grierson, the salaciousTallant. I have forgotten what Miller Gorse was called; nothing soclassic as a Minotaur; Judd Jason was a hairy spider who spread his netand lurked in darkness for his victims. Every adjective was called uponto do its duty. .. . Even Theodore Watling did not escape, but it wasintimated that he would be dealt with in another connection in a futurenumber. 

The article had a crude and terrifying power, and the pain it aroused, following almost immediately upon the suffering caused by my separationfrom Nancy, was cumulative in character and effect, seeming actively toreenforce the unwelcome conviction I had been striving to suppress, thatthe world, which had long seemed so acquiescent in conforming itself tomy desires, was turning against me. 

Though my hunger for Nancy was still gnawing, I had begun to fear that Ishould never get her now; and the fact that she would not even write tome seemed to confirm this. 

Then there was Matthew--I could not bear to think that he would everread that article. 

In vain I tried that night to belittle to myself its contentions andprobable results, to summon up the heart to fight; in vain I sought toreconstruct the point of view, to gain something of that renewed hopeand power, of devotion to a cause I had carried away from Washingtonafter my talk with Theodore Watling. He, though stricken, had notwavered in his faith. Why should I?

Whether or not as the result of the article in Yardley's, which had beenread more or less widely in the city, the campaign of the Citizens Uniongained ground, and people began to fill the little halls to hear Krebs, who was a candidate for district attorney. Evidently he was entertainingand rousing them, for his reputation spread, and some of the largerhalls were hired. Dickinson and Gorse became alarmed, and one morningthe banker turned up at the Club while I was eating my breakfast. 

"Look here, Hugh, " he said, "we may as well face the fact that we've gota fight ahead of us, --we'll have to start some sort of a back-fire rightaway. "

"You think Greenhalge has a chance of being elected?" I asked. 

"I'm not afraid of Greenhalge, but of this fellow Krebs. We can't affordto have him district attorney, to let a demagogue like him get a start. The men the Republicans and Democrats have nominated are worse thanuseless. Parks is no good, and neither is MacGuire. If only we couldhave foreseen this thing we might have had better candidates put up--butthere's no use crying over spilt milk. You'll have to go on the stump, Hugh--that's all there is to it. You can answer him, and the newspaperswill print your speeches in full. Besides it will help you when it comesto the senatorship. "

The mood of extreme dejection that had followed the appearance of thearticle in Yardley's did not last. I had acquired aggressiveness: anaggressiveness, however, differing in quality from the feeling I oncewould have had, --for this arose from resentment, not from belief. Itwas impossible to live in the atmosphere created by the men with whom Iassociated--especially at such a time--without imbibing something ofthe emotions animating them, --even though I had been free from theseemotions myself. I, too, had begun to be filled with a desire forrevenge; and when this desire was upon me I did not have in my mind apack of reformers, or even the writer of the article in Yardley's. Ithought of Hermann Krebs. He was my persecutor; it seemed to me that healways had been. .. . 

"Well, I'll make speeches if you like, " I said to Dickinson. 

"I'm glad, " he replied. "We're all agreed, Gorse and the rest of us, that you ought to. We've got to get some ginger into this fight, and agood deal more money, I'm afraid. Jason sends word we'll need more. Bythe way, Hugh, I wish you'd drop around and talk to Jason and get hisidea of how the land lies. "

I went, this time in the company of Judah B. Tallant. Naturally wedidn't expect to see Mr. Jason perturbed, nor was he. He seemed to be inan odd, rather exultant mood--if he can be imagined as exultant. We werenot long in finding out what pleased him--nothing less than the factthat Mr. Krebs had proposed him for mayor!

"D--d if I wouldn't make a good one, too, " he said. "D--d if I wouldn'tshow 'em what a real mayor is!"

"I guess there's no danger of your ever being mayor, Judd, " Tallantobserved, with a somewhat uneasy jocularity. 

"I guess there isn't, Judah, " replied the boss, quickly, but with apeculiar violet flash in his eyes. "They won't ever make you mayor, either, if I can help it. And I've a notion I can. I'd rather see Krebsmayor. "

"You don't think he meant to propose you seriously, " Tallant exclaimed. 

"I'm not a d--d fool, " said the boss. "But I'll say this, that he halfmeant it. Krebs has a head-piece on him, and I tell you if any of thisreform dope is worth anything his is. There's some sense in what he'stalking, and if all the voters was like him you might get a man like mefor mayor. But they're not, and I guess they never will be. "

"Sure, " said Mr. Jason. "The people are dotty--there ain't one in tenthousand understands what he's driving at when he gets off things likethat. They take it on the level. "

Tallant reflected. 

"By gum, I believe you're right, " he said. "You think they will blowup?" he added. 

"Krebs is the whole show, I tell you. They wouldn't be anywhere withouthim. The yaps that listen to him don't understand him, but somehow hegets under their skins. Have you seen him lately?"

"Never saw him, " replied Tallant. 

"Well, if you had, you'd know he was a sick man. "

"Sick!" I exclaimed. "How do you know?"

"It's my business to know things, " said Judd Jason, and added toTallant, "that your reporters don't find out. "

"What's the matter with him?" Tallant demanded. A slight exultation inhis tone did not escape me. 

"You've got me there, " said Jason, "but I have it pretty straight. Anyone of your reporters will tell you that he looks sick. ". .. . 

The Era took Mr. Jason's advice and began to publish those portions ofKrebs's speeches that were seemingly detrimental to his own cause. Otherconservative newspapers followed suit. .. . 

Both Tallant and I were surprised to hear these sentiments out of themouth of Mr. Jason. 

"You don't think that crowd's going to win, do you?" asked the owner ofthe Era, a trifle uneasily. 

"Win!" exclaimed the boss contemptuously. "They'll blow up, and you'llnever hear of 'em. I'm not saying we won't need a little--powder, " headded--which was one of the matters we had come to talk about. Hegave us likewise a very accurate idea of the state of the campaign, mentioning certain things that ought to be done. "You ought to printsome of Krebs's speeches, Judah, like what he said about me. They'retalking it all around that you're afraid to. "

"Print things like his proposal to make you mayor!"

The information that I was to enter the lists against Krebs was receivedwith satisfaction and approval by those of our friends who were calledin to assist at a council of war in the directors' room of the CornNational Bank. I was flattered by the confidence these men seemed tohave in my ability. All were in a state of anger against the reformers;none of them seriously alarmed as to the actual outcome of thecampaign, --especially when I had given them the opinion of Mr. Jason. What disturbed them was the possible effect upon the future of thespread of heretical, socialistic doctrines, and it was decided toorganize a publicity bureau, independently of the two dominant politicalparties, to be in charge of a certain New York journalist who made abusiness of such affairs, who was to be paid a sum commensurate with theemergency. He was to have carte blanche, even in the editorial columnsof our newspapers. He was also to flood the city with "literature. " Wehad fought many wars before this, and we planned our campaign preciselyas though we were dealing with one of those rebellions in the realm offinance of which I have given an instance. But now the war chest of ouropponents was negligible; and we were comforted by the thought that, however disagreeable the affair might be while it lasted, in the longrun capital was invincible. 

Before setting to work to prepare my speeches it was necessary to makean attempt to familiarize myself with the seemingly unprecedentedline of argument Krebs had evolved--apparently as disconcerting to hisfriends as to his opponents. It occurred to me, since I did not careto attend Krebs's meetings, to ask my confidential stenographer, Miss McCoy, to go to Turner's Hall and take down one of his speechesverbatim. Miss McCoy had never intruded on me her own views, and I tookfor granted that they coincided with my own. 

"I'd like to get an accurate record of what he is saying, " I told her. "Do you mind going?"

"No, I'll be glad to go, Mr. Paret, " she said quietly. 

"He's doing more harm than we thought, " I remarked, after a moment. "I've known him for a good many years. He's clever. He's sowing seedsof discontent, starting trouble that will be very serious unless it isheaded off. "

Miss McCoy made no comment. .. . 

Before noon the next day she brought in the speech, neatly typewritten, and laid it on my desk. Looking up and catching her eye just as she wasabout to withdraw, I was suddenly impelled to ask:--"Well, what did youthink of it?"

She actually flushed, for the first time in my dealings with herbetraying a feeling which I am sure she deemed most unprofessional. 

"I liked it, Mr. Paret, " she replied simply, and I knew that she hadunderstated. It was quite apparent that Krebs had captivated her. Itried not to betray my annoyance. 

"Was there a good audience?" I asked. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"How many do you think?"

She hesitated. 

"It isn't a very large hall, you know. I should say it would hold abouteight hundred people. "

"And--it was full?"--I persisted. 

"Oh, yes, there were numbers of people standing. "

I thought I detected in her tone-although it was not apologetic--adesire to spare my feelings. She hesitated a moment more, and then leftthe room, closing the door softly behind her. .. 

Presently I took up the pages and began to read. The language was simpleand direct, an appeal to common sense, yet the words strangely seemedcharged with an emotional power that I found myself resisting. When atlength I laid down the sheets I wondered whether it were imagination, or the uncomfortable result of memories of conversations I had had withhim. 

I was, however, confronted with the task of refuting his arguments: butwith exasperating ingenuity, he seemed to have taken the wind out of oursails. It is difficult to answer a man who denies the cardinal principleof American democracy, --that a good mayor or a governor may be madeout of a dog-catcher. He called this the Cincinnatus theory: that anyAmerican, because he was an American, was fit for any job in the giftof state or city or government, from sheriff to Ambassador to GreatBritain. Krebs substituted for this fallacy what may be called thedoctrine of potentiality. If we inaugurated and developed a system ofdemocratic education, based on scientific principles, and caught thedog-catcher, young enough, he might become a statesman or thinker orscientist and make his contribution to the welfare and progress of thenation: again, he might not; but he would have had his chance, he wouldnot be in a position to complain. 

Here was a doctrine, I immediately perceived, which it would be suicidalto attempt to refute. It ought, indeed, to have been my line. With agrowing distaste I began to realize that all there was left for me wasto flatter a populace that Krebs, paradoxically, belaboured. Never inthe history of American "uplift" had an electorate been in this mannerwooed! upbraided for expediency, a proneness to demand immediateresults, an unwillingness to think, yes, and an inability to thinkstraight. Such an electorate deserved to be led around by the nose bythe Jasons and Dickinsons, the Gorses and the Griersons and the Parets. 

Yes, he had mentioned me. That gave me a queer sensation. How is oneto handle an opponent who praises one with a delightful irony? We, theDickinsons, Griersons, Parets, Jasons, etc. , had this virtue at least, and it was by no means the least of the virtues, --that we did think. We had a plan, a theory of government, and we carried it out. He wasinclined to believe that morality consisted largely, if not wholly, inclear thinking, and not in the precepts of the Sunday-school. That wasthe trouble with the so-called "reform" campaigns, they were conductedon lines of Sunday-school morality; the people worked themselves up intoa sort of revivalist frenzy, an emotional state which, if the truth weretold, was thoroughly immoral, unreasonable and hypocritical: like allfrenzies, as a matter of course it died down after the campaign wasover. Moreover, the American people had shown that they were unwillingto make any sacrifices for the permanent betterment of conditions, andas soon as their incomes began to fall off they turned again to thebosses and capitalists like an abject flock of sheep. 

He went on to explain that he wasn't referring now to that part of theelectorate known as the labour element, the men who worked withtheir hands in mills, factories, etc. They had their faults, yet theypossessed at least the virtue of solidarity, a willingness to undergosacrifices in order to advance the standard of conditions; they toohad a tenacity of purpose and a plan, such as it was, which the smallbusiness men, the clerks lacked. .. . 

We must wake up to the fact that we shouldn't get Utopia by turning outMr. Jason and the highly efficient gentlemen who hired and financed him. It wasn't so simple as that. Utopia was not an achievement afterall, but an undertaking, a state of mind, the continued overcoming ofresistance by a progressive education and effort. And all this talk ofpolitical and financial "wickedness" was rubbish; the wickedness theycomplained of did not reside merely in individuals it was a socialdisorder, or rather an order that no longer suited social conditions. If the so-called good citizens would take the trouble to educatethemselves, to think instead of allowing their thinking to be done forthem they would see that the "evils" which had been published broadcastwere merely the symptoms of that disease which had come upon the socialbody through their collective neglect and indifference. They heldup their hands in horror at the spectacle of a commercial, licensedprostitution, they shunned the prostitute and the criminal; but therewas none of us, if honest, who would not exclaim when he saw them, "there, but for the Grace of God, go I!" What we still called "sin" waslargely the result of lack of opportunity, and the active principleof society as at present organized tended more and more to restrictopportunity. Lack of opportunity, lack of proper nutrition, --these madesinners by the wholesale; made, too, nine-tenths of the inefficient ofwhom we self-righteously complained. We had a national philosophy thatmeasured prosperity in dollars and cents, included in this measurementthe profits of liquor dealers who were responsible for most of ouridiots. So long as we set our hearts on that kind of prosperity, so longas we failed to grasp the simple and practical fact that the greatestassets of a nation are healthy and sane and educated, clear-thinkinghuman beings, just so long was prostitution logical, RiversideFranchises, traction deals, Judd Jasons, and the respectable gentlemenwho continued to fill their coffers out of the public purse inevitable. 

The speaker turned his attention to the "respectable gentlemen" with thefull coffers, amongst whom I was by implication included. We had simplysucceeded under the rules to which society tacitly agreed. That was oursin. He ventured to say that there were few men in the hall who at thebottom of their hearts did not envy and even honour our success. He, forone, did not deem these "respectable gentlemen" utterly reprehensible;he was sufficiently emancipated to be sorry for us. He suspected that wewere not wholly happy in being winners in such a game, --he even believedthat we could wish as much as any others to change the game andthe prizes. What we represented was valuable energy misdirected andmisplaced, and in a reorganized community he would not abolish us, buttransform us: transform, at least, the individuals of our type, who werethe builders gone wrong under the influence of an outworn philosophy. We might be made to serve the city and the state with the sameeffectiveness that we had served ourselves. 

If the best among the scientists, among the university professors andphysicians were willing to labour--and they were--for the advancementof humanity, for the very love of the work and service withoutdisproportionate emoluments, without the accumulation of a wealthdifficult to spend, why surely these big business men had been mouldedin infancy from no different clay! All were Americans. Instance afterinstance might be cited of business men and lawyers of ability makingsacrifices, giving up their personal affairs in order to take places ofhonour in the government in which the salary was comparatively small, proving that even these were open to inducements other than merelymercenary ones. 

It was unfortunate, he went on, but true, that the vast majority ofpeople of voting age in the United States to-day who thought they hadbeen educated were under the obligation to reeducate themselves. He suggested, whimsically, a vacation school for Congress and alllegislative bodies as a starter. Until the fact of the utter inadequacyof the old education were faced, there was little or no hope of solvingthe problems that harassed us. One thing was certain--that they couldn'tbe solved by a rule-of-thumb morality. Coincident with the appearanceof these new and mighty problems, perhaps in response to them, a new andsaner view of life itself was being developed by the world's thinkers, new sciences were being evolved, correlated sciences; a psychologymaking a truer analysis of human motives, impulses, of humanpossibilities; an economics and a theory of government that took accountof this psychology, and of the vast changes applied science had made inproduction and distribution. We lived in a new world, which we soughtto ignore; and the new education, the new viewpoint was in truth nothingbut religion made practical. It had never been thought practical before. The motive that compelled men to work for humanity in science, inmedicine, in art--yes, and in business, if we took the right view ofit, was the religious motive. The application of religion was to-dayextending from the individual to society. No religion that did not fillthe needs of both was a true religion. 

This meant the development of a new culture, one to be founded on theAmerican tradition of equality of opportunity. But culture was nota weed that grew overnight; it was a leaven that spread slowly andpainfully, first inoculating a few who suffered and often died for it, that it might gradually affect the many. The spread of culture impliedthe recognition of leadership: democratic leadership, but stillleadership. Leadership, and the wisdom it implied, did not reside in thepeople, but in the leaders who sprang from the people and interpretedtheir needs and longings. .. . He went on to discuss a part of theprogramme of the Citizens Union. .. . 

What struck me, as I laid down the typewritten sheets, was theextraordinary resemblance between the philosophies of Hermann Krebsand Theodore Watling. Only--Krebs's philosophy was the bigger, heldthe greater vision of the two; I had reluctantly and rather bitterly toadmit it. The appeal of it had even reached and stirred me, whose taskwas to refute it! Here indeed was something to fight for--perhaps to diefor, as he had said: and as I sat there in my office gazing out of thewindow I found myself repeating certain phrases he had used--the phraseabout leadership, for instance. It was a tremendous conceptionof Democracy, that of acquiescence to developed leadership maderesponsible; a conception I was compelled to confess transcended Mr. Watling's, loyal as I was to him. .. . I began to reflect how novel allthis was in a political speech--although what I have quoted was in thenature of a preamble. It was a sermon, an educational sermon. Well, that is what sermons always had been, --and even now pretended tobe, --educational and stirring, appealing to the emotions through theintellect. It didn't read like the Socialism he used to preach, it hadthe ring of religion. He had called it religion. 

With an effort of the will I turned from this ironical and dangerousvision of a Hugh Paret who might have been enlisted in an inspiringstruggle, of a modern yet unregenerate Saul kicking against the pricks, condemned to go forth breathing fire against a doctrine that made a trueappeal; against the man I believed I hated just because he had made thisappeal. In the act of summoning my counter-arguments I was interruptedby the entrance of Grierson. He was calling on a matter of business, butbegan to talk about the extracts from Krebs's speech he had read in theMail and State. 

"What in hell is this fellow driving at, Paret?" he demanded. "It soundsto me like the ranting of a lunatic dervish. If he thinks so much of us, and the way we run the town, what's he squawking about?"

I looked at Grierson, and conceived an intense aversion for him. Iwondered how I had ever been able to stand him, to work with him. I sawhim in a sudden flash as a cunning, cruel bird of prey, a gorged, drabvulture with beady eyes, a resemblance so extraordinary that I wonderedI had never remarked it before. For he had the hooked vulture nose, while the pink baldness of his head was relieved by a few scanty tuftsof hair. 

"The people seem to like what he's got to say, " I observed. 

"It beats me, " said Grierson. "They don't understand a quarter ofit--I've been talking to some of 'em. It's their d--d curiosity, Iguess. You know how they'll stand for hours around a street fakir. "

"It's more than that, " I retorted. 

Grierson regarded me piercingly. 

"Well, we'll put a crimp in him, all right, " he said, with a laugh. 

I was in an unenviable state of mind when he left me. I had an impulseto send for Miss McCoy and ask her if she had understood what Krebs was"driving at, " but for reasons that must be fairly obvious I refrained. I read over again that part of Krebs's speech which dealt with theimmediate programme of the Citizens Union. After paying a tribute toGreenhalge as a man of common sense and dependability who would make agood mayor, he went on to explain the principle of the new charter theyhoped ultimately to get, which should put the management of the cityin the hands of one man, an expert employed by a commission; an expertwhose duty it would be to conduct the affairs of the city on a businessbasis, precisely as those of any efficient corporation were conducted. This plan had already been adopted, with encouraging results, inseveral smaller cities of the country. He explained in some detail, with statistics, the waste and inefficiency and dishonesty in variousdepartments under the present system, dwelling particularly upon thedeplorable state of affairs in the city hospital. 

I need not dwell upon this portion of his remarks. Since then text-booksand serious periodicals have dealt with these matters thoroughly. Theyare now familiar to all thinking Americans. 

XXV. 

My entrance into the campaign was accompanied by a blare of publicity, and during that fortnight I never picked up a morning or eveningnewspaper without reading, on the first page, some such headline as"Crowds flock to hear Paret. " As a matter of fact, the crowds did flock;but I never quite knew as I looked down from platforms on seas of faceshow much of the flocking was spontaneous. Much of it was so, since thestruggle had then become sufficiently dramatic to appeal to the largerpublic imagination that is but occasionally waked; on the otherhand, the magic of advertising cannot be underestimated; nor mustthe existence be ignored of an organized corps of shepherds under thevigilant direction of Mr. Judd Jason, whose duty it was to see that noneof our meetings was lacking in numbers and enthusiasm. There was alwaysa demonstrative gathering overflowing the sidewalk in front of theentrance, swaying and cheering in the light of the street lamps, and onthe floor within an ample scattering of suspiciously bleary-eyed votersto start the stamping and applauding. In spite of these known facts, theimpression of popularity, of repudiation of reform by a large majorityof level-headed inhabitants had reassuring and reenforcing effects. 

Astute citizens, spectators of the fray--if indeed there were any--mighthave remarked an unique and significant feature of that campaign: thatthe usual recriminations between the two great parties were lacking. Mr. Parks, the Republican candidate, did not denounce Mr. MacGuire, theDemocratic candidate. Republican and Democratic speakers alike expendedtheir breath in lashing Mr. Krebs and the Citizens Union. 

It is difficult to record the fluctuations of my spirit. When I was inthe halls, speaking or waiting to speak, I reacted to that phenomenonknown as mob psychology, I became self-confident, even exhilarated; andin those earlier speeches I managed, I think, to strike the note forwhich I strove--the judicial note, suitable to a lawyer of weight andprominence, of deprecation rather than denunciation. I sought to embodyand voice a fine and calm sanity at a time when everyone else seemed indanger of losing their heads, and to a large extent achieved it. I hadknown Mr. Krebs for more than twenty years, and while I did not care tocriticise a fellow-member of the bar, I would go so far as to say thathe was visionary, that the changes he proposed in government would, if adopted, have grave and far-reaching results: we could not, forinstance, support in idleness those who refused to do their share of thework of the world. Mr. Krebs was well-meaning. I refrained from dwellingtoo long upon him, passing to Mr. Greenhalge, also well-meaning, buta man of mediocre ability who would make a mess of the government of acity which would one day rival New York and Chicago. (Loud cheers. ) AndI pointed out that Mr. Perry Blackwood had been unable to manage theaffairs of the Boyne Street road. Such men, well-intentioned thoughthey might be, were hindrances to progress. This led me naturally to adiscussion of the Riverside Franchise and the Traction Consolidation. Iwas one of those whose honesty and good faith had been arraigned, but Iwould not stoop to refute the accusations. I dwelt upon the benefitsto the city, uniform service, electricity and large comfortable carsinstead of rattletrap conveyances, and the development of a largeand growing population in the Riverside neighbourhood: the continualextension of lines to suburban districts that enabled hard-worked mento live out of the smoke: I called attention to the system of transfers, the distance a passenger might be conveyed, and conveyed quickly, forthe sum of five cents. I spoke of our capitalists as men more sinnedagainst than sinning. Their money was always at the service ofenterprises tending to the development of our metropolis. 

When I was not in the meetings, however, and especially when in my roomat night, I was continually trying to fight off a sense of lonelinessthat seemed to threaten to overwhelm me. I wanted to be alone, and yetI feared to be. I was aware, in spite of their congratulations on myefforts, of a growing dislike for my associates; and in the appallingemptiness of the moments when my depression was greatest I was forced tothe realization that I had no disinterested friend--not one--in whom Icould confide. Nancy had failed me; I had scarcely seen Tom Peters thatwinter, and it was out of the question to go to him. For the third timein my life, and in the greatest crisis of all, I was feeling the need ofSomething, of some sustaining and impelling Power that must be presentedhumanly, possessing sympathy and understanding and love. .. . I think Ihad a glimpse just a pathetic glimpse--of what the Church might be ofhuman solidarity, comfort and support, of human tolerance, if strippedof the superstition of an ancient science. My tortures weren't of theflesh, but of the mind. My mind was the sheep which had gone astray. Wasthere no such thing, could there be no such thing as a human associationthat might at the same time be a divine organism, a fold and a refugefor the lost and divided minds? The source of all this trouble wassocial. .. . 

Then toward the end of that last campaign week, madness suddenly cameupon me. I know now how near the breaking point I was, but the immediatecause of my "flying to pieces"--to use a vivid expression--was a speechmade by Guptill, one of the Citizens Union candidates for alderman, ayoung man of a radical type not uncommon in these days, though new tomy experience: an educated man in the ultra-radical sense, yet lackingpoise and perspective, with a certain brilliance and assurance. He was ajournalist, a correspondent of some Eastern newspapers and periodicals. In this speech, which was reported to me--for it did not get into thenewspapers--I was the particular object of his attack. Men of my kind, and not the Judd Jasons (for whom there was some excuse) were theleast dispensable tools of the capitalists, the greatest menace tocivilization. We were absolutely lacking in principle, we were ready atany time to besmirch our profession by legalizing steals; we fouled ournests with dirty fees. Not all that he said was vituperation, for heknew something of the modern theory of the law that legal radicals hadbegun to proclaim, and even to teach in some tolerant universities. 

The next night, in the middle of a prepared speech I was delivering toa large crowd in Kingdom Hall there had been jeers from a group ina corner at some assertion I made. Guptill's accusations had beenfestering in my mind. The faces of the people grew blurred as I feltanger boiling, rising within me; suddenly my control gave way, and Ilaunched forth into a denunciation of Greenhalge, Krebs, Guptill andeven of Perry Blackwood that must have been without license or bounds. Ican recall only fragments of my remarks: Greenhalge wanted to be mayor, and was willing to put the stigma of slander on his native city in orderto gain his ambition; Krebs had made a failure of his profession, ofeverything save in bringing shame on the place of his adoption; and onthe single occasion heretofore when he had been before the public, inthe School Board fiasco, the officials indicted on his supposed evidencehad triumphantly been vindicated--, Guptill was gaining money andnotoriety out of his spleen; Perry Blackwood was acting out of spite. .. . I returned to Krebs, declaring that he would be the boss of the city ifthat ticket were elected, demanding whether they wished for a boss anagitator itching for power and recognition. .. . 

I was conscious at the moment only of a wild relief and joy in lettingmyself go, feelings heightened by the clapping and cheers with which mycharacterizations were received. The fact that the cheers were mingledwith hisses merely served to drive me on. At length, when I had returnedto Krebs, the hisses were redoubled, angering me the more because of theevidence they gave of friends of his in my audiences. Perhaps I had madesome of these friends for him! A voice shouted out above the uproar:--"Iknow about Krebs. He's a d--d sight better man than you. " And thisstarted a struggle in a corner of the hall. .. . I managed, somehow, whenthe commotion had subsided, to regain my poise, and ended by utteringthe conviction that the common sense of the community would repudiatethe Citizens Union and all it stood for. .. . 

But that night, as I lay awake listening to the street noises andstaring at the glint from a street lamp on the brass knob of mybedstead, I knew that I had failed. I had committed the supremeviolation of the self that leads inevitably to its final dissolution. .. . Even the exuberant headlines of the newspapers handed me by the clubservant in the morning brought but little relief. 

On the Saturday morning before the Tuesday of election there was aconference in the directors' room of the Corn National. The city reekedwith smoke and acrid, stale gas, the electric lights were turned onto dispel the November gloom. It was not a cheerful conference, nor aconfident one. For the first time in a collective experience the mengathered there were confronted with a situation which they doubted theirability to control, a situation for which there was no precedent. They had to reckon with a new and unsolvable equation in politics andfinance, --the independent voter. There was an element of desperation inthe discussion. Recriminations passed. Dickinson implied that Gorsewith all his knowledge of political affairs ought to have foreseen thatsomething like this was sure to happen, should have managed better theconventions of both great parties. The railroad counsel retorted that ithad been as much Dickinson's fault as his. Grierson expressed aregret that I had broken out against the reformers; it had reacted, hesaid, --and this was just enough to sting me to retaliate that things hadbeen done in the campaign, chiefly through his initiative, that were notonly unwise, but might land some of us in the penitentiary if Krebs wereelected. 

"Well, " Grierson exclaimed, "whether he's elected or not, I wouldn'tgive much now for your chances of getting to the Senate. We can't affordto fly in the face of the dear public. "

A tense silence followed this remark. In the street below the rumble ofthe traffic came to us muffled by the heavy plate-glass windows. I sawTallant glance at Gorse and Dickinson, and I knew the matter had beendecided between themselves, that they had been merely withholding itfrom me until after election. I was besmirched, for the present atleast. 

"I think you will do me the justice, gentlemen, " I remember sayingslowly, with the excessive and rather ridiculous formality of a man whois near the end of his tether, "that the idea of representing you inthe Senate was yours, not mine. You begged me to take the appointmentagainst my wishes and my judgment. I had no desire to go to Washingtonthen, I have less to-day. I have come to the conclusion that myusefulness to you is at an end. "

I got to my feet. I beheld Miller Gorse sitting impassive, withhis encompassing stare, the strongest man of them all. A change offirmaments would not move him. But Dickinson had risen and put his handon my shoulder. It was the first time I had ever seen him white. 

"Hold on, Hugh, " he exclaimed, "I guess we're all a little cantankeroustoday. This confounded campaign has got on our nerves, and we say thingswe don't mean. You mustn't think we're not grateful for the servicesyou've rendered us. We're all in the same boat, and there isn't a manwho's been on our side of this fight who could take a political officeat this time. We've got to face that fact, and I know you have the senseto see it, too. I, for one, won't be satisfied until I see you inthe Senate. It's where you belong, and you deserve to be there. Youunderstand what the public is, how it blows hot and cold, and in a fewyears they'll be howling to get us back, if these demagogues win. 

"Sure, " chimed in Grierson, who was frightened, "that's right, Hugh. Ididn't mean anything. Nobody appreciates you more than I do, old man. "

Tallant, too, added something, and Berringer, --I've forgotten what. Iwas tired, too tired to meet their advances halfway. I said that I had aspeech to get ready for that night, and other affairs to attend to, and left them grouped together like crestfallen conspirators--all saveMiller Gorse, whose pervasive gaze seemed to follow me after I hadclosed the door. 

An elevator took me down to the lobby of the Corn Bank Building. I paused for a moment, aimlessly regarding the streams of humanityhurrying in and out, streaking the white marble floor with the wetfilth of the streets. Someone spoke my name. It was Bitter, Judd Jason's"legal" tool, and I permitted myself to be dragged out of the eddiesinto a quiet corner by the cigar stand. 

"Say, I guess we've got Krebs's goat all right, this time, " he told meconfidentially, in a voice a little above a whisper; "he was busy withthe shirt-waist girls last year, you remember, when they were striking. Well, one of 'em, one of the strike leaders, has taken to easy street;she's agreed to send him a letter to-night to come 'round to her roomafter his meeting, to say that she's sick and wants to see him. He'llgo, all right. We'll have some fun, we'll be ready for him. Do you getme? So long. The old man's waiting for me. "

It may seem odd that this piece of information did not produce animmediately revolting effect. I knew that similar practices had beentried on Krebs, but this was the first time I had heard of a definiteplan, and from a man like Bitter. As I made my way out of the buildingI had, indeed, a nauseated feeling; Jason's "lawyer" was a dirty littleman, smelling of stale cigars, with a blue-black, unshaven face. Inspite of the shocking nature of his confidence, he had actually notsucceeded in deflecting the current of my thoughts; these were stillrunning over the scene in the directors' room. I had listened to himpassively while he had held my buttonhole, and he had detained me but aninstant. 

When I reached the street I was wondering whether Gorse and Dickinsonand the others, Grierson especially, could possibly have entertained thebelief that I would turn traitor? I told myself that I had no intentionof this. How could I turn traitor? and what would be the object?revenge? The nauseated feeling grew more acute. .. . Reaching my office, I shut the door, sat down at my desk, summoned my will, and began tojot down random notes for the part of my speech I was to give thenewspapers, notes that were mere silly fragments of arguments I had oncethought effective. I could no more concentrate on them than I could havewritten a poem. Gradually, like the smoke that settled down on our cityuntil we lived in darkness at midday, the horror of what Bitter had toldme began to pervade my mind, until I was in a state of terror. 

Had I, Hugh Paret, fallen to this, that I could stand by consenting toan act which was worse than assassination? Was any cause worth it? Couldany cause survive it? But my attempts at reasoning might be likened tothe strainings of a wayfarer lost on a mountain side to pick his way inthe gathering dusk. I had just that desperate feeling of being lost, andwith it went an acute sense of an imminent danger; the ground, no longerfirm under my feet, had become a sliding shale sloping toward an unseenprecipice. Perhaps, like the wayfarer, my fears were the sharper for thememory of the beauty of the morning on that same mountain, when, filledwith vigour, I had gazed on it from the plain below and beheld the sunbreaking through the mists. .. . 

The necessity of taking some action to avert what I now realized asan infamy pressed upon me, yet in conflict with the pressure of thisnecessity there persisted that old rebellion, that bitterness whichhad been growing all these years against the man who, above all others, seemed to me to represent the forces setting at nought my achievements, bringing me to this pass. .. . 

I thought of appealing to Leonard Dickinson, who surely, if he knew ofit, would not permit this thing to be done; and he was the only man withthe possible exception of Miller Gorse who might be able to restrainJudd Jason. But I delayed until after the luncheon hour, when I calledup the bank on the telephone, to discover that it was closed. I hadforgotten that the day was Saturday. I was prepared to say that I wouldwithdraw from the campaign, warn Krebs myself if this kind of tacticswere not suppressed. But I could not get the banker. Then I began tohave doubts of Dickinson's power in the matter. Judd Jason had neverbeen tractable, by any means; he had always maintained a considerableindependence of the financial powers, and to-day not only financialcontrol, but the dominance of Jason himself was at stake. He would fightfor it to the last ditch, and make use of any means. No, it was ofno use to appeal to him. What then? Well, there was a reaction, or anattempt at one. Krebs had not been born yesterday, he had avoided thewiles of the politicians heretofore, he wouldn't be fool enough to betaken in now. I told myself that if I were not in a state bordering ona nervous breakdown, I should laugh at such morbid fears, I steadiedmyself sufficiently to dictate the extract from my speech that was to bepublished. I was to make addresses at two halls, alternating with Parks, the mayoralty candidate. At four o'clock I went back to my room in theClub to try to get some rest. .. . 

Seddon's Hall, the place of my first meeting, was jammed that Saturdaynight. I went through my speech automatically, as in a dream, the habitof long years asserting itself. And yet--so I was told afterwards--mydelivery was not mechanical, and I actually achieved more emphasis, gavea greater impression of conviction than at any time since the nightI had lost my control and violently denounced the reformers. By someastonishing subconscious process I had regained my manner, but theapplause came to me as from a distance. Not only was my mind not there;it did not seem to be anywhere. I was dazed, nor did I feel--saveonce--a fleeting surge of contempt for the mob below me with their sillyfaces upturned to mine. There may have been intelligent expressionsamong them, but they failed to catch my eye. 

I remember being stopped by Grierson as I was going out of the sideentrance. He took my hand and squeezed it, and there was on his face anodd, surprised look. 

"That was the best yet, Hugh, " he said. 

I went on past him. Looking back on that evening now, it would almostseem as though the volition of another possessed me, not my own:seemingly, I had every intention of going on to the National Theatre, inwhich Parks had just spoken, and as I descended the narrow stairway andemerged on the side street I caught sight of my chauffeur awaiting me bythe curb. 

"I'm not going to that other meeting, " I found myself saying. "I'mpretty tired. "

"Shall I drive you back to the Club, sir?" he inquired. 

"No--I'll walk back. Wait a moment. " I entered the ear, turned on thelight and scribbled a hasty note to Andrews, the chairman of the meetingat the National, telling him that I was too tired to speak again thatnight, and to ask one of the younger men there to take my place. Then Igot out of the car and gave the note to the chauffeur. 

"You're all right, sir?" he asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice. He had been with me a long time. 

I reassured him. He started the car, and I watched it absently as itgathered speed and turned the corner. I began to walk, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly until I had gained a breathless pace; in tenminutes I was in West Street, standing in front of the Templar's Hallwhere the meeting of the Citizens Union west in progress. Now that I hadarrived there, doubt and uncertainty assailed me. I had come as it werein spite of myself, thrust onward by an impulse I did not understand, which did not seem to be mine. What was I going to do? The proceedingsuddenly appeared to me as ridiculous, tinged with the weirdness ofsomnambulism. I revolted, walked away, got as far as the corner andstood beside a lamp post, pretending to be waiting for a car. The streetlights were reflected in perpendicular, wavy-yellow ribbons on the wetasphalt, and I stood staring with foolish intentness at this phenomenon, wondering how a painter would get the effect in oils. Again I waswalking back towards the hall, combating the acknowledgment to myselfthat I had a plan, a plan that I did not for a moment believe I wouldcarry out. I was shivering. 

I climbed the steps. The wide vestibule was empty except for two men whostopped a low-toned conversation to look at me. I wondered whether theyrecognized me; that I might be recognized was an alarming possibilitywhich had not occurred to me. 

"Who is speaking?" I asked. 

"Mr. Krebs, " answered the taller man of the two. 

The hum of applause came from behind the swinging doors. I pushed themopen cautiously, passing suddenly out of the cold into the reeking, heated atmosphere of a building packed with human beings. The spacebehind the rear seats was filled with men standing, and those nearestglanced around with annoyance at the interruption of my entrance. I mademy way along the wall, finally reaching a side aisle, whence I could getsight of the platform and the speaker. 

I heard his words distinctly, but at first lacked the faculty ofstringing them together, or rather of extracting their collective sense. The phrases indeed were set ringing through my mind, I found myselfrepeating them without any reference to their meaning; I had reached thepeculiar pitch of excitement that counterfeits abnormal calm, and allsense of strangeness at being there in that meeting had passed away. Ibegan to wonder how I might warn Krebs, and presently decided to sendhim a note when he should have finished speaking--but I couldn't make upmy mind whether to put my name to the note or not. Of course I needn'thave entered the hall at all: I might have sent in my note at the sidedoor. 

I must have wished to see Krebs, to hear him speak; to observe, perhaps, the effect on the audience. In spite of my inability to take in whathe was saying, I was able to regard him objectively, --objectively, ina restricted sense. I noticed that he had grown even thinner; the fleshhad fallen away from under his cheek-bones, and there were sharp, deep, almost perpendicular lines on either side of his mouth. He wasemaciated, that was the word. Once in a while he thrust his hand throughhis dry, ashy hair which was of a tone with the paleness of his face. Such was his only gesture. 

He spoke quietly, leaning with one elbow against the side of his readingstand. The occasional pulsations of applause were almost immediatelyhushed, as though the people feared to lose even a word that shouldfall from his dry lips. What was it he was talking about? I tried toconcentrate my attention, with only partial success. He was explainingthe new theory of city government that did not attempt to evade, butdealt frankly with the human needs of to-day, and sought to meet thoseneeds in a positive way. .. What had happened to me, though I did notrealize it, was that I had gradually come under the influence ofa tragic spell not attributable to the words I heard, existingindependently of them, pervading the spacious hall, weaving into unitydissentient minds. And then, with what seemed a retarded rather thansudden awareness, I knew that he had stopped speaking. Once more he ranhis hand through his hair, he was seemingly groping for words that wouldnot come. I was pierced by a strange agony--the amazing source of which, seemed to be a smile on the face of Hermann Krebs, an ineffable smileilluminating the place like a flash of light, in which suffering andtragedy, comradeship and loving kindness--all were mingled. He stood fora moment with that smile on his face--swayed, and would have fallen hadit not been for the quickness of a man on the platform behind him, andinto whose arms he sank. 

In an instant people had risen in their seats, men were hurrying downthe aisles, while a peculiar human murmur or wail persisted like anundertone beneath the confusion of noises, striking the very note ofmy own feelings. Above the heads of those about me I saw Krebs beingcarried off the platform. .. . The chairman motioned for silence andinquired if there were a physician in the audience, and then all beganto talk at once. The man who stood beside me clutched my arm. 

"I hope he isn't dead! Say, did you see that smile? My God, I'll neverforget it!"

The exclamation poignantly voiced the esteem in which Krebs was held. AsI was thrust along out of the hall by the ebb of the crowd still otherexpressions of this esteem came to me in fragments, expressions ofsorrow and dismay, of a loyalty I had not imagined. Mingled with thesewere occasional remarks of skeptics shaken, in human fashion, by thesuggestion of the inevitable end that never fails to sober and terrifyhumanity. 

"I guess he was a bigger man than we thought. There was a lot of sensein what he had to say. "

"There sure was, " the companion of this speaker answered. 

They spoke of him in the past tense. I was seized and obsessed bythe fear that I should never see him again, and at the same moment Irealized sharply that this was the one thing I wanted--to see him. Ipushed through the people, gained the street, and fairly ran down thealley that led to the side entrance of the hall, where a small group wasgathered under the light that hung above the doorway. There stood on thestep, a little above the others, a young man in a grey flannel shirt, evidently a mechanic. I addressed him. 

"What does the doctor say?"

Before replying he surveyed me with surprise and, I think, withinstinctive suspicion of my clothes and bearing. 

"What can he say?" he retorted. 

"You mean--?" I began. 

"I mean Mr. Krebs oughtn't never to have gone into this campaign, " heanswered, relenting a trifle, perhaps at the tone of my voice. "He knewit, too, and some of us fellows tried to stop him. But we couldn't donothing with him, " he added dejectedly. 

"What is--the trouble?" I asked. 

"They tell me it's his heart. He wouldn't talk about it. "

"When I think of what he done for our union!" exclaimed a thick-setman, plainly a steel worker. "He's just wore himself out, fighting thatcrooked gang. " He stared with sudden aggressiveness at me. "Haven't Iseen you some-wheres?" he demanded. 

A denial was on my lips when the sharp, sinister strokes of a bell wereheard coming nearer. 

"It's the ambulance, " said the man on the step. 

Glancing up the alley beyond the figures of two policemen who hadarrived and were holding the people back, I saw the hood of theconveyance as it came to a halt, and immediately a hospital doctor andtwo assistants carrying a stretcher hurried towards us, and we made wayfor them to enter. After a brief interval, they were heard coming slowlydown the steps inside. By the white, cruel light of the arc I saw Krebslying motionless. .. . I laid hold of one of the men who had been onthe platform. He did not resent the act, he seemed to anticipate myquestion. 

"He's conscious. The doctors expect him to rally when he gets to thehospital. "

I walked back to the Club to discover that several inquiries had beenmade about me. Reporters had been there, Republican Headquarters hadtelephoned to know if I were ill. Leaving word that I was not to bedisturbed under any circumstances, I went to my room, and spent most ofthe night in distracted thought. When at last morning came I breakfastedearly, searching the newspapers for accounts of the occurrence atTemplar's Hall; and the fact that these were neither conspicuous norcircumstantial was in the nature of a triumph of self-control on thepart of editors and reporters. News, however sensational, had severelyto be condensed in the interest of a cause, and at this critical stageof the campaign to make a tragic hero of Hermann Krebs would have beenthe height of folly. There were a couple of paragraphs giving the gistof his speech, and a statement at the end that he had been taken ill andconveyed to the Presbyterian Hospital. .. . 

The hospital itself loomed up before me that Sunday morning as Iapproached it along Ballantyne Street, a diluted sunshine washing theextended, businesslike facade of grimy, yellow brick. We were proudof that hospital in the city, and many of our foremost citizens hadcontributed large sums of money to the building, scarcely ten years old. It had been one of Maude's interests. I was ushered into the receptionroom, where presently came the physician in charge, a Dr. Castle, one ofthose quiet-mannered, modern young medical men who bear on their personsthe very stamp of efficiency, of the dignity of a scientific profession. His greeting implied that he knew all about me, his presence seemed toincrease the agitation I tried not to betray, and must have betrayed. 

"Can I do anything for you, Mr. Paret?" he asked. 

"I have come to inquire about Mr. Krebs, who was brought here lastnight, I believe. "

I was aware for an instant of his penetrating, professional glance, theonly indication of the surprise he must have felt that Hermann Krebs, ofall men, should be the object of my solicitude. 

"Why, we sent him home this morning. Nineteen twenty six Fowler Street. He wanted to go, and there was no use in his staying. "

"He will recover?" I asked. 

The physician shook his head, gazing at me through his glasses. 

"He may live a month, Mr. Paret, he may die to-morrow. He ought neverto have gone into this campaign, he knew he had this trouble. Hepburnwarned him three months ago, and there's no man who knows more about theheart than Hepburn. "

"Then there's no hope?" I asked. 

"Absolutely none. It's a great pity. " He added, after a moment, "Mr. Krebs was a remarkable man. "

"Nineteen twenty-six Fowler Street?" I repeated. 

"Yes. "

I held out my hand mechanically, and he pressed it, and went with me tothe door. 

"Nineteen twenty-six Fowler Street, " he repeated. .. 

The mean and sordid aspect of Fowler Street emphasized and seemed totypify my despair, the pungent coal smoke stifled my lungs even asit stifled my spirit. Ugly factories, which were little more thansweatshops, wore an empty, menacing, "Sunday" look, and the faintNovember sunlight glistened on dirty pavements where children weremaking a semblance of play. Monotonous rows of red houses succeeded oneanother, some pushed forward, others thrust back behind little plots ofstamped earth. Into one of these I turned. It seemed a little cleaner, better kept, less sordid than the others. I pulled the bell, andpresently the door was opened by a woman whose arms were bare to theelbow. She wore a blue-checked calico apron that came to her throat, butthe apron was clean, and her firm though furrowed face gave evidencesof recent housewifely exertions. Her eyes had the strange look of thecheerfulness that is intimately acquainted with sorrow. She did not seemsurprised at seeing me. 

"I have come to ask about Mr. Krebs, " I told her. 

"Oh, yes, " she said, "there's been so many here this morning already. It's wonderful how people love him, all kinds of people. No, sir, hedon't seem to be in any pain. Two gentlemen are up there now in hisroom, I mean. "

She wiped her arms, which still bore traces of soap-suds, and then, witha gesture natural and unashamed, lifted the corner of her apron to hereyes. 

"Do you think I could see him--for a moment?" I asked. "I've known himfor a long time. "

"Why, I don't know, " she said, "I guess so. The doctor said he couldsee some, and he wants to see his friends. That's not strange--he alwaysdid. I'll ask. Will you tell me your name?"

I took out a card. She held it without glancing at it, and invited mein. 

I waited, unnerved and feverish, pulsing, in the dark and narrow hallbeside the flimsy rack where several coats and hats were hung. Oncebefore I had visited Krebs in that lodging-house in Cambridge longago with something of the same feelings. But now they were greatlyintensified. Now he was dying. .. . 

The woman was descending. 

"He says he wants to see you, sir, " she said rather breathlessly, and Ifollowed her. In the semi-darkness of the stairs I passed the three menwho had been with Krebs, and when I reached the open door of his roomhe was alone. I hesitated just a second, swept by the heat wave thatfollows sudden shyness, embarrassment, a sense of folly it is too lateto avert. 

Krebs was propped up with pillows. 

"Well, this is good of you, " he said, and reached out his hand acrossthe spread. I took it, and sat down beside the shiny oak bedstead, in achair covered with tobacco-colored plush. 

"You feel better?" I asked. 

"Oh, I feel all right, " he answered, with a smile. "It's queer, but Ido. "

My eye fell upon the long line of sectional book-cases that lined oneside of the room. "Why, you've got quite a library here, " I observed. 

"Yes, I've managed to get together some good books. But there is so muchto read nowadays, so much that is really good and new, a man has thehopeless feeling he can never catch up with it all. A thousand writersand students are making contributions today where fifty years ago therewas one. "

"I've been following your speeches, after a fashion, --I wish I mighthave been able to read more of them. Your argument interested me. It'snew, unlike the ordinary propaganda of--"

"Of agitators, " he supplied, with a smile. 

"Of agitators, " I agreed, and tried to return his smile. "An agitatorwho appears to suggest the foundations of a constructive programmeand who isn't afraid to criticise the man with a vote as well as thecapitalist is an unusual phenomenon. "

"Oh, when we realize that we've only got a little time left in which totell what we think to be the truth, it doesn't require a great deal ofcourage, Paret. I didn't begin to see this thing until a little whileago. I was only a crude, hot-headed revolutionist. God knows I'm crudeenough still. But I began to have a glimmering of what all these newfellows in the universities are driving at. " He waved his hand towardsthe book-cases. "Driving at collectively, I mean. And there areattempts, worthy attempts, to coordinate and synthesize the sciences. What I have been saying is not strictly original. I took it on thestump, that's all. I didn't expect it to have much effect in thiscampaign, but it was an opportunity to sow a few seeds, to start a senseof personal dissatisfaction in the minds of a few voters. What is itBrowning says? It's in Bishop Blougram, I believe. 'When the fightbegins within himself, a man's worth something. ' It's an intellectualfight, of course. "

His words were spoken quietly, but I realized suddenly that themysterious force which had drawn me to him now, against my will, wasan intellectual rather than apparently sentimental one, an intellectualforce seeming to comprise within it all other human attractions. And yetI felt a sudden contrition. 

"See here, Krebs, " I said, "I didn't come here to bother you about thesematters, to tire you. I mustn't stay. I'll call in again to see how youare--from time to time. "

"But you're not tiring me, " he protested, stretching forth a thin, detaining hand. "I don't want to rot, I want to live and think as longas I can. To tell you the truth, Paret, I've been wishing to talk toyou--I'm glad you came in. "

"You've been wishing to talk to me?" I said. 

"Yes, but I didn't expect you'd come in. I hope you won't mind my sayingso, under the circumstances, but I've always rather liked you, admiredyou, even back in the Cambridge days. After that I used to blame youfor going out and taking what you wanted, and I had to live a good manyyears before I began to see that it's better for a man to take what hewants than to take nothing at all. I took what I wanted, every man worthhis salt does. There's your great banker friend in New York whom I usedto think was the arch-fiend. He took what he wanted, and he took agood deal, but it happened to be good for him. And by piling up hiscorporations, Ossa on Pelion, he is paving the way for a logicaleconomic evolution. How can a man in our time find out what he does wantunless he takes something and gives it a trial?"

"Until he begins to feel that it disagrees with him, " I said. "Butthen, " I added involuntarily, "then it may be too late to try somethingelse, and he may not know what to try. " This remark of mine might havesurprised me had it not been for the feeling--now grown definite--thatKrebs had something to give me, something to pass on to me, of all men. Indeed, he had hinted as much, when he acknowledged a wish to talk tome. "What seems so strange, " I said, as I looked at him lying back onhis pillows, "is your faith that we shall be able to bring order out ofall this chaos--your belief in Democracy. "

"Democracy's an adventure, " he replied, "the great adventure of mankind. I think the trouble in many minds lies in the fact that they persist inregarding it as something to be made safe. All that can be done isto try to make it as safe as possible. But no adventure is safe--lifeitself is an adventure, and neither is that safe. It's a hazard, as youand I have found out. The moment we try to make life safe we lose allthere is in it worth while. "

I thought a moment. 

"Yes, that's so, " I agreed. On the table beside the bed in company withtwo or three other volumes, lay a Bible. He seemed to notice that my eyefell upon it. 

"Do you remember the story of the Prodigal Son?" he asked. "Well, that'sthe parable of democracy, of self-government in the individual and insociety. In order to arrive at salvation, Paret, most of us have to takeour journey into a far country. "

"A far country!" I exclaimed. The words struck a reminiscent chord. 

"We have to leave what seem the safe things, we have to wanderand suffer in order to realize that the only true safety lies indevelopment. We have first to cast off the leading strings of authority. It's a delusion that we can insure ourselves by remaining within itswalls--we have to risk our lives and our souls. It is discouraging whenwe look around us to-day, and in a way the pessimists are right whenthey say we don't see democracy. We see only what may be called thefirst stage of it; for democracy is still in a far country eating thehusks of individualism, materialism. What we see is not true freedom, but freedom run to riot, men struggling for themselves, spending onthemselves the fruits of their inheritance; we see a government intenton one object alone--exploitation of this inheritance in order toachieve what it calls prosperity. And God is far away. "

"And--we shall turn?" I asked. 

"We shall turn or perish. I believe that we shall turn. " He fixed hiseyes on my face. "What is it, " he asked, "that brought you here to me, to-day?"

I was silent. 

"The motive, Paret--the motive that sends us all wandering into isdivine, is inherited from God himself. And the same motive, after oureyes shall have been opened, after we shall have seen and known thetragedy and misery of life, after we shall have made the mistakes andcommitted the sins and experienced the emptiness--the same motive willlead us back again. That, too, is an adventure, the greatest adventureof all. Because, when we go back we shall not find the same God--orrather we shall recognize him in ourselves. Autonomy is godliness, knowledge is godliness. We went away cringing, superstitious, we saweverywhere omens and evidences of his wrath in the earth and sea andsky, we burned candles and sacrificed animals in the vain hope ofaverting scourges and other calamities. But when we come back it willbe with a knowledge of his ways, gained at a price, --the price he, too, must have paid--and we shall be able to stand up and look him in theface, and all our childish superstitions and optimisms shall have beenburned away. "

Some faith indeed had given him strength to renounce those things inlife I had held dear, driven him on to fight until his exhausted bodyfailed him, and even now that he was physically helpless sustained him. I did not ask myself, then, the nature of this faith. In its presence itcould no more be questioned than the light. It was light; I felt bathedin it. Now it was soft, suffused: but I remembered how the night beforein the hall, just before he had fallen, it had flashed forth in a smileand illumined my soul with an ecstasy that yet was anguish. .. . 

"We shall get back, " I said at length. My remark was not a question--ithad escaped from me almost unawares. 

"The joy is in the journey, " he answered. "The secret is in the search. "

"But for me?" I exclaimed. 

"We've all been lost, Paret. It would seem as though we have to be. "

"And yet you are--saved, " I said, hesitating over the word. 

"It is true that I am content, even happy, " he asserted, "in spite of mywish to live. If there is any secret, it lies, I think, in the strugglefor an open mind, in the keeping alive of a desire to know more andmore. That desire, strangely enough, hasn't lost its strength. We don'tknow whether there is a future life, but if there is, I think it mustbe a continuation of this. " He paused. "I told you I was glad you camein--I've been thinking of you, and I saw you in the hall last night. Youask what there is for you--I'll tell you, --the new generation. "

"The new generation. "

"That's the task of every man and woman who wakes up. I've come to seehow little can be done for the great majority of those who have reachedour age. It's hard--but it's true. Superstition, sentiment, the habitof wrong thinking or of not thinking at all have struck in too deep, thehabit of unreasoning acceptance of authority is too paralyzing. Some maybe stung back into life, spurred on to find out what the world reallyis, but not many. The hope lies in those who are coming after us--wemust do for them what wasn't done for us. We really didn't have much ofa chance, Paret. What did our instructors at Harvard know about the agethat was dawning? what did anybody know? You can educate yourself--orrather reeducate yourself. All this"--and he waved his hand towards hisbookshelves--"all this has sprung up since you and I were at Cambridge;if we don't try to become familiar with it, if we fail to grasp thepoint of view from which it's written, there's little hope for us. Goaway from all this and get straightened out, make yourself acquaintedwith the modern trend in literature and criticism, with modern history, find out what's being done in the field of education, read the modernsciences, especially biology, and psychology and sociology, and try toget a glimpse of the fundamental human needs underlying such phenomenaas the labour and woman's movements. God knows I've just begun to getmy glimpse, and I've floundered around ever since I left college. .. . Idon't mean to say we can ever see the whole, but we can get a clew, anidea, and pass it on to our children. You have children, haven't you?"

"Yes, " I said. .. . 

He said nothing--he seemed to be looking out of the window. 

"Then the scientific point of view in your opinion hasn't done away withreligion?" I asked presently. 

"The scientific point of view is the religious point of view, " he saidearnestly, "because it's the only self-respecting point of view. I can'tbelieve that God intended to make a creature who would not ultimatelyweigh his beliefs with his reason instead of accepting them blindly. That's immoral, if you like--especially in these days. "

"And are there, then, no 'over-beliefs'?" I said, remembering theexpression in something I had read. 

"That seems to me a relic of the method of ancient science, which wasupside down, --a mere confusion with faith. Faith and belief are twodifferent things; faith is the emotion, the steam, if you like, thatdrives us on in our search for truth. Theories, at a stretch, mightbe identified with 'over-beliefs' but when it comes to confusing ourtheories with facts, instead of recognizing them as theories, whenit comes to living by 'over-beliefs' that have no basis in reason andobserved facts, --that is fatal. It's just the trouble with so much ofour electorate to-day--unreasoning acceptance without thought. "

"Then, " I said, "you admit of no other faculty than reason?"

"I confess that I don't. A great many insights that we seem to getfrom what we call intuition I think are due to the reason, which isunconsciously at work. If there were another faculty that equalled ortranscended reason, it seems to me it would be a very dangerous thingfor the world's progress. We'd come to rely on it rather than onourselves the trouble with the world is that it has been relying on it. Reason is the mind--it leaps to the stars without realizing alwayshow it gets there. It is through reason we get the self-reliance thatredeems us. "

"But you!" I exclaimed. "You rely on something else besides reason?"

"Yes, it is true, " he explained gently, "but that ThingOther-than-Ourselves we feel stirring in us is power, and that power, orthe Source of it, seems to have given us our reason for guidance--ifit were not so we shouldn't have a semblance of freedom. For there isneither virtue nor development in finding the path if we are guided. We do rely on that power for movement--and in the moments when it iswithdrawn we are helpless. Both the power and the reason are God's. "

"But the Church, " I was moved by some untraced thought to ask, "youbelieve there is a future for the Church?"

"A church of all those who disseminate truth, foster open-mindedness, serve humanity and radiate faith, " he replied--but as though he werespeaking to himself, not to me. .. . 

A few moments later there was a knock at the door, and the woman ofthe house entered to say that Dr. Hepburn had arrived. I rose andshook Krebs's hand: sheer inability to express my emotion drove me tocommonplaces. 

"I'll come in soon again, if I may, " I told him. 

"Do, Paret, " he said, "it's done me good to talk to you--more good thanyou imagine. "

I was unable to answer him, but I glanced back from the doorway to seehim smiling after me. On my way down the stairs I bumped into the doctoras he ascended. The dingy brown parlour was filled with men, standing ingroups and talking in subdued voices. I hurried into the street, and onthe sidewalk stopped face to face with Perry Blackwood. 

"Hugh!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to inquire for Krebs, " I answered. "I've seen him. "

"You--you've been talking to him?" Perry demanded. 

I nodded. He stared at me for a moment with an astonishment to which Iwas wholly indifferent. He did not seem to know just how to act. 

"Well, it was decent of you, Hugh, I must say. How does he seem?"

"Not at all like--like what you'd expect, in his manner. "

"No, " agreed Perry agitatedly, "no, he wouldn't. My God, we've lost abig man in him. "

"I think we have, " I said. 

He stared at me again, gave me his hand awkwardly, and went into thehouse. It was not until I had walked the length of the block that Ibegan to realize what a shock my presence there must have been to him, with his head full of the contrast between this visit and my formerattitude. Could it be that it was only the night before I had made aspeech against him and his associates? It is interesting that my mindrejected all sense of anomaly and inconsistency. Krebs possessed me; Imust have been in reality extremely agitated, but this sense of beingpossessed seemed a quiet one. An amazing thing had happened--and yet Iwas not amazed. The Krebs I had seen was the man I had known for manyyears, the man I had ridiculed, despised and oppressed, but it seemed tome then that he had been my friend and intimate all my life: more thanthat, I had an odd feeling he had always been a part of me, and that nowhad begun to take place a merging of personality. Nor could I feel thathe was a dying man. He would live on. .. . 

I could not as yet sort and appraise, reduce to order the possessions hehad wished to turn over to me. 

It was noon, and people were walking past me in the watery, dilutedsunlight, men in black coats and top hats and women in bizarre, complicated costumes bright with colour. I had reached the morerespectable portion of the city, where the churches were emptying. Thesevery people, whom not long ago I would have acknowledged as my own kind, now seemed mildly animated automatons, wax figures. The day was likehundreds of Sundays I had known, the city familiar, yet passing strange. I walked like a ghost through it. .. . 

XXVI. 

Accompanied by young Dr. Strafford, I went to California. My physicalillness had been brief. Dr. Brooke had taken matters in his own handsand ordered an absolute rest, after dwelling at some length on thevicious pace set by modern business and the lack of consideration andknowledge shown by men of affairs for their bodies. There was a limitto the wrack and strain which the human organism could stand. He mustof course have suspected the presence of disturbing and disintegratingfactors, but he confined himself to telling me that only an exceptionalconstitution had saved me from a serious illness; he must in a way havecomprehended why I did not wish to go abroad, and have my family join meon the Riviera, as Tom Peters proposed. California had been my choice, and Dr. Brooke recommended the climate of Santa Barbara. 

High up on the Montecito hills I found a villa beside the gateway of oneof the deep canons that furrow the mountain side, and day after dayI lay in a chair on the sunny terrace, with a continually recurringamazement at the brilliancy of my surroundings. In the early morning Ilooked down on a feathery mist hiding the world, a mist presently to beshot with silver and sapphire-blue, dissolved by slow enchantment untilthere lay revealed the plain and the shimmering ocean with its distantislands trembling in the haze. At sunset my eyes sought the mountains, mountains unreal, like glorified scenery of grand opera, with violetshadows in the wooded canon clefts, and crags of pink tourmaline andruby against the skies. All day long in the tempered heat flowers blazedaround me, insects hummed, lizards darted in and out of the terracewall, birds flashed among the checkered shadows of the live oaks. Thatgrove of gnarled oaks summoned up before me visions of some classicvilla poised above Grecian seas, shining amidst dark foliage, the refugeof forgotten kings. Below me, on the slope, the spaced orange trees wereheavy with golden fruit. 

After a while, as I grew stronger, I was driven down and allowed to walkon the wide beach that stretched in front of the gay houses facing thesea. Cormorants dived under the long rollers that came crashing in fromthe Pacific; gulls wheeled and screamed in the soft wind; alert littlebirds darted here and there with incredible swiftness, leaving tinyfootprints across the ribs and furrows of the wet sand. Far to thesouthward a dark barrier of mountains rose out of the sea. SometimesI sat with my back against the dunes watching the drag of the outgoingwater rolling the pebbles after it, making a gleaming floor for thelight to dance. 

At first I could not bear to recall the events that had preceded andfollowed my visit to Krebs that Sunday morning. My illness had begunthat night; on the Monday Tom Peters had come to the Club and insistedupon my being taken to his house. .. . When I had recovered sufficientlythere had been rather a pathetic renewal of our friendship. Perry cameto see me. Their attitude was one of apprehension not unmixed withwonder; and though they, knew of the existence of a mental crisis, suspected, in all probability, some of the causes of it, they refrainedcarefully from all comments, contenting themselves with telling mewhen I was well enough that Krebs had died quite suddenly that Sundayafternoon; that his death--occurring at such a crucial moment--had beensufficient to turn the tide of the election and make Edgar Greenhalgemayor. Thousands who had failed to understand Hermann Krebs, but whom hehad nevertheless stirred and troubled, suddenly awoke to the fact thathe had had elements of greatness. .. . 

My feelings in those first days at Santa Barbara may be likened, indeed, to those of a man who has passed through a terrible accident that hasdeprived him of sight or hearing, and which he wishes to forget. What Iwas most conscious of then was an aching sense of loss--an ache thatby degrees became a throbbing pain as life flowed back into me, re-inflaming once more my being with protest and passion, arousing me torevolt against the fate that had overtaken me. I even began at momentsto feel a fierce desire to go back and take up again the fight fromwhich I had been so strangely removed--removed by the agency of thingsstill obscure. I might get Nancy yet, beat down her resistance, overcomeher, if only I could be near her and see her. But even in the midst ofthese surges of passion I was conscious of the birth of a new force Idid not understand, and which I resented, that had arisen to give battleto my passions and desires. This struggle was not mentally reflected asa debate between right and wrong, as to whether I should or should notbe justified in taking Nancy if I could get her: it seemed as thoughsome new and small yet dogged intruder had forced an entrance into me, an insignificant pigmy who did not hesitate to bar the pathway of thereviving giant of my desires. These contests sapped my strength. Itseemed as though in my isolation I loved Nancy, I missed her more thanever, and the flavour she gave to life. 

Then Hermann Krebs began to press himself on me. I use the word asexpressive of those early resentful feelings, --I rather pictured himthen as the personification of an hostile element in the universe thathad brought about my miseries and accomplished my downfall; I attributedthe disagreeable thwarting of my impulses to his agency; I did not wishto think of him, for he stood somehow for a vague future I feared tocontemplate. Yet the illusion of his presence, once begun, continued togrow upon me, and I find myself utterly unable to describe that strugglein which he seemed to be fighting as against myself for my confidence;that process whereby he gradually grew as real to me as though he stilllived--until I could almost hear his voice and see his smile. At momentsI resisted wildly, as though my survival depended on it; at othermoments he seemed to bring me peace. One day I recalled as vividly asthough it were taking place again that last time I had been with him;I seemed once more to be listening to the calm yet earnest talk rangingover so many topics, politics and government, economics and science andreligion. I did not yet grasp the synthesis he had made of them all, but I saw them now all focussed in him elements he had drawn fromhuman lives and human experiences. I think it was then I first felt thequickenings of a new life to be born in travail and pain. .. . Wearied, yet exalted, I sank down on a stone bench and gazed out at the littleisland of Santa Cruz afloat on the shimmering sea. 

I have mentioned my inability to depict the terrible struggle that wenton in my soul. It seems strange that Nietzsche--that most ruthlessof philosophers to the romantic mind!--should express it for me. "Thegenius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, . .. But richer himself, fresher to himselfthan before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing wind;more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more bruised; but full of hopeswhich as yet lack names, full of a new will and striving, full of a newunwillingness and counterstriving. ". .. 

Such was my experience with Hermann Krebs. How keenly I remember thatnew unwillingness and counter-striving! In spite of the years it has notwholly died down, even to-day. .. . 

Almost coincident with these quickenings of which I have spoken was theconsciousness of a hunger stronger than the craving for bread and meat, and I began to meditate on my ignorance, on the utter inadequacy andinsufficiency of my early education, on my neglect of the new learningduring the years that had passed since I left Harvard. And I rememberedKrebs's words--that we must "reeducate ourselves. " What did I know? Asystem of law, inherited from another social order, that was utterlyunable to cope with the complexities and miseries and injustices of amodern industrial world. I had spent my days in mastering an inadequateand archaic code--why? in order that I might learn how to evade it? Thisin itself condemned it. What did I know of life? of the shining universethat surrounded me? What did I know of the insect and the flower, of thelaws that moved the planets and made incandescent the suns? of the humanbody, of the human soul and its instincts? Was this knowledge acquiredat such cost of labour and life and love by my fellow-men of so littleworth to me that I could ignore it? declare that it had no significancefor me? no bearing on my life and conduct? If I were to rise and goforward--and I now felt something like a continued impulse, in spiteof relaxations and revolts--I must master this knowledge, it must be myguide, form the basis of my creed. I--who never had had a creed, neverfelt the need of one! For lack of one I had been rudely jolted out ofthe frail shell I had thought so secure, and stood, as it were, nakedand shivering to the storms, staring at a world that was no functionof me, after all. My problem, indeed, was how to become a function ofit. .. . 

I resolved upon a course of reading, but it was a question what books toget. Krebs could have told me, if he had lived. I even thought onceof writing Perry Blackwood to ask him to make a list of the volumes inKrebs's little library; but I was ashamed to do this. 

Dr. Strafford still remained with me. Not many years out of the medicalschool, he had inspired me with a liking for him and a respect for hisprofession, and when he informed me one day that he could no longerconscientiously accept the sum I was paying him, I begged him to stayon. He was a big and wholesome young man, companionable, yet quiet andunobtrusive, watchful without appearing to be so, with the innate aswell as the cultivated knowledge of psychology characteristic of thebest modern physicians. When I grew better I came to feel that he hadgiven his whole mind to the study of my case, though he never betrayedit in his conversation. 

"Strafford, " I said to him one morning with such an air of unconcern asI could muster, "I've an idea I'd like to read a little science. Couldyou recommend a work on biology?"

I chose biology because I thought he would know something about it. 

"Popular biology, Mr. Paret?"

"Well, not too popular, " I smiled. "I think it would do me good to usemy mind, to chew on something. Besides, you can help me over the toughplaces. "

He returned that afternoon with two books. 

"I've been rather fortunate in getting these, " he said. "One is fairlyelementary. They had it at the library. And the other--" he pauseddelicately, "I didn't know whether you might be interested in the latestspeculations on the subject. "

"Speculations?" I repeated. 

"Well, the philosophy of it. " He almost achieved a blush under his tan. He held out the second book on the philosophy of the organism. "It'sthe work of a German scientist who stands rather high. I read it lastwinter, and it interested me. I got it from a clergyman I know who isspending the winter in Santa Barbara. "

"A clergyman!"

Strafford laughed. "An 'advanced' clergyman, " he explained. "Oh, a lotof them are reading science now. I think it's pretty decent of them. "

I looked at Strafford, who towered six feet three, and it suddenlystruck me that he might be one of the forerunners of a type ouruniversities were about to turn out. I wondered what he believed. Ofone thing I was sure, that he was not in the medical profession to makemoney. That was a faith in itself. 

I began with the elementary work. 

"You'd better borrow a Century Dictionary, " I said. 

"That's easy, " he said, and actually achieved it, with the clergyman'said. 

The absorption in which I fought my way through those books may proveinteresting to future generations, who, at Sunday-school age, when thefable of Adam and Eve was painfully being drummed into me (withoutany mention of its application), will be learning to think straight, acquiring easily in early youth what I failed to learn until afterforty. And think of all the trouble and tragedy that will have beenaverted. It is true that I had read some biology at Cambridge, whichI had promptly forgotten; it had not been especially emphasized by myinstructors as related to life--certainly not as related to religion:such incidents as that of Adam and Eve occupied the religious fieldexclusively. I had been compelled to commit to memory, temporarily, thematter in those books; but what I now began to perceive was that thematter was secondary compared to the view point of science--and this hadbeen utterly neglected. As I read, I experienced all the excitement ofan old-fashioned romance, but of a romance of such significance as totouch the very springs of existence; and above all I was impressed withthe integrity of the scientific method--an integrity commensurate withthe dignity of man--that scorned to quibble to make out a case, toaffirm something that could not be proved. 

Little by little I became familiar with the principles of embryonicevolution, ontogeny, and of biological evolution, phylogeny; realized, for the first time, my own history and that of the ancestors from whomI had developed and descended. I, this marvellously complicated being, torn by desires and despairs, was the result of the union of twomicroscopic cells. "All living things come from the egg, " such had beenHarvey's dictum. The result was like the tonic of a cold douche. I beganto feel cleansed and purified, as though something sticky-sweet whichall my life had clung to me had been washed away. Yet a question arose, an insistent question that forever presses itself on the mind of man;how could these apparently chemical and mechanical processes, which theauthor of the book contented himself with recording, account for me? Thespermia darts for the egg, and pierces it; personal history begins. Butwhat mysterious shaping force is it that repeats in the individual thehistory of the race, supervises the orderly division of the cells, bydegrees directs the symmetry, sets aside the skeleton and digestivetract and supervises the structure?

I took up the second book, that on the philosophy of the organism, toread in its preface that a much-to-be-honoured British noblemanhad established a foundation of lectures in a Scotch University forforwarding the study of a Natural Theology. The term possessed me. Unlike the old theology woven of myths and a fanciful philosophy ofthe decadent period of Greece, natural theology was founded on scienceitself, and scientists were among those who sought to develop it. Herewas a synthesis that made a powerful appeal, one of the many signs andportents of a new era of which I was dimly becoming cognizant; and nowthat I looked for signs, I found them everywhere, in my young Doctor, inKrebs, in references in the texts; indications of a new orderbeginning to make itself felt in a muddled, chaotic human world, whichmight--which must have a parallel with the order that revealed itself inthe egg! Might not both, physical and social, be due to the influence ofthe same invisible, experimenting, creating Hand?

My thoughts lingered lovingly on this theology so well named "natural, "on its conscientiousness, its refusal to affirm what it did not prove, on its lack of dogmatic dictums and infallible revelations; yet it gaveme the vision of a new sanction whereby man might order his life, asanction from which was eliminated fear and superstition and romantichope, a sanction whose doctrines--unlike those of the sentimentaltheology--did not fly in the face of human instincts and needs. Nor wasit a theology devoid of inspiration and poetry, though poetry might becalled its complement. With all that was beautiful and true in themyths dear to mankind it did not conflict, annulling only the viciousdogmatism of literal interpretation. In this connection I rememberedsomething that Krebs had said--in our talk about poetry and art, --thatthese were emotion, religion expressed by the tools reason had evolved. Music, he had declared, came nearest to the cry of the human soul. .. . 

That theology cleared for faith an open road, made of faith a reasonablething, yet did not rob it of a sense of high adventure; cleansed itof the taints of thrift and selfish concern. In this reaffirmation ofvitalism there might be a future, yes, an individual future, yet it wasfar from the smug conception of salvation. Here was a faith conferred bythe freedom of truth; a faith that lost and regained itself in life; itwas dynamic in its operation; for, as Lessing said, the searching aftertruth, and not its possession, gives happiness to man. In the wordsof an American scientist, taken from his book on Heredity, "Theevolutionary idea has forced man to consider the probable future of hisown race on earth and to take measures to control that future, a matterhe had previously left largely to fate. "

Here indeed was another sign of the times, to find in a strictlyscientific work a sentence truly religious! As I continued to readthese works, I found them suffused with religion, religion of a kindand quality I had not imagined. The birthright of the spirit of manwas freedom, freedom to experiment, to determine, to create--to createhimself, to create society in the image of God! Spiritual creation thefunction of cooperative man through the coming ages, the task that wasto make him divine. Here indeed was the germ of a new sanction, of a newmotive, of a new religion that strangely harmonized with the concepts ofthe old--once the dynamic power of these was revealed. 

I had been thinking of my family--of my family in terms of Matthew--andyet with a growing yearning that embraced them all. I had not informedMaude of my illness, and I had managed to warn Tom Peters not to do so. I had simply written her that after the campaign I had gone for a restto California; yet in her letters to me, after this information hadreached her, I detected a restrained anxiety and affection that troubledme. Sequences of words curiously convey meanings and implications thattranscend their literal sense, true thoughts and feelings are difficultto disguise even in written speech. Could it be possible after all thathad happened that Maude still loved me? I continually put the thoughtaway from me, but continually it returned to haunt me. Suppose Maudecould not help loving me, in spite of my weaknesses and faults, even asI loved Nancy in spite of hers? Love is no logical thing. 

It was Matthew I wanted, Matthew of whom I thought, and trivial, long-forgotten incidents of the past kept recurring to me constantly. Istill received his weekly letters; but he did not ask why, since Ihad taken a vacation, I had not come over to them. He representedthe medium, the link between Maude and me that no estrangement, noseparation could break. 

All this new vision of mine was for him, for the coming generation, thesoil in which it must be sown, the Americans of the future. And who sowell as Matthew, sensitive yet brave, would respond to it? I wished notonly to give him what I had begun to grasp, to study with him, to behis companion and friend, but to spare him, if possible, some of myown mistakes and sufferings and punishments. But could I go back? Happycoincidences of desires and convictions had been so characteristic ofthat other self I had been struggling to cast off: I had so easily beenpersuaded, when I had had a chance of getting Nancy, that it was theright thing to do! And now, in my loneliness, was I not growing just aseager to be convinced that it was my duty to go back to the familywhich in the hour of self-sufficiency I had cast off? I had believed indivorce then--why not now? Well, I still believed in it. I hadthought of a union with Nancy as something that would bring aboutthe "self-realization that springs from the gratification of a greatpassion, "--an appealing phrase I had read somewhere. But, it was atleast a favourable symptom that I was willing now to confess that the"self-realization" had been a secondary and sentimental consideration, a rosy, self-created halo to give a moral and religious sanction to mydesire. Was I not trying to do that very thing now? It tortured meto think so; I strove to achieve a detached consideration of theproblem, --to arrive at length at a thought that seemed illuminating:that the it "wrongness" or "rightness, " utility and happiness of allsuch unions depend upon whether or not they become a part of the woofand warp of the social fabric; in other words, whether the gratificationof any particular love by divorce and remarriage does or does not tendto destroy a portion of that fabric. Nancy certainly would have beenjustified in divorce. It did not seem in the retrospect that I wouldhave been: surely not if, after I had married Nancy, I had developedthis view of life that seemed to me to be the true view. I should havebeen powerless to act upon it. But the chances were I should not havedeveloped it, since it would seem that any salvation for me at leastmust come precisely through suffering, through not getting what Iwanted. Was this equivocating?

My mistake had been in marrying Maude instead of Nancy--a mistakelargely due to my saturation with a false idea of life. Would notthe attempt to cut loose from the consequences of that mistake in myindividual case have been futile? But there was a remedy for it--theremedy Krebs had suggested: I might still prevent my children frommaking such a mistake, I might help to create in them what I might havebeen, and thus find a solution for myself. My errors would then assume avalue. 

But the question tortured me: would Maude wish it? Would it be fair toher if she did not? By my long neglect I had forfeited the right to go. And would she agree with my point of view if she did permit me to stay?I had less concern on this score, a feeling that that development ofhers, which once had irritated me, was in the same direction as myown. .. . 

I have still strangely to record moments when, in spite of theaspirations I had achieved, of the redeeming vision I had gained, at thethought of returning to her I revolted. At such times recollectionscame into my mind of those characteristics in her that had seemed mostresponsible for my alienation. .. . That demon I had fed so mightily stilllived. By what right--he seemed to ask--had I nourished him all theseyears if now I meant to starve him? Thus sometimes he defied me, tookon Protean guises, blustered, insinuated, cajoled, managed to make mebelieve that to starve him would be to starve myself, to sap all therewas of power in me. Let me try and see if I could do it! Again hewhispered, to what purpose had I gained my liberty, if now I renouncedit? I could not live in fetters, even though the fetters should beself-imposed. I was lonely now, but I would get over that, and life laybefore me still. 

Fierce and tenacious, steel in the cruelty of his desires, fearful inthe havoc he had wrought, could he be subdued? Foiled, he tore and rentme. .. . 

One morning I rode up through the shady canon, fragrant with bay, tothe open slopes stained smoky-blue by the wild lilac, where the twistedmadrona grows. As I sat gazing down on tiny headlands jutting out intoa vast ocean my paralyzing indecision came to an end. I turned my horsedown the trail again. I had seen at last that life was bigger than I, bigger than Maude, bigger than our individual wishes and desires. I feltas though heavy shackles had been struck from me. As I neared the houseI spied my young doctor in the garden path, his hands in his pocketswatching a humming-bird poised over the poppies. He greeted me with alook that was not wholly surprise at my early return, that seemed tohave in it something of gladness. 

"Strafford, " I said, "I've made up my mind to go to Europe. "

"I have been thinking for some time, Mr. Paret, " he replied, "that asea-voyage is just what you need to set you on your feet. "

I started eastward the next morning, arriving in New York in time tocatch one of the big liners sailing for Havre. On my way across thecontinent I decided to send a cable to Maude at Paris, since it wereonly fair to give her an opportunity to reflect upon the manner in whichshe would meet the situation. Save for an impatience which at momentsI restrained with difficulty, the moods that succeeded one another asI journeyed did not differ greatly from those I had experienced in thepast month. I was alternately exalted and depressed; I hoped and doubtedand feared; my courage, my confidence rose and fell. And yet I was awareof the nascence within me of an element that gave me a stability I hadhitherto lacked: I had made my decision, and I felt the stronger for it. 

It was early in March. The annual rush of my countrymen and women forforeign shores had not as yet begun, the huge steamer was far fromcrowded. The faint throbbing of her engines as she glided out on theNorth River tide found its echo within me as I leaned on the heavy railand watched the towers of the city receding in the mist; they becameblurred and ghostlike, fantastic in the grey distance, sad, appealingwith a strange beauty and power. Once the sight of them, sunlit, standing forth sharply against the high blue of American skies, hadstirred in me that passion for wealth and power of which they were somarvellously and uniquely the embodiment. I recalled the bright day ofmy home-coming with Maude, when she too had felt that passion drawing meaway from her, after the briefest of possessions. .. . Well, I had had it, the power. I had stormed and gained entrance to the citadel itself. Imight have lived here in New York, secure, defiant of a veering publicopinion that envied while it strove to sting. Why was I flinging itall away? Was this a sudden resolution of mine, forced by events, precipitated by a failure to achieve what of all things on earth I hadmost desired? or was it the inevitable result of the development of theHugh Paret of earlier days, who was not meant for that kind of power?

The vibration of the monster ship increased to a strong, electricpulsation, the water hummed along her sides, she felt the swell of theopen sea. A fine rain began to fall that hid the land--yes, and the lifeI was leaving. I made my way across the glistening deck to the saloonwhere, my newspapers and periodicals neglected, I sat all the morningbeside a window gazing out at the limited, vignetted zone of watersaround the ship. We were headed for the Old World. The wind rose, therain became pelting, mingling with the spume of the whitecaps racingmadly past: within were warmth and luxury, electric lights, open fires, easy chairs, and men and women reading, conversing as unconcernedly asthough the perils of the deep had ceased to be. In all this I foundan impelling interest; the naive capacity in me for wonder, so longdormant, had been marvellously opened up once more. I no longer thoughtof myself as the important man of affairs; and when in the progress ofthe voyage I was accosted by two or three men I had met and by otherswho had heard of me it was only to feel amazement at the remoteness Inow felt from a world whose realities were stocks and bonds, railroadsand corporations and the detested new politics so inimical to the smoothconduct of "business. "

It all sounded like a language I had forgotten. 

It was not until near the end of the passage that we ran out of thestorm. A morning came when I went on deck to survey spaces of a blueand white sea swept by the white March sunlight; to discern at lengthagainst the horizon toward which we sped a cloud of the filmiest andmost delicate texture and design. Suddenly I divined that the cloud wasFrance! Little by little, as I watched, it took on substance. I made outheadlands and cliffs, and then we were coasting beside them. That nightI should be in Paris with Maude. My bag was packed, my steamer trunkclosed. I strayed about the decks, in and out of the saloons, wondering at the indifference of other passengers who sat reading insteamer-chairs or wrote last letters to be posted at Havre. I wasfilled with impatience, anticipation, yes, with anxiety concerning theadventure that was now so imminent; with wavering doubts. Had I done thewisest thing after all? I had the familiar experience that often comesjust before reunion after absence of recalling intimate and forgottenimpressions of those whom I was about to see again the tones of theirvoices, little gestures. .. . 

How would they receive me?

The great ship had slowed down and was entering the harbour, carefullythreading her way amongst smaller craft, the passengers lining the railsand gazing at the animated scene, at the quaint and cheerful Frenchcity bathed in sunlight. .. . I had reached the dock and was making my waythrough the hurrying and shifting groups toward the steamer train whenI saw Maude. She was standing a little aside, scanning the faces thatpassed her. 

I remember how she looked at me, expectantly, yet timidly, almostfearfully. I kissed her. 

"You've come to meet me!" I exclaimed stupidly. "How are the children?"

"They're very well, Hugh. They wanted to come, too, but I thought itbetter not. "

Her restraint struck me as extraordinary; and while I was thankful forthe relief it brought to a situation which might have been awkward, Iwas conscious of resenting it a little. I was impressed and puzzled. AsI walked along the platform beside her she seemed almost a stranger:I had difficulty in realizing that she was my wife, the mother of mychildren. Her eyes were clear, more serious than I recalled them, andher physical as well as her moral tone seemed to have improved. Hercheeks glowed with health, and she wore a becoming suit of dark blue. 

"Did you have a good trip, Hugh?" she asked. 

"Splendid, " I said, forgetting the storm. We took our seats in an emptycompartment. Was she glad to see me? She had come all the way from Paristo meet me! All the embarrassment seemed to be on my side. Wasthis composure a controlled one or had she indeed attained to theself-sufficiency her manner and presence implied? Such were thequestions running through my head. 

"You've really liked Paris?" I asked. 

"Yes, Hugh, and it's been very good for us all. Of course the boyslike America better, but they've learned many things they wouldn't havelearned at home; they both speak French, and Biddy too. Even I haveimproved. "

"I'm sure of it, " I said. 

She flushed. 

"And what else have you been doing?"

"Oh, going to galleries. Matthew often goes with me. I think he quiteappreciates the pictures. Sometimes I take him to the theatre, too, theFrancais. Both boys ride in the Bois with a riding master. It's beenrather a restricted life for them, but it won't have hurt them. It'sgood discipline. We have little excursions in an automobile on fine daysto Versailles and other places of interest around Paris, and Matthew andI have learned a lot of history. I have a professor of literature fromthe Sorbonne come in three times a week to give me lessons. "

"I didn't know you cared for literature. "

"I didn't know it either. " She smiled. "Matthew loves it. MonsieurDespard declares he has quite a gift for language. "

Maude had already begun Matthew's education!

"You see a few people?" I inquired. 

"A few. And they have been very kind to us. The Buffons, whom I met atEtretat, and some of their friends, mostly educated French people. "

The little railway carriage in which we sat rocked with speed as we flewthrough the French landscape. I caught glimpses of solid, Norman farmbuildings, of towers and keeps and delicate steeples, and quaint towns;of bare poplars swaying before the March gusts, of green fields ablazein the afternoon sun. I took it all in distractedly. Here was Maudebeside me, but a Maude I had difficulty in recognizing, whom I did notunderstand: who talked of a life she had built up for herself and thatseemed to satisfy her; one with which I had nothing to do. I couldnot tell how she regarded my re-intrusion. As she continued to talk, afeeling that was almost desperation grew upon me. I had things to sayto her, things that every moment of this sort of intercourse was makingmore difficult. And I felt, if I did not say them now, that perhaps Inever should: that now or never was the appropriate time, and to delaywould be to drift into an impossible situation wherein the chance of anunderstanding would be remote. 

There was a pause. How little I had anticipated the courage it wouldtake to do this thing! My blood was hammering. 

"Maude, " I said abruptly, "I suppose you're wondering why I came overhere. "

She sat gazing at me, very still, but there came into her eyes afrightened look that almost unnerved me. She seemed to wish to speak, tobe unable to. Passively, she let my hand rest on hers. 

"I've been thinking a great deal during the last few months, " I went onunsteadily. "And I've changed a good many of my ideas--that is, I've gotnew ones, about things I never thought of before. I want to say, first, that I do not put forth any claim to come back into your life. I knowI have forfeited any claim. I've neglected you, and I've neglected thechildren. Our marriage has been on a false basis from the start, andI've been to blame for it. There is more to be said about the chancesfor a successful marriage in these days, but I'm not going to dwell onthat now, or attempt to shoulder off my shortcomings on my bringingup, on the civilization in which we have lived. You've tried to do yourshare, and the failure hasn't been your fault. I want to tell youfirst of all that I recognize your right to live your life from now on, independently of me, if you so desire. You ought to have the children--"I hesitated a moment. It was the hardest thing I had to say. "I've nevertroubled myself about them, I've never taken on any responsibility inregard to their bringing up. "

"Hugh!" she cried. 

"Wait--I've got more to tell you, that you ought to know. I shouldn'tbe here to-day if Nancy Durrett had consented to--to get a divorce andmarry me. We had agreed to that when this accident happened to Ham, andshe went back to him. I have to tell you that I still love her--I can'tsay how much, or define my feelings toward her now. I've given up allidea of her. I don't think I'd marry her now, even if I had the chance, and you should decide to live away from me. I don't know. I'm not sosure of myself as I once was. The fact is, Maude, circumstances havebeen too much for me. I've been beaten. And I'm not at all certain thatit wasn't a cowardly thing for me to come back to you at all. "

I felt her hand trembling under mine, but I had not the courage to lookat her. I heard her call my name again a little cry, the very poignancyof pity and distress. It almost unnerved me. 

"I knew that you loved her, Hugh, " she said. "It was only--only a littlewhile after you married me that I found it out. I guessed it--women doguess such things--long before you realized it yourself. You ought tohave married her instead of me. You would have been happier with her. "

I did not answer. 

"I, too, have thought a great deal, " she went on, after a moment. "Ibegan earlier than you, I had to. " I looked up suddenly and saw hersmiling at me, faintly, through her tears. "But I've been thinking more, and learning more since I've been over here. I've come to see that thatour failure hasn't been as much your fault as I once thought, as muchas you yourself declare. You have done me a wrong, and you've done thechildren a wrong. Oh, it is frightful to think how little I knew when Imarried you, but even then I felt instinctively that you didn't love meas I deserved to be loved. And when we came back from Europe I knewthat I couldn't satisfy you, I couldn't look upon life as you saw it, nomatter how hard I tried. I did try, but it wasn't any use. You'll neverknow how much I've suffered all these years. 

"I have been happier here, away from you, with the children; I've had achance to be myself. It isn't that I'm--much. It isn't that I don't needguidance and counsel and--sympathy. I've missed those, but you've nevergiven them to me, and I've been learning more and more to do withoutthem. I don't know why marriage should suddenly have become such amockery and failure in our time, but I know that it is, that ours hasn'tbeen such an exception as I once thought. I've come to believe thatdivorce is often justified. "

"It is justified so far as you are concerned, Maude, " I replied. "It isnot justified for me. I have forfeited, as I say, any rights over you. Ihave been the aggressor and transgressor from the start. You have beena good wife and a good mother, you have been faithful, I have hadabsolutely nothing to complain of. "

"Sometimes I think I might have tried harder, " she said. "At least Imight have understood better. I was stupid. But everything went wrong. And I saw you growing away from me all the time, Hugh, growing awayfrom the friends who were fond of you, as though you were fading in thedistance. It wasn't wholly because--because of Nancy that I leftyou. That gave me an excuse--an excuse for myself. Long before that Irealized my helplessness, I knew that whatever I might have done waspast doing. "

"Yes, I know, " I assented. 

We sat in silence for a while. The train was skirting an ancient townset on a hill, crowned with a castle and a Gothic church whose windowswere afire in the setting sun. 

"Maude, " I said, "I have not come to plead, to appeal to your pity asagainst your judgment and reason. I can say this much, that if I do notlove you, as the word is generally understood, I have a new respect foryou, and a new affection, and I think that these will grow. I haveno doubt that there are some fortunate people who achieve the kind ofmutual love for which it is human to yearn, whose passion is naturallytransmuted into a feeling that may be even finer, but I am inclinedto think, even in such a case, that some effort and unselfishness arenecessary. At any rate, that has been denied to us, and we can neverknow it from our own experience. We can only hope that there is such athing, --yes, and believe in it and work for it. "

"Work for it, Hugh?" she repeated. 

"For others--for our children. I have been thinking about the children agreat deal in the last few months especially about Matthew. "

"You always loved him best, " she said. 

"Yes, " I admitted. "I don't know why it should be so. And in spite ofit, I have neglected him, neglected them, failed to appreciate them all. I did not deserve them. I have reproached myself, I have suffered forit, not as much as I deserved. I came to realize that the children werea bond between us, that their existence meant something greater thaneither of us. But at the same time I recognized that I had lost my rightover them, that it was you who had proved yourself worthy. .. . Itwas through the children that I came to think differently, to feeldifferently toward you. I have come to you to ask your forgiveness. "

"Oh, Hugh!" she cried. 

"Wait, " I said. .. . "I have come to you, through them. I want to sayagain that I should not be here if I had obtained my desires. Yet thereis more to it than that. I think I have reached a stage where I am ableto say that I am glad I didn't obtain them. I see now that this comingto you was something I have wanted to do all along, but it was thecowardly thing to do, after I had failed, for it was not as though I hadconquered the desires, the desires conquered me. At any rate, I couldn'tcome to you to encumber you, to be a drag upon you. I felt that I musthave something to offer you. I've got a plan, Maude, for my life, forour lives. I don't know whether I can make a success of it, and you areentitled to decline to take the risk. I don't fool myself that itwill be all plain sailing, that there won't be difficulties anddiscouragements. But I'll promise to try. "

"What is it?" she asked, in a low voice. "I--I think I know. "

"Perhaps you have guessed it. I am willing to try to devote what is leftof my life to you and to them. And I need your help. I acknowledge it. Let us try to make more possible for them the life we have missed. "

"The life we have missed!" she said. 

"Yes. My mistakes, my failures, have brought us to the edge of aprecipice. We must prevent, if we can, those mistakes and failures forthem. The remedy for unhappy marriages, for all mistaken, selfish andartificial relationships in life is a preventive one. My plan is thatwe try to educate ourselves together, take advantage of the accruingknowledge that is helping men and women to cope with the problems, tothink straight. We can then teach our children to think straight, toavoid the pitfalls into which we have fallen. "

I paused. Maude did not reply. Her face was turned away from me, towardsthe red glow of the setting sun above the hills. 

"You have been doing this all along, you have had the vision, the truevision, while I lacked it, Maude. I offer to help you. But if you thinkit is impossible for us to live together, if you believe my feelingtoward you is not enough, if you don't think I can do what I propose, orif you have ceased to care for me--"

She turned to me with a swift movement, her eyes filled with tears. 

"Oh, Hugh, don't say any more. I can't stand it. How little you know, for all your thinking. I love you, I always have loved you. I grew to beashamed of it, but I'm not any longer. I haven't any pride any more, andI never want to have it again. "

"You're willing to take me as I am, --to try?" I said. 

"Yes, " she answered, "I'm willing to try. " She smiled at me. "And I havemore faith than you, Hugh. I think we'll succeed. ". .. . 

At nine o'clock that night, when we came out through the gates of thebig, noisy station, the children were awaiting us. They had changed, they had grown. Biddy kissed me shyly, and stood staring up at me. 

"We'll take you out to-morrow and show you how we can ride, " saidMoreton. 

Matthew smiled. He stood very close to me, with his hand through my arm. 

"You're going to stay, father?" he asked. 

"I'm going to stay, Matthew, " I answered, "until we all go back toAmerica. ". .. . 

 PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

 Barriers were mere relics of the superstition of the past Benumbing and desiccating effect of that old system of education Conscience was superstition, the fear of the wrath of the gods Conventionality was part of the price we had willingly paid Conviction that government should remain modestly in the background Everybody should have been satisfied, but everybody was not I hated to lie to her, --yet I did so I'm incapable of committing a single original act It was not money we coveted, we Americans, but power Knowledge was presented to us as a corpse Marriage! What other career is open to a woman? Meaningless lessons which had to be learned Opponent who praises one with a delightful irony Righteousness a stern and terrible thing implying not joy Staunch advocate on the doctrine of infant damnation That's the great thing, to keep 'em ignorant as long as possible The saloon represented Democracy, so dear to the American public They deplored while they coveted We lived separate mental existences We had learned to pursue our happiness in packs What you wants, you gets Your American romanticist is a sentimental spoiled child