A FAR COUNTRY

By Winston Churchill

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 beheld outof the car window the broad, shallow river glinting in the morningsunlight, the dome of the state house against the blue of the sky. Evenat 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-room thatresounded with the clatter of dishes, I directed my steps to theapartment occupied from year to year by Colonel Paul Barney, generalissimo of the Railroad on the legislative battlefield, --a positionthat 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, andI'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 all andsat down. Opening his long coat, Colonel Varney revealed two rows ofcigars, suggesting cartridges in a belt. These he proceeded to hand outas he talked. "I'm glad to see you here, Mr. Paret. You must stay awhile, and become acquainted with the men who--ahem--are shaping the destiniesof a great state. It would give me pleasure to escort you about. "

I thanked him. I had learned enough to realize how important are theamenities 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 as hetook 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. He readthese, laid them on the table, glancing at me again, stroking his goateethe 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's goingto take some careful driving, sir, some reaching out and flicking 'emwhen they r'ar and buck. Paul Varney's never been stumped yet. Just assoon 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 been followingthis Ribblevale business, " he added, "and I understand LeonardDickinson's all ready to reorganize that company, when the time comes. Heought 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 on me. "It's better not to let 'em find out any sooner than they have to wherethis thing comes from, --you understand. " He looked at his watch. "Howwould nine o'clock do? I'll be there, with Trulease, when you come, --byaccident, you understand. Of course he'll be reasonable, but when theyget to be governors they have little notions, you know, and you've got toindulge 'em, flatter 'em a little. It doesn't hurt, for when they gettheir 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 a greatsquare room overlooking the park. The Governor was seated at a desk underan elaborate chandelier, and sure enough, Colonel Varney was there besidehim; 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 public mind, should up the personality of a chief executive. Momentarily he overcamethe feeling of superiority with which I had entered his presence;neutralized the sense I had of being associated now with the higherpowers 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 no suchlegislation 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 I amanxious, as a citizen, to see an evil abated. I have had an intimateknowledge of legislation, sir, for more than twenty years in this state, and in all that time I do not remember to have seen a bill more conciselydrawn, or better calculated to accomplish the ends of justice. Indeed, Ioften wondered why this very penalty was not imposed. Foreign magistratesare notoriously indifferent as to affairs in another state than theirown. Rather than go into the hands of a receiver I venture to say thathereafter, if this bill is made a law, the necessary testimony will beforthcoming. "

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 is toremedy 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 it ifit should come to me for my signature. Yet I may go so far as to say thatthe defect it seeks to remedy seems to me a real one. Come in and see me, Mr. Paret, when you are in town, and give my cordial regards to Mr. 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 keep outof sight. On my way to the Potts House the bizarre elements in thesituation struck me again with considerable force. It seemed soridiculous, so puerile to have to go through with this political farce inorder that a natural economic evolution might be achieved. Without doubtthe development of certain industries had reached a stage where the unitsin competition had become too small, when a greater concentration ofcapital was necessary. Curiously enough, in this mental argument ofjustification, I left out all consideration of the size of the probableprofits to Mr. Scherer and his friends. Profits and brains went together. And, since the Almighty did not limit the latter, why should man attemptto limit the former? We were playing for high but justifiable stakes; andI resented the comedy which an hypocritical insistence on the forms ofdemocracy compelled us to go through. It seemed unworthy of men whocontrolled the destinies of state and nation. The point of view, however, was consoling. As the day wore on I sat in the Colonel's room, admiringthe skill with which he conducted the campaign: a green country lawyerhad been got to introduce the bill, it had been expedited to theCommittee on the Judiciary, which would have an executive sessionimmediately after dinner. I had ventured to inquire about 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, do I?"

"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, " retortedMr. Maker, darkly. "Say, Colonel, ain't we always treated the Railroad onthe 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 to meto find Democrats on intimate terms with such a stout Republican as theColonel. Some statesman is said to have declared that he knew neitherEasterners nor Westerners, Northerners nor Southerners, but onlyAmericans; 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 cigars andwhiskey. The scene in his room that evening suggested a session of asublimated 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, Speaker ofthe House, who unbent in the most flattering way on learning my identity. 

"Mr. Paret's here on that little matter, representing Watling, Fowndesand Ripon, " the Colonel explained. And it appeared that Mr. Mecklin knewall about the "little matter, " and that the mention of the firm ofWatling, 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. Truesdale wasowned body and carcass by Mr. Cyrus Ridden, the principal manufacturer ofSt. Helen's and a director in several subsidiary lines of the Railroad. In the legislature, the Hon. Fitch's function was that of the moderatecounsellor and bellwether for new members, hence nothing could have beenmore fitting than the choice of that gentleman for the honour 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 do say itmyself, it hasn't been botched, " he admitted. "There ain't an outsider, as far as I can learn, who has caught on to the nigger in the wood-pile. That's the great thing, to keep 'em ignorant as long as possible. Youunderstand. They yell bloody murder when they do find out, but generallyit'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. Myeyes smarted from the tobacco smoke; and the events of the day, indisorderly manner, kept running through my head. The tide of myexhilaration had ebbed, and I found myself struggling against a revulsioncaused, apparently, by the contemplation of Colonel Varney and hisassociates; 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 had knownhim, and some years before I had traveled halfway across the state in hiscompany; his kindliness had impressed me. He had spent a large part ofhis business life, I knew, in building up the Ribblevale, and now it wasto be wrested from him; he was to be set aside, perhaps forced to startall over again when old age was coming on! In vain I accused myself ofsentimentality, and summoned all my arguments to prove that in commerceefficiency must be the only test. The image of Mr. Pugh would not down. 

I got up and turned on the light, and took refuge in a novel I had in mybag. Presently I grew calmer. I had chosen. I had succeeded. And now thatI had my finger at last on the nerve of power, it was no time to weaken. 

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; andI speculated, as I dressed, whether the thing called conscience were 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 at theriver, 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 it offered. Itwas not money we coveted, we Americans, but power, the self-expressionconferred by power. A single experience such as I had had the nightbefore would since to convince any sane man that democracy was a failure, that the world-old principle of aristocracy would assert itself, that theattempt of our ancestors to curtail political power had merely resultedin the growth of another and greater economic power that bade fair to belimitless. As I walked slowly back into town I felt a reluctance toreturn to the noisy hotel, and finding myself in front of a littlerestaurant on a side street, I entered it. There was but one othercustomer in the place, and he was seated on the far side of the counter, with a newspaper in front of him; and while I was ordering my breakfast Iwas vaguely aware that the newspaper had dropped, and that he was lookingat me. In the slight interval that elapsed before my brain could registerhis identity I experienced a distinct shock of resentment; a sense of thereintrusion of an antagonistic value at a moment when it was mostunwelcome. .. . 

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 was morethan ever baked by a resolute good humour, a simplicity that was notinnocence, a whimsical touch seemingly indicative of a state of mind thatrefused to take too seriously certain things on which I set store. Whatright 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 you saidsomething 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, so mildlythat 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 conditions andimagine you can help to better them. Now, provided the conditions are notas good as they might be, how are you going to improve them if you findyourself 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 I havean idea that when the people of this country learn how their legislaturesare conducted they will want to change things. "

"That's right!" echoed the waiter, who had come up with my griddle-cakes. "And you're the man to tell 'em, Mr. Krebs. "

"It will need several thousand of us to do that, I'm afraid, " said Krebs, 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 if youdon'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 talking toa 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 conceived bya lawyer who claims to be a respectable member of his profession, and whohas extraordinary ability, Theodore Watling. "

Krebs put his hand in his pocket and drew out a paper. "Here's a copy ofit, --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 him twistingthe 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 agitators putup a job on them. " The Colonel was no longer the genial and socialpurveyor of anecdotes. He had become tense, alert, suspicious. "What's heup 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, andthat 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'mafraid 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 that I'vehad some experience with that breed, and I have yet to see one of 'em youcouldn'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?) wasthe logical one. In that philosophy every man had his price, or hisweakness. 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 that back, if I recall the matter correctly. " Colonel Varney went to a desk in thecorner of the room, unlocked it, drew forth a black book, and running hisfingers through the pages stopped at the letter K. "Yes, sent back hislegislative pass, but I've known 'em to do that when they were holdingout for something more. There must be somebody who can get close 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 an oilygentleman of about forty, inclining to stoutness, with one of those"blue, " shaven faces. 

"Want me, Colonel?" he inquired blithely, when the door had closed behindhim; and added obsequiously, when introduced to me, "Glad to meet you, 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 there wasto it. 

"Won't he--listen to reason?"

"It's been tried, Colonel. Say, he wouldn't know a hundred-dollar bill ifyou 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 manipulation of hislips shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other withoutraising his hands. "But it ain't money. I guess he's got a notion thatlater on the labour unions'll send him to the United States Senate someday. He's no slouch, either, when it comes to law. I can tell you that. "

"No--no flaw in his--record?" Colonel Varney's agate eyes sought those ofMr. 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! Hecan't do any more than make a noise. Only I hoped we'd be able to greasethis thing along and slide it through the Senate this afternoon, beforethey 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 over itheightened 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, or It, like to be trifled with in this way? And, if He existed, would not Hisdisgust be immeasurable as He contemplated that unctuous figure in the"Prince Albert" coat, who pretended to represent Him?

As the routine business began I searched for Krebs, to find him presentlyat a desk beside a window in the rear of the hall making notes on apaper; there was, confessedly, little satisfaction in the thought thatthe 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 had thecourage to get up and oppose House Bill 709. I watched him narrowly; thesuggestion intruded itself--perhaps he had been "seen, " as the Colonelexpressed it. I repudiated it. I grew impatient, feverish; the monotonousreading of the clerk was interrupted now and then by the sharp tones ofthe Speaker assigning his various measures to this or that committee, "unless objection is offered, " while the members moved about and murmuredamong themselves; Krebs had stopped making notes; he was looking out ofthe window. At last, without any change of emphasis in his droning voice, the clerk announced the recommendation of the Committee on Judiciary thatHouse 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 to explainin the impressive but conversational tone of one whose counsels are inthe habit of being listened to, that this was merely a little measure toremedy a flaw in the statutes. Mr. Truesdale believed in corporationswhen corporations were good, and this bill was calculated to make themgood, to put an end to jugglery and concealment. Our great state, hesaid, should be in the forefront of such wise legislation, which made forjustice and a proper publicity; but the bill in question was of greaterinterest to lawyers than to laymen, a committee composed largely oflawyers had recommended it unanimously, and he was sure that noopposition would develop in the House. In order not to take up their timehe asked: therefore, that it be immediately put on its second and thirdreading 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, toarraign the united judgment of the committee's legal talent? Such was thenote Mr. Truesdale so admirably struck. As though fascinated, I continuedto gaze at Krebs. I hated him, I desired to see him humiliated, and yetamazingly I found myself wishing with almost equal vehemence that hewould be true to himself. He was rising, --slowly, timidly, I thought, hishand clutching his desk lid, his voice sounding wholly inadequate as headdressed the Speaker. The Speaker hesitated, his tone palpablysupercilious. 

"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, andbegan again. His speech did not, at first, flow easily. 

"Mr. Speaker, I rise to protest against this bill, which in my opinion isnot so innocent as the gentleman from St. Helen's would have the Housebelieve. It is on a par, indeed, with other legislation that in pastyears has been engineered through this legislature under the guise ofbeneficent 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. Itwas as though he had needed just the stimulus of that interruption toelectrify and transform him. His awkwardness disappeared; and if he was alittle bombastic, a little "young, " he spoke with the fire of conviction. 

"Because, " he cried, "because I should lose my self-respect for life if Isat 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 for someyears: and this bill is intended to put into the hands of the attorneysfor Mr. Scherer certain information that will enable him to getpossession of the property. Gentlemen, that is what 'legal practice' hasdescended to in the hands of respectable lawyers. This device originatedwith the resourceful Mr. Theodore Watling, and if it had not had theapproval of Mr. Miller Gorse, it would never have got any farther thanthe judiciary committee. It was confided to the skillful care of ColonelPaul Varney to be steered through this legislature, as hundreds of othermeasures have been steered through, --without unnecessary noise. It may beasked why the Railroad should bother itself by lending its politicalorganization to private corporations? I will tell you. Becausecorporations like the Boyne corporation are a part of a network ofinterests, these corporations aid the Railroad to maintain its monopoly, and in return receive rebates. "

Krebs had raised his voice as the murmurs became louder. At this point asharp-faced lawyer from Belfast got to his feet and objected that thegentleman from Elkington was wasting the time of the House, indulging inhearsay. His remarks were not germane, etc. The Speaker rapped again, 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 from somehostile 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, because one ofits officers refused, or was unable, to testify. He might be in China, inTimbuctoo when the summons was delivered at his last or usual place ofabode. Here was an enormity, an exercise of tyrannical power exceedingall bounds, a travesty on popular government. .. . He ended by pointing outthe significance of the fact that the committee had given no hearings; bydeclaring that if the bill became a law, it would inevitably react uponthe 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'the? 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 patriots ofthe 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. Ifthe bill passed, he declared, the men who voted for it, the men who werebehind it, would ultimately be driven from political life by an indignantpublic. He had a higher opinion of the voters of the state than those whoaccused him of slandering it, than those who sat silent and had notlifted 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 wholly thoseof 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 hadbeen ingloriously crushed, and defeat, even for the sake of conviction, was not an inspiring spectacle. .. . As the chase swept on over hisprostrate figure I rapidly regained poise and a sense of proportion; a"master of life" could not permit himself to be tossed about bysentimentality; and gradually I grew ashamed of my bad quarter of an hourin the gallery of the House, and of the effect of it--which lingeredawhile--as of a weakness suddenly revealed, which must at all costs beovercome. I began to see something dramatic and sensational in Krebs'sperformance. .. . 

The Ribblevale Steel Company was the real quarry, after all. And such hadbeen the expedition, the skill and secrecy, with which our affair wasconducted, that before the Ribblevale lawyers could arrive, alarmed andbreathless, the bill had passed the House, and their only real chance ofhalting it had been lost. For the Railroad controlled the House, not byowning the individuals composing it, but through the leaders whodominated it, --men like Letchworth and Truesdale. These, and ColonelVarney, had seen to it that men who had any parliamentary ability hadbeen attended to; all save Krebs, who had proved a surprise. There wereindeed certain members who, although they had railroad passes in theirpockets (which were regarded as just perquisites, --the Railroad being sorich!), would have opposed the bill if they had felt sufficiently sure ofthemselves to cope with such veterans as Letchworth. Many of these hadallowed themselves to be won over or cowed by the oratory which hadcrushed Krebs. 

Nor did the Ribblevale people--be it recorded--scruple to fight fire withfire. Their existence, of course, was at stake, and there was no publicto appeal to. A part of the legal army that rushed to the aid of ouradversaries spent the afternoon and most of the night organizing allthose who could be induced by one means or another to reverse theirsentiments, and in searching for the few who had grievances against theexisting 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 bill wascalmly 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 convinced ofthe inherent justice of the measure. " On Saturday morning he signed it, 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 been doneneater. 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 then he can'tstop 'em. " As he shook hands in farewell he added, with more gravity:"We'll see each other often, sir, I guess. My very best regards to 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, ofimportance 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 perfection ofthe organization of which I might now call myself an integral part thatthe "best" publications contained only the barest mention, --and that inthe legislative news, --of the signing of the bill. I read withcomplacency 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 experience hadtaught 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 in asteep 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 with himself?"

"He's come to take us to church, " said Janet. 

"Oh, he's much too important, " said Frances. "He's made a killing of somesort, --haven't you, Hugh?". .. 

I rang the bell and stood watching them as they departed, reflecting thatI was thirty-two years of age and unmarried. Mr. Watling, surrounded withnewspapers and seated before his library fire, glanced up at me with awelcoming smile: how had I borne the legislative baptism of fire? Such, Iknew, 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 they seem, unfortunately, to be necessary. "

Such had been my own thought. 

"Who is this man Krebs?" he inquired suddenly. "And why didn't Varney gethold 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 think heis the kind of man who would be willing to die for it. "

"What, in these days!" Mr. Watling looked at me incredulously. "If that'sso, we must keep an eye on him, a sincere fanatic is a good deal moredangerous than a reformer who wants something. There are such men, " headded, "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 details ofthe Ribblevale suit, Mr. Watling delegating to me certain mattersconnected with it of a kind with which I had not hitherto been entrusted;and he spoke again, before I left, of his intention of taking me into thefirm as soon as the affair could be arranged. Walking homeward, with mymind intent upon things to come, I met my mother at the corner of LymeStreet coming from church. Her face lighted up at sight 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 wish hecould know. Perhaps he does know. "

Theodore Watling had once said to me that the man who can best keep hisown counsel is the best counsel for other men to keep. I did not go aboutboasting of the part I had played in originating the now famous Bill No. 709, the passage of which had brought about the capitulation of theRibblevale Steel Company to our clients. But Ralph Hambleton knew of it, of course. 

"That was a pretty good thing you pulled off, Hughie, " he said. "I didn'tthink 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 characteristically thatof 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. Ioften 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. Ham hadattained 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 in theEast; 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 Perry Blackwood(for Perry had become a moralist) had told these hostesses that HambletonDurrett was a victim of our new civilization, they would have raisedtheir eyebrows. They deplored while they coveted. If Ham had been told hewas 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, it wasnaturally supposed that he had fallen in love; the identity of theunknown lady becoming a fruitful subject of speculation among thefeminine portion of society. The announcement of the marriage ofHambleton Durrett would be news of the first magnitude, to be absorbedeagerly by the many who had not the honour of his acquaintance, --comparable only to that of a devastating flood or a murder mysteryor a change in the tariff. 

Being absorbed in affairs that seemed more important, the subject did notinterest me greatly. But one cold Sunday afternoon, as I made my way, inanswer to her invitation, to see Nancy Willett, I found myself wonderingidly whether she might not be by way of making a shrewd guess as to theobject of Hambleton's affections. It was well known that he hadentertained a hopeless infatuation for her; and some were inclined toattribute his later lapses to her lack of response. He still called onher, and her lectures, which she delivered like a great aunt with arecondite knowledge of the world, he took meekly. But even she had seemedpowerless 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 known as"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, andthe silver on the polished name-plate was wearing off; even the act ofpulling the knob of a door-bell was becoming obsolete, so used had wegrown to pushing porcelain buttons in bright, new vestibules. As I waitedfor my summons to be answered it struck me as remarkable that neitherNancy nor her father had been contaminated by the shabbiness thatsurrounded them. 

She had managed rather marvellously to redeem one room from theold-fashioned severity of the rest of the house, the library behind thebig "parlour. " It was Nancy's room, eloquent of her daintiness and taste, of her essential modernity and luxuriousness; and that evening, as I wasushered into it, this quality of luxuriousness, of being able to shut outthe disagreeable aspects of life that surrounded and threatened her, particularly impressed me. She had not lacked opportunities to escape. Iwondered uneasily as I waited why she had not embraced them. I strayedabout the room. A coal fire burned in the grate, the red-shaded lampsgave a subdued but cheerful light; some impulse led me to cross over tothe windows and draw aside the heavy hangings. Dusk was gathering overthat garden, bleak and frozen now, where we had romped together aschildren. How queer the place seemed! How shrivelled! Once it had had thewide range of a park. There, still weathering the elements, was theold-fashioned latticed summer-house, but the fruit-trees that I recalledas clouds of pink and white were gone. .. . A touch of poignancy was inthese memories. I dropped the curtain, and turned to confront Nancy, whohad 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'llhave 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 handed me mycup and the thinnest of slices of bread and butter I found the intimacyof the situation a little disquieting. Her manner was indeed intimate, and yet it had the odd and disturbing effect of making her seem moreremote. As she chatted I answered her perfunctorily, while all the time Iwas asking myself why I had ceased to desire her, whether the old longingfor her might not return--was not even now returning? I might indeed gofar afield to find a wife so suited to me as Nancy. She had beauty, distinction, and position. She was a woman of whom any man might beproud. .. . 

"I haven't congratulated you yet, Hugh, " she said suddenly, "now that youare a partner of Mr. Watling's. I hear on all sides that you are on thehigh 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 discussion ofmy affairs, which she had so long avoided or ignored. "You are gettingwhat 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 know thatI 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. All atonce the full flavour of her, the superfine quality was revealed afteryears of blindness. --Nor can I describe the sudden rebellion, therevulsion that I experienced. Hambleton Durrett! It was an outrage, asacrilege! 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 that theywere prone to remain true to an early love. Did Nancy still care for me?The query, coming as it did on top of my emotion, brought with it astrange and overwhelming perplexity. Did I really care for her? The manyyears during which I had practised the habit of caution began to exert aninhibiting pressure. Here was a situation, an opportunity suddenly thrustupon me which might never return, and which I was utterly unprepared tomeet. Would I be happy with Nancy, after all? Her expression was stillenigmatic. 

"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 used todream about, when we did dream. Well, when we find we can't realize ourdreams, we take the next best thing. And I fail to see why you shouldblame me for taking it when you yourself have taken it. Hambleton Durrettcan give it to me. He'll accept me on my own terms, he won't interferewith me, I shan't be disillusionized, --and I shall have a position whichI could not hope to have if I remained unmarried, a very marked positionas 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 unable toimagine 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 heard me. 

"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 you now, it was just that faith, Hugh, that faith you had in life, that faith youhad in me. You weren't cynical and calculating, like Ralph Hambleton, youhad imagination. I--I dreamed, too. And do you remember the time when youmade the boat, and we went to Logan's Pond, and you sank 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. But whatis the use of regrets?" she exclaimed. "We've both run after thepractical gods, and the others have hidden their faces from us. It may bethat we are not to blame, either of us, that the practical gods are toostrong. 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 you andme. I know myself better than you know yourself, and I know you better. "She smiled again. "Unless we could have it all back again, I shouldn'twant 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, butyou 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 become theincarnation of you. Well, I'm not that kind of woman. I might have been, had you been different. I'm not at all sure. Certainly I'm not that kindnow, even though I know in my heart that the sort of career you have madefor yourself, and that I intend to make for myself is all dross. But nowI 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. ButI 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 to beborne. It was incredible! "We'll close the book. " I found myselfrepeating the phrase; and it seemed then as though something within me Ihad 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; it wastime he settled down and took the position in the community that was tobe expected of one of his name; and as for Nancy, it was generally agreedthat she had done well for herself. She was not made for poverty--and whoso well as she was fitted for the social leadership of our community?

They were married in Trinity Church in the month of May, and I was one ofHam's attendants. Ralph was "best man. " For the last time the old Willettmansion in Powell Street wore the gala air of former days; carpets werespread over the sidewalk, and red and white awnings; rooms were filledwith flowers and flung open to hundreds of guests. I found the weddingsomething of an ordeal. I do not like to dwell upon it--especially uponthat moment when I came to congratulate Nancy as she stood beside Ham atthe end of the long parlour. She seemed to have no regrets. I don't knowwhat I expected of her--certainly not tears and tragedy. She seemedtaller than ever, and very beautiful in her veil and white satin gown andthe diamonds Ham had given her; very much mistress of herself, quite acontrast to Ham, who made no secret of his elation. She smiled when Iwished 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 a gardeniain his frock-coat and a glass of champagne in his hand he went from groupto group; and his familiar laughter, which once had seemed so full ofmerriment and fun, gave me to-day a somewhat scandalized feeling. I heardRalph's voice, and turned to discover him standing beside me, his longlegs thrust slightly apart, his hands in his pockets, overlooking thescene with typical, semi-contemptuous amusement. 

"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. "Why thedeuce 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 luncheon inthe Boyne Club; Mr. Barbour, President of the Railroad, Mr. Scherer, ofthe Boyne Iron Works and other corporations, Mr. Leonard Dickinson, ofthe 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 about leavingthe 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, ayear 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 sprang upspontaneously. 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 was toget 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 put forthtender little editorial shoots, which Mr. Judah B. Tallant presentlycollected and presented in a charming bouquet in the Morning Era. "TheVoice of the State Press;" thus was the column headed; and the remarks ofthe Hon. Fitch Truesdale, of the St. Helen's Messenger, were given aspecial prominence. Mr. Truesdale was the first, in his section, to beinspired by the happy thought that the one man preeminently fitted torepresent the state in the present crisis, when her great industries hadbeen crippled by Democratic folly, was Mr. Theodore Watling. The RossiterBanner, the Elkington Star, the Belfast Recorder, and I know not how manyothers 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 Corn BankBuilding. He was never too busy to converse with them; or, it mightbetter be said, to listen to them converse. Let some legally andpolitically 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 over therail 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. Someof them he turned over to Mr. Paret, whom he particularly desired theyshould 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. Though notimmediately lucrative, it was all, no doubt, part of a lawyer'seducation. 

During the summer and the following winter Colonel Paul Varney came oftento town and spent much of his time in Mr. Paret's office smoking Mr. Watling's cigars and discussing the coming campaign, in which he took awhole-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 in theway they're doing now. If it was anybody else but Theodore Watling, itwould scare me. You ought to have been in Jim Broadhurst's campaign, " headded, referring to the junior senator, "they wouldn't wood up at all, they was just listless. But Gorse and Barbour and the rest wanted him, 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? One ofthose 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 enthusiasm for aman of his sort. He's liberal and big. He's made his pile, and he don'tbegrudge some of it to the fellows who do the work. Mark my words, whenyou 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 I washaving a part in his career, a share in his success, became for themoment the passion of my life. As the campaign progressed I gave more andmore time to it, and made frequent trips of a confidential nature to thedifferent counties of the state. The whole of my being was energized. Thenational fever had thoroughly pervaded my blood--the national fever towin. Prosperity--writ large--demanded it, and Theodore Watlingpersonified, incarnated the cause. I had neither the time nor the desireto philosophize on this national fever, which animated all my associates:animated, I might say, the nation, which was beginning to get into afever about games. If I remember rightly, it was about this time thatgolf was introduced, tennis had become a commonplace, professionalbaseball was in full swing; Ham Durrett had even organized a local poloteam. .. . The man who failed to win something tangible in sport or law orbusiness or politics was counted out. Such was the spirit of America, inthe 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 challenged ouringenuity; and having won, we set about devising methods whereby it wouldbe less and less possible for us winners to lose in the future. No betterillustration of this tendency could be given than the development whichhad recently taken place in the field of our city politics, hitherto thebattle-ground of Irish politicians who had fought one another forsupremacy. Individualism had been rampant, competition the custom; youbought an alderman, or a boss who owned four or five aldermen, and thenyou never could be sure you were to get what you wanted, or that thealdermen and the bosses would "stay bought. " But now a genius hadappeared, an American genius who had arisen swiftly and almost silently, who appealed to the imagination, and whose name was often mentioned in awhisper, --the Hon. Judd Jason, sometimes known as the Spider, whoorganized the City Hall and capitalized it; an ultimate and logicaleffect--if one had considered it--of the Manchester school of economics. Enlightened self-interest, stripped of sentiment, ends on Judd Jasons. Heran the city even as Mr. Sherrill ran his department store; you paid yourprice. It was very convenient. Being a genius, Mr. Jason did not whollybreak with tradition, but retained those elements of the old muddledsystem that had their value, chartering steamboats for outings on theriver, giving colossal picnics in Lowry Park. The poor and the wandererand the criminal (of the male sex at least) were cared for. But he wasnot loved, as the rough-and-tumble Irishmen had been loved; he did notmake himself common; he was surrounded by an aura of mystery which Iconfess had not failed of effect on me. Once, and only once during mylegal apprenticeship, he had been pointed out to me on the street, wherehe rarely ventured. His appearance was not impressive. .. . 

Mr. Jason could not, of course, prevent Mr. Watling's election, even didhe 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 one Julymorning when the Republican State Chairman was in the city; Mr. Grunewaldexpressed anxiety over Mr. Jason's continued silence. It was expedientthat somebody should "see" the boss. 

"Why not Paret?" suggested Leonard Dickinson. Mr. Watling was not presentat this conference. "Paret seems to be running Watling's campaign, anyway. "

It was settled that I should be the emissary. With lively sensations ofcuriosity and excitement, tempered by a certain anxiety as to my abilityto match wits with the Spider, I made my way to his "lair" over Monahan'ssaloon, situated in a district that was anything but respectable. Thesaloon, on the ground floor, had two apartments; the bar-room properwhere Mike Monahan, chamberlain of the establishment, was wont to stand, red faced and smiling, to greet the courtiers, big and little, the partyworkers, the district leaders, the hangers-on ready to be hired, the cityofficials, the police judges, --yes, and the dignified members of statecourts whose elections depended on Mr. Jason's favour: even Judge Bering, whose acquaintance I had made the day I had come, as a law student, toMr. Watling's office, unbent from time to time sufficiently to call therefor a small glass of rye and water, and to relate, with his owl-likegravity, an anecdote to the "boys. " The saloon represented Democracy, sodear to the American public. Here all were welcome, even thelight-fingered gentlemen who enjoyed the privilege of police protection;and who sometimes, through fortuitous circumstances, were hauled beforethe very magistrates with whom they had rubbed elbows on the polishedrail. Behind the bar-room, and separated from it by swinging doors onlythe elite ventured to thrust apart, was an audience chamber whither Mr. Jason occasionally descended. Anecdote and political reminiscence gaveplace here to matters of high policy. 

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 here thecity auditor himself. Mike Monahan, whose affair it was to know everyone, recognized me. It was part of his business, also, to understand that Iwas now a member of the firm of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon. 

"Good morning to you, Mr. Paret, " he said suavely. We held a colloquy inundertones 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 a voice. 

"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 again whenhe became silent. They reminded me of those insects which in my childhooddays we called "lightning bugs. " Mr. Jason gave me a hand like a woman's. I expressed my pleasure at meeting him, and took a chair beside 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 my time. "

"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. Theeyes continued to fascinate me, they had a peculiar, disquieting effect. Now they died down, and it was as if the man's very presence had goneout, 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, suggestedthat 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--and Ifelt 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 us can affordto recognize too closely party lines; the Democratic administration hasbrought on a panic, the business men in that party are down on it, and itought to be rebuked. And we feel, too, that some of the city's Democratsought to be loyal to Mr. Watling, --not that we expect them to vote forhim in caucus, but when it comes to the joint ballot--"

"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 to thedarkness, 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 you are, of course, knew you were in Watling's office. Then some of the boys spokeabout 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 anything foryou, 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. AsI walked slowly back to the office, seeking the shade of the awnings, thefigure 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 back tome. 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 in serriedranks, uniformed and helmeted, stalwarts carrying torches and banners. And then there were the draughty opera-houses with the sylvan scenerypushed back and plush chairs and sofas pushed forward; with an ominoustable, a pitcher of water on it and a glass, near the footlights. Thehouses were packed with more bewildered citizens. What a wonderful studyof mob-psychology it would have offered! Men who had not thought of thegrand old Republican party for two years, and who had not cared muchabout it when they had entered the dooms, after an hour or so went madwith fervour. The Hon. Joseph Mecklin, ex-Speaker of the House, with whomI traveled on occasions, had a speech referring to the martyredPresident, ending with an appeal to the revolutionary fathers whofollowed Washington with bleeding feet. The Hon. Joseph possessed thatmost valuable of political gifts, presence; and when with quivering voicehe finished his peroration, citizens wept with him. What it all had to dowith the tariff was not quite clear. Yet nobody seemed to miss theconnection. 

We were all of us most concerned, of course, about the working-man andhis 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 to seemyself 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, of the firmof Watling, Fowndes and Ripon. Mr. Paret's speech at the Opera-House lastevening made a most favourable impression. Mr. Paret deals with facts. And his thoughtful analysis of the situation into which the Democraticparty has brought this country should convince any sane-minded voter thatthe time has come for a change. "

I began to keep a scrap-book, though I locked it up in the drawer of mydesk. 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, the localcapitalists and manufacturers, with whom my manner of dealing with publicquestions was in particular favour. These were practical men; they ratherpatronized the Hon. Joseph, thus estimating, to a nicety, a mans value;or solidity, or specific gravity, it might better be said, since ouruniverse was one of checks and balances. The Hon. Joseph and his like, skyrocketing through the air, were somehow necessary in the scheme ofthings, but not to be taken too seriously. Me they did take seriously, these provincial lords, inviting me to their houses and opening theirhearts. Thus, when we came to Elkington, Mr. Mecklin reposed in theCommercial House, on the noisy main street. Fortunately for him, theclanging of trolley cars never interfered with his slumbers. I slept in awide chamber in the mansion of Mr. Ezra Hutchins. There were manyHutchinses in Elkington, --brothers and cousins and uncles andgreat-uncles, --and all were connected with the woollen mills. But thereis always one supreme Hutchins, and Ezra was he: tall, self-contained, elderly, but well preserved through frugal living, essentially Americanand typical of his class, when he entered the lobby of the CommercialHouse that afternoon the babel of political discussion was suddenlyhushed; politicians, traveling salesmen and the members of the localcommittee made a lane for him; to him, the Hon. Joseph and I wereintroduced. Mr. Hutchins knew what he wanted. He was cordial to Mr. Mecklin, but he took me. We entered a most respectable surrey withtassels, driven by a raw-boned coachman in a black overcoat, drawn by twosleek 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 sight ofdrab figures of men and women bending over the machines. Half of thebuildings, as Mr. Hutchins pointed out, were closed, --mute witnesses oftariff-tinkering madness. Even more eloquent of democratic folly was thatpart of the town through which we presently passed, streets lined withrows of dreary houses where the workers lived. Children were playing onthe sidewalks, but theirs seemed a listless play; listless, too, were themen and women who sat on the steps, --listless, and somewhat sullen, asthey watched us passing. Ezra Hutchins seemed to read 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 on us, 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 deal oftrouble, 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 the cityof the Hutchins family. Facing it, on one side, was the Hutchins Library;on the other, across a wide street, where the maples were turning, werethe Hutchinses' residences of various dates of construction, from that ofthe younger George, who had lately married a wife, and built in brightyellow brick, to the old-fashioned mansion of Ezra himself. This, he toldme, had been good enough for his father, and was good enough for him. Thepicture of it comes back to me, now, with singular attractiveness. It wasof brick, and I suppose a modification of the Georgian; the kind of houseone still sees in out-of-the way corners of London, with a sort ofDickensy flavour; high and square and uncompromising, with small-panedwindows, with a flat roof surrounded by a low balustrade, and manysubstantial chimneys. The third storey was lower than the others, separated from them by a distinct line. On one side was a wide porch. Yellow and red leaves, the day's fall, scattered the well-kept lawn. Standing in the doorway of the house was a girl in white, and as wedescended from the surrey she came down the walk to meet us. She wasyoung, about twenty. Her hair was the colour of the russet 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 at Maude. 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 defined heras 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 to Mr. 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 learned later, the second Mrs. Hutchins, and Maude their only child. The children of thefirst 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 of anoccasion, I suspected. The minister was there, the Reverend Mr. Doddridge, who would have made, in appearance at least, a perfect Puritandivine in a steeple hat and a tippet. Only--he was no longer the leaderof the community; and even in his grace he had the air of deferring tothe man who provided the bounties of which we were about to partakerather than to the Almighty. Young George was there, Mr. Hutchins'snephew, who was daily becoming more and more of a factor in themanagement of the mills, and had built the house of yellow brick thatstood out so incongruously among the older Hutchinses' mansions, andmarked 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 remain wherehe was, for the present at least, --Uncle Ezra depended on him; butElkington was a prosy place, and Mrs. George gave the impression that shedid not belong here. They went to the city on occasions; both cities. Andwhen she told me we had a common acquaintance in Mrs. HambletonDurrett--whom she thought so lovely!--I knew that she had taken Nancy asan ideal: Nancy, the social leader of what was to Mrs. George ametropolis. 

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? thenational situation? George indulged in rather a vigorous arraignment ofthe demagogues, national and state, who were hurting business in order toobtain political power. The Reverend Mr. Doddridge assented, deploringthe poverty that the local people had brought on themselves by heedingthe advice of agitators; and Mrs. Hutchins, who spent much of her time incharity work, agreed with the minister when he declared that the troublewas largely due to a decline in Christian belief. Ezra Hutchins, 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 be saidfor the son. Young Krebs has talent, and if only he had devoted himselfto the honest practice of law, instead of stirring up dissatisfactionamong these people, he would be a successful man to-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 socialistic doctrinesbecause he's a friend of theirs. "

"He won't represent this town again, that's sure, " exclaimed George. "Youdidn'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 front ofthe 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 and I, 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 not presentin large numbers. But the farmers had driven in from the hills, while themerchants and storekeepers of Elkington had turned out loyally. 

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, I foundmyself making occasional, unexpected witticisms that drew laughter andapplause. Suddenly, from the back of the hall, a voice called out:--"Howabout 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 to myfeet, and I had scanned the faces before me in search of his. But it wasnot 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 "conviction ofsin. " 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 a hotanger 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. The offenderremained silent and presently I finished my speech. After that Mr. Mecklin made them cheer and weep, and Mr. Mellish made them laugh. Themeeting 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's alittle legal business in prospect down here that will require somehandling, and I wish you'd come down after the campaign and talk it over, with us. I've just about made up my mind that you're he man to tackleit. "

"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, Imet 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 of shadowsat our feet; I had the feeling of well-being that comes to heroes, andthe presence of Maude Hutchins was an incense, a vestal incense far fromunpleasing. Yet she had reservations which appealed to me. Hers was not agushing 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, " shewent 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 it moredifficult, more painful is that many of them seem actually to dislike us. They think it's father's fault, and that he could run all the mills if hewanted to. I've been around a little with mother and sometimes the womenwouldn't accept any help from us; they said they'd rather starve thantake charity, that they had the right to work. But father couldn't runthe 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, but aftera while I began to be a little uneasy, there were places where I had tosqueeze through, and I couldn't help seeing that something was wrong, andthat the people were angry. Men and women were talking in loud voices. One woman stared at me, and called my name, and said something thatfrightened me terribly. I went into a doorway--and then I saw Mr. Krebs. I didn't know who he was. He just said, 'You'd better come with me, MissHutchins, ' and I went with him. I thought afterwards that it was a verycourageous thing for him to do, because he was so popular with the millpeople, and they had such a feeling against us. Yet they didn't seem toresent it, and made way for us, and Mr. Krebs spoke to many of them as wepassed. After we got to State Street, I asked him his name, and when hetold me I was speechless. He took off his hat and went away. He had sucha nice face--not at all ugly when you look at it twice--and kind eyes, that I just couldn't believe him to be as bad as father and George thinkhe is. Of course he is mistaken, " she added hastily, "but I am sure he issincere, and honestly thinks he can help those people by telling themwhat 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 gave me atwinge of jealousy, --the slightest twinge, to be sure, yet a perceptibleone. At the same time, the unaccountable liking I had for the man stirredto life. The act she described had been so characteristic. 

"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. What wasMaude Hutchins to me? And even if she had been something to me, she nevercould be anything to Krebs. All the forces of our civilization stoodbetween the two; nor was she of a nature to take plunges of that sort. The next day, as I lay back in my seat in the parlour-car and gazed atthe autumn landscape, I indulged in a luxurious contemplation of thepicture she had made as she stood on the lawn under the trees in theearly morning light, when my carriage had driven away; and I had turned, to perceive that her eyes had followed me. I was not in love with her, ofcourse. I did not wish to return at once to Elkington, but I dwelt with apleasant anticipation upon my visit, when the campaign should 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, who stuckto 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, theBartlett pears he gives to his friends. He has saved something from thespoils of war, but other veterans I could mention are not so fortunate. The old warriors have retired, and many are dead; the good old methodsare becoming obsolete. We never bothered about those mischievous thingscalled primaries. Our county committees, our state committees chose thecandidates for the conventions, which turned around and chose thecommittees. Both the committees and the conventions--under advice--chosethe candidates. Why, pray, should the people complain, when they hadeverything done for them? The benevolent parties, both Democratic andRepublican, even undertook the expense of printing the ballots! Andgenerous ballots they were (twenty inches long and five wide!), distributed before election, in order that the voters might have theopportunity of studying and preparing them: in order that Democrats ofdelicate feelings might take the pains to scratch out all the Democraticcandidates, and write in the names of the Republican candidates. Patriotism could go no farther than this. .. . 

I spent the week before election in the city, where I had the opportunityof observing what may be called the charitable side of politics. For awhole month, or more, the burden of existence had been lifted from theshoulders of the homeless. No church or organization, looked out forthese frowsy, blear-eyed and ragged wanderers who had failed to find aplace in the scale of efficiency. For a whole month, I say, Mr. JuddJason and his lieutenants made them their especial care; supported themin lodging-houses, induced the night clerks to give them attention; tookthe greatest pains to ensure them the birth-right which, as Americancitizens, was theirs, --that of voting. They were not only given homes fora period, but they were registered; and in the abundance of good feelingthat reigned during this time of cheer, even the foreigners wereregistered! On election day they were driven, like visiting notables, incarryalls and carriages to the polls! Some of them, as though incompensation for ills endured between elections, voted not once, but manytimes; exercising judicial functions for which they should be givencredit. For instance, they were convinced that the Hon. W. W. Truleasehad made a good governor; and they were Watling enthusiasts, --intent onsending men to the legislature who would vote for him for senator; yetthere were cases in which, for the minor offices, the democrat was thebetter man!

It was a memorable day. In spite of Mr. Lawler's Pilot, which was as avoice crying in the wilderness, citizens who had wives and homes andresponsibilities, business men and clerks went to the voting booths andrecorded 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 officers themselvesin absent-minded exuberance thrust bunches of ballots into the 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 did notexaggerate 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 instances ofhis public spirit, where he has achieved such distinction in the practiceof the law. He holds the sound American conviction that the office shouldseek the man. His address is printed in another column, and we believe itwill appeal to the intelligence and sober judgment of the state. It isreplete 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 had comehere as a man, as an American, to pay his tribute to another man, along-time friend, whom he thought to stand somewhat aside and above mereparty 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 had takenin Monahan's saloon, the cases he had "arranged" for the firm of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon were forgotten. Forgotten, too, when Theodore Watlingstood up and men began, to throw their hats in the air, --were thecavilling charges of Mr. Lawler's Pilot that, far from the office seekingthe man, our candidate had spent over a hundred thousand dollars of hisown money, to say nothing of the contributions of Mr. Scherer, Mr. Dickinson and the Railroad! If I had been troubled with any weak, ethicaldoubts, Mr. Watling would have dispelled them; he had red blood in hisveins, a creed in which he believed, a rare power of expressing himselfin plain, everyday language that was often colloquial, but never--as thesaying goes--"cheap. " The dinner-pail predicament was real to him. Hewould present a policy of our opponents charmingly, even persuasively, and then add, after a moment's pause: "There is only one objection tothis, my friends--that it doesn't work. " It was all in the way he saidit, of course. The audience would go wild with approval, and shouts of"that's right" could be heard here and there. Then he proceeded to showwhy it didn't work. He had the faculty of bringing his lessons home, theimagination to put himself into the daily life of those who listened tohim, --the life of the storekeeper, the clerk, of the labourer and of thehouse-wife. The effect of this can scarcely be overestimated. For theAmerican hugs the delusion that there are no class distinctions, eventhough his whole existence may be an effort to rise out of once classinto another. "Your wife, " he told them once, "needs a dress. Let usadmit that the material for the dress is a little cheaper than it wasfour years ago, but when she comes to look into the family stocking--"(Laughter. ) "I needn't go on. If we could have things cheaper, and moremoney to buy them with, we should all be happy, and the Republican partycould 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 would bethe next United States Senator, a scene of jubilation ensued within thosehallowed walls which was unprecedented. Chairs were pushed back, rugstaken up, Gene Hollister played the piano and a Virginia reel started; ina burst of enthusiasm Leonard Dickinson ordered champagne for everymember present. The country was returning to its senses. Theodore Watlinghad preferred, on this eventful night, to remain quietly at home. Butpresently carriages were ordered, and a "delegation" of enthusiasticfriends departed to congratulate him; Dickinson, of course, Grierson, Fowndes, Ogilvy, and Grunewald. We found Judah B. Tallant there, --inspite of the fact that it was a busy night for the Era; and Adolf Schererhimself, in expansive mood, was filling the largest of the librarychairs. Mr. Watling was the least excited of them all; remarkably calm, Ithought, for a man on the verge of realizing his life's high ambition. Hehad some old brandy, and a box of cigars he had been saving for anoccasion. He managed to convey to everyone his appreciation of the valueof their cooperation. .. . 

It was midnight before Mr. Scherer arose to take his departure. He seizedMr. Watling's hand, warmly, in both of his own. 

"I have never, " he said, with a relapse into the German f's, "I havenever 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 in thelast 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, responsible foryour 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 boy fromupstate, he represented and embodied for me all the fine traditions ofthe 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've takena personal pride in you, and I have an idea that eventually you willsucceed me here--neither Fowndes nor Ripon have the peculiar ability youhave shown. You and I are alike in a great many respects, and I aminclined to think we are rather rare, as men go. We are able to keep oneobject vividly in view, so vividly as to be able to work for it day andnight. I could mention dozens who had and have more natural talent forthe law than I, more talent for politics than I. The same thing may besaid about you. I don't regard either of us as natural lawyers, such asyour 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 of choosingbetween efficiency and inefficiency, and I chose efficiency. Well, thatwas 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 of justifying myself, but because I honestly believe there is more to it than expediency, --agood deal more. There's a weak way of looking at it, and a strong way. And if I feel sure you understand it, I shall be satisfied. 

"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 up hismind what he believes in, and be ready to fight for it. We'll have tofight for it, sooner perhaps than we realize. We are a nation dividedagainst ourselves; democracy--Jacksonian democracy, at all events, is aflat 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 nations aswell as in individuals, --needs stronger than the state, stronger than thelaw 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 stated soclearly. Do you think the day will come when statesmanship will recognizethis 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 opinion inthe old democratic sense is a myth; it must be made by strong individualswho recognize and represent evolutionary needs, otherwise it's at themercy of demagogues who play fast and loose with the prejudice andignorance of the mob. The people don't value the vote, they know nothingabout the real problems. So far as I can see, they are as easily swayedto-day as the crowd that listened to Mark Antony's oration about Caesar. You've seen how we have to handle them, in this election and--in othermatters. It isn't a pleasant practice, something we'd indulge in out ofchoice, but the alternative is unthinkable. We'd have chaos in no time. We've just got to keep hold, you understand--we can't leave it to theirresponsible. "

"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'll haveto stand more and more denunciation from the visionaries, thedissatisfied, the trouble makers. We may as well make up our minds to it. But we've got something on our side worth fighting for, and the man whois 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, orI 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 as awhole--not in the large sense in which you have expressed it. " To attemptto acknowledge or deprecate the compliment he had paid me was impossible;I felt that he must have read my gratitude and appreciation in 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 through theNovember 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 of thelegal matter involved. Many times that winter I was a guest at theyellow-brick house, and I have to confess, as spring came on, that I madeseveral trips to Elkington which business necessity did not absolutelydemand. 

I considered Maude Hutchins, and found the consideration rather adelightful process. As became an eligible and successful young man, I wascareful not to betray too much interest; and I occupied myself at firstwith a review of what I deemed her shortcomings. Not that I was thinkingof marriage--but I had imagined the future Mrs. Paret as tall; Maude wasup to my chin: again, the hair of the fortunate lady was to be dark, andMaude's was golden red: my ideal had esprit, lightness of touch, thefaculty of seizing just the aspect of a subject that delighted me, and aknowledge of the world; Maude was simple, direct, and in a wordprovincial. Her provinciality, however, was negative rather thanpositive, she had no disagreeable mannerisms, her voice was not nasal;her plasticity appealed to me. I suppose I was lost without knowing itwhen I began to think of moulding her. 

All of this went on at frequent intervals during the winter, and while Iwas organizing the Elkington Power and Traction Company for George Ifound time to dine and sup at Maude's house, and to take walks with her. 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 colour inher cheeks when she greeted me, and while I suspected that she looked upto 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's houseand surprised Mrs. Hutchins's glance on me, suspecting her of seeking todivine what manner of man I was. I became self-conscious; I dared notlook at Maude, who sat across the table; thereafter I began to feel thatthe Hutchins connection regarded me as a suitor. I had grown intimatewith George and his wife, who did not refrain from sly allusions; andGeorge himself once remarked, with characteristic tact, that I was mostconscientious in my attention to the traction affair; I have reason tobelieve they were even less delicate with Maude. This was the logicaltime to withdraw--but I dallied. The experience was becoming moreengrossing, --if I may so describe it, --and spring was approaching. Thestars in their courses were conspiring. I was by no means as yet aself-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 volumes ofa 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; andcollections of short stories, no doubt chiefly bought by philandererslike myself, who were thus enabled to skate on thin ice over deep water. It was a most delightful relationship that these helped to support, and Ifondly believed I could reach shore again whenever I chose. 

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 gold threadrunning through it. Of late, it seemed, she had had more new dresses: andtheir modes seemed more cosmopolitan; at least to the masculine eye. Howdelicately her hair grew, in little, shining wisps, around her whiteneck! I could have reached out my hand and touched her. And it was thisdesire, --although by no means overwhelming, --that startled me. Did Ireally want her? The consideration of this vital question occupied thewhole time of the sermon; made me distrait at dinner, --a large familygathering. Later I found myself alone with heron a bench in theHutchinses' garden where we had walked the day of my arrival, during thecampaign. 

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 dress wasMaude, a part of it all--the meaning of all that set my being clamouring. She was like some ripened, delicious flower ready to be picked. .. . One ofthose pernicious, make-believe volumes had fallen on the bench betweenus, 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 valiantbut hopeless effort to assert itself. Was I sure that I wanted her--forlife? No use! I wanted her now, no matter what price that future mightdemand. An awkward silence fell between us--awkward to me, at least--andI, her guide and mentor, became banal, apologetic, confused. I made someidiotic remark about being together in the Garden of Eden. 

"I remember Mr. Doddridge saying in Bible class that it was supposed tobe 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 to gainit. 

"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 by theflood of feeling. She did not look at me, but gazed straight ahead ofher. 

"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 you verymuch. "

"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 to saythat 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. ". .. Shelooked up at me. Afterwards, when reflecting on the scene, I seemed toremember that there were tears in her eyes. I was not in a condition toappreciate her splendid sincerity. I was overwhelmed and inarticulate. Ileft her there, on the bench, and went back to George's, announcing myintention of taking the five o'clock train. .. . 

Maude Hutchins had become, at a stroke, the most desirable of women. Ihave often wondered how I should have felt on that five-hour journey backto 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, yetthere would have been regrets in the background. Too deeply chagrined tosee any humour in the situation, I settled down in a Pullman seat andwent over and over again the event of that afternoon until the trainreached the city. 

As the days wore on, and I attended to my cases, I thought of Maude agreat deal, and in those moments when the pressure of business wasrelaxed, she obsessed me. She must love me, --only she did not realize it. That was the secret! Her value had risen amazingly, become supreme; thevery act of refusing me had emphasized her qualifications as a wife, andI now desired her with all the intensity of a nature which had beenpermitted 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 bitterness andtenderness, the turn of her head, the down on her neck, the half-revealedcurve of her arm. .. . In spite of the growing sordidness of Lyme Street, my mother and I still lived in the old house, for which she verynaturally had a sentiment. In vain I had urged her from time to time tomove out into a brighter and fresher neighbourhood. It would be timeenough, 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--framed nowwith white hair--lifted wistfully toward me across the table. Ourrelationship, indeed, was a pathetic projection of that which had existedin my childhood; we had never been confidants then. The world in which Ilived and fought, of great transactions and merciless consequencesfrightened her; her own world was more limited than ever. She hearddisquieting things, I am sure, from Cousin Robert Breck, who had becomemore and more querulous since the time-honoured firm of Breck and Companyhad been forced to close its doors and the home at Claremore had beensold. My mother often spent the day in the scrolled suburban cottage withthe coloured glass front door where he lived with the Kinleys andHelen. .. . 

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 that Irecord here without comment the fact that I was seeing much more of Nancysince her marriage than I had in the years preceding it. A comradeshipexisted between us. I often dined at her house and had fallen into thehabit of stopping there frequently on my way home in the evening. Ham didnot seem to mind. What was clear, at any rate, was that Nancy, beforemarriage, had exacted some sort of an understanding by which her"freedom" was not to be interfered with. She was the first among us ofthe "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 an armyof upholsterers, wood-workers, etc. , from Boston and New York invaded theplace. The old mahogany doors were spared, but matched now by Chippendaleand Sheraton; the new, polished floors were covered with Oriental rugs, the dreary Durrett pictures replaced by good canvases and tapestries. Nancy had what amounted to a genius for interior effects, and she was thefirst to introduce among us the luxury that was to grow more and moreprevalent as our wealth increased by leaps and bounds. Only Nancy'sluxury, though lavish, was never vulgar, and her house when completed hadrather marvellously the fine distinction of some old London mansionfilled with the best that generations could contribute. It left Mrs. Frederick Grierson--whose residence on the Heights had hitherto been our"grandest"--breathless with despair. 

With characteristic audacity Nancy had chosen old Nathaniel's sanctum forher 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, allghosts 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 turned upwith a fortune and the aspirations that go with it, and it was Mrs. Durrett who decided the delicate question of fitness. With these, andwith the world at large, her manner might best be described as difficult;and I was often amused at the way in which she contrived to keep them atarm's length and make them uncomfortable. With her intimates--of whomthere 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't thereal thing, as I told you once. But none of us gets the real thing. It'spower. .. . Just as you enjoy what you're doing--sorting out the unfit. It's a game, it keeps us from brooding over things we can't help. Andafter all, when we have good appetites and are fairly happy, why shouldwe 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 beginning ofour lives; and there was much of sentiment in it, no doubt. Sheunderstood me as no one else in the world understood me, and she was fondof 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 and mymanner, which I had flattered myself had not been distrait. On the chancethat 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 for theHutchinses, and I imagine some idiot has been gossiping. She's just ayoung 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? Youdidn'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 during thefour weeks which followed, and in them made four visits. Flinging cautionto the winds, I did not even pretend to George that I was coming to seehim on business. I had the Hutchins family on my side, for they had thesense to see that the match would be an advantageous one; I even summonedup 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 I hadsuddenly 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 me onelong 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 kissed her. Ezra and I stood gazing at them. Then he turned to me and pressed myhand. 

"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 go overthe incidents of the evening. Indifferent to the backings and thebumpings 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 I hadchosen her myself I could not have done better, " she added, with a smile. 

I was inclined to believe it, but Maude would have none of this illusion. 

"He just stumbled across me, " she insisted. .. . 

We went on long sails together, towards Wood's Hole and the open sea, thesprays washing over us. Her cheeks grew tanned. .. . Sometimes, when Ipraised 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, "I thoughtyou were rather calculating, that you put too high a price on success. Ofcourse 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, " Itold 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, someimportant, 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 is noless vivid. The house of Ezra Hutchins was scarcely recognizable: itsdoors and windows were opened wide, and all the morning people were beingescorted upstairs to an all-significant room that contained a collectionlike a jeweller's exhibit, --a bewildering display. There was a massivepunch-bowl from which dangled the card of Mr. And Mrs. Adolf Scherer, areally wonderful tea set of old English silver given by Senator and Mrs. Watling, and Nancy Willett, with her certainty of good taste, had sent anold English tankard of the time of the second Charles. The secret was inthat room. And it magically transformed for me (as I stood, momentarilyalone, in the doorway where I had first beheld Maude) the accustomedscene, and charged with undivined significance the blue shadows under theheavy foliage of the maples. The September sunlight was heavy, tingedwith 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 Peters flitacross the view, and Gene Hollister and Perry Blackwood and theEwanses, --all of whom had come up in a special car; Ralph Hambleton was"best man, " looking preternaturally tall in his frock-coat: and hismanner, 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'llsee 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 of acinematograph, comes the scene in church, the glimpse of my mother'swistful face in the front pew; and I found myself in front of the austereMr. Doddridge standing beside Maude--or rather beside a woman I triedhard to believe was Maude--so veiled and generally encased was she. I wasthinking of this all the time I was mechanically answering Mr. Doddridge, and even when the wedding march burst forth and I led her out of thechurch. It was as though they had done their best to disguise her, to putour union on the other-worldly plane that was deemed to be its onlyjustification, to neutralize her sex at the very moment it should havebeen most enhanced. Well, they succeeded. If I had not been asconventional as the rest, I should have preferred to have run away withher in the lavender dress she wore when I first proposed to her. It wasonly when we had got into the carriage and started for the house and sheturned to me her face from which the veil had been thrown back that Irealized what a sublime meaning it all had for her. Her eyes were wet. 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 that wasbearing us eastward, Maude began to cry. I sat looking at her helplessly, unable to enter into her emotion, resenting it a little. Yet I triedawkwardly 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. It wasscarcely the moment for reminding her of what she was getting in return. This peculiar family affection she evinced was beyond me; I had neverexperienced it in any poignant degree since I had gone as a freshman toHarvard, and yet I was struck by the fact that her emotions were sorightly placed. It was natural to love one's family. I began to feel, vaguely, as I watched her, that the new relationship into which I hadentered was to be much more complicated than I had imagined. Twilight wascoming on, the train was winding through the mountain passes, crossingand re-crossing a swift little stream whose banks were massed with alder;here and there, on the steep hillsides, blazed the goldenrod. .. . Presently I turned, to surprise in her eyes a wide, questioninglook, --the look of a child. Even in this irrevocable hour she sought tograsp what manner of being was this to whom she had confided her life, and with whom she was faring forth into the unknown. The experience wasutterly unlike my anticipation. Yet I responded. The kiss I gave her hadno 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 she wouldexclaim:

"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 I shouldlike 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 the fourthday the formidable New Yorkers unexpectedly thawed. 

I had once thought of Maude as plastic. Then I had discovered she had amind and will of her own. Once more she seemed plastic; her love had madeher so. Was it not what I had desired? I had only to express a wish, andit became her law. Nay, she appealed to me many times a day to knowwhether she had made any mistakes, and I began to drill her in my sillytraditions, --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 the Americanwho first puts foot on the mother country's soil, a Liverpool ofyellow-browns and dingy blacks, of tilted funnels pouring out smoke intoan atmosphere already charged with it. The long wharves and shed roofsglistened 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, and wewere off for the north; past dingy, yellow tenements of the smokingfactory towns, and stretches of orderly, hedge-spaced rain-swept country. The quaint cottages we glimpsed, the sight of distant, stately mansionson green slopes caused Maude to cry out with rapture:--"Oh, Hugh, there'sa 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 through SirWalter'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 receded intoa dim background; and the gift I had possessed, in youth, of living in arealm 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. "Didyou 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 the packing, while I read or sauntered in the queer streets about the inns. And shetook 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 aJacobean, 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 gazed atthe 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 sovereigns hadslept, all roped off and carpeted with canvas strips to protect thefloors. Through mullioned windows we caught glimpses of gardens andgeometrical parterres, lakes, fountains, statuary, fantastic topiary anddistant 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 of theguides. These did not trouble Maude, who often annoyed me by asking naivequestions herself. I would nudge her. 

One afternoon when, with other compatriots, we were being hurried througha famous castle, the guide unwittingly ushered us into a drawing-roomwhere the owner and several guests were seated about a tea-table. I shallnever forget the stares they gave us before we had time precipitately toretreat, nor the feeling of disgust and rebellion that came over me. Thiswas heightened by the remark of a heavy, six-foot Ohioan with aninfantile 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 the gatesthan I declared I should never again enter a private residence by theback 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 her thatshe was talking nonsense, that I loved her. But I did not really love herat that moment; nor did she relent as easily as usual. It was not untilwe were together in our sitting-room, a few hours later, that she gavein. I felt a tremendous sense of relief. 

"Hugh, I'll try to be what you want. You know I am trying. But don't killwhat 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. Itried to hide these moods from her, but always she divined them. And yetI 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 the keenedge of the enjoyment of possession was wearing a little, while at thesame time I philosophized that the divine fire, when legalized, settlesdown to a comfortable glow. The desire to go home that grew upon me Iattributed to the irritation aroused by the spectacle of a fixed socialorder commanding such unquestioned deference from the many who werecontent to remain resignedly outside of it. Before the setting in of theLiberal movement and the "American invasion" England was a country inwhich (from my point of view) one must be "somebody" in order to behappy. I was "somebody" at home; or at least rapidly becoming so. .. . 

London was shrouded, parliament had risen, and the great houses wereclosed. Day after day we issued forth from a musty and highly respectablehotel near Piccadilly to a gloomy Tower, a soggy Hampton Court or amournful British Museum. Our native longing for luxury--or rather mynative longing--impelled me to abandon Smith's Hotel for a huge hostelrywhere our suite overlooked the Thames, where we ran across a man I hadknown slightly at Harvard, and other Americans with whom we madeexcursions and dined and went to the theatre. Maude liked these persons;I did not find them especially congenial. My life-long habit ofunwillingness to accept what life sent in its ordinary course wasasserting itself; but Maude took her friends as she found them, and I wassecretly annoyed by her lack of discrimination. In addition to this, thesense of having been pulled up by the roots grew upon me. 

"Suppose, " Maude surprised me by suggesting one morning as we sat atbreakfast 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 back toyour work, and--and I should be happier. I'm not so silly and so ignorantas to think that I can satisfy you always. And I'd like to get settled athome, --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 time withme, now that Mr. Watling's in Washington. I've just arrived at a positionwhere I shall be able to make a good deal of money, and later on--"

"It isn't the money, Hugh, " she cried, with a vehemence which struck meas 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 rooms wenow 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 any conceptionof the state of my finances. She had an allowance from the first. 

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, and theGreat Players had already begun to make moves that astonished the world. As we sat at breakfast in a Fifth Avenue hotel I ran my eye eagerly overthe stock-market reports and the financial news, and rallied Maude for alack 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, thecolour, the sight of the well-appointed carriages, of the well-fed, well-groomed people who sat in them, the enticement of the shops in whichwe made our purchases had their effect, and she became cheerful again. .. . 

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 somewhat meteoric: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 was notlarge, but essentially distinctive; with the oddity characteristic of therevolt against the banal architecture of the 80's. The curves of thetiled roof enfolded the upper windows; the walls were thick, the note oneof mystery. I remember Maude's naive delight when we inspected it. 

"You'd never guess what the inside was like, would you, Hugh?" she cried. 

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 that wasdesirable 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 was alittle 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 do likeher. 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 to Ham. "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'ssimple, 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, study her. Don't take her for granted. Can't you see that she doesn't care for thethings 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 my table. Well, you escaped that, and you may thank God for it. You've got achance, 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. "Why youdidn'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, inthose places we saw, it seemed natural enough, but in America--! And theyall your friends--seem to take it as a matter of course. "

"There's no reason why we shouldn't have beautiful things and well serveddinners, 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 social sideof life, that she acquiesced in it only on my account. Thus, at the veryoutset of our married career, an irritant developed: signs of it, indeed, were apparent from the first, when we were preparing the house we hadrented for occupancy. Hurrying away from my office at odd times tofurniture and department stores to help decide such momentous questionsas curtains, carpets, chairs and tables I would often spy the tall, uncompromising figure of Susan Peters standing beside Maude's, while anobliging clerk spread out, anxiously, rugs or wall-papers for theirinspection. 

"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: theymade 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. Iwas 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 touch withthe current of great affairs, this was a matter to be deplored, but I didnot feel strongly enough to resent it. So long as I remained a bachelorthe relationship had not troubled me, but now that I was married I beganto consider with some alarm its power to affect my welfare. 

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 of ourmarried 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 presentedherself, and with annoying perversity and in an extraordinarily brieftime Maude had become her intimate. It seemed to me that she was alwaysat Susan's, lunching or playing with the children, who grew devoted toher; or with Susan, choosing carpets and clothes; while more and morefrequently we dined with the Peterses and the Blackwoods, or they withus. With Perry's wife Maude was scarcely less intimate than with Susan. This was the more surprising to me since Lucia Blackwood was adyed-in-the-wool "intellectual, " a graduate of Radcliffe, the daughter ofa Harvard professor. Perry had fallen in love with her during her visitto Susan. Lucia was, perhaps, the most influential of the group; shescorned the world, she held strong views on the higher education ofwomen; she had long discarded orthodoxy for what may be called aCambridge stoicism of simple living and high thinking; while Maude was astrict Presbyterian, and not in the least given to theories. When, somemonths after our homecoming, I ventured to warn her gently of the dangersof confining one's self to a coterie--especially one of such narrowviews--her answer was rather bewildering. 

"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. Butsomehow I don't seem to get along with them easily--I'm not myself, theymake 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 tempts husbandor wife to try to ask myself whether this affair were only a squall, something to be looked for once in a while on the seas of matrimony, andweathered: or whether Maude had not, after all, been right when shedeclared that I had made a mistake, and that we were not fitted for oneanother? In this gloomy view endless years of incompatibility stretchedahead; and for the first time I began to rehearse with a certain colddetachment the chain of apparently accidental events which had led up tomy marriage: to consider the gradual blindness that had come over myfaculties; and finally to wonder whether judgment ever entered intosexual selection. Would Maude have relapsed into this senseless fit ifshe had realized how fortunate she was? For I was prepared to give herwhat thousands of women longed for, position and influence. My resentmentrose again against Perry and Tom, and I began to attribute their lack ofappreciation of my achievements to jealousy. They had not my ability;this was the long and short of it. .. . I pondered also, regretfully, on mybachelor days. And for the first time, I, who had worked so hard toachieve freedom, felt the pressure of the yoke I had fitted over my ownshoulders. I had voluntarily, though unwittingly, returned to slavery. This was what had happened. And what was to be done about it? I would notconsider divorce. 

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 still annoyed bywhat seemed to the masculine mind a senseless and dramatic performance onMaude's part, an incomprehensible case of "nerves. " Nevertheless, therestole into my mind many recollections of Maude's affection, many passagesbetween us; and my eye chanced to fall on the ink-well she had bought meout of the allowance I gave her. An unanticipated pity welled up withinme for her loneliness, her despair in that room upstairs. I got up--andhesitated. A counteracting, inhibiting wave passed through me. Ihardened. I began to walk up and down, a prey to conflicting impulses. Something whispered, "go to her"; another voice added, "for your ownpeace of mind, at any rate. " I rejected the intrusion of this motive asunworthy, turned out the light and groped my way upstairs. The big clockin 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, sheopened 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 in yourpower 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 this city. Some of them, like Ralph Hambleton and Mr. Ogilvy, I've known all mylife. Life isn't so simple for us, Maude--we can't ignore the socialside. "

"I understand, " she said contentedly. "You are more of a man ofaffairs--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, whenyou are teased?"

I let this pass. .. . 

I give a paragraph from a possible biography of Hugh Paret which, as thenseemed not improbable, might in the future have been written by someaspiring young worshipper of success. 

"On his return from a brief but delightful honeymoon in England Mr. Parettook up again, with characteristic vigour, the practice of the law. Hewas entering upon the prime years of manhood; golden opportunitiesconfronted him as, indeed, they confronted other men--but Paret had theforesight to take advantage of them. And his training under TheodoreWatling was now to produce results. .. . The reputations had already beenmade of some of that remarkable group of financial geniuses who werechiefly instrumental in bringing about the industrial evolution begunafter the Civil War: at the same time, as is well known, a politicalleadership developed that gave proof of a deplorable blindness to thelogical necessity of combinations in business. The lawyer with initiativeand 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 are rightto come back to business, and after awhile you can have anotherhoneymoon, eh? I have had many since I married. And how long do you thinkwas my first? A day! I was a foreman then, and the wedding was at sixo'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 enjoyed aholiday 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 ready tolisten, Mr. Durrett, when an employee had anything to say. He was a bigman, --an iron-master. Ah, he would be astonished if only he could wake upnow!"

"He would not only have to be an iron-master, " I agreed, "but a financierand a railroad man to boot. "

"A jack of all trades, " laughed Mr. Scherer. "That's what we are--men inmy 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 hands andtear it down. When I was in Washington the other day I was talking withone of those Western senators whose state has passed those laws. He saidto me, 'Mr. Scherer, I've been making a study of the Boyne Iron Works. You are clever men, but you are building up monopolies which we proposeto stop. ' 'By what means?'" I asked. "'Rebates, for one, ' said he, 'youget preferential rates from your railroad which give you advantages overyour competitors. ' Foolishness!" Mr. Scherer exclaimed. "I tell him therailroad is a private concern, built up by private enterprise, and it hasa right to make special rates for large shippers. No, --railroads arepublic carriers with no right to make special rates. I ask him what elsehe objects to, and he says patented processes. As if we don't have aright to our own patents! We buy them. I buy them, when other steelcompanies won't touch 'em. What is that but enterprise, and businessforesight, and taking risks? And then he begins to talk about the tarifftaking money out of the pockets of American consumers and making men likeme rich. I have come to Washington to get the tariff raised on steelrails; and Watling and other senators we send down there are raising itfor us. We are building up monopolies! Well, suppose we are. We can'thelp it, even if we want to. Has he ever made a study of the other sideof the question--the competition side? Of course he hasn't. "

He brought down his beer mug heavily on the table. In times of excitementhis speech suggested the German idiom. Abruptly his air grew mysterious;he glanced around the room, now becoming empty, and lowered his voice. 

"I have been thinking a long time, I have a little scheme, " he said, "andI 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 what isa man in my place to do? If you don't eat, somebody eats you--is it notso? Like the boa-constrictors--that is modern business. Look at theKeystone Plate people, over there at Morris. For years we sold them steelbillets from which to make their plates, and three months ago they servenotice on us that they are getting ready to make their own billets, theybuy mines north of the lakes and are building their plant. Here is a bigcustomer gone. Next year, maybe, the Empire Tube Company goes into thebusiness of making crude steel, and many more thousands of tons go fromus. What is left for us, Paret?"

"Obviously you've got to go into the tube and plate business yourselves, "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 bought atract on the lakes, at Bolivar, I have already got a plant designed withthe latest modern machinery. I can put the ore right there, I can sendthe 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 it wasbut where is it all leading, my friend? The time will come--is right onus now, in respect to many products--when the market will be flooded withtubes and plates and girders, and then we'll have to find a way to limitproduction. And the inefficient mills will all be forced to shut down. "

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 were asyet blissfully ignorant of their fate. All had been thought out as calmlyas the partition of Poland--only, lawyers were required; and ultimately, after the process of acquisition should have been completed, a delicatedocument was to be drawn up which would pass through the meshes of thatannoying statutory net, the Sherman Anti-trust Law. New mines were to bepurchased, extending over a certain large area; wide coal deposits;little strips of railroad to tap them. The competition of the KeystonePlate people was to be met by acquiring and bringing up to date the platemills of King and Son, over the borders of a sister state; theSomersworth Bridge and Construction Company and the Gring Steel and WireCompany were to be absorbed. When all of this should have beenaccomplished, there would be scarcely a process in the steel industry, from the smelting of the ore to the completion of a bridge, which theBoyne Iron Works could not undertake. Such was the beginning of 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, " that hewas going into battle with enthusiasm. He had already picked out hispoints of attack and was marching on them. Life, for him, would have beena 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, builder of therailroads, mills and manufactories. The banker-dinosaurs, the giganticones, were in Wall Street, and strove among themselves for the industrialspoils accumulated by their predecessors. It was characteristic of thesemonsters that they never fought in the open unless they were forced to. Then the earth rocked, huge economic structures tottered and fell, andmuch dust arose to obscure the vision of smaller creatures, who werebewildered and terrified. Such disturbances were called "panics, " andwere blamed by the newspapers on the Democratic party, or on thereformers who had wantonly assailed established institutions. Thesedominant bankers had contrived to gain control of the savings ofthousands and thousands of fellow-citizens who had deposited them inbanks or paid them into insurance companies, and with the power thusaccumulated had sallied forth to capture railroads and industries. Therailroads were the strategic links. With these in hand, certain favouredindustrial concerns could be fed, and others starved 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, at lengthsecuring rebates and favours. And when that Railroad (which had beenconstructed through the enterprise and courage of such men as NathanielDurrett) had passed under the control of the banker-personality to whom Ihave referred, and had become part of a system, Adolf Scherer remained inalliance, and continued to receive favours. .. . I can well remember thetime when the ultimate authority of our Railroad was transferred, quietly, to Wall Street. Alexander Barbour, its president, had been agreat 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 helpless giant, at the mercy of those alert and vindictive lawmakers who sought torestrain and hamper him, to check his growth with their webs. Howstimulating the idea of his dependence! How exhilarating too, the thoughtthat that vision which had first possessed me as an undergraduate--on myvisit to Jerry Kyme--was at last to be realized! I had now become theindispensable associate of the few who divided the spoils, I was to havea share in these myself. 

"You're young, Paret, " Mr. Scherer concluded. "But Watling has confidencein you, and you will consult him frequently. I believe in the young 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 this newbranch 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 had allthe 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, JoelHarrington was deemed the ablest lawyer in the city. We organized in duetime the corporation known as the Boyne Iron Works, Limited; a trustagreement was drawn up that was a masterpiece of its kind, one thatcaused, first and last, meddling officials in the Department of Justiceat Washington no little trouble and perplexity. I was proud of the factthat I had taken no small part in its composition. .. . In short, inaddition 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 I chancedone morning to go down to the new Ashuela Hotel to meet a New Yorker ofsome prominence, and was awaiting him in the lobby, when I overheard aconversation between two commercial travellers who were sitting withtheir 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 the sombreand cumbersome kind, with skirts and tails; I patronized a tailor in NewYork. My chestnut hair, a little darker than my father's had been, showedno signs of turning grey, although it was thinning a little at the crownof the forehead, and I wore a small moustache, clipped in a straight lineabove the mouth. This made me look less like a college youth. Thanks to astrong pigment in my skin, derived probably from Scotch-Irish ancestors, my colour was fresh. I have spoken of my life as feverish, and yet I amnot so sure that this word completely describes it. It was full tooverflowing--one side of it; and I did not miss (save vaguely, in raremoments of weariness) any other side that might have been developed. Iwas busy all day long, engaged in affairs I deemed to be alone of vitalimportance in the universe. I was convinced that the welfare of the citydemanded that supreme financial power should remain in the hands of thegroup of men with whom I was associated, and whose battles I fought inthe courts, in the legislature, in the city council, and sometimes inWashington, --although they were well cared for there. By every meansingenuity could devise, their enemies were to be driven from the field, and they were to be protected from blackmail. 

A sense of importance sustained me; and I remember in that first flush ofa success for which I had not waited too long--what a secret satisfactionit was to pick up the Era and see my name embedded in certain dignifiednotices of board meetings, transactions of weight, or cases known to theinitiated as significant. "Mr. Scherer's interests were taken care of byMr. Hugh Paret. " The fact that my triumphs were modestly set forth gaveme more pleasure than if they had been trumpeted in headlines. Although Imight have started out in practice for myself, my affection and regardfor Mr. Watling kept me in the firm, which became Watling, Fowndes andParet, and a new, arrangement was entered into: Mr. Ripon retired onaccount 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. He hadsued, and been awarded damages of $15, 000. To the amazement andindignation of Miller Gorse, the Supreme Court, to which the Railroad hadappealed, affirmed the decision. It wasn't the single payment of $15, 000that the Railroad cared about, of course; a precedent might beestablished for compensating maimed employees which would be expensive inthe long run. Carelessness could not be proved in this instance. Gorsesent for me. I had been away with Maude at the sea for two months, andhad not followed the case. 

"You've got to take charge, Paret, and get a rehearing. See Bering, andfind out who in the deuce is to blame for this. Chesley's one, of course. We ought never to have permitted his nomination for the Supreme Bench. Itwas against my judgment, but Varney and Gill assured me that he was allright. "

I saw Judge Bering that evening. We sat on a plush sofa in the parlour ofhis house in Baker Street. 

"I had a notion Gorse'd be mad, " he said, "but it looked to me as if theyhad 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 the reportof 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 of abit of use any more. Of course the case was plain sailing, and they oughtto have had the verdict, but that lawyer of his handled it to the queen'staste, if I do say so. He made me feel real bad, by God, --as if it was myown son Ed who'd been battered up. Lord, I can't forget the look in thatman Galligan's eyes. I hate to go through it again, and reverse it, but Iguess 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 unfortunate enoughto be defeated and crushed in the struggle for existence, and it was notwithout food for reflection that I departed from his presence. To makeMr. Bering "feel bad" was no small achievement, and Krebs had beenresponsible for it, of course, --not Galligan. Krebs had turned up oncemore! It seemed as though he were destined to haunt me. Well, I made upmy mind that he should not disturb me again, at any rate: I, at least, had learned to eliminate sentimentality from business, and it was notwithout deprecation I remembered my experience with him at the Capital, when he had made me temporarily ashamed of my connection with Bill 709. Ihad got over that. And when I entered the court room (the tribunal havinggraciously granted a rehearing on the ground that it had committed anerror in the law!) my feelings were of lively curiosity and zest. I hadno disposition to underrate his abilities, but I was fortified by theconsciousness of a series of triumphs behind me, by a sense ofassociation with prevailing forces against which he was helpless. I couldafford to take a superior attitude in regard to one who was destinedalways to be dramatic. 

As the case proceeded I was rather disappointed on the whole that he wasnot dramatic--not even as dramatic as he had been when he defied thepowers 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, and itwas undeniable that some of the judges wore rather a sheepish look asthey toyed with their watch chains or moved the stationery in front ofthem. 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 home tothose judges, to make them ashamed of their role, just how he managed--inspite of my fortified attitude to revive something of that sense ofdiscomfort I had experienced at the State House is difficult to say. Itwas because, I think, he contrived through the intensity of his ownsympathy to enter into the body of the man whose cause he pleaded, tofeel the despair in Galligan's soul--an impression that was curiouslyconveyed despite the dignified limits to which he confined his speech. Itwas 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, asone 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 said nothing, he did not even smile. At this moment he was opportunely joined by a manwho had the appearance of a labour leader, and I walked away. I wasresentful; my mood, in brief, was that of a man who has done somethingfoolish and is inclined to talk to himself aloud: but the mood wascomplicated, made the more irritating by the paradoxical fact that thatlast 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 editorials aboutthe Galligan matter, a picture of Galligan, an account of the destitutestate of his wife and family. The time had not yet arrived when suchnewspapers dared to attack the probity of our courts, but a system of lawthat permitted such palpable injustice because of technicalities wasbitterly denounced. What chance had a poor man against such a moloch asthe railroad, even with a lawyer of such ability as had been exhibited byHermann Krebs? Krebs was praised, and the attention of Mr. Lawler'sreaders was called to the fact that Krebs was the man who, some yearsbefore, had opposed single-handed in the legislature the notorious BillNo. 709. It was well known in certain circles--the editorial went on tosay--that this legislation had been drawn by Theodore Watling in theinterests of the Boyne Iron Works, etc. , etc. Hugh Paret had learned atthe feet of an able master. This first sight of my name thusopprobriously flung to the multitude gave me an unpleasant shock. I hadseen Mr. Scherer attacked, Mr. Gorse attacked, and Mr. Watling: I had allalong realized, vaguely, that my turn would come, and I thought myself tohave acquired a compensating philosophy. I threw the sheet into the wastebasket, presently picked it out again and reread the sentence containingmy name. Well, there were certain penalties that every career must pay. Ihad become, at last, a marked man, and I recognized the fact that thisassault would be the forerunner of many. 

I tried to derive some comfort and amusement from the thought of certainoperations of mine that Mr. Lawler had not discovered, that would havebeen 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 had theylearned of that manoeuvre by which I had managed to have one of Mr. Scherer's subsidiary companies in another state, with property and assetsamounting to more than twenty millions, reorganized under the laws of NewJersey, and the pending case thus transferred to the Federal court, wherewe won hands down! This Galligan affair was nothing to that. Nevertheless, it was annoying. As I sat in the street car on my wayhomeward, a man beside me was reading the Pilot. I had a queer sensationas he turned the page, and scanned the editorial; and I could not helpwondering what he and the thousands like him thought of me; what he wouldsay if I introduced myself and asked his opinion. Perhaps he did notthink at all: undoubtedly he, and the public at large, were used to Mr. Lawler's daily display of "injustices. " Nevertheless, like slow 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 out of acase that might never have been heard of except for him?. .. I was stillin this disagreeable frame of mind when I turned the corner by my houseand caught sight of Maude, in the front yard, bending bareheaded over abed of late flowers which the frost had spared. The evening was sharp, 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. The curtainswere drawn, a fire was crackling on the hearth, the lamps were lighted, and as I dropped into a chair this living-room of ours seemed to take onthe air of a refuge from the vague, threatening sinister things of theworld without. I felt I had never valued it before. Maude took up hersewing 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 the name, 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 for themto talk. All Perry has to do is to sit back and take in receipts from theBoyne Street car line, and Tom is content if he gets a few commissionsevery week. They're like militiamen criticizing soldiers under fire. Iknow they're good friends of mine, but sometimes I lose patience withthem. "

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 cost theRailroad many times fifteen thousand dollars to fight Galligan's case. 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 of everycar which passes over their lines. And more than that: there are certaindefects, as in the present case, which an inspection would not reveal. When a man accepts employment on a railroad he assumes a certain amountof personal risk, --it's not precisely a chambermaid's job. And the lawyerwho defends such cases, whatever his personal feelings may be, cannotafford 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 sorry forhim, but I admired him. I was not only impressed by his courage in takingcharge of me, but also by the trust and affection the work-people showed. He must be a good man, however mistaken he may be in the methods heemploys. 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 has aright to expect some sympathy from his wife. "

"Did I ever deny you that, Hugh?" she asked. "Only you don't ever seem toneed 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't becomea mere automaton, --and these questions involve so much! People arediscussing them, the magazines and periodicals are beginning to take themup. "

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 hard anddepressing sometimes I've come to realize that. I want to think over whatyou've said, I want to talk over it some more. Why won't you tell me moreof what you are doing? If you only would confide in me--as you have now!I can't help seeing that we are growing farther and farther apart, thatbusiness, your career, is taking all of you and leaving me nothing. " Shefaltered, and went on again. "It's difficult to tell you this--you nevergive me the chance. And it's not for my sake alone, but for yours, too. You are growing more and more self-centred, surrounding yourself with ahard 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 words of defence ready on mylips. "I know that you are busy, that many men depend on you, it isn'tthat I'm not proud of you and your success, but you don't understand whata woman craves, --she doesn't want only to be a good housekeeper, a goodmother, but she wants to share a little, at any rate, in the life of herhusband, in his troubles as well as in his successes. She wants to be ofsome little use, of some little help to him. "

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, and alarmedby the spectacle she had revealed of the widening breach between us. Ilaid 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 by thesound of shouts and laughter in the hallway. She sprang up and ran to thedoor. 

"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 upside down, for I have said nothing about children. Perhaps one reason for thisomission is that I did not really appreciate them, that I found itimpossible to take the same minute interest in them as Tom, for instance, who was, apparently, not content alone with the six which he possessed, but had adopted mine. One of them, little Sarah, said "Uncle Tom" before"Father. " I do not mean to say that I had not occasional moments oftenderness toward them, but they were out of my thoughts much of thetime. I have often wondered, since, how they regarded me; how, in theirlittle minds, they defined the relationship. Generally, when I arrivedhome in the evening I liked to sit down before my study fire and read theafternoon newspapers or a magazine; but occasionally I went at once tothe nursery for a few moments, to survey with complacency the medley oftoys on the floor, and to kiss all three. They received my caresses witha certain shyness--the two younger ones, at least, as though they were ata loss to place me as a factor in the establishment. They tumbled overeach other to greet Maude, and even Tom. If I were an enigma to them, what must they have thought of him? Sometimes I would discover him on thenursery floor, with one or two of his own children, building towers andcastles and railroad stations, or forts to be attacked and demolished byregiments of lead soldiers. He was growing comfortable-looking, if notexactly stout; prematurely paternal, oddly willing to renounce thefiercer joys of life, the joys of acquisition, of conquest, of youth. 

"You'd better come home with me, Chickabiddy, " he would say, "that fatherof 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 shyness andimpulsiveness. She had fat legs that creased above the tops of the absurdlittle boots that looked to be too tight; sometimes she rolled andtumbled in an ecstasy of abandon, and again she would sit motionless, asthough absorbed in dreams. Her hair was like corn silk in the sun, twisting up into soft curls after her bath, when she sat rosily presidingover 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 within memelted: moments when I was away from them, and thought of them. But thesemoments did not last. The something within me hardened again, I becameindifferent, my family was wiped out of my consciousness as though it hadnever 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 with arapt 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 the oddtrick the life-force had played me, and ask myself why I got married atall. It was a queer method of carrying on the race. Later on, I began totake a cursory interest in him, to watch for signs in him of certaincharacteristics of my own youth which, in the philosophy of my manhood, Ihad come to regard as defects. And it disturbed me somewhat to see thesesigns appear. I wished him to be what I had become by force of will--afighter. But he was a sensitive child, anxious for approval; not robust, though spiritual rather than delicate; even in comparative infancy hecared more for books than toys, and his greatest joy was in being readto. In spite of these traits--perhaps because of them--there was asympathy between us. From the time that he could talk the child seemed tounderstand me. Occasionally I surprised him gazing at me with a certainwistful 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 to strikeback, 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. It wasa 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 I tookany hand off the wheel our ship showed a tendency to make for a quietharbour. Thus the social initiative, which I believed should have beenthe 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 married awife in whom the craving was wholly absent! She might have had what otherwomen would have given their souls for. There were many reasons why Iwished her to take what I deemed her proper place in the community as mywife--not that I cared for what is called society in the narrow sense;with me, it was a logical part of a broader scheme of life; an auxiliaryrather than an essential, but a needful auxiliary; a means of dignifyingand adorning the position I was taking. Not only that, but I felt theneed of intercourse--of intercourse of a lighter and more convivialnature with men and women who saw life as I saw it. In the evenings whenwe did not go out into that world our city afforded ennui took possessionof me: I had never learned to care for books, I had no resources outsideof my profession, and when I was not working on some legal problem Idawdled over the newspapers and went to bed. I don't mean to imply thatour existence, outside of our continued intimacy with the Peterses andthe Blackwoods, was socially isolated. We gave little dinners that Maudecarried out with skill and taste; but it was I who suggested them; wewent out to other dinners, sometimes to Nancy's--though we saw less andless of her--sometimes to other houses. But Maude had given evidence ofdomestic tastes and a disinclination for gaiety that those whoentertained more were not slow to sense. I should have liked to take alarger house, but I felt the futility of suggesting it; the children werestill small, and she was occupied with them. Meanwhile I beheld, and attimes with considerable irritation, the social world changing, growinglarger and more significant, a more important function of that higherphase of American existence the new century seemed definitely to haveinitiated. A segregative process was away to which Maude was whollyindifferent. Our city was throwing off its social conservatism; wealth(which implied ability and superiority) was playing a greater part, entertainments were more luxurious, lines more strictly drawn. We had anelaborate country club for those who could afford expensive amusements. Much of this transformation had been due to the initiative and leadershipof 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 of thegreat iron-master still remained outside of the social pale. He himselfmight have entered had it not been for his wife, who was supposed to be"queer, " who remained at home in her house opposite Gallatin Park andmade little German cakes, --a huge house which an unknown architect hadtaken unusual pains to make pretentious and hideous, for it was Rhenish, Moorish and Victorian by turns. Its geometric grounds matched those ofthe park, itself a monument to bad taste in landscape. The neighbourhoodwas highly respectable, and inhabited by families of German extraction. There were two flaxen-haired daughters who had just graduated from anexpensive boarding-school in New York, where they had received the polishneedful for future careers. But the careers were not forthcoming. 

I was thrown constantly with Adolf Scherer; I had earned his gratitude, Ihad 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 that Ihad not discovered it before. In many ways Adolf Scherer was a child. Wewere sitting in the Boyne Club. 

"Money--yes!" he exclaimed, apropos of some demand made upon him by acharitable society. "They come to me for my money--there is alwaysScherer, they say. He will make up the deficit in the hospitals. But whatis it they do for me? Nothing. Do they invite me to their houses, totheir parties?"

This was what he wanted, then, --social recognition. I said nothing, but Isaw 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 likes anddislikes, needless to say, were not governed by matters of policy. 

"You were right, Hugh, " she informed me, almost with enthusiasm, "theydid seem lonely. And they were so glad to see me, it was rather pathetic. Mr. Scherer, it seems, had talked to them a great deal about you. Theywanted to know why I hadn't come before. That was rather embarrassing. Fortunately they didn't give me time to talk, I never heard people talkas they do. They all kissed me when I went away, and came down the stepswith me. And Mrs. Scherer went into the conservatory and picked a hugebouquet. There it is, " she said, laughingly, pointing to several vases. "I separated the colours as well as I could when I got home. We hadcoffee, and the most delicious German cakes in the Turkish room, or theMoorish room, whichever it is. I'm sure I shan't be able to eat anythingmore 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 expected inMrs. Scherer--from Maude's description a benevolent and somewhat stupid, blue-eyed German woman, of peasant extraction. There could be no doubtabout the peasant extraction, but when she hobbled into our littleparlour with the aid of a stout, gold-headed cane she dominated it. Hervery lameness added to a distinction that evinced itself in a dozen ways. Her nose was hooked, her colour high, --despite the years inSteelville, --her peculiar costume heightened the effect of herpersonality; her fire-lit black eyes bespoke a spirit accustomed to rule, and instead of being an aspirant for social honours, she seemed to conferthem. 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!" sheexclaimed, as I was introduced. She scrutinized me. "I have heardsomething of you, Mr. Paret. You are smart. Shall I tell you the smartestthing you ever did?" She patted Maude's shoulder. "When you married yourwife--that was it. I have fallen in love with her. If you do 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, shereminded 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 for thefirst time something of the similarity between Nancy's career and my own. She, too, in her feminine sphere, exercised, and subtly, a power in whichhuman 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 have itsway, a lusty and terrible force in the interests of which my own serviceswere enlisted; to which the old American element in business andindustry, the male counterpart of Nancy Willett, had already succumbed. And now it was about to storm the feminine fastnesses! I beheld a womanwho had come to this country with a shawl aver her head transformed intoa new species of duchess, sure of herself, scorning the delicateeuphemisms in which Fancy's kind were wont to refer to asocial realm, that was no less real because its boundaries had not definitely beendefined. She held her stick firmly, and gave Nancy an indomitable look. 

"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 which anAmerican 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, in afew 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 came toour 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 time Ifound myself speculating uneasily on this phenomenon as I glanced downthe table at his great torso, white waist-coated for the occasion. He wasplainly "making up" to Nancy, and to Mrs. Ogilvy, who sat opposite him. On the whole, the atmosphere of our entertainment was rather electric. "Hilda" was chiefly responsible for this; her frankness was of thebreath-taking kind. Far from attempting to hide or ignore the struggle bywhich she and her husband had attained their present position, shereferred with the utmost naivete to incidents in her career, while thewhole table paused to listen. 

"Before we had a carriage, yes, it was hard for me to get about. I had tobe helped by the conductors into the streetcars. I broke my hip when welived in Steelville, and the doctor was a numbskull. He should be put inprison, is what I tell Adolf. I was standing on a clothes-horse, when itfell. 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 third glassof champagne. "I think there is too much gay life, too much games forrich young men nowadays. You will forgive me for saying what I think toyoung 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 when itpleased her. She would have made an admirable inquisitorial judge, andquite as admirable a sick nurse. A rare criminal lawyer, likewise, waswasted 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 I wasby 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 to meetand turn such a situation; for I was experiencing, now, with her, thesame 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 again intoconflicting elements. I was, for the moment, no longer the self-confidentand triumphant young attorney accustomed to carry all before him, tocommand respect and admiration, but a complicated being whose unity hadsuddenly been split. I glanced around the table at Ogilvy, at Dickinson, at Ralph Hambleton. These men were functioning truly. But was I? If Iwere not, might not this be the reason for the lack of synthesis--ofwhich I was abruptly though vaguely aware between my professional life, my domestic relationships, and my relationships with friends. The loyaltyof the woman beside me struck me forcibly as a supreme trait. Where shehad given, she did not withdraw. She had conferred it instantly on Maude. Did I feel that loyalty towards a single human being? towards Maudeherself--my wife? or even towards Nancy? I pulled myself together, andresolved to give her credit for using the word "smart" in itsunobjectionable sense. After all; Dickens had so used it. 

"A lawyer must needs know something of what he is about, Mrs. Scherer, ifhe 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 when Imarried 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 big ashe 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 meaning thatI 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 with yourwife. She has not the heart, --it is so with all your people of society. For them it is not what you are, but what you have done, and what youhave. "

The banality of this observation was mitigated by the feeling she threwinto it. 

"I think you misjudge Mrs. Durrett, " I said, incautiously. "She has neverbefore had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Scherer of appreciating him. "

"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 life Iled, 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 sustenance shecould give that I needed? For want of it I was hardening, crystallizing, growing blind to the joy and variety of existence. Nancy could have savedme; she brought it home to me that I needed salvation. .. . I was struck byanother thought; in spite of our separation, in spite of her marriage andmine, she was still nearer to me--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 the Scherergirls. 

"Well, how did you get along with Hilda?" she asked. "I thought I saw youstruggling. "

"She's somewhat disconcerting, " I said. "I felt as if she were turning meinside out. "

Nancy laughed. 

"Hilda's a discovery--a genius. I'm going to have them to dinner myself. "

"And Adolf?" I inquired. "I believe she thought you were preparing to runaway 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 moves toNew 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. "Grant Avenue, yes; he wants me to help him choose a lot. He gave me ten thousanddollars for our Orphans' Home, but on the whole I think I prefer Hildaeven if she doesn't approve of me. "

Nancy rose. The Scherers were going. While Mr. Scherer pressed my hand ina 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 Scherers madetheir social debut is associated in my mind with the coming of thefulness of that era, mad and brief, when gold rained down like manna fromour sooty skies. Even the church was prosperous; the Rev. Carey Heddon, our new minister, was well abreast of the times, typical of the new andefficient 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 and penates, 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 of living. "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 sprang highin the air; the Reliance Trust (Mr. Grierson's), the Scherer Building, the Hambleton Building; a stew hotel, the Ashuela, took proper care ofour visitors from the East, --a massive, grey stone, thousand-awningedaffair on Boyne Street, with a grill where it became the fashion to gofor supper after the play, and a head waiter who knew in a few weekseveryone worth knowing. 

To return for a moment to the Huns. Maude had expressed a desire to see amill, 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. Theyappeared 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. Make himmy 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 mad tobring ignorant foreigners over here and make them slaves like that, andso 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 this luxurywe are living in might be able to see, about something which, when itcomes, we shan't be able to help. "

I ridiculed this. The prophecy itself did not disturb me half as much asthe 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, that GoldenAge 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 of avirtue-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 in theold 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, andMr. Scherer, who chanced to be there. Anything Fred Grierson had to sayon 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 get afranchise, and build a street-railroad out Maplewood Avenue, an extensionof the Park Street line. We can get the franchise for next to nothing, ifwe work it right. " (Mr. Grierson's eye fell on me), "and sell it out tothe 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, when thatavenue 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 existed tobe sold things to, and what did it matter if the Maplewood residents, asRalph 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 failure ofthe enterprise was in his hands. Mahomet must go to the mountain, and Iwent 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 in Mr. Jason I was brought face to face with the concrete embodiment of thephilosophy I had adopted, the logical consequence of enlightenedself-interest. If he had ever heard of it, he would have made no pretenceof being anything else. Greatness, declares some modern philosopher, hasno connection with virtue; it is the continued, strong and logicalexpression of some instinct; in Mr. Jason's case, the predatory instinct. And like a true artist, he loved his career for itself--not for what itsfruits could buy. He might have built a palace on the Heights with thetolls he took from the disreputable houses of the city; he was contentedwith Monahan's saloon: nor did he seek to propitiate a possible God byendowing churches and hospitals with a portion of his income. Try thoughI might, I never could achieve the perfection of this man's contempt forall other philosophies. The very fact of my going there in secret to thatdark place of his from out of the bright, respectable region in which Ilived was in itself an acknowledgment of this. I thought him a thief--anecessary thief--and he knew it: he was indifferent to it; and it amusedhim, I think, to see clinging to me, when I entered his presence, shredsof that morality which those of my world who dealt with him thought soneedful for the sake 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 trying tovisualize 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" which hislawyer, Mr. Bitter, was to have for "presenting the case" before theBoard of Aldermen. I went back to lunch at the Boyne Club, and to receivethe congratulations of my friends. The next week the Riverside Companywas formed, and I made out a petition to the Board of Aldermen for afranchise; Mr. Bitter appeared and argued: in short, the procedure sofamiliar to modern students of political affairs was gone through. TheMaplewood Avenue residents rose en masse, supported by the CityImprovement League. Perry Blackwood, as soon as he heard of the petition, 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 suppose I'mold fashioned. I can't trust myself to tell you what I think--what Tomand 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, --their moneywon't help them. Tom and I are the best friends you have, " he added, alittle 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 bound tocome on that side. Maplewood Avenue is the natural artery, somebody willbuild a line out there, and if you'd rather have eastern capitalists--"

"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 warn youthat 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? Do youwant 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'vesaid solve pretty hard things, but I realize that you hold your point ofview in good faith, and that you have come to me as an old friend. I hopeit 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 I couldsee 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 at me, 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, " hebegan painfully, "you've gone ahead pretty fast, --the truth is that Perryand I have been worried about you for some time. We've tried not to betoo serious in showing it, but we've felt that these modern businessmethods were getting into your system without your realizing it. Thereare some things a man's friends can tell him, and it's their duty to tellhim. Good God, haven't you got enough, Hugh, --enough success and enoughmoney, without going into a thing like this Riverside scheme?"

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, itclarified 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 the better:the whole structure of business was built up on natural, as opposed toethical law. We had arrived at an era of frankness--that was thetruth--and the sooner we faced this truth the better for our peace ofmind. Much as we might deplore the political system that had grown up, wehad to acknowledge, if we were consistent, that it was the base on whichour prosperity was built. I was rather proud of having evolved thisargument; it fortified my own peace of mind, which had been disturbed byTom's attitude. I began to pity him. He had not been very successful inlife, and with the little he earned, added to Susan's income, I knew thata certain ingenuity was required to make both ends meet. He sat listeningwith a troubled look. A passing phase of feeling clouded for a briefmoment my confidence when there arose in my mind an unbidden memory of myyouth, of my father. He, too, had mistrusted my ingenuity. I recalled howI had out-manoeuvred him and gone to college; I remembered the March dayso long ago, when Tom and I had stood on the corner debating how todeceive him, and it was I who had suggested the nice distinction betweena boat and a raft. Well, my father's illogical attitude towards boyhoodnature, towards human nature, had forced me into that lie, just as thesenseless attitude of the public to-day forced business into a positionof 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 friend Ihave, 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 close behindhim. I stood for a while stock-still, and then went into the living-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 city togive 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 a grassplot in the centre. For the sake of keeping tracks off that avenue hewould deprive people of attractive homes at a small cost, of the good airthey can get beyond the heights; he would stunt the city's development. "

"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, whom Perrycalls '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 time anew street-car line or something of that sort needs to be built they haveto be consulted, because, without their influence nothing could be done. On the other hand, these politicians cannot afford to ignore men of localimportance like Leonard Dickinson and Adolf Scherer and Miller Gorse whorepresent 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, andany new enterprise that presents itself is done with their money, becausethey 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 some othercrude forces in the world. But they exist, and they have to be dealtwith. Suppose the United States should refuse to trade with Russiabecause, from our republican point of view, we regarded her government astyrannical 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 my shoulder. 

"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 feel thatwe meant something to you and that this other wasn't gradually becomingeverything, wasn't absorbing you more and more, killing the best part ofyou. It's poisoning our marriage, it's poisoning all your relationships. "

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 it thatmy 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, and Ican't help thinking about some of them when I come home. But we'll go offfor 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 see agreat deal of Lucia; and when we did dine in their company, or they withus, it was quite noticeable that their former raillery was suppressed. Even Tom had ceased to refer to me as the young Napoleon of the Law: heclung to me, but he too kept silent on the subject of business. Maude ofcourse must have noticed this, must have sensed the change of atmosphere, have known that the Blackwoods, at least, were maintaining appearancesfor her sake. She did not speak to me of the change, nor I to her; butwhen I thought of her silence, it was to suspect that she was weighingthe question which had led up to the difference between Perry and me, andI had a suspicion that the fact that I was her husband would not affecther ultimate decision. This faculty of hers of thinking things outinstead of accepting my views and decisions was, as the saying goes, getting a little "on my nerves": that she of all women should havedeveloped it was a recurring and unpleasant surprise. I began at times topity myself a little, to feel the need of sympathetic 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 to withdeference 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, had asimilar reception. That struggle was a tempest in a tea-pot. The reformerraged, but he was feeble in those days, and the great public believedwhat it read in the respectable newspapers. In Mr. Judah B. Tallant'snewspaper, for instance, the Morning Era, there were semi-playfuleditorials about "obstructionists. " Mr. Perry Blackwood was awell-meaning, able gentleman of an old family, etc. , but with a sentimentfor horse-cars. The Era published also the resolutions which (withinteresting spontaneity!) had been passed by our Board of Trade andChamber of Commerce and other influential bodies in favour of thefranchise; the idea--unknown to the public--of Mr. Hugh Paret, who wrotedrafts 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 of Aldermenmet and granted the franchise. Not unanimously, oh, no! Mr. Jason was notso simple as that! No further visits to Monahan's saloon on my part, inthis connection were necessary; but Mr. Otto Bitter met me one day in thehotel 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's holewith an eager district attorney snapping his whip over them. I rememberthe cartoon. The municipal geese were gone, but it was impossible toprove that this particular fox had used his enlightened reason in theirprocurement. Mr. Bitter was a legally authorized fox, and could takefees. How Mr. Jason was to be rewarded by the land company's left-hand, unknown, to the land company's right hand, became a problem worthy of agenius. The genius was found, but modesty forbids me to mention his name, and the problem was solved, to wit: the land company bought a piece ofdowntown property from--Mr. Ryerson, who was Mr. Grierson's real estateman and the agent for the land company, for a consideration of thirtythousand dollars. An unconfirmed rumour had it that Mr. Ryerson turnedover the thirty thousand to Mr. Jason. Then the Riverside Company issueda secret deed of the same property back to Mr. Ryerson, and this deed wasnot 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 fifty totwo 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? Andlet 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, forthe 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 the bondsand preferred stock he sold. Mr. Paret, who entered both companies on theground floor, likewise got fees. Everybody was satisfied except thetrouble makers, who were ignored. In short, the episode of the RiversideFranchise is a triumphant proof of the contention that business men arethe best fitted to conduct the politics of their country. 

We had learned to pursue our happiness in packs, we knew that the HappyHunting-Grounds are here and now, while the Reverend Carey Heddoncontinued to assure the maimed, the halt and the blind that their kingdomwas not of this world, that their time was coming later. Could there havebeen a more idyl arrangement! Everybody should have been satisfied, buteverybody was not. Otherwise these pages would never have been written.