By Meredith Nicholson

 A HOOSIER CHRONICLE. With illustrations. THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. With illustrations. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Boston and New York

A HOOSIER CHRONICLE

 "Dreams books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good; Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow"

 Wordsworth in Personal Talk

[Illustration: SYLVIA AND PROFESSOR KELTON]

A HOOSIERCHRONICLE

MEREDITH NICHOLSON

WITH ILLUSTRATIONSBY F. C. YOHN

BOSTON AND NEW YORKHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANYThe Riverside Press Cambridge

_Published March 1912_

TO

EVANS WOOLLEN, ESQ. 

The wise know that foolish legislation is a rope of sand which perishesin the twisting; that the State must follow and not lead the characterand progress of the citizen; the strongest usurper is quickly got ridof; and they only who build on Ideas, build for eternity; and that theform of government which prevails is the expression of what cultivationexists in the population which permits it. The law is only a memorandum. We are superstitious, and esteem the statute somewhat; so much life asit has in the character of living men is its force. 

EMERSON: _Politics_. 

CONTENTS

 I. My LADY OF THE CONSTELLATIONS 1 II. SYLVIA GOES VISITING 20 III. A SMALL DINNER AT MRS. OWEN'S 39 IV. WE LEARN MORE OF SYLVIA 62 V. INTRODUCING MR. DANIEL HARWOOD 79 VI. HOME LIFE OF HOOSIER STATESMEN 89 VII. SYLVIA AT LAKE WAUPEGAN 113 VIII. SILK STOCKINGS AND BLUE OVERALLS 136 IX. DANIEL HARWOOD RECEIVES AN OFFER 152 X. IN THE BOORDMAN BUILDING 168 XI. THE MAP ABOVE BASSETT'S DESK 193 XII. BLURRED WINDOWS 212 XIII. THE WAYS OF MARIAN 225 XIV. THE PASSING OF ANDREW KELTON 246 XV. A SURPRISE AT THE COUNTRY CLUB 257 XVI. "STOP, LOOK, LISTEN" 271 XVII. A STROLL ACROSS THE CAMPUS 288 XVIII. THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD 297 XIX. THE THUNDER OF THE CAPTAINS 321 XX. INTERVIEWS IN TWO KEYS 350 XXI. A SHORT HORSE SOON CURRIED 374 XXII. THE GRAY SISTERHOOD 393 XXIII. A HOUSE-BOAT ON THE KANKAKEE 403 XXIV. A WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY BALL 418 XXV. THE LADY OF THE DAGUERREOTYPE 439 XXVI. APRIL VISTAS 460 XXVII. HEAT LIGHTNING 474XXVIII. A CHEERFUL BRINGER OF BAD TIDINGS 497 XXIX. A SONG AND A FALLING STAR 511 XXX. THE KING HATH SUMMONED HIS PARLIAMENT 534 XXXI. SYLVIA ASKS QUESTIONS 542 XXXII. "MY BEAUTIFUL ONE" 560XXXIII. THE MAN OF SHADOWS 570 XXXIV. WE GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING 591 A POSTSCRIPT BY THE CHRONICLER 602

ILLUSTRATIONS

SYLVIA AND PROFESSOR KELTON _Frontispiece_WHOEVER WROTE THAT LETTER WAS TROUBLED ABOUT SYLVIA 284A SUDDEN FIERCE ANGER BURNED IN HER HEART 458SYLVIA MUST KNOW JUST WHAT WE KNOW 556

_From drawings by F. C. Yohn_

A HOOSIER CHRONICLE

CHAPTER I

MY LADY OF THE CONSTELLATIONS

Sylvia was reading in her grandfather's library when the bell tinkled. Professor Kelton had few callers, and as there was never any certaintythat the maid-of-all-work would trouble herself to answer, Sylvia putdown her book and went to the door. Very likely it was a student or amember of the faculty, and as her grandfather was not at home Sylvia wasquite sure that the interruption would be the briefest. 

The Kelton cottage stood just off the campus, and was separated from itby a narrow street that curved round the college and stole, after manytwists and turns, into town. This thoroughfare was called "BuckeyeLane, " or more commonly the "Lane. " The college had been plantedliterally in the wilderness by its founders, at a time when Montgomery, for all its dignity as the seat of the county court, was the mostcolorless of Hoosier hamlets, save only as the prevailing mud coloredeverything. Buckeye Lane was originally a cow-path, in the good oldtimes when every reputable villager kept a red cow and pastured it inthe woodlot that subsequently became Madison Athletic Field. In thosedays the Madison faculty, and their wives and daughters, seeking socialdiversion among the hospitable townfolk, picked their way down the Laneby lantern light. An ignorant municipal council had later, when naturalgas threatened to boom the town into cityhood, changed Buckeye Lane toUniversity Avenue, but the community refused to countenance any suchimpious trifling with tradition. And besides, Madison prided herselfthen as now on being a college that taught the humanities in allsoberness, according to ideals brought out of New England by itsfounders. The proposed change caused an historic clash between town andgown in which the gown triumphed. University forsooth!

Professor Kelton's house was guarded on all sides by trees andshrubbery, and a tall privet hedge shut it off from the Lane. He tendedwith his own hands a flower garden whose roses were the despair of allthe women of the community. The clapboards of the simplestory-and-a-half cottage had faded to a dull gray, but the little plotof ground in which the house stood was cultivated with scrupulous care. The lawn was always fresh and crisp, the borders of privet were neatlytrimmed and the flower beds disposed effectively. A woman would haveseen at once that this was a man's work; it was all a little tooregular, suggesting engineering methods rather than polite gardening. 

Once you had stepped inside the cottage the absence of the femininetouch was even more strikingly apparent. Book shelves crowded to thedoor, --open shelves, that had the effect of pressing at once upon thevisitor the most formidable of dingy volumes, signifying that suchthings were of moment to the master of the house. There was no parlor, for the room that had originally been used as such was now shelf-hungand book-lined, and served as an approach to the study into which itopened. The furniture was old and frayed as to upholstery, and thebric-à-brac on an old-fashioned what-not was faintly murmurous of somelong-vanished feminine hand. The scant lares and penates were sufficientto explain something of this shiplike trimness of the housekeeping. Thebroken half of a ship's wheel clung to the wall above the narrow grate, and the white marble mantel supported a sextant, a binocular, and otherincidentals of a shipmaster's profession. An engraving of the battle ofTrafalgar and a portrait of Farragut spoke further of the sea. If wetake a liberty and run our eyes over the bookshelves we find manyvolumes relating to the development of sea power and textbooks of an oldvintage on the sailing of ships and like matters. And if we were to pryinto the drawers of an old walnut cabinet in the study we should findilluminative data touching the life of Andrew Kelton. It is well for usto know that he was born in Indiana, as far as possible from salt water;and that, after being graduated from Annapolis, he served his countryuntil retired for disabilities due to a wound received at Mobile Bay. Hethereafter became and continued for fifteen years the professor ofmathematics and astronomy at Madison College, in his native state; andit is there that we find him, living peacefully with his granddaughterSylvia in the shadow of the college. 

Comfort had set its seal everywhere, but it was keyed to male ideals ofease and convenience; the thousand and one things in which women expressthemselves were absent. The eye was everywhere struck by the strictorder of the immaculate small rooms and the snugness with which everyarticle had been fitted to its place. The professor's broad desk wasfree of litter; his tobacco jar neighbored his inkstand on a clean, fresh blotter. It is a bit significant that Sylvia, in putting down herbook to answer the bell, marked her place carefully with an envelope, for Sylvia, we may say at once, was a young person disciplined tocareful habits. 

"Is this Professor Kelton's? I should like very much to see him, " saidthe young man to whom she opened. 

"I'm sorry, but he isn't at home, " replied Sylvia, with that directnesswhich, we shall find, characterized her speech. 

The visitor was neither a member of the faculty nor a student, and asher grandfather was particularly wary of agents she was on guard againstthe stranger. 

"It is important for me to see him. If he will be back later I can comeagain. "

The young man did not look like an agent; he carried no telltaleinsignia. He was tall and straight and decidedly blond, and he smiledpleasantly as he fanned himself with his straw hat. Where his brown hairparted there was a cowlick that flung an untamable bang upon hisforehead, giving him a combative look that his smile belied. He was atrifle too old for a senior, Sylvia reflected, soberly studying hislean, smooth-shaven face, but not nearly old enough to be a professor;and except the pastor of the church which she attended, and thephysician who had been called to see her in her childish ailments, allmen in her world were either students or teachers. The town men werestrange beings, whom Professor Kelton darkly called Philistines, andtheir ways and interests were beyond her comprehension. 

"If you will wait I think I may be able to find him. He may have gone tothe library or to the observatory, or for a walk. Won't you please comein?"

Her gravity amused the young man, who did not think it so serious amatter to gain an interview with a retired professor in a small college. They debated, with much formality on both sides, whether Sylvia shouldseek her grandfather or merely direct the visitor to places where hewould be likely to find him; but as the stranger had never seenProfessor Kelton, they concluded that it would be wiser for Sylvia to dothe seeking. 

She ushered the visitor into the library, where it was cooler than onthe doorstep, and turned toward the campus. It is to be noted thatSylvia moves with the buoyant ease of youth. She crosses the Lane and ison her own ground now as she follows the familiar walks that link thecollege buildings together. The students who pass her grin cheerfullyand tug at their caps; several, from a distance, wave a hand at her. Oneyoung gentleman, leaning from the upper window of the chemicallaboratory, calls, "Hello, Sylvia, " and jerks his head out of sight. Sylvia's chin lifts a trifle, disdainful of the impudence of sophomores. She has recognized the culprit's voice, and will deal with him later inher own fashion. 

Sylvia is olive-skinned and dark of eye. And they are interestingeyes--those of Sylvia, luminous and eager--and not fully taken in at aglance. They call us back for further parley by reason of their graveand steady gaze. There is something appealing in her that takes hold ofthe heart, and we remember her after she has passed us by. We shall notpretend that her features are perfect, but their trifling irregularitiescontribute to an impression of individuality and character. Her mouth, for example, is a bit large, but it speaks for good humor. Even atfifteen, her lips suggest firmness and decision. Her forehead is highand broad, and her head is well set on straight shoulders. Her dark hairis combed back smoothly and braided and the braid is doubled and tiedwith a red ribbon. The same color flashes in a flowing bow at herthroat. These notes will serve to identify Sylvia as she crosses thecampus of this honorable seat of learning on a June afternoon. 

This particular June afternoon fell somewhat later than the secondconsulship of Grover Cleveland and well within the ensuing period ofradicalism. The Hoosiers with whom we shall have to do are not those setforth by Eggleston, but the breed visible to-day in urban marketplaces, who submit themselves meekly to tailors and schoolmasters. There isalways corn in their Egypt, and no village is so small but it lifts asmokestack toward a sky that yields nothing to Italy's. The heavens area soundingboard devised for the sole purpose of throwing back themellifluous voices of native orators. At the cross-roads store, philosophers, perched upon barrel and soap-box (note the soap-box), clinch in endless argument. Every county has its Theocritus who singsthe nearest creek, the bloom of the may-apple, the squirrel on thestake-and-rider fence, the rabbit in the corn, the paw-paw thicket wherefruit for the gods lures farm boys on frosty mornings in golden autumn. In olden times the French _voyageur_, paddling his canoe from Montrealto New Orleans, sang cheerily through the Hoosier wilderness, littleknowing that one day men should stand all night before bulletin boardsin New York and Boston awaiting the judgment of citizens of the Wabashcountry upon the issues of national campaigns. The Hoosier, ponderingall things himself, cares little what Ohio or Illinois may think or do. He ventures eastward to Broadway only to deepen his satisfaction in thelights of Washington or Main Street at home. He is satisfied to liveupon a soil more truly blessed than any that lies beyond the borders ofhis own commonwealth. No wonder Ben Parker, of Henry County, born in alog cabin, attuned his lyre to the note of the first blue-bird andsang, --

 'Tis morning and the days are long. 

It is always morning and all the days are long in Indiana. 

Sylvia was three years old when she came to her grandfather's. This sheknew from the old servant; but where her earlier years had been spent orwhy or with whom she did not know; and when her grandfather was so kind, and her studies so absorbing, it did not seem worth while to troubleabout any state of existence antedating her first clearrecollections--which were of days punctuated and governed by the collegebell, and of people who either taught or studied, with glimpses now andthen of the women and children of the professors' households. There weretimes, when the winds whispered sharply round the cottage on winternights, or when the snow lay white on the campus and in the woodsbeyond, when some memory taunted her, teasing and luring afar off; andonce, as she walked with her grandfather on a day in March, and hepointed to a flock of wild geese moving _en échelon_ toward the Kankakeeand the far white Canadian frontier, she experienced a similar vaguethrill of consciousness, as though remembering that elsewhere, againstblue spring sky, she had watched similar migrant battalions sweepinginto the north. 

She had never known a playmate. The children of the college circle wentto school in town, while she, from her sixth year, was taughtsystematically by her grandfather. The faithful oversight of Mary, themaid-of-all-work, constituted Sylvia's sole acquaintance with anythingapproximating maternal care. Mary, unknown to Sylvia and ProfessorKelton, sometimes took counsel--the privilege of her long residence inthe Lane--of some of the professors' wives, who would have been glad tohelp directly but for the increasing reserve that had latterly markedProfessor Kelton's intercourse with his friends and neighbors. 

Sylvia was vaguely aware of the existence of social distinctions, but inBuckeye Lane these were entirely negligible; they were, in fact, purelyacademic, to be studied with other interesting phenomena by spectacledprofessors in quiet laboratories. It may, however, be remarked thatSylvia had sometimes gazed, not without a twinge, upon the daughter of avillage manufacturer whom she espied flashing through the Lane on ablack pony, and this young person symbolized all worldly grandeur toSylvia's adoring vision. Sylvia knew the world chiefly from herreading, --Miss Alcott's and Mrs. Whitney's stories at first, and "St. Nicholas" every month, on a certain day that found her meeting thepostman far across the campus; and she had read all the "Frank"books, --the prized possessions of a neighbor's boy, --from the Mainewoods through the gunboat and prairie exploits of that delectable hero. At fourteen she had fallen upon Scott and Bulwer and had devoured themvoraciously during the long vacation, in shady corners of the desertedcampus; and she was now fixing Dickens's characters ineffaceably in hermind by Cruikshank's drawings. She was well grounded in Latin and had afair reading knowledge of French and German. It was true of Sylvia, thenand later, that poetry did not greatly interest her, and this had beenattributed to her undoubted genius for mathematics. She was old for herage, people said, and the Lane wondered what her grandfather meant todo with her. 

The finding of Professor Kelton proves to be, as Sylvia had surmised, asimple matter. He is at work in a quiet alcove of the college library, aman just entering sixty, with white, close-trimmed hair and beard. Theeyes he raises to his granddaughter are like hers, and there is afurther resemblance in the dark skin. His face brightens and his eyeskindle as he clasps Sylvia's slender, supple hand. 

"It must be a student--are you sure he isn't a student?"

Sylvia was confident of it. 

"Very likely an agent, then. They're very clever about disguisingthemselves. I never see agents, you know, Sylvia. "

Sylvia declared her belief that the stranger was not an agent, and theprofessor glanced at his book reluctantly. 

"Very well; I will see him. I wish you would run down these referencesfor me, Sylvia. Don't trouble about those I have checked off. It can'tbe possible I am following a false clue. I'm sure I printed that articlein the 'Popular Science Monthly, ' for I recall perfectly that John Fiskewrote me a letter about it. Come home when you have finished and we'lltake our usual walk together. "

Professor Kelton had relinquished his chair in the college when Sylviacame to live with him twelve years before the beginning of this history, and had shut himself away from the world; but no one knew why. Sylviawas the child of his only daughter, of whom no one ever spoke, thoughthe older members of the faculty had known her, as they had known alsothe professor's wife, now dead many years. Professor Kelton had changedwith the coming of Sylvia, so his old associates said; and their wiveswondered that he should have undertaken the bringing-up of the childwithout other aid than that of the Irishwoman who had cooked his mealsand taken care of the house ever since Mrs. Kelton's death. He was stilla special lecturer at Madison, and he derived some income from the saleof his textbooks in mathematics, which he revised from time to time tobring them in touch with changing educational methods. 

He had given as his reason for resigning a wish to secure leisure forwriting, and he was known to suffer severely at times from the woundsthat had driven him from active naval service. But those who knew himbest imagined that he bore in his breast deeper wounds than those ofwar. These old friends of the college circle wondered sometimes at thestrange passing of his daughter and only child, who had vanished fromtheir sight as a girl, never to return. They were men of quality, theseteachers who had been identified with the college so long; they andtheir households were like a large family; and when younger men joinedthe faculty and inquired, or when their wives asked perfectly naturalquestions about Professor Kelton and Sylvia, their inquiries were met byan evasion that definitely dismissed the matter. And out of this spirit, which marked all the social intercourse of the college folk, affectionfor Professor Kelton steadily increased, and its light fell upon Sylviaabundantly. There was a particular smile for her into which much mightbe read; there was a tenderness manifested toward her which communicateditself to the students, who were proud to win her favor and were foreverseeking little excuses for bandying words with her when they met. 

The tradition of Professor Kelton's scholarship had descended to Sylviaamusingly. She had never attended school, but he had taught hersystematically at home, and his interests were hers. The studentsattributed to her the most abstruse knowledge, and stories of herprecocity were repeated proudly by the Lane folk. Many evenings spentwith her grandfather at the observatory had not been wasted. She knewthe paths of the stars as she knew the walks of the campus. Dr. Wandless, the president emeritus, addressed her always as "My Lady ofthe Constellations, " and told her solemnly that from much peeringthrough the telescope she had coaxed the stars into her own eyes. Professor Kelton and his granddaughter were thus fully identified withthe college and its business, which was to impart knowledge, --anold-fashioned but not yet wholly neglected function at Madison. Shereckoned time by semesters; the campus had always been her playground;and the excitements of her life were those of a small and sober academiccommunity. The darkest tragedies she had known had, indeed, been relatedto the life of the college, --the disciplining of the class of '01 forpublishing itself in numerals on the face of the court-house clock; therecurring conflicts between town and gown that shook the communityevery Washington's birthday; the predatory habits of the Greekprofessor's cow, that botanized freely in alien gardens and occasionallyimmured herself in Professor Kelton's lettuce frames; these and likeheroic matters had marked the high latitudes of Sylvia's life. In thelong vacations, when most of the faculty sought the Northern lakes, theKeltons remained at home; and Sylvia knew all the trees of the campus, and could tell you just what books she had read under particular maplesor elms. 

Andrew Kelton was a mathematical scholar of high attainments. In thefield of astronomy he had made important discoveries, and he carried onan extensive correspondence with observers of stellar phenomena in manyfar corners of the world. His name in the Madison catalogue was followedby a bewildering line of cabalistic letters testifying to the honor inwhich other institutions of learning held him. Wishing to devise for hima title that combined due recognition of both his naval exploits and hisfine scholarship, the undergraduates called him "Capordoc"; and it waspart of a freshman's initiation to learn that at all times and in allplaces he was to stand and uncover when Professor Kelton passed by. 

Professor Kelton's occasional lectures in the college were a feature ofthe year, and were given in Mills Hall to accommodate the large audienceof students and town folk that never failed to assemble every winter tohear him. For into discourses on astronomy he threw an immense amount ofknowledge of all the sciences, and once every year, though no one everknew when he would be moved to relate it, he told a thrilling story ofhow once, guided by the stars, he had run a Confederate blockade in awaterlogged ironclad under a withering fire from the enemy's batteries. And when he had finished and the applause ceased, he glanced about withan air of surprise and said: "Thank you, young gentlemen; it pleases meto find you so enthusiastic in your pursuit of knowledge. Learn thestars and you won't get lost in strange waters. As we were saying--" Itwas because of still other stories which he never told or referred to, but which are written in the nation's history, that the students lovedhim; and it was for this that they gave him at every opportunity theirlustiest cheer. 

The professor found the stranger Sylvia had announced waiting for him atthe cottage. The young man did not mention his own name but drew fromhis pocket a sealed letter. 

"Is this Professor Andrew Kelton? I am to give you this letter and waitfor an answer. "

Professor Kelton sat down at his desk and slit the envelope. The lettercovered only one page and he read slowly to the end. He then re-read thewhole carefully, and placed the sheet on his desk and laid a weight uponit before he faced the messenger. He passed his hand across hisforehead, stroked his beard, and said, speaking slowly, --

"You were to bring this letter and bear back an answer to the writer, but you were instructed not to discuss it in any way or disclose thename or the residence of the person who sent you. So much I learn fromthe letter itself. "

"Yes, sir. I know nothing of the contents of the letter. I was told todeliver it and to carry back the answer. "

"Very good, sir. You have fulfilled your mission. Please note carefullywhat I say. The reply is _No_. There must be no mistake about that, --doyou understand?"

"I am to report that you answered 'No'. "

"That is correct, sir, " replied Professor Kelton quietly. The young manrose, and the Professor followed him to the door. 

"I thank you for your trouble; it has been a warm day, the warmest ofthe season. Good-afternoon, sir. "

He watched the young fellow's prompt exit through the gate in the hedgeto the Lane and then returned to the library, where he re-read theletter. Now that he was alone he relaxed somewhat; his manner expressedmingled trepidation and curiosity. The letter was type-written and wasneither dated nor signed. He carried it to the window and held itagainst the sunlight, but there was not even a watermark by which itmight be traced. Nor was there anything in the few straightforwardsentences that proved suggestive. The letter ran:--

 Your granddaughter has reached an age at which her maintenance and education require serious consideration. A friend who cannot be known in the matter wishes to provide a sum of money to be held and expended by you for her benefit. No obligations of any sort will be incurred by you in accepting this offer. It is hardly conceivable that you will decline it, though it is quite optional with you to do so. It will not, however, be repeated. 

 Kindly designate by a verbal "Yes" or "No" to the bearer whether you accept or decline. The messenger is a stranger to the person making the offer and the contents of this communication are unknown to him. If you wish to avail yourself of this gift, the amount will be paid in cash immediately, and it is suggested that you refrain from mentioning the matter to your granddaughter in any way. 

Professor Kelton had given his answer to the messenger unhesitatingly, and the trouble reflected in his dark eyes was not due, we may assume, to any regret for his negative reply, but to the jangling of old, harshchords of memory. He crossed and recrossed the room, lost in reverie;then paused at his desk and tore the letter once across with the evidentintention of destroying it; but he hesitated, changed his mind, andcarried it to his bedroom. There he took from a closet shelf a batteredtin box marked "A. Kelton, U. S. N. " which contained his commissions inthe Navy. He sat down on the bed, folded the letter the long way of thesheet and indorsed it in pencil: "Declined. " Then he slipped it underthe faded tape that bound the official papers together, and locked andreplaced the box. 

Sylvia meanwhile had found the review article noted on her grandfather'smemorandum, and leaving a receipt with the librarian started home withthe book under her arm. Halfway across the campus she met hergrandfather's caller, hurrying townward. He lifted his hat, and Sylviapaused a moment to ask if he had found her grandfather. 

"Yes; thank you. My business didn't take much time, you see. I'm sorry Iput you to so much bother. "

"Oh, that was nothing. "

"Is that new building the college library?"

"Yes, " replied Sylvia. "Are you a Madison man?"

"No. I was never here before. I went to a very different collegeand"--he hesitated--"a little bigger one. "

"I suppose there are bigger colleges, " Sylvia remarked, with theslightest accent on the adjective. 

The young man laughed. 

"That's the right spirit! Madison needs no praise from me; it speaks foritself. Is this the nearest way to the station?"

It had been on Sylvia's tongue to ask him the name of his college, buthe had perhaps read this inquiry in her eyes, and as though suddenlyroused by the remembrance of the secrecy that had been imposed upon him, he moved on. 

"Yes, I understand, " he called over his shoulder. "Thank you, verymuch. "

He whistled softly to himself as he continued on his way, still glancingabout alertly. 

The manner of the old professor in receiving the letter and the calmnesswith which he had given his reply minimized the importance of thetransaction in the mind of the messenger. He was thinking of Sylvia andsmiling still at her implication that while there were larger collegesthan Madison there was none better. He turned to look again at thecollege buildings closely clasped by their strip of woodland. Madisonwas not a college to sneer at; he had scanned the bronze tablet on thelibrary wall that published the roll of her Sons who had served in theCivil War. Many of the names were written high in the state's historyand for a moment they filled the young man's mind. 

As she neared home Sylvia met her friend Dr. Wandless, the formerpresident, who always had his joke with her. 

"Hail, Lady of the Constellations! You have been looting the library, Isee. Hast thou named the stars without a gun?"

"That isn't right, " protested Sylvia. "You're purposely misquoting. You've only spoiled Emerson's line about the birds. "

"Bless me, I believe that's so!" laughed the old gentleman. "But tellme, Sylvia: 'Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loosethe bands of Orion? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? orguide Arcturus with his sons?'"

Sylvia, with brightening eyes and a smile on her lips, answered:--

"Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? canst thou set the dominionthereof in the earth?"

"Ah, if only I could, Sylvia!" said the old minister, smiling gravely. 

They came in high spirits to the parting of their ways and Sylvia kepton through the hedge to her grandfather's cottage. The minister turnedonce, a venerable figure with snowy beard and hair, and beat the pathsoftly with his stick and glanced back, as Sylvia's red ribbon bobbedthrough the greenery. 

"'Whose daughter art thou?'" he murmured gently. 

Then, glancing furtively about, he increased his gait as though toescape from his own thoughts; but the question asked of Bethuel'sdaughter by Abraham's servant came again to his lips, and he shook hishead as he repeated:--

"Whose daughter art thou?"

CHAPTER II

SYLVIA GOES VISITING

"How old did you say you were, Sylvia?"

"I'm sixteen in October, grandpa, " answered Sylvia. 

"Is it possible!" murmured the professor. "And to think that you'venever been to school. "

"Why, I've been going to school every day, almost, ever since I canremember. And haven't I had the finest teacher in the world, all tomyself?"

His face brightened responsive to her laugh. 

This was at the tea-table--for the Keltons dined at noon in conformitywith local custom--nearly a week after the unsigned letter had beendelivered to Andrew Kelton by the unknown messenger. Sylvia and hergrandfather had just returned from a walk, prolonged into the cool dusk. They sat at the square walnut table, where they had so long faced eachother three times a day. Sylvia had never doubted that their lives wouldgo on forever in just this way, --that they would always be, as hergrandfather liked to put it, "shipmates, " walking together, studyingtogether, sitting as they sat now, at their simple meals, with just thesame quaintly flowered dishes, the same oddly turned teapot, with itsattendant cream pitcher (slightly cracked as to lip) and the sugar-bowl, with a laboring ship depicted in blue on its curved side, which was notrelated, even by the most remote cousinship, to anything else in thepantry. 

Professor Kelton was unwontedly preoccupied to-night. Sylvia saw that hehad barely touched his strawberries--their first of the season, thoughthey were fine ones and the cream was the thickest. She folded her handson the edge of the table and watched him gravely in the light of thefour candles whose flame flared in the breeze that swept softly throughthe dining-room windows. Feeling her eyes upon him the old gentlemansuddenly roused himself. 

"We've had good times, haven't we, Sylvia? And I wonder if I have reallytaught you anything. I suppose I ought to have been sending you toschool with the other youngsters about here, but the fact is that Inever saw a time when I wanted to part with you! You've been a finelittle shipmate, but you're not so little any more. Sixteen your nextbirthday! If that's so it isn't best for us to go on this way. You musttry your oar in deeper water. You've outgrown me--and I'm a dull oldfellow at best. You must go where you will meet other girls, and dealwith a variety of teachers, --not just one dingy old fellow like me. Haveyou ever thought what kind of a school you'd like to go to?"

"I don't believe I have; I don't know much about schools. "

"Well, don't you think you'd like to get away from so much mathematicsand learn things that will fit you to be entertaining and amusing? Youknow I've taught you a lot of things just to amuse myself and they cannever be of the slightest use to you. I suppose you are the only girl ofyour age in America who can read the sextant and calculate latitude andlongitude. But, bless me, what's the use?"

"Oh, if I could only--"

"Only what?" he encouraged her. He was greatly interested in getting herpoint of view, and it was perfectly clear that a great idea possessedher. 

"Oh, if I could only go to college, that would be the finest thing inthe world!"

"You think that would be more interesting than boarding-school? If yougo to college they may require Greek and you don't even know what theletters look like!"

"Oh, yes, I know a little about it!"

"I think not, Sylvia. How could you?"

"Oh, the letters were so queer, I learned them just for fun out of anold textbook I found on the campus one day. Nobody ever came to claimit, so I read it all through and learned all the declensions andvocabularies, though I only guessed at the pronunciation. "

Professor Kelton was greatly amused. "You tackled Greek just for fun, did you?" he laughed; then, after a moment's absorption: "I'm going toIndianapolis to-morrow and I'll take you with me, if you care to goalong. In fact, I've written to Mrs. Owen that we're coming, and I'vekept this as a little surprise for you. "

So, after an early breakfast the next morning, they were off for thestation in one of those disreputable, shaky village hacks that Dr. Wandless always called "dark Icarian birds, " with their two bags piledon the seat before them. On the few railway journeys Sylvia remembered, she had been carried on half-fare tickets, an ignominy which sherecalled with shame. To-day she was a full-grown passenger with a seatto herself, her grandfather being engaged through nearly the whole oftheir hour's swift journey in a political discussion with a lawyer whowas one of the college trustees. 

"I told Mrs. Owen not to meet us; it's a nuisance having to meetpeople, " said the professor when they had reached the city. "But shealways sends a carriage when she expects me. "

As they stepped out upon the street a station wagon driven by an oldnegro appeared promptly at the curb. 

"Mawnin', Cap'n; mawnin'! Yo' just on time. Mis' Sally tole me to kerryyou all right up to the haouse. Yes, seh. "

Sylvia did not know, what later historians may be interested to learnfrom these pages, that the station wagon, drawn by a single horse, wasfor years the commonest vehicle known to the people of the Hoosiercapital. The panic of 1873 had hit the town so hard, the community'spunishment for its sins of inflation had been so drastic, that it hadaccepted meekly the rebuke implied in its designation as a one-horsetown. In 1884 came another shock to confidence, and in 1893, stillanother earthquake, as though the knees of the proud must at intervalsbe humbled. The one-horse station wagon continued to symbolize thequiet domesticity of the citizens of the Hoosier capital: women ofunimpeachable social standing carried their own baskets through theaisles of the city market or drove home with onion tops wavingtriumphantly on the seat beside them. We had not yet hitched our wagonto a gasoline tank, but traffic regulations were enforced by cruelpolicemen, to the terror of women long given to leisurely manoeuvres onthe wrong side of our busiest thoroughfares. The driving of cattlethrough Washington Street did not cease until 1888, when cobbles yieldedto asphalt. It was in that same year that Benjamin Harrison was chosento the seat of the Presidents. What hallowed niches now enshrine theGeneral's fence, utterly disintegrated and appropriated, during thatbannered and vociferous summer, by pious pilgrims!

Down the busy meridional avenue that opened before Sylvia as they droveuptown loomed the tall shaft of the soldiers' monument, and they weresoon swinging round the encompassing plaza. Professor Kelton explainedthat the monument filled a space once called Circle Park, where theGovernor's Mansion had stood in old times. In her hurried glimpsesSylvia was unable to account for the lack of sociability among thedistinguished gentlemen posed in bronze around the circularthoroughfare; and she thought it odd that William Henry Harrison wore somuch better clothes than George Rogers Clark, who was immortalized forher especial pleasure in the very act of delivering the Wabash from theBritish yoke. 

"I wonder whether Mrs. Owen will like me?" said Sylvia a littleplaintively, the least bit homesick as they turned into Delaware Street. 

"Of course she will like you!" laughed Professor Kelton, "though I willsay that she doesn't like everybody by any manner of means. You mustn'tbe afraid of her; she gets on best with people who are not afraid totalk to her. She isn't like anybody you ever saw, or, I think, anybodyyou are ever likely to see again!" And the professor chuckled softly tohimself. 

Mrs. Owen's big comfortable brick house stood in that broad part ofDelaware Street where the maple arch rises highest, and it wassurrounded by the smoothest of lawns, broken only by a stone basin inwhose centre posed the jolliest of Cupids holding a green glassumbrella, over which a jet of water played in the most realisticrainstorm imaginable. 

Another negro, not quite as venerable as the coachman, opened the doorand took their bags. He explained that Mrs. Owen (he called her "Mis'Sally") had been obliged to attend a meeting of some board or other, butwould return shortly. The guests' rooms were ready and he at once ledthe way upstairs, where a white maid met them. 

Professor Kelton explained that he must go down into the city on someerrands, but that he would be back shortly, and Sylvia was thus left toher own devices. 

It was like a story book to arrive at a strange house and be carried offto a beautiful room, with a window-seat from which one could look downinto the most charming of gardens. She opened her bag and disposed herfew belongings and was exploring the bathroom wonderingly (for the bathat home was an affair of a tin tub to which water was carried by hand)when a maid appeared with a glass of lemonade and a plate of cakes. 

It was while she munched her cakes and sipped the cool lemonade in thewindow-seat with an elm's branches so close that she could touch them, and wondered how near to this room her grandfather had been lodged, andwhat the mistress of the house was like, that Mrs. Owen appeared, afterthe lightest tap on the high walnut door. Throughout her life Sylviawill remember that moment when she first measured Mrs. Owen's fineheight and was aware of her quick, eager entrance; but above all elsethe serious gray eyes that were so alive with kindness were the chiefitem of Sylvia's inventory. 

"I thought you were older, --or younger! I didn't know you would be justlike this! I didn't know just when you were coming or I should havetried to be at home--but there was a meeting, --there are so many things, child!"

Mrs. Owen did not sigh at the thought of her burdens, but smiled quitecheerfully as though the fact of the world's being a busy place waswholly agreeable. She sat down beside Sylvia in the window-seat and tookone of the cakes and nibbled it while they talked. Sylvia had never beenso wholly at ease in her life. It was as though she had been launchedinto the midst of an old friendship, and she felt that she had conferredthe greatest possible favor in consenting to visit this house, for wasnot this dear old lady saying, --

"You see, I'm lonesome sometimes and I almost kidnap people to get themto visit me. I'm a terribly practical old woman. If you haven't heard itI must tell you the truth--I'm a farmer! And I don't let anybody run mybusiness. Other widows have to take what the lawyers give them; butwhile I can tell oats from corn and horses from pigs I'm going to handlemy own money. We women are a lot of geese, I tell you, child! I'mtreasurer of a lot of things women run, and I can see a deficit througha brick wall as quick as any man on earth. Don't you ever let any manvote any proxy for you--you tell 'em you'll attend the stockholders'meetings yourself, and when you go, kick!"

Sylvia had not the faintest notion of what proxy meant, but she was sureit must be something both interesting and important or Mrs. Owen wouldnot feel so strongly about it. 

"When I was your age, " Mrs. Owen continued, "girls weren't allowed tolearn anything but embroidery and housekeeping. But my father had somesense. He was a Kentucky farmer and raised horses and mules. I neverknew anything about music, for I wouldn't learn; but I own a stock farmnear Lexington, and just between ourselves I don't lose any money on it. And most that I know about men I learned from mules; there's nothing inthe world so interesting as a mule. "

When Professor Kelton had declared to Sylvia on the way from the stationthat Mrs. Owen was unlike any other woman in the world, Sylvia had notthought very much about it. To be sure Sylvia's knowledge of the worldwas the meagrest, but certainly she could never have imagined any womanas remarkable as Mrs. Owen. The idea that a mule, instead of being adull beast of burden, had really an educational value struck her asdecidedly novel, and she did not know just what to make of it. Mrs. Owenreadjusted the pillow at her back, and went on spiritedly:--

"Your grandpa has often spoken of you, and it's mighty nice to have youhere. You see a good many of us Hoosiers are Kentucky people, and yourgrandpa's father was. I remember perfectly well when your grandpa wentto the Naval Academy; and we were all mighty proud of him in the war. "

Mrs. Owen's white hair was beautifully soft and wavy, and she wore it inthe prevailing manner. Her eyes narrowed occasionally with an effect ofsudden dreaminess, and these momentary reveries seemed to the adoringSylvia wholly fascinating. She spoke incisively and her voice was deepand resonant. She was exceedingly thin and wiry, and her movements werequick and nervous. Hearing the whirr of a lawn-mower in the yard shedrew a pair of spectacles from a case she produced from an incrediblydeep pocket, put them on, and criticized the black man below sharply forhis manner of running the machine. This done, the spectacles went backto the case and the case to the pocket. In our capital a woman in akimono may still admonish her servants from a second-story windowwithout loss of dignity, and gentlemen holding high place in dignifiedcallings may sprinkle their own lawns in the cool of the evening if theyfind delight in that cheering diversion. Joy in the simple life dies inus slowly. The galloping Time-Spirit will run us down eventually, but onSundays that are not too hot or too cold one may even to-day count ahandsome total of bank balances represented in our churches, so strongis habit in a people bred to righteousness. 

"You needn't be afraid of me; my bark is worse than my bite; you have totalk just that way to these black people. They've all worked for me foryears and they don't any of 'em pay the slightest attention to what Isay. But, " she concluded, "they'd be a lot worse if I didn't say it. "

We reckon time in our capital not from fires or floods or even _annourbis conditæ_, but from seemingly minor incidents that havenevertheless marked new eras and changed the channels of history. Precedents sustain us in this. A startled goose rousing the sleepingsentinels on the ramparts; a dull peasant sending an army in the wrongdirection; the mischievous phrase uttered by an inconspicuous ministerof the gospel to a few auditors, --such unconsidered trifles play havocwith Fame's calculations. And so in our calendar the disbanding of thevolunteer fire department in 1859 looms gloomily above the highestaltitudes of the strenuous sixties; the fact that Billy Sanderson, afterhis father's failure in 1873, became a brakeman on the J. M. & I. Railroad and invested his first month's salary in a silver-mountedlantern, is more luminous in the retrospect than the panic itself; thecoming of a lady with a lorgnette in 1889 (the scion of one of ourancient houses married her in Ohio) overshadows even the passing ofBeecher's church; and the three-days' sojourn of Henry James in 1905shattered all records and established a new orientation for our people. It was Sally Owen who said, when certain citizens declared that Mr. James was inaudible, that many heard him perfectly that night in thePropylæum who had always thought Balzac the name of a tooth-powder. 

Mrs. Owen's family, the Singletons, had crossed the Ohio into Hoosierterritory along in the fifties, in time for Sally to have been astudent--not the demurest from all accounts--at Indiana Female College. Where stood the college the Board of Trade has lately planted itself, frowning down upon Christ Church, whose admirable Gothic spire chimedfor Union victories in the sixties (there's a story about that, too!)and still pleads with the ungodly on those days of the week appointed bythe Book of Common Prayer for offices to be said or sung. Mrs. JacksonOwen was at this time sixty years old, and she had been a widow forthirty years. The old citizens who remembered Jackson Owen always spokeof him with a smile. He held an undisputed record of having beendefeated for more offices than any other Hoosier of his time. His chiefassets when he died were a number of farms, plastered with mortgages, scattered over the commonwealth in inaccessible localities. His wife, left a widow with a daughter who died at fourteen, addressed herselfzealously to the task of paying the indebtedness with which thelamented Jackson had encumbered his property. She had made a point ofclinging to all the farms that had been so profitless under hisdirection, and so successfully had she managed them that they were allpaying handsomely. A four-hundred-acre tract of the tallest corn I eversaw was once pointed out to me in Greene County and this plantation, itwas explained, had been a worthless bog before Mrs. Owen "tiled" it; andlater I saw stalks of this corn displayed in the rooms of theAgricultural Society to illustrate what intelligent farming can do. 

At the State Fair every fall it was taken as a matter of course that "S. Owen" (such was her business designation) should win more red ribbonsthan any other exhibitor either of cereals or live stock. There wasnothing that Sally Owen did not know about feeding cattle, and a papershe once read before the Short-Horn Breeders' Association is a classicon this important subject. Mrs. Owen still retained the active controlof her affairs, though she had gradually given over to a superintendentmuch of the work long done by herself; but woe unto him who ever triedto deceive her! She maintained an office on the ground floor of herhouse where she transacted business and kept inventories of every stickof wood, every bushel of corn, every litter of pigs to which she hadever been entitled. For years she had spent much time at her farms, particularly through the open months of the year when farm tasks aremost urgent; but as her indulgence in masculine pursuits had not abatedher womanly fastidiousness, she carried with her in all her journeys anegro woman whose business it was to cook for her mistress and otherwisecare for her comfort. She had acquired the farm in Kentucky to continueher ties with the state of her birth, but this sentimental considerationdid not deter her from making the Lexington farm pay; Sally Owen madeeverything pay! Her Southern ancestry was manifest in nothing morestrikingly than in her treatment of the blacks she had always had abouther. She called them niggers--as only a Southerner may, and they calledher "Mis' Sally" and were her most devoted and obedient servants. 

Much of this Sylvia was to learn later; but just now, as Mrs. Owen satin the cool window-seat, it was enough for Sylvia to be there, in thecompany of the first woman--so it seemed to her--she had ever known, except Irish Mary at home. The wives of the professors in Buckeye Lanewere not like this; no one was ever like this, she was sure!

"We shall be having luncheon at half-past twelve, and my grandnieceMarian will be here. Marian is the daughter of my niece, Mrs. MortonBassett, who lives at Fraserville. Marian comes to town pretty often andI've asked her down to-day particularly to meet you. "

"I'm sure that is very kind, " murmured Sylvia, though she would havebeen perfectly happy if just she and her grandfather had been left alonewith Mrs. Owen. 

"There's the bell; that must be Marian now, " said Mrs. Owen a momentlater, and vanished in her quick fashion. Then the door opened againinstantly and she returned to the room smiling. 

"What _is_ your name, dear?" Mrs. Owen demanded. "How very stupid of menot to have asked before! Your grandpa in speaking of you always says mygranddaughter, and that doesn't tell anything, does it?"

"My name is Sylvia--Sylvia Garrison. "

"And that's a very nice name, " said Mrs. Owen, looking at her fixedlywith her fine gray eyes. "You're the first Sylvia I have ever known. I'mjust plain Sally!" Then she seized Sylvia's hands and drew her close andkissed her. 

As Sylvia had brought but one white gown, she decided that the blueserge skirt and linen shirt-waist in which she had traveled would do forluncheon. She put on a fresh collar and knotted a black scarf under itand went downstairs. 

She ran down quickly, to have the meeting with the strange niece over asquickly as possible. Mrs. Owen was not in sight, and her grandfather hadnot returned from town; but as Sylvia paused a moment at the door of thespacious high-ceilinged drawing-room she saw a golden head bent over amusic rack by the piano. Sylvia stood on the threshold an instant, shyand uncertain as to how she should make herself known. The sun floodingthe windows glinted on the bright hair of the girl at the piano; she wasvery fair, and her features were clear-cut and regular. There was nosound in the room but the crisp rustle of the leaves of music as thegirl tossed them about. Then as she flung aside the last sheet with anexclamation of disappointment, Sylvia made herself known. 

"I'm Sylvia Garrison, " she said, advancing. 

They gravely inspected each other for a moment; then Marian put out herhand. 

"I'm Marian Bassett. Aunt Sally told me you were coming. "

Marian seated herself with the greatest composure and Sylvia noted herwhite lawn gown and white half-shoes, and the bow of white ribbon at theback of her head. Sylvia, in her blue serge, black ribbons, and highshoes, felt the superiority of this radiant being. Marian took charge ofthe conversation. 

"I suppose you like to visit; I love it. I've visited a lot, and I'malways coming to Aunt Sally's. I'm in Miss Waring's School, here in thiscity, so I come to spend Sundays with Aunt Sally very often. Mama isalways coming to town to see how I'm getting on. She's terriblyambitious for me, but I hate school, and I simply _cannot_ learn French. Miss Waring is terribly severe; she says it's merely a lack ofapplication in my case; that I _could_ learn but won't. When mama comesshe takes me to luncheon at the Whitcomb and sometimes to the matinée. We saw John Drew last winter: he's simply perfect--so refined andgentlemanly; and I've seen Julia Marlowe twice; she's my favoriteactress. Mama says that if I just will read novels I ought to read goodones, and she gave me a set of Thackeray for my own; but you can skip awhole lot in him, I'm here to state! One of our best critics has said(mama's always saying that) that the best readers are those who knowhow to skip, and I'm a good skipper. I always want to know how it'sgoing to come out. If they can't live happy forever afterward I wantthem to part beautifully, with soft music playing; and _he_ must go awayand leave _her_ holding a rose as a pledge that _he_ will never forget. "

When Marian paused there was a silence as Sylvia tried to pick out ofthis long speech something to which she could respond. Marian wasastonishingly wise; Sylvia felt herself immeasurably younger, and shewas appalled by her own ignorance before this child who had touched somany sides of life and who recounted her experiences so calmly andlightly. 

"This is the first time I ever visited, " Sylvia confessed. "I live withmy grandfather Kelton, right by Madison College, that's at Montgomery, you know. Grandfather was a professor in the college, and still lecturesthere sometimes. I've never been to school--"

"How on earth do you escape?" demanded Marian. 

"It's not an escape, " laughed Sylvia; "you see grandfather, being aprofessor, began teaching me almost before I began remembering. "

"Oh! But even that would be better than a boarding-school, where theymake you study. It would be easy to tell your grandfather that youdidn't want to do things. "

"I suppose it would, " Sylvia acknowledged; "but it's so nice to have himfor a teacher that I shouldn't know just how to do it. "

This point of view did not interest Marian, and she recurred to her ownaffairs. 

"I've been to Europe. Papa took us all last year. We went to Paris andLondon. It was fine. "

"My grandfather was in the United States Navy, before he began teachingat Madison, so I know a good deal from him about Europe. "

"Blackford--he's my brother--is going to Annapolis, " said Marian, thusreminded of her brother's aspirations. "At least he says he is, thoughhe used to talk about West Point. I hope he will go into the Army. Ishould like to visit West Point; it must be perfectly fascinating. "

"I suppose it is. I think I should like college. "

"Not for me!" exclaimed Marian. "I want to go to a convent in Paris. Iknow a girl right here in Indianapolis who did that, and it's perfectlyfine and ever so romantic. To get into college you have to know algebra, don't you?"

"Yes; I think they require that, " Sylvia replied, on guard against adisplay of too much knowledge. 

"Do you know algebra?" demanded Marian. 

"Sometimes I think I don't!"

"Well, there's no doubt about me! I'm sure I don't. It's perfectlyhorrid. "

The entrance of Mrs. Owen and the return of Professor Kelton terminatedthese confidences. The four were soon at the luncheon table, where thearray of crystal and silver seemed magnificent to Sylvia's unaccustomedeyes. She had supposed that luncheon meant some such simple meal as thesuppers she had been used to at home; but it included fried chicken andcold ham, and there were several vegetables; and hot biscuits and hotcorn bread; and it became necessary for Sylvia to decline an endlesssuccession of preserves and jellies. For dessert there were the mostfragrant red raspberries conceivable, with golden sponge cake. Thecolored man who served the table seemed to enjoy himself immensely. Hecondescended to make suggestions as he moved about. "A little mo' of thecold ham, Cap'n?" or, "I 'membah you like the sparrograss, Mis' Marian, "he murmured. "The co'n bread's extra fine, Mis'"--to Sylvia. "The hossisis awdahed for three, Mis' Sally"--to Mrs. Owen. 

"You still have Kentucky cooking, Sally, " remarked Professor Kelton, whohad praised the corn bread. 

"I do, Andrew, " replied the old lady; "everybody knows that the bestthings in Indiana came through Kentucky. That includes you and me!"

Prompted by Mrs. Owen's friendly questioning, Sylvia found herselftalking. She felt that she was talking more than Marian; but she wasmuch less troubled by this than by Marian's sophisticated manner oflifting her asparagus stalks with her fingers, while Sylvia resorted tothe fork. But Sylvia comforted herself with the reflection that this wasall in keeping with Marian Bassett's general superiority. Marianconducted herself with the most mature air, and she made it quitenecessary for Professor Kelton to defend the Navy against her assertionthat the Army was much more useful to the country. The unhurried mealpassed, and after they had returned to the drawing-room Marian left tomeet her mother at the dressmaker's and return with her to Fraserville. 

"I hope to see you again, " said Marian, shaking hands with Sylvia. 

"I hope so, too, " Sylvia replied. 

CHAPTER III

A SMALL DINNER AT MRS. OWEN'S

Professor Kelton announced that he had not finished his errands in town, and begged to be excused from the drive which Mrs. Owen had planned. 

"Very well, Andrew. Then I shall take your Sylvia for a longer drivethan I should expect you to survive. We'll go out and see how the wheatlooks. "

In this new environment Sylvia was aware that despite his efforts toappear gay her grandfather was not himself. She was quite sure that hehad not expected to spend the afternoon downtown, and she wondered whatwas troubling him. The novelty of the drive, however, quickly won her tothe best of spirits. Mrs. Owen appeared ready for this adventure withher tall figure wrapped in a linen "duster. " Her hat was a practicalaffair of straw, unadorned save by a black ribbon. As she drew on hergloves in the _porte-cochère_ the old coachman held the heads of twohorses that were hitched to a smart road wagon. When her gloves had beenadjusted, Mrs. Owen surveyed the horses critically. 

"Lift Pete's forefoot--the off one, Joe, " she commanded, stepping downinto the asphalt court. "Um, --that's just what I thought. That newblacksmith knows his business. That shoe's on straight. That other mannever did know anything. All right, Sylvia. "

Mrs. Owen explained as the trim sorrels stepped off smartly toward thenorth that they were Estabrook stock and that she had raised themherself on her Kentucky farm, which she declared Sylvia must visit someday. It was very pleasant to be driving in this way under a high bluesky, beside a woman whose ways and interests were so unusual. Thespirited team held Mrs. Owen's attention, but she never allowed theconversation to flag. Several times as they crossed car lines it seemedto Sylvia that they missed being struck only by perilously narrowmargins. When they reached the creek they paused on the bridge to allowthe sorrels to rest, and Mrs. Owen indicated with her whip the line ofthe new boulevard and recounted the history of the region. 

At the State Fair grounds Mrs. Owen drove in, explaining that she wantedto see what they were doing to the track. Sylvia noticed that theemployees they passed grinned at Mrs. Owen as though she were a familiaracquaintance, and the superintendent came up and discussed horses andthe track changes with Mrs. Owen in a strange vocabulary. He listenedrespectfully to what Mrs. Owen said and was impressed, Sylvia thought, by her opinions. She referred to other tracks at Lexington andLouisville as though they were, of course, something that everybody knewabout. The sun was hot, but Mrs. Owen did not seem to mind the heat aparticle. The superintendent looked the sorrels over carefully; they hadtaken no end of ribbons at fairs and horse shows. Here was a team, Mrs. Owen announced, that she was not afraid to show in Madison Square Gardenagainst any competitors in its class; and the superintendent admittedthat the Estabrooks were a fine stock. He nodded and kept repeating"You're right, " or "you're mighty right, " to everything the old ladysaid. It seemed to Sylvia that nobody would be likely to question orgainsay any opinions Mrs. Owen might advance on the subject of horses. She glanced over her shoulder as they were driving back toward the gateand saw the superintendent looking after them. 

"He's watching the team, ain't he, Sylvia? I thought I'd touch up hisenvy a little. That man, " continued Mrs. Owen, "really knows a horsefrom an elephant. He's been trying to buy this team; but he hasn't bidup high enough yet. It tickles me to think that some of those richfellows down in New York will pay me a good price when I send 'em downthere to the show. They need working; you can't do much with horses intown; the asphalt plays smash with their feet. There's a good stretch ofpike out here and I'll show you what this team can do. "

This promised demonstration was the least bit terrifying to Sylvia. Herknowledge of horses was the slightest, and in reading of horse races shehad not imagined that there could be such a thrill in speeding along astretch of good road behind a pair of registered roadsters, the flowerof the Estabrook stock, driven by so intrepid and skillful a whip asMrs. Sally Owen. 

"I guess that mile would worry the boys some, " observed Mrs. Owen withsatisfaction as she brought the team to a walk. 

This was wholly cryptic to Sylvia, but she was glad that Mrs. Owen wasnot disappointed. As they loitered in a long shady lane Mrs. Owen madeit possible for Sylvia to talk of herself. Sally Owen was a wise woman, who was considered a little rough and peculiar by some of hertownspeople, chiefly those later comers who did not understand theconditions of life that had made such a character possible; but none hadever questioned her kindness of heart. And in spite of her frank, directway of speech she was not deficient in tact. Sally Owen had an activecuriosity, but it was of the healthy sort that wastes no time ontrifling matters. She was curious about Sylvia, for Sylvia was a littledifferent from the young girls she knew. Quite naturally she wascomparing the slim, dark-eyed girl at her side with Marian Bassett. Marian was altogether obvious; whereas Mrs. Owen felt the barriers ofreserve in Sylvia. Sylvia embodied questions in the Kelton familyhistory that she could not answer, though she had known Andrew Keltonall his life, and remembered dimly his only daughter, who hadunaccountably vanished. 

"Where do you go to school, Sylvia?" she asked. 

"I don't go to school, --not to a real school, --but grandfather teachesme; he has always taught me. "

"And you are now about--how old?"

"Sixteen in October. I've been talking to grandfather about going tocollege. "

"They do send girls to college nowadays, don't they! We're beginning tohave some of these college women in our town here. I know some of 'em. Let's see. What they say against colleges for women is that the girlswho go there learn too much, so that men are afraid to marry 'em. Iwonder how that is? But that's in favor of college, I think; don't you?"

Mrs. Owen answered her own question with a laugh; and having opened thesubject she went on to disclose her opinions further. 

"I guess I'm too old to be one of these new women we're hearing so muchabout. Even farming's got to be a science, and it keeps me hustling tolearn what the new words mean in the agricultural papers. I belong to ageneration of women who know how to sew rag carpets and make quilts andstir soft soap in an iron kettle and darn socks; and I can still cure aham better than any Chicago factory does it, " she added, raking a flyfrom the back of the "off" sorrel with a neat turn of the whip. "And Ireckon I make 'em pay full price for my corn. Well, well; so you'reheaded for college. "

"I hope so, " said Sylvia; "then after that I'm going to teach. "

"Poor pay and hard work. I know lots of teachers; they're always havingnervous prostration. But you look healthy. "

"Oh, I'm strong enough, " replied Sylvia. "I think I should liketeaching. "

"Marian was at Miss Waring's school last winter and I couldn't see whatshe was interested in much but chasing to matinées. Are you crazy abouttheatres?"

"Why, I've never been to one, " Sylvia confessed. 

"You're just as well off. Actors ain't what they used to be. When yousaw Edwin Booth in 'Hamlet' or Jefferson in 'Rip, ' you saw acting. Ihaven't been in any theatre since I saw Jefferson in the 'Rivals' thelast time he came round. There used to be a stock company at theMetropolitan about war-time that beat any of these new actor folks. I'drather see a good circus any time than one of these singing pieces. Sassafras tea and a circus every spring; I always take both. "

Sylvia found these views on the drama wholly edifying. Circuses andsassafras tea were within the range of her experience, and finding thatshe had struck a point of contact, Mrs. Owen expressed her pity for anychild that did not enjoy a round of sassafras tea every spring. Sassafras in the spring, and a few doses of quinine in the fall, toeliminate the summer's possible accumulation of malaria, were all themedicine that any good Hoosier needed, Mrs. Owen averred. 

"I'm for all this new science, you understand that, " Mrs. Owencontinued. "A good deal of it does seem to me mighty funny, but whenthey tell me to boil drinking-water to kill the bugs in it, and show mepictures of the bugs they take with the microscope, I don't snort justbecause my grandfather didn't know about those things and lived to beeighty-two and then died from being kicked by a colt. I go into thekitchen and I say to Eliza, 'Bile the water, Liza; bile it twice. 'That's the kind of a new woman I am. But let's see; we were speaking ofMarian. "

"I liked her very much; she's very nice and ever so interesting, " saidSylvia. 

"Bless you, she's nice enough and pretty enough; but about this collegebusiness. I always say that if it ain't in a colt the trainer can't putit there. My niece--that's Mrs. Bassett, Marian's mother--wants Marianto be an intellectual woman, --the kind that reads papers on the poetsbefore literary clubs. Mrs. Bassett runs a woman's club in Fraservilleand she's one of the lights in the Federation. They got me up toFraserville to speak to their club a few years ago. It's one of thesesolemn clubs women have; awful literary and never get nearer home thanDoctor Johnson, who was nothing but a fat loafer anyhow. I told 'emthey'd better let me off; but they would have it and so I went up andtalked on ensilage. It was fall and I thought ensilage was seasonableand they ought to know about it if they didn't. And they didn't, allright. "

Sylvia had been staring straight ahead across the backs of the team; shewas conscious suddenly that Mrs. Owen was looking at her fixedly, withmirth kindling in her shrewd old eyes. Sylvia had no idea what ensilagewas, but she knew it must be something amusing or Mrs. Owen would nothave laughed so heartily. 

"It was a good joke, wasn't it--talking to a literary club about silos. I told 'em I'd come back and read my little piece on 'Winter Feeding, 'but they haven't called me yet. "

They had driven across to Meridian Street, and Mrs. Owen sent the horsesinto town at a comfortable trot. They traversed the new residential areacharacterized by larger grounds and a higher average of architecture. 

"That's Edward Thatcher's new house--the biggest one. They say it'seasier to pay for a castle like that out here than it is to keep a cookso far away from Washington Street. I let go of ten acres right here inthe eighties; we used to think the town would stop at the creek, " Mrs. Owen explained, and then announced the dictum: "Keep land; mortgage ifyou got to, but never sell; that's my motto. "

It was nearly six when they reached home, and dinner was appointed forseven. Mrs. Owen drove directly into the barn and gave minuteinstructions as to the rubbing-down and feeding of the horses. Inaddressing the negroes she imitated their own manner of speech. Sylviahad noticed that Mrs. Owen did not always pronounce words in the sameway, but such variations are marked among our Southwestern people, particularly where, as in Mrs. Owen's case, they have lived on bothsides of the Ohio River. Sometimes she said "hoss, " unmistakably; andhere, and again when she said "bile" for "boil, " it was obviously withhumorous intention. Except in long speeches she did not drawl; at timesshe spoke rapidly, snapping off sentences abruptly. Her fashion ofreferring to herself in the third person struck Sylvia as most amusing. 

"Look here, you Joe, it's a nice way to treat yo' Mis' Sally, turningout that wagon with the dash all scratched. Don' you think I'm blindand can't tell when you boys dig a broom into a varnished buggy! Nexttime I catch yo' doing that I'll send you down to Greene County to plowco'n and yo'll not go to any more fancy hoss shows with me. "

As she followed Mrs. Owen into the house Sylvia thought she heardsuppressed guffawing in the stable. Mrs. Owen must have heard it too. 

"A worthless lot, " she muttered; "I'm going to clean 'em all out someday and try the Irish"; but Mrs. Sally Owen had often made this threatwithout having the slightest intention of carrying it into effect. 

Professor Kelton had just reached the house, and he seemed so hot andtired that Sylvia was struck with pity for him. He insisted, however, that he was perfectly well, but admitted that his errands had proved tobe more vexatious than he had expected. 

"What kind of a time have you been having?" he asked as they wentupstairs together. 

"Oh, the finest in the world! I'm sure I've learned a lot to-day--agreat many things I never dreamed about before. "

"Horses?"

"I never knew before that there was anything to know about horses; butMrs. Owen knows all about them. And that team we drove behind iswonderful; they move together perfectly and go like lightning when youwant them to. "

"Well, I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself. You'd better put on your whitedress, --you brought one, didn't you? There will be company at dinner. "

"Don't you scare that child about company, Andrew, " said Mrs. Owen, coming up behind them with the linen duster flung over her arm. "If youhaven't any white dress, Sylvia, that blue one's perfectly good andproper. "

She followed Sylvia to her room, continuing to reassure her. She evenshook out the gown, exclaiming, "Well, well" (Sylvia didn't know why), and went out abruptly, instructing Sylvia to ring for the maid if sheneeded help. 

There were three other guests for dinner, and they were unlike any otherpeople that Sylvia had known. She was introduced first to AdmiralMartin, a retired officer of the Navy, who, having remained in theservice of his country to the retiring age, had just come home to livein the capital of his native state. He was short and thick and talked ina deep, growling voice exactly as admirals should. The suns and winds ofmany seas had burned and scored his face, and a stubby mustache gave hima belligerent aspect. He mopped his brow with a tremendous handkerchiefand when Mrs. Owen introduced Sylvia as Professor Kelton's granddaughterhe glared fiercely. 

"Well, I declare, Andy, your granddaughter; well, I declare. " He heldSylvia's hand a moment and peered into her face. "I remember your mothervery well. Andy, I recall distinctly that you and your wife were at OldPoint in about the winter of '69 and your daughter was with you. So thisis your granddaughter? Well, I declare; I wish she was mine. "

"I'm glad to see you, Sylvia, " said Mrs. Martin, a shy, white-hairedlittle woman. "I remember that winter at Old Point. I was waiting for myhusband there. You look like your mother. It's really a very strikingresemblance. We were all so fond of Edna. "

This was the first time that any one except her grandfather had everspoken to Sylvia of her mother, and the words of these strangersthrilled her strangely and caused the tears to shine suddenly in hereyes. It was all over in a moment, for Mrs. Martin, seeing Sylvia'strembling lips, changed the subject quickly. 

The last guest was just entering, --a tall trapper-like man who crossedthe room to Mrs. Owen with a long, curious stride. He had shaken handswith Professor Kelton, and Mrs. Owen introduced him to the Martins, whoby reason of their long absences had never met him before. 

"Mr. Ware, this is Sylvia Garrison, " said Mrs. Owen. 

Sylvia was given then as later to quick appraisements, and she liked theReverend John Ware on the instant. He did not look or act or talk in theleast like a minister. He was very dark, and his mustache was onlyfaintly sprinkled with gray. His hair still showed black at a distance, though he was sixty-five. He had been, sometime earlier, the pastor ofthe First Congregational Church, but after a sojourn in other fields hadretired to live among his old parishioners in the city which had lovedhim best. It had been said of him in the days of his pastorate that hedrew the largest congregations and the smallest collections of anypreacher the community had ever known. But Ware was curiously unmindfulof criticism. He had fished and hunted, he had preached charity andkindness, and when there was an unknown tramp to bury or someunfortunate girl had yielded to despair, he had officiated at thefuneral, and, if need be, ridden to the cemetery on the hearse. 

"I'm Mrs. Owen's neighbor, you know, " he explained to Sylvia. "My familyhave gone for the summer; I'm hanging on here till my Indian sends me apostal that the fishing is right on the Nipigon. Nothing like gettingoff the train somewhere and being met by an Indian with a paddle on hisshoulder. You can learn a lot from an Indian. "

There were candles and flowers on the round table, and the dishes andsilver were Mrs. Owen's "company best, " which was very good indeed. Theadmiral and Professor Kelton sat at Mrs. Owen's right and left, andSylvia found herself between the minister and the admiral. The talk wasat once brisk and general. The admiral's voice boomed out tremendouslyand when he laughed the glasses jingled. Every one was in the best ofspirits and Sylvia was relieved to find that her grandfather wasenjoying himself immensely. The admiral's jokes harked back to oldtimes, when he and Kelton were at the Naval Academy, or to theiradventures in the war. It was odd to hear Mrs. Owen and the admiralcalling her grandfather "Andrew" and "Andy"; no one else had ever donethat; and both men addressed Mrs. Owen as "Sally. " At a moment whenSylvia had begun to feel the least bit awkward at being the only silentmember of the company, the minister spoke to her. He had seemed at firstglance a stoical person; but his deep-set, brown eyes were bright withgood humor. 

"These old sea dogs made a lot of history. I suppose you know a gooddeal about the sea from your grandfather. "

"Yes; but I've never seen the sea. "

"I've crossed it once or twice and tramped England and Scotland. Iwanted to see Burns's country and the house at Chelsea where Carlylesmoked his pipe. But I like our home folks best. "

"Mr. Ware, " growled the admiral, "a man told me the other day that you'dserved in the Army. I wish I'd had a chaplain like you in the Navy; Imight have been a different man. "

Mrs. Owen glanced at Ware with a twinkle in her eyes. 

"Afraid I'm going to be discovered, " he remarked to Sylvia as hebuttered a bit of bread. 

"Well, what part of the Army did you serve in?" demanded the admiral. 

"Captain, Fifth New York Cavalry, " replied the minister quietly, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Captain! You were a fighting man?" the admiral boomed. 

"Sort of one. We had a good deal of fun one way or another. Four yearsof it. Didn't begin fighting the Devil till afterward. How are things atthe college, Doctor Kelton?"

Ware thus characteristically turned the conversation from himself. Itwas evident that he did not care to discuss his military experiences; ina moment they were talking politics, in which he seemed greatlyinterested. 

"We've kept bosses out of this state pretty well, " Professor Kelton wassaying, "but I can see one or two gentlemen on both sides of the fencetrying to play that game. I don't believe the people of Indiana willsubmit to it. The bosses need big cities to prey on and we aren't bigenough for them to work in and hide in. We all live in the open andwe're mostly seasoned American stock who won't be driven like a lot offoreign cattle. This city isn't a country town any longer, but it'sstill American. I don't know of any boss here. "

"Well, Sally, how about Mort Bassett?" asked the admiral. "I hope youdon't mind my speaking of him. "

"Not in the slightest, " Mrs. Owen replied. "The fact that Morton Bassettmarried my niece doesn't make it necessary for me to approve of all hedoes--and I don't. When I get a chance I give him the best licks I can. He's a Democrat, but I'm not; neither am I a Republican. They're alljust as crooked as a dog's hind leg. I gave up when they beat Tilden outof the presidency. Why, if I'd been Samuel Tilden I'd have moved intothe White House and dared 'em to throw me out. The Democratic Partynever did have any gumption!" she concluded vigorously. 

"A sound idea, Sally, " grumbled the admiral, "but it's not new. "

"Bassett isn't a bad fellow, " remarked Ware. "You can hardly call him aboss in the usual sense of the term. "

"Personally, he's certainly very agreeable, " said Mrs. Martin. "Youremember, Mrs. Owen, I visited your niece the last time I was home andI never saw a man more devoted to his family than Mr. Bassett. "

"There's no complaint about that, " Mrs. Owen assented. "And Morton's avery intelligent man, too; you might even call him a student. I've beensorry that he didn't keep to the law; but he's a moneymaker, and he's inpolitics as a part of his business. "

"I've wondered, " said Professor Kelton, "just what he's aiming at. Mostof these men are ambitious to go high. He's a state senator, but there'snot much in that. He must see bigger game in the future. I don't knowhim myself; but from what you hear of him he must be a man of force. Weak men don't dominate political parties. "

"This political game looks mighty queer to me, " the admiral remarked. "I've never voted in my life, but I guess I'll try it now they've put meon the shelf. Do you vote, Mr. Ware?"

"Oh, yes! I'm one of these sentimentalists who tries to vote for thebest man. Naturally no man I ever vote for is elected. "

"If I voted I should want to see the man first, " Mrs. Owen averred. "Ishould ask him how much he expected to make out of the job. "

"You'd be a tartar in politics, Sally, " said the admiral. "The Governortold me the other day that when he hears that you're coming to the StateHouse to talk about the Woman's Reformatory, --or whatever it is you'retrustee of, --he crawls under the table. He says they were going to cutdown the Reformatory's appropriation last winter, but that you went tothe legislature and gave an example of lobbying that made the tough oldrailroad campaigners green with envy. "

"I reckon I did! I told the members of that committee that if they cutthat appropriation I'd go into their counties and spend every cent I'vegot fighting 'em if they ever ran for office again. Joshua, fill theglasses. "

Sylvia was anxious to know the rest of the story. 

"I hope they gave you the money, Mrs. Owen, " she said. 

Did they give it to me? Why, child, they raised it twenty thousanddollars! I had to hold 'em down. Then Morton Bassett pulled it throughthe senate for me. I told him if he didn't I'd cut his acquaintance. "

"There's Ed Thatcher, too, if we're restricted to the Democratic camp, "the minister was saying. "Thatcher has a fortune to use if he ever wantsto try for something big in politics, which doesn't seem likely. "

"He has a family that can spend his money, " said Mrs. Martin. "Whatwould he want with an office anyway? The governorship would bore him todeath. "

"It might tickle him to go to the senate, particularly if he had a scoreto clean up in connection with it, " remarked Ware. 

"Just what do you mean by that?" asked the admiral. 

"Well, " Ware replied, "he and Bassett are as thick as thieves just nowin business operations. If some day it came about that they didn't geton so well, --if Bassett tried to drop him as they say he has sometimesdropped men when he didn't have any more use for them, --then Thatcher'ssporting blood might assert itself. I should be sorry for Bassett ifthat time came. "

"Edward Thatcher knows a horse, " interposed Mrs. Owen. "I like EdwardThatcher. "

"I've fished with Bassett, " said the minister. "A good fisherman oughtto make a good politician; there's a lot, I guess, in knowing just howto bait the hook, or where to drop the fly, and how to play your fish. And Bassett is a man of surprising tastes. He's a book collector, --rareeditions and fine bindings and that sort of thing. "

"Is it possible! The newspapers that abuse him never mention thosethings, of course, " said Mrs. Martin. 

A brief restraint fell upon the company, as they realized suddenly thatthey were discussing the husband of their hostess's niece, whom theopposition press declared to be the most vicious character that had everappeared in the public life of the state. The minister had spoken wellof him; the others did not know him, or spoke cautiously; and Mrs. Owenherself seemed, during Ware's last speech, to be a trifle restless. Sheaddressed some irrelevant remark to the admiral as they rose andadjourned to the long side veranda where the men lighted cigars. 

"I think I like this corner best, " remarked Ware when the others haddisposed themselves. "Miss Sylvia, won't you sit by me?" She watched hisface as the match flamed to his cigar. It was deep-lined and rugged, with high cheek bones, that showed plainly when he shut his jaws. Itoccurred to Sylvia that but for his mustache his face would have beenalmost typically Indian. She had seen somewhere a photograph of a Siouxchief whose austere countenance was very like the minister's. Ware didnot fit into any of her preconceived ideas of the clerical office. Dr. Wandless, the retired president of Madison College, was a minister, andany one would have known it, for the fact was proclaimed by his dressand manner; he might, in the most casual meeting on the campus, haveraised his hands in benediction without doing anything at allextraordinary. Ware belonged to a strikingly different order, and Sylviadid not understand him. He had been a soldier; and Sylvia could notimagine Dr. Wandless in a cavalry charge. Ware flung the match-stickaway and settled himself comfortably into his chair. The others weretalking amongst themselves of old times, and Sylvia experienced a senseof ease and security in the minister's company. 

"Those people across there are talking of the Hoosiers that used to be, and about the good folks who came into the wilderness and made Indiana acommonwealth. I'm a pilgrim and a stranger comparatively speaking. I'mnot a Hoosier; are you?"

"No, Mr. Ware; I was born in New York City. "

"Ho! I might have known there was some sort of tie between us. I wasborn in New York myself--'way up in the Adirondack country. You've heardof Old John Brown? My father's farm was only an hour's march fromBrown's place. I used to see the old man, and it wasn't my fault Iwasn't mixed up in some of his scrapes. Father caught me and took mehome--didn't see any reason why I should go off and get killed with acrazy man. Didn't know Brown was going to be immortal. "

"There must have been a good many people that didn't know it, " Sylviaresponded. 

She hoped that Ware would talk of himself and of the war; but in amoment his thoughts took a new direction. 

"Stars are fine to-night. It's a comfort to know they're up there allthe time. Know Matthew Arnold's poems? He says 'With joy the starsperform their shining. ' I like that. When I'm off camping the best funof it is lying by running water at night and looking at the stars. Odd, though, I never knew the names of many of them; wouldn't know any if itweren't for the dippers, --not sure of them as it is. There's the NorthStar over there. Suppose your grandfather knows 'em all. "

"I think he does, " replied Sylvia. "He still lectures about themsometimes. "

"Wonder what that is, just across the farthest tip of that maple? It'sfamiliar, but I can't name it. "

"That, " said Sylvia, "is Cassiopeia. "

"So? How many constellations do you know?"

Sylvia was silent a moment. She was not sure that it was polite todisclose her knowledge of the subject to a man who had just confessedhis ignorance. She decided that anything beyond the most modestadmission would be unbecoming. 

"I know several, or I think I do. This is June. That's the North Starover the point of that tree, as you said, and above it is Ursa Minor, and winding in and out between it and the Big Dipper is Draco. Then tothe east, higher up, are Cygnus, Lyra, and Aquila. And in the west--"

She paused, feeling that she had satisfied the amenities of conversationwith this gentleman who had so frankly stated his lack of knowledge. 

Ware struck his knee with his hand and chuckled. 

"I should say you do know a few! You've mentioned some I've alwayswanted to get acquainted with. Now go back to Cygnus, the Swan. I likethe name of that one; I must be sure to remember it. "

Politeness certainly demanded that Sylvia should answer; and now thatthe minister plied her with questions, her own interest was aroused, andshe led him back and forth across the starry lanes, describing in themost artless fashion her own method of remembering the names andpositions of the constellations. As their range of vision on the verandawas circumscribed, Ware suggested that they step down upon the lawn toget a wider sweep, a move which attracted the attention of the others. 

"Sylvia, be careful of the wet. Josephus just moved the sprinkler andthat ground is soaked. "

"Don't call attention to our feet; our heads are in the stars, " answeredWare. "I must tell the Indian boys on the Nipigon about this, " he saidto Sylvia as they returned to the veranda. "I didn't know anybody knewas much as you do. You make me ashamed of myself. "

"You needn't be, " laughed Sylvia. "Very likely most that I've told youis wrong. I'm glad grandfather didn't hear me. "

The admiral and Professor Kelton were launched upon a fresh exchange ofreminiscences and the return of Ware and Sylvia did not disturb them. Itseemed, however, that Ware was a famous story-teller, and when he hadlighted a fresh cigar he recounted a number of adventures, speaking inhis habitual, dry, matter-of-fact tone, and with curious unexpectedturns of phrase. Conversation in Indiana seems to drift intostory-telling inevitably. John Ware once read a paper before theIndianapolis Literary Club to prove that this Hoosier trait was derivedfrom the South. He drew a species of ellipsoid of which the Ohio Riverwas the axis, sketching his line to include the Missouri of Mark Twain, the Illinois of Lincoln, the Indiana of Eggleston and Riley, and theKentucky that so generously endowed these younger commonwealths. Northof the Ohio the anecdotal genius diminished, he declared, as one movedtoward the Great Lakes into a region where there had been an infusion ofpopulation from New England and the Middle States. He suggested that theearly pioneers, having few books and no newspapers, had cultivated theart of story-telling for their own entertainment and that the soldiersreturning from the Civil War had developed it further. Having made thisnote of his thesis I hasten to run away from it. Let others, prone tointerminable debate, tear it to pieces if they must. This kind of socialintercourse, with its intimate talk, the references to famous publiccharacters, as though they were only human beings after all, theanecdotal interchange, was wholly novel to Sylvia. She thought Ware'sstories much droller than the admiral's, and quite as good as hergrandfather's, which was a great concession. 

The minister was beginning a new story. He knocked the ashes from hiscigar and threw out his arms with one of his odd, jerky gestures. 

"There's a good deal of fun in living in the woods. Up in theAdirondacks there was a lot for the boys to do when I was a youngster. Iliked winter better than summer; school was in winter, but when you hadthe fun of fighting big drifts to get to it you didn't mind gettinglicked after you got there. The silence of night in the woods, when thesnow is deep, the wind still, and the moon at full, is the solemnestthing in the world. Not really of this world, I guess. Sometimes you canhear a bough break under the weight of snow, with a report like acannon. The only thing finer than winter is spring. I don't mean lilactime; but before that, the very earliest hint of the break-up. Used toseem that there was something wild in me that wanted to be on the marchbefore there was a bud in sight. I'm a Northern animal some way; born inDecember; always feel better in winter. I used to watch for thenorthward flight of the game fowl--wanted to go with the birds. Too badthey're killing them all off. Wild geese are getting mighty scarce;geese always interested me. I once shot a gander in a Kankakee marshthat had an Eskimo arrow in its breast. A friend of mine, distinguishedethnologist, verified that; said he knew the tribe that made arrows ofthat pattern. But I was going to say that one night, --must have beenwhen I was fourteen, --I had some fun with a bear . . . "

Sylvia did not hear the rest of the story. She had been sitting in theshadow of the porch, with her lips apart, listening, wondering, duringthis prelude. Ware's references to the North woods had touched lightlysome dim memory of her own; somewhere she had seen moon-flooded, snowywoodlands where silence lay upon the world as soft as moonlight itself. The picture drawn by the minister had been vivid enough; for a momenther own memory of a similar winter landscape seemed equally clear; butshe realized with impatience that it faded quickly and became dim andillusory, like a scene in an ill-lighted steropticon. To-night she feltthat a barrier lay between her and those years of her life thatantedated her coming to her grandfather's house by the college. Ittroubled her, as such mirages of memory trouble all of us; but Warefinished his story, and amid the laughter that followed Mrs. Martinrose. 

"Late hours, Sylvia, " said Professor Kelton when they were alone. "It'snearly eleven o'clock and time to turn in. "

CHAPTER IV

WE LEARN MORE OF SYLVIA

Andrew Kelton put out his hand to say good-night a moment after Sylviahad vanished. 

"Sit down, Andrew, " said Mrs. Owen. "It's too early to go to bed. Thatdraft's not good for the back of your head. Sit over here. "

He had relaxed after the departure of the dinner guests and looked tiredand discouraged. Mrs. Owen brought a bottle of whiskey and a pitcher ofwater and placed them near his elbow. 

"Try it, Andrew. I usually take a thimbleful myself before going tobed. "

The novelty of this sort of ministration was in itself sufficient tolift a weary and discouraged spirit. Mrs. Owen measured his whiskey, andpoured it into a tall glass, explaining as she did so that a friend ofhers in Louisville kept her supplied out of the stores of the PendennisClub. 

"It's off the wood. This bottled drug-store whiskey is poison. I'd justas lief take paregoric. I drew this from my own 'bar'l' this morning. Don't imagine I'm a heavy consumer. A 'bar'l' lasts me a long time. Idivide it around among my friends. Remind me to give you some to takehome. Try one of those cigars; John Ware keeps a box here. If they'recabbage leaf it isn't my fault. "

"No, thanks, Sally. You're altogether too kind to me. It's mighty goodto be here, I can tell you. "

"Now that you are here, Andrew, I want you to remember that I'm gettingon and you're just a trifle ahead of me on the dusty pike that has noturning. "

"I wish I had your eternal youth, Sally. I feel about ninety-nineto-night. "

"That's the reason I'm keeping you up. You came here to talk aboutsomething that's on your mind, and the sooner it's over the better. Nouse in your lying awake all night. "

Professor Kelton played with his glass and moved uneasily in his chair. 

"Come right out with it, Andrew. If it's money that worries you, don'twaste any time explaining how it happened; just tell me how much. I hadmy bank book balanced yesterday and I've got exactly twelve thousandfour hundred and eighteen dollars and eleven cents down at Tom Adams'sbank. If you can use it you're welcome; if it ain't enough I'm about tosell a bunch o' colts I've got on my Lexington place and they're goodfor six thousand more. I can close the trade by a night telegram rightnow. "

Kelton laughed. The sums she named so lightly represented wealth beyondthe dreams of avarice. It afforded him infinite relief to be able totalk to her, and though he had come to the city for the purpose, hisadventures of the day with banks and trust companies had given a newdirection to his needs. But the habit of secrecy, of fighting out hisbattles alone, was so thoroughly established that he found it difficultto enter into confidences even when this kind-hearted friend made theway easy for him. 

"Come, out with it, Andrew. You're the only person I know who's nevercome to me with troubles. I'd begun to think you were among the luckyones who never have any or else you were afraid of me. "

"It's not fair to trouble you about this, but I'm in a corner where Ineed help. When I asked you to let me bring Sylvia here I merely wantedyou to look her over. She's got to an age where I can't trust myjudgment about her. I had a plan for her that I thought I could putthrough without much trouble, but I found out to-day that it isn't soeasy. I wanted to send her to college. "

"You want to send her to college and you thought you would come over andlet me give her a little motherly counsel while you borrowed the moneyof Tom Adams to pay her college bills. Is that what's happened?"

"Just about that, Sally. Adams is all right; he has to protect thebank. "

"Adams is a doddering imbecile. How much did you ask him for?"

"Five thousand dollars. I offered to put up my life insurance policy forthat amount and some stock I own. He said money was tight just now andthey'd want a good name on the paper besides the collateral, and thatI'd better try my home bank. I didn't do that, of course, becauseMontgomery is a small town and--well, I'd rather not advertise myaffairs to a whole community. I'm not a business man and these thingsall seem terribly complicated and embarrassing to me. "

"But you tried other places besides Adams? I saw it in your eye when youcame home this evening that you had struck a snag. Well, well! So moneyis tight, is it? I must speak to Tom Adams about that. He told meyesterday they had more money than they could lend and that the bankswere cutting down their dividends. He's no banker; he ought to be in theold-clothes business. "

"I can't blame him. I suppose my not being in business, and not livinghere, makes a difference. "

"Rubbish! But you ought to have come to me. You spoke of stock; what'sthat in?"

"Shares in the White River Canneries. I put all I had in that company. Everybody seemed to make money in the canning business and I thought itwould be a good investment. It promised well in the prospectus. "

"It always does, Andrew, " replied the old lady dryly. "Let me see, Morton Bassett was in that. "

"I believe so. He was one of the organizers. "

"Um. "

"Adams told me to-day there had been a reorganization and that my shareswere valueless. "

"Well, well. So you were one of the suckers that put money into thatcanning scheme. You can charge it off, Andrew. Let's drop the moneyquestion for a minute, I want to talk about the little girl. "

"Yes I'm anxious to know what you think of her"

"Well, she's a Kelton; it's in the eyes; but there's a good deal of herGrandmother Evans in her, too. Let me see, --your wife was one of thosePosey County Evanses? I remember perfectly. The old original Evans cameto this country with Robert Owen and started in with the New Harmonycommunity down there. There was a streak o' genius in that whole set. But about Sylvia. I don't think I ever saw Sylvia's mother after she wasSylvia's age. "

"I don't think you did. She was away at school a good many years. Sylviais the picture of her mother. It's a striking likeness; but theirnatures are wholly different. "

He was very grave, and the despondency that he had begun to throw offsettled upon him again. 

"Andrew, who was Sylvia's father? I never asked you that questionbefore, and maybe I oughtn't to ask it now; but I've often wondered. Letme see, what was your daughter's name?"

"Edna. "

"Just what happened to Edna, Andrew?" she persisted. 

Kelton rose and paced the floor. Thrice he crossed the room; then heflung himself down on the davenport beside Mrs. Owen. 

"I don't know, Sally; I don't know! She was high-spirited as a girl, alittle willful and impulsive, but with the best heart in the world. Shelost her mother too soon; and in her girlhood we had no home--not eventhe half-homes possible to naval officers. She had a good natural voiceand wanted to study music, so after we had been settled at MadisonCollege a year I left her in New York with a woman I knew prettywell--the widow of a brother officer. It was a horrible, terrible, hideous mistake. The life of the city went to her head. She wanted tofit herself for the stage and they told me she could do it--had the giftand all that. I ought never to have left her down there, but what couldI do? There was nothing in a town like Montgomery for her; she wouldn'tlisten to it. "

"You did your best, Andrew; you don't have to prove that to me. Well--"

"Edna ran off--without giving me any hint of what was coming. It was aqueer business. The woman I had counted on to look out for her andprotect her seemed utterly astonished at her disappearance and washelpless about the whole matter when I went down there. It was myfault--all my fault!"

He rose and flung up his arms with a gesture of passionate despair. 

"Sit down, Andrew, and let's go through with it, " she said calmly. "Ireckon these things are hard, but it's better for you to tell me. Youcan't tell everybody and somebody ought to know. For the sake of thelittle girl upstairs you'd better tell me. "

"What I've said to you I've never said to a soul, " he went on. "I'vecarried this thing all these years and have never mentioned it. Myfriends at the college are the noblest people on earth; they have neverasked questions, but they must have wondered. "

"Yes; and I've wondered, too, since the first time you came here andtold me you had brought your daughter's child home. It's perfectlynatural, Andrew, for folks to wonder. Go on and tell me the rest. "

"The rest!" he cried. "Oh, that's the hardest part of it! I have toldyou all I know! She wrote me after a time that she was married and washappy, but she didn't explain her conduct in any way. She signed herselfGarrison, but begged me not to try to find her. She said her husbandwasn't quite prepared to disclose his marriage to his family, but thatit would all be right soon. The woman with whom I had left her couldn'thelp me to identify him in any way; at least she didn't help me. Therehad been a number of young men boarding in the neighborhood--medical andlaw students; but there was no Garrison among them. It was in June thatthis happened, and when I went down to try to trace her they had allgone. I was never quite sure whether the woman dealt squarely with me ornot. But it was my fault, Sally; I want you to know that I have noexcuse to offer. I don't want you to try to say anything that would makemy lot easier. "

It was not Sally Owen's way to extenuate errors of commission oromission. Her mental processes were always singularly direct. 

"Are you sure she was married; did you find any proof of it?" she askedbluntly. 

He was silent for a moment before he met her eyes. 

"I have no proof of it. All I have is Edna's assurance in a letter. "

Their gaze held while they read each other's thoughts. She made nocomment; there was nothing to say to this, nor did she show surprise orrepugnance at the dark shadow his answer had flung across the meagrepicture. 

"And Garrison--who was he?"

"I don't know even that! From all I could learn I think it likely he wasa student in one of the professional schools; but whether law ormedicine, art or music--I couldn't determine. The whole colony ofstudents had scattered to the four winds. Probably Garrison was not hisreal name; but that is wholly an assumption. "

"It's clear enough that whoever the man was, and whether it was straightor not, Edna felt bound to shield him. That's just like us fool women. How did Sylvia come to your hands?"

"There was nothing in that to help. About four years had passed since Ilost track of her and I had traveled all over the East and followedevery clue in vain. I spent two summers in New York walking the streetsin the blind hope that I might meet her. Then, one day, --this was twelveyears ago, --I had a telegram from the superintendent of a publichospital at Utica that Edna was there very ill. She died before I gotthere. Just how she came to be in that particular place I have no idea. The hospital authorities knew nothing except that she had gone to them, apparently from the train, seriously ill. The little girl was with her. She asked them to send for me, but told them nothing of herself. She hadonly hand baggage and it told us nothing as to her home if she had one, or where she was going. Her clothing, the nurse pointed out, was of astyle several years old, but it was clean and neat. Most surprising ofall, she had with her several hundred dollars; but there was nothingwhatever by which to reconstruct her life in those blank years. "

"But she wrote to you--the letters would have given a clue of somekind?"

"The few letters she wrote me were the most fragmentary and all in thefirst year; they were like her, poor child; her letters were always themerest scraps. In all of them she said she would come home in duecourse; that some of her husband's affairs had to be straightened outfirst, and that she was perfectly happy. They were traveling about, shesaid, and she asked me not to try to write to her. The first letterscame from Canada--Montreal and Quebec; then one from Albany; then eventhese messages ceased and I heard no more until the telegram called meto Utica. She had never mentioned the birth of the child. I don'tknow--I don't even know where Sylvia was born, or her exact age. Thenurse at the hospital said Edna called the child Sylvia. "

"I overheard Sylvia telling Ware to-night that she was born in New York. Could it be possible--"

"No; she knows nothing. You must remember that she was only three. Whenshe began to ask me when her birthday came--well, Sally, I felt that I'dbetter give her one; and I told her, too, that she was born in New YorkCity. You understand--?"

"Of course, Andrew. You did perfectly right. She's likely to ask a goodmany questions now that she's growing up. "

"Oh, " he cried despairingly, "she's already asked them! It's aheartbreaking business, I tell you. Many a time when she's piped up inour walks or at the table with some question about her father and motherI've ignored it or feigned not to hear; but within the past year or twoI've had to fashion a background for her. I've surrounded her origin andantecedents with a whole tissue of lies. But, Sally, it must have beenall right--I had Edna's own word for it!" he pleaded brokenly. "It musthave been all right!"

"Well, what if it wasn't! Does it make any difference about the girl?All this mystery is a good thing; the denser the better maybe, as longas there's any doubt at all. Your good name protects her; it's a goodname, Andrew. But go on; you may as well tell me the whole business. "

"I've told you all I know; and as I've told it I've realized more thanbefore how pitifully little it is. "

"Well, there's nothing to do about that. I've never seen any sense inworrying over what's done. It's the future you've got to figure on forSylvia. So you think college is a good thing for girls--for a girl likeSylvia?"

"Yes; but I want your opinion. You're the only person in the world I cantalk to; it's helped me more than I can tell you to shift some of thisburden to you. Maybe it isn't fair; you're a busy woman--"

"I guess I'm not so busy. I've been getting lazy, and needed a hardjolt. I've been wondering a good deal about these girls' colleges. Someof this new woman business looks awful queer to me, but so did theelectric light and the telephone a few years ago and I can even rememberwhen people were likely to drop dead when they got their first telegram. Sylvia isn't"--she hesitated for an instant--"from what you say, Sylviaisn't much like her mother?"

"No. Her qualities are wholly different. Edna had a different mindaltogether. There was nothing of the student about her. The onlything that interested her was music, and that came natural toher. I've studied Sylvia carefully, --I'm ashamed to confess howcarefully, --fearing that she would grow to be like her mother; but she'sanother sort, and I doubt if she will change. You can already see thewoman in her. That child, Sally, has in her the making of a great woman. I've been careful not to crowd her, but she has a wonderful mind, --notthe brilliant sort that half sees things in lightning flashes, but avigorous mind, that can grapple with a problem and fight it out. I'mafraid to tell you how remarkable I think she is. No; poor Edna was notlike that. She hated study. "

"Sylvia's very quiet, but I reckon she takes everything in. It's in hereyes that she's different. And I guess that quietness means she's gotpower locked up in her. Children do show it. Now Marian, my grandniece, is a different sort. She's a forthputting youngster that's going to behard to break to harness. She looks pretty, grazing in the pasture andkicking up her heels, but I don't see what class she's going to fitinto. Now, Hallie, --my niece, Mrs. Bassett, --she's one of these clubfussers, --always studying poetry and reading papers and coming up totown to state conventions or federations and speaking pieces in a newhat. Hallie's smart at it. She was president of the Daughters once, byway of showing that our folks in North Carolina fought in theRevolution, which I reckon they did; though I never saw where Hallieproved it; but the speech I heard her make at the Propylæum wouldn'thave jarred things much if it hadn't been for Hallie's feathers. Shelikes her clothes--she always had 'em, you know. My brother Blackfordleft her a very nice fortune; and Morton Bassett makes money. Well, as Istarted to say, there's all kinds of women, --the old ones like me thatnever went to school much, and Hallie's kind, that sort o' walkedthrough the orchard and picked the nearest peaches, and then starts inat thirty to take courses in Italian Art, and Marian, who gives herteachers nervous prostration, and Sylvia, who takes to books naturally. "

"There are all kinds of girls, just as there are all kinds of boys. Goodstudents, real scholars have always been rare in the world--men andwomen. I should like to see Sylvia go high and far; I should like her tohave every chance. "

"All right, Andrew; let's do it. How much does a college course cost fora girl?"

"I didn't come here to interest you in the money side of it, Sally; Iexpected--"

"Answer my question, Andrew. "

"I had expected to give her a four-year course for five thousanddollars. The actual tuition isn't so much; it's railroad fare, clothing, and other expenses. "

Mrs. Owen turned towards Kelton with a smile on her kind, shrewd face. 

"Andrew, just to please me, I want you to let me be partners with you inthis. What you've told me and what I've seen of that little girl haveclinched me pretty strong. I wish she was mine! My little Elizabethwould be a grown woman if she'd lived; and because of her I like to helpother people's little girls; you know I helped start Elizabeth House, ahome for working girls--and I'm getting my money back on that a thousandtimes over. It's a pretty state of things if an old woman like me, without a chick of my own, and with no sense but horse sense, can't backa likely filly like your Sylvia. I want you to let me call her ourSylvia. We'll train her in all the paces, Andrew, and I hope one of uswill live to see her strike the home stretch. Come into my office aminute, " she said, rising and leading the way. 

The appointments of her "office" were plain and substantial. Aflat-topped desk stood in the middle of the room--a relic of thelamented Jackson Owen; in one corner was an old-fashioned iron safe inwhich she kept her account books. A print of Maud S. Adorned one wall, and facing it across the room hung a lithograph of Thomas A. Hendricks. Twice a week a young woman came to assist Mrs. Owen with hercorrespondence and accounts, --a concession to age, for until she waswell along in the fifties Sally Owen had managed these things alone. 

"You've seen my picture-gallery before, Andrew? Small but select. I knewboth the lady and the gentleman, " she continued, with one of herhumorous flashes. "I went to Cleveland in '85 to see Maud S. She ate upa mile in 2:08-3/4--the prettiest thing I ever saw. You know Bonnerbought her as a four-year-old--the same Bonner that owned the 'New YorkLedger. ' I used to read the 'Ledger' clear through, when Henry WardBeecher and Fanny Fern wrote for it. None of these new magazines touchit. And you knew Tom Hendricks? That's a good picture. Tom looked like astatesman anyhow, and that's more than most of 'em do. "

She continued her efforts to divert his thoughts from the real matter athand, summoning from the shadows all the Hoosier statesmen of thepost-bellum period to aid her, and she purposely declared her admirationof several of these to provoke Kelton's ire. 

"That's right, Andrew; jump on 'em, " she laughed, as she drew from thedesk a check book and began to write. When she had blotted and torn outthe check she examined it carefully and placed it near him on the edgeof her desk. "Now, Andrew Kelton, there's a check for six thousanddollars; we'll call that our educational fund. You furnish the girl; Iput in the money. I only wish I had the girl to put into the businessinstead of the cash. "

"But I don't need the money yet; I shan't need it till fall, " heprotested. 

"That's all right. Fall's pretty close and you'll feel better if youhave it. Now, you may count on more when that's gone if you want it. Incase anything goes wrong with you or me it'll be fixed. I'll attend toit. I look on it as a good investment. Your note? Look here, AndrewKelton, if you mention that life insurance to me again, I'll cut youracquaintance. You go to bed; and don't you ever let on to that babyupstairs that I have any hand in her schooling. " She dropped her checkbook into a drawer and swung round in her swivel chair until she facedhim. "I don't want to open up that affair of Sylvia's mother again, butthere's always the possibility that something may happen. You knowEdna's dead, but there's always a chance that Sylvia's father may turnup. It's not likely; but there's no telling about such things; and itwouldn't be quite fair for you to leave her unprepared if it shouldhappen. "

"There's one more circumstance I haven't told you about. It happenedonly a few days ago. It was that, in fact, which crystallized my ownideas about Sylvia's education. A letter was sent to me by a stranger, offering money for Sylvia's schooling. The whole thing was surroundedwith the utmost secrecy. "

"So? Then some one is watching Sylvia; keeping track of her, and must bekindly disposed from that. You never heard anything before?"

"Never. I was asked to send a verbal answer by the messenger who broughtme the letter, accepting or declining the offer. I declined it. "

"That was right. But there's no hiding anything in this world; you musthave some idea where the offer came from. "

"I haven't the slightest, not the remotest idea. The messenger was astranger to me; from what Sylvia said he was a stranger at Montgomeryand had never seen the college before. Time had begun to soften thewhole thing, and the knowledge that some one has been watching the childall these years troubles me. It roused all my old resentment; I havehardly slept since it occurred. "

"It's queer; but you'd better try to forget it. Somebody's conscience ishurting, I reckon. I wouldn't know how to account for it in any otherway. If it's a case of conscience, it may have satisfied itself byoffering money; if it didn't, you or Sylvia may hear from it again. "

"It's just that that hurts and worries me, --the possibility that thisperson may trouble Sylvia sometime when I am not here to help her. It'san awful thing for a woman to go out into the world followed by ashadow. It's so much worse for a woman; women are so helpless. "

"Some of us, like me, are pretty tough, too. Sylvia will be able to takecare of herself; you don't need to worry about her. If that's gnawingsome man's conscience--and I reckon it is--you can forget all about it. A man's conscience--the kind of man that would abandon a woman he hadmarried, or maybe hadn't married--ain't going to be a ghost that walksoften. You'd better go to bed, Andrew. "

Kelton lingered to smoke a cigar in the open. He had enjoyed to-night anexperience that he had not known in years--that of unburdening himselfto a kindly, sympathetic, and resourceful woman. 

While they talked of her, Sylvia sat in her window-seat in the darkabove looking at the stars. She lingered there until late, enjoying thecool air, and unwilling to terminate in sleep so eventful a day. Sheheard presently her grandfather's step below as he "stood watch, "marking his brief course across the dim garden by the light of hiscigar. Sylvia was very happy. She had for a few hours breathed theampler ether of a new world; but she was unconscious in her dreamingthat her girlhood, that had been as tranquil water safe from current andcommotion, now felt the outward drawing of the tide. 

CHAPTER V

INTRODUCING MR. DANIEL HARWOOD

On the day following the delivery to Andrew Kelton of the letter inwhich money for Sylvia's education was offered by an unknown person, thebearer of the message was to be seen at Indianapolis, in the law officeof Wright and Fitch, attorneys and counselors at law, on the fourthfloor of the White River Trust Company's building in Washington Street. In that office young Mr. Harwood was one of half a dozen students, whoran errands to the courts, kept the accounts, and otherwise madethemselves useful. 

Wright and Fitch was the principal law firm in the state in the periodunder scrutiny, as may readily be proved by an examination of the courtdockets. The firm's practice was, however, limited. Persons anxious tomulct wicked corporations in damages for physical injuries did notapply to Wright and Fitch, for the excellent reason that this capablefirm was retained by most of the public service corporations and had notime to waste on the petty and vexatious claims of minor litigants. Mr. Wright was a Republican, Mr. Fitch a Democrat, and each of thesegentlemen occasionally raised his voice loud enough in politics toemphasize his party fealty. In the seventies Mr. Wright had served aterm as city attorney; on the other hand, Mr. Fitch had once declinedthe Italian ambassadorship. Both had been mentioned at different timesfor the governorship or for the United States Senate, and both haddeclined to enter the lists for these offices. 

Daniel Harwood had been graduated from Yale University a year before wefirst observed him, and though the world lay before him where to choose, he returned to his native state and gave himself to the study of law byday and earned a livelihood by serving the "Courier" newspaper by night. As Mr. Harwood is to appear frequently in this chronicle, it may be wellto summarize briefly the facts of his history. He was born on a farm inHarrison County, and his aversion to farm life had been colored fromearliest childhood by the difficulties his father experienced inwringing enough money out of eighty acres of land to buy food andclothing and to pay taxes and interest on an insatiable mortgage heldsomewhere by a ruthless life insurance company that seemed mostunreasonably insistent in its collections. Daniel had two older brotherswho, having satisfied their passion for enlightenment at the nearestschoolhouse, meekly enlisted under their father in the task of fightingthe mortgage. Daniel, with a weaker hand and a better head, and withvastly more enterprise, resolved to go to Yale. This seemed the mostfatuous, the most profane of ambitions. If college at all, why not theState University, to support which the Harwood eighty acres were taxed;but a college away off in Connecticut! There were no precedents for thisin Harrison County. No Harwood within the memory of man had everadventured farther into the unknown world than to the State Fair atIndianapolis; and when it came to education, both the judge of theHarrison County Circuit Court and the presiding elder of the districthad climbed to fame without other education than that afforded by thecommon schools. Daniel's choice of Yale had been determined by the factthat a professor in that institution had once addressed the countyteachers, and young Harwood had been greatly impressed by him. The Yaleprofessor was the first graduate of an Eastern university that Danielhad ever seen, and he became the young Hoosier's ideal of elegance andlearning. Daniel had acquired at this time all that the county schooloffered, and he made bold to approach the visitor and ask his advice asto the best means of getting to college. 

We need not trace the devious course by which, after much burning of oilduring half a dozen winters, Dan Harwood attained to a freshman'sdignity at New Haven, where, arriving with his effects in a canvastelescope, he had found a scholarship awaiting him; nor need we do morethan record the fact that he had cared for furnaces, taken the nightshift on a trolley car, and otherwise earned money until, in his junioryear, his income from newspaper correspondence and tutoring made furthermanual labor unnecessary. It is with profound regret that we cannotpoint to Harwood as a football hero or the mainstay of the crew. Havingploughed the mortgaged acres, and tossed hay and broken colts, collegeathletics struck him as rather puerile diversion. He would have beenthe least conspicuous man in college if he had not shone in debate andgathered up such prizes and honors as were accessible in that field. Hisbig booming voice, recognizable above the din in all 'varsitydemonstrations, earned for him the sobriquet of "Foghorn" Harwood. Forthe rest he studied early and late, and experienced the doubtful glory, and accepted meekly the reproach, of being a grind. 

History and the dismal science had interested him immensely. Hisassiduous attention to the classes of Professor Sumner had not goneunnoticed by that eminent instructor, who once called him by name inChapel Street, much to Dan's edification. He thought well ofbelles-lettres and for a time toyed with an ambition to enrich Englishliterature with contributions of his own. During this period hecontributed to the "Lit" a sonnet called "The Clam-Digger" whichbegan:--

 At rosy dawn I see thine argosy;

and which closed with the invocation:--

 Fair tides reward thy long, laborious days. 

The sonnet was neatly parodied in the "Record, " and that journal printeda gratuitous defense of the fisherman at whom, presumably, the poem hadbeen directed. "The sonnet discloses nothing, " said the "Record, " "as tothe race, color, or previous condition of servitude of the unfortunateclammer to justify a son of Eli in attacking a poor man laudably engagedin a perfectly honorable calling. The sonneteer, coming, we believe, from the unsalt waters of the Wabash, seems to be unaware that thefisherman at whom he has leveled his tuneful lyre is not seeking fairtides but clams. We therefore suggest that the closing line of thesextette be amended to read--

 Fair clams reward thy long, laborious days. "

Harwood was liked by his fellow students in the law office. TwoYalensians, already established there, made his lot easier, and theycombined against a lone Harvardian, who bitterly resented Harwood'shabit of smoking a cob pipe in the library at night. The bouquet ofDan's pipe was pretty well dispelled by morning save to the discerningnostril of the harvard man, who protested against it, and said theoffense was indictable at common law. Harwood stood stoutly for hisrights and privileges, and for Yale democracy, which he declared hispipe exemplified. There was much good-natured banter of this sort in theoffice. 

Harwood was busy filing papers when Mr. Fitch summoned him to hisprivate room on the day indicated. Fitch was short, thin, and bald, witha clipped reddish beard, brown eyes, and a turn-up nose. He wasconsidered a better lawyer than Wright, who was the orator of the firm, and its reliance in dealing with juries. In the preparation of briefsand in oral arguments before the Supreme Court, Fitch was the superior. His personal peculiarities had greatly Interested Harwood; as, forexample, Fitch's manner of locking himself in his room for days at atime while he was preparing to write a brief, denying himself to allvisitors, and only occasionally calling for books from the library. Then, when he had formulated his ideas, he summoned the stenographer anddictated at one sitting a brief that generally proved to be thereviewing court's own judgment of the case in hand. Some of Fitch'sfellow practitioners intimated at times that he was tricky. Inconferences with opposing counsel, one heard, he required watching, ashe was wary of committing himself and it was difficult to discover whatline of reasoning he elected to oppose or defend. In such conferences itwas his fashion to begin any statement that might seem even remotely tobind him with the remark, "I'm just thinking aloud on that propositionand don't want to be bound by what I say. " The students in the office, to whom he was unfailingly courteous, apostrophized him as "the fox. " Hecalled them all "Mister, " and occasionally flattered them by presentinga hypothetical case for their consideration. 

Fitch was sitting before the immaculate desk he affected (no one everdared leave anything on it in his absence) when Harwood entered. Thelawyer's chair was an enormous piece of furniture in which his smallfigure seemed to shrink and hide. His hands were thrust into hispockets, as they usually were, and he piped out "Good-Morning" in a hightenor voice. 

"Shut the door, please, Mr. Harwood. What have you to report about yourerrand to Montgomery?"

He indicated with a nod the one chair in the room and Harwood seatedhimself. 

"I found Professor Kelton without difficulty and presented the letter. "

"You delivered the letter and you have told no one of your visit toMontgomery. "

"No one, sir; no one knows I have been away from town. I handed theletter to the gentleman in his own house, alone, and he gave me hisanswer. "

"Well?"

"_No_ is the answer. "

Fitch polished his eyeglasses with his handkerchief. He scrutinizedHarwood carefully for a moment, then asked:--

"Did the gentleman--whose name, by the way, you have forgotten--"

"Yes, sir; I have quite forgotten it, " Harwood replied promptly. 

"Did he show any feeling--indignation, pique, as he read the letter?"

"No; but he read it carefully. His face showed pain, I should say, sir, rather than indignation. He gave his negative reply coldly--a littlesharply. He was very courteous--a gentleman, I should say, beyond anyquestion. "

"I dare say. What kind of an establishment did he keep?"

"A small cottage, with books everywhere, right by the campus. A younggirl let me in; she spoke of the professor as her grandfather. She wentoff to find him for me in the college library. "

"A young person. What did she look like?"

"A dark young miss, with black hair tied with a red ribbon. "

Fitch smiled. 

"You are sure of the color, are you? This man lives there with hisgranddaughter, and the place was simple--comfortable, no luxuries. Youhad no conversation with him. "

"I think we exchanged a word about the weather, which was warm. "

Fitch smiled again. His was a rare smile, but it was worth waiting for. 

"What did the trip cost you?"

Harwood named the amount and the lawyer drew a check book from hisimpeccable desk and wrote. 

"I have added one hundred dollars for your services. This is a personalmatter between you and me, and does not go on the office books. By theway, Mr. Harwood, what are you doing out there?" he asked, moving hishead slightly toward the outer office. 

"I'm reading law. "

"Is it possible! The other youngsters in the office seem to be talkingpolitics or reading newspapers most of the time. How do you manage tolive?"

"I do some work for the 'Courier' from time to time. "

"Ah! You are careful not to let your legal studies get mixed with thenewspaper work?"

"Yes, sir. They put me on meetings, and other night assignments. As tothe confidences of this office, you need have no fear of my--"

"I haven't, Mr. Harwood. Let me see. It was of you Professor Sumnerwrote me last year; he's an old friend of mine. He said he thought youhad a sinewy mind--a strong phrase for Sumner. "

"He never told me that, " said Dan, laughing. "He several times impliedquite the reverse. "

"He's a great man--Sumner. I suppose you absorbed a good many of hisideas at New Haven. "

"I hope I did, sir: I believe in most of them anyhow. "

"So do I, Mr. Harwood. "

Fitch pointed to a huge pile of manuscript on a table by the window. Itwas a stenographic transcript of testimony in a case which had been lostin the trial court and was now going up on appeal. 

"Digest that evidence and give me the gist of it in not more than fivehundred words. That's all. "

Harwood's hand was on the door when Fitch arrested him with a word. 

"To recur to this private transaction between us, you have not theremotest idea what was in that letter, and nothing was said in theinterview that gave you any hint--is that entirely correct?"

"Absolutely. "

"Very well. I know nothing of the matter myself; I am merelyaccommodating a friend. We need not refer to this again. "

When the door had closed, the lawyer wrote a brief note which he placedin his pocket, and dropped later into a letter-box with his own hand. Mr. Fitch, of the law firm of Wright and Fitch, was not in the habit ofacting as agent in matters he didn't comprehend, and his part inHarwood's errand was not to his liking. He had spoken the truth when hesaid that he knew no more of the nature of the letter that had beencarried to Professor Kelton than the messenger, and Harwood's repliesto his interrogatories had told him nothing. 

Many matters, however, pressed upon his attention and offered abundantexercise for his curiosity. With Harwood, too, pleased to have for thefirst time in his life one hundred dollars in cash, the incident wasclosed. 

CHAPTER VI

HOME LIFE OF HOOSIER STATESMEN

In no other place can a young man so quickly attain wisdom as in anewspaper office. There the names of the good and great are playthings, and the bubble reputation is blown lightly, and as readily extinguished, as part of the day's business. No other employment offers so manyexcitements; in nothing else does the laborer live so truly behind thescenes. The stage is wide, the action varied and constant. The youngesttyro, watching from the wings, observes great incidents and becomestheir hasty historian. The reporter's status is unique. Youth on thethreshold of no other profession commands the same respect, gainsaudience so readily to the same august personages. Doors slammed in hisface only flatter his self-importance. He becomes cynical as he sees howeasily the spot light is made to flash upon the unworthiest figures bythe flimsiest mechanism. He drops his plummet into shoal and deep waterand from his contemplation of the wreck-littered shore grows skepticalof the wisdom of all pilots. 

Harwood's connection with the "Courier" brought him in touch withpolitics, which interested him greatly. The "Courier" was the organ ofthe Democratic Party in the state, and though his father and brothersin the country were Republicans, Dan found himself more in sympathy withthe views represented by the Democratic Party, even after it abandonedits ancient conservatism and became aggressively radical. About the timeof Harwood's return to his native state the newspaper had changed hands. At least the corporation which had owned it for a number of years hadapparently disposed of it, though the transaction had been effected soquietly that the public received no outward hint beyond the deletion of"Published by the Courier Newspaper Company" from the head of theeditorial page. The "policy" of the paper continued unchanged; theeditorial staff had not been disturbed; and in the counting-room therehad been no revolution, though an utterly unknown man had appearedbearing the title of General Manager, which carried with it authority inall departments. 

This person was supposed to represent the unknown proprietor, about whomthere had been the liveliest speculation. The "Courier's" rivals gavemuch space to rumors, real and imaginary, as to the new ownership, attributing the purchase to a number of prominent politicians in rapidsuccession, and to syndicates that had never existed. It was an oddeffect of the change in the "Courier's" ownership that almostimmediately mystery seemed to envelop the editorial rooms. The managingeditor, whose humors and moods fixed the tone of the office, may havebeen responsible, but whatever the cause a stricter discipline wasmanifest, and editors, reporters and copy-readers moved and labored witha consciousness that an unknown being walked among the desks, and hungover the forms to the very last moment before they were hurled to thestereotypers. The editorial writers--those astute counselors of thepublic who are half-revered and half-despised by their associates on thenews side of every American newspaper--wrote uneasily under amysterious, hidden censorship. It was possible that even the young womanwho gleaned society news might, by some unfortunate slip, offend theinvisible proprietor. But as time passed nothing happened. Theimaginable opaque pane that separated the owner from the desks of the"Courier's" reporters and philosophers had disclosed no faintest shadow. Occasionally the managing editor was summoned below by the generalmanager, but the subordinates in the news department were unable, evenby much careful study of their subsequent instructions, to grasp theslightest thread that might lead them to the concealed hand which swayedthe "Courier's" destiny. It must be confessed that under this ghostlyadministration the paper improved. Every man did his best, and thecirculation statements as published monthly indicated a wideningconstituency. Even the Sunday edition, long a forbidding and depressinghodge-podge of ill-chosen and ill-digested rubbish, began to show orderand intelligence. 

In October following his visit to Professor Kelton, Harwood was sent toFraserville, the seat of Fraser County, to write a sketch of theHonorable Morton Bassett, in a series then adorning the Sundaysupplement under the title, "Home Life of Hoosier Statesmen. " Theobject of the series was frankly to aid the circulation manager'sefforts to build up subscription lists in the rural districts, andpersonal sketches of local celebrities had proved potent in thisendeavor. Most of the subjects that had fallen to Harwood's lot had beenof a familiar type--country lawyers who sat in the legislature, orcounty chairmen, or judges of county courts. As the "Sunday Courier"eschewed politics, the series was not restricted to Democrats butincluded men of all faiths. It was Harwood's habit to spend a day in thetowns he visited, gathering local color and collecting anecdotal matter. 

While this employment cut deeply into his hours at the law office, hereasoned that there was a compensating advantage in the knowledge hegained on these excursions of the men of both political faiths. 

Before the train stopped at Fraserville he saw from the car window thename "Bassett" written large on a towering elevator, --a fact which henoted carefully as offering a suggestion for the introductory line ofhis sketch. As he left the station and struck off toward the heart ofthe town, he was aware that Bassett was a name that appealed to the eyefrequently. The Bassett Block and Bassett's Bank spoke not merely for amaterial prosperity, rare among the local statesmen he had described inthe "Courier, " but, judging from the prominence of the name inFraserville nomenclature, he assumed that it had long been establishedin the community. Harwood had not previously faced a second generationin his pursuit of Hoosier celebrities, and he breathed a sigh of reliefat the prospect of a variation on the threadbare scenario of earlyhardship, the little red schoolhouse, patient industry, and thelaborious attainment of meagre political honors--which had begun to borehim. 

Harwood sought first the editor of the "Fraser County Democrat, " who wasalso the "Courier's" Fraserville correspondent. Fraserville boasted twoother newspapers, the "Republican, " which offset the "Democrat"politically, and the "News, " an independent afternoon daily whosefunction was to encourage strife between its weekly contemporaries andboom the commercial interests of the town. The editor of the "Democrat"was an extremely stout person, who sprawled at ease in a battered swivelchair, with his slippered feet thrown across a desk littered withnewspapers, clippings, letters, and manuscript. A file hook wassuspended on the wall over his shoulder, and on this it was his habit toimpale, by a remarkable twist of body and arm, gems for his hebdomadaljournal. He wrote on a pad held in his ample lap, the paste brush waswithin easy reach, and once planted on his throne the editor wasestablished for the day. Bound volumes of the "Congressional Record" intheir original wrappers were piled in a corner. A consular report, folded in half, was thrust under the editor's right thigh, easlyaccessible in ferocious moments when he indulged himself in the felicityof slaughtering the roaches with which the place swarmed. He gave Dan alimp fat hand, and cleared a chair of exchanges with one foot, which hethereupon laboriously restored to its accustomed place on the desk. 

"So you're from the 'Courier'? Well, sir, you may tell your managingeditor for me that if he doesn't print more of my stuff he can getsomebody else on the job here. "

Dan soothed Mr. Pettit's feelings as best he could; he confessed thathis own best work was mercilessly cut; and that, after all, the editorsof city newspapers were poor judges of the essential character of news. When Pettit's good humor had been restored, Dan broached the nature ofhis errand. As he mentioned Morton Bassett's name the huge editor's facegrew blank for a moment; then he was shaken with mirth that passed fromfaint quivers until his whole frame was convulsed. His rickety chairtrembled and rattled ominously. It was noiseless laughter so far as anyvocal manifestations were concerned; but it shook the gigantic editor asthough he were a mould of jelly. He closed his eyes, but otherwise hisfat face was expressionless. 

"Goin' to write Mort up, are you? Well, by gum! I've been readin' thosepieces in the 'Courier. ' Your work? Good writin'; mighty interestin'readin', as old Uncle Horace Greeley used to say. I guess you carry thewhitewash brush along with you in your pilgrimages. You certainly didgive Bill Ragsdale a clean bill o' health. That must have tickled thefolks in Tecumseh County. Know Ragsdale? I've set with Bill in the lowerhouse three sessions, and I come pretty near knowin' him. I don't saythat Bill is crooked; but I suspect that if Bill's moral nature couldbe dug out and exposed to view it would be spiral like a bedspring; justabout. It's an awful load on the Republican Party in this state, havingto carry Bill Ragsdale. O Lord!"

He pursed his fat lips, and his eyes took on a far-away expression, asthough some profound utterance had diverted his thoughts to remoterealms of reverie. "So you're goin' to write Mort up; well, my God!"

The exact relevance of this was not apparent. Harwood had assumed ongeneral principles that the Honorable Isaac Pettit, of the "FraserCounty Democrat, " was an humble and obedient servant of the HonorableMorton Bassett, and would cringe at the mention of his name. To be sure, Mr. Pettit had said nothing to disturb this belief; but neither had theeditor manifested that meek submission for which the reporter had beenprepared. The editor's Gargantuan girth trembled again. The spectacle hepresented as he shook thus with inexplicable mirth was so funny thatHarwood grinned; whereupon Pettit rubbed one of his great hands acrosshis three-days' growth of beard, evoking a harsh rasping sound in whichhe seemed to find relief and satisfaction. 

"You don't know Mort? Well, he's all right; he will he mighty nice toyou. Mort's one of the best fellows on earth; you won't find anybody outhere in Fraser County to say anything against Mort Bassett. No, sir; byGod!"

Again the ponderous frame shook; again the mysterious look came into theman's curious small eyes, and Harwood witnessed another seismicdisturbance in the bulk before him; then the Honorable Isaac Pettit grewserious. 

"You want some facts for a starter. Well, I guess a few facts don't hurtin this business, providin' you don't push in too many of 'em. "

He pondered for a moment, then went on, as though summarizing from abiography:--

"Only child of the late Jeremiah Bassett, founder of Bassett's Bank. OldJerry was pure boiler plate; he could squeeze ten per cent interest outof a frozen parsnip. He and Blackford Singleton sort o' divided thingsup in this section. Jerry Bassett corralled the coin; Blackford rolledup a couple of hundred thousand and capped it with a United Statessenatorship. Mort's not forty yet; married only child of Blackford F. Singleton--Jerry made the match, I guess; it was the only way he couldget Blackford's money. Mort prepared for college, but didn't go. Tookhis degree in law at Columbia, but never practiced. Always interested inpolitics; been in the state senate twelve years; two children, boy andgirl. I guess Mort Bassett can do most anything he wants to--you can'ttell where he'll land. "

"But the next steps are obvious, " suggested Harwood, encouragingly--"thegovernorship, the United States Senate--ever onward and upward. "

"Well, yes; but you never know anything from _him_. _We_ don't know, andyou might think we'd understand him pretty well up here. He declined togo to Congress from this district--could have had it without turning ahand; but he put in his man and stayed in the state senate. I reckon hecuts some ice there, but he's mighty quiet. Bassett doesn't beat thetom-tom to call attention to himself. I guess no man swings moreinfluence in a state convention--but he's peculiar. You'll find himdifferent from these yahoos you've been writin' up. I know 'em all. "

"A man of influence and power--leading citizen in every sense--" Danmurmured as he scribbled a few notes. 

"Yep. Mort's considered rich. You may have noticed his name printed onmost everything but the undertaker's and the jail as you came up fromthe station. The elevator and the bank he inherited from his pap. Mort'sgot a finger in most everything 'round here. "

"Owns everything, " said Harwood, with an attempt at facetiousness, "except the brewery. "

Mr. Pettit's eyes opened wide, and then closed; again he wasmirth-shaken; it seemed that the idea of linking Morton Bassett's namewith the manufacture of malt liquor was the most stupendous jokepossible. The editor's face did not change expression; the internaldisturbances were not more violent this time, but they continued longer;when the strange spasm had passed he dug a fat fist into a tearful righteye and was calm. 

"Oh, my God, " he blurted huskily. "Breweries? Let us say that he neithermakes nor consumes malt, vinous nor spirituous liquor, within themeaning of the statutes in such cases made and provided. He and EdThatcher make a strong team. Ed started out as a brewer, but there'snothing wrong about that, I reckon. Over in England they make lords anddukes of brewers. "

"A man of rectitude--enshrined in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, popular and all that?" suggested Harwood. 

Yes. Mort rather _retains_ his heat, I guess. Some say he's cold as ice. His ice is the kind that freezes to what he likes. Mort's a gentleman ifwe have one in Fraser County. If you think you're chasin' one of theseblue jeans politicians you read about in comic papers you're hitting thewrong trail, son. Mort can eat with a fork without appearin'self-conscious. Good Lord, boy, if you can say these other fellows inIndiana politics have brains, you got to say that Mort Bassett has_intellect_. Which is different, son; a dern sight different. "

"I shall be glad to use the word in my sketch of Mr. Bassett, " remarkedDan dryly. "It will lend variety to the series. "

Harwood thanked the editor for his courtesy and walked to the door. Strange creakings from the editorial chair caused him to turn. TheHonorable Isaac Pettit was in the throes of another convulsion. Theattack seemed more severe than its predecessors. Dan waited for him toinvoke deity with the asthmatic wheeziness to which mirth reduced hisvocal apparatus. 

"It's nothin', son; it's nothin'. It's my temperament: I can't help it. Did you say you were from the 'Courier'? Well, you better give Mort agood send-off. He appreciates a good job; he's a sort o' literary cusshimself. "

As another mirthful spasm seemed imminent Dan retired, wondering justwhat in himself or in his errand had so moved the fat editor'srisibilities. He learned at the Bassett Bank that Mr. Bassett wasspending the day in a neighboring town, but would be home at sixo'clock, so he surveyed Fraserville and killed time until evening, eating luncheon and supper with sundry commercial travelers at the GrandHotel. 

Harwood's instructions were in every case to take the subjects of hissketches at their own valuation and to set them forth sympathetically. The ambitions of most of the gentlemen he had interviewed had beenobvious--obvious and futile. Nearly every man who reached thelegislature felt a higher call to Congress or the governor's chair. Harwood had already described in the "Courier" the attainments ofseveral statesmen who were willing to sacrifice their private interestsfor the high seat at the state capitol. The pettiness and sordidness ofmost of the politicians he met struck him humorously, but the tone ofhis articles was uniformly laudatory. 

When the iron gate clicked behind him at the Bassett residence, hisnotebook was still barren of such anecdotes of his subject as he hadusually gathered in like cases in an afternoon spent at the court-house. Stories of generosity, of the kindly care of widows and orphans, giftsto indigent pastors, boys helped through college, and similarbenefactions had proved altogether elusive. Either Harwood had soughtin the wrong places or Morton Bassett was of tougher fibre than theother gentlemen on whom his pencil had conferred immortality. Inresponse to his ring a boy opened the door and admitted him withoutparley. He had a card ready to offer, but the lad ran to announce himwithout waiting for his name and reappeared promptly. 

"Papa says to come right in, sir, " the boy reported. 

Dan caught a glimpse of a girl at the piano in the parlor who turned toglance at him and continued her playing. The lad indicated an open doormidway of the long hall and waited for Harwood to enter. A lady, carrying a small workbasket in her hand, bade the reporter good-eveningas she passed out. On a table in the middle of the room a checkerboard'swhite and black belligerents stood at truce, and from the interruptedgame rose a thick-set man of medium height, with dark hair and aclose-trimmed mustache, who came toward him inquiringly. 

"Good-evening. I am Mr. Bassett. Have a chair. "

Harwood felt the guilt of his intrusion upon a scene so sheltered anddomestic. The father had evidently been playing checkers with his son;the mother's chair still rocked by another table on which stood areading lamp. 

Harwood stated his errand, and Bassett merely nodded, offering none ofthose protestations of surprise and humility, those pleas ofunworthiness that his predecessors on Dan's list had usually insistedupon. Dan made mental note at once of the figure before him. Bassett'sjaw was square and firm--power was manifest there, unmistakably, andhis bristling mustache suggested combativeness. His dark eyes metHarwood's gaze steadily--hardness might be there, though their gaze wasfriendly enough. His voice was deep and its tone was pleasant. He openeda drawer and produced a box of cigars. 

"Won't you smoke? I don't smoke myself, but you mustn't mind that. " AndHarwood accepted a cigar, which he found excellent. A moment later amaid placed on the table beside the checkerboard a tray, with a decanterand glasses, and a pitcher of water. 

"That's for us, " remarked Bassett, nodding toward the glasses. "Helpyourself. "

"The cigar is all I need; thank you. "

The reporter was prepared to ask questions, following a routine he hademployed with other subjects, but Bassett began to talk on his owninitiative--of the town, the county, the district. He expressed himselfwell, in terse words and phrases. Harwood did not attempt to direct orlead: Bassett had taken the interview into his own hands, and wasimparting information that might have been derived from a local historyat the town library. Dan ceased, after a time, to follow the narrativein his absorption in the man himself. Harwood took his politicsseriously and the petty politicians with whom he had thus far becomeacquainted in his newspaper work had impressed him chiefly by theirbigotry or venality. It was not for nothing that he had worshiped atSumner's feet at Yale and he held views that were not readilyreconcilable with parochial boss-ships and the meek swallowing ofmachine-made platforms. Bassett was not the vulgar, intimate good-fellowwho slapped every man on the back--the teller of good stories over aglass of whiskey and a cigar. He was, as Pettit had said, a new type, not of the familiar _cliché_. The decanter was a "property" placed inthe scene at the dictates of hospitality; the checkerboard canceled anysuggestion of conviviality that might have been conveyed by the decanterof whiskey. 

Bassett's right hand lay on the table and Dan found himself watching it. It was broad but not heavy; the fingers that opened and shut quietly ona small paperweight were supple. It was a hand that would deal fewblows, but hard ones. Harwood was aware, at a moment when he began to bebored by the bald facts of local history, that Bassett had abruptlyswitched the subject. 

"Parties are necessary to democratic government. I don't believe merelyin my own party; I want the opposition to be strong enough to make afight. The people are better satisfied if there's a contest for theoffices. I'm not sorry when we lose occasionally; defeat disciplines andstrengthens a party. I have made a point in our little local affairs ofnot fighting independents when they break with us for any reason. Believing as I do that parties are essential, and that schismaticmovements are futile, I make a point of not attacking them. Theirfailures strengthen the party--and incidentally kill the men who havekicked out of the traces. You never have to bother with them a secondtime. "

"But they help clear the air--they serve a purpose?" suggested Harwood. He had acquired a taste for the "Nation" and the New York "Evening Post"at college, and Bassett's frank statement of his political opinionsstruck Dan as mediæval. He was, however, instinctively a reporter, andhe refrained from interposing himself further than was necessary tostimulate the talk of the man before him. 

"You are quite right, Mr. Harwood. They serve an excellent purpose. Theyprovide an outlet; they serve as a safety valve. Now and then they willwin a fight, and that's a good thing too, for they will prove, onexperiment, that they are just as human and weak in practicalapplication of their ideas as the rest of us. I'd even go as far as tosay that in certain circumstances I'd let them win. They help drive homemy idea that the old parties, like old, established business houses, have got to maintain a standard or they will lose the business to whichthey are rightfully entitled. When you see your customers passing yourfront door to try a new shop farther up the street, you want to sit downand consider what's the matter, and devise means of regaining your lostground. It doesn't pay merely to ridicule the new man or cry that hisgoods are inferior. Yours have got to be superior--or"--and the grayeyes twinkled for the first time--"they must be dressed up to lookbetter in your show window. "

Bassett rose and walked the length of the room, with his hands thrustinto his trousers pockets, and before he sat down he poured himself aglass of water from the pitcher and drank it slowly, with an air ofpreoccupation. He moved easily, with a quicker step than might have beenexpected in one of his figure. The strength of his hand was also in thefirm line of his vigorous, well-knit frame. And his rather large head, Dan observed, rested solidly on broad shoulders. 

Harwood's thoughts were, however, given another turn at once. MortonBassett had said all he cared to say about politics and he now asked Danwhether he was a college man, to which prompting the reporter recitedsuccinctly the annals of his life. 

"You're a Harrison County boy, are you? So you didn't like the farm, andfound a way out? That's good. You may be interested in some of mybooks. "

Dan was immediately on guard against being bored; the library of even anintelligent local statesman like Morton Bassett was hardly likely toprove interesting. One of his earlier subjects had asked himparticularly to mention his library, which consisted mainly ofgovernment reports. 

"I've been a collector of Americana, " Bassett remarked, throwing openseveral cases. "I've gone in for colonial history, particularly, andsome of these things are pretty rare. "

The shelves rose to the ceiling and Bassett produced a ladder that hemight hand down a few of the more interesting volumes for Dan's closerinspection. 

"Here's Wainwright's 'Brief Description of the Ohio River, With someAccount of the Savages Living Thereon'--published in London in 1732, and there are only three copies in existence. This is Atterbury's'Chronicle of the Chesapeake Settlements'--the best thing I have. Theauthor was an English sailor who joined the colonists in the Revolutionand published a little memoir of his adventures in America. The onlyother copy of that known to exist is in the British Museum. I fishedmine out of a pile of junk in Baltimore about ten years ago. When I getold and have time on my hands I'm going to reprint some of these--widemargins, and footnotes, and that sort of thing. But there's fun enoughnow in just having them and knowing the other fellow hasn't!"

He flung open a panel of the wainscoting at a point still free ofshelves and disclosed a door of a small iron safe which he opened with akey. "This isn't the family silver, but a few little things that aremore valuable. These are first editions of American authors. Here'sLowell's 'Fable for Critics, ' first edition; and this is Emerson's'Nature, ' 1836--a first. These are bound by Orpcutt; had them donemyself. They feel good to the hand, don't they!"

Harwood's pleasure in the beautiful specimens of the binder's art wasunfeigned and to his questioning Bassett dilated upon the craftsmanship. 

"The red morocco of the Emerson takes the gold tooling beautifully, andthe oak-leaf border design couldn't be finer. I believe this olive-greenshade is the best of all. This Whittier--a first edition of 'In WarTime'--is by Durand, a French artist, and one of the best specimens ofhis work. "

Those strong hands of his touched the beautiful books fondly. Harwoodtook advantage of a moment when Bassett carried to the lamp Lowell's"Under the Willows" in gold and brown, the better to display the deftworkmanship, to look more closely at the owner of these lovely baubles. The iron hand could be very gentle! Bassett touched the volumecaressingly as he called attention to its perfection. His face, in thelamp's full light, softened, but there was in it no hint of sensuousnessto prepare one for this indulgence in luxurious bibliomania. There was achildlike simplicity in Bassett's delight. A man who enjoyed suchplaythings could not be hard, and Dan's heart warmed with liking. 

"Are you a reader of poetry?" asked Dan, as Bassett carefully collectedthe books and returned them to the safe. 

"No. That is something we leave behind us with our youth, " he said; andlooking down at the bent head and sturdy shoulders, and watching thestrong fingers turning the key, Dan wondered what the man's youth hadbeen and what elements were mixed in him that soft textures of leatherand delicate tracings of gold on brown and scarlet and olive could sodelight him. His rather jaunty attitude toward the "Home Life of HoosierStatesmen" experienced a change. Morton Bassett was not a man who couldbe hit off in a few hundred words, but a complex character he did notpretend to understand. Threads of various hues had passed before him, but how to intertwine them was a question that already puzzled thereporter. Bassett had rested his hand on Dan's shoulder for a moment asthe younger man bent over one of the prized volumes, and Dan was notinsensible to the friendliness of the act. 

Mrs. Bassett and the two children appeared at the door a little later. 

"Come in, Hallie, " said the politician; "all of you come in. "

He introduced the reporter to his wife and to Marian, the daughter, andBlackford, the son. 

"The children were just going up, " said Mrs. Bassett. "As it's Saturdaythey have an hour added to their evening. I think I heard Mr. Bassetttalking of books a moment ago. It's not often he brings out his firsteditions for a visitor. "

They talked of books for a moment, while the children listened. ThenBassett recurred to the fact, already elicited, that Harwood was a Yaleman, whereupon colleges were discussed. 

"Many of our small fresh-water colleges do excellent work, " remarkedBassett. "Some educator has explained the difference between large andsmall colleges by saying that in the large one the boy goes through morecollege, but in the small one more college goes through the boy. Ofcourse I'm not implying, Mr. Harwood, that that was true in your case. "

"Oh, I'm not sensitive about that, Mr. Bassett. And I beg not to betaken as an example of what Yale does for her students. Some of thesmaller colleges stand for the best things; there's Madison College, here in our own state--its standards are severely high, and the placeitself has quality, atmosphere--you feel, even as a casual visitor, that it's the real thing. "

"So I've always heard, " remarked Mrs. Bassett. "My father always admiredMadison. Strange to say, I have never been there. Are you acquainted inMontgomery?"

Bassett bent forward slightly at the question. 

"I was there for an hour or so last spring; but I was in a hurry. Ididn't even take time to run into my fraternity house, though I saw itsbanner on the outer wall. "

"Your newspaper work must give you many interesting adventures, "suggested the politician. 

"Not always as pleasant as this, I assure you. But I'm a person of twooccupations--I'm studying law, and my visit to Montgomery was on anerrand for the office where I'm allowed to use the books in return forslight services of one kind and another. As a newspaper man I'msomething of an impostor; I hope I'm only a passing pilgrim in thebusiness. "

Dan faced Mrs. Bassett as he made this explanation, and he wasconscious, as he turned toward the master of the house, that Bassett wasobserving him intently. His gaze was so direct and searching thatHarwood was disconcerted for a moment; then Bassett remarkedcarelessly, --

"I should think newspaper work a good training for the law. It drillsfaculties that a lawyer exercises constantly. "

Mrs. Bassett now made it possible for Marian and young Blackford tocontribute to the conversation. 

"I'm going to Annapolis, " announced the boy. 

"You've had a change of heart, " said his father, with a smile. "It wasWest Point last week. "

"Well, it will be Annapolis next week, " the lad declared; and then, asif to explain his abandonment of a military career, "In the Navy you getto see the world, and in the Army you're likely to be stuck away at someawful place on the Plains where you never see anything. The Indians arenearly all killed anyhow. "

"We hear a good deal nowadays about the higher education of woman, " Mrs. Bassett remarked, "and I suppose girls should be prepared to earn theirown living. Mothers of daughters have that to think about. "

Miss Marian, catching Dan's eye, smiled as though to express her fullappreciation of the humor of her mother's remark. 

"Mama learned that from my Aunt Sally, " she ventured; and Dan saw thatshe was an independent spirit, given to daring sayings, and indulged inthem by her parents. 

"Well, Aunt Sally is the wisest woman in the world, " replied Mrs. Bassett, with emphasis. "It would be to your credit if you followed her, my dear. "

Marian ignored her mother's rebuke and addressed herself to the visitor. 

"Aunt Sally lives in Indianapolis and I go there to Miss Waring'sSchool. I'm just home for Sunday. "

"Mrs. Owen is my aunt; you may have heard of her, Mr. Harwood; she wasmy father's only sister. "

"Oh, _the_ Mrs. Owen! Of course every one has heard of her; and I knewthat she was Senator Singleton's sister. I am sorry to say I don't knowher. "

Unconsciously the sense of Morton Bassett's importance deepened. Inmarrying Mrs. Jackson Owen's niece Bassett had linked himself to therichest woman at the state capital. He had not encumbered himself with acrude wife from the countryside, but had married a woman with importantconnections. Blackford Singleton had been one of the leading men of thestate, and Mrs. Owen, his sister, was not a negligible figure in thebackground against which the reporter saw he must sketch theFraserville senator. Harwood had met the wives of other Hoosierstatesmen--uninteresting creatures in the main, and palpably of littleassistance to ambitious husbands. 

It appeared that the Bassetts spent their summers at their cottage onLake Waupegan and that Mrs. Owen had a farm near them. It was clear thatBassett enjoyed his family. He fell into a chaffing way with hischildren and laughed heartily at Marian's forwardness. He met his son onthe lad's own note of self-importance and connived with him to provokeher amusing impertinences. 

Bassett imposed no restrictions upon Harwood's pencil, and this, too, was a novel experience. His predecessors on the list of leaders inHoosier politics had not been backward about making suggestions, butBassett did not refer to Harwood's errand at all. When Dan asked forphotographs of Mrs. Bassett and the children with which to embellishhis article, Bassett declined to give them with a firmness that endedthe matter; but he promised to provide photographs of the house andgrounds and of the Waupegan cottage and send them to Harwood in a day ortwo. 

 * * * * *

Harwood gave to his sketch of Morton Bassett a care which he had notbestowed upon any of his previous contributions to the "Courier's"series of Hoosier statesmen. He remained away from the law office twodays the better to concentrate himself upon his task, and the result wasa careful, straightforward article, into which he threw shadings ofanalysis and flashes of color that reflected very faithfully theimpression made upon his mind by the senator from Fraser. The managingeditor complained of its sobriety and lack of anecdote. 

"It's good, Harwood, but it's too damned solemn. Can't you shoot alittle ginger into it?"

"I've tried to paint the real Bassett. He isn't one of these rawhayseeds who hands you chestnuts out of patent medicine almanacs. I'vetried to make a document that would tell the truth and at the same timeplease him. "

"Why?" snapped the editor, pulling the green shade away from his eyesand glaring at the reporter. 

"Because he's the sort of man you feel you'd like to please! He's theonly one of these fellows I've tackled who didn't tell me a lot ofhighfalutin rot they wanted put into the article. Bassett didn't seem tocare about it one way or another. I rewrote most of that stuff half adozen times to be sure to get the punk out of it, because I knew hehated punk. "

"You did, did you! Well, McNaughton of Tippecanoe County is the nextstandard-bearer you're to tackle, and you needn't be afraid to pinribbons on him. You college fellows are all alike. Try to remember, Harwood, that this paper ain't the 'North American Review'; it's anewspaper for the plain people. "

Dan, at some personal risk, saw to it that the illustrations were sominimized that it became unnecessary to sacrifice his text toaccommodate it to the page set apart for it. He read his screed in typewith considerable satisfaction, feeling that it was an honest piece ofwork and that it limned a portrait of Bassett that was vivid andtruthful. The editor-in-chief inquired who had written it, and tookoccasion to commend Harwood for his good workmanship. A little later aclerk in the counting-room told him that Bassett had ordered a hundredcopies of the issue containing the sketch, and this was consoling. Several other subjects had written their thanks, and Dan had ratherhoped that Bassett would send him a line of approval; but on reflectionhe concluded that it was not like Bassett to do so, and that thisfailure to make any sign corroborated all that he knew or imagined ofthe senator from Fraser. 

CHAPTER VII

SYLVIA AT LAKE WAUPEGAN

The snow lay late the next year on the Madison campus. It had been abusy winter for Sylvia, though in all ways a happy one. When it becameknown that she was preparing for college all the Buckeye Lane folk wereanxious to help. Professor Kelton would not trust his own powers too farand he availed himself of the offers of members of the faculty to tutorSylvia in their several branches. Buckeye Lane was proud of Sylvia andglad that the old professor found college possible for her. Happinessreigned in the cottage, and days were not so cold or snows so deep butthat Sylvia and her grandfather went forth for their afternoon tramp. There was nothing morbid or anæmic about Sylvia. Every morning shepulled weights and swung Indian clubs with her windows open. Amischievous freshman who had thrown a snowball at Sylvia's heels, in thehope of seeing her jump, regretted his bad manners: Sylvia caught him inthe ear with an unexpected return shot. A senior who observed theincident dealt in the lordly way of his kind with the offender. Theycalled her "our co-ed" and "the boss girl" after that. The professor ofmathematics occasionally left on his blackboard Sylvia's demonstrationsand pointed them out to his class as models worthy of their emulation. 

Spring stole into the heart of the Wabash country and the sap sang againin maples and elms. Lilacs and snowballs bloomed, and Professor Keltonwent serenely about among his roses. Sylvia passed her examinations, andwas to be admitted to Wellesley without conditions, --all the Lane knewand rejoiced! The good news was communicated to Mrs. Owen, who wrote atonce to Professor Kelton from the summer headquarters she hadestablished on her farm in northern Indiana that just then requiredparticular attention. It ran:--

 I want you to make me a visit. Sylvia must be pretty tired after her long, busy year and I have been tinkering the house here a little bit so you can both be perfectly comfortable. It's not so lonely as you might think, as my farm borders Lake Waupegan, and the young people have gay times. My niece, Mrs. Bassett, has a cottage on the lake only a minute's walk from me. I should like Marian and Sylvia to get acquainted and this will be easy if only you will come up for a couple of weeks. There are enough old folks around here, Andrew, to keep you and me in countenance. I inclose a timetable with the best trains marked. You leave the train at Waupegan Station, and take the steamer across the lake. I will meet you at any time you say. 

So it happened that on a June evening they left the train at Waupeganand crossed the platform to the wheezy little steamer which was waitingjust as the timetable had predicted; and soon they were embarked andcrossing the lake, which seemed to Sylvia a vast ocean. Twilight wasenfolding the world, and all manner of fairy lights began to twinkle atthe far edges of the water and on the dark heights above the lake. Overhead the stars were slipping into their wonted places. 

"You can get an idea of how it is at sea, " said her grandfather, smilingat her long upward gaze. "Only you can hardly feel the wonder of it allhere, or the great loneliness of the ocean at night. "

It was, however, wonder enough, for a girl who had previously lookedupon no more impressive waters than those of Fall Creek, Sugar Creek, and White River. The steamer, with much sputtering and churning and notwithout excessive trepidation on the part of the captain and his lonedeck hand, stopped at many frail docks below the cottages that hung onthe bluff above. Every cottager maintained his own light or combinationof lights to facilitate identification by approaching visitors. Theypassed a number of sailboats lazily idling in the light wind, andseveral small power boats shot past with engines beating furiously uponthe still waters. 

"The Bassetts' dock is the green light; the red, white, and blue is Mrs. Owen's, " explained the captain. "We ain't stoppin' at Bassett'sto-night. "

These lights marked the farthest bounds of Lake Waupegan, and were thelast points touched by the boat. Sylvia watched the green light withinterest as they passed. She had thought of Marian often since theirmeeting at Mrs. Owen's. She would doubtless see more of her now: thegreen light and the red, white and blue were very close together. 

Mrs. Owen called to them cheerily from the dock, and waved a lantern inwelcome. She began talking to her guests before they disembarked. 

"Glad to see you, Andrew. You must be mighty hungry, Sylvia. Don't smashmy dock to pieces, Captain; it's only wood. "

Mrs. Owen complained after a few days that she saw nothing of Sylvia, sonumerous were that young person's engagements. Mrs. Bassett and Mariancalled promptly--the former a trifle dazed by Sylvia's sudden advent, and Marian genuinely cordial. Mrs. Bassett had heard of the approachingvisit with liveliest interest. A year before, when Marian had reportedthe presence in Mrs. Owen's house at Indianapolis of a strange girl withProfessor Kelton, her curiosity had been piqued, but she soon dismissedthe matter. Marian had carried home little information, and while Mrs. Bassett saw her aunt often on her frequent excursions to the city, sheknew by long experience that Mrs. Owen did not yield gracefully toprodding. 

Mrs. Bassett had heard all her life of Professor Kelton and she had methim now and then in the Delaware Street house, but her knowledge of himand his family was only the most fragmentary. Nothing had occurredduring the year to bring the Keltons again to her attention; but now, with a casualness in itself disconcerting, they had arrived at Mrs. Owen's farmhouse, where, Mrs. Bassett was sure, no guests had ever beenentertained before. The house had just been remodeled and madealtogether habitable, a fact which, Mrs. Bassett had been flatteringherself, argued for Mrs. Owen's increasing interest in herself and herfamily. The immediate arrival of the Keltons was disquieting. 

Through most of her life Hallie Bassett had assumed that she and herchildren, as Sally Owen's next of kin, quite filled the heart of thatadmirable though often inexplicable woman. Mrs. Bassett had herselfinherited a small fortune from her father, Blackford F. Singleton, Mrs. Owen's brother, a judge of the Indiana Supreme Court and a senator inCongress, whose merits and services are set forth in a tablet at theportal of the Fraser County Court-House. The Bassetts and the Singletonshad been early settlers of that region, and the marriage of HallieSingleton to Morton Bassett was a satisfactory incident in the historyof both families. Six years of Mrs. Bassett's girlhood had been passedin Washington; the thought of power and influence was dear to her; andnothing in her life had been more natural than the expectation that herchildren would enjoy the fortune Mrs. Owen had been accumulating so longand, from all accounts, by processes hardly less than magical. Mrs. Bassett's humor was not always equal to the strain to which her auntsubjected it. Hallie Bassett had, in fact, little humor of any sort. Sheviewed life with a certain austerity, and in literature she hadfortified herself against the shocks of time. Conduct, she had read, isthree fourths of life; and Wordsworth had convinced her that the worldis too much with us. Mrs. Bassett discussed nothing so ably as a vaguesomething she was fond of characterizing as "the full life, " and thisshe wished to secure for her children. Her boy's future lay properlywith his father; she had no wish to meddle with it; but Marian was theapple of her eye, and she was striving by all the means in her power todirect her daughter into pleasant paths and bright meadows where the"full life" is assured. Hers were no mean standards. She meant to be asympathetic and helpful wife, the wisest and most conscientious ofmothers. 

Mrs. Bassett was immensely anxious to please her aunt in all ways; butthat intrepid woman's pleasure was not a thing to be counted on withcertainty. She not only sought to please her aunt by every meanspossible, but she wished her children to intrench themselves strongly intheir great aunt's favor. The reports of such of Mrs. Owen's publicbenefactions as occasionally reached the newspapers were alwaysalarming. No one ever knew just how much money Sally Owen gave away; butsome of her gifts in recent years had been too large to pass unnoticedby the press. Only a few months before she had established aworking-girls' home in memory of a daughter--her only child--who haddied in early youth, and this crash from a clear sky had aroused in Mrs. Bassett the gravest apprehensions. It was just so much money said to beeighty thousand dollars--out of the pockets of Marian and Blackford;and, besides, Mrs. Bassett held views on this type of benevolence. Homesfor working-girls might be well enough, but the danger of spoiling themby too much indulgence was not inconsiderable; Mrs. Bassett's altruismwas directed to the moral and intellectual uplift of the mass (she neversaid masses) and was not concerned with the plain prose of housing, feeding, and clothing young women who earned their own living. Mrs. Owen, in turning over this home to a board of trustees, had stipulatedthat music for dancing should be provided every Saturday evening;whereupon two trustees, on whom the Christian religion weighed heavily, resigned; but Mrs. Owen did not care particularly. Trustees were onlynecessary to satisfy the law and to assure the legal continuity ofElizabeth House, which Mrs. Owen directed very well herself. 

Mrs. Bassett encouraged Marian's attentions to Mrs. Owen's youngvisitor; but it must be said that Marian, on her own account, likedSylvia and found delight in initiating her into the mysteries ofWaupegan life. She taught her to ride, to paddle a canoe, and to swim. There were dances at the casino, and it was remarkable how easily Sylvialearned to dance. Marian taught her a few steps on the first rainy dayat the Bassett house, and thereafter no one would have doubted thatSylvia had been to dancing-school with the boys and girls she met at thecasino parties. Marian was the most popular girl in the summer colonyand Sylvia admired her ungrudgingly. In all outdoor sports Marianexcelled. She dived from a spring-board like a boy, she paddled a canoetirelessly and with inimitable grace, and it was a joy to see her at thetennis court, where her nimbleness of foot and the certainty of herstroke made her easily first in all competitions. At the casino, aftera hard round of tennis, and while waiting for cakes and lemonade to beserved, she would hammer ragtime on the piano or sing the latest lyricalofferings of Broadway. Quiet, elderly gentlemen from Cincinnati, Louisville, and Indianapolis, who went to the casino to read thenewspapers or to play bridge, grinned when Marian turned things upsidedown. If any one else had improvised a bowling-alley of ginger-alebottles and croquet-balls on the veranda, they would have complained ofit bitterly. She was impatient of restraint, and it was apparent thatfew restraints were imposed upon her. Her sophistication in certaindirections was to Sylvia well-nigh incomprehensible. In matters ofpersonal adornment, for example, the younger girl's accomplishments wereastonishing. She taught Sylvia how to arrange her hair in the latestfashion promulgated by "Vogue"; she instructed her in the refined art ofmanicuring according to the method of the best shop in Indianapolis; andit was amazing how wonderfully Marian could improve a hat by theslightest readjustments of ribbon and feather. She tested the world'sresources like a spoiled princess with an indulgent chancellor to payher bills. She gave a party and ordered the refreshments from Chicago, though her mother protested that the domestic apparatus for makingice-cream was wholly adequate for the occasion. When she wanted newtennis shoes she telegraphed for them; and she kept in her room a smalllibrary of mail-order catalogues to facilitate her extravagances. 

Marian talked a great deal about boys, and confided to Sylvia hersentimental attachment for one of the lads they saw from day to day, andwith whom they played tennis at the casino court. For the first timeSylvia heard a girl talk of men as of romantic beings, and of love as apart of the joy and excitement of life. A young gentleman in a Gibsondrawing which she had torn from an old copy of "Life" more nearlyapproximated Marian's ideal than even the actors of her remoteadoration. She had a great number of gowns and was quite reckless in heruse of them. She tried to confer upon Sylvia scarf pins, ties, and likearticles, for which she declared she had not the slightest use. In thepurchase of soda water and candy at the casino, where she scribbled herfather's initials on the checks, or at the confectioner's in the villagewhere she enjoyed a flexible credit, her generosity was prodigal. Shewas constantly picking up other youngsters and piloting them onexcursions that her ready fancy devised; and if they returned late formeals or otherwise incurred parental displeasure, to Marian it was onlypart of the joke. She was always late and ingeniously plausible inexcusing herself. "Mother won't bother; she wants me to have a goodtime. And when papa is here he just laughs at me. Papa's just the bestever. "

Mrs. Bassett kept lamenting to Professor Kelton her husband's protracteddelay in Colorado. He was interested in a mining property there and waswaiting for the installation of new machinery, but she expected to hearthat he had left for Indiana at any time, and he was coming direct toWaupegan for a long stay. Mrs. Owen was busy with the Waupegan farm andwith the direction of her farms elsewhere. On the veranda of her houseone might frequently hear her voice raised at the telephone as she gaveorders to the men in charge of her properties in central and southernIndiana. Her hearing was perfect and she derived the greatestsatisfaction from telephoning. She sold stock or produce on thesedistant estates with the market page of the "Courier" propped on thetelephone desk before her, and explained her transactions zestfully toProfessor Kelton and Sylvia. She communicated frequently with thesuperintendent of her horse farm at Lexington about the "string" sheexpected to send forth to triumph at county and state fairs. The "AnnualStud Register" lay beside the Bible on the living-room table; and the"Western Horseman" mingled amicably with the "Congregationalist" in thenewspaper rack. 

The presence of the old professor and his granddaughter at Waupegancontinued to puzzle Mrs. Bassett. Mrs. Owen clearly admired Sylvia, andSylvia was a charming girl--there was no gainsaying that. At thefarmhouse a good deal had been said about Sylvia's plans for going tocollege. Mrs. Owen had proudly called attention to them, to her niece'sannoyance. If Sylvia's advent marked the flowering in Mrs. Owen of somenew ideals of woman's development, Mrs. Bassett felt it to be her dutyto discover them and to train Marian along similar lines. She felt thather husband would be displeased if anything occurred to thwart the handof destiny that had so clearly pointed to Marian and Blackford as thenatural beneficiaries of the estate which Mrs. Owen by due process ofnature must relinquish. In all her calculations for the future Mrs. Owen's fortune was an integer. 

Mrs. Bassett received a letter from her husband on Saturday morning inthe second week of Sylvia's stay. Its progress from the mining-camp inthe mountains had been slow and the boat that delivered the letterbrought also a telegram announcing Bassett's arrival in Chicago, so thathe was even now on his way to Waupegan. As Mrs. Bassett pondered thisintelligence Sylvia appeared at the veranda steps to inquire for Marian. 

"She hasn't come down yet, Sylvia. You girls had a pretty lively dayyesterday and I told Marian she had better sleep a while longer. "

"We certainly have the finest times in the world, " replied Sylvia. "Itdoesn't seem possible that I've been here nearly two weeks. "

"I'm glad you're going to stay longer. Aunt Sally told me yesterday itwas arranged. "

"We really didn't expect to stay more than our two weeks; but Mrs. Owenmade it seem very easy to do so. "

"Oh, you needn't be afraid of outstaying your welcome. It's not AuntSally's way to bore herself. If she didn't like you very much shewouldn't have you here at all; Aunt Sally's always right straight outfrom the shoulder. "

"Marian has done everything to give me a good time. I want you to know Iappreciate it. I have never known girls; Marian is really the firstgirl I have ever known, and she has taught me ever so many things. "

"Marian is a dear, " murmured Mrs. Bassett. 

She was a murmurous person, whose speech was marked by a curious risinginflection, that turned most of her statements into interrogatories. ToSylvia this habit seemed altogether wonderful and elegant. 

"Suppose we take a walk along the lake path, Sylvia. We can pretendwe're looking for wild flowers to have an excuse. I'll leave word forMarian to follow. "

They set off along the path together. Mrs. Bassett had never seemedfriendlier, and Sylvia was flattered by this mark of kindness. Mrs. Bassett trailed her parasol, using it occasionally to point out plantsand flowers that called for comment. She knew the local flora well, andkept a daybook of the wildflowers found in the longitude and latitude ofWaupegan; and she was an indefatigable ornithologist, going forth withnotebook and opera glass in hand. She spoke much of Thoreau andBurroughs and they were the nucleus of her summer library; she said thatthey gained tang and vigor from their winter hibernation at the cottage. Her references to nature were a little self-conscious, as seemsinevitable with such devotees, but we cannot belittle the accuracy ofher knowledge or the cleverness of her detective skill in apprehendingthe native flora. She found red and yellow columbines tucked away in oddcorners, and the blue-eyed-Mary with its four petals--two blue and twowhite--as readily as Sylvia's inexperienced eye discovered the moreobvious ladies'-slipper and jack-in-the-pulpit. To-day Mrs. Bassettrejoiced in the discovery of the season's first puccoon, showing itsorange-yellow cluster on a sandy slope. She plucked a spray of thespreading dogbane, but only that she might descant upon it to Sylvia; itwas a crime, Mrs. Bassett said, to gather wild flowers, which were neverthe same when transplanted to the house. When they came presently to arustic seat Mrs. Bassett suggested that they rest there and watch thelake, which had always its mild excitements. 

"You haven't known Aunt Sally a great while, I judge, Sylvia? Of courseyou haven't known any one a great while!"

"No; I never saw her but once before this visit. That was whengrandfather took me to see her in Indianapolis a year ago. She andgrandfather are old friends. "

"All the old citizens of Indiana have a kind of friendship amongthemselves. Somebody said once that the difference between Indiana andKentucky is, that while the Kentuckians are all cousins we Hoosiers areall neighbors. But of course so many of us have had Kentuckygrandfathers that we understand the Kentuckians almost as well as ourown people. I used to meet your grandfather now and then at AuntSally's; but I can't say that I ever knew him. He's a delightful man andit's plain that his heart is centred in you. "

"There was never any one like grandfather, " said Sylvia with feeling. 

"I suppose that as he and Aunt Sally are such old friends they must havetalked a good deal together about you and your going to college. Itwould be quite natural. "

Sylvia had not thought of this. She was the least guileful of beings, this Sylvia, and she saw nothing amiss in these inquiries. 

"I suppose they may have done so; and Mrs. Owen talked to me about goingto college when I visited her. "

"Oh! If _she_ undertook to persuade you, then it is no wonder youdecided to go. She's a very powerful pleader, as she would put itherself. "

"It wasn't just that way, Mrs. Bassett. I think grandfather had alreadypersuaded me. Mrs. Owen didn't know of it till afterward; but she seemedto like the idea. Her ideas about girls and women are very interesting. "

"Yes? She has a very decided way of expressing herself. I shouldimagine, though, that with her training and manner of life she mightlook a little warily at the idea of college training for women. Personally, you understand, I am heartily in favor of it. I have hopedthat Marian might go to college. Aunt Sally takes the greatest interestin Marian, naturally, but she has never urged it upon us. "

Sylvia gazed off across the lake and made no reply. She recalleddistinctly Mrs. Owen's comments on Marian, expressed quite clearly onthe day of their drive into the country, a year before. It was not forher to repeat those observations; she liked Marian and admired her, andshe saw no reason why Marian should not go to college. Sylvia, guessingnothing of what was in Mrs. Bassett's mind, failed to understand thatMrs. Owen's approval of Marian's education was of importance. Nothingcould have been more remote from her thoughts than the idea that her ownplans concerned any one but herself and her grandfather. She was not sodull, however, but that she began to feel that Mrs. Bassett was speakingdefensively of Marian. 

"Marian's taste in reading is very unusual, I think. I have alwaysinsisted that she read only the best. She is very fond of Tennyson. Ifancy that after all, home training is really the most valuable, --I meanthat the atmosphere of the home can give a child what no schoolsupplies. I don't mean, of course, that we have it in _our_ home; butI'm speaking of the ideal condition where there _is_ an atmosphere. I'vemade a point of keeping good books lying about the house, and the bestmagazines and reviews. I was never happier than the day I found Mariancurled up on a lounge reading Keats. It may be that the real literaryinstinct, such as I feel Marian has, would only be spoiled by college;and I should like nothing better than to have Marian become a writer. Agood many of our best American women writers have not been collegewomen; I was looking that up only the other day. "

Sylvia listened, deeply interested; then she laughed suddenly, and asMrs. Bassett turned toward her she felt that it would do no harm torepeat a remark of Mrs. Owen's that had struck her as being funny. 

"I just happened to remember something Mrs. Owen said about colleges. She said that if it isn't in the colt the trainer can't put it there;and I suppose the successful literary women have had genius whether theyhad higher education or not. George Eliot hadn't a college training, butof course she was a very great woman. "

Mrs. Bassett compressed her lips. She had not liked this quotation fromMrs. Owen's utterances on this vexed question of higher education. Couldit be possible that Aunt Sally looked upon Marian as one of those coltsfor whom the trainer could do nothing? It was not a reassuring thought;her apprehensions as to Sylvia's place in her kinswoman's affectionswere quickened by Sylvia's words; but Mrs. Bassett dropped the matter. 

"I have never felt that young girls should read George Eliot. Shedoesn't seem to me _quite_ an ideal to set before a young girl. "

As Sylvia knew nothing of George Eliot, except what she had gleaned fromthe biographical data in a text-book on nineteenth-century writers, shewas unable to follow Mrs. Bassett. She had read "Mill on the Floss, " and"Romola" and saw no reason why every one shouldn't enjoy them. 

Mrs. Bassett twirled her closed parasol absently and studied the profileof the girl beside her. 

"The requirements for college are not really so difficult, I suppose?"she suggested. 

Sylvia's dark eyes brightened as she faced her interlocutor. Those of uswho know Sylvia find that quick flash of humor in her eyes adorable. 

"Oh, they can't be, for I answered most of the questions!" sheexclaimed, and then, seeing no response in her inquisitor, she addedsoberly: "It's all set out in the catalogue and I have one with me. I'dbe glad to bring it over if you'd like to see it. "

"Thank you, Sylvia. I should like to see it. I may want to ask you somequestions about the work; but of course you won't say anything to Marianof our talk. I am not quite sure, and I'll have to discuss it with Mr. Bassett. "

"Of course I shan't speak of it, Mrs. Bassett. "

Marian's voice was now heard calling them, down the path, and the girlappeared, a moment later, munching a bit of toast stuccoed with jam, andeager to be off for the casino where a tennis match was scheduled forthe morning. 

"Don't be late for dinner this evening, Marian; your father will behere, and if you see Blackford, be sure to tell him to meet the 3. 10. "

"Yes, mama, I'll remember, and I'll try to meet the train too. " And thento Sylvia, as she led the way to the boathouse to get the canoe, "I'mglad dad's coming. He's perfectly grand, and I'm going to see if hewon't give me a naphtha launch. Dad's a good old scout and he's prettysure to do it. "

Marian's manner of speaking of her parents disclosed the filialrelationship in a new aspect to Sylvia, who did not at once reconcile itwith her own understanding of the fifth commandment. Marian referred toher father variously as "the grand old man, " "the true scout, " "SirMorton the good knight, " and to her mother as "the Princess Pauline, "or "one's mama, " giving to _mama_ the French pronunciation. All thisseemed to Sylvia to be in keeping with Marian's general precociousness. 

Sylvia had formed the habit of stealing away in the long twilights, after the cheerful gathering at Mrs. Owen's supper-table, for a littleself-communing. Usually Mrs. Owen and Professor Kelton fell to talkingof old times and old friends at this hour and Sylvia's disappearanceswere unremarked. She felt the joy of living these days, and loved dearlythe delaying hour between day and night that is so lovely, so touchedwith poetry in this region. There was always a robin's vesper song, thatmay be heard elsewhere than in Indiana, but can nowhere else be sotremulous with joy and pain. A little creek ran across Mrs. Owen's farm, cutting for itself a sharp defile to facilitate its egress into thelake; and Sylvia liked to throw herself down beside a favorite maple, with the evening breeze whispering over the young corn behind her, andthe lake, with its heart open to the coming of the stars, quiet beforeher, and dream the dreams that fill a girl's heart in those blessed andwonderful days when the brook and river meet. 

On this Saturday evening Sylvia was particularly happy. The day'sactivities, that had begun late, left her a little breathless. She waswondering whether any one had ever been so happy, and whether any othergirl's life had ever been so pleasantly ordered. Her heartbeat quickenedas she thought of college and the busy years that awaited her there; andafter that would come the great world's wide-open doors. She wasuntouched by envy, hatred, or malice. There was no cloud anywhere thatcould mar; the stars that stole out into the great span of sky were notmore tranquil than her own heart. The world existed only that peoplemight show kindness one to another, and that all this beauty of wood, field, water, and starry sky might bring joy to the souls of men. Sheknew that there was evil in the world; but she knew it from books andnot from life. Her path had fallen in pleasant places, and onlybenignant spirits attended her. 

She was roused suddenly by the sound of steps in the path beneath. Thistwilight sanctuary had never been invaded before, and she rose hastily. The course of an irregular path that followed the lake was broken hereby the creek's miniature chasm, but adventurous pedestrians might gainthe top and continue over a rough rustic bridge along the edge of Mrs. Owen's cornfield. Sylvia peered down, expecting to see Marian orBlackford, but a stranger was approaching, catching at bushes tofacilitate his ascent. Sylvia stepped back, assuming it to be a cottagerwho had lost his way. A narrow-brimmed straw hat rose above theelderberry bushes, and with a last effort the man stood on level ground, panting from the climb. He took off his hat and mopped his face as heglanced about. Sylvia had drawn back, but as the stranger could not goon without seeing her she stepped forward, and they faced each other, ina little plot of level ground beside the defile. 

"Pardon me!" he exclaimed, still breathing hard; and then his eyes methers in a long gaze. His gray eyes searched her dark ones for whatseemed an interminable time. Sylvia's hand sought the maple but did nottouch it; and the keen eyes of the stranger did not loosen their hold ofhers. A breeze blowing across the cornfield swept over them, shaking themaple leaves, and rippled the surface of the lake. The dusk, deepeningslowly, seemed to shut them in together. 

"Pardon me, again! I hope I didn't frighten you! I am Mr. Bassett, Marian's father. "

"And I am Sylvia Garrison. I am staying--"

"Oh, " he laughed, "you needn't tell me! They told me at the supper-tableall about you and that you and Marian are fast friends. "

"I knew you were coming; they were speaking of it this morning. "

They had drawn closer together during this friendly exchange. Againtheir eyes met for an instant, then he surveyed her sharply from head tofoot, as he stood bareheaded leaning on his stick. 

"I must be going, " said Sylvia. "There's a path through the corn thatMrs. Owen lets me use. They'll begin to wonder what's become of me. "

"Why not follow the path to the lane, --I think there is a lane at theedge of the field, --and I will walk to the house with you. The paththrough the corn must be a little rough, and it's growing dark. "

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Bassett. "

"I had no idea of meeting any one when I came out. I usually take alittle walk after supper when I'm here, and I wanted to get all the carsmoke out of my lungs. I was glad to get out of Chicago; it was fiercelyhot there. "

The path was not wide enough for two and she walked before him. Afterthey had exhausted the heat as a topic, silence fell upon them. He stillswung his hat in his hand. Once or twice he smote his stick smartly uponthe ground. He timed his pace to hers, keeping close, his eyes upon herstraight slender figure. When they reached the lane they walked togetheruntil they came to the highway, which they followed to the house. An oillamp marked the walk that led through Mrs. Owen's flower garden. 

"Aren't you coming in, Mr. Bassett?" asked Sylvia, as they paused. 

Her hand clicked the latch and the little white-washed gate swung open. In the lamplight their eyes met again. 

"I'm sorry, but I must go home. This is the first time I've been herethis summer, and my stay is short. I must be off again to-morrow. "

"Oh, that's too bad! Marian has been telling me that you would stay amonth, she will be terribly disappointed"

"My Western trip took more time than I expected I have a good deal to doat Fraserville and must get back there"

She stepped inside, thinking he delayed out of courtesy to her, but toher surprise he fastened the latch deliberately and lingered. 

"They tell me you and your grandfather live at Montgomery. It's acharming town, one of the most interesting in the state. "

"Yes, Mr. Bassett. My grandfather taught in the college there. "

"I have often heard of Professor Kelton, of course. He's a citizen ourstate is proud of. Mrs. Bassett says you're going to college thisfall--to Wellesley, is it? Mrs. Bassett has an idea that Marian ought tohave a college education. What do you think about it?"

He smiled kindly, and there was kindness in his deep voice. 

"I think girls should go who want to go, " answered Sylvia, her hands onthe pickets of the gate. 

"You speak like a politician, " laughed Bassett. "That's exactly what Ithink; and I haven't seen that Marian is dying for a college career. "

"She has plenty of time to think of it, " Sylvia replied. "I'm ever somuch older"; and this seemed to dispose of that matter. 

"You are staying here some time?"

"Another week. It seems that we've hardly been here a day. "

"You are fortunate in having Mrs. Owen for a friend. She is a veryunusual woman. "

"The most wonderful person I ever knew!" responded Sylvia warmly. 

He still showed no haste to leave her, though he had just reachedWaupegan, and was going away the next day. 

"Your grandfather isn't teaching at Madison now, I believe?"

"No; but he lectures sometimes, and he has taught me; there was never abetter teacher, " she answered, smiling. 

"You must have been well taught if you are ready for college so early;you are--you say you're older than Marian--do you mind my asking how oldyou ate?"

"Nearly seventeen; seventeen in October. "

"Oh! Then you are four years older than Marian. But I mustn't keep youhere. Please remember me to Mrs. Owen and tell her I'll drop in before Igo. " He bent over the gate and put out his hand. "Good-night, MissGarrison!"

Sylvia had never been called Miss Garrison before, and it was notwithout trepidation that she heard herself so addressed. Mr. Bassett hadspoken the name gravely, and their eyes met again in lingering contact. When the door closed upon her he walked on rapidly; but once, before thetrees had obscured Mrs. Owen's lights, he turned and glanced back. 

CHAPTER VIII

SILK STOCKINGS AND BLUE OVERALLS

One night in this same June, Harwood was directed by the city editor ofthe "Courier" to find Mr. Edward G. Thatcher. Two reporters had failedat it, and it was desirable to verify reports as to certain transactionsby which Thatcher, in conjunction with Morton Bassett, was believed tobe effecting a merger of various glass-manufacturing interests. Thatcherhad begun life as a brewer, but this would long since have been obscuredby the broadening currents of fortune if it had not been for hispersistent dabbling in politics. Whenever the Republican press was at aloss for something to attack, Thatcher's breweries--which he hadconcealed in a corporation that did not bear his name were an invitingand unfailing target. For years, though never seeking office, he hadbeen a silent factor in politics, and he and Bassett, it was said, controlled their party. Mrs. Thatcher had built an expensive house, butfearing that the money her husband generously supplied was tainted bythe remote beer vats, she and her two daughters spent most of their timein Europe, giving, however, as their reason the ill-health of Thatcher'sson. Thatcher's income was large and he spent it in his own fashion. Hemade long journeys to witness prize fights; he had the reputation ofbeing a poor poker player, but "a good loser"; he kept a racing-stablethat lost money, and he was a patron of baseball and owned stock in thelocal club. He was "a good fellow" in a sense of the phrase thatrequires quotation marks. Mrs. Sally Owen, whose opinion in all matterspertaining to her fellow citizens is not to be slighted, fearlesslyasked Thatcher to dinner at her house. She expressed her unfavorableopinion of his family for deserting him, and told him to his face that aman who knew as little about horses as he did should have a guardian. 

"He's in town somewhere, " said the city editor; "don't come back andtell me you can't find him. Try the Country Club, where he was neverknown to go, and the University Club, where he doesn't belong, and allthe other unlikely places you can think of. The other boys have thrownup their hands. "

Dan had several times been fortunate in like quests for men in hiding, and he had that confidence in his luck which is part of the goodreporter's endowment. He called all the clubs and the Thatcher residenceby telephone. The clubs denied all knowledge of Edward G. Thatcher, andhis residence answered not at all; whereupon Harwood took the trolleyfor the Thatcher mansion in the new quarter of Meridian Street beyondthe peaceful shores of Fall Creek. A humorist who described the passingshow from the stern of a rubber-neck wagon for the instruction oftourists announced on every round that "This is Edward G. Thatcher'sresidence; it contains twelve bath-rooms, and cost seventy-five thousanddollars four years ago. The family have lived in it three months. Doesit pay to be rich?"

As Harwood entered the grounds the house loomed darkly before him. Mostof the houses in this quarter were closed for the summer, but Danassumed that there must be some sort of caretaker on the premises and hebegan patiently punching the front-door bell. Failing of any response, he next tried a side door and finally the extreme rear. He had begun tofeel discouraged when, as he approached the front entrance for a secondassault, he saw a light flash beyond the dark blinds. The door openedcautiously, and a voice gruffly bade him begone. 

"I have a message for Mr. Thatcher; it's very important--"

"Mr. Thatcher not at home; nobody home, " growled a voice in brokenEnglish. "You get right off dis place, quick!"

Dan thrust his walking-stick into the small opening to guard againsthaving the door slammed in his face and began a parley that continuedfor several minutes with rising heat on the part of the caretaker. Theman's rage at being unable to close the door was not without its humor;but Dan now saw, beyond the German's broad shoulders, a figure lurkingwithin, faintly discernible from the electric lamps in a bronze sconceon the wall. 

The reporter and the caretaker were making no progress in their colloquyand Dan was trying to catch a glimpse of the other man, who leanedagainst the wall quite indifferent to the struggle for the door. Dansupposed him to be another servant, and he had abandoned hope oflearning anything of Thatcher, when a drawling voice called out:--

"Open the door, Hans, and let the gentleman in: I'll attend to him. "

Dan found himself face to face with a young man of about his own age, aslender young fellow, clad in blue overalls and flannel shirt. Helounged forward with an air of languor that puzzled the reporter. Hisdress was not wholly conclusive as to his position in the silent house;the overalls still showed their pristine folds, the shirt was of goodquality and well-cut. The ends of a narrow red-silk four-in-hand swungfree. He was clean-shaven save for an absurd little mustache so fair asto be almost indistinguishable. His blond hair was brushed back unpartedfrom his forehead. Another swift survey of the slight figure disclosed apair of patent-leather pumps. His socks, revealed at the ankles, werescarlet. Dan was unfamiliar with the ménage of such establishments asthis, and he wondered whether this might not be an upper servant of anew species peculiar to homes of wealth. He leaned on his stick, hat inhand, and the big blue eyes of the young man rested upon him withdisconcerting gravity. A door slammed at the rear upon the retreatingGerman, whom this superior functionary had dispatched about hisbusiness. At a moment when the silence became oppressive the young manstraightened himself slightly and spoke in a low voice, and withamusement showing clearly in his eyes and about his lips, --

"You're a reporter. "

"Yes; I'm from the 'Courier. ' I'm looking for Mr. Thatcher. "

"Suppose, suppose--if you're not in a great hurry, you come with me. "

The pumps, with the scarlet socks showing below the overalls, turned atthe end of the broad hall and began ascending the stairs. The youngman's manner was perfectly assured. He had not taken his hands from hispockets, and he carried himself with an ease and composure that setDan's conjectures at naught. In the absence of the family, a servantmight thus conduct himself; and yet, if Thatcher was not at home, whyshould he be thus ushered into the inner sanctities of the mansion bythis singular young person, whose silk hose and bright pumps were soutterly out of harmony with the rest of his garb. There might be a trickin it; perhaps he had intruded upon a burglarious invasion, --thisinvitation to the upper chambers might be for the purpose of shuttinghim in somewhere until the place had been looted. It was, in any case, anovel adventure, and his curiosity was aroused by the languid pace withwhich, without pausing at the second floor, the young man continued onto the third. Through an open door Dan saw a bedroom in order foroccupancy; but the furniture in the upper and lower halls was draped, and a faint odor of camphor hung upon the air. It had occurred toHarwood that he might be stumbling upon material for a good "story, "though just what it might prove to be was still a baffling question. Hisguide had not spoken or looked at him since beginning the ascent, andHarwood grasped his stick more firmly when they gained the third floor. If violence was in the programme he meant to meet it gallantly. Hisconductor passed through a spacious bedroom, and led the way to apleasant lounging- and reading-room with walls lined with books. Withoutpausing he flung open a door that divulged a shop, with a bench andtools. The litter of carpentry on the bare floor testified to the room'srecent use. 

"Sit down, won't you, and have a cigar?"

Dan hesitated. He felt that he must be the victim of a practical joke, and it was time that his dignity asserted itself. He had accepted acigar and was holding it in his fingers, still standing. His strangeguide struck a match and held it, so that Dan perforce took advantage ofthe proffered flame; and he noticed now for the first time the youngfellow's slender, nervous hands, which bore no marks of hard toil. Hecontinued to watch them with interest as they found and filled a pipe. They were amazingly deft, expressive hands. 

"Have a chair! It's a good one; I made it myself!"

With this the young gentleman jumped lightly upon the workbench where henursed his knees and smoked his pipe. He was a graceful person, trimlyand delicately fashioned, and in this strange setting altogetherinexplicable. But Dan's time was important, and he had not yet learnedanything as to Edward G. Thatcher's whereabouts. This languid younggentleman seemed wholly indifferent to the reporter's restlessness, andDan's professional pride rebelled. 

"Pardon me, but I must see Mr. Thatcher. Where is he, please?"

"He's gone, skipped! No manner of use in looking for him. On my honor, he's not in town. "

"Then why didn't you say so and be done with it?" demanded Dan angrily. 

"Please keep your seat, " replied the young fellow from the workbench. "Ireally wish you would. "

He drew on his pipe for a moment, and Dan, curiously held by his lookand manner and arrested by the gentleness of his voice, awaited furtherdevelopments. He had no weapons with which to deal with this composedyoung person in overalls and scarlet hose. He swallowed his anger; buthis curiosity now clamored for satisfaction. 

"May I ask just who you are and why on earth you brought me up here?"

"Those are fair questions--two of them. To the first, I am AllenThatcher, and this is my father's house. To the second--" He hesitated amoment, then shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Well, if you mustknow, --I was so devilish lonesome!"

He gazed at Harwood quizzically, with a half-humorous, half-dejectedair. 

"If you're lonesome, Mr. Thatcher, it must be because you prefer it thatway. It can't be necessary for you to resort to kidnapping just to havesomebody to talk to. I thought you were in Europe. "

"Nothing as bad as that! What's your name, if you don't mind?"

When Dan gave it, Thatcher nodded and thanked him. 

"College man?"

"Yale. "

"That's altogether bully. I envy you, by George! You see, " he went oneasily, as though in the midst of a long and intimate conversation, "they took me abroad, and it never really counted. They always treatedme as though I were an invalid; and kept me for a year or two squattingon an Alp on account of my lungs. It amused them, no doubt; and itfilled in my time till I was too old to go to college. But now that I'mgrown up, I'm going to stay at home. I've been here a month, having agrand old time; a little lonesome, and yet I'm a person of occupationsand Hans cooks enough for me to eat. I haven't been down town much, butnobody knows me here anyhow. Dad's been living at the club or a hotel, but he moved up here to be with me. Dad's the best old chap on earth. Iguess he liked my coming back. They rather bore him, I fancy. We've hada bully day or two, but dad has skipped. Gone to New York; be back in aweek. Wanted me to go; but not me! I've had enough travel for a while. They gave me a dose of it. "

These morsels of information fell from him carelessly. His "they, " Danassumed, referred to his mother and sisters somewhere on the other sideof the Atlantic; and young Thatcher spoke of them in a curiouslyimpersonal and detached fashion. The whimsical humor that twinkled inhis eyes occasionally was interesting and pleasing; and Dan imaginedthat he was enjoying the situation. Silk socks and overalls wereprobably a part of some whim; they certainly added picturesqueness tothe scene. But the city editor must be informed that Edward G Thatcherwas beyond his jurisdiction and Dan rose and moved toward the door. Allen jumped down and crossed to him quickly. 

"Oh, I say! I really wish you wouldn't go!"

There was no doubt of the pleading in his voice and manner. He laid ahand very gently on Dan's arm. 

"But I've got to get back downtown, if your father has really gone andisn't hidden away here somewhere. "

"I've cut you a slice right out of the eternal truth on that, old man. Father will be in New York for breakfast in the morning. Search thehouse all you please; but, do you know, I'd rather like you to believeme. "

"Of course, I believe you; but it's odd the office didn't know you werehere. They told me you and your mother and sisters were abroad, but thatyour father was in town. A personal item in the 'Courier' this morningsaid that you were all in the Hartz Mountains. "

"I dare say it did! The newspapers keep them all pretty well before thepublic. But I've had enough junketing. I'm going to stay right here fora while. "

"You prefer it here--is that the idea?"

"Yes, I fancy I should if I knew it; I want to know it. But I'm allkinds of crazy, you know. They really think I'm clear off, simplybecause their kind of thing doesn't amuse me. I lost too much as a kidbeing away from home. They said I had to be educated abroad, and thereyou see me--Dresden awhile, Berlin another while, a lot of Geneva, andParis for grand sprees. And my lung was always the excuse if they wantedto do a winter on the Nile, --ugh! The very thought of Egypt makes me illnow. "

"It all sounds pretty grand to me. I was never east of Boston in mylife. "

"By Jove! I congratulate you, " exclaimed the young man fervidly. "AndI'll wager that you went to school at a cross-roads school-house androde to town in a farm wagon to see a circus that had lions andelephants; and you probably chopped wood and broke colts and wentswimming in an old swimmin'-hole and did all the other things you readabout in American biographies and story books. I can see it in your eye;and you talk like it, too. "

"I dare say I do!" laughed Dan. "They've always told me that my voicesounds like a nutmeg grater. "

"They filed mine off! Mother was quite strong for the Italian _a_, andI'm afraid I've caught it, just like a disease. "

"I should call it a pretty good case. I was admiral of a canal boat inNew Jersey one summer trying to earn enough money to carry my sophomoreyear in college, and cussing the mules ruined my hope of a reputableaccent. It almost spoiled my Hoosier dialect!"

"By George, I wonder if the canal-boat people would take me! It would beless lonesome than working at the bench here. Dad says I can doanything I like. He's tickled to death because I've come home. He'sreally the right sort; he did all the horny-handed businesshimself--ploughed corn, wore red mittens to a red school-house, and gotlicked with a hickory stick. But he doesn't understand why I don'teither take a job in his office or gallop the Paris boulevards withmother and the girls; but he's all right. We're great pals. But the restof them made a row because I came home. For a while they had dad'sbreweries as an excuse for keeping away, and my lungs! Dad hid thebreweries, so their hope of a villa at Sorrento is in my chest. Dad saysmy lungs have been their main asset. There's really nothing the matterwith me; the best man in New York told me so as I came through. "

His manner of speaking of his family was deliciously droll; he yieldedhis confidences as artlessly as a child. 

"They almost got a steam yacht on me last year, " he went on. "Hired aVienna doctor to say I ought to be kept at sea between Gibraltar and theBosphorus. And here, by George, is America the dear, bully old Americaof Washington, Franklin, Andrew Jackson, and Abraham Lincoln! And theywant to keep me chasing around among ruins and tombs! I say to you, Mr. Harwood, in all solemnity, that I've goo-gooed my last goo-goo at thetombs of dead kings!"

They stood near the shop door during this interchange. Dan forgot, inhis increasing interest and mystification, that the "Courier's" cityeditor was waiting for news of Thatcher, the capitalist. YoungThatcher's narrative partook of the nature of a protest. He wasseriously in rebellion against his own expatriation. He stood erect now, with the color bright in his cheeks, one hand thrust into his pocket, the other clenching his pipe. 

"I tell you, " he declared, "I've missed too much! Life over here is abig thing!--it's wonderful, marvelous, grand, glorious! And who am I tospend winters on the dead old Nile when history is being made right hereon White River! I tell you I want to watch the Great Experiment, and ifI were not a poor, worthless, ignorant ass I'd be a part of it. "

Dan did not question the young fellow's sincerity. His glowing eyes andthe half-choked voice in which he concluded gave an authentic stamp tohis lament and pronouncement. A look of dejection crossed his face. Hehad, by his own confession, asked Dan into the house merely to have someone to talk to; he was dissatisfied, unhappy, lonely; and his slenderfigure and flushed cheeks supported his own testimony that his healthhad been a matter of concern. The Nile and the Alps against which he hadrevolted might not be so unnecessary as he believed. 

The situation was so novel that Harwood's mind did not respond with thepromptness of his heart. He had known the sons of rich men at college, and some of them had been his friends. It was quite the natural andaccepted order of things that some children should be born to sheltered, pampered lives, while others were obliged to hew their own way tosuccess. He had observed in college that the sons of the rich had apretty good time of it; but he had gone his own way unenviously. It wasnot easy to classify young Thatcher. He was clearly an exotic, a curiouspale flower with healthy roots and a yearning for clean, free air. Danwas suddenly conscious that the young fellow's eyes were bent upon himwith a wistfulness, a kind of pleading sweetness, that the reporter hadno inclination to resist. He delayed speaking, anxious to say the rightword, to meet the plea in the right spirit. 

"I think I understand; I believe I should feel just as you do if I werein your shoes. It's mighty interesting, this whole big scheme we're apart of. Over there on the other side it's all different, the life, theaims, and the point of view. And here we've got just what you callit--the most wonderful experiment the world ever saw. Great Scott!" heexclaimed, kindling from the spark struck by Thatcher's closing words, "it's prodigious, overwhelming! There mustn't be any question oflosing!"

"That's right!" broke in Thatcher eagerly; "that's what I've beenwanting somebody to say! It's so beautiful, so wonderful; the hope andpromise are so immense! You believe it; I can see you do!" he concludedhappily. 

His hand stole shyly from the pocket that seemed to be its inevitablehiding-place, and paused uncertainly; then he thrust it out, smiling. 

"Will you shake hands with me?"

"Let us be old friends, " replied Dan heartily. "And now I've got to getout of here or I'll lose my job. "

"Then I should have to get you another. I never meant to keep you solong. You've been mighty nice about it. I suppose I couldn't help you--Imean about dad? All you wanted was to see father or find you couldn't. "

"I had questions to ask him, of course. They were about a glass-factorydeal with Bassett. "

"Oh, I dare say they bought them! He asked me if I didn't want to gointo the glass business. He talks to me a lot about things. Dad'sthinking about going to the Senate. Dad's a Democrat, like Jefferson andJackson. If he goes to the Senate I'll have a chance to see the wheelsgo round at Washington. Perfectly bully for me!"

Harwood grinned at the youth's naïve references to Edward Thatcher'spolitical ambitions. Thatcher was known as a wealthy "sport, " and Danhad resented his meddling in politics. But this was startling news--thatThatcher was measuring himself for a senatorial toga. 

"You'd better be careful! There's a good story in that!"

"But you wouldn't! You see, I'm not supposed to know!"

"Bassett and your father will probably pull it off, if they try hardenough. They've pulled off worse things. If you're interested inAmerican types you should know Bassett. Ever see him?"

Allen laughed. His way of laughing was pleasant; there was a realbubbling mirth in him. 

"No; but I read about him in the 'Courier, ' which they always havefollow them about--I don't know why. It must be that it helps them torejoice that they are so far away from home; but I always used to readit over there, I suppose to see how much fun I missed! And at a queerlittle place in Switzerland where we were staying--I remember, becauseour landlord had the drollest wart on his chin--a copy of the 'Courier'turned up on a rainy day and I read it through. A sketch of Bassetttickled me because he seemed so real. I felt that I'd like to be MortonBassett myself, --the man who does things, --the masterful American, --areal type, by George! And that safe filled with beautiful bindings; it'sfine to know there are such fellows. "

"Your words affect me strangely; I wrote the piece!"

"Now that is funny!" Allen glanced at Dan with frank admiration. "Youwrite well--praise from Sir Hubert--I scribble verses myself! So ouracquaintance really began a long time ago. It must have been lastOctober that we were at that place. "

"Yes; it was in the fall sometime. It's pleasant to know that anythingprinted in a newspaper is ever remembered so long. Bassett is aninteresting man all right enough. "

"It must be bully to meet men like that--the men who have a hand in thebig things. I must get dad to introduce me. I suppose you knoweverybody!" he ended admiringly. 

They retraced their steps through the silent house and down to the frontdoor, continuing their talk. As Dan turned for their last words on theveranda steps he acted on an impulse and said:--

"Have supper with me to-morrow night--we won't call it dinner--at theWhitcomb House. I'll meet you in the lobby at six o'clock. The honorablestate committee is in town and I'll point out some of the moulders ofour political destiny. They're a joy to the eye, I can tell you!"

Allen's eager acquiescence, his stumbling, murmured thanks, emphasizedDan's sense of the forlorn life young Thatcher had described. 

 * * * * *

"So the old boy's skipped, has he?" demanded the city editor. "Well, that's one on us! Who put you on?"

"I kept at the bell until the door opened and then I saw Thatcher's son. He told me. "

"Oh, the family idiot let you in, did he? Then there's no tellingwhether it's true or not. He's nutty, that fellow. Didn't know he washere. "

"I believe he told me the truth. His father's on his way to New York. "

"Well, that sounds definite; but it doesn't make any difference now. We've just had a tip to let the deal alone. For God's sake, keep at thelaw, Harwood; this business is hell. " The city editor bit a fat cigarsavagely. "You no sooner strike a good thing and work on it for two daysthan you butt into a dead wall. What? No; there's nothing more for youto-night. "

CHAPTER IX

DANIEL HARWOOD RECEIVES AN OFFER

A brief note from Morton Bassett, dated at Fraserville, reached Harwoodin July. In five lines Bassett asked Dan to meet him at the WhitcombHouse on a day and hour succinctly specified. 

Harwood had long since exhausted the list of Hoosier statesmen selectedfor niches in the "Courier's" pantheon. After his visit to Fraserville, he had met Bassett occasionally in the street or at the Whitcomb House;and several times he had caught a glimpse of him passing through thereception room of the law office into Mr. Fitch's private room. On theseoccasions Dan was aware that Bassett's presence caused a ripple ofinterest to run through the office. The students in the librarygenerally turned from their books to speak of Bassett in low tones; andMr. Wright, coming in from a journey on one of these occasions andanxious to see his partner forthwith, lifted his brow and said "Oh!"meaningfully when told that it was Morton Bassett who engaged the timeof the junior member. Bassett's name did not appear in the officerecords to Dan's knowledge nor was he engaged in litigation. Hisconferences were always with Fitch alone, and they were sometimes oflength. 

Harwood was not without his perplexities these days. His work for the"Courier" had gradually increased until he found that his time for studyhad diminished almost to the vanishing point. The home acres continuedunprofitable, and he had, since leaving college, devoted a considerablepart of his earnings to the relief of his father. His father's lack ofsuccess was an old story and the home-keeping sons were deficient ininitiative and energy. Dan, with his ampler outlook, grudged themnothing, but the home needs were to be reckoned with in the dispositionof his own time. He had now a regular assignment to the county courtsand received a salary from the "Courier. " He was usually so tired at theend of his day's work that he found it difficult to settle down to studyat night in the deserted law office. The constant variety and excitementof newspaper work militated against the sober pondering of legalprinciples and Dan had begun to realize that, with the necessity forearning money hanging over him, his way to the bar, or to a practice ifhe should qualify himself, lay long and bleak before him. 

Dan had heard much of Morton Bassett since his visit to Fraserville. Hisconviction, dating from the Fraserville visit, that Bassett was a man ofunusual character, destined to go far in any direction in which he choseto exert his energies, was proved by Bassett's growing prominence. Asession of the legislature had intervened, and the opposition press hadhammered Bassett hard. The Democratic minority under Bassett'sleadership had wielded power hardly second to that of the majority. Bassett had introduced into state politics the bi-partisan alliance, adevice by virtue of which members of the assembly representing favoredinterests cooperated, to the end that no legislation viciously directedagainst railways, manufacturers, brewers and distillers should succeedthrough the deplorable violence of reformers and radicals. Apparentlywithout realizing it, and clearly without caring greatly, Bassett wasthus doing much to destroy the party alignments that had in earliertimes nowhere else been so definitely marked as in Indiana. Partisaneditors of both camps were glad when the sessions closed, for it hadbeen no easy matter to defend or applaud the acts of either majority orminority, so easily did Republicans and Democrats plot together atneutral campfires. It had not been so in those early post-bellum years, when Oliver Morton of the iron mace still hobbled on crutches. Harrisonand Hendricks had fought no straw men when they went forth to battle. Harwood began to be conscious of these changes, which were whollyirreconcilable with the political ideals he had imbibed from Sumner atYale. He had witnessed several political conventions of both partiesfrom the press table, and it was gradually dawning upon him thatpolitics is not readily expressed in academic terminology. 

The silver lining of the Democratic cloud had not greatly disturbedMorton Bassett. He had been a delegate to the national convention of1896, but not conspicuous in its deliberations; and in the subsequentturbulent campaign he had conducted himself with an admirablediscretion. He was a member of the state committee and the chairman wassaid to be of his choosing. Bassett stood for party regularity anddeplored the action of those Democrats who held the schismatic nationalconvention at Indianapolis and nominated the Palmer and Buckner ticketon a gold-standard platform. He had continued to reelect himself to thesenate without trouble, and waited for the political alchemists of hisparty to change the silver back to gold. The tariff was, after all, themain issue, Bassett held; but it was said that in his businesstransactions during these vexed years he had stipulated gold payment inhis contracts. This was never proved; and if, as charged, he voted in1896 for Republican presidential electors it did not greatly matter whena considerable number of other Hoosier Democrats who, to outward viewwere virtuously loyal, managed to run with both hounds and hare. Bassettbelieved that his party would regain its lost prestige and come intopower again; meanwhile he prospered in business, and wielded theDemocratic minority at the state house effectively. 

Dan presented himself punctually at the Whitcomb House where Bassett, with his bag packed, sat reading a magazine. He wore a becoming graysuit without a waistcoat, and a blue négligé shirt, with a turnovercollar and a blue tie. He pulled up his creased trousers when he satdown, and the socks thus disclosed above his tan Oxfords proved to beblue also. His manner was cordial without effusiveness; when they shookhands his eyes met Dan's with a moment's keen, searching gaze, as thoughhe sought to affirm at once his earlier judgment of the young manbefore him. 

"I'm glad to see you again, Mr. Harwood. I was to be in town for the dayand named this hour knowing I should be free. "

"I supposed you were taking it easy at Lake Waupegan. I remember youtold me you had a place there. "

Bassett's eyes met Dan's quickly; then he answered:--

"Oh, I ought to be there, but I've only had a day of it all summer. Ihad to spend a lot of time in Colorado on some business; and when Istruck Waupegan I found that matters had been accumulating at home and Ionly spent one night at the lake. But I feel better when I'm at work. I'm holding Waupegan in reserve for my old age. "

"You don't look as though you needed a vacation, " remarked Dan. "In factyou look as though you'd had one. "

"The Colorado sun did that. How are things going with you?"

"Well, I've kept busy since I saw you in Fraserville. But I seem doomedto be a newspaper man in spite of myself. I like it well enough, but Ithink I told you I started out with some hope of landing in the law. "

"Yes, I remember. I'm afraid the trouble with you is that you're toogood a reporter. That sketch you wrote of me proved that. If I had notbeen the subject of it I should be tempted to say that it showed what Ibelieve they call the literary touch. Mrs. Bassett liked it; maybebecause there was so little of her in it. We both appreciated your nicefeeling and consideration in the whole article. Well, just how are youcoming on in the law?"

"Some of my work at college was preliminary to a law course, and I havedone all the reading possible in Wright and Fitch's office. But I haveto eat and the 'Courier' takes care of that pretty well; I've had togive less time to study. I don't know enough to be able to command aposition as law clerk, --there aren't many pay jobs of that sort in atown like this. "

"I suppose that's true, " assented Bassett. "I suppose I shall alwaysregret I didn't hang on at the law, but I had other interests thatconflicted. But I'm a member of the bar, as I probably told you atFraserville, and I have a considerable library stored away. "

"That, " laughed Dan, "is susceptible of two interpretations. "

"Oh, I don't mean it's in my head; it's in a warehouse in Fraserville. "

The grimness of Bassett's face in repose was an effect of hisclose-trimmed mustache. He was by no means humorless and his smile waspleasant. Dan felt drawn to him again as at Fraserville. Here was a manwho stood four square to the winds, undisturbed by the cyclonicoutbursts of unfriendly newspapers. In spite of the clashing winter atthe state house and all he had heard and read of the senate leader sincethe Fraserville visit, Dan's opinion of Bassett stood. His sturdyfigure, those firm, masterful hands, and his deep, serious voice allspoke for strength. 

"It has occurred to me, Mr. Harwood, that we might be of service to eachother. I have a good many interests. You may have gathered that I am avery practical person. That is wholly true. In business I aim atsuccess; I didn't start out in life to be a failure. "

Bassett paused a moment and Dan nodded. It was at the tip of his tongueto say that such should be every man's hope and aim, but Bassettcontinued. 

"I'm talking to you frankly. I'm not often mistaken in my judgments ofmen and I've taken a liking to you. I want to open an office herechiefly to have a quiet place from which to keep track of things thatinterest me. Fraserville is no longer quite central enough and I'm downhere a good deal. I need somebody to keep an office open for me. I'vebeen looking about and there are some rooms in the Boordman Buildingthat I think would be about right. You might call the position I'msuggesting a private secretaryship, as I should want you to take chargeof correspondence, make appointments, scan the papers, and keep meadvised of the trend of things. I'm going to move my law library downhere to give the rooms a substantial look, and if you feel like joiningme you'll have a good deal of leisure for study. Then when you're readyfor practice I may be in a position to help you. You will have a salaryof, say, twelve hundred to begin with, but you can make yourself worthmore to me. "

Dan murmured a reply which Bassett did not heed. 

"Your visit to my home and the article in the 'Courier' first suggestedthis to me. It struck me that you understood me pretty well. I read allthe other sketches in that series and the different tone in which youwrote of me gave me the idea that you had tried to please me, and thatyou knew how to do it. How does the proposition strike you?"

"It couldn't be otherwise than gratifying, Mr. Bassett. It's taken mybreath away. It widens all my horizons. I have been questioning mydestiny lately; the law as a goal had been drawing further away. Andthis mark of confidence--"

"Oh, that point, the confidence will have to be mutual. I am aclose-mouthed person and have no confidants, but of necessity you willlearn my affairs pretty thoroughly if you accept my offer. You haveheard a good deal of talk about me--most of it unflattering. You haveheard that I drive hard bargains. At every session of the legislature Iam charged with the grossest corruption. There are men in my own partywho are bent on breaking me down and getting rid of me. I'm going togive them the best fight I can put up. I can't see through the back ofmy head: I want you to do that for me. "

"I don't know much about the practical side of politics; it's full oftraps I've never seen sprung, but I know they're planted. "

"To be perfectly frank, it's because you're inexperienced that I wantyou. I wouldn't trust anybody who had political ambitions of his own, orwho had mixed up in any of these local squabbles. And, besides, you're agentleman and an educated man, and that counts for something. "

"You are very kind and generous. I appreciate this more than I can tellyou. And I'd like--"

"Don't decide about it now. I'd rather you didn't. Take a week to it, then drop me a line to Fraserville, or come up if you want to talkfurther. "

"Thank you; I shan't want so much time. In any event I appreciate yourkindness. It's the most cheering thing that ever happened to me. "

Bassett glanced at his watch. He had said all he had to say in thematter and closed the subject characteristically. 

"Here's a little thing I picked up to-day, --a copy of Darlington's'Narrative, '--he was with St. Clair, you know; and practically all thecopies of the book were burned in a Philadelphia printing-office beforethey were bound; you will notice that some of the pages are slightlysinged. As you saw at my house, I'm interested in getting hold of booksrelating to the achievements of the Western pioneers. Some of thesebald, unvarnished tales give a capital idea of the men who conquered thewilderness. They had the real stuff in them, those fellows!"

He took the battered volume--a pamphlet clumsily encased in boards, anddrew his hand across its rough sides caressingly. 

"Another of my jokes on the State Library. The librarian told me I'dnever find a copy, and this was on top of a pile of trash in asecond-hand shop right here in this town. It cost me just fifty cents. "

He snapped his bag shut on the new-found treasure and bade Dan good-byewithout referring again to the proposed employment. 

Dan knew, as he left the hotel, that if an answer had been imperativelydemanded on the spot, he should have accepted Bassett's proposition; butas he walked slowly away questions rose in his mind. Bassett undoubtedlyexpected to reap some benefit from his services, and such services wouldnot, of course, be in the line of the law. They were much more likely topartake of the function of journalism, in obtaining publicity for suchmatters as Bassett wished to promulgate. The proposed new office at thecapital marked an advance of Bassett's pickets. He was abandoning oldfortifications for newer and stronger ones, and Dan's imaginationkindled at the thought of serving this masterful general asaide-de-camp. 

He took a long walk, thinking of Bassett's offer and trying to view itfrom a philosophical angle. The great leaders in American politics hadcome oftener than not from the country, he reflected. Fraserville, inDan's cogitations, might, as Bassett's star rose, prove to be anotherSpringfield or Fremont or Canton, shrouding a planet destined to abrilliant course toward the zenith. He did not doubt that Bassett'splans were well-laid; the state senator was farseeing and shrewd, and byattaching himself to this man, whose prospects were so bright, he wouldshine in the reflected glory of his successes. And the flattery of theoffer was not in itself without its magic. 

However, as the days passed Dan was glad that he had taken time forreflection. He began to minimize the advantages of the proposedrelationship, and to ponder the ways in which it would compel a certainself-effacement. He had sufficient imagination to color the variousscenes in which he saw himself Bassett's "man. " In moods ofself-analysis he knew his nature to be sensitive, with an emotional sidewhose expressions now and then surprised him. He rallied sharply attimes from the skeptical attitude which he felt journalism wasestablishing in him, and assured himself that his old ideals were safein the citadel his boyhood imagination had built for them. Dan's fatherwas a veteran of the Civil War and he had been taught to believe thatthe Democratic Party had sought to destroy the Union and that theRepublican Party alone had saved it. Throughout his boyhood on theHarrison County farm, he had been conscious of the recrudescence of thewartime feeling in every political campaign. His admiration for theheroes of the war was in no wise shaken at New Haven, but he firstrealized there that new issues demanded attention. He grew impatient ofall attempts to obscure these by harking back to questions that the warhad finally determined, if it had served any purpose whatever. He brokea lance frequently with the young men who turned over the books inWright and Fitch's office, most of whom were Republicans and devoutbelievers that the furnace fires of America's industries were broughtdown from Heaven by Protection, a modern Prometheus of a new order ofutilitarian gods. In the view of these earnest debaters, Protection wasthe first and last commandment, the law and the prophets. The"Indianapolis Advertiser" and protection newspapers generally had longattacked periodically those gentlemen who, enjoying the sheltered lifeof college and university, were corrupting the youth of the land byquestioning the wisdom of the fire-kindling god. There was a wide marginbetween theory and practice, between academic dilletantism and aprosperous industrial life fostered and shielded by acts of Congress. Itrequired courage for young men bred in the popular faith to turn theirbacks upon the high altar, so firmly planted, so blazing with lamps ofperpetual adoration. 

While Dan was considering the politician's offer, a letter from homebrought a fresh plea for help, and strengthened a growing feeling thathis wiser course was to throw in his fortunes with Bassett. In varioussmall ways Mr. Fitch had shown an interest in Harwood, and Dan resolvedto take counsel of the lawyer before giving his answer. 

The little man sat in his private room in his shirt sleeves, with hischair tipped back and his feet on his desk. He was, in his own phrase, "thinking out a brief. " He fanned himself in a desultory fashion with apalm leaf. Dan had carried in an arm load of books which Fitch indicatedshould be arranged, back-up, on the floor beside him. 

Dan lingered a moment and Fitch's "Well" gave him leave to proceed. Hestated Bassett's offer succinctly, telling of his visit to Fraservilleand of the interview at the Whitcomb. When he had concluded Fitchasked:--

"Why haven't you gone ahead and closed the matter? On the face of itit's a good offer. It gives you a chance to read law and to beassociated with a man who is in a position to be of great service toyou. "

"Well, to tell the truth, sir, I have had doubts. Bassett stands forsome things I don't approve of--his kind of politics, I mean. "

"Oh! He doesn't quite square with your ideals, is that it?"

"I suppose that is it, Mr. Fitch. "

The humor kindled in the little man's brown eyes, and his fingers playedwith his whitening red beard. 

"Just how strong are those ideals of yours, Mr. Harwood?"

"They're pretty strong, I hope, sir. "

Fitch dropped his feet from the desk, opened a drawer, and drew out along envelope. 

"It may amuse you to know that this is the sketch of Bassett you printedin the 'Courier' last fall. I didn't know before that you wrote it. Nowonder it tickled him. And--er--some of it is true. I wouldn't talk toany other man in Indiana about Bassett. He's a friend and a client ofmine. He doesn't trust many people; he doesn't"--the little man's eyestwinkled--"he doesn't trust Wright!--and he trusts me because we arealike in that we keep our mouths shut. You must have impressed him veryfavorably. He seems willing to take you at face value. It would havebeen quite natural for him to have asked me about you, but he didn't. Doyou know Thatcher--Edward G. ? He has business interests with Bassett, and Thatcher dabbles in politics just enough to give him power when hewants it. Thatcher is a wealthy man, who isn't fooling with smallpolitics. If some day he sees a red apple at the top of the tree he maygo for it. There'd be some fun if Bassett tried to shake down the sameapple. "

"I know Thatcher's son. "

"Allen? I met him the other day. Odd boy; I guess that's one place whereEd Thatcher's heart is all right. "

After a moment's reflection with his face turned to the open windowFitch added:--

"Mr. Harwood, if you should go to Bassett and in course of time, everything running smoothly, he asked you to do something that jarredwith those ideals of yours, what should you do?"

"I should refuse, sir, " answered Dan, earnestly. 

Fitch nodded gravely. 

"Very well; then I'd say go ahead. You understand that I'm notpredicting that such a moment is inevitable, but it's quite possible. I'll say to you what I've never said before to any man: I don'tunderstand Morton Bassett. I've known him for ten years, and I know himjust as well now as I did the day I first met him. That may be my owndullness; but ignoring all that his enemies say of him, --and he has somevery industrious ones, as you know, --he's still, at his best, a veryunusual and a somewhat peculiar and difficult person. "

"He's different, at least; but I can't think him half as bad as they sayhe is. "

"He isn't, probably, " replied Fitch, whose eyes were contemplating thecornice of the building across the street. Then, as though justrecalling Dan's presence: "May I ask you whether, aside from that'Courier' article, you ever consciously served Bassett in any way--everdid anything that might have caused him to feel that he was underobligations?"

"Why, no, sir; nothing whatever. "

"--Or--" a considerable interval in which Fitch's gaze reverted to thecornice--"that you might have some information that made it wise for himto keep his hand on you?"

"Absolutely nothing, " answered Dan, the least bit uncomfortable underthis questioning. 

"You're not aware, " the lawyer persisted deliberately, "that you everhad any dealings of any kind even remotely with Mr. Bassett. "

"No; never, beyond what I've told you. "

"Then, if I were in your place, and the man I think you are, I'd acceptthe offer, but don't bind yourself for a long period; keep your mouthshut and hang on to your ideals, --it's rather odd that you and I shouldbe using that word; it doesn't get into a law office often. If you feeltempted to do things that you know are crooked, think of Billy Sumner, and act accordingly. It's getting to be truer all the time that few ofus are free men. What's Shakespeare's phrase?--'bound upon a wheel offire';--that, Mr. Harwood, is all of us. We have valuable clients inthis office that we'd lose if I got out and shouted my real politicalconvictions. We're all cowards; but don't you be one. As soon as I'msure I've provided for my family against the day of wrath I'm going toquit the law and blow the dust off of some of my own ideals; it's thick, I can tell you!"

This was seeing Fitch in a new aspect. Dan was immensely pleased by thelawyer's friendliness, and he felt that his counsel was sound. 

Fitch broke in on the young man's thoughts to say:--

"By the way, you know where I live? Come up and dine with me to-morrowat seven if you're free. My folks are away and I'd like to swap viewswith you on politics, religion, baseball, and great subjects like that. "

Dan wrote his acceptance of Bassett's offer that night. 

CHAPTER X

IN THE BOORDMAN BUILDING

Harwood opened the office in the Boordman Building, and settled in itthe law books Bassett sent from Fraserville. The lease was taken inDan's name, and he paid for the furniture with his own check, Bassetthaving given him five hundred dollars for expenses. The Boordman was oneof the older buildings in Washington Street, and as it antedated the eraof elevators, only the first of its three stories was occupied byoffices. Its higher altitudes had fallen to miscellaneous tenantsincluding a few telegraph operators, printers, and other night workerswho lodged there for convenience. Dan's immediate neighbors proved to bea shabby lawyer who concealed by a professional exterior his realvocation, which was chattel mortgages; a fire insurance agency conductedby several active young fellows of Dan's acquaintance; and the office ofa Pittsburg firm of construction contractors, presided over by a girlwho answered the telephone if haply it rang at moments when the heroesof the novels she devoured were not in too imminent peril of death. 

This office being nearest, Dan went in to borrow a match for his pipewhile in the midst of his moving and found the girl rearranging her hairbefore a mirror. 

"That's as near heart disease as I care to come, " she said, turning athis "Beg pardon. " "There hasn't been a man in this place for two weeks, much less a woman. Yes, I can stake you for a match. I keep them forthose insurance fellows--nice boys they are, too. You see, " shecontinued, not averse to prolonging the conversation, "our business ismostly outside. Hear about the sky-scraper we're building in Elwood?Three stories! One of the best little towns in Indiana, all right. Say, the janitor service in this old ark is something I couldn't describe toa gentleman. If there's anything in these microbe fairy stories we'llall die early. You might as well know the worst:--they do lighthousekeeping on the third floor and the smell of onions is what I callannoying. Oh, that's all right; what's a match between friends! The lastman who had your office--you've taken sixty-six?--well, he always gothis matches here, and touched me occasionally for a pink photo of GeorgeWashington--stamp, ha! ha! see! He was real nice and when his wifedropped in to see him one day and I was sitting in there joshing him andcarrying on, he was that painfully embarrassed! I guess she made himmove; but, Lord, they have to bribe tenants to get 'em in here. To crawlup one flight of that stairway you have to be a mountain climber. I onlystay because the work's so congenial and it's a quiet place for reading, and all the processions pass here. The view of that hairdressing shopacross the way is something I recommend. If I hadn't studied stenographyI should have taken up hairdressing or manicuring. A little friend ofmine works in that shop and the society ladies are most confidential. I'm Miss Rose Farrell, if you tease me to tell. You needn't say by anyother name it's just as sweet--the ruffle's a little frayed on that. "

Bassett had stipulated that his name should not appear and he suggestedthat Dan place his own on the door. Later, when he had been admitted tothe bar it would be easy to add "attorney at law, " Bassett said. Each ofthe three rooms of what the agent of the building liked to call a suiteopened directly into the hall. In the first Harwood set up a desk forhimself; in the second he placed the library, and the third and largestwas to be Bassett's at such times as he cared to use it. Throughout thesummer Harwood hardly saw Bassett, and he began to regret his reluctantassent to a relationship which conferred so many benefits with so littlework. He dug hungrily at the law, and felt that he was making progress. Fitch, who was braving the heat in town, had outlined a course ofreading for him, and continued his manifestations of friendliness byseveral times asking him to dinner, with a motor ride later to cool themoff before going to bed. 

Bassett kept pretty close to Fraserville, running into the cityoccasionally for a few hours. He complained now and then because he sawso little of his family, who continued at the lake. Dan had certainprescribed duties, but these were not onerous. A great many of thecountry newspapers began to come to the office, and it was Harwood'sbusiness to read them and cut out any items bearing upon localpolitical conditions. Bassett winnowed these carefully, brushing thechaff into his wastebasket and retaining a few kernels for later use. Heseemed thoroughly familiar with the state press and spoke of the ruralnewspapers with a respect that surprised Harwood, who had littlepatience with what he called the "grapevine dailies, " with their scrappylocal news, patent insides, and servile partisan opinions. Still, hebegan to find in a considerable number of these papers, even thoseemanating from remote county seats, a certain raciness and independence. This newspaper reading, which Dan had begun perfunctorily, sooninterested him. It was thus, he saw, that Bassett kept in touch withstate affairs. Sporadic temperance movements, squabbles over localimprovements, rows in school boards, and like matters were not beneathBassett's notice. He discussed these incidents and conditions withHarwood, who was astonished to find how thoroughly Bassett knew thestate. 

Through all this Dan was not blind to the sins charged against Bassett. There were certain corporations which it was said Bassett protected fromviolence at the state house. But as against this did not the vast hordeof greedy corporations maintain a lobby at every session and was not acertain amount of lobbying legitimate? Again, Bassett had shielded theliquor interests from many attacks; but had not these interests theirrights, and was it not a sound doctrine that favored government with theleast restraint? Rather uglier had been Bassett's identification withthe organization of the White River Canneries Company, a combination ofindustries on which a scandalous overissue of stock had been sold ingenerous chunks to a confiding public, followed in a couple of years bya collapse of the business and a reorganization that had frozen out allbut a favored few. Still, Bassett had not been the sole culprit in thataffair, and was not this sort of financiering typical of the time?Bassett and Thatcher had both played the gentle game of freeze-out inhalf a dozen other instances, and if they were culpable, why had theynot been brought to book? In his inner soul Dan knew why not: in thebi-partisan political game only the stupid are annoyed by grand juries, which take their cue tamely from ambitious prosecuting attorneys eagerfor higher office. 

Bassett's desk stood against the wall and over it hung a map of Indiana. It was no unusual thing for Dan to find Bassett with his chair tippedback, his eyes fixed upon the map. The oblong checkerboard formed by theninety-two counties of the Hoosier commonwealth seemed to have afascination for the man from Fraserville. When Dan found him thus inrapt contemplation Bassett usually turned toward him a littlereluctantly and absently. It was thus that Morton Bassett studied thefield, like a careful general outlining his campaigns, with ample dataand charts before him. 

This was an "off" year politically, or, more accurately, the statutescalled for no state election in Indiana. For every one knows that thereis no hour of the day in any year when politics wholly cease fromagitating the waters of the Wabash: somewhere some one is alwaysdropping in a pebble to see how far the ripple will widen. In the torridfirst days of September the malfeasance of the treasurer of an OhioRiver county afforded the Republican press an opportunity to gloat, theofficial in question being, of course, a Democrat, and a prominentmember of the state committee. 

For several days before the exposure Bassett had appeared fitfully atthe Whitcomb and in the Boordman Building. On the day that theRepublican "Advertiser" screamed delightedly over the Democratic scandalin Ranger County, Bassett called Dan into his office. Bassett's name hadbeen linked to that of Miles, the erring treasurer, in the"Advertiser's" headlines; and its leading editorial had pointed to thedefalcation as the sort of thing that inevitably follows the dominationof a party by a spoilsman and corruptionist like the senator fromFraser. 

Bassett indicated by a nod a copy of the "Advertiser" on his desk. 

"The joke was on us this time. They're pinning Miles on me, and I guessI'll have to wear him like a bouquet. I've been in Louisville fixingthis thing up and they won't have as much fun as they thought. It's asimple case: Miles hadn't found out yet that corn margins are notlegitimate investments for a county's money. He's a good fellow and willknow better next time. We couldn't afford to have a member of the statecommittee in jail, so I met the bondsmen and the prosecutingattorney--he's a Republican--in Louisville and we straightened it allout. The money's in bank down there. It proves to be after all a matterof bookkeeping, --technical differences, which were reconciled readilyenough. Miles got scared; those fellows always do. He'll be good now. "

Dan had been standing. Bassett pointed to a chair. 

"I want you to write an interview with me on this case, laying emphasison the fact that the trouble was all due to an antiquated system ofkeeping the accounts, which Miles inherited from his predecessors inoffice. The president of the bank and the prosecutor have preparedstatements, --I have them in my pocket, --and I want you to get all thepublicity you know how for these things. Let me see. In my interviewyou'd better lay great stress on the imperative need for a uniformaccounting law for county officials. Say that we expect to stand forthis in our next platform; make it strong. Have me say that thisincident in Ranger County, while regrettable, will serve a good purposeif it arouses the minds of the people to the importance of changing theold unsatisfactory method of bookkeeping that so frequently leadsperfectly trustworthy and well-meaning officials into error. Do you getthe idea?"

"Yes; perfectly, " Dan replied. "As I understand it, Miles isn't guilty, but you would take advantage of the agitation to show the necessity forreform. "

"Exactly. And while you're about it, write a vigorous editorial for the'Courier, ' on the same line, and a few ironical squibs based on theeagerness of the Republican papers to see all Democrats through blackgoggles. " The humor showed in Bassett's eyes for an instant, and headded: "Praise the Republican prosecutor of Ranger County for refusingto yield to partisan pressure and take advantage of a Democrat'smistakes of judgment. He's a nice fellow and we've got to be good tohim. "

This was the first task of importance that Bassett had assigned to himand Dan addressed himself to it zealously. If Miles was not really adefaulter there was every reason why the heinous aspersions of theopposition press should be dealt with vigorously. Dan was impressed byBassett's method of dealing with a difficult situation. Miles had erred, but Bassett had taken the matter in hand promptly, secretly, andeffectively. His attitude toward the treasurer's sin was tolerant andamiable. Miles had squandered money in bucket-shop gambling, but the sinwas not uncommon, and the amount of his loss was sufficient to assurehis penitence; he was an ally of Bassett's and it was Bassett's way totake care of his friends. Bassett had not denied that the culprit hadbeen guilty of indiscretions; but he had minimized the importance of hiserror and adorned the tale with a moral on which Dan set about layingthe greatest emphasis. He enjoyed writing, and in the interview heattributed ideas to Bassett that would have been creditable to the mostidealistic of statesmen. He based the editorial Bassett had suggestedupon the interview; and he wrote half a dozen editorial paragraphs in avein of caustic humor that the "Courier" affected. In the afternoon hecopied his articles on a typewriter and submitted them to Bassett. 

"Good, very good. Too bad to take you out of the newspaper business; youhave the right point of view and you know how to get hold of the rightend of a sentence. Let me see. I wish you would do another interviewchanging the phraseology and making it short, and we'll give the'Advertiser' a chance to print it. I'll attend to these other things. You'd better not be running into the 'Courier' office too much now thatyou're with me. They haven't got on to that yet, but they'll give us atwist when they do. "

Dan had been admitted to the ante-chamber of Bassett's confidence, buthe was to be permitted to advance a step further. At four o'clock he wassurprised by the appearance of Atwill, the "Courier's" manager. Dan hadno acquaintance with Atwill, whose advent had been coincident with the"Courier's" change of ownership shortly after Dan's tentative connectionwith the paper began. Atwill had rarely visited the editorialdepartment, but it was no secret that he exercised general supervisionof the paper. It had been whispered among the reporters that every issuewas read carefully in proof by Atwill, but Dan had never beenparticularly interested in this fact. As Atwill appeared in the outeroffice, Bassett came from his own room to meet him. The door closedquickly upon the two and they were together for half an hour or more. Then Bassett summoned Dan. 

"Mr. Atwill, this is Mr. Harwood. He was formerly employed on the'Courier. ' It was he that wrote up the Hoosier statesmen, you mayremember. "

Atwill nodded. 

"I remember very well. Those articles helped business, --we could followyour pencil up and down the state on our circulation reports. I jumpedthe city editor for letting you go. "

Atwill was a lean, clean-shaven man who chewed gum hungrily. His eyeswere noticeably alert and keen. There was a tradition that he had been a"star" reporter in New York, a managing editor in Pittsburg, and abusiness manager in Minneapolis before coming to supervise the "Courier"for its new owner. 

"Atwill, you and Harwood had better keep in touch with each other. Harwood is studying law here, but he will know pretty well what I'mdoing. He will probably write an editorial for you occasionally, andwhen it comes in it won't be necessary for the regular employees of the'Courier' to know where it comes from. Harwood won't mind if they takeall the glory for his work. "

When Atwill left, Bassett talked further to Harwood, throwing his legsacross a chair and showing himself more at ease than Dan had yet seenhim. 

"Harwood, " he said, --he had dropped the mister to-day for the first timein their intercourse, --"I've opened the door wider to you than I everdid before to any man. I trust you. "

"I appreciate that, Mr. Bassett. "

"I've been carrying too much, and it's a relief to find that I've got aman I can unload on. You understand, I trust you absolutely. And incoming to me as you did, and accepting these confidences, I assume thatyou don't think me as wicked as my enemies make me out. "

"I liked you, " said Dan, with real feeling, "from that moment you shookhands with me in your house at Fraserville. When I don't believe in youany longer, I'll quit; and if that time comes you may be sure that Ishan't traffic in what I learn of your affairs. I feel that I want tosay that to you. "

"That's all right, Harwood. I hope our relations will be increasinglyfriendly; but if you want to quit at any time you're not tied. Be sureof that. If you should quit me to-morrow I should be disappointed but Iwouldn't kick. And don't build up any quixotic ideas of gratitude towardme. When you don't like your job, move on. I guess we understand eachother. "

If Dan entertained any doubts as to the ethics involved in Bassett'shandling of the situation in Ranger County they were swept away by theperfect candor with which Bassett informed their new intimacy. The mostinteresting and powerful character in Indiana politics had made aconfidant of him. Without attempting to exact vows of secrecy, orthreatening vengeance for infractions of faith, but in a spirit ofgood-fellowship that appealed strongly to Harwood, Bassett had given hima pass-key to many locked doors. 

"As you probably gathered, " Bassett was saying, "Atwill represents me atthe 'Courier' office. "

"I had never suspected it, " Dan replied. 

"Has anybody suspected it?" asked Bassett quickly. 

"Well; of course it has been said repeatedly that you own or control the'Courier. '"

"Let them keep on saying it; they might have hard work to prove it. And--" Bassett's eyes turned toward the window. His brows contracted andhe shut his lips tightly so that his stiff mustache gave to his mouth asinister look that Dan had never seen before. The disagreeableexpression vanished and he was his usual calm, unruffled self. "And, " heconcluded, smiling, "I might have some trouble in proving it myself. "

Dan was not only accumulating valuable information, but Bassettinterested him more and more as a character. He was an unusual man, anew type, this senator from Fraser, with his alternating candor anddisingenuousness, his prompt solutions of perplexing problems. It wasunimaginable that a man so strong and so sure of himself, and so shrewdin extricating others from their entanglements, could ever be cornered, trapped, or beaten. 

Bassett's hands had impressed Dan that first night at Fraserville, andhe watched them again as Bassett idly twisted a rubber band in hisfingers. How gentle those hands were and how cruel they might be!

The next morning Dan found that his interview with Bassett was thefeature of the first page of the "Courier, " and the statement he hadsent to the "Advertiser" was hardly less prominently displayed. Hiseditorial was the "Courier's" leader, and it appeared _verbatim etliteratim_. He viewed his work with pride and satisfaction; even hisironical editorial "briefs" had, he fancied, something of the piquancyhe admired in the paragraphing of the "New York Sun. " But hisgratification at being able to write "must" matter for both sides of aprominent journal was obscured by the greater joy of being the chiefadjutant of the "Courier's" sagacious concealed owner. 

The "Advertiser" replied to Bassett's statement in a tone of hilarity. Bassett's plea for a better accounting system was funny, that was all. Miles, the treasurer of Ranger County, had been playing the bucket shopswith public moneys, and the Honorable Morton Bassett, of Fraserville, with characteristic zeal in a bad cause, had not only adjusted theshortage, but was craftily trying to turn the incident to the advantageof his party. The text for the "Advertiser's" leader was the jingle:--

 "When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be; When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he!"

Bassett had left town, but the regular staff of the "Courier" kept upthe fight along the lines of the articles Dan had contributed. The"Advertiser, " finding that the Republican prosecuting attorney of RangerCounty joined with the local bank in certifying to Miles's probity, dropped the matter after a few scattering volleys. 

However, within a week after the Miles incident, the "Advertiser" gaveHarwood the shock of an unlooked-for plunge into ice-water by printing asensational story under a double-column headline, reading, "The Boss inthe Boordman Building. " The Honorable Morton Bassett, so the articleaverred, no longer satisfied to rule his party amid the pastoral calmof Fraser County, had stolen into the capital and secretly establishedheadquarters, which meant, beyond question, the manifestation of even awider exercise of his malign influence in Indiana politics. Harwood'sname enjoyed a fame that day that many years of laborious achievementcould not have won for it. The "Advertiser's" photographers had stolenin at night and taken a flashlight picture of the office door, bearingthe legend

 66

 DANIEL HARWOOD

Harwood's personal history was set forth in florid phrases. It appearedthat he had been carefully chosen and trained by Bassett to aid in hisevil work. His connection with the "Courier, " which had seemed to Dan atthe time so humble, assumed a dignity and importance that highly amusedhim. It was quite like the Fraserville boss to choose a young man ofgood antecedents, the graduate of a great university, with no previousexperience in politics, the better to bend him to his will. Dan'stalents and his brilliant career at college all helped to magnify theimportance of Bassett's latest move. Morton Bassett was dangerous, the"Advertiser" conceded editorially, because he had brains; and he waseven more to be feared because he could command the brains of other men. 

Dan called Bassett at Fraserville on the long distance telephone andtold him of the disclosure. Bassett replied in a few sentences. 

"That won't hurt anything. I'd been expecting something of the kind. Putyou in, did they? I'll get my paper to-night and read it carefully. Better cut the stuff out and send it in an envelope, to make sure. CallAtwill over and tell him we ignore the whole business. I'm taking alittle rest, but I'll be in town in about a week. "

Dan was surprised to find how bitterly he resented the attack onBassett. The "Advertiser" spoke of the leader as though he were amonster of immorality and Dan honestly believed Bassett to be no suchthing. His loyalty was deeply intensified by the hot volleys poured intothe Boordman Building; but he was not disturbed by the references tohimself. He winced a little bit at being called a "stool pigeon"; but hethought he knew the reporter who had written the article, and hisexperience in the newspaper office had not been so brief but that it hadkilled his layman's awe of the printed word. When he walked into theWhitcomb that evening the clerk made a point of calling his name andshaking hands with him. He was conscious that a number of idlers in thehotel lobby regarded him with a new interest. Some one spoke his nameaudibly, and he enjoyed in some degree the sensation of being a personof mark. 

He crossed University Square and walked out Meridian Street to Fitch'shouse. The lawyer came downstairs in his shirt sleeves with a legalenvelope in his hand. 

"Glad to see you, Harwood. I'm packing up; going to light out in themorning and get in on the end of my family's vacation. They've moved outof Maine into the Berkshires and the boys are going back to collegewithout coming home. I see the 'Advertiser' has been after you. How doyou like your job?"

"I'm not scared, " Dan replied. "It's all very amusing and my moralcharacter hasn't suffered so far. "

Fitch eyed him critically. 

"Well, I haven't time to talk to you, but here's something I wish you'ddo for me. I have a quit-claim deed for Mrs. Owen to sign. I forgot totell one of the boys in the office to get her acknowledgment, but you'rea notary, aren't you? I've just been telephoning her about it. You knowwho she is? Come to think of it, she's Bassett's aunt-in-law. You're nota good Hoosier till you know Aunt Sally. I advise you to make yourselfsolid with her. I don't know what she's doing in town just now, but herways are always inscrutable. "

Dan was soon ringing the bell at Mrs. Owen's. Mrs. Owen was out, themaid said, but would be back shortly. Dan explained that he had comefrom Mr. Fitch, and she asked him to walk into the parlor and wait. 

Sylvia Garrison and her grandfather had been at Montgomery since theirvisit to Waupegan and were now in Indianapolis for a day on their way toBoston. The Delaware Street house had been closed all summer. The floorswere bare and the furniture was still jacketed in linen. Sylvia rose asHarwood appeared at the parlor door. 

"Pardon me, " said Dan, as the maid vanished. "I have an errand with Mrs. Owen and I'll wait, if you don't mind?"

"Certainly. Mrs. Owen has gone out to make a call, but she will be backsoon. She went only a little way down the street. Please have a chair. "

She hesitated a moment, not knowing whether to remain or to leave theyoung man to himself. Dan determined the matter for her by opening aconversation on the state of the weather. 

"September is the most trying month of the year. Just when we're alltired of summer, it takes its last fling at us. "

"It has been very warm. I came over from Montgomery this afternoon andit was very dusty and disagreeable on the train. "

"From Montgomery?" repeated Dan, surprised and perplexed. Then, as itdawned upon him that this was the girl who had opened the door for himat Professor Kelton's house in Montgomery when he had gone there with aletter from Fitch, "You see, " he said, "we've met before, in your ownhouse. You very kindly went off to find some one for me--and didn't comeback; but I passed you on the campus as I was leaving. "

He had for the moment forgotten the name of the old gentleman to whom hehad borne a letter from Mr. Fitch. He would have forgotten the incidentcompletely long ago if it had not been for the curious manner in whichthe lawyer had received his report and the secrecy so carefullyenjoined. It was odd that he should have chanced upon these peopleagain. Dan did not know many women, young or old, and he found thisencounter with Sylvia wholly agreeable, Sylvia being, as we know, seventeen, and not an offense to the eye. 

"It was my grandfather, Professor Kelton, you came to see. He's herewith me now, but he's gone out to call on an old friend with Mrs. Owen. "

Every detail of Dan's visit to the cottage was clear in Sylvia's mind;callers had been too rare for there to be any dimness of memory as tothe visit of the stranger, particularly when she had associated hergrandfather's subsequent depression with his coming. 

Dan felt that he should scrupulously avoid touching upon the visit toMontgomery otherwise than casually. He was still bound in all honor toforget that excursion as far as possible. This young person seemed veryserious, and he was not sure that she was comfortable in his presence. 

"It was a warm day, I remember, but cool and pleasant in your library. I'm going to make a confession. When you went off so kindly to findProfessor Kelton I picked up the book you had been reading, and it quitelaid me low. I had imagined it would be something cheerful andfrivolous, to lift the spirit of the jaded traveler. "

"It must have been a good story, " replied Sylvia, guardedly. 

"It was! It was the 'Æneid, ' and I began at your bookmark and tried tostagger through a page, but it floored me. You see how frank I am; Iought really to have kept this terrible disclosure from you. "

"Didn't you like Madison? I remember that I thought you were comparingus unfavorably with other places. You implied"--and Sylvia smiled--"thatyou didn't think Madison a very important college. "

"Then be sure of my contrition now! Your Virgil sank deep into myconsciousness, and I am glad of this chance to render unto Madison thethings that are Madison's. "

His chaffing way reminded her of Dr. Wandless, who often struck asimilar note in their encounters. 

Sylvia was quite at ease now. Her caller's smile encouragedfriendliness. He had dropped his fedora hat on a chair, but clung to hisbamboo stick. His gray sack suit with the trousers neatly creased andhis smartly knotted tie proclaimed him a man of fashion: the newest andyoungest member of the Madison faculty, who had introduced spats to thecampus, was not more impressively tailored. 

"You said you had gone to a large college; and I said--"

"Oh, you hit me back straight enough!" laughed Harwood. 

"I didn't mean to be rude, " Sylvia protested, coloring. 

They evidently both remembered what had been said at that interview. 

"It wasn't rude; it was quite the retort courteous! My conceit at beinga Yale man was shattered by your shot. "

"Well, I suppose Yale is a good place, too, " said Sylvia, with agenerous intention that caused them both to laugh. 

"By token of your Virgilian diversions shall I assume that you are acollegian, really or almost?"

"Just almost. I'm on my way to Wellesley now. "

"Ah!" and his exclamation was heavy with meaning. A girl bound forcollege became immediately an integer with which a young man who had notyet mislaid his diploma could reckon. "I have usually been a supporterof Vassar. It's the only woman's college I ever attended. I went upthere once to see a girl I had met at a Prom--such is the weakness ofman! I had arrayed myself as the lilies of the field, and on my waythrough Pokip I gathered up a beautiful two-seated trap with a driver, thinking in my ignorance that I should make a big hit by driving thefair one over the hills and far away. The horses were wonderful; I foundout later that they were the finest hearse horses in Poughkeepsie. Shewas an awfully funny girl, that girl. She always used both 'shall' and'will, ' being afraid to take chances with either verb, an idea I'm oftentempted to adopt myself. "

"It's ingenious, at any rate. But how did the drive go?"

"Oh, it didn't! She said she couldn't go with me alone unless I _was_ or_were_ her cousin. It was against the rules. So we agreed to be cousinsand she went off to find the dean or some awful autocrat like that, tospring the delightful surprise, that her long-lost cousin from Kalamazoohad suddenly appeared, and might she go driving with him. That was heridea, I assure you, --my own depravity could suggest nothing moreeuphonious than Canajoharie. And would you believe it, the consent beingforthcoming, she came back and said she wouldn't go--absolutelydeclined! She rested on the fine point in ethics that, while it was notimproper to tell the fib, it would be highly sinful to take advantage ofit! So we strolled over the campus and she showed me the sights, whilethose funeral beasts champed their bits at so much per hour. She was aConnecticut girl, and I made a note of the incident as illustrating acurious phase of the New England conscience. "

While they were gayly ringing the changes on these adventures, stepssounded on the veranda. 

"That's Mrs. Owen and my grandfather, " said Sylvia. 

"I wonder--" began Dan, grave at once. 

"You're wondering, " said Sylvia, "whether my grandfather will rememberyou. "

She recalled very well her grandfather's unusual seriousness afterHarwood's visit; it seemed wiser not to bring the matter again to hisattention. 

"I think it would be better if he didn't, " replied Dan, relieved thatshe had anticipated his thought. 

"I was only a messenger boy anyhow and I didn't know what my errand wasabout that day. "

"He doesn't remember faces well, " said Sylvia, "and wouldn't be likelyto know you. "

As Mrs. Owen asked Dan to her office at once, it was unnecessary forSylvia to introduce him to her grandfather. 

Alone with Mrs. Owen, Dan's business was quickly transacted. Sheproduced an abstract of title and bade him read aloud the description ofthe property conveyed while she held the deed. At one point she took apen and crossed a _t_; otherwise the work of Wright and Fitch wasapproved. When she had signed her name, and while Dan was filling in thecertificate, she scrutinized him closely. 

"You're in Mr. Fitch's office, are you?" she inquired. 

"Not now; but I was there for a time. I happened to call on Mr. Fitchthis evening and he asked me to bring the deed over. "

"Let me see, I don't believe I know any Harwoods here. "

"I haven't been here long enough to be known, " answered Dan, looking upand smiling. 

Mrs. Owen removed her hat and tossed it on a little stand, as thoughhats were a nuisance in this world and not worthy of seriousconsideration. She continued her observation of Dan, who was applying ablotter to his signature. 

"I'll have to take this to my office to affix the seal. I'm to give itto Mr. Wright in the morning for recording. "

"Where is your office, Mr. Harwood?" she asked flatly. 

"Boordman Building, " answered Dan, surprised to find himselfuncomfortable under her direct, penetrating gaze. 

"Humph! So you're Morton Bassett's young man who was written up in the'Advertiser. '"

"Mr. Bassett has given me a chance to read law in his office. He's aprominent man and the 'Advertiser' chose to put its own interpretationon his kindness to me. That's all, " answered Dan with dignity. 

"Sit still a minute. I forget sometimes that all the folks around heredon't know me. I didn't mean to be inquisitive, or disagreeable; I wasjust looking for information. I took notice of that 'Advertiser's' piecebecause Mr. Bassett married my niece, so I'm naturally interested inwhat he does. "

"Yes, Mrs. Owen, I understand. "

Dan had heard a good deal about Mrs. Sally Owen, in one way or another, and persuaded now, by her change of tone, that she had no intention ofpillorying him for Bassett's misdeeds, he began to enjoy his unexpectedcolloquy with her. She bent forward and clasped her veined, bony handson the table. 

"I'm glad of a chance to talk to you. It's providential, your turning upthis way. I just came to town yesterday and Edward Thatcher dropped inlast night and got to talking to me about his boy. "

"Allen?"

Dan was greatly surprised at this turn of the conversation. Mrs. Owen'stone was wholly kind, and she seemed deeply in earnest. 

"Yes, I mean Allen Thatcher. His father says he's taken a great shine toyou. I hardly know the boy, but he's a little queer and he's always beena little sickly. Edward doesn't know how to handle him, and the boy'sma--well, she's one of those Terre Haute Bartlows, and those peoplenever would stay put. Edward's made too much money for his wife's good, and the United States ain't big enough for her and the girls. But thatboy got tired o' gallivanting around over there, and he's back here onEdward's hands. The boy's gaits are too much for Edward. He says you andAllen get on well together. I met him in the bank to-day and he asked meabout you. "

"I like Allen;--I'm even very fond of him, and I wish I could help himfind himself. He's amusing"--and Dan laughed, remembering their firstmeeting--"but with a fine, serious, manly side that you can't helpliking. "

"That's nice; it's mighty nice. You be good to that boy, and you won'tlose anything by it. How do you and Morton get on?"

"First-rate, I hope. He's treated me generously. "

Then she fastened her eyes upon him with quizzical severity. 

"Young man, the 'Advertiser' seems to think Morton Bassett is crooked. What do you think about it?"

Dan gasped and stammered at this disconcerting question. 

She rested her arms on the table and bent toward him, the humor showingin her eyes. 

"If he _is_ crooked, young man, you needn't think you have to be as biga sinner as he is! You remember that Sally Owen told you that. Be yourown boss. Morton's a terrible persuader. Funny for me to be talking toyou this way; I don't usually get confidential so quick. I guess"--andher eyes twinkled--"we'll have to consider ourselves old friends to makeit right. "

"You are very kind, indeed, Mrs. Owen. I see that I have aresponsibility about Allen. I'll keep an eye on him. 

"Drop in now and then. I eat a good many Sunday dinners alone when I'mat home, and you may come whenever you feel like facing a tiresome oldwoman across the table. "

She followed him into the hall, where they ran into Sylvia, who had beenupstairs saying good-night to her grandfather. Mrs. Owen arrestedSylvia's flight through the hall. 

"Sylvia, I guess you and Mr. Harwood are already acquainted. "

"Except, " said Dan, "that we haven't been introduced!"

"Then, Miss Garrison, this is Mr. Harwood. He's a Yale College man, so Iread in the paper. "

"Oh, I already knew that!" replied Sylvia, laughing. 

"At Wellesley please remember, Miss Garrison, about the Kalamazoocousins, " said Dan, his hand on the front door. 

"I guess you young folks didn't need that introduction, " observed Mrs. Owen. "Don't forget to come and see me, Mr. Harwood. "

CHAPTER XI

THE MAP ABOVE BASSETT'S DESK

Sometimes, in the rapid progress of their acquaintance, Allen Thatcherexasperated Harwood, but more often he puzzled and interested him. Itwas clear that the millionaire's son saw or thought he saw in Dan aType. To be thought a Type may be flattering or not; it depends upon thepoint of view. Dan himself had no illusions in the matter. Allen wantedto see and if possible meet the local characters of whom he read in thenewspapers; and he began joining Harwood in visits to the hotels atnight, hoping that these wonderful representatives of American democracymight appear. Harwood's acquaintance was widening; he knew, by sight atleast, all the prominent men of the city and state, and after leavingthe newspaper he still spent one or two evenings a week lounging in thehotel corridors. Tradition survived of taller giants before the days ofthe contemporaneous Agamemnons. Allen asked questions about these andmourned their passing. Harrison, the twenty-third President; Gresham, ofthe brown eyes, judge and cabinet minister; Hendricks, the courtlygentleman, sometime Vice-President; "Uncle Joe" McDonald and "Dan"Voorhees, Senators in Congress, and loved in their day by wideconstituencies. These had vanished, but Dan and Allen made a piouspilgrimage one night to sit at the feet of David Turpie, who had been aSenator in two widely separated eras, and who, white and venerable, likeAigyptos knew innumerable things. 

The cloaked poets once visible in Market Street had vanished before ourchronicle opens, with the weekly literary journals in which they hadshone, but Dan was able to introduce Allen to James Whitcomb Riley in abookshop frequented by the poet; and that was a great day in Allen'slife. He formed the habit of lying in wait for the poet and walking withhim, discussing Keats and Burns, Stevenson and Kipling, and others oftheir common admirations. One day of days the poet took Allen home withhim and read him a new, unpublished poem, and showed him a rarephotograph of Stevenson and the outside of a letter just received fromKipling, from the uttermost parts of the world. It was a fine thing toknow a poet and to speak with him face to face, --particularly a poet whosang of his own soil as Allen wished to know it. Still, Allen did notquite understand how it happened that a poet who wrote of farmers andcountry-town folk wore eyeglasses and patent-leather shoes and carried afolded silk umbrella in all weathers. 

The active politicians who crossed his horizon interested Allen greatly;the rougher and more uncouth they were the more he admired them. Theywere figures in the Great Experiment, no matter how sordid orcontemptible Harwood pronounced them. He was always looking for "types"and "Big" Jordan, the Republican chief, afforded him the greatestsatisfaction. He viewed the local political scene from an angle thatHarwood found amusing, and Dan suggested that it must be because thefeudal taint and the servile tradition are still in our blood that wesubmit so tamely to the rule of petty lordlings. In his exalted momentsAllen's ideas shot far into the air, and Dan found it necessary to pullhim back to earth. 

"I hardly see a Greek frieze carved of these brethren, " Dan remarked onenight as they lounged at the Whitcomb when a meeting of the statecommittee was in progress. "These fellows would make you weep if youknew as much about them as I do. There's one of the bright lightsnow--the Honorable Ike Pettit, of Fraser. The Honorable Ike isn't smartenough to be crooked; he's the bellowing Falstaff of the HoosierDemocracy. I wonder who the laugh's on just now; he's shaking like ajelly fish over something. "

"Oh, I know him! He and father are great chums; he was at the house fordinner last night. "

"What!"

Harwood was unfeignedly surprised at this. The editor of the "FraserCounty Democrat" had probably never dined at the Bassetts' in his owntown, or at least Dan assumed as much; and since he had gained aninsight into Bassett's affairs he was aware that the physical propertyof the "Fraser County Democrat" was mortgaged to Morton Bassett forquite all it was worth. It was hardly possible that Thatcher wascultivating Pettit's acquaintance for sheer joy of his society. As theponderous editor lumbered across the lobby to where they sat, Dan andAllen rose to receive his noisily cordial salutations. On his visits tothe capital, arrayed in a tremendous frock coat and with a flappingslouch hat crowning his big iron-gray head, he was a prodigious figure. 

"Boys, " he said, dropping an arm round each of the young men, "theDemocratic Party is the hope of mankind. Free her of the wicked bosses, boil the corruption out of her, and the grand old Hoosier Democracy willappear once more upon the mountain tops as the bringer of glad tidings. What's the answer, my lads, to Uncle Ike's philosophy?"

"Between campaigns we're all reformers, " said Harwood guardedly. "I feelit working in my own system. "

"Between campaigns, " replied the Honorable Isaac Pettit impressively, "we're all a contemptible lot of cowards, that's what's the matter withus. Was Thomas Jefferson engaged in manipulating legislatures? Did heobstruct the will of the people? Not by a long shot he did _not_! Andthat grand old patriot, Andrew Jackson, wasn't he satisfied to take hislicker or let it alone without being like a heathen in his blindness, bowing down to wood and stone carved into saloons and distilleries?"

"It's said by virtuous Republicans that our party is only a tail to theliquor interests. If you're going back to the Sage of Monticello, how doyou think he would answer that?"

"Bless you, my dear boy; it's not the saloons we try to protect; it'sthe plain people, who are entitled to the widest and broadest liberty. If you screw the lid down on people too tight you'll smother 'em. I'mnot a drinkin' man; I go to church and in my newspaper I preach thefelicities of sobriety and domestic peace. But it's not for me todictate to my brother what he shall eat or wear. No, sir! And look here, don't you try to read me out of the Democratic Party, young man. Atheart our party's as sweet and strong as corn; yea, as the young cornthat leapeth to the rains of June. It's the bosses that's keepin' usdown. "

"Your reference to corn throws us back on the distilleries, " suggestedHarwood, laughing. 

But he was regarding the Honorable Isaac Pettit attentively. Pettit hadchanged his manner and stood rocking himself slowly on his heels. He hadbeen a good deal at the capital of late, and this, together with hisvisit to Thatcher's house, aroused Harwood's curiosity. He wonderedwhether it were possible that Pettit and Thatcher were conspiringagainst Bassett: the fact that he was so heavily in debt to the senatorfrom Fraser seemed to dispose of his fears. Since his first visit toFraserville Dan had heard many interesting and amusing things about theeditor. Pettit had begun life as a lawyer, but had relapsed into ruraljournalism after a futile effort to find clients. He had some reputationas an orator, and Dan had heard him make a speech distinguished by humorand homely good sense at a meeting of the Democratic State EditorialAssociation. Pettit, having once sat beside Henry Watterson at a publicdinner in Louisville, had thereafter encouraged as modestly as possiblea superstition that he and Mr. Watterson were the last survivors of the"old school" of American editors. One of his favorite jokes was the useof the editorial "we" in familiar conversation; he said "our wife" and"our sanctum, " and he amused himself by introducing into the "Democrat"trifling incidents of his domestic life, beginning these items with suchphrases as, "While we were weeding our asparagus bed in the cool ofTuesday morning, our wife--noble woman that she is--" etc. , etc. Hissquibs of this character, quoted sometimes in metropolitan newspapers, afforded him the greatest glee. He appeared occasionally as a lecturer, his favorite subject being American humor; and he was able to prove byhis scrap-book that he had penetrated as far east as Xenia, Ohio, and asfar west as Decatur, Illinois. Once, so ran Fraserville tradition, hehad been engaged for the lyceum course at Springfield, Missouri, but hiscontract had been canceled when it was found that his discourse wasunillumined by the stereopticon, that vivifying accessory being justthen in high favor in that community. 

Out of his own reading and reflections Allen had reached the conclusionthat Franklin, Emerson, and Lincoln were the greatest Americans. Hetalked a great deal of Lincoln and of the Civil War, and the soldiers'monument, in its circular plaza in the heart of the city, symbolized forhim all heroic things. He would sit on the steps in the gray shadow atnight, waiting for Dan to finish some task at his office, and Harwoodwould find him absorbed, dreaming by the singing, foaming fountains. 

Allen spoke with a kind of passionate eloquence of This StupendousExperiment, or This Beautiful Experiment, as he liked to call America. Dan put Walt Whitman into his hands and afterwards regretted it, forAllen developed an attack of acute Whitmania that tried Dan's patienceseverely. Dan had passed through Whitman at college and emerged safelyon the other side. He begged Allen not to call him "camerado" or lift sooften the perpendicular hand. He suggested to him that while it might befine and patriotic to declaim

 "When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, "

from the steps of the monument at midnight, the police might takeanother view of the performance. He began to see, however, that beneathmuch that was whimsical and sentimental the young fellow was sincerelyinterested in the trend of things in what, during this Whitman period, he called "these states. " Sometimes Allen's remarks on current eventsstruck Harwood by their wisdom: the boy was wholesomely provocative andstimulating. He began to feel that he understood him, and in his ownhomelessness Allen became a resource. 

Allen was a creature of moods, and vanished often for days or weeks. Helabored fitfully in his carpenter shop at home or with equalirregularity at a bench in the shop of Lüders, a cabinetmaker. Dansometimes sought him at the shop, which was a headquarters for radicalsof all sorts. The workmen showed a great fondness for Allen, who hadbeen much in Germany and spoke their language well. He carried to theshop quantities of German books and periodicals for their enlightenment. The shop's visitors included several young Americans, among them anewspaper artist, a violinist in a theatre orchestra, and a linotypeexpert. They all wore large black scarfs and called each other"comrade. " Allen earnestly protested that he still believed in theAmerican Idea, the Great Experiment; but if democracy should fail he wasready to take up socialism. He talked of his heroes; he said they allowed it to the men who had made and preserved the Union to give theexisting government a chance. These discussions were entirelygood-humored and Harwood enjoyed them. Sometimes they met in the eveningat a saloon in the neighborhood of the shop where Allen, the son ofEdward Thatcher, whom everybody knew, was an object of special interest. He would sit on a table and lecture the saloon loungers in German, andat the end of a long debate made a point of paying the score. He wasmost temperate himself, sipping a glass of wine or beer in thedeliberate German fashion. 

Allen was a friendly soul and every one liked him. It was impossible notto like a lad whose ways were so gentle, whose smile was so appealing. He liked dancing and went to most of the parties--our capital has notoutgrown its homely provincial habit of calling all socialentertainments "parties. " He was unfailingly courteous, with a mannertoward women slightly elaborate and reminiscent of other times. Therewas no question of his social acceptance; mothers of daughters, whodeclined to speak to his father, welcomed him to their houses. 

Allen introduced Dan to the households he particularly fancied and theymade calls together on Dan's free evenings or on Sunday afternoons. Snobbishness was a late arrival among us; any young man that any onevouched for might know the "nicest" girls. Harwood's social circle waswidening; Fitch and his wife said a good word for him in influentialquarters, and the local Yale men had not neglected him. Allen liked thetheatre, and exercised considerable ingenuity in devising excuses forpaying for the tickets when they took young women of their acquaintance. He pretended to Dan that he had free tickets or got them at a discount. His father made him a generous allowance and he bought a motor car inwhich he declared Dan had a half interest; they needed it, he said, fortheir social adventures. 

At the Thatcher house, Harwood caught fitful glimpses of Allen's father, a bird of passage inured to sleeping-cars. Occasionally Harwood dinedwith the father and son and they would all adjourn to Allen's shop onthe third floor to smoke and talk. When Allen gave rein to his fancy andbegan descanting upon the grandeur of the Republic and the BeautifulExperiment making in "these states, " Dan would see a blank puzzled looksteal into Thatcher's face. Thatcher adored Allen: he had for him thedeep love of a lioness for her cubs; but all this idealistic patter theboy had got hold of--God knew where!--sounded as strange to the richman as a discourse in Sanskrit. 

Thatcher had not been among Bassett's callers in the new office in theBoordman, but late one afternoon, when Dan was deep in the principles ofevidence, Thatcher came in. 

"I'm not expecting Mr. Bassett to-day, if you wish to see him, " saidDan. 

"Nope, " Thatcher replied indifferently, "I'm not looking for Mort. He'sin Fraserville, I happen to know. Just talking to him on the telephone, so I rather guessed you were alone, that's why I came up. I want to talkto you a little bit, Harwood. It must be nearly closing time, so supposeyou lock the door. You see, " he continued, idling about the room, "Mort's in the newspapers a good deal, and not being any such terriblesinner as he is I don't care to have his labels tacked on me too much. Not that Mort isn't one of my best friends, you know; but a family manlike me has got to be careful of his reputation. "

Harwood opened his drawer and took out a box of cigars. Thatcheraccepted one and lighted it deliberately, commenting on the office as hedid so. He even strolled through the library to the open door ofBassett's private room beyond. The map of Indiana suspended aboveBassett's desk interested him and he stood leaning on his stick andsurveying it. There was something the least bit insinuating in hismanner. The room, the map, the fact that Morton Bassett of Fraservillehad, so to speak, planted a vedette in the heart of the capital, seemedto afford him mild, cynical amusement. He drew his hand across hisface, twisted his mustache, and took the cigar from his mouth andexamined the end of it with fictitious interest. 

"Well, " he ejaculated, "damn it all, why not?"

Harwood did not know why not; but a man as rich as Edward Thatcher wasentitled to his vagaries. Thatcher sank into Bassett's swivel chair andswung round once or twice as though testing it, meanwhile eyeing themap. Then he tipped himself back comfortably and dropped his hat intohis lap. His grayish brown hair was combed carefully from one sideacross the top in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal his baldness. 

"I guess Mort wouldn't object to my sitting in his chair provided Ididn't look at that map too much. Who was the chap that the sword hungover by a hair--Damocles? Well, maybe that's what that map is--it wouldsmash pretty hard if the whole state fell down on Mort. But Mort knowsjust how many voters there are in every township and just how they lineup election morning. There's a lot of brains in Bassett's head; you'venoticed it?"

"It's admitted, I believe, that he's a man of ability, " said Dan alittle coldly. 

Thatcher grinned. 

"You're all right, Harwood. I know you're all right or Mort wouldn'thave put you in here. I'm rather kicking myself that I didn't see youfirst. "

"Mr. Bassett has given me a chance I'd begun to fear I shouldn't get;you see I'm studying law here. Mr. Bassett has made that possible. He'sthe best friend I ever had. "

"That's good. Bassett usually picks winners. From what I hear of you andwhat I've seen I think you're all right myself. My boy has taken quite agreat fancy to you. "

Thatcher looked at the end of his cigar and waited for Dan to reply. 

"I've grown very fond of Allen. He's very unusual; he's full ofsurprises. "

"That boy, " said Thatcher, pointing his cigar at Dan, "is the greatestboy in the world; but, damn it all, I don't make him out. "

"Well, he's different; he's an idealist. I'm not sure that he isn't aphilosopher!"

Thatcher nodded, as though this were a corroboration of his ownsurmises. 

"He has a lot of ideas that are what they call advanced, but it's notfor me to say that he isn't right about them. He talks nonsense some ofthe time, but occasionally he knocks me down with a big idea--or his wayof putting a big idea. He doesn't understand a good deal that he sees;and yet he sometimes says something perfectly staggering. "

"He does; by George, he does! Damn it, I took him to see a glassworksthe other day; thought it would appeal to his sense of what you call thepicturesque; but, Lord bless me, he asked how much the blowers were paidand wanted me to raise their pay on the spot. That was one on me, allright; I'd thought of giving him the works to play with, but I didn'thave the nerve to offer it to him after that. 'Fraid he'd either turn itdown or take it and bust me. "

Thatcher had referred to this incident with unmistakable pride; he wasevidently amused rather than chagrined by his son's scorn of the gift ofa profitable industry. "I offered him money to start a carpenter shop orfurniture factory or anything he wanted to tackle, but he wouldn't haveit. Said he wanted to work in somebody else's shop to get thediscipline. Discipline? That boy never had any discipline in his life!I've kept my nose to the grindstone ever since I was knee-high to a toadjust so that boy wouldn't have to worry about his daily bread, and now, damn it all, he runs a carpenter shop on the top floor of a house thatstands me, lot, furniture, and all, nearly a hundred thousand dollars! Ican't talk to everybody about this; my wife and daughters don't want anydiscipline; don't like the United States or anything in it exceptexchange on London; and here I am with a boy who wears overalls andtries to callous his hands to look like a laboring man. If you canfigure that out, it's a damn sight more than I can do! It's one on EdThatcher, that's all!"

"If I try to answer you, please don't think I pretend to any unusualknowledge of human nature; but what I see in the boy is a kind of poeticattitude toward America--our politics, the whole scheme; and it's apoetic strain in him that accounts for this feeling about labor. And hehas a feeling for justice and mercy; he's strong for the underdog. " "Isuppose, " said Thatcher dryly, "that if he'd been an underdog the way Iwas he'd be more tickled at a chance to sit on top. When I wore overallsit wasn't funny. Well, what am I going to do with him?"

"If you really want me to tell you I'd say to let him alone. He's aperfectly clean, straight, high-minded boy. If he were physically strongenough I should recommend him to go to college, late as it is for him, or better, to a school where he would really satisfy what seems to behis sincere ambition to learn to do something with his hands. But he'sall right as he is. You ought to be glad that his aims are so wholesome. There are sons of prosperous men right around here who see everythingred. "

"That boy, " declared Thatcher, pride and love surging in him, "is asclean as wheat!"

"Quite so; no one could know him without loving him. And I don't mindsaying that I find myself in accord with many of his ideas. "

"Sort of damned idealist yourself?"

"I should blush to say it, " laughed Dan; "but I feel my heart warmingwhen Allen gets to soaring sometimes; he expresses himself with greatvividness. He goes after me hard on my _laissez-faire_ notions. "

"I take the count and throw up the sponge!"

"Oh, that's a chestnut that means merely that the underdog had betterstay under if he can't fight his way out. "

"It seems tough when you boil it down to that; I guess maybe Allen'sright--we all ought to divide up. I'm willing, only"--and he grinnedquizzically--"I'm paired with Mort Bassett. "

The light in his cigar had gone out; he swung round and faced the map ofIndiana above Morton Bassett's desk, fumbling in his waistcoat for amatch. When he turned toward Harwood again he blew smoke ringsmeditatively before speaking. 

"If you're one of these rotten idealists, Harwood, what are you doinghere with Bassett? If that ain't a fair question, don't answer it. "

Harwood was taken aback by the directness of the question. Bassett hadalways spoken of Thatcher with respect, and he resented the newdirection given to this conversation in Bassett's own office. Danstraightened himself with dignity, but before he could speak Thatcherlaughed, and fanned the smoke of his cigar away with his hands. 

"Don't get hot. That was not a fair question; I know it. I guess Bassetthas his ideals just like the rest of us. I suppose I've got some, too, though I'd be embarrassed if you asked me to name 'em. I suppose"--andhe narrowed his eyes--"I suppose Mort not only has his ideals but hisambitions. They go together, I reckon. "

"I hope he has both, Mr. Thatcher, but you are assuming that I'm deeperin his confidence than the facts justify. You and he have beenacquainted so long that you ought to know him thoroughly. "

Thatcher did not heed this mild rebuke; nor did he resort topropitiatory speech. His cool way of ignoring Dan's reproach added tothe young man's annoyance; Dan felt that it was in poor taste andungenerous for a man of Thatcher's years and position to come intoBassett's private office to discuss him with a subordinate. He hadalready learned enough of the relations of the two men to realize thatperfect amity was essential between them; he was shocked by theindifference with which Thatcher spoke of Bassett, of whom people didnot usually speak carelessly in this free fashion. Harwood's own senseof loyalty was in arms; yet Thatcher seemed unmindful that anythingdisagreeable had occurred. He threw away his cigar and drew out a freshone which he wobbled about in his mouth unlighted. He kept swinginground in his chair to gaze at the map above Bassett's desk. The tintedoutlines of the map--green, pink, and orange--could not have had for himany novelty; similar maps hung in many offices and Thatcher was moreovera native of the state and long familiar with its configuration. Perhaps, Dan reflected, its juxtaposition to Bassett's desk was what irritatedhis visitor, though it had never occurred to him that this had anysignificance. He recalled now, however, that when he had arranged therooms the map had been hung in the outer office, but that Bassetthimself had removed it to his private room--the only change he had madein Dan's arrangements. It was conceivable that Thatcher saw in theposition of the map an adumbration of Bassett's higher politicalambition, and that this had affected the capitalist unpleasantly. 

Thatcher's manner was that of a man so secure in his own position thathe could afford to trample others under foot if he liked. It was--not toput too fine a point upon it--the manner of a bully. His reputation forindependence was well established; he was rich enough to say what hepleased without regard to the consequences, and he undoubtedly enjoyedhis sense of power. 

"I suppose I'm the only man in Indiana that ain't afraid of MortBassett, " he announced casually. "It's because Mort knows I ain't afraidof him that we get on so well together. You've been with him long enoughby this time to know that we have some interests together. "

Dan, with his fingers interlocked behind his head, nodded carelessly. Hehad grown increasingly resentful of Thatcher's tone and manner, and wasanxious to be rid of him. 

"Mort's a good deal closer-mouthed than I am. Mort likes to hide histracks--better than that, by George, Mort doesn't _make_ any tracks!Well, every man is bound to break a twig now and then as he goes along. By George, I tear down the trees like an elephant so they can't missme!"

As Dan made no reply to this Thatcher recurred in a moment to Allen andHarwood's annoyance passed. It was obvious that the capitalist hadsought this interview to talk of the boy, to make sure that Harwood wassincerely interested in him. Thatcher's manner of speaking of his sonwas kind and affectionate. The introduction of Bassett into thediscussion had been purely incidental, but it was not less interestingbecause of its unpremeditated interjection. There was possibly somejealousy here that would manifest itself later; but that was not Dan'saffair. Bassett was beyond doubt able to take care of himself inemergencies; Dan's admiration for his patron was strongly intrenched inthis belief. The bulkier Thatcher, with the marks of self-indulgenceupon him, and with his bright waistcoat and flashy necktie transcendingthe bounds of good taste, struck him as a weaker character. If Thatchermeditated a break with Bassett, the sturdier qualities, the even, hardstrokes that Bassett had a reputation for delivering, would countheavily against him. 

"I'm glad you get on so well with the boy, " Thatcher was saying. "Idon't mind telling you that his upbringing has been a littleunfortunate--too much damned Europe. He's terribly sore because hedidn't go to college instead of being tutored all over Europe. It'sfunny he's got all these romantic ideas about America; he's sore at mebecause he wasn't born poor and didn't have to chop rails to earn hisway through college and all that. The rest of my family like the moneyall right; they're only sore because I didn't make it raising tulips. But that boy's all right. And see here--" Thatcher seemed for a momentembarrassed by what was in his mind. He fidgeted in his chair and eyedHarwood sharply. "See here, Harwood, if you find after awhile that youdon't get on with Bassett, or you want to change, why, I want you togive me a chance at you. I'd like to put my boy with you, somehow. I'lldie some day and I want to be sure somebody'll look after him. By God, he's all I got!"

He swung round, but his eyes were upon the floor; he drew out ahandkerchief and blew his nose noisily. 

"By George, " he exclaimed, "I promised Allen to take you up to SallyOwen's. You know Mrs. Owen? That's right; Allen said she's been askingabout you. She likes young folks; she'll never be old herself. Allen andI are going there for supper, and he's asked her if he might bring youalong. Aunt Sally's a great woman. And"--he grinned ruefully--"a goodtrader. She has beat me on many a horse trade, that woman; and I alwaysgo back to try it again. You kind o' like having her do you. And I guessI'm the original easy mark when it comes to horse. Get your hat and comealong. Allen's fixed this all up with her. I guess you and she are thebest friends the boy's got. "

CHAPTER XII

BLURRED WINDOWS

With Sylvia's life in college we have little to do, but a few notes wemust make now that she has reached her sophomore year. She had neverknown girls until she went to college and she had been the shyest offreshmen, the least obtrusive of sophomores. 

She had carried her work from the start with remarkable ease and as thedragons of failure were no longer a menace she began to give more heedto the world about her. She was early recognized as an earnest, conscientious student whose work in certain directions was brilliant;and as a sophomore her fellows began to know her and take pride in her. She was relieved to find herself swept naturally into the socialcurrents of the college. She had been afraid of appearing stiff orpriggish, but her self-consciousness quickly vanished in the broad, wholesome democracy of college life. The best scholar in her class, shewas never called a grind and she was far from being a frump. The wisestwoman in the faculty said of Sylvia: "That girl with her head among thestars has her feet planted on solid ground. Her life will count. " Andthe girlhood that Sylvia had partly lost, was recovered and prolonged. It was a fine thing to be an American college girl, Sylvia realized, andthe varied intercourse, the day's hundred and one contacts and smallexcitements, meant more to her than her fellow students knew. When therewas fun in the air Sylvia could be relied upon to take a hand in it. Herallowance was not meagre and she joined zestfully in such excursions aswere possible, to concerts, lectures, and the theatre. She had thatreverence for New England traditions that is found in all youngWesterners. It was one of her jokes that she took two Boston girls ontheir first pilgrimage to Concord, a joke that greatly tickled JohnWare, brooding in his library in Delaware Street. 

A few passages from her letters home are illuminative of these collegeyears. Here are some snap-shots of her fellow students:--

 "I never knew before that there were so many kinds of people in the world--girls, I mean. All parts of the country are represented, and I suppose I shall always judge different cities and states by the girls they send here. There is a California freshman who is quite tall, like the redwood trees, I suppose. And there is a little girl in my class--she seems little--from Omaha who lives on a hilltop out there where she can see the Missouri River--and when her father first settled there, Indians were still about. She is the nicest and gentlest girl I know, and yet she brings before me all those pioneer times and makes me think how fast the country has grown. And there is a Virginia girl in my corridor who has the most wonderful way of talking, and there's history in that, too, --the history of all the great war and the things you fought for; but I was almost sorry to have to let her know that you fought on the other side, but I _did_ tell her. I never realized, just from books and maps, that the United States is so big. The girls bring their local backgrounds with them--the different aims and traits. . . . I have drawn a map of the country and named all the different states and cities for the girls who come from them, but this is just for my own fun, of course. . . . I never imagined one would have preferences and like and dislike people by a kind of instinct, without really knowing them, but I'm afraid I do it, and that all the rest of us do the same. . . . Nothing in the world is as interesting as people--just dear, good folksy people!"

The correspondence her dormitory neighbors carried on with parents andbrothers and sisters and friends impressed her by its abundance; and sheis to be pardoned if she weighed the letters, whose home news was quotedconstantly in her hearing, against her own slight receipts at thecollege post-office. She knew that every Tuesday morning there would bea letter from her grandfather. Her old friend Dr. Wandless sentoccasionally, in his kindly humorous fashion, the news of Buckeye Laneand the college; and Mrs. Owen wrote a hurried line now and then, usually to quote one of John Ware's sayings. The minister asked aboutSylvia, it seemed. These things helped, but they did not supply thesympathy, of which she was conscious in countless ways, between herfellow students and their near of kin. With the approach of holidaytimes, the talk among her companions of the homes that awaited them, or, in the case of many, of other homes where they were to visit, deepenedher newly awakened sense of isolation. Fathers and mothers appearedconstantly to visit their daughters, and questions that had nevertroubled her heart before arose to vex her. Why was it, when these othergirls, flung together from all parts of the country, were so blest withkindred, that she had literally but one kinsman, the grandfather on whomall her love centred?

It should not be thought, however, that she yielded herself morbidly tothese reflections, but such little things as the receipt of gifts, thedaily references to home affairs, the photographs set out in the girls'rooms, were not without their stab. She wrote to Professor Kelton:--

 "I wish you would send me your picture of mother. I often wondered why you didn't give it to me; won't you lend it to me now? I think it is put away in your desk in the library. Almost all the girls have pictures of their families--some of them of their houses and even the horse and dog--in their rooms. And you must have a new picture taken of yourself--I'd like it in your doctor's gown, that they gave you at Williams. It's put away in the cedar chest in the attic--Mary will know where. And if you have a picture of father anywhere I should like to have that too. "

She did not know that when this reached him--one of the series ofletters on which the old gentleman lived these days, with its Wellesleypostmark, and addressed in Sylvia's clear, running hand, he bowed hiswhite head and wept; for he knew what was in the girl's heart--knew anddreaded this roused yearning, and suffered as he realized the aridwastes of his own ignorance. But he sent her the picture of her motherfor which she asked, and had the cottage photographed with Mills Hallshowing faintly beyond the hedge; and he meekly smuggled his doctor'sgown to the city and sat for his photograph. These things Sylvia proudlyspread upon the walls of her room. He wrote to her--a letter that costhim a day's labor:--

 "We don't seem to have any photograph of your father; but things have a way of getting lost, particularly in the hands of an old fellow like me. However, I have had myself taken as you wished, and you can see now what a solemn person your grandfather is in his _toga academica_. I had forgotten I had that silk overcoat and I am not sure now that I didn't put the hood on wrong-side-out! I'm a sailor, you know, and these fancy things stump me. The photographer didn't seem to understand that sort of millinery. Please keep it dark; your teachers might resent the sudden appearance in the halls of Wellesley of a grim old professor _emeritus_ not known to your faculty. "

The following has its significance in Sylvia's history and we must giveit place--this also to her grandfather:--

 "The most interesting lecture I ever heard (except yours!) was given at the college yesterday by Miss Jane Addams, of Hull House, the settlement worker and writer on social reforms. She's such a simple, modest little woman that everybody loved her at once. She made many things clear to me that I had only groped for before. She used an expression that was new to me, 'reciprocal obligations, ' which we all have in this world, though I never quite thought of it before. She's a college woman herself, and feels that all of us who have better advantages than other people should help those who aren't taught to climb. It seems the most practical idea in the world, that we should gather up the loose, rough fringes of society and weave the broken threads into a common warp and woof. The social fabric is no stronger than its weakest thread. . . . To help and to save for the sheer love of helping and saving is the noblest thing any of us can do--I feel that. This must be an old story to you; I'm ashamed that I never saw it all for myself. It's as though I had been looking at the world through a blurred window, from a comfortable warm room, when some one came along and brushed the pane clear, so that I could see the suffering and hardship outside, and feel my own duty to go out and help. "

Professor Kelton, spending a day in the city, showed this to Mrs. Owenwhen she asked for news of Sylvia. Mrs. Owen kept the letter that JohnWare might see it. Ware said: "Deep nature; I knew that night she toldme about the stars that she would understand everything. You will hearof her. Wish she would come here to live. We need women like that. "

Professor Kelton met Sylvia in New York on her way home for the holidaysin her freshman year and they spent their Christmas together in thecottage. She was bidden to several social gatherings in Buckeye Lane;and to a dance in town. She was now Miss Garrison, a student atWellesley, and the good men and women at Madison paid tribute to her newdignity. Something Sylvia was knowing of that sweet daffodil time in theheart of a girl before the hovering swallows dare to fly. 

In the midyear recess of her sophomore year she visited one of her newfriends in Boston in a charming home of cultivated people. The followingEaster vacation her grandfather joined her for a flight to New York andWashington, and this was one of the happiest of experiences. During theremainder of her college life she was often asked to the houses of hergirl friends in and about Boston; her diffidence passed; she found thatshe had ideas and the means of expressing them. The long summers werespent at the cottage in the Lane; she saw Mrs. Owen now and then withdeepening attachment, and her friend never forgot to send her aChristmas gift--once a silver purse and a twenty-dollar gold piece;again, a watch--always something carefully chosen and practical. 

Sylvia arranged to return to college with two St. Louis girls after hersenior Christmas, to save her grandfather the long journey, for he hadstipulated that she should never travel alone. By a happy chance DanHarwood, on his way to Boston to deliver an issue of telephone bonds inone of Bassett's companies, was a passenger on the same train, and hepromptly recalled himself to Sylvia, who proudly presented him as a Yaleman to her companions. A special car filled with young collegians fromCincinnati and the South was later attached to the train, and Dan, finding several Yalensians in the company, including the year's footballhero, made them all acquainted with Sylvia and her friends. It was nottill the next day that Dan found an opportunity for personal talk withSylvia, but he had already been making comparisons. Sylvia was as well"put up" as any of the girls, and he began to note her quick changes ofexpression, the tones of her voice, the grace of her slim, strong hands. He wanted to impress himself upon her; he wanted her to like him. 

"News? I don't know that I can give you any news. You probably know thatMrs. Owen went to Fraserville for Christmas with the Bassetts? Let mesee, you do know the Bassetts, don't you?"

"Yes. I was at Waupegan three summers ago at Mrs. Owen's, and Mrs. Bassett and all of them were very good to me. "

"You probably don't know that I'm employed by Mr. Bassett. He has anoffice in Indianapolis where I'm trying to be a lawyer and I do smalljobs for him. I'm doing an errand for him now. It will be the first timeI've been east of the mountains since I left college, and I'm going tostop at New Haven on my way home to see how they're getting on withoutme. By the way, you probably know that Marian is going to college?"

"No; I didn't know it, " exclaimed Sylvia. "But I knew her mother wasinterested and I gave her a Wellesley catalogue. That was a long timeago!"

"That was when you were visiting Mrs. Owen at Waupegan? I see, said theblind man!"

"What do you see?" asked Sylvia. 

"I see Mrs. Bassett and Marian, niece and grandniece respectively, ofAunt Sally Owen; and as I gaze, a stranger bound for college suddenlyappears on Mrs. Owen's veranda, in cap and gown. Tableau!"

"I don't see the picture, " Sylvia replied, though she laughed in spiteof herself. 

"I not only see, " Dan continued, "but I hear the jingle of red, redgold, off stage. "

This was going a trifle too far. Sylvia shook her head and frowned. 

"That isn't fair, Mr. Harwood, if I guess what you mean. There's noreason why Marian shouldn't go to college. My going has nothing to dowith it. You have misunderstood the whole matter. "

"Pardon me, " said Dan quickly. "I mean no unkindness to any of them. They are all very good to me. It's too bad, though, that Marian'spreparation for college hadn't been in mind until so recently. It wouldsave her a lot of hard digging now. I see a good deal of the family; andI'm even aware of Marian's doings at Miss Waring's school. MasterBlackford beguiles me into taking him to football games, and I often gowith all of them to the theatre when they're in town. Mr. Bassett isvery busy, and he doesn't often indulge himself in pleasures. He's thekind of man whose great joy is in work--and he has many things to lookafter. "

"You are a kind of private secretary to the whole family, then; but youwork at the law at the same time?"

Harwood's face clouded for a moment; she noticed it and was sorry shehad spoken; but he said immediately:--

"Well, I haven't had much time for the law this winter. I have morethings to do outside than I had expected. But I fear I need prodding;I'm too prone to wander into other fields. And I'm getting a good dealinterested in politics. You know Mr. Bassett is one of the leading menin our state. "

"Yes, I had learned that; I suppose he may be Senator or Governor someday. That makes it all the more important that Marian should be fittedfor high station. "

"I don't know that just that idea has struck her!" he laughed, quitecheerful again. "It's too bad it can't be suggested to her. It mighthelp her with her Latin. She tells me in our confidences that she thinksLatin a beast. It's my rôle to pacify her. But a girl must live up toher mother's ambitions, and Mrs. Bassett is ambitious for her children. And then there's always the unencumbered aunt to please into thebargain. Mrs. Owen is shrewd, wise, kind. Since that night I saw youthere we've become pals. She's the most stimulating person I ever knew. She has talked to me about you several times"--Dan laughed and lookedSylvia in the eyes as though wondering how far to go--"and if you're notthe greatest living girl you have shamefully fooled Mrs. Owen. Mr. Ware, the minister, came in one evening when I was there and I never heardsuch praise as they gave you. But I approved of it. "

"Oh, how nice of you!" said Sylvia, in a tone so unlike her that Danlaughed outright. 

"You are the embodiment of loyalty; but believe me, I am a loyal personmyself. Please don't think me a gossip. Marian's mother still hopes toland her in college next year, but she's the least studious of beings; Ican't see her doing it. Mrs. Bassett's never quite well, and that's beenbad for Marian. College would be a good thing for her. I've seen manysoaring young autocrats reduced to a proper humility at New Haven, and Idare say you girls have your own way of humbling a proud spirit. "

"I don't believe Marian needs humbling; one can't help liking her; andshe's ever so good to look at. "

"She's certainly handsome, " Dan admitted. 

"She's altogether charming, " said Sylvia warmly; "and she's young--muchyounger than I am, for example. "

"How old is young, or how young is old? I had an idea that you and shewere about the same age. "

"You flatter me! I'm nearly four years older! but I suppose she seemsmuch more grown-up, and she knows a great many things I don't. "

"I dare say she does!" Dan laughed. And with this they turned to othermatters. 

Dan sat facing her, hat in hand, and as the train rushed through theBerkshires Sylvia formed new impressions of him. She saw him now as ayoung man of affairs, with errands abroad--this in itself ofsignificance; and he had to do with politics, a subject that had begunto interest Sylvia. The cowlick where his hair parted kept a stubbornwisp of brown hair in rebellion, and it shook amusingly when he spokeearnestly or laughed. His gray eyes were far apart and his nose wasindubitably a big one. He laughed a good deal, by which token one sawthat his teeth were white and sound. Something of the Southwestern drawlhad survived his years at New Haven, but when he became earnest his eyessnapped and he spoke with quick, nervous energy, in a deep voice thatwas a little harsh. Sylvia had heard a great deal about the brothers andyoung men friends of her companions at college and was now moreattentive to the outward form of man than she had thought of beingbefore. 

When they reached Boston, Harwood took Sylvia and her companions toluncheon at the Touraine and put them on their train for Wellesley. Histhoughtfulness and efficiency could not fail to impress the young women. He was an admirable cavalier, and Sylvia's companions were delightedwith him. He threatened them with an early visit to college, suggestingthe most daring possibilities as to his appearance. He repeated, atSylvia's instigation, the incident of the hearse horses at Poughkeepsie, with new flourishes, and cheerfully proposed a cousinship to all ofthem. 

"Or, perhaps, " he said, when he had found seats for them and had beenadmonished to leave, "perhaps it would be more in keeping with my greatage to become your uncle. Then you would be cousins to each other and weshould all be related. "

Speculations as to whether he would ever come kept the young womenlaughing as they discussed him. They declared that the meeting on thetrain had been by ulterior design and they quite exhausted the fun of itupon Sylvia, who gained greatly in importance through the encounter withHarwood. She was not the demure young person they had thought her; itwas not every girl who could produce a personable young man on a railwayjourney. 

Sylvia wondered much about Marian and dramatized to herself the girl'sarrival at college. It did not seem credible that Mrs. Bassett waspreparing Marian for college because she, Sylvia Garrison, was enrolledthere. Sylvia was kindly disposed toward all the world, and she resentedHarwood's insinuations. As for Mrs. Owen and Dan's intimations thatMarian must be educated to satisfy the great aunt's ideals asrepresented in Sylvia--well, Sylvia had no patience whatever with anysuch idea. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE WAYS OF MARIAN

The historian may not always wait for the last grain of sand to mark thepassing of an hour; he must hasten the flight of time frequently byabrupt reversals of the glass. Much competent evidence (to borrow fromthe lawyers) we must reject as irrelevant or immaterial to our mainissue. Harwood was admitted to practice in the United States courtsmidway of his third year in Bassett's office. The doors of the statecourts swing inward to any Hoosier citizen of good moral character whowants to practice law, --a drollery of the Hoosier constitution stilltolerated. The humor of being a mere "constitutional" lawyer did notappeal to Harwood, who revered the traditions and the great names of hischosen profession, and he had first written his name on the rolls of theUnited States District Court. 

His work for Bassett grew more and more congenial. The man from Fraserwas concentrating his attention on business; at least he found plenty ofnon-political work for Dan to do. After the troubled waters in RangerCounty had been quieted and Bassett's advanced outpost in the BoordmanBuilding had ceased to attract newspaper reporters, an importantreceivership to which Bassett had been appointed gave Harwoodemployment of a semi-legal character. Bassett had been a minorstockholder in a paper-mill which had got into difficulties throughsheer bad management, and as receiver he addressed himself to the taskof proving that the business could be made to pay. The work he assignedto Harwood was to the young man's liking, requiring as it didconsiderable travel, visits to the plant, which was only a few hours'journey from the capital, and negotiations which required the exerciseof tact and judgment. However, Harwood found himself ineluctably drawninto the state campaign that fall. Bassett was deeply engaged in all themanoeuvres, and Harwood was dispatched frequently on errands to countychairmen, and his aid was welcomed by the literary bureau of the statecommittee. He prepared a speech whose quality he tested at smallmeetings in his own county, and his efforts having been favorablyreceived he acted as a supply to fill appointments where the regularschedule failed. Toward the end of the campaign his assignmentsincreased until all his time was taken. By studying his audiences hecaught the trick of holding the attention of large crowds; his oldcollege sobriquet of "Foghorn" Harwood had been revived and thenewspapers mentioned his engagements with a casualness that impliedfame. He enjoyed his public appearances, and the laughter and applausewere sweet to him. 

After the election Bassett admonished him not to neglect the law. 

"I want you to make your way in the profession, " he said, "and not letmy affairs eat up all your time. Give me your mornings as far aspossible and keep your afternoons for study. If at any time you have togive me a whole day, take the next day for yourself. But this workyou're doing will all help you later. Lawyers these days have got to bebusiness men; you understand that; and you want to get to the top. "

Dan visited his parents and brothers as often as possible on theinfertile Harrison County acres, to which the mortgage still clungtenaciously. He had felt since leaving college that he owed it to thebrothers who had remained behind to wipe out the old harassing debt assoon as possible. The thought of their struggles often made him unhappy, and he felt that he could only justify his own desertion by freeing thefarm. After one of these visits Bassett drew from him the fact that themortgage was about to mature, and that another of a long series ofrenewals of the loan was necessary. Bassett was at once interested andsympathetic. The amount of the debt was three thousand dollars, and heproposed that Dan discharge it. 

"I've never said so, but at the conclusion of the receivership I'veintended paying you for your additional work. If everything goes well myown allowance ought to be ten thousand dollars, and you're entitled to ashare of it. I'll say now that it will be not less than two thousanddollars. I'll advance you that amount at once and carry your personalnote for the other thousand in the Fraserville bank. It's too bad youhave to use your first money that way, but it's natural for you to wantto do it. I see that you feel a duty there, and the folks at home havehad that mortgage on their backs so long that it's taken all the spiritout of them. You pay the mortgage when it's due and go down and make alittle celebration of it, to cheer them up. I'll carry that thousand aslong as you like. "

Miss Rose Farrell, nigh to perishing of ennui in the lonely office ofthe absentee steel construction agents, had been installed asstenographer in Room 66 a year earlier. Miss Farrell had, it appeared, served Bassett several terms as stenographer to one of the legislativecommittees of which he was chairman. 

"You needn't be afraid of my telling anything, " she said in reply toDan's cautioning. "Those winters I worked at the State House I learnedenough to fill three penitentiaries with great and good men, but youcouldn't dig it out of me with a steam shovel. They were going to haveme up before an investigating committee once, but I had burned myshorthand notes and couldn't remember a thing. Your little Irish Roseknows a few things, Mr. Harwood. I was on to your office before the'Advertiser' sprung that story and gave it away that Mr. Bassett had aroom here. I spotted the senator from Fraser coming up our pedestrianelevator, and I know all those rubes that have been dropping up to seehim--struck 'em all in the legislature. He won't tear your collar if youput me on the job. And if I do say it myself I'm about as speedy on themachine as you find 'em. All your little Rose asks is the right to anoccasional Wednesday matinée when business droops like a sick oleander. You needn't worry about me having callers. I'm a business woman, I am, and I guess I know what's proper in a business office. If I don'tunderstand men, Mr. Harwood, no poor working girl does. "

Bassett was pleased with Dan's choice of a stenographer. He turned overto Rose the reading of the rural newspapers and sundry other routinematters. There was no doubt of Miss Farrell's broad knowledge of theworld, or of her fidelity to duty. Harwood took early opportunity tosubdue somewhat the pungency of the essences with which she perfumedherself, and she gave up gum-chewing meekly at his behest. She assumedat once toward him that maternal attitude which is peculiar to officegirls endowed with psychological insight. He sought to improve thecharacter of fiction she kept at hand for leisure moments, and wassurprised by the aptness of her comments on the books she borrowed onhis advice from the Public Library. She was twenty-four, tall and trim, with friendly blue-gray eyes and a wit that had been sharpened byadversity. 

It cannot be denied that Mrs. Bassett and Marian found Harwood aconvenient reed upon which to lean. Nor was Blackford above dragging hisfather's secretary (as the family called him) forth into the bazaars ofWashington Street to assist in the purchase of a baseball suit or insatisfying other cravings of his youthful heart. Mrs. Bassett, scorningthe doctors of Fraserville, had now found a nerve specialist at thecapital who understood her troubles perfectly. 

Marian, at Miss Waring's school, was supposed to be preparing forcollege, though Miss Waring had no illusions on the subject. Marian madeMrs. Owen her excuse for many absences from school: what was the use ofhaving a wealthy great-aunt living all alone in a comfortable house inDelaware Street if one didn't avail one's self of the rights andprivileges conferred by such relationship? When a note from Miss Waringto Mrs. Bassett at Fraserville conveyed the disquieting news of herdaughter's unsatisfactory progress, Mrs. Bassett went to town and dealtseverely with Marian. Mrs. Owen was grimly silent when appealed to; ithad never been her idea that Marian should be prepared for college; butnow that the girl's mother had pledged herself to the undertaking Mrs. Owen remained a passive spectator of the struggle. Mrs. Owen was not sodull but that she surmised what had inspired this zeal for a collegiatetraining for Marian; and her heart warmed toward the dark young personat Wellesley, such being the contrariety of her kindly soul. To MissWaring, a particular friend of hers and one of her admirations, Mrs. Owen said:--

"I want you to do the best you can for Marian, now that her mother'sbitten with this idea of sending her to college. She's smart enough, Iguess?"

"Too much smartness is Marian's trouble, " replied Miss Waring. "There'snothing in the gymnasium she can't do; she's become the best Frenchscholar we ever had, but that's about all. She's worked hard at Frenchbecause she thinks it gives her a grand air. I can't imagine any otherreason. She's adorable and--impossible!"

"Do the best you can for her; I want her to go to college if she can. "

Miss Waring had the reputation of being strict, yet Marian slipped thecords of routine and discipline with ease. She had passed triumphantlyfrom the kitchen "fudge" and homemade butterscotch period of a girl'sexistence into the realm of _marrons glacés_. Nothing bored her so muchas the afternoon airings of the school under the eye of a teacher; andthese she turned into larks when she shared in them. Twice in one wintershe had hopped upon a passing street car and rolled away in triumph fromher meek and horrified companions and their outraged duenna. Sheencouraged by means the subtlest, the attentions of a strange younggentleman who followed the school's peregrinations afar off. She carriedon a brief correspondence with this cavalier, a fence corner inPennsylvania Street serving as post-office. 

Luck favored her astonishingly in her efforts to escape the rigors ofschool discipline. Just when she was forbidden to leave Miss Waring's tospend nights and Sundays at Mrs. Owen's, her mother came to town andopportunely (for Marian) fell ill, at the Whitcomb. Mrs. Bassett wascruising languidly toward the sombre coasts of Neurasthenia, and thoughshe was under the supervision of a trained nurse, Marian made hermother's illness an excuse for moving down to the hotel to take care ofher. Her father, in and out of the city caring for his multiplyinginterests, objected mildly but acquiesced, which was simpler and morecomfortable than opposing her. 

Having escaped from school and established herself at the Whitcomb, Marian summoned Harwood to the hotel on the flimsiest pretexts, many ofthem most ingeniously plausible. For example, she avowed her intentionof carrying on her studies at the hotel during her enforced retirementfrom Miss Waring's, and her father's secretary, being a college man, could assist her with her Latin as well as not. Dan set tasks for herfor a week, until she wearied of the pretense. She insisted that it wastoo stupid for her to go unattended to the hotel restaurant for hermeals, and it was no fun eating in her mother's room with that lady inbed and the trained nurse at hand; so Harwood must join her for luncheonand dinner at the Whitcomb. Mrs. Owen was out of town, Bassett was mostuncertain in his goings and comings, and Mrs. Bassett was beyondHarwood's reach, so he obeyed, not without chafing of spirit, thesecommands of Marian. He was conscious that people pointed her out in therestaurant as Morton Bassett's daughter, and he did not like theresponsibility of this unauthorized chaperonage. 

Mrs. Bassett was going to a sanatorium as soon as she was able to move;but for three weeks Marian was on Harwood's hands. Her bland airs ofproprietorship amused him when they did not annoy him, and when heventured to remonstrate with her for her unnecessary abandonment ofschool to take care of her mother, her pretty _moue_ had mitigated hisimpatience. She knew the value of her prettiness. Dan was a young manand Marian was not without romantic longings. Just what passed betweenher and her mother Harwood could not know, but the hand that ruledindulgently in health had certainly not gained strength in sickness. 

This was in January when the theatres were offering an unusual varietyof attractions. Dan had been obliged to refuse--more harshly than wasagreeable--to take Marian to see a French farce that had been widelyadvertised by its indecency. Her cool announcement that she had read itin French did not seem to Harwood to make an educational matter of it;but he was obliged finally to compromise with her on another play. Hermother was quite comfortable, she averred; there was no reason why sheshould not go to the theatre, and she forced the issue by getting thetickets herself. 

That evening when they reached their seats Dan observed that AllenThatcher sat immediately in front of them. He turned and nodded to Dan, and his eyes took in Marian. In a moment she murmured an inquiry as towho the young man was; and Harwood was aware thereafter that Mariandivided her attention between Allen and the stage. Allen turned once ortwice in the entr'actes with some comment on the play, and Marian waspleased with his profile; moreover he bore a name with which she hadlong been familiar. As the curtain fell she whispered to Harwood:--

"You must introduce me to Mr. Thatcher, --please--! His father and papaare friends, and I've heard so much about the family that I just haveto know him. "

Harwood looked down at her gravely to be sure it was not one of herjokes, but she was entirely serious. He felt that he must take a standwith her; if her father and mother were unaware of her venturesomenature he still had his responsibility, and it was not incumbent on himto widen her acquaintance. 

"No!" he said flatly. 

But Marian knew a trick or two. She loitered by her seat adjusting herwrap with unnecessary deliberation. Allen, wishing to arrange anappointment with Dan for luncheon the next day, waited for him to comeinto the aisle. Dan had not the slightest idea of introducing his chargeto Allen or to any one else, and he stepped in front of her to get ridof his friend with the fewest words possible. But Marian so disposedherself at his elbow that he could not without awkwardness refuse her. 

She murmured Allen's name cordially, leveling her eyes at him smilingly. 

"I've often heard Mr. Harwood speak of you, Mr. Thatcher! He has a greatway of speaking of his friends!"

Allen was not a forthputting person, and Dan's manner was notencouraging; but the trio remained together necessarily through theaisle to the foyer. 

Marian took advantage of their slow exit to discuss the play and withentire sophistication, expressing astonishment that Allen was lukewarmin his praise of it. He could not agree with her that the leading womanwas beautiful, but she laughed when he remarked, with his drollintonation, that the star reminded him of a dressed-up mannikin in aclothing-store window. 

"That is just the kind of thing I imagined you would say. My aunt, Mrs. Owen, says that you always say something different. "

"Oh, Aunt Sally! She's the grandest of women. I wish she were my aunt. Ihave aunts I could trade for her. "

At the door Allen paused. Marian, running on blithely, gave him noopportunity to make his adieux. 

"Oh, aren't you going our way?" she demanded, in a tone of invitation. 

"Yes; come along; it's only a step to the hotel where Miss Bassett isstaying, " said Harwood, finding that they blocked the entrance and notseeing his way to abandoning Allen on the spot. He never escaped theappeal that lay in Allen; he was not the sort of fellow one would wound;and there could be no great harm in allowing him to walk a few blockswith Marian Bassett, who had so managed the situation as to make hiselimination difficult. It was a cold, clear night and they walkedbriskly to the Whitcomb. When they reached the hotel, Dan, who had leftthe conversation to Marian and Allen, breathed a sigh that hisresponsibility was at an end. He and Allen would have a walk and talktogether, or they might go up to the Boordman Building for the longlounging parleys in which Allen delighted and which Dan himself enjoyed. But Dan had not fully gauged the measure of Marian's daring. 

"Won't you please wait a minute, Mr. Harwood, until I see if poor mamaneeds anything. You know we all rely on you so. I'll be back in just amoment. "

"So that's Morton Bassett's daughter, " observed Allen when Marian hadfluttered into the elevator. "You must have a lot of fun taking herabout; she's much more grown-up than I had imagined from what you'vesaid. She's almost a dangerous young person. "

The young men found seats and Allen nursed his hat musingly. He hadnothing whatever to do, and the chance meeting with Harwood was a brightincident in a bleak, eventless day. 

"Oh, she's a nice child, " replied Harwood indifferently. "But she findschildhood irksome. It gives her ladyship a feeling of importance to holdme here while she asks after the comfort of her mother. I suppose a girlis a woman when she has learned that she can tell a man to wait. "

"You should write a book of aphorisms and call it 'The Young Lady's OwnHandbook. ' Perhaps I ought to be skipping. "

"For Heaven's sake, don't! I want you as an excuse for getting away. "

"I think I'd better go, " suggested Allen. "I can wait for you in theoffice. "

"Then I should pay the penalty for allowing you to escape; she can bevery severe; she is a much harder taskmaster than her father. Don'tdesert me. "

Allen took this at face value; and it seemed only ordinary courtesy towait to say good-night to a young woman who was coming back in a momentto report upon the condition of a sick mother. In ten minutes Marianreappeared, having left her wraps behind. 

"Mama is sleeping beautifully. And that's a sign that she's better. "

Here clearly was an end of the matter, and Dan had begun to saygood-night; but with the prettiest grace possible Marian was addressingAllen:--

"I'm terribly hungry and I sent down an order for just the smallestsupper. You see, I took it for granted that you would both be just ashungry as I am, so you must come and keep me company. " And to anticipatethe refusal that already glittered coldly in Dan's eye, she continued, "Mama doesn't like me to be going into the restaurant alone, but sheapproves of Mr. Harwood. "

The head waiter was already leading them to a table set for three inaccordance with the order Manan had telephoned from her room. She hadeliminated the possibility of discussion, and Harwood raged in hishelplessness. There was no time for a scene even if he had thought itwise to precipitate one. 

"It's only a lobster, you know, " she said, with the careless ease of ayoung woman quite habituated to midnight suppers. 

Harwood's frown of annoyance had not escaped her; but it only served toadd to her complete joy in the situation. There were other people about, and music proceeded from a screen of palms at the end of thedining-room. Having had her way, Marian nibbled celery and addressedherself rather pointedly to Allen, unmindful of the lingering traces ofHarwood's discomfiture. By the time the lobster was served she was oncapital terms with Allen. 

In his own delight in Marian, Allen failed utterly to comprehendHarwood's gloomy silence. Dan scarcely touched his plate, and he knewthat Marian was covertly laughing at him. 

"Do you know, " said Allen, speaking directly to Dan, "we're having greatarguments at Lüders's; we turn the universe over every day. "

"You see, Miss Bassett, " Allen explained to Marian; "I'm a faircarpenter and work almost every day at Louis Lüders's shop. I earn adollar a day and eat dinner--dinner, mind you!--at twelve o'clock, outof a tin pail. You can see that I'm a laboring man--one of the toilingmillions. "

"You don't mean that seriously, Mr. Thatcher; not really!"

"Oh, why will you say that? Every one says just that! No one everbelieves that I mean what I say!"

This was part of some joke, Marian surmised, though she did not quitegrasp it. It was inconceivable that the son of the house of Thatchershould seriously seek a chance to do manual labor. Allen in his dinnerjacket did not look like a laborer: he was far more her idea of a poetor a musician. 

"I went to Lüders's house the other evening for supper, " Allen wassaying. "I rather put it up to him to ask me, and he has a house with agarden, and his wife was most amusing. We all talked German, includingthe kids, --three of them, fascinating little fellows. He's acabinetmaker, Miss Bassett, --a producer of antiques, and a good one;and about the gentlest human being you ever saw. He talks about existinglaw as though it were some kind of devil, --a monster, devouring theworld's poor. But he won't let his wife spank the children, --wouldn't, even when one of them kicked a hole in my hat! I supposed that of coursethere would be dynamite lying round in tomato cans; and when I shook thepepper box I expected an explosion; but I didn't see a gun on the place. He's beautifully good-natured, and laughed in the greatest way when Iasked him how soon he thought of blowing up some of our prominentcitizens. I really believe he likes me--strange but true. "

"Better not get in too deep with those fellows, " warned Dan. "The policewatch Lüders carefully; he's considered dangerous. It's the quiet ones, who are kind to their families and raise cabbages, that are the mostviolent. "

"Oh, Lüders says we've got to smash everything! He rather favorssocialism himself, but he wants to tear down the court-houses first andbegin again. "

"You'd better be careful or you'll land in jail, Mr. Thatcher, " remarkedMarian, taking an olive. 

"Oh, if anything as interesting as that should happen to me, I shouldcertainly die of joy!"

"But your family wouldn't like it if you went to jail, " persistedMarian, delighting in the confidences of a young gentleman for whomjails had no terrors. 

"The thought of my family is disturbing, it's positively disturbing, "Allen replied. "Lüders has given me a chance in his shop, and reallyexpects me to work. Surprising in an anarchist; you'd rather expect himto press a stick of dynamite in your hand and tell you to go out andblow up a bank. Lüders has a sense of humor, you know: hence theantiques, made to coax money from the purses of the fat rich. There aremore ways than one of being a cut-purse. "

The lobster had been consumed, and they were almost alone in therestaurant. Marian, with her elbows on the table, was in no haste toleave, but Dan caught the eye of the hovering waiter and paid the check. 

"You shouldn't have done that, " Marian protested; "it was my party. Isign my own checks here. "

But having now asserted himself, Dan rose, and in a moment he and Allenhad bidden her good-night at the elevator door. 

"You didn't seem crazy about your lobster, and you were hardly more thanpolite to our hostess. Sorry to have butted in. But why have you keptthese tender recreations from me!"

"Oh, that child vexes my spirit sometimes. She's bent on making peopledo things they don't want to do. Of course the lobster was a mere excusefor getting acquainted with you; but you needn't be too set up about it:I think her curiosity about your family is responsible, --these fakenewspaper stories about your sister--which is it, Hermione orGwendolen--who is always about to marry a count. Countesses haven't beencommon in Indiana. We need a few to add tone to the local gossip. "

"Oh, " murmured Allen dejectedly: "I'm sorry if you didn't want me in theparty. It's always the way with me. Nobody ever really loves me formyself alone. What does the adorable do besides midnight lobsters? Ithought Aunt Sally said she was at Miss Waring's school. "

"She is, more or less, " growled Dan. "Her mother wants to put herthrough college, to please the wealthy great-aunt. Mrs. Owen has showninterest in another girl who is now at Wellesley; hence Marian must goto college, and the bare thought of it bores her to death. She's aslittle adapted to a course in college as one of those bright goddesseswho used to adorn Olympus. "

"She doesn't strike me as needing education; she's a finished product. Ifelt very young in the divine presence. "

"She gives one that feeling, " laughed Dan, his mood of impatiencedissolving. 

"Who's this rival who has made the higher education seem necessary forMorton Bassett's daughter?"

"She's an amazing girl; quite astonishing. If Mrs. Bassett were a wisewoman she wouldn't enter Marian in competition. And besides, I think herfears are utterly groundless. Marian is delightful, with her waywardnessand high-handedness; and Mrs. Owen likes originals, not feebleimitations. I should hate to try to deceive Mrs. Sally Owen--she's aboutthe wisest person I ever saw. "

"Oh, Sylvia! Mrs. Owen has mentioned her. The girl that knows all thestars and that sort of thing. But where's Morton Bassett in all this?He's rather more than a shadow on the screen?"

"Same old story of the absorbed American father and the mother withnerves"

 * * * * *

Two afternoons later, as Harwood was crossing University Park on his wayto his boarding-house, he stopped short and stared. A little ahead ofhim in the walk strolled a girl and a young man, laughing and talkingwith the greatest animation. There was no questioning their identity. Itwas five o'clock and quite dark, and the air was sharp. Harwood pausedand waited for the two loiterers to cross the lighted space about thelittle park's central fountain. It seemed incredible that Marian andAllen should be abroad together in this dallying fashion. His anger roseagainst Allen, but he curbed an impulse to send him promptly about hisbusiness and take Marian back to the Whitcomb. Mr. Bassett was expectedin town that evening and Dan saw his duty clearly in regard to Marian;she must be returned to school willy-nilly. 

The young people were hitting it off wonderfully, and Marian's laughterrang out clearly upon the winter air. Her tall, supple figure, her headcapped with a fur toque, and more than all, the indubitable evidencethat such a clandestine stroll as this gave her the keenest delight, drove home to Harwood the realization that Marian was no longer a child, but a young woman, obstinately bent upon her own way. Allen was anill-disciplined, emotional boy, whose susceptibilities in the matter ofgirls Dan had already noted. The combination had its dangers and hisanger rose as he followed them at a safe distance. They prolonged theirwalk for half an hour, coming at last to the Whitcomb. 

Harwood waylaid Allen in the hotel office a moment after Marian had goneto her room. The young fellow's cheeks were unwontedly bright from thecold or from the excitement of his encounter. 

"Halloa! I was going to look you up and ask you to have dinner with me. "

"You were looking for me in a likely place, " replied Harwood coldly. "See here, Allen, I've been laboring under the delusion that you were agentleman. "

"Oh! Have we come to that?"

"You know better than to go loafing through town with a truantschool-girl you hardly know. I suppose it's my fault for introducing youto her. I want you to tell me how you managed this. Did you telephoneher or write a note? Sit down here now and let's have it out. "

They drew away from the crowd and found seats in a quiet corner of thelobby. 

Harwood, his anger unabated, repeated his question. 

"Out with it; just how did you manage it?"

Allen was twisting his gloves nervously; he had not been conscious oftransgressing any law, but he would not for worlds have invitedHarwood's displeasure. He was near to tears; but he remained stubbornlysilent until Harwood again demanded to know how he contrived the meetingwith Marian. 

"I'm sorry, old man, " Allen answered, "but I can't tell you anythingabout it. I don't see that my crime is so heinous. She has been coopedup in the hotel all day with her sick mother, and a short walk--it wasonly a few blocks--couldn't have done her any harm. I think you'remaking too much of it. "

"You were dallying there in the park, in a way to attract attention, with a headstrong, silly girl that you ought to have protected from thatsort of thing. You know better than that. "

Allen, enfolded in his long ulster, shuffled his feet on the tiling likea school-boy in disgrace. Deep down in his heart, Harwood did notbelieve that Allen had proposed the walk to Marian; it was far likelierthat Marian had sought the meeting by note or telephone. He turned uponAllen with a slight relaxation of his sternness. 

"You didn't write her a note or telephone her, --you didn't do either, did you?"

Allen, silent and dejected, dropped his gloves and picked them up, thecolor deepening in his cheeks. 

"I just happened to meet her; that's all, " he said, avoiding Dan's eyes. 

"She wrote you a note or telephoned you?"

Silence. 

"Humph, " grunted Harwood. 

"She's wonderfully beautiful and strong and so tremendously vivid! Ithink those nice girls you read of in the Greek mythology must have beenlike that, " murmured Allen, sighing heavily. 

"I dare say they were!" snapped Harwood, searching the youngster'sthin, sensitive face, and meeting for an instant his dreamy eyes. He wastouched anew by the pathos in the boy, whose nature was a light web offinespun golden cords thrilling to any breath of fancy. The superbhealth, the dash and daring of a school-girl that he had seen but onceor twice, had sent him climbing upon a frail ladder of romantic dreams. 

Harwood struck his hands together sharply. If he owed a duty to Marianand her family, not less he was bound to turn Allen's thoughts into safechannels. 

"Of course it wouldn't do--that sort of thing, you know, Allen. I didn'tmean to beat you into the dust. Let's go over to Pop June's and get someoysters. I don't feel up to our usual boarding-house discussion ofChristian Science to-night. "

At the first opportunity Dan suggested to Bassett, without mentioningMarian's adventure with Allen, that the Whitcomb was no place for her, and that her pursuit of knowledge under his own tutorship was the merestfarce; whereupon Bassett sent her back immediately to Miss Waring's. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE PASSING OF ANDREW KELTON

Andrew Kelton died suddenly, near the end of May, in Sylvia's senioryear at college. The end came unexpectedly, of heart trouble. Harwoodread of it in the morning newspaper, and soon after he reached hisoffice Mrs. Owen called him on the telephone to say that she was goingto Montgomery at once, and asking him to meet Sylvia as she passedthrough Indianapolis on her way home. Both of the morning papers printedlaudatory articles on Kelton; he had been held in high esteem by all thefriends of Madison College, and his name was known to educatorsthroughout the country. 

On the same afternoon Bassett appeared in town on the heels of a lettersaying that Dan need not expect him until the following week. 

"Thought I'd better see Fitch about some receiver business, so I camedown a little ahead of time. What's new?"

"Nothing very exciting. There's a good deal of political buzz, but Idon't believe anything has happened that you don't know. From the waycandidates are turning up for state office our fellows must think theyhave a chance of winning. "

Bassett was unfailingly punctilious in forecasting his appearances intown, and his explanation that legal matters had brought him down wasnot wholly illuminative. Dan knew that the paper-mill receivership wasfollowing its prescribed course, and he was himself, through anarrangement made by Bassett, in touch with Fitch and understood thelegal status of the case perfectly. As Bassett passed through thelibrary to his own room he paused to indulge in a moment's banter withMiss Farrell. It was not until he had opened his desk that he replied toHarwood's remark. 

"A few good men on our ticket might pull through next time, but it willtake us a little longer to get the party whipped into shape again andstrong enough to pull a ticket through. But hope springs eternal. Youhave noticed that I don't talk on national affairs when the reporterscome to me. In the state committee I tell them to put all the snap theycan into the county organizations, and try to get good men on localtickets. When the boys out West get tired of being licked we will startin again and do business at the old stand. I've always taken care thatthey shouldn't have a chance to attack my regularity. "

"I've just been reading a book of Cleveland's speeches, " remarked Dan. 

"Solemn, but sound. He will undoubtedly go down as one of the greatPresidents. I think Republicans and men of all sorts of political ideaswill come to that. "

"But I don't feel that all this radicalism is a passing phase. It'seating deeply into the Republicans too. We're on the eve of a revival ofpatriotism, and party names don't mean what they did. But I believe theDemocratic Party is still the best hope of the people, even when thepeople go clean off their heads. "

"You believe in Democracy, but you doubt sometimes whether theDemocratic Party is really the custodian of the true faith ofDemocracy--is that it?"

"That's exactly it. And my young Republican friends feel the same wayabout their party. "

"Well, I guess I stand about where you do. I believe in parties. I don'tthink there's much gained by jumping around from one party to another;and independent movements are as likely to do harm as good. I don't mindconfessing to you that I had a good notion to join the Democratic schismin '96, and support Palmer and Buckner. But I didn't, and I'm not sorryI kept regular and held on. I believed the silver business would passover; and it's out of sight. They charged me with voting the Republicanticket in '96; but that's a lie. I've never scratched a ticket since Ifirst voted, and"--Bassett smiled his grim smile--"I've naturally votedfor a good many rascals. By the way, how much are you seeing of Atwill?"

"I make a point of seeing him once a week or oftener. When I'm downtownat night I usually catch him for a late supper. "

"The 'Courier' is regular, all right enough. It's a good property, andwhen our party gets through chasing meadow-larks and gets down tobusiness again it will be more valuable. Was that your editorialyesterday on municipal government? Good. I'm for trying some of thesenew ideas. I've been reading a lot of stuff on municipal governmentabroad, and some of those foreign ideas we ought to try here. I want the'Courier' to take the lead in those things; it may help"--and Bassettsmiled--"it may help to make the high brows see that ours has reallybeen the party of progress through these years when it's marchedbackward. "

Bassett swung round slowly until his gaze fell upon the map, remindingthe young man of Thatcher's interest in that varicolored oblong ofpaper. Dan had never mentioned Thatcher's visit to the office, feelingthat if the capitalist were really the bold man he appeared to be, hewould show his hand to Bassett soon enough. Moreover, Harwood'sconfidence in Bassett's powers had never wavered; in the management ofthe paper-mill receivership the senator from Fraser had demonstrated asagacity and resourcefulness that had impressed Dan anew. Bassettpossessed, in unusual degree, the astuteness and executive force of thesuccessful American business man, and his nice feeling for the thingsthat interest cultivated people lifted him far above the common type ofpolitical boss. Dan had yet to see a demonstration of Bassett'spolitical venality; the bank and his other interests at Fraserville wereprofitable. It must be a craving for power, not money, Dan reasoned, that led Bassett into politics. Bassett turned to his desk with someletters he had taken from his pocket. It occurred to Dan that as Mrs. Owen had suggested that he accompany Sylvia to Montgomery, it would bewell to mention the possibility of his leaving town for a day. 

"Mrs. Owen telephoned me this morning of Professor Kelton's death. Youprobably read of it in to-day's papers. Mrs. Owen is an old friend ofhis, and went to Montgomery on the noon train. She asked me to meet theProfessor's granddaughter, Miss Garrison, when she comes through here inthe morning on her way home. I know her slightly, and I think I'd bettergo over to Montgomery with her, if you don't mind. "

"Yes, certainly; I was sorry to read of Kelton's death. Mrs. Owen willfeel it deeply. It's a blow to these old people when one of them dropsout of the ranks. I'm glad the 'Courier' printed that capital sketch ofhim; much better than the 'Advertiser's. ' While I think of it, I wishyou would tell Atwill that I like the idea of saying a word editoriallyfor these old citizens as they leave us. It gives the paper tone, and Ilike to show appreciation of fine characters like Kelton. "

Bassett had turned round with a letter in his hand. He unfolded itslowly and went on, scanning it as he talked. 

"I'm sorry I never knew Kelton. They say he was a very ablemathematician and astronomer. It's rather remarkable that we should havekept him in Indiana. I suppose you may have seen him at Mrs. Owen's;they had a common tie in their Kentucky connections. I guess there's notie quite like the Kentucky tie, unless it's the Virginian. "

He seemed absorbed in the letter--one of a number he had taken from hisbag; then he glanced up as though waiting for Dan's reply. 

"No, I never saw him at Mrs. Owen's; but I did meet him once, inMontgomery. He was a fine old gentleman. You would hardly imagine himever to have been a naval officer; he was quite the elderly, spectacledprofessor in his bearing and manner. "

"I suppose even a man bred to the sea loses the look of a sailor if helives inland long enough, " Bassett observed. 

"I think my brief interview with him rather indicated that he had been aman of action--the old discipline of the ship may have been in that, "remarked Harwood. Then, fearing that he might be laying himself open toquestions that he should have to avoid answering, he said: "Kelton wrotea good deal on astronomical subjects, and his textbooks have beenpopular. Sylvia Garrison, the granddaughter, is something of a wonderherself. "

"Bright girl, is she?"

"Quite so; and very nice to look at. I met her on the train when I wentto Boston with those bonds in January. She was going back to collegeafter the holidays. She's very interesting--quite different. "

"Different?" repeated Bassett vaguely, dropping back in his chair, butagain referring absently to the letter. 

"Yes, " Dan smiled. "She has a lot of individuality. She's a seriousyoung person; very practical-minded, I should say. They tell me shewalks through mathematics like a young duchess through the minuet. Someother Wellesley girls were on the train and they did not scruple toattribute miraculous powers to her; a good sign, other girls liking herso much. They were very frank in their admiration. "

"Mrs. Owen had her at Waupegan several years ago, and my wife and Marianmet her there. Mrs. Bassett was greatly impressed by her fine mind. Itseems to me I saw her, too, that summer; but of course she's grown upsince then. "

He glanced at Harwood as though for confirmation of these details, butDan's thoughts were elsewhere. He was thinking of Sylvia speedinghomeward, and of the little cottage beside the campus. His subsequentmeetings with Sylvia had caused a requickening of all the impressions ofhis visit to Professor Kelton, and he had been recalling that errandagain to-day. The old gentleman had given his answer with decision;Harwood recalled the crisp biting-off of the negative, and the Professorhad lifted his head slightly as he spoke the word. Dan remembered thepeace of the cottage, the sweet scents of June blowing through the openwindows; and he remembered Sylvia as she had opened the door, and theircolloquy later, on the campus. 

"You'd better go to Montgomery with Miss Garrison and report to Mrs. Owen for any service you may render her. Does the old gentleman's deathleave the girl alone?"

"Quite so, I think. She had lived with him nearly all her life. Thepapers mentioned no other near relatives. "

"I'll be in town a day or two. You do what you can over there for Mrs. Owen. "

That evening, returning to the office to clear off his desk inpreparation for his absence the next day, Dan found Bassett there. Thiswas unusual; Bassett rarely visited the office at night. He hadevidently been deeply occupied with his thoughts, for when Dan enteredhe was sitting before his closed desk with his hat on. He nodded, and afew moments later passed through the library on his way out. 

"Suppose I won't see you to-morrow. Well, I'm going to be in town a fewdays. Take your time. "

 * * * * *

Dan Harwood never doubted that he loved Sally Owen after that dark dayof Sylvia's home-coming. From the time Sylvia stepped from the traintill the moment when, late that same afternoon, just as the shadows weregathering, Andrew Kelton was buried with academic and military honorsbefitting his two-fold achievements, Mrs. Owen had shown the tendernessof the gentlest of mothers to the forlorn girl. The scene at the gravesank deep into Dan's memory--the patriarchal figure of Dr. Wandless, with the faculty and undergraduates ranged behind him; the oldminister's voice lifted in a benediction that thrilled with a note oftriumphant faith; and the hymn sung by the students at the end, boys'voices, sweet and clear, floating off into the sunset. And nothing inDan's life had ever moved him so much as when Mrs. Owen, standing besideSylvia and representing in her gaunt figure the whole world of love andkindness, bent down at the very end and kissed the sobbing girl and ledher away. 

Harwood called on Mrs. Owen at the cottage in Buckeye Lane thatevening. She came down from Sylvia's room and met him in the littlelibrary, which he found unchanged from the day of his visit five yearsbefore. 

"That little girl is a hero, " she began. "I guess she's about thelonesomest girl in the world to-night. Andrew Kelton was a man and agood one. He hadn't been well for years, the doctor tells me; troublewith his heart, but he kept it to himself; didn't want to worry thegirl. I tell you everything helps at a time like this. Admiral Martincame over to represent the Navy, and you saw the G. A. R. There; it caughtme in the throat when the bugle blew good-night for Andrew. Sylvia willrally and go on and do some big thing. It's in her. I reckon she'll haveto go back to college, this being her last year. Too bad thecommencement's all spoiled for her. "

"Yes; she won't have much heart for it; but she must get her degree. "

"She'll need a rest after this. I'll go back with her, and then I'mgoing to take her up to Waupegan with me for the summer. There are somethings to settle about her, and I'm glad you stayed. Andrew owned thishouse, but I shouldn't think Sylvia would want to keep it: houses in atown like this are a nuisance if you don't live where you can watch thetenants, " she went on, her practical mind asserting itself. 

"I suppose--" Dan began and then hesitated. It gave him a curiousfeeling to be talking of Sylvia's affairs in this way. 

"Go on, Daniel, "--this marked a departure; she had never called him byhis first name before. "I'm closer to that girl than anybody, and I'mglad to talk to you about her affairs. "

"I suppose there will be something for her; she's not thrown on her ownresources?"

"I guess he didn't make any will, but what he left is Sylvia's. He had abrother in Los Angeles, who died ten years ago. He was a rich man, andleft a big fortune to his children. If there's no will there'll have tobe an administrator. Sylvia's of age and she won't need a guardian. "

Dan nodded. He knew Mrs. Owen well enough by this time to understandthat she usually perfected her plans before speaking, and that shedoubtless had decided exactly how Andrew Kelton's estate should beadministered. 

"I'm going to ask the court to appoint you administrator, Daniel. Youever acted? Well, you might as well have the experience. I might take itmyself, but I'm pretty busy and there'll be some running back and forthto do. You come back in a day or two and we'll see how things stand bythat time. As soon as Sylvia gets rested she'll go back to college tofinish up, and then come to me for the summer. "

"She might not like my having anything to do with her affairs, " Dansuggested. "I shouldn't want to seem to be intruding. "

"Oh, Sylvia likes you well enough. The main thing is getting somebodythat you've got confidence in. I know some people here, and I guess thecourt will do about what we want. "

"I should have to come over here frequently until everything wassettled, " Dan added, thinking of his duties in the city. "I suppose ifyou find it possible for me to serve that I shall have to get Mr. Bassett's consent; he pays for my time, you know. "

"That's right, you ask him; but be sure to tell him that I want it to bethat way. Morton won't make any fuss about it. I guess you do enoughwork for him. What's he paying you, Daniel?"

"Eighteen hundred since he got the paper-mill receivership. "

She made no comment, but received the intelligence in silence. He knewfrom the characteristic quick movement of her eyelids that she waspondering the equity of this carefully; and his loyalty to Bassettasserting itself, he added, defensively:--

"It's more than I could begin to make any other way; and he's reallygenerous about my time--he's made it plain that he wants me to keep upmy reading. "

"They don't read much after they're admitted, do they? I thought whenyou got admitted you knew it all. "

"Not if you mean to be a real lawyer, " said Dan, smiling. 

"Well, I guess you had better go now. I don't want to leave Sylvia aloneup there, poor little girl. I'll let you know when to come back. "

CHAPTER XV

A SURPRISE AT THE COUNTRY CLUB

"That's all right. I shall be glad to have you serve Mrs. Owen in anyway. It's a good deal of a compliment that she thought of you in thatconnection. Go ahead, and call on me if I can help you. You'll have tofurnish local bondsmen. See what's required and let me know. "

Such was Bassett's reply when Harwood asked his permission to serve asadministrator of Andrew Kelton's estate. Bassett was a busy man, and hisdomestic affairs often gave him concern. He had talked to Harwood a gooddeal about Marian, several times in fits of anger at her extravagance. His wife retired fitfully to sanatoriums, and he had been obliged toundertake the supervision of his children's schooling. Blackford wassafe for the time in a military school, and Marian had been tutored fora year at home. The idea of a college course for Marian had been, sinceSylvia appeared, a mania with Mrs. Bassett. Marian had not the slightestinterest in the matter, and Bassett was weary of the struggle, and sickof the idea, that only by a college career for her could Mrs. Owen'smoney be assured to his children. Mrs. Bassett being now at a rest curein Connecticut, and Bassett, much away from home, and seeing nothing tobe gained by keeping his daughter at Fraserville, had persuaded MissWaring to take her as a special student, subject to the discipline ofthe school, but permitted to elect her own studies. It was only becauseBassett was a man she liked to please that the principal acceptedMarian, now eighteen years old, on this anomalous basis. Marian wasrelieved to find herself freed of the horror of college, but she wishedto be launched at once upon a social career; and the capital and notFraserville must be the scene of her introduction. Bassett was merelytiding over the difficult situation until his wife should be able todeal with it. Marian undoubtedly wheedled her father a good deal in themanner of handsome and willful daughters. She had rarely experienced hisanger; but the remembrance of these occasions rose before her as theshadowy background of any filial awe she may be said to have had. 

Bassett asked Dan to accompany him and Marian to the Country Club fordinner one evening while Harwood still waited for Mrs. Owen's summons toMontgomery. Picking up Marian at Miss Waring's, they drove out early andindulged in a loitering walk along the towpath of the old canal, notreturning to the clubhouse until after seven. When they had found atable on the veranda, Dan turned his head slightly and saw Thatcher, Allen, and Pettit, the Fraserville editor, lounging in after-dinner easeat a table in a dim corner. 

"Why, there's Mr. Thatcher, " exclaimed Marian. 

"And if that isn't Mr. Pettit! I didn't know he ever broke into a placelike this. "

They all bowed to the trio. Thatcher waved his hand. 

"Mr. Pettit, " observed Bassett dryly, "is a man of the world and likelyto break in anywhere. "

His manner betrayed no surprise; he asked Marian to order dinner, andbowed to a tableful of golfers, where an acquaintance was whispering hisname to some guests from out of town. 

It was the least bit surprising that the Honorable Isaac Pettit shouldbe dining at the Country Club with Mr. Edward Thatcher, and yet it waspossible to read too much seriousness into the situation. Harwood wasimmensely interested, but he knew it was Bassett's way to betray notrepidation at even such a curious conjunction of planets as this. Danwas in fact relieved that Bassett had found the men together: Bassetthad seen with his own eyes and might make what he pleased of this suddenintimacy. 

Marian had scorned the table d'hôte dinner, and was choosing, from the"special" offerings, green turtle soup and guinea fowl, as affording apleasant relief from the austere regimen of Miss Waring's table. Theroasting of the guinea hen would require thirty minutes the waiterwarned them, but Bassett made no objection. Marian thereupon interjecteda postscript of frogs' legs between soup and roast, and Bassettcheerfully acquiesced. 

"You seem to be picking the most musical birds offered, " he remarkedamiably. "I don't believe I'd eat the rest of the olives if I were you. "

"Why doesn't Allen Thatcher come over here and speak to us, I'd like toknow, " asked Marian. "You wouldn't think he'd ever seen us before. "

The three men having dined had, from appearances, been idling at thetable for some time. Pettit was doing most of the talking, regaling histwo auditors with tales from his abundant store of anecdotes. At the endof a story at which Thatcher had guffawed loudly, they rose and crossedthe veranda. Hearing them approaching, Bassett rose promptly, and theyshook hands all round. 

If there were any embarrassments in the meeting for the older men, itwas concealed under the cordiality of their greetings. Pettit tookcharge of the situation. 

"Well, sir, " he boomed, "I might've known that if I came to town andbroke into sassiety I'd get caught at it; you can't get away from homefolks! Thatcher has filled me amply with expensive urban food in thissylvan retreat--nectar and ambrosia. I'm even as one who drinks deep ofthe waters of life and throws the dipper in the well. Just come to townand wander from the straight and narrow path and your next-door neighborwill catch you every time. Fact is I lectured on 'American Humor' inChurubusco last night and am lifting the spirits of Brazil to-morrow. This will be all from Ike Pettit, the Fraserville funny man, until thewheat's safe and our Chautauquas pitch their tents in green fields faraway. Reminds me of what Dan Voorhees said once, --dear old DanVoorhees, --I almost cry when I think o' Dan: well, as I was saying--"

"Didn't know you were in town, Mort, " Thatcher interrupted. "I've beenin Chicago a week and only got back this evening. I found your esteemedfellow townsman about to hit a one-arm lunch downtown and thought itbest to draw him away from the lights of the great city. "

This was apology or explanation, as one chose to take it. Bassett wasapparently unmoved by it. 

"I've been in town a day or two. I don't live in sleeping-cars the wayyou do, Ed. I keep to the main traveled road--the straight and narrowpath, as our brother calls it, " said Bassett. 

"Well, I'm going to quit working myself to death. It's getting too hotfor poker, and I'm almost driven to lead a wholesome life. The thoughtpains me, Mort. "

Marian had opened briskly upon Allen. She wanted to know whether he hadpassed the school the night before with a girl in a blue hat; she hadbeen sure it was he, and his denial only intensified her belief that shehad seen him. She had wagered a box of caramels with her roommate thatit was Allen; how dare he deny it and cause her to lose a dollar of herallowance? Allen said the least he could do would be to send the candyhimself; a proposition which she declared, in a horrified whisper, hemust put from his thoughts forever. Candy, it appeared, was contrabandat Miss Waring's! Bassett, ignoring the vivacious colloquy between hisdaughter and Allen, continued to exchange commonplaces with Thatcher andPettit. Marian's ease of manner amused Harwood; Allen was bending overher in his eager way; there was no question but that he admired hertremendously. The situation was greatly to her liking, and she wasmaking the most of it. It was in her eye that she knew how to managemen. Seeing that Mr. Thatcher was edging away, she played upon him todelay his escape. 

"I wish you would come up to Waupegan this summer, Mr. Thatcher. You andfather are such friends, and we should all be so glad to have you for aneighbor. There are always houses to be rented, you know. "

"Stranger things have happened than that, Miss Marian, " repliedThatcher, eying her boldly and quite satisfied with her appearance. "Mywomen folks want Allen and me to come across for the summer; but we likethis side of the big water. Little Old United States--nothing touchesit! Allen and I may take a run up into Canada sometime when it gets redhot. "

"Reminds me--speaking of the heat--back in the Hancock campaign--"Pettit was beginning, but Thatcher was leaving and the editor and Allenfollowed perforce. In a moment they heard Thatcher's voice peremptorilydemanding his motor from the steps of the entrance. 

"Pettit's lecture dates must be multiplying, " observed Dan carelessly. 

"They seem to be, " Bassett replied, indifferently. 

"I can find out easily enough whether he lectured at Churubusco lastnight or not, or is going to invade Brazil to-morrow, " Dan suggested. 

"Easy, but unnecessary. I think I know what's in your mind, " Bassettanswered, as Marian, interested in the passing show, turned away, "butit isn't of the slightest importance one way or another. "

"That was Miss Bosworth, " announced Marian--"the one in the whiteflannel coat; she's certainly grand to look at. "

"Please keep your eyes to the front, " Bassett admonished; "you mustn'tstare at people, Marian. " And then, having dismissed Pettit, and feelingcalled upon to bring his daughter into the conversation, he said:"Marian, you remember the Miss Garrison your aunt is so fond of? Hergrandfather died the other day and Miss Garrison had to come home. YourAunt Sally is in Montgomery with her now. Mr. Harwood went to thefuneral. "

"That's too bad, " said Marian, at once interested. "Sylvia's a mightynice girl, and I guess her grandfather had just about raised her, fromwhat she told me. I wonder what she's going to do?" she asked, turningto Harwood. 

"She's going back to college to take her degree, and then Mrs. Owen isgoing to have her at Waupegan this summer. "

"Oh! I didn't know Aunt Sally was going to open her house this summer!"said Marian, clearly surprised. "It must be just that she wants to haveSylvia with her. They're the best kind of pals, and of course Aunt Sallyand the old professor were friends all their lives. I'm glad Sylvia'sgoing to be at the lake; she will help some, " she concluded. 

"You don't mean that you're tired of the lake?" asked Harwood, notingthe half-sigh with which she had concluded. "I thought all Waupeganpeople preferred it to the Maine coast or Europe. "

"Oh, I suppose they do, " said Marian. "But I think I could live througha season somewhere else. It will be good fun to have Aunt Sally's houseopen again. She must be making money out of that farm now. I supposeSylvia's grandfather didn't have much money. Still Sylvia's the kind ofgirl that wouldn't much mind not having money. She isn't much for style, but she does know an awful lot. "

"Don't you think a girl may be stylish and know a lot, too?" asked herfather. 

"I suppose it _is_ possible, " the girl assented, with a reluctance thatcaused both men to laugh. 

"Let me see: Papa, you didn't see Sylvia that summer she was at thelake. That was the summer you played a trick on us and only spent a dayat Waupegan. Yes; I remember now; you came home from Colorado and saidhello and skipped the next morning. Of course you didn't see Sylvia. "

"Oh, yes, I did, " replied Bassett. "I remember her very well, indeed. Iquite agree with your mother and Aunt Sally that she is an exceedinglyfine girl. "

"She certainly discouraged me a good deal about college. Four years ofschool after you're seventeen or eighteen! Not for Marian!" and sheshook her head drolly. 

Bassett was either absorbed in thought or he chose to ignore Marian'sremark. He was silent for some time, and the girl went on banteringlywith Harwood. She availed herself of all those immunities andprivileges which the gods confer upon young women whom they endow withgood looks. In the half-freedom of the past year she had bought her ownclothes, with only the nominal supervision of Miss Waring's assistant;and in her new spring raiment she was very much the young lady, anddecidedly a modish one. Dan glanced from her to the young people at aneighboring table. Among the girls in the party none was prettier ormore charmingly gowned than Marian. In the light of this proximity hewatched her with a new attention, and he saw that her father, too, studied her covertly, as though realizing that he had a grown daughteron his hands. Her way with Harwood was not without coquetry; she tappedhis arm with her fan lightly when he refused to enter into a discussionof his attentions, of which she protested she knew much, to MissBosworth. He admitted having called on Miss Bosworth once; her brotherwas a Yale man, and had asked him to the house on the score of that tie;but Marian knew much better. She was sure that he was devoting himselfto Miss Bosworth; every one said that he was becoming a great societyman. 

She had wearied of his big-brother attitude toward her. Except thecallow youth of Fraserville and the boys she had known all the summersof her life at Waupegan, Harwood and Allen Thatcher were the only youngmen she knew. In her later freedom at school she had made the officetelephone a nuisance to him, but he sympathized with her discreetly inher perplexities. Several times she had appealed to him to help her outof financial difficulties, confiding to him tragically that if certainbills reached Fraserville she would be ruined forever. 

Marian found the Country Club highly diverting; it gave her visions ofthe social life of the capital of which she had only vaguely dreamed. She knew many people by sight who were socially prominent, and shelonged to be of their number. It pleased her to find that her father, who was a non-resident member and a rare visitor at the club, attracteda good deal of attention; she liked to think him a celebrity. TheSpeaker of the House in the last session of the general assembly cameout and asked Bassett to meet some men with whom he had been dining inthe rathskeller; while her father was away, Marian, with elbows restingon the table, her firm, round chin touching her lightly interlacedfingers, gave a capital imitation of a girl making herself agreeable toa young man. Dan was well hardened to her cajoleries by this time; hewas confident that she would have made "sweet eyes at Caliban. " Harwood, smoking the cigar Bassett had ordered for him, compared favorably withother young men who had dawned upon Marian's horizon. Like most Westernboys who go East to college, he had acquired the habit of carefulpressing and brushing and combing; his lean face had a certaindistinction, and he was unfailingly courteous and well-mannered. 

"This will be tough on mama, " she observed casually. 

"Pray, be more explicit!"

"Oh, Aunt Sally having Sylvia up there at the lake again. "

"Why shouldn't she have her there if she wants her? I thought yourmother admired Sylvia. I gathered that ray of light somewhere, from youor Mrs. Owen. "

"Oh, mama was beautiful to her; but I shall always think, just betweenyou and me and that spoon, that it was Aunt Sally asking Sylvia to thelake that time that gave mama nervous prostration. "

"Nonsense! I advise you, as an old friend, not to say such things: you'dbetter not even think them. "

"Well, it was after that, when she saw that Aunt Sally had taken upSylvia, that mama got that bug about having me go to college. She gotthe notion that it was Sylvia's intellectual gifts that interested AuntSally; and mama thought I'd better improve my mind and get into thecompetition. "

"You thought your mother was jealous? I call that very unkind; it's notthe way to speak of your mother. "

"Well, if you want to be nasty and lecture me, go ahead, Mr. Harwood. You must like Sylvia pretty well yourself; you took her back to collegeonce and had no end of a lark, --I got that from Aunt Sally, so youneedn't deny it. "

"Humph! Of course I like Sylvia; any one's bound to. "

"But if Aunt Sally leaves her all her money, just because she's sobright, and educated, and cuts me off, then what would be the answer?"

"I shouldn't have anything to say about it; it would be Mrs. Owen thatdid the saying, " laughed Dan. "Why didn't you meet the competition andgo to college? You have brains, but you don't seem interested inanything but keeping amused. "

"I suppose, " she answered petulantly, "it would please you to see me goto teaching a kindergarten or something like that. Not for Marian! I'mgoing to see life--" and she added ruefully--"if I get the chance! Whydoesn't papa leave Fraserville and come to the city? They say he canhave any political office he wants, and he ought to run for governor orsomething like that, just on my account. "

"I dare say he's just waiting for you to suggest it. Why not thepresidency? You could get a lot of fun out of the White House, orderingthe army around, and using the battleships to play with. Thegovernorship and trifles like that would only bore you. "

"Don't be silly. The newspapers print most horrible things about papa--"

"Which aren't true. "

"Of course they're newspaper lies; but if he lets them say all thosethings he ought to get something to pay for it. He's only a statesenator from the jayest county in Indiana. It makes me tired. "

The girl's keen penetration had often surprised and it had sometimesappalled Harwood in the curious intimacy that had grown up between them. Her intuitions were active and she had a daring imagination. He wonderedwhether Bassett was fully aware of the problem Marian presented. Dan hadnever ventured to suggest a sharper discipline for the girl, except onthe occasion when he had caught her walking with Allen in the park. Hehad regretted his interference afterward; for Bassett's anger hadseemed to him out of all proportion to the offense. Like mostindifferent or indulgent parents, Bassett was prone to excesses in hisfitful experiments in discipline. Dan had resolved not to meddle again;but Marian was undeniably a provoking young person. It had beensuggested to him of late by one or two of his intimates that in duecourse of events he would of course marry his employer's daughter. Asshe faced him across the table, the pink light of the candle-shadeadding to the glow of health in her pretty cheeks, she caused him tostart by the abruptness with which she said:--

"I don't see much ahead of me but to get married; do you?"

"If you put it up to me, I don't see anything ahead of you, unless youtake a different view of life; you never seem to have a seriousthought. "

"Mr. Harwood, you can be immensely unpleasant when you choose to be. Youtalk to me as though I were only nine years old. You ought to see thatI'm very unhappy. I'm the oldest girl at Miss Waring's--locked up therewith a lot of little pigeons that coo every time you look at them. Theytreat me as though I were their grandmother. "

"Why don't you say all these things to your father?" asked Harwood, trying to laugh. "I dare say he'll do anything you like. But pleasecheer up; those people over there will think we're having a terriblequarrel. "

The fact that they were drawing the glances of Miss Bosworth's partypleased her; she had been perfectly conscious of it all the time. 

"Well, they won't think you're making _love_ to me, Mr. Harwood; there'sthat to console you. " And she added icily, settling back in her chair asher father approached, "I hope you understand that I'm not even leadingyou on!"

CHAPTER XVI

"STOP, LOOK, LISTEN"

Bassett and Atwill held a conference the next day and the interview wasone of length. The manager of the "Courier" came to the office in theBoordman Building at eleven o'clock, and when Harwood went to luncheonat one the door had not been opened. Miss Farrell, returning from hermidday repast, pointed to the closed door, lifted her brows, and held upher forefinger to express surprise and caution. Miss Farrell'sprescience was astonishing; of women she held the lightest opinion, Danhad learned; her concern was with the affairs of men. Harwood, intentupon the compilation of a report of the paper-mill receivership, wasnevertheless mindful of the unwonted length of the conference. When hereturned from luncheon, Bassett had gone, but he reappeared at threeo'clock, and a little later Atwill came back and the door closed again. This second interview was short, but it seemed to leave Bassett in ameditative frame of mind. Wishing to discuss some points in the trialbalance of the receiver's accountant, Harwood entered and found Bassettwith his hat on, slowly pacing the floor. 

"Yes; all right; come in, " he said, as Harwood hesitated. He at onceaddressed himself to the reports with his accustomed care. Bassettcarried an immense amount of data in his head. He understoodbookkeeping and was essentially thorough. Dan constantly found penciledcalculations on the margins of the daily reports from the paper-mill, indicating that Bassett scrutinized the figures carefully, and hepromptly questioned any deviation from the established average of lossand gain. Bassett threw down his pencil at the end of half an hour andtold Dan to proceed with the writing of the report. 

"I'd like to file it personally so I can talk over the prospect ofgetting an order of sale before the judge goes on his vacation. We'vepaid the debts and stopped the flow of red ink, so we're about ready tolet go. "

While they were talking Miss Farrell brought in a telegram for Harwood;it was the summons from Mrs. Owen that he had been waiting for; she badehim come to Montgomery the next day. He handed the message to Bassett. 

"Go ahead. I'll go over there if you like and find you the necessarybondsmen. I know the judge of the circuit court at Montgomery very well. You go in the morning? Very well; I'll stay here till you get back. Mrs. Bassett will be well enough to leave the sanatorium in a few days, andI'm going up to Waupegan to get the house ready. "

"It will be pleasant for Mrs. Bassett to have Mrs. Owen there thissummer. Anybody is lucky to have a woman of her qualities for aneighbor. "

"She's a noblewoman, " said Bassett impressively, "and a good friend toall of us. "

On the train the next morning Harwood unfolded the day's "Courier" inthe languidly critical frame of mind that former employees of newspapersbring to the reading of the journals they have served. He scanned thenews columns and opened to the editorial page. The leader at once caughthis eye. It was double-leaded, --an emphasis rarely employed at the"Courier" office, and was condensed in a single brief paragraph thatstared oddly at the reader under the caption "STOP, LOOK, LISTEN. " Itheld Harwood's attention through a dozen amazed and mystified readings. It ran thus:--

 It has long been Indiana's proud boast that money unsupported by honest merit has never intruded in her politics. A malign force threatens to mar this record. It is incumbent upon honest men of all parties who have the best interests of our state at heart to stop, look, listen. The COURIER gives notice that it is fully advised of the intentions, and perfectly aware of the methods, by which the fair name of the Hoosier State is menaced. The COURIER, being thoroughly informed of the beginnings of this movement, whose purpose is the seizure of the Democratic Party, and the manipulation of its power for private ends, will antagonize to the utmost the element that has initiated it. Honorable defeats the party in Indiana has known, and it will hardly at this late day surrender tamely to the buccaneers and adventurers that seek to capture its battleflag. This warning will not be repeated. Stop! Look! Listen!

From internal evidence Harwood placed the authorship readily enough:the paragraph had been written by the chief editorial writer, an oldhand at the game, who indulged frequently in such terms as "adventurer"and "buccaneer. " It was he who wrote sagely of foreign affairs, and oncecaused riotous delight in the reporters' room by an editorial on Turkishpolitics, containing the phrase, "We hope the Sultan--" But not withoutspecial authority would such an article have been planted at the top ofthe editorial page, and beyond doubt these lines were the residuum ofBassett's long interview with Atwill. And its aim was unmistakable: Mr. Bassett was thus paying his compliments to Mr. Thatcher. The encounterat the Country Club might have precipitated the crisis, but, knowingBassett, Dan did not believe that the "Courier's" batteries would havebeen fired on so little provocation. Bassett was not a man to shootwildly in the dark, nor was he likely to fire at all without being sureof the state of his ammunition chests. So, at least, Harwood reasoned tohimself. Several of his fellow passengers in the smoking-car werepassing the "Courier" about and pointing to the editorial. All overIndiana it would be the subject of discussion for a long time to come;and Dan's journalistic sense told him that in the surrounding capitalsit would not be ignored. 

"If Thatcher and Bassett get to fighting, the people may find a chanceto sneak in and get something, " a man behind Dan was saying. 

"Nope, " said another voice; "there won't be 'no core' when those fellowsget through with the apple. "

"I can hear the cheering in the Republican camp this morning, " remarkedanother voice gleefully. 

"Oh, pshaw!" said still another speaker; "Bassett will simply grindThatcher to powder. Thatcher hasn't any business in politics anyhow anddoesn't know the game. By George, Bassett does! And this is the firsttime he's struck a full blow since he got behind the 'Courier. 'Something must have made him pretty hot, though, to have let off ascream like that. "

Harwood was interested in these remarks because they indicated aprevalent impression that Bassett dominated the "Courier, " in spite ofthe mystery with which the ownership of the paper was enveloped. Theonly doubt in Harwood's own mind had been left there by Bassett himself. He recalled now Bassett's remark on the day he had taken him into hisconfidence in the Ranger County affair. "I might have some trouble inproving it myself, " Bassett had said. Harwood thought it strange thatafter that first deliberate confidence and his introduction to Atwill, Bassett had, in this important move, ignored him. It was possible thathis relations with Allen Thatcher, which Bassett knew to be intimate, accounted for the change; or it might be due to a lessening warmth inBassett's feeling toward him. He recalled now that Bassett had latelyseemed moody, --a new development in the man from Fraser, --and that hehad several times been abrupt and unreasonable about small matters inthe office. Certain incidents that had appeared trivial at the time oftheir occurrence stood forth disquietingly now. If Bassett had ceasedto trust him, there must be a cause for the change; slightmanifestations of impatience in a man so habitually calm and rationalmight be overlooked, but Dan had not been prepared for this abruptcessation of confidential relations. He was a bit piqued, the more sothat this astounding editorial indicated a range and depth of purpose inBassett's plans that Dan's imagination had not fathomed. He tore out theeditorial and put it away carefully in his pocketbook as Montgomery wascalled. 

A messenger was at the station to guide him to the court-house, where hefound Mrs. Owen and Sylvia waiting for him in the private room of thejudge of the circuit court. Mrs. Owen had, in her thorough fashion, arranged all the preliminaries. She had found in Akins, the president ofthe Montgomery National Bank, an old friend, and it was her way to useher friends when she needed them. At her instance, Akins and anotherresident freeholder had already signed the bond when Dan arrived. Danwas amused by the direct manner in which Mrs. Owen addressed the court;the terminology pertaining to the administration of estates was at herfingers' ends, and there was no doubt that the judge was impressed byher. 

"We won't need any lawyer over here, Daniel; you can save the estatelawyer's fees by acting yourself. I guess that will be all right, Judge?"

His Honor said it would be; people usually yielded readily to Mrs. Owen's suggestions. 

"You can go up to the house now, Sylvia, and I'll be along pretty soon. I want to make a memorandum for an inventory with Daniel. "

At the bank Akins gave them the directors' room, and Andrew Kelton'spapers were produced from his box in the safety vault. Akins explainedthat Kelton had been obliged to drop life insurance policies for aconsiderable amount; only one policy for two thousand dollars had beencarried through. There were a number of contracts with publisherscovering the copyrights in Kelton's mathematical and astronomicaltextbooks. The royalties on these had been diminishing steadily, thebanker said, and they could hardly be regarded as an asset. 

"Life insurance two thousand, contracts nothing, and the house is worthtwo with good luck. Take it all in--and I reckon this _is_ all--we'll bein luck to pinch a little pin-money out of the estate for Sylvia. It'smore than I expected. You think there ain't anything else, Mr. Akins?"

"The Professor talked to me about his affairs frequently, and I have noreason to think there's anything more. He had five thousand dollars ingovernment bonds, but he sold them and bought shares in that White RiverCanneries combination. A lot of our Montgomery people lost money in thatscheme. It promised fifteen per cent--with the usual result. "

"Yes. Andrew told me about that once. Well, well!"

"He had money to educate his granddaughter; I don't know how he raisedit, but he kept it in a special account in the bank. He told me that ifhe died before she finished college that was to be applied strictly toher education. There is eight hundred dollars left of that. "

"Sylvia's going to teach, " said Mrs. Owen. "I've been talking to her andshe's got her plans all made. She's got a head for business, that girl, and nothing can shake her idea that she's got a work to do in the world. She knows what she's going to do every day for a good many years, fromthe way she talks. I had it all fixed to take her with me up to Waupeganfor the summer; thought she'd be ready to take a rest after her hardwork at college, and this blow of her grandpa dying and all; but notthat girl! She's going to spend the summer taking a normal course intown, to be ready to begin teaching in Indianapolis next September. Iguess if we had found a million dollars in her grandpa's box it wouldhave been the same. When you talk about health, she laughs; I guess ifthere's a healthy woman on earth it's that girl. She says she doubledall her gymnasium work at college to build herself up ready forbusiness. You know Dr. Wandless's daughter is a Wellesley woman, andkeeps in touch with the college. She wrote home that Sylvia had 'em allbeat a mile down there; that she just walked through everything andwould be chosen for the Phi Beta Kappa--is that right, Daniel? She sorto' throws you out of your calculations, that girl does. I'd counted onhaving a good time with her up at the lake, and now it looks like I'dhave to stay in town all summer if I'm going to see anything of her. "

It was clear enough that Mrs. Owen was not interesting herself inSylvia merely because the girl was the granddaughter of an old friend;she admired Sylvia on her own account and was at no pains to disguisethe fact. The Bassett expectations were, Dan reflected, scarcely at apremium to-day!

Mr. Akins returned the papers to the safety box, and when Mrs. Owen andHarwood were alone, she closed the door carefully. 

"Now, Daniel, " she began, opening her hand-satchel, "I always hold thatthis is a funny world, but that things come out right in the end. Theymostly do; but sometimes the Devil gets into things and it ain't soeasy. You believe in the Devil, Daniel?"

"Well, my folks are Presbyterians, " said Dan. "My own religion is thesame as Ware's. I'm not sure he vouches for the Devil. "

"It's my firm conviction that there is one, Daniel, --a red one with aforked tail; you see his works scattered around too often to doubt it. "

Dan nodded. Mrs. Owen had placed carefully under a weight a paper shehad taken from her reticule. 

"Daniel, "--she looked around at the door again, and dropped hervoice, --"I believe you're a good man, and a clean one. And Fitch saysyou're a smart young man. It's as much because you're a good man asbecause you've got brains that I've called on you to attend to Sylvia'sbusiness. Now I'm going to tell you something that I wouldn't tellanybody else on earth; it's a sacred trust, and I want you to feel boundby a more solemn oath than the one you took at the clerk's office notto steal Sylvia's money. "

She fixed her remarkably penetrating gaze upon him so intently that heturned uneasily in his chair. "It's something somebody who appreciatesSylvia, as I think you do, ought to know about her. Andrew Kelton toldme just before Sylvia started to college. The poor man had been carryingit alone till it broke him down; he had never told another soul. Ireckon it was the hardest job he ever did to tell me; and I wouldn't betelling you except somebody ought to know who's in a position to helpSylvia--sort o' look out for her and protect her. I believe"--and sheput out her hand and touched his arm lightly--"I believe I can trust youto do that. "

"Yes, Mrs. Owen. "

She waited until he had answered her, and even then she was silent, lostin thought. 

"Professor Kelton didn't know, Daniel, " she began gravely, "who Sylvia'sfather was. " She minimized the significance of this by continuingrapidly. "Andrew had quit the Navy soon after the war and came out hereto Madison College to teach, and his wife had died and he didn't knowwhat to do with his daughter. Edna Kelton was a little headstrong, Ireckon, and wanted her own way. She didn't like living in a countrycollege town; there wasn't anything here to interest her. I won't tellyou all of Andrew's story, but it boils down to just this, that whileEdna was in New York studying music she got married without tellingwhere, or to whom. Andrew never saw her till she was dying in ahospital and had a little girl with her, --that's Sylvia. Now, whetherthere was any disgrace about it Andrew didn't know; and we owe it tothat dead woman and to Sylvia to believe it was all right. You see whatI mean, Daniel? Now that brings me down to what I want you to know. Somebody has been keeping watch of Sylvia, --Andrew told me that. "

She was thinking deeply as though pondering just how much more it wasnecessary to tell him, and before she spoke she picked up the foldedpaper and read it through carefully. "When Andrew got this it troubledhim a lot: the idea that somebody had an eye on the girl, and tookenough interest in her to do this, made him uneasy. Sylvia never knewanything about it, of course; she doesn't know anything about anything, and she won't ever need to. "

"As I understand you, Mrs. Owen, you want some friend of hers to be in aposition to protect her if any one tries to harm her; you want to shieldher from any evil that might follow her from her mother's errors, ifthey were indeed errors. We have no right to assume that she had doneanything to be ashamed of. That's the only just position for us to takein such a matter. "

"That's right, Daniel. I knew you'd see it that way. It looks bad, andAndrew knew it looked bad; but at my age I ain't thinking evil of peopleif I can help it. If a woman goes wrong, she pays for it--keeps onpaying after she's paid the whole mortgage. That's the blackest thing inthe world--that a woman never shakes a debt like that the way a mancan. You foreclose on a woman and take away everything she's got; puther clean through bankruptcy, and the balance is still against her; butwe can't make over society and laws just sitting here talking about it. I reckon Edna Kelton suffered enough. But we don't want Sylvia tosuffer. She's entitled to a happy life, and we don't want any shadowshanging over her. Now that her grandpa's gone she can't go behind whathe told her, --poor man, he had trouble enough answering the questionsshe had a right to ask; and he had to lie to her some. "

"Yes; I suppose she will be content now; she will feel that what hedidn't tell her she will never know. She's not a morbid person, andwon't be likely to bother about it. "

"No; I ain't afraid of her brooding on what she doesn't know. It's thefear it may fly up and strike her when she ain't looking that worriesme, and it worried the Professor, too. That was why he told me. I guesswhen he talked to me that time he knew his heart was going to stopsuddenly some day. And he'd got a hint that somebody was interested inwatching Sylvia--sort o' keeping track of her. And there was consciencein it; whoever it is or was hadn't got clean away from what he'd done. Now I had a narrow escape from letting Sylvia see this letter. It wasstuck away in a tin box in Andrew's bedroom, along with his commissionsin the Navy. I was poking round the house, thinking there might bethings it would be better not to show Sylvia, and I struck this box, andthere was this letter, stuck away in the middle of the package. I gaveSylvia the commissions, but she didn't see this. I don't want to burn ittill you've seen it. This must have been what Andrew spoke to me aboutthat time; it was hardly before that, and it might have been later. Yousee it isn't dated. He started to tear it up, but changed his mind, sonow we've got to pass on it. "

She pushed the letter across the table to Harwood, and he read itthrough carefully. He turned it over after the first reading, and theword "Declined, " written firmly and underscored, held him long--so longthat he started when Mrs. Owen roused him with "Well, Daniel?"

He knew before he had finished reading that it was he who had borne theletter to the cottage in Buckeye Lane, unless there had been a series ofsuch communications, which was unlikely on the face of it. Mrs. Owen hadherself offered confirmation by placing the delivery of the datelessletter five years earlier. The internal evidence in the phrasesprescribing the manner in which the verbal reply was to be sent, and theindorsement on the back of the sheet, were additional corroboration. Itwas almost unimaginable that the letter should have come again to hishand. He realized the importance and significance of the sheet of paperwith the swiftness of a lightning flash; but beyond the intelligenceconveyed by the letter itself there was still the darkness to grope in. His wits had never worked so rapidly in his life; he felt his heartbeating uncomfortably; the perspiration broke out upon his forehead, andhe drew out his handkerchief and mopped his face. 

"It's certainly very curious, very curious indeed, " he said with all thecalmness he could muster. "But it doesn't tell us much. "

"It wasn't intended to tell anything, " said Mrs. Owen. "Whoever wrotethat letter, as I told you, was troubled about Sylvia. I reckon it was aman; and I guess it's fair to assume that he felt under obligations, buthadn't the nerve to face 'em as obligations. Is that the way it strikesyou?"

[Illustration: WHOEVER WROTE THAT LETTER WAS TROUBLED ABOUT SYLVIA]

"That seems clear enough, " he replied lamely. He made a pretense ofrereading the letter, but only detached phrases penetrated to hisconsciousness. His imagination was in rebellion against the curbing towhich he strove to subject it. When he had borne his answer back toFitch's office and been discharged with the generous payment of onehundred dollars for his services as messenger, just what had been thefurther history of the transaction? He had so far controlled hisagitation that he was able to continue discussing the letter formallywith the kind old woman who had placed the clue in his hands. He waslittle experienced in the difficult art of conversing with half a mind, and a direct question from Mrs. Owen roused him to the necessity ofheeding what she was saying. He had resolved, however, that he would nottell her of his own connection with the message that lay on the tablebefore them. He needed time in which to consider; he must not add apebble's weight to an avalanche that might go crashing down upon theinnocent. His training had made him wary of circumstantial evidence;after all it was possible that this was not the letter he had carried toProfessor Kelton. It would be very like Mrs. Owen, if she saw thatanything could be gained by such a course, to go direct to Fitch anddemand to know the source of the offer that had passed through his handsso mysteriously; but Fitch had not known the contents of the letter, orhe had said as much to Harwood. There was also the consideration, andnot the lightest, that Dan was bound in honor to maintain the secrecyFitch had imposed upon him. The lawyer had confided the errand to him inthe belief that he would accept the mission in the spirit in which itwas entrusted to him, and his part in the transaction was a matterbetween himself and Fitch and did not concern Mrs. Owen in any waywhatever. No possible benefit could accrue to Sylvia from a disclosureof his suspicion that he had borne the letter to her grandfather. Mrs. Owen had given him the letter that he might be in a position to protectSylvia, and there was nothing incompatible between this confidence andhis duty to Fitch, who continued to be a kind and helpful friend. Hedreaded the outcome of an interview between this shrewd, penetrating, and indomitable woman and the lawyer. The letter, cold and colorless inwhat it failed to say, and torn half across to mark the indecision ofthe old professor, had in it a great power for mischief. 

While Harwood's mind was busy with these reflections he had beenacquiescing in various speculations in which Mrs. Owen had beenindulging, without really being conscious of their import. 

"I don't know that any good can come of keeping the letter, Daniel. Ireckon we might as well tear it up. You and I know what it is, and I'vebeen studying it for a couple of days without seeing where any good cancome of holding it. You might burn it in the grate there and we'll bothknow it's out of the way. I guess that person feels that he done hiswhole duty in making the offer and he won't be likely to bother anymore. That conscience was a long time getting waked up, and having donethat much it probably went to sleep again. There's nothing sleeps assound as a conscience, I reckon, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised ifmine took a nap occasionally. Better burn that little document, Daniel, and we'll be rid of it and try to forget it. "

"No; I don't believe I'd do that, " he said slowly. "It might be betterto hold on to it, at least until the estate is closed up. You can't tellwhat's behind it. " And then, groping for a plausible reason, he added:"The author of the letter may be in a position to annoy Sylvia by filinga claim against the Professor's estate, or something of that kind. It'sbetter not to destroy the only thing we have that might help if thatshould occur. I believe it's best to hold on to it till the estate'ssettled. "

This was pretty lame, as he realized, but his caution pleased her, andshe acquiesced. She was anxious to leave no ground for anyone to robSylvia of her money, and if there was any remote possibility that theletter might add to the girl's security she was willing that it shouldbe retained. She sent Dan out into the bank for an envelope, and when itwas brought, sealed up the letter and addressed it to Dan in her ownhand and marked it private. 

"You take good care of that, Daniel, and when you get the estate closedup you burn it. "

"Yes, it can do no harm to hold it a little while, " he said withaffected lightness. 

CHAPTER XVII

A STROLL ACROSS THE CAMPUS

Dan joined Mrs. Owen and Sylvia at the cottage later. He was to see themoff in the morning; and he exerted himself to make Sylvia's last eveningin Buckeye Lane as happy as possible. The cottage was to be left in thecare of the old servant until it could be disposed of; Mary herself wasto be provided for in some way--Sylvia and Mrs. Owen had decided thatthis was only fair and right. 

After tea Mrs. Owen said she had letters to write and carried herportfolio to the library for the purpose. Dan and Sylvia being thus leftto themselves, he proposed a stroll across the campus. 

"There's something about a campus, " he said, as they startedout;--"there's a likeness in all of them, or maybe it's sentiment thatbinds them together. Wellesley speaks to Yale, and the language of bothis understood by Madison. Ah--there's the proof of it now!"

 Integer vitæ, scelerisque purus!

A dozen students lounging on the steps of the library had begun to singthe Latin words to a familiar air. Dan followed in his deep bass to theend. 

"The words are the words of Horace, but the tune is the tune of Eliwith thanks to Dr. Fleming, " he remarked. "It's that sort of thing thatmakes college worth while. I'll wager those are seniors, who alreadyfeel a little heartache because their college years are so nearly over. I'm getting to be an old grad myself, but those songs still give me atwinge. "

"I understand that, " said Sylvia. "I'll soon be saying good-bye to girlsI may never see again, or when I meet them at a reunion in five or tenyears, they'll be different. College is only the beginning, after all. "

"It's only the beginning, but for some fellows it's the end, too. Itscares me to see how many of my classmates are already caught in theundertow. I wonder sometimes whether I'm not going under myself. "

Sylvia turned toward him. 

"I rather imagine that you're a strong swimmer. It would surprise me ifyou didn't do something pretty big. Mrs. Owen thinks you will; she's nota person for any one to disappoint. "

"Oh, she has a way of thinking in large totals of people she likes, andshe does like me, most unaccountably. "

"She has real illusions about _me_, " laughed Sylvia. "She has an ideathat colleges do things by magic; and I'm afraid she will find out thatthe wand didn't touch me. "

"You didn't need the wand's magic, " he answered, "for you are a woman ofgenius. "

"Which sounds well, Mr. Harwood; no one ever used such words to mebefore! I've learned one thing, though: that patience and work willmake up for a good many lacks. There are some things I'm going to try todo. "

They loitered in the quiet paths of the campus. "Bright College Years"followed them from the singers at the library. If there's any sentimentin man or woman the airs of a spring night in our midwestern countrywill call it out. The planets shone benignantly through the leaves ofmaple and elm; and the young grass was irregular, untouched as yet bythe mower--as we like it best who love our Madison! A week-old moon hungin the sky--ample light for the first hay-ride of the season that ismoving toward Water Babble to the strains of guitar and banjo and boyand girl voices. It's unaccountable that there should be so much musicin a sophomore--or maybe that's a fraternity affair--Sigma Chi or DeltaTau or Deke. Or mayhap those lads wear a "Fiji" pin on their waistcoats;I seem to recall spring hay-rides as an expression of "Fiji" spirit inmy own days at Madison, when I myself was that particular blitheHellenist with the guitar, and scornful of all Barbarians!

Sylvia was a woman now. Æons stretched between to-night and thatafternoon when she had opened the door for Harwood in Buckeye Lane. Hischivalry had been deeply touched by Mrs. Owen's disclosure at the bank, and subsequent reflection had not lightened the burden of herconfidence. Such obscurities as existed in the first paragraph of thefirst page of Sylvia's life's record were dark enough in anycircumstances, but the darkness was intensified by her singularisolation. The commission he had accepted in her behalf from Mrs. Owencarried a serious responsibility. These things he pondered as theywalked together. He felt the pathos of her black gown; but she hadrallied from the first shock of her sorrow, and met him in his key ofbadinage. She was tall--almost as tall as he; and in the combinedmoon- and star-light of the open spaces their eyes met easily. 

He was conscious to-night of the charm in Sylvia that he had felt firston the train that day they had sped through the Berkshires together. Noother girl had ever appealed to him so strongly. It was not the charm ofcleverness, for she was not clever in the usual sense; she said fewbright, quotable things, though her humor was keen. She had carried intowomanhood the good looks of her girlhood, and she was a person onelooked at twice. Her eyes were fine and expressive, and they faced theworld with an engaging candor. They had learned to laugh since we sawher first--college and contact with the world had done that for her. Herface was long, her nose a compromise of good models, her mouth a littlelarge, but offering compensations when she smiled in her quick, responsive fashion. One must go deeper, Harwood reflected, for Sylvia'scharm, and it dawned upon him that it was in the girl's self, born of analert, clear-thinking mind and a kind and generous heart. Individuality, personality, were words with which he sought to characterize her; and ashe struggled with terms, he found that she was carrying the burden ofthe talk. 

"I suppose, " she was saying, in her voice that was deeper than mostwomen's voices, and musical and agreeable to hear, --"I suppose thatcollege is designed to save us all a lot of hard knocks; I wonder if itdoes?"

"If you're asking me personally, I'll say that there are lumps on mybrow where I have bumped hard, in spite of my A. B. Degree. I'm disposedto think that college only postpones the day of our awakening; we've gotto shoot the chutes anyhow. It is so written. "

She laughed at his way of putting it. 

"Oh, you're not so much older that you can frighten me. People on thetoboggan always seem to be having a good time; the percentage of thosewhose car jumps the track isn't formidable. "

"Just enough fatalities to flavor the statistics. The seniors over therehave stopped singing; I dare say they're talking about life in largecapital letters. "

"Well, there are plenty of chances. I'm rather of the opinion that we'reall here to do something for somebody. Nobody's life is just his own. Whether we want it that way or not, we are all links in the chain, andit's our business not to be the weakest. "

"I'm an individualist, " he said, "and I'm very largely concerned inseeing what Daniel Harwood, a poor young lawyer of mediocre abilities, can do with this thing we hear mentioned as life. "

"Oh, but there's no such thing as an individualist; the idea is purelyacademic!" and she laughed again, but less lightly. "We're all debtorsto somebody or something--to the world itself, for example. "

"For the stars up there, for grass and trees, for the moon by night andthe sun by day--for the gracious gift of friends?"

"A little, yes; but they don't count so much. I owe my debt topeople--real human beings, who may not be as lucky as I. For a good manythousand years people have been at work trying to cheer up theworld--brighten it and make it a better place to live in. I owe allthose people something; it's not merely a little something; it's atremendous lot, and I must pay these other human beings who don't knowwhat they're entitled to. You have felt that; you have felt it just as Ihave, I'm sure. "

"You are still in college, and that is what undergraduates are taught tocall ideals, Miss Garrison. I hope you will hold on to them: I had mine, but I'm conscious of late that I'm losing my grip on them. It'sinevitable, in a man's life. It's a good thing that women hold on tothem longer; without woman's faith in such things the world would be asad old cinder, tumbling aimlessly around in the void. "

She stopped abruptly in the path, very tall and slim in the dusk ofstarlight and moonlight. He had been carrying his hat in his hand and heleaned on his stick wondering whether she were really in earnest, whether he had displeased her by the half-mocking tone in which he hadspoken. 

"Please don't talk this old, romantic, mediæval nonsense about women!This is the twentieth century, and I don't believe for a minute that awoman, just by being a woman, can keep the world sweet and beautiful. Once, maybe; but not any more! A woman's ideals aren't a bit better thana man's unless she stands up for them and works for them. You don't haveto take that from a college senior; you can ask dear Mrs. Owen. Isuppose she knows life from experience if any woman ever did, and shehas held to her ideals and kept working away at them. But just being awoman, and being good, and nice, and going to church, and belonging to amissionary society--well, Mr. Harwood?"

She had changed from earnestness to a note of raillery. 

"Yes, Miss Garrison, " he replied in her own key; "if you expect me totake issue with you or Mrs. Owen on any point, you're much mistaken. Youand she are rather fortunate over many of the rest of us in having bothbrains and gentle hearts--the combination is irresistible! When you comehome to throw in your lot with that of about a quarter of a million ofus in our Hoosier capital, I'll put myself at your disposal. I've beentrying to figure some way of saving the American Republic for the plainpeople, and I expect to go out in the campaign this fall and make somespeeches warning all good citizens to be on guard against corporategreed, invasions of sacred rights, and so on. My way is plain, the dutyclear, " he concluded, with a wave of his stick. 

"Well, " said Sylvia, "if you care enough about it to do that you muststill have a few ideals lying around somewhere. "

"I don't know, to be honest about it, that it's so much my ideals as awish to help my friend Mr. Bassett win a fight. "

"I didn't know that he ever needed help in winning what he really wantedto win. I have heard of him only as the indomitable leader who winswhenever it's worth while. "

"Well, " Dan answered, "he's got a fight on hand that he can't afford tolose if he means to stay in politics. "

"I must learn all about that when I come home. I never saw Mr. Bassettbut once; that was at Waupegan when I was up there with Mrs. Owen nearlyfive years ago. He had just come back from the West and spent only a dayat the lake. "

"Then you don't really know him?"

"No; they had counted on having him there for the rest of the summer, but he came one day and left the next. He didn't even see Mrs. Owen; Iremember that she expressed surprise that he had come to the lake andgone without seeing her. "

"He's a busy man and works hard. You were getting acquainted with Marianabout that time?"

"Yes; she was awfully good to me that summer. I liked Mr. Bassett, theglimpse I had of him; he seemed very interesting--a solid Americancharacter, quiet and forceful. "

"Yes, he is that; he's a strong character. He's shown me everykindness--given me my chance. I should be ashamed of myself if I didn'tfeel grateful to him. "

They had made the complete circuit of the campus several times andSylvia said it was time to go back. The remembrance of Bassett hadturned her thoughts to Marian, and they were still talking of her whenMrs. Owen greeted them cheerily from the little veranda. They were tostart for Boston in the morning, and Harwood was to stay in Montgomery aday or two longer on business connected with the estate. "Don't let mysad philosophy keep you awake, Mr. Harwood!--I've given him all my lifeprogramme, Mrs. Owen. I think it has had a depressing influence on him. "

"It's merely that you have roused me to a sense of my own generalworldliness and worthlessness, " he replied, laughing as they shookhands. 

"I guess Sylvia can tell you a good many things, Daniel, " said Mrs. Owen. "I wish you'd call Myers--he's my Seymour farmer--on the longdistance in the morning, and tell him not to think I won't be down tolook at his corn when I get back. Tell him I've gone to college, butI'll be right down there when I get home. "

CHAPTER XVIII

THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD

Harwood reached the capital on the afternoon of the second day afterMrs. Owen and Sylvia had gone East, and went at once to the BoordmanBuilding. Miss Farrell was folding and sealing letters bearing Bassett'ssignature. 

"Hello, little stranger; I'd begun to think you had met with foulplay, as the hero says in scene two, act three, of 'The DarkSwitch-Lantern'--all week at the Park Theatre at prices within the reachof all. Business has been good, if you press me for news, but thatpaper-mill hasn't had much attention since you departed this life. Everybody's saying 'Stop, Look, Listen!' When in doubt you saythat, --the white aprons in the one-arm lunch rooms say it now when youkick on the size of the buns. You will find your letters in theleft-hand drawer. I told that collector from the necktie foundry that heneedn't wear himself to a shadow carrying bills up here; that you paidall your bills by check on the tenth of the month. As that was thetwenty-ninth, you'd better frame some new by-laws to avoid other breakslike that. I can't do much lying at my present salary. "

She stood with her hands clasping her belt, and continued to enlightenhim on current history as he looked over his letters. 

"That young Allen Thatcher has been making life a burden to me in yourlamented absence. Wanted to know every few hours if you had come back, and threatened to call you up on the long distance at Montgomery, but Itold him you were trying a murder case over there, and that if he didn'twant to get nailed for contempt of court he'd better not interrupt theproceedings. "

"You're speaking of Mr. Allen Thatcher, are you, Miss Farrell?" askedHarwood, in the tone to which the girl frequently drove him. 

"The same, like the mind reader you are! Say, that boy isn't stuck onyou or anything. He came up here yesterday afternoon when the boss wasout and wanted to talk things over. He seemed to think I hadn't anythingto do but be a sister to him and hear his troubles. Well, I've gotembarrassments of my own, with that true sport his papa sending me anoffer of a hundred per month to work for him. One hundred dollars amonth in advance! This, Mr. Harwood, is private and confidential. Iguess I haven't worked at the State House without learning a few tricksin this mortal vale of politics. "

She had calculated nicely the effect of this shot. Harwood might treather, as she said, like a step-child with a harelip, but occasionally shemade him sit up. He sat up now. He remarked with the diplomaticunconcern that it was best to employ with her:--

"Refused the offer, did you, Miss Farrell?"

"I certainly did. As between a fat old sport like Ed Thatcher and agentleman like Mr. Bassett, money doesn't count--not even with ap. W. G. , or poor working girl, like me. Hush!--are we quite alone?" Shebent toward the door dramatically. "What he was playing for, as neat asa hatpin in your loved one's eye, was some facts about the boss'scommittee work in that last session I worked at the State House. Cute ofThatcher? Well, not so awful bright! He doesn't know what he's upagainst if he thinks Mort Bassett can be caught on flypaper, and you canbe dead sure I'm not going to sprinkle the sugar to catch our boss with. All that Transportation Committee business was just as straight as theway home; but"--Miss Farrell tapped her mouth daintily with her fingersto stifle an imaginary yawn--"but little Rose brought down her shorthandnotebooks marked 'M. B. Personal, ' and the boss and I burned themyesterday morning early, right there in that grate in his room. That'swhat I think of Mr. Ed Thatcher. A pearl necklace for my birthday oughtto be about right for that. "

Harwood had been drinking this in as he opened and sorted his letters. He paused and stared at her absently. 

"You referred to a caller a moment ago--the gentleman who annoyed you somuch on the telephone. Was I to call him or anything like that?"

"He left a good many orders, but I think you were to eat food with himin the frosty halls of the University Club almost at once. He's in astate of mind. In love with the daughter of his father's enemy--justlike a Park Theatre thriller. Wants you to tell him what to do; and youwill pardon me for suggesting that if there's to be an elopement youwrite it up yourself for the 'Courier. ' I was talking to a friend ofmine who's on the ding-ding desk at the Whitcomb and she says thelong-distance business in that tavern is painful to handle--hot wordsflying over the state about this Thatcher-Bassett rumpus. You may takeit from me that the fight is warm, and I guess somebody will know moreafter the convention. But say--!"

"Um, " said Harwood, whose gaze was upon the frame of a new building thatwas rising across the street. He was thinking of Allen. If Marian andAllen were subjects of gossip in connection with the break between theirfathers he foresaw trouble; and he was sorry, for he was sincerelydevoted to the boy; and Marian he liked also, in spite of her vagaries. A great many people were likely to be affected by the personaldifficulties of Thatcher and Bassett. Even quiet Montgomery was teeming, and on the way from the station he had met half a dozen acquaintanceswho had paused to shake hands and say something about the politicalsituation. His ignorance of Bassett's real intentions, which presumablythe defiance of the "Courier" merely cloaked, was not without itsembarrassment. He had been known as a Bassett man; he had received andtalked to innumerable politicians of Bassett's party in the BoordmanBuilding; and during the four years of his identification with Bassetthe had visited most of the county seats on political and businesserrands. The closeness of their association made all the more surprisingthis sudden exclusion. 

"I said 'say, '" repeated Miss Farrell, lightly touching the smooth cliffof yellow hair above her brow with the back of her hand. "I was about togive you a message from his majesty our king, but if you're on a pipedream don't let me call you home. "

"Oh, yes; pardon me. What were you about to say?"

"Mr. Bassett said that if you came in before I quit to ask you to comeover to the Whitcomb. Mrs. Bassett blew in to-day from that sanatoriumin Connecticut where they've been working on her nerves. Miss Marianbrought her back, and they've stopped in town to rest. And say, "--hereMiss Farrell lowered her voice, --"the Missis must try his soul a gooddeal! I wonder how he ever picked _her_ out of the bunch?"

"That will do!" said Harwood sharply. "I'll find Mr. Bassett at theWhitcomb and I shan't have anything for you to-day. "

There had been a meeting of the central committee preliminary to theapproaching state convention. A number of candidates had already openedheadquarters at the Whitcomb; members of Congress, aspirants for thegovernor's seat, to be filled two years hence, and petty satraps fromfar and near were visible at the hotel. If Bassett's star was decliningthere was nothing to indicate it in the conduct of the advance guard. Ifany change was apparent it pointed to an increase of personalpopularity. Bassett was not greatly given to loafing in public places;he usually received visitors at such times in an upper room of thehotel; but Harwood found him established on a settee in the lobby inplain view of all seekers, and from the fixed appearance of the menclustered about him he had held this position for some time. Harwooddrew into the outer edge of the crowd unnoticed for a moment. Bassettwas at his usual ease; a little cheerfuler of countenance than was hiswont, and yet not unduly anxious to appear tranquil. He had precipitatedone of the most interesting political struggles the state had everwitnessed, but his air of unconcern before this mixed company of hisfellow partisans, among whom there were friends and foes, was wellcalculated to inspire faith in his leadership. Some one was telling astory, and at its conclusion Bassett caught Harwood's eye and called tohim in a manner that at once drew attention to the young man. 

"Hello, Dan! You're back from the country all right, I see! I guess youboys all know Harwood. You've seen his name in the newspapers!"

Several of the loungers shook hands with Harwood, who had cultivated thehandshaking habit, and he made a point of addressing to each one somepersonal remark. Thus the gentleman from Tippecanoe, who had met Dan atthe congressional convention in Lafayette two years earlier, felt thathe must have favorably impressed Bassett's agent on that occasion; elsehow had Harwood asked at once, with the most shameless flattery, whetherthey still had the same brand of fried chicken at his house! And thegentleman from the remote shores of the Lake, a rare visitor in town, had every right to believe, from Dan's reference to the loss by fire ofthe gentleman's house a year earlier, that that calamity had aroused inDan the deepest sympathy. Dan had mastered these tricks; it rathertickled his sense of humor to practice them; but it must be said for himthat he was sincerely interested in people, particularly in these menwho played the great game. If he ever achieved anything in politics itmust be through just such material as offered itself on such occasionsas this in the halls of the Whitcomb. These men might be tearing theleader to pieces to-morrow, or the day after; but he was still in thesaddle, and not knowing but that young Harwood might be of use to themsome day, they greeted him as one of the inner circle. 

Most of these men sincerely liked and admired Bassett; and many of themaccepted the prevailing superstition as to his omniscience andinvulnerability; even in the Republican camp many shared the belief thatthe spears of the righteous were of no avail against him. Dan's loyaltyto Bassett had never been more firmly planted. Bassett had alwayspreserved a certain formality in his relations with him; to-night he wascalling him Dan, naturally and as though unconscious of the transition. This was not without its effect on Harwood; he was surprised to find howagreeable it was to be thus familiarly addressed by the leader in such agathering. 

Bassett suggested that he speak to Mrs. Bassett and Marian, who werespending a few days in town, and he found them in the hotel parlor, where Bassett joined them shortly. Mrs. Bassett and Dan had always goton well together; his nearness to her husband brought him close to thedomestic circle; and he had been invariably responsive to her demandsupon his time. Dan had learned inevitably a good deal of the inner lifeof the Bassetts, and now and then he had been aware that Mrs. Bassettwas sounding him discreetly as to her husband's plans and projects; butthese approaches had been managed with the nicest tact and discretion. In her long absences from home she had lost touch with Bassett'spolitical interests and occupations, but she knew of his break withThatcher. She prided herself on being a woman of the world, and whileshe had flinched sometimes at the attacks made upon her husband, she wasnevertheless proud of his influence in affairs. Bassett had once, at atime when he was being assailed for smothering some measure in thesenate, given her a number of books bearing upon the anti-slaverystruggle, in which she read that the prominent leaders in that movementhad suffered the most unjust attacks, and while it was not quite clearwherein lay Bassett's likeness to Lincoln, Lovejoy, and WendellPhillips, she had been persuaded that the most honorable men in publiclife are often the targets of scandal. Her early years in Washingtonwith her father had impressed her imagination; the dream of returningthere as the wife of a Senator danced brightly in her horizons. It wouldmean much to Marian and Blackford if their father, like theirGrandfather Singleton, should attain a seat in the Senate. And she wasaware that without such party service as Bassett was rendering, withits resulting antagonisms, the virulent newspaper attacks, the socialestrangements that she had not escaped in Fraserville, a man could nothope for party preferment. 

Bassett had recently visited Blackford at the military school where hisson was established, and talk fell upon the boy. 

"Black likes to have a good time, but he will come out all right. Thecurriculum doesn't altogether fit him--that's his only trouble. "

Bassett glanced at Harwood for approval and Dan promptly supported thefather's position. Blackford had, as a matter of fact, been threatenedwith expulsion lately for insubordination. Bassett had confessed to Danseveral times his anxiety touching the boy. To-day, when the lad'smother had just returned after a long sojourn in a rest cure, was not afit occasion for discussing such matters. 

"What's Allen doing?" asked Marian. "I suppose now that papa is having arumpus with Mr. Thatcher I shall never see him any more. "

"You shouldn't speak so, Marian. A hotel parlor is no place to discussyour father's affairs, " admonished Mrs. Bassett. 

"Oh, Allen's ever so much fun. He's a Socialist or something. Aunt Sallylikes him ever so much. Aunt Sally likes Mr. Thatcher, too, for thatmatter, " she concluded boldly. 

"Mr. Thatcher is an old friend of mine, " said Bassett soberly. 

"You can be awfully funny when you want to, papa, " replied Marian. "Aswe came through Pittsburg this morning I bought a paper that told about'Stop, Look, Listen. ' But Allen won't mind if you do whistle to hisfather to keep off the track. "

"Mr. Thatcher's name was never mentioned by me in any such connection, "replied Bassett; but he laughed when Marian leaned over and patted hischeek to express her satisfaction in her father's cleverness. 

"I think it unfortunate that you have gone to war with that man, "remarked Mrs. Bassett wearily. 

"You dignify it too much by calling it a war, " Harwood interjected. "Wedon't want such men in politics in this state and somebody has to dealwith them. "

"I guess it will be a lively scrap all right enough, " said Marian, delighted at the prospect. "We're going to move to the city this fall, Mr. Harwood. Hasn't papa told you?"

Mrs. Bassett glanced at her husband with alert suspicion, thinking thatperhaps in her absence he had been conniving to this end with Marian. 

Bassett smiled at his daughter's adroitness in taking advantage ofHarwood's presence to introduce this subject; it had been the paramountissue with her for several years. 

"I shall be glad enough to stay at Fraserville the rest of my days if Iget through another Waupegan summer safely, " said Mrs. Bassett. "Themere thought of moving is horrible!"

"Oh, we wouldn't exactly move in coming here; we'd have an apartment inone of these comfortable new houses and come down while thelegislature's in session, so we can be with papa. And there's ever somuch music here now, and the theatres, and I could have a coming-outparty here. You know I never had one, papa. And it would be nice to benear Aunt Sally; she's getting old and needs us. "

"Yes; she undoubtedly does, " said Bassett, with faint irony. 

Her daughter's rapid fire of suggestions wearied Mrs. Bassett. Sheturned to Harwood:--

"Mr. Bassett and Marian have been telling me, Mr. Harwood, that AuntSally went back to college with Sylvia Garrison after Professor Kelton'sdeath. Poor girl, it's quite like Aunt Sally to do that. Sylvia must bevery forlorn, with all her people gone. I think Aunt Sally knew hermother. I hope the girl isn't wholly destitute?"

"No, the Professor left a small estate and Miss Garrison expects toteach, " Dan answered. 

"Dan is the administrator, " remarked Bassett "I'm sure you will be gladto know that Miss Garrison's affairs are in good hands, Hallie. "

"Aunt Sally is very fond of you, Mr. Harwood; I hope you appreciatethat, " said Mrs Bassett. "Aunt Sally doesn't like everybody. "

"Aunt Sally's a brick, all right, " declared Marian, as an accompanimentto Dan's expression of his gratification that Mrs. Owen had honored himwith her friendship. 

"It's too bad the girl will have to teach, " said Mrs. Bassett; "it mustbe a dog's life. "

"I think Miss Garrison doesn't look at it that way, " Harwoodintervened. "She thinks she's in the world to do something for somebody;she's a very interesting, a very charming young woman. "

"Well, I haven't seen her in five years; she was only a young girl thatsummer at the lake. How soon will Aunt Sally be back? I do hope she'scoming to Waupegan. If I'd known she was going to Wellesley, we couldhave waited for her in New York, and Marian and I could have gone withthem to see Sylvia graduated. I always wanted to visit the college. "

"It was better for you to come home, Hallie, " said Mr. Bassett. "You arenot quite up to sight-seeing yet. And now, " he added, "Dan and I havesome business on hand for an hour or so, and I'm going to send you andMarian for an automobile ride before dinner. You must quit the momentyou are tired. Wish we could all go, but I haven't seen Dan much lately, and as I'm going home with you to-morrow we shan't have another chance. "

When his wife and daughter had been dispatched in the motor Bassettsuggested that they go to a private room he had engaged in the hotel, first giving orders at the office that he was not to be disturbed. Hedid not, however, escape at once from men who had been lying in wait forhim in the lobby and corridors, but he made short work of them. 

"I want to thresh out some things with you to-day, and I'll be as briefas possible, " said Bassett when he and Harwood were alone. "You gotmatters fixed satisfactorily at Montgomery--no trouble about yourappointment?"

"None; Mrs. Owen had arranged all that. "

"You mentioned to her, did you, my offer to help?"

"Oh, yes! But she had already arranged with Akins, the banker, about theadministrator's bond, and we went at once to business. "

"That's all right; only I wanted to be sure Mrs. Owen understood I hadoffered to help you. She's very kind to my wife and children; Mrs. Bassett has been almost like a daughter to her, you know. There's reallysome property to administer, is there?"

"Very little, sir. The Professor had been obliged to drop part of hislife insurance and there was only two thousand in force when he died. The house he lived in may bring another two. There are some publishers'contracts that seem to have no value. And the old gentleman had investedwhat was a large sum for him in White River Canneries. "

Bassett frowned and he asked quickly:--

"How much?"

"Five thousand dollars. "

"As much as that?"

Bassett's connection with White River Canneries was an incident of thepolitician's career to which Harwood had never been wholly reconciled. Nor was he pleasantly impressed by Bassett's next remark, which, in viewof Mrs. Bassett's natural expectations, --and these Dan had frequentlyheard mentioned at the capital, --partook of the nature of a leadingquestion. "That's unfortunate. But I suppose Mrs. Owen, by reason of herfriendship for the grandfather, won't let the girl suffer. "

"She's not the sort of girl who would be dependent in any case. Sheholds rather altruistic ideas in fact, " remarked Harwood. "I mean, " headded, seeing that Bassett waited for him to explain himself, "that MissGarrison feels that she starts life in debt to the world--by reason ofher own opportunities and so on; she expects to make payments on thatdebt. "

"In debt?" Bassett repeated vacantly. "Oh, not literally, I see! Sheexpects to teach and help others in that way. That's commendable. Butlet me see. "

He had taken an unsharpened lead pencil from his pocket and was slippingit through his fingers absently, allowing its blunt ends to tap the armof his chair at intervals. After a moment's silence he plunged into hisown affairs. 

"You probably saw my tip to Thatcher in the 'Courier'? I guess everybodyhas seen it by this time, " he added grimly; and he went on as thoughmaking a statement his mind had thoroughly rehearsed: "Thatcher and Ihave been pretty thick. We've been in a good many business dealstogether. We've been useful to each other. He had more money than I hadto begin with, but I had other resources--influence and so on that heneeded. I guess we're quits on the business side. You may be interestedto know that I never had a cent of money in his breweries anddistilleries; but I've helped protect the traffic in return for supporthe has given some of my own enterprises. I never owned a penny in thatFraserville brewery, for instance; but I've been pointed out as itsowner. They've got the idea here in Indiana that saloons are my chiefjoy in life; but nothing is farther from the truth. When Mrs. Bassetthas been troubled about that I have always been able to tell her with agood conscience that I hadn't a penny in the business. I've franklyantagonized legislation directed against the saloon, for I've nevertaken any stock in this clamor of the Prohibitionists and temperancecranks generally; but I've stood consistently for a proper control. Thatcher and I got along all right until he saw that the party wascoming into power again and got the senatorial bee in his bonnet. He'sgot the idea that he can buy his way in; and to buy a seat he's got tobuy my friends. That's a clear proposition, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir; I haven't seen that he had any personal influence worthcounting. "

"Exactly. Now, I don't intend that Ed Thatcher shall buy a seat in theUnited States Senate if our party in Indiana has one to dispose of. I'mnot so good myself, but when I found that Thatcher had begun to build upa little machine for himself, I resolved to show him that I can't beused by any man so long as he thinks he needs me and then kicked outwhen I'm in the way. And I've got some state pride, too, and with allthe scandals going around in other states over the sale of seats atWashington I'm not going to have my party in the state where I was bornand where I have lived all my life lend itself to the ambitions of an EdThatcher. I think you share that feeling?"

"The people of the whole state will commend that, " replied Dan warmly. "And if you want to go to the Senate--"

"I don't want anything from my party that it doesn't want me to have, "interrupted Bassett. 

He rose and paced the floor. An unusual color had come into his face, but otherwise he betrayed no agitation. He crossed from the door to thewindow and resumed his seat. 

"They've said of me that I fight in the dark; that I'm a man of secretand malign methods. The 'Advertiser' said only this morning that I haveno courage; that I never make an attack where it costs me anything. I'vealready proved that to be a lie. My attack on Thatcher is likely to costme a good deal. You may be sure he won't scruple to make the bill asheavy as he can. I'm talking to you freely, and I'll say to you that Iexpect the better element of the party to rally to my support. You see, I'm going to give you idealists a chance to do something that willcount. Thatcher is not a foe to be despised. Here's his reply to my'Stop, Look, Listen, ' editorial. The sheriff served it on me just as Istepped into the elevator to come up here. "

The paper Harwood took wonderingly was a writ citing Bassett to appearas defendant in a suit brought in the circuit court by Edward G. Thatcher against the Courier Publishing Company, Morton Bassett, andSarah Owen. 

Bassett stretched himself at ease in his chair and explained. 

"I wanted a newspaper and he was indifferent about it at the time; butwe went in together, and he consented that I should have a controllinginterest. As I was tied up tight right then I had to get Mrs. Owen tohelp me out. It wasn't the kind of deal you want to hawk about town, andneither Thatcher nor I cared to have it known for a while that we hadbought the paper. But it's hardly a secret now, of course. Mrs. Owen andI together own one hundred and fifty-one shares of the total of threehundred; Thatcher owns the rest and he was satisfied to let it go thatway. He signed an agreement that I should manage the paper, and said hedidn't want anything but dividends. "

"Mrs. Owen's interest is subject to your wishes, of course; that goeswithout saying. "

"Well, I guaranteed eight per cent on her investment, but we've made itlately, easily. I've now got to devise some means of getting rid ofThatcher; but we'll let him cool till after the convention. Mrs. Owenwon't be back for several weeks, I suppose?"

"No; she and Miss Garrison will return immediately after thecommencement exercises. "

"Well, Thatcher brought that suit, thinking that if he could throw thepaper into a receivership he'd run up the price when it came to be soldand shake me out. He knew, too, that it would annoy Mrs. Owen to beinvolved in litigation. It's surprising that he would incur her wrathhimself; she's always been mighty decent to Ed and kind to his boy. ButI'll have to buy her stock and let her out; it's a delicate business, and for Mrs. Bassett's sake I've got to get her aunt out as quickly aspossible. "

"That, of course, will be easily managed. It's too bad she's away justnow. "

"It was the first time I ever asked her help in any of my businessaffairs, and it's unfortunate. The fact is that Mrs. Bassett doesn'tknow of it. "

He rose and crossed the room slowly with his hands thrust deep into histrousers pockets. 

"But if Mrs. Owen is guaranteed against loss there's no ground forcriticizing you, " said Dan. "There's nothing to trouble about on thatside of it, I should think. "

"Oh, I'm not troubling about that, " replied Bassett shortly. He shruggedhis shoulders and walked to the window, gazing out on the street insilence for several minutes. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

"I told you, Dan, when you opened our office in the Boordman Building, that if ever the time came when you didn't want to serve me any longeryou were to feel free to quit. You are under no obligations to me of anysort. I caught a bargain in you; you have been useful to me in manyways; you have carried nearly the whole burden of the paper-millreceivership in a way to win me the praise of the court and all othersinterested. If you should quit me to-night I should still be yourdebtor. I had about decided to leave you out of my calculations inpolitics; you have the making of a good lawyer and if you opened anoffice to-morrow you would find clients without trouble. You arebeginning to be known, very well known for a man of your years. "

Harwood demurred feebly, unheeded by Bassett, who continued steadily. 

"I had thought for a time that I shouldn't encourage you to take anypart in politics--at least in my affairs. The receivership has beengiving you enough to do; and the game, after all, is a hard one. Evenafter I decided to break with Thatcher I thought I'd leave you out ofit: that's why I gave you no intimation of what was coming, but put thedetails into Atwill's hands. I had really meant to show you a proof ofthat editorial, but I wasn't sure until they had to close the page thatnight that I was ready to make the break. I had been pretty hot thatevening at the Country Club when I saw Pettit and Thatcher chummingtogether; I wanted to be sure I had cooled off. But I find that I've gotin the habit of relying on you; I've been open with you from thebeginning, and as you know I'm not much given to taking men into myconfidence. But I've been leaning on you a good deal--more, in fact, than I realized. "

There was no questioning Bassett's sincerity, nor was there any doubtthat this appeal was having its effect on the younger man. If Bassetthad been a weakling timorously making overtures for help, Harwood wouldhave been sensible of it; but a man of demonstrated force andintelligence, who had probably never talked thus to another soul in hislife, was addressing him with a candor at once disarming and compelling. It was not easy to say to a man from whom he had accepted every kindnessthat he had ceased to trust him; that while he had been his willingcompanion on fair-weather voyages, he would desert without a qualmbefore the tempest. But even now Bassett had asked nothing of him; whyshould he harden his heart against the man who had been his friend?

"You have your ideals--fine ideas of public service that I admire. Ourparty needs such men as you; the young fellows couldn't get away from usfast enough after '96; many of the Sons of old-time Democrats joined theRepublicans. Fitch has spoken to me of you often as the kind of man weought to push forward, and I'm willing to put you out on thefiring-line, where you can work for your ideals. My help will handicapyou at first, "--his voice grew dry and hard here, -"but once you have gota start you can shake me off as quick as you like. It's a perfectlyselfish proposition I'm making, Harwood; it simply gets down to this, that I need your help. "

"Of course, Mr. Bassett; if I can serve you in any way--"

"Anything you can do for me you may do if you don't feel that you willbe debasing yourself in fighting under my flag. It's a black flag, theysay--just as black as Thatcher's. I don't believe you want to joinThatcher; the question is, do you want to stick to me?"

Bassett had spoken quietly throughout. He had made no effort to playupon Harwood's sympathies or to appeal to his gratitude. He was, incommon phrase, to be taken or let alone. Harwood realized that he musteither decline outright or declare his fealty in a word. It was in noview a debatable matter; he could not suggest points of difference oreven inquire as to the nature of the service to be exacted. He was faceto face with a man who, he had felt that night of their first meeting atFraserville, gave and received hard blows. Yet he did not doubt that iftheir relations terminated to-day Bassett would deal with himmagnanimously. He realized that after all it was not Bassett who was ontrial; it was Daniel Harwood!

He saw his life in sharp fulgurations; the farm (cleared of debt throughBassett's generosity, to be sure!) where his father and brothersstruggled to wrest a livelihood from reluctant soil, and their pride andhope in him; he saw his teachers at college, men who had pointed the wayto useful and honorable lives; and more than all, Sumner rose beforehim--Sumner who had impressed him more than any other man he had everknown. Sumner's clean-cut visage was etched grimly in his consciousness;verily Sumner would not have dallied with a man of Bassett's ilk. He hadbelieved when he left college that Sumner's teaching and example wouldbe a buckler and shield to him all the days of his life; and here hewas, faltering before a man to whom the great teacher would have givenscarce a moment's contemptuous thought. He could even hear theprofessor's voice as he ironically pronounced upon sordid little despotsof Bassett's stamp. And only forty-eight hours earlier he had beentalking to a girl on the campus at Madison who had spoken of idealismand service in the terms of which he had thought of those things when heleft college. Even Allen Thatcher, in his whimsical fashion, stood forideals, and dreamed of the heroic men who had labored steadfastly forgreat causes. Here was his chance now to rid himself of Bassett; tobreathe free air again! On the other hand, Bassett had himself suggestedthat Harwood, once in a position to command attention, might go his owngait. His servitude would be for a day only, and by it he should wineternal freedom. He caught eagerly at what Bassett was saying, gratefulthat the moment of his choice was delayed. 

"The state convention is only three weeks off and I had pretty carefullymapped it out before the 'Courier' dropped that shot across Thatcher'sbows. I've arranged for you to go as delegate to the state conventionfrom this county and to have a place on the committee on resolutions. This will give you an introduction to the party that will be of value. They will say you are my man--but they've said that of other men whohave lived it down. I want Thatcher to have his way in that convention, naming the ticket as far as he pleases, and appearing to give me adrubbing. The party's going to be defeated in November--there's noducking that. We'll let Thatcher get the odium of that defeat. About thenext time we'll go in and win and there won't be any more Thatchernonsense. This is politics, you understand. "

Harwood nodded; but Bassett had not finished; it clearly was not hispurpose to stand the young man in a corner and demand a choice from him. Bassett pursued negotiations after a fashion of his own. 

"Thatcher thinks he has scored heavily on me by sneaking intoFraserville and kidnaping old Ike Pettit. That fellow has always been anuisance to me; I carried a mortgage on his newspaper for ten years, butThatcher has mercifully taken that burden off my shoulders by paying it. Thatcher can print anything he wants to about me in my own town; but itwill cost him some money; those people up there don't think I'm sowicked, and the 'Fraser County Democrat' won't have any advertisementsfor a while but fake medical ads. But Ike will have more room for theexploitation of his own peculiar brand of homely Hoosier humor. "

Bassett smiled, and Harwood was relieved to be able to laugh aloud. Hewas enjoying this glimpse of the inner mysteries of the great game. Hisdisdain of Thatcher's clumsy attempts to circumvent Bassett wascomplete; in any view Bassett was preferable to Thatcher. As the senatorfrom Fraser had said, there was really nothing worse than Thatcher, withhis breweries and racing-stable, his sordidness and vulgarity. Thatcher's efforts to practice Bassett's methods with Bassett's owntools was a subject for laughter. It seemed for the moment thatHarwood's decision might be struck on this note of mirth. Dan wonderedwhether, in permitting Bassett thus to disclose his plans and purposes, he had not already nailed his flag to the Bassett masthead. 

"I don't want these fellows who are old-timers in stateconventions--particularly those known to be my old friends--to figuremuch, " Bassett continued. "I'm asking your aid because you're new andclean-handed. The meanest thing they can say against you is that you'rein my camp. They tell me you're an effective speaker, a number ofcounty chairmen have said your speeches in the last campaign made a goodimpression. I shall want you to prepare a speech about four minuteslong, clean-cut and vigorous, --we'll decide later what that speech shallbe about. I've got it in mind to spring something in that conventionjust to show Thatcher that there are turns of the game he doesn't knowyet. I'm going to give you a part that will make 'em remember you forsome time, Dan. "

Bassett's smile showed his strong sound teeth. He rarely laughed, but heyielded now to the contagion of the humor he had aroused in Harwood. 

"It's a big chance you're giving me to get into things, " repliedHarwood. "I'll do my best. " Then he added, in the glow of his completesurrender: "You've never asked me to do a dishonorable thing in the fouryears I've been with you. There's nothing I oughtn't to be glad to dofrom any standpoint, and I'm grateful for this new mark of yourconfidence. "

"That's all right, Dan. There are things in store for young men inpolitics in this state--Republicans and Democrats, " said Bassett, without elation or any show of feeling whatever. "Once the limelighthits you, you can go far--very far. I must go over to the 'Courier'office now and see Atwill. "

CHAPTER XIX

THE THUNDER OF THE CAPTAINS

Marian had suggested to her mother that they visit Mrs. Owen in townbefore settling at Waupegan for the summer, and it was Marian's planningthat made this excursion synchronize with the state convention. Mr. Bassett was not consulted in the matter; in fact, since his wife'sreturn from Connecticut he had been unusually occupied, and almostconstantly away from Fraserville. Mrs. Bassett and her daughter arrivedat the capital the day after Mrs. Owen reached home from Wellesley withSylvia, and the Bassetts listened perforce to their kinswoman'senthusiastic account of the commencement exercises. Mrs. Owen had, itappeared, looked upon Smith and Mount Holyoke also on this eastwardflight, and these inspections, mentioned in the most casual manner, didnot contribute to Mrs. Bassett's happiness. 

Finding that her father was inaccessible by telephone, Marian summonedHarwood and demanded tickets for the convention; she would make anoccasion of it, and Mrs. Owen and Sylvia should go with them. Mrs. Bassett and her family had always enjoyed the freedom of Mrs. Owen'shouse; it was disheartening to find Sylvia established in DelawareStreet on like terms of intimacy. The old heartache over Marian'sindifference to the call of higher education for women returned with anew poignancy as Mrs. Bassett inspected Sylvia's diploma, as proudlydisplayed by Mrs. Owen as though it marked the achievement of some nearand dear member of the family. Sylvia's undeniable good looks, heragreeable manner, her ready talk, and the attention she received fromher elders, were well calculated to arm criticism in a prejudiced heart. On the evening of their arrival Admiral and Mrs. Martin and the ReverendJohn Ware had called, and while Mrs. Bassett assured herself that thesewere, in a sense, visits of condolence upon Andrew Kelton'sgranddaughter, the trio, who were persons of distinction, had seemedsincerely interested in Mrs. Owen's protégée. Mrs. Bassett was obligedto hear a lively dialogue between the minister and Sylvia touching somememory of his first encounter with her about the stars. He brought heras a "commencement present" Bacon's "Essays. " People listened to Sylvia;Sylvia had things to say! Even the gruff admiral paid her deference. Hedemanded to know whether it was true that Sylvia had declined a positionat the Naval Observatory, which required the calculation of tides forthe Nautical Almanac. Mrs. Bassett was annoyed that Sylvia had refused aposition that would have removed her from a proximity to Mrs. Owen thatstruck her as replete with danger. And yet Mrs. Bassett was outwardlyfriendly, and she privately counseled Marian, quite unnecessarily, to be"nice" to Sylvia. On the same evening Mrs. Bassett was disagreeablyimpressed by Harwood's obvious rubrication in Mrs. Owen's good books. It seemed darkly portentous that Dan was, at Mrs. Owen's instigation, managing Sylvia's business affairs; she must warn her husband againstthis employment of his secretary to strengthen the ties between Mrs. Owen and this object of her benevolence. 

Mrs. Bassett's presence at the convention did not pass unremarked bymany gentlemen upon the floor, or by the newspapers. 

"While the state chairman struggled to bring the delegates to order, Miss Marian Bassett, daughter of the Honorable Morton Bassett, of FraserCounty, was a charming and vivacious figure in the balcony. At a momentwhen it seemed that the band would never cease from troubling the airwith the strains of 'Dixie, ' Miss Bassett tossed a carnation into theMarion County delegation. The flower was deftly caught by Mr. DanielHarwood, who wore it in his buttonhole throughout the strenuous eventsof the day. "

This item was among the "Kodak Shots" subjoined to the "Advertiser's"account of the convention. It was stated elsewhere in the same journalthat "never before had so many ladies attended a state convention asgraced this occasion. The wives of both Republican United StatesSenators and of many prominent politicians of both parties were present, their summer costumes giving to the severe lines of the balcony a brightnote of color. " The "Capital, " in its minor notes of the day, remarkedupon the perfect amity that prevailed among the wives and daughters ofRepublicans and Democrats. It noted also the presence in Mrs. Bassett'sparty of her aunt, Mrs. Jackson Owen, and of Mrs. Owen's guest, MissSylvia Garrison, a graduate of this year's class at Wellesley. 

The experiences and sensations of a delegate to a large convention arequite different from those of a reporter at the press table, as DanHarwood realized; and it must be confessed that he was keyed to a properpitch of excitement by the day's prospects. In spite of Bassett'spromise that he need not trouble to help elect himself a delegate, Harwood had been drawn sharply into the preliminary skirmish at theprimaries. He had thought it wise to cultivate the acquaintance of themen who ruled his own county even though his name had been written largeupon the Bassett slate. 

In the weeks that intervened between his interview with Harwood in theupper room of the Whitcomb and the primaries, Bassett had quietlyvisited every congressional district, holding conferences and perfectinghis plans. "Never before, " said the "Advertiser, " "had Morton Bassett'spernicious activity been so marked. " The belief had grown that thesenator from Fraser was in imminent peril; in the Republican camp it wasthought that while Thatcher might not control the convention he wouldprove himself strong enough to shake the faith of many of Bassett'sfollowers in the power of their chief. There had been, apparently, a hotcontest at the primaries. In the northern part of the state, in a regionlong recognized as Bassett's stronghold, Thatcher had won easily; atthe capital the contestants had broken even, a result attributable toThatcher's residence in the county. The word had passed among thefaithful that Thatcher money was plentiful, and that it was not onlyavailable in this preliminary skirmish, but that those who attachedthemselves to Thatcher early were to enjoy his bounty throughout hiscampaign--which might be protracted--for the senatorship. Bassett wasnot scattering largess; it was whispered that the money he had usedpreviously in politics had come out of Thatcher's pocket and that hewould have less to spend in future. 

Bassett, in keeping with his forecast to Harwood, had made a point ofhaving many new men, whose faces were unfamiliar in state conventions, chosen at the primaries he controlled, so that in a superficial view ofthe convention the complexion of a considerable body of the delegateswas neutral. Here and there among the delegations sat men who knewprecisely Bassett's plans and wishes. The day following the primaries, Bassett, closeted with Harwood in his room at the Boordman Building, hadrun the point of a walking-stick across every county in the state, reciting from memory just how many delegates he absolutely controlled, those he could get easily if he should by any chance need them, and thenumber of undoubted Thatcher men there were to reckon with. In Dan's ownmingling with the crowd at the Whitcomb the night before the conventionhe had learned nothing to shake his faith in Bassett's calculations. 

The Honorable Isaac Pettit, of Fraser, was one of the most noteworthyfigures on the floor. Had he not thrown off the Bassett yoke andtrampled the lord of Fraser County underfoot? Did not the oppositionpress applaud the editor for so courageously wresting from thedespicable chieftain the control of a county long inured to slavery?Verily, the Honorable Isaac had done much to encourage belief in theguileless that such were the facts. Even the "Courier" proved its sturdyindependence by printing the result of the primary without extenuationor aught set down in malice. The Honorable Isaac Pettit undoubtedlybelieved in himself as the savior of Fraser. He had personally led thefight in the Fraser County primaries and had vanquished Bassett!"Bassett had fought gamely, " the Republican organ averred, to make moreglorious the Honorable Isaac's victory. It was almost inconceivable, they said, that Bassett, who had dominated his party for years, shouldnot be able to elect himself a delegate to a state convention. 

In a statement printed in the "Courier, " Bassett had accepted defeat ina commendable spirit of resignation. He and Atwill had framed thatstatement a week before the primaries, and Miss Rose Farrell had copiedat least a dozen drafts before Bassett's critical sense was satisfied. Harwood was increasingly amused by the manifestations of Bassett'sironic humor. "I have never yet, " ran the statement, "placed my ownambitions before the wishes of my party; and if, when the Democrats ofFraser County meet to choose a candidate for state senator, they arenot disposed to renominate me for a seat which I have held for twelveyears, I shall gladly resign to another and give my loyal support to thecandidate of their choice. " It was whispered that the Honorable IsaacPettit would himself be a candidate for the nomination. The chattelmortgage scrolls in the office of the recorder of Fraser Countyindicated that his printing-press no longer owed allegiance to theHonorable Morton Bassett. Thatcher had treated Pettit generously, takinghis unsecured note for the amount advanced to cleanse the "Fraser CountyDemocrat" of the taint of Bassettism. 

As they gathered in the convention hall many of the delegates wereunable to adjust themselves to the fact that Bassett had not only failedof election as delegate from his own county, but that he was not evenpresent as a spectator of the convention. The scene was set, the curtainhad risen, but Hamlet came not to the platform before the castle. Manymen sought Harwood and inquired in awed whispers as to Bassett'swhereabouts, but he gave evasive answers. He knew, however, that Bassetthad taken an early morning train for Waupegan, accompanied by Fitch, their purpose being to discuss in peace and quiet the legal proceedingbegun to gain control of the "Courier. " The few tried and trustedBassett men who knew exactly Bassett's plans for the convention listenedin silence to the hubbub occasioned by their chief's absence; silencewas a distinguishing trait of Bassett's lieutenants. Among theuninitiated there were those who fondly believed that Bassett waskilled, not scotched, and they said among themselves that the party andthe state were well rid of him. Thatcher was to be reckoned with, but hewas no worse than Bassett: with such cogitations they comfortedthemselves amid the noise and confusion. The old Bassett superstitionheld, however, with many: this was only another of the Boss's deep-laidschemes, and he would show his hand in due season and prove himself, asusual, master of the situation. Others imagined that Bassett wassulking, and these were not anxious to be the target of his wrath whenhe chose to emerge from his tent in full armor. 

A young woman reporter, traversing the galleries to note the names andgowns of the ladies present, sought Mrs. Bassett for information as toher husband's whereabouts. When Mrs. Bassett hesitated discreetly, Marian rose promptly to the occasion:--

"Papa's gone fishing, " she replied suavely. 

This was not slow to reach the floor. "Papa's gone fishing" gained widecurrency as the answer to the most interesting question of the day. 

The Honorable Isaac Pettit, seated majestically with the Fraser Countydelegation, tested the acoustics of the hall at the first opportunity. While the chairman of the state central committee was endeavoring topresent as the temporary chairman of the convention a patriot known asthe "War Eagle of the Wabash, " the gentleman from Fraser insisted uponrecognition. 

"Who is that preposterous fat man?" demanded Mrs. Owen, plying herpalm-leaf fan vigorously. 

"That's Mr. Pettit, from our town, " said Mrs. Bassett. "He's an editorand lecturer. "

"He's the man that defeated papa in our primaries, " added Mariancheerfully. "He's awfully funny, everybody says, and I suppose hisdefeating papa was a joke. He's going to say something funny now. "

"He doesn't need to, " said Sylvia, not the least interested of thespectators. "They are laughing before he begins. "

The chairman of the state committee feigned not to hear or see thedelegate from Fraser, but Mr. Pettit continued to importune the chairamid much laughter and confusion. The chairman had hardened his heart, but the voice of the gentleman from Fraser alone rose above the tumult, and in a moment of comparative calm he addressed the chair unrecognizedand unpermitted. 

"I beg to call your attention, sir, to the presence in the gallery ofmany of the fair daughters of the old Hoosier State. (Applause. ) Theyhover above us like guardian angels. They have come in the spirit thatbrought their sisters of old to watch true knights battle in thetourney. As a mark of respect to these ladies who do us so much honor, Iask the chair to request gentlemen to desist from smoking, and that thesergeant-at-arms be ordered to enforce the rule throughout ourdeliberations. " (Long-continued applause. )

The state chairman was annoyed and showed his annoyance. He had beenabout to ingratiate himself with the ladies by making this requestunprompted; he made it now, but the gentleman from Fraser sat downconscious that the renewed applause was his. 

"Why don't they keep on smoking?" asked Mrs. Owen. "The hall couldn'tbe any fuller of smoke than it is now. "

"If they would all put on their coats the room would be more beautiful, "said Marian. "They always say the Republicans are much more gentlemanlythan the Democrats. "

"Hush, Marian; some one might hear you, " Mrs. Bassett cautioned. 

She did not understand her husband's absence; he rarely or never tookher into his confidence in political matters. She had not known untilthat morning that he was not to be present at the convention. She didnot relish the idea that he had been defeated in the primaries; in hermind defeat was inseparable from dishonor. The "War Eagle of the Wabash"was in excellent voice and he spoke for thirty minutes; his speech wouldhave aroused greater enthusiasm if it had not been heard in manyprevious state conventions and on the hustings through many campaigns. Dan Voorhees had once expressed his admiration of that speech; and itwas said that Tom Hendricks had revised the original manuscript the yearhe was chosen Vice-President. It was a safe speech, containing nothingthat any good American might not applaud; it named practically everyDemocratic President except the twenty-second and twenty-fourth, whom itseemed the better part of valor just then to ignore. With slightemendations that same oration served admirably for high-schoolcommencements, and it had a recognized cash value on the Chautauquacircuit. The peroration, closing with "Thou, too, sail on, O Ship ofState!" was well calculated to bring strong men to their feet. The onlycomplaint the War Eagle might have lodged against the Ship of State (insome imaginable admiralty court having jurisdiction of that barnacledold frigate) would have been for its oft-repeated rejection of his ownpiloting. 

The permanent chairman now disclosed was a man of business, who thankedthe convention briefly and went to work. By the time the committee onresolutions had presented the platform (on which Bassett and Harwood hadcollaborated) the convention enjoyed its first sensation as Thatcherappeared, moving slowly down the crowded main aisle to join thedelegation of his county. His friends had planned a demonstration forhis entrance, and in calling it an ovation the newspapers hardlymagnified its apparent spontaneity and volume. The man who hadundertaken the herculean task of driving Morton Bassett out of politicswas entitled to consideration, and his appearance undoubtedlyinterrupted the business of the convention for fully five minutes. Thatcher bowed and waved his hand as he sat down. The cordiality of hisreception both pleased and embarrassed him. He fanned himself with hishat and feigned indifference to the admiration of his countrymen. 

"Papa always gets more applause than that, " Marian remarked to Sylvia. "I was at the state convention two years ago and father came in late, just as Mr. Thatcher did. They always come in late after all the stupidspeeches have been made; they're surer to stir up a big rumpus thatway. "

Sylvia gave serious heed to these transactions of history. Her knowledgeof politics was largely derived from lectures she had heard at collegeand from a diligent reading of newspapers. The report of the committeeon resolutions--a succinct document to each of whose paragraphs thedelegates rose in stormy approval--had just been read. 

"I don't see how you can listen to such stuff, " said Marian during alull in the shouting. "It's only the platform and they don't mean a wordof it. There's Colonel Ramsay, of Aurora, --the man with white hair whohas just come on the stage. He had dinner at our house once and he'sperfectly lovely. He's a beautiful speaker, but they won't let him speakany more because he was a gold bug--whatever that is. They say ColonelRamsay has stopped gold-bugging now and wants to be governor. Sylvia, all these men that don't want to be United States Senator want to begovernor. Isn't it funny? I don't see why silver money isn't just asgood as any other kind, do you?"

"They told me at college, " said Sylvia, "but it's rather complicated. Why didn't your father come to the convention even if he wasn't adelegate? He could have sat in the gallery; I suppose a lot of those mendown there are not really delegates. "

"Oh, that wouldn't be papa's way of doing things. I wish he had come, just on mama's account; she takes everything so hard. If papa ever didhalf the naughty things they say he does he'd be in the penitentiarygood and tight. I should like to marry a public man; if I trusted a manenough to marry him I shouldn't be jarred a bit by what the newspaperssaid of him. I like politics; I don't know what it's all about, but Ithink the men are ever so interesting. "

"I think so too, " said Sylvia; "only I don't understand why they make somuch noise and do so little. That platform they read a little bit agoseemed splendid. I read a lot of political platforms once incollege--they were part of the course--and that was the best one I everheard. It declared for laws against child labor, and I'm interested inthat; and for juvenile courts and a lot of the new enlightened things. It was all fine. "

"Do you think so? It sounded just like a trombone solo to me. Mr. Harwood was on that committee. Didn't you hear his name read? He's oneof these high brows in politics, and father's going to push him forwardso he can accomplish the noble things that interest him. Father told meMr. Harwood would be a delegate to the convention. That's the reason Iwanted to come. I hope he will make a speech; they say he's one of thebest of the younger men. I heard him at the Opera House at Fraservillein the last campaign and he kept me awake, I can tell you. And funny!You wouldn't think he could be funny. "

"Oh, I can see that he has humor--the lines around his mouth show that. "

They had discussed the convention and its possibilities at Mrs. Owen'sbreakfast table and with the morning newspapers as their texts. Sylviahad gained the impression that Bassett had met a serious defeat in thechoice of delegates, and she had been conscious that Mrs. Bassett wasdistressed by the newspaper accounts of it. Marian bubbled onelucidatively, answering all of Sylvia's questions. 

"Don't you think that because papa isn't here he won't be heard from; Ithink I know papa better than that. He didn't think this conventionwould amount to enough for him to trouble with it. I told Aunt Sally notto talk much before mother about papa and politics; you will notice thatAunt Sally turned the subject several times this morning. That lawsuitMr. Thatcher brought against papa and Aunt Sally made her pretty hot, but papa will fix that up all right. Papa always fixes up everything, "she concluded admiringly. 

It was in Sylvia's mind that she was witnessing a scene of the nationaldrama and that these men beneath her in the noisy hall were engaged uponmatters more or less remotely related to the business ofself-government. She had derived at college a fair idea of the questionsof the day, but the parliamentary mechanism and the thunder of thecaptains and the shouting gave to politics a new, concrete expression. These delegates, drawn from all occupations and conditions of life, werecitizens of a republic, endeavoring to put into tangible form theirideas and preferences; and similar assemblies had, she knew, for yearsbeen meeting in every American commonwealth, enacting just such scenesas those that were passing under her eyes. Her gravity amused Mrs. Owen. 

"Don't you worry, Sylvia; they are all kind to their families and mostof 'em earn an honest living. I've attended lots of conventions of allparties and they're all about alike: there are more standing collars ina Republican convention and more whiskers when the Prohibitionists gettogether, but they're all mostly corn-fed and human. A few fellows withbrains in their heads run all the rest. "

"Look, Marian, Mr. Harwood seems to be getting ready to do something, "said Sylvia. "I wonder what that paper is he has in his hand. He's beenholding it all morning. "

Harwood sat immediately under them. Several times men had passed notesto him, whereupon he had risen and searched out the writer to give hisanswer with a nod or shake of the head. When Thatcher appeared, Dan hadwaited for the hubbub to subside and then he left his seat to shakehands with Bassett's quondam ally. He held meanwhile a bit of notepaperthe size of his hand, and scrutinized it carefully from time to time. Itcontained the precise programme of the convention as arranged byBassett. Morton Bassett was on a train bound for the pastoral shades ofWaupegan a hundred miles away, but the permanent chairman had in hisvest pocket a copy of Bassett's scheme of exercises; even Thatcher'srapturous greeting had been ordered by Bassett. There had already beenone slight slip; the eagerness of the delegates to proceed to theselection of the state ticket had sent matters forward for a momentbeyond the chairman's control. A delegate with a weak voice had gainedrecognition for the laudable purpose of suggesting a limitation uponnominating speeches; the permanent chairman had mistaken him foranother gentleman for whom he was prepared, and he hastened to correcthis blunder. He seized the gavel and began pounding vigorously and theman with the weak voice never again caught his eye. 

In the middle of the hall a delegate now drew attention to himself byrising upon a chair; he held a piece of paper in his hand and waved it;and the chairman promptly took cognizance of him. The chairman referredto him as the gentleman from Pulaski, but he might have been thegentleman from Vallombrosa for all that any one cared. The conventionwas annoyed that a gentleman from Pulaski County should have dared toflourish manuscript when there were innumerable orators present fullyprepared to speak extempore on any subject. For all that any one knewthe gentleman from Pulaski might be primed with a speech on the chinchbug or the Jewish kritarchy; a man with a sheet of paper in his hand wasa formidable person, if not indeed a foe of mankind, and he wascertainly not to be countenaced or encouraged in a hot hall on a day ofJune. Yet all other human beings save the gentleman from Pulaski were asnothing, it seemed, to the chairman. The Tallest Delegate, around whoselean form a frock coat hung like a fold of night, and who flung backfrom a white brow an immense quantity of raven hair, sought to relievethe convention of the sight and sound of the person from Pulaski. TheTallest Delegate was called smartly to order; he rebelled, but whenthreatened with the sergeant-at-arms subsided amid jeers. The gentlemanfrom Pulaski was indulged to the fullest extent by the chairman, to whomit had occurred suddenly that the aisles must be cleared. The aisleswere cleared and delegates were obliged to find their seats before theunknown gentleman from Pulaski was allowed to proceed. Even the WarEagle had received no such consideration. The gentleman from Pulaskicalmly waited for a completer silence than the day had known. Ten men inthe hall knew what was coming--not more; Miss Rose Farrell had typed tencopies of the memorandum which Harwood held in his hand!

The gentleman from Pulaski did not after all refer to his manuscript; hespoke in a high, penetrating voice that reached the farthest corner ofthe hall, reciting from memory:--

"Be it resolved by this convention that, whereas two years hence it willbe the privilege and duty of the Indiana Democracy to elect a UnitedStates Senator to fill the seat now occupied by a Republican, we, thedelegates here assembled, do hereby pledge the party's support for theoffice of Senator in Congress to the Honorable Edward G. Thatcher, ofMarion County. "

There was a moment's awed calm before the storm broke; Thatcher rose inhis seat to look at the strange gentleman from Pulaski who had thusflung his name into the arena. Thatcher men rose and clamored blindlyfor recognition, without the faintest idea of what they should do ifhaply the cold eye of the chairman fell upon them. The galleries joinedin the uproar; the band began to play "On the Banks of the Wabash" andwas with difficulty stopped; a few voices cried "Bassett, " but cries of"Thatcher" rose in a mighty roar and drowned them. The chairman hammeredmonotonously for order; Mr. Daniel Harwood might have been seen tothrust his memorandum into his trousers pocket; he bent forward in hisseat with his eye upon the chairman. The Honorable Isaac Pettit had beenfor a moment nonplussed; he was unacquainted with the gentleman fromPulaski, nor had he known that an effort was to be made to commit theconvention to Thatcher's candidacy; still the tone of the resolution wasfriendly. Thatcher, rising to his feet, was noisily cheered; his facewas red and his manner betokened anger; but after glancing helplesslyover the hall he sank into his seat. The chairman thumped with hisgavel; it seemed for a moment that he had lost control of theconvention; and now the Honorable Isaac Pettit was observed demanding tobe heard. The chairman lifted his hand and the noise died away. It layin his power to ignore the resolution wholly or to rule it out of order;the chairman was apparently in no haste to do anything. 

"Good old Uncle Ike, " howled some one encouragingly, and there waslaughter and applause. With superb dignity Mr. Pettit appealed forsilence with gestures that expressed self-depreciation, humility, andlatent power in one who would, in due course, explain everything. Agroup of delegates in the rear began chanting stridently, "Order!Order!" and it was flung back antiphonally from a dozen otherdelegations. 

Mr. Harwood became active and climbed upon his chair. Gentlemen in everypart of the hall seemed at once anxious to speak, but the chairman wasapparently oblivious of all but the delegate from Marion. The delegatefrom Marion, like the mysterious person from Pulaski, was a stranger tostate conventions. The ladies were at once interested in the younggentleman with the red carnation in his buttonhole--a trim young fellow, in a blue serge suit, with a blue four-in-hand knotted under a whitewinged collar. As he waited with his eye on the chairman he put his handto his head and smoothed his hair. 

"Is Daniel going to speak?" asked Mrs. Owen. "He ought to have asked meif he's going to back Edward Thatcher for Senator. "

"I always think his cowlick's so funny. He's certainly the cool one, "said Marian. 

"I don't know what they're talking about a Senator for, " said Mrs. Bassett. "It's very unusual. If I'd known they were going to talk aboutthat I shouldn't have come. There's sure to be a row. "

The chairman seemed anxious that the delegate from Marion should behonored with the same close attention that had been secured for thestranger from Pulaski. 

"I hope he'll wait till they all sit down, " said Sylvia; "I want to hearhim speak. "

"You'll hear him, all right, " said Marian. "You know at Yale they calledhim 'Foghorn' Harwood, and they put him in front to lead the cheering atall the big games. "

Apparently something was expected of Mr. Harwood of Marion. Thatcherhad left his seat and was moving toward the corridors to find hislieutenants. Half a dozen men accosted him as he moved through theaisle, but he shook them off angrily. An effort to start anotherdemonstration in his honor was not wholly fruitless. It resulted atleast in a good deal of confusion of which the chair was brieflytolerant; then he resumed his pounding, while Harwood stood stubbornlyon his chair. 

The Tallest Delegate, known to be a recent convert to Thatcher, wasthoroughly aroused, and advanced toward the platform shouting; but thechairman leveled his gavel at him and bade him sit down. The moment wascritical; the veriest tyro felt the storm-spirit brooding over the hall. 

The voice of the chairman was now audible. 

"The chair recognizes the delegate from Marion. "

"Out of order! What's his name!" howled many voices. 

The chairman graciously availed himself of the opportunity to announcethe name of the gentleman he had recognized. 

"Mr. Harwood, of Marion, has the floor. The convention will be in order. The gentleman will proceed. "

"Mr. Chairman, I rise to a point of order. "

Dan's voice rose sonorously; the convention was relieved to find thatthe gentleman in blue serge could be heard; he was audible even to Mr. Thatcher's excited counsellors in the corridors. 

"The delegate will kindly state his point of order. "

The chairman was quietly courteous. His right hand rested on his gavel, he thrust his left into the side pocket of his long alpaca coat. He wasan old and tried hand in the chair, and his own deep absorption in theremarks of Mr. Harwood communicated itself to the delegates. 

Dan uttered rapidly the speech he had committed to memory for thisoccasion a week earlier. Every sentence had been carefully pondered;both Bassett and Atwill had blue penciled it until it expressedconcisely and pointedly exactly what Bassett wished to be said at thispoint in the convention's proceedings. Interruptions, of applause orderision, were to be reckoned with; but the speaker did not once drophis voice or pause long enough for any one to drive in a wedge ofprotest. He might have been swamped by an uprising of the wholeconvention, but strange to say the convention was intent upon hearinghim. Once the horde of candidates and distinguished visitors on theplatform had been won to attention, Harwood turned slowly until he facedthe greater crowd behind him. Several times he lifted his right hand andstruck out with it, shaking his head with the vigor of his utterance. ("His voice, " said the "Advertiser's" report, "rumbles and bangs like abowling-alley on Saturday night. There was a big bump every time asentence rumbled down the hall and struck the rear wall of thebuilding. ")

"Sir, I make the obvious point of order that there are no vacancies tofill in the office of United States Senator, and that it does not liewithin the province of the delegates chosen to this convention to pledgethe party to any man. I do not question the motive of the delegate fromPulaski County, who is my personal friend; and I am animated by nofeelings of animosity in demanding that the convention proceed to thedischarge of its obligations without touching upon matters clearlybeyond its powers. I confidently hope and sincerely believe that ourparty in Indiana is soon to receive a new commission of trust andconfidence from the people of the old Hoosier State. But our immediatebusiness is the choice of a ticket behind which the Hoosier Democracywill move on to victory in November like an army with banners. (Cheers. )There have been intimations in the camp of our enemy that the party isthreatened with schism and menaced by factional wars; but I declare myconviction that the party is more harmonious and more truly devoted tohigh ideals to-day than at any time since the grand old name of Democratbecame potent upon Hoosier soil. And what have we to do with leaders?Men come and men go, but principles alone are eternal and live forever. The great task of our party must be to bring the government back to thepeople. (Scattering applause. ) But the choice of an invulnerable stateticket at this convention is our business and our only business. As forIndiana's two seats in the national Senate which we shall soon wrestfrom our adversaries, in due season we shall fill them with tried menand true. Sir, let us remember that whosoever maketh himself a kingspeaketh against Caesar. Stop, Look, Listen!"

Hardly a man in the hall so dull that this did not penetrate! Dan hadgiven to his last words a weird, mournful intonation whose effect wasstartling. He jumped lightly to the floor and was in his seat before thedeep boom of his voice had ceased reverberating. Then instantly itseemed that the seventeen hundred delegates had been multiplied by ten, and that every man had become a raving lunatic. This was Bassett'sdefiance--Bassett, who had gone fishing, but not before planting thismine for the confusion of Thatcher. A hundred men who had alreadycommitted themselves to Thatcher sought to rescue their new leader; theyrose upon chairs and demanded to be heard. "Stop, Look, Listen" hadsuggested the idea of a locomotive bearing down upon a dangerouscrossing, and Bassett's men began to whistle. The whistling increased involume until it drowned the shouts, the cheers, and the laughter. Ladiesin the galleries stopped their ears while the whistling conventionearned its name. It now occurred to the chairman, who had wasted noenergy in futile efforts to stay the storm, that he had a duty toperform. Even to his practiced hand the restoration of order was noteasy; but by dint of much bawling and pounding he subdued the uproar. Then after impressive deliberation he said:--

"A point of order has been raised against the resolution offered by thegentleman from Pulaski. It is the ruling of the chair that the point iswell taken. The resolution is out of order. "

This was greeted with great applause; but the chair checked it promptly. The ten gentlemen who had copies of the Bassett programme in theirpockets were not surprised by the decision. Thatcher stood at a sidedoor and two of his men were pushing their way through the aisles toreach Pettit; for the Honorable Isaac Pettit was on his feet demandingrecognition while Thatcher's delegates shouted to him to sit down;humiliation must go no farther, and if the Fraser County editor did notrealize that his new chief was the victim of a vile trick, the gentlemanfrom Fraser must be throttled, if necessary, to prevent a furtheraffront to Thatcher's dignity. Thatcher was purple with rage; it wasenough to have been made the plaything of an unscrupulous enemy once, without having one's ambitions repeatedly kicked up and down aconvention hall. 

The chairman, fully rehearsed in his part, showed a malevolentdisposition to continue toward the friends of Thatcher an attitude atonce benevolent and just. So many were demanding recognition amidcat-calling and whistling that the fairest and least partial ofpresiding officers might well have hesitated before singling out onegentleman when so many were eagerly, even furiously, desirous ofenlightening the convention. But the presiding officer was obeying theorders communicated to him by a gentleman who was even at this momentskimming across the cool waters of Lake Waupegan. It would more fullyhave satisfied the chairman's sense of humor to have recognized theHonorable Isaac Pettit and have suffered an appeal from the ruling ofthe chair, which presumably the editor wished to demand. By this meansthe weakness of Thatcher might have expressed itself in figures thatwould have deepened Thatcher's abasement in the eyes of his fellowpartisans; but this idea had been discussed with Bassett, who hadsharply vetoed it, and the chairman was not a man lightly to disobeyorders even to make a Hoosier holiday. He failed to see the editor ofthe "Fraser County Democrat" and peremptorily closed the incident. Therewas no mistaking his temper as he announced:--

"The chair announces that the next business in order is the call of theroll of counties for nominations for the office of secretary of state. What is the pleasure of the convention?"

Colonel Ramsay had repaired to the gallery to enjoy the proceedings withMrs. Bassett's party. In spite of his support of the Palmer and Bucknerticket (how long ago that seems!), the Colonel had never lost touch withthe main body of his party, and he carried several Indiana counties inhis pocket. His relations with Bassett had never been in the leastintimate, though always outwardly cordial, and there were those wholooked to him to eliminate the Fraser County chief from politics. He wasquite as rich as Bassett, and a successful lawyer, who had become acolonel by grace of a staff appointment in the Spanish War. He had aweakness for the poets, and his speeches were informed with that graceand sentiment which, we are fond of saying, is peculiar to Southernoratory. The Colonel, at all fitting occasions in our commonwealth, responded to "the ladies" in tender and moving phrases. He was abachelor, and the ladies in the gallery saw in him their true champion. 

"Please tell _us_--we don't understand a bit of it, " pleadedMarian--"what it's all about, Colonel Ramsay. "

"Oh, it's just a little joke of your father's; nothing funnier everhappened in a state convention. " Colonel Ramsay grinned. "The key to thesituation is right there: that Pulaski County delegate offered hisresolution just to make trouble; it was a fake resolution. Of course thechairman is in the joke. This young fellow down here--yes, Harwood--madehis speech to add to the gayety of nations. He had no right to make it, of course, but the word had been passed along the line to let him gothrough. Amazing vocal powers, that boy, --you couldn't have stoppedhim!"

Sylvia was aware that Colonel Ramsay's explanation had not pleased Mrs. Bassett; but Mrs. Owen evinced no feeling. Marian was enjoying ColonelRamsay's praise of her father's adroitness. Near Sylvia were other womenwho had much at stake in the result of the convention. The wife of acandidate for secretary of state had invited herself to a seat besideMrs. Bassett; the wife of a Congressman who wished to be governor, satnear, publishing to the world her intimate acquaintance with MortonBassett's family. The appearance and conduct of these women during theday interested Sylvia almost as much as the incidents occurring on thefloor; it was a new idea that politics had a bearing upon the domesticlife of the men who engaged in the eternal contest for place and power. The convention as a spectacle was immensely diverting, but she had hermisgivings about it as a transaction in history. Colonel Ramsay askedher politics and she confessed that she had none. She had inheritedRepublican prejudices from her grandfather, and most of the girls shehad known in college were of Republican antecedents; but she liked tocall herself an independent. 

"You'd better not be a Democrat, Sylvia, " Mrs. Owen warned her. "Isuffered a good deal in my husband's lifetime from being one. There arestill people in this town who think a Democrat's the same as a Rebel ora Copperhead. It ain't hardly respectable yet, being a Democrat, and ifthey don't all of 'em shut up about the 'fathers' and the Constitution, I'm going to move to Mexico where it's all run by niggers. "

Sylvia had singled out several figures in the drama enacting below forspecial attention. The chairman had interested her by reason of hisattitude of scrupulous fairness, in which she now saw the transparentirony; the banalities of the temporary chairman had touched her humor;she watched him for the rest of the morning with a kind of awe that anyone could he so dull, so timorous, and yet be chosen to address nearlytwo thousand American citizens on an occasion of importance. She wasunable to reconcile Thatcher's bald head, ruddy neck, and heavyshoulders with Marian's description of the rich man's son, who dreamedof heroes and played at carpentry. Dan's speech had not been without itsthrill for her, and she now realized its significance. It had been apart of a trick, and in spite of herself she could not share theadmiration Colonel Ramsay was expressing for Harwood's share in it. Hewas immeasurably superior to the majority of those about him in thecrowded hall; he was a man of education, a college man, and she had justexperienced in her own life that consecration, as by an apostoliclaying-on of hands, by which a college confers its honors and imposesits obligations upon those who have enjoyed its ministry. Yet Harwood, who had not struck her as weak or frivolous, had lent himself to-day toa bit of cheap claptrap merely to humble one man for the glorificationof another. Bassett she had sincerely liked in their one meeting atWaupegan; and yet this was of his plotting and Harwood was hismouthpiece and tool. It did not seem fair to take advantage of suchsupreme stupidity as Thatcher's supporters had manifested. Herdisappointment in Harwood--and it was quite that--was part of hergeneral disappointment in the methods by which men transacted theserious business of governing themselves. 

Harwood was conscious that he was one of the chief figures in theconvention; every one knew him now; he was called here and there on thefloor, by men anxious to impress themselves upon Bassett's authorizedspokesman. It is a fine thing at twenty-seven to find the doors ofopportunity flung wide--and had he not crossed the threshold and passedwithin the portal? He was Bassett's man; every one knew that now; butwhy should he not be Bassett's man? He would go higher and farther thanBassett: Bassett had merely supplied the ladder on which he would climb. He was happier than he had ever been before in his life; he hadexperienced the intoxication of applause, and he was not averse to theglances of the women in the gallery above him. 

The nomination of candidates now went forward rather tamely, thoughrelieved by occasional sharp contests. The ten gentlemen who had beenfavored with copies of the Bassett programme were not surprised that somany of Thatcher's friends were nominated; they themselves voted formost of them. It seemed remarkable to the uninitiated that Bassettshould have slapped Thatcher and then have allowed him to score in thechoice of the ticket. The "Advertiser, " anxious to show Bassett asstrong and malignant as possible, expressed the opinion that theFraserville boss had not after all appreciated the full force of theThatcher movement. 

 * * * * *

On the veranda of his Waupegan cottage Bassett and Fitch enjoyed thewholesome airs of the country. Late in the afternoon the fussy littlesteamer that traversed the lake paused at the Bassett dock to deliver atelegram, which Bassett read without emotion. He passed the yellow slipof paper to Fitch, who read it and handed it back. 

"Harwood's a clever fellow; but you oughtn't to push him into politics. He's better than that. "

"I suppose he is, " said Bassett; "but I need him. "

CHAPTER XX

INTERVIEWS IN TWO KEYS

Mrs. Bassett remained in bed the day following the convention, lessexhausted by the scenes she had witnessed than appalled by theirinterpretation in the newspapers. The reappearance of Sylvia Garrisonhad revived the apprehensions which the girl's visit to Waupegan fouryears earlier had awakened. She had hoped that Sylvia's long absencesmight have operated to diminish Mrs. Owen's interest and she had managedin one way and another to keep them apart during the college holidays, but the death of Professor Kelton had evidently thrown Sylvia back uponMrs. Owen. Jealous fears danced blackly in Mrs. Bassett's tired brain. 

At a season when she was always busiest with her farms Mrs. Owen hadmade a long journey to see Sylvia graduated; and here was the girlestablished on the most intimate terms in the Delaware Street house, nodoubt for the remainder of her life. Mrs. Owen did not lightly or oftenchange her plans; but she had abandoned her project of spending thesummer at the lake to accommodate herself to the convenience of herprotégée. Mrs. Bassett's ill-health was by no means a matter ofillusion; she was not well and her sojourns in sanatoriums had servedto alienate her in a measure from her family. Marian had grown towomanhood without realizing her mother's ideals. She had hoped to make avery different person of her daughter, and Sylvia's reappearanceintensified her sense of defeat. Even in the retrospect she saw noreason why Marian might not have pursued the course that Sylvia hadfollowed; in her confused annoyances and agitations she was bitter notonly against Marian but against Marian's father. The time had come whenshe must take a stand against his further dallyings in politics. 

Her day at the convention hall had yielded only the most disagreeableimpressions. Such incidents as had not eluded her own understanding onthe spot had been freely rendered by the newspapers. It was all sordidand gross--not at all in keeping with her first experience of politics, gained in her girlhood, when her father had stood high in the councilsof the nation, winning coveted positions without the support of suchallies as she had seen cheering her husband's triumph on the floor ofthe convention. There had strayed into her hands an envelope ofnewspaper clippings from an agency that wished to supply her, as, itscircular announced, it supplied the wives of many other prominentAmericans, with newspaper comments on their husbands. As a bait forsecuring a client these examples of what the American press was sayingof Morton Bassett were decidedly ill-chosen. The "Stop, Look, Listen"editorial had suggested to many influential journals a re-indictment ofbossism with the Bassett-Thatcher imbroglio as text. It wasdisenchanting to find one's husband enrolled in a list of politicalreprobates whose activities in so many states were a menace to publicsafety. Her father had served with distinction and honor this samecommonwealth that her husband was debasing; he had been a statesman, nota politician, not a boss. Blackford Singleton had belonged to thecoterie that included such men as Hoar and Evarts, Thurman and Bayard;neither her imagination nor her affection could bridge the chasm thatseparated men of their type from her husband, who, in middle life, wascontent with a seat in the state legislature and busied himself withwars upon petty rivals. Such reflections as these did not contribute toher peace of mind. 

She was alone in her room at Mrs. Owen's when Bassett appeared, late inthe afternoon. Mrs. Owen was downtown on business matters; Marian, afterexhausting all her devices for making her mother comfortable, had flownin search of acquaintances; and Sylvia had that day taken up her work inthe normal school. Left to herself for the greater part of the warmafternoon, Mrs. Bassett had indulged luxuriously in forebodings. She hadnot expected her husband, and his unannounced entrance startled her. 

"Well, " she remarked drearily, "so you have come back to face it, haveyou?"

"I'm undoubtedly back, Hallie, " he answered, with an effort atlightness, crossing to the bedside and taking her hand. 

He had rarely discussed his political plans with her, but he realizedthat the rupture with Thatcher must naturally have distressed her; andthere was also Thatcher's lawsuit involving her aunt, which haddisagreeable possibilities. 

"I'm sorry your name got into the papers, Hallie. I didn't want you togo to the convention, but of course I knew you went to please Marian. Where is Marian?"

"Oh, she's off somewhere. I couldn't expect her to stay here in this hotroom all day. "

The room was not uncomfortable; but it seemed wiser not to debatequestions of temperature. He found a chair and sat down beside her. 

"You mustn't worry about the newspapers, Hallie; they always make theworst of everything. The temptation to distort facts to make a goodstory is strong; I have seen it in my connection with the 'Courier. 'It's lamentable, but you can't correct it in a day. I'm pretty wellhardened to it myself, but I'm sorry you have let these attacks on meannoy you. The only thing to do is to ignore them. What's that you havethere?"

She still clasped the envelope of clippings and thrust it at himaccusingly. The calmness of his inspection irritated her and she brokeout sharply:--

"I shouldn't think a man with a wife and family would lay himself opento such attacks in all the newspapers in the country. Those papers callyou another such political boss as Quay and Gorman. There's nothing theydon't say about you. "

"Well, Hallie, they've been saying it for some time; they will go onsaying it probably not only about me but about every other man who won'tbe dictated to by impractical reformers and pharisaical newspapers. ButI must confess that this is rather hard luck!" He held up two of thecuttings. "I've undertaken to do just what papers like the New York'Evening Post' and the Springfield 'Republican' are forever beggingsomebody with courage to do--I've been trying to drive a rascal out ofpolitics. I'm glad of this chance to talk to you about Thatcher. He andI were friends for years, as you know. "

"I never understood how you could tolerate that man; he's so coarse andvulgar that his wife stays abroad to keep her daughters away from him. "

"Well, that's not my affair. I have had all I want of him. There'snothing mysterious about my breaking with him; he got it into his headthat he's a bigger man in this state than I am. I have known for severalyears that he intended to get rid of me as soon as he felt he could doit safely, and be ready to capture the senatorship when he saw that ourparty was in shape to win again. I've always distrusted him, and I'vealways kept an eye on him. When he came into Fraser County and stoopedlow enough to buy old Ike Pettit, I thought it time to strike. You reada lot about courage in politics in such newspapers as these that havebeen philosophizing about me at long range. Well, I'm not going to bragabout myself, but it required some courage on my part to take theinitiative and read the riot act to Thatcher. I've done what men aresometimes praised for doing; but I don't want praise; I only want to bejudged fairly. I've always avoided bringing business or politics home;I've always had an idea that when a man goes home he ought to close thedoor on everything but the interests the home has for him. I may havebeen wrong about that; and I'm very sorry that you have beentroubled--sincerely sorry. But you may as well know the truth now, whichis that Thatcher is out of it altogether. You know enough of him tounderstand that he's not a man to trust with power, and I've done thestate and my party a service in turning him out of doors. "

He had spoken quietly and earnestly, and his words had not been withouttheir effect. He had never been harsh with her or the children; hismanner to-day was kind and considerate. He had to an extent measurablyrehabilitated himself as a heroic public character, a man of honor and ahusband to be proud of; but she had not spent a sleepless night and agray day without fortifying herself against him. All day her eyes hadbeen fixed upon an abandoned squirrel box in the crotch of an elmoutside her window; it had become the repository of her thoughts, thehabitation of her sorrows. She turned her head slightly so that her eyesmight rest upon this tabernacle of fear and illusion, and renewed theassault refreshed. 

"How is it, then, that newspapers away off in New York and Massachusettsspeak of you in this outrageous fashion? They're so far away that itseems strange they speak of you at all. "

He laughed with relief, feeling that the question marked a retreattoward weaker fortifications. 

"You're not very complimentary, are you, Hallie? They must think me ofsome importance or they'd let me alone. I wouldn't subscribe to thatclipping bureau if you fear we're too much in the limelight. I've beentaking the service of one of these bureaus for several years, and I readevery line the papers print about me. It's part of the regular routinein my office to paste them in scrapbooks. "

"I shouldn't think you could burn them fast enough; what if the childrenshould see them some day!"

"Well, you may be surprised to know that they're not all so bitter. Oncein a long while I get a kind word. That bill I got through the assemblyseparating hardened criminals from those susceptible of reform--theindeterminate sentence law--was praised by penologists all over thecountry. It's all in the day's work; sometimes you're patted on the backand the next time they kick you down stairs. Without political influenceyou have no chance to help the good causes or defeat the bad schemes. "

"Yes, I suppose that is true, " she murmured weakly. 

He had successfully met and turned her attack and the worst had passed;but he expected her to make some reference to Thatcher's lawsuit for thecontrol of the "Courier" and he was not disappointed. Marian, who had agenius for collecting disagreeable information and a dramatic instinctfor using it effectively, had apprised her of it. This hazarding of Mrs. Owen's favor became now the gravamen of his offense, the culmination ofall his offenses. She demanded to know why he had secretly borrowedmoney of her aunt, when from the time of their marriage it had beenunderstood that they should never do so. Her own fortune he had beenfree to use as he liked; she demanded to know why he had not taken herown money; but to ask financial favors of Aunt Sally, and this, too, without consultation, was beyond her comprehension. She was on secureground here; he had always shared her feeling that Mrs. Owen requiredcautious handling, but he had nevertheless violated their compact. Sherushed breathlessly and with sobs through her recital. 

"And you haven't seen Aunt Sally since; you have made no effort to makeit right with her!"

"As to that, Hallie, I haven't had a chance to see her; she's only beenhome two days and I've been away myself since. Now that I'm in her houseI shall explain it all to her before I leave. "

"But you haven't explained to me why you did it! It seems to me that Ihave a right to know how you came to do such a thing. "

"Well, then, the fact is that newspapers these days are not cheap andthe 'Courier' cost a lot of money. I've been pretty well tied up intelephone and other investments of late; and I have never takenadvantage of my ownership of the Bassett Bank to use its money exceptwithin my reasonable credit as it would be estimated by any one else. Your own funds I have kept invested conservatively in gilt-edgedsecurities wholly removed from speculative influences. I knew that if Ididn't get the newspaper Thatcher would, so I made every possible turnto go in with him. I was fifty thousand dollars shy of what I needed topay for my half, and after I had raked up all the money I could safely, I asked Aunt Sally if she would lend me that sum with all my stock assecurity. "

"Fifty thousand dollars, Morton! You borrowed that much money of her!"

Her satisfaction in learning that Mrs. Owen commanded so large a sum wascrushed beneath his stupendous error in having gone to her for money atall. 

"Oh, she didn't lend it to me, after all, Hallie; she refused to do so;but she allowed me to buy enough shares for her to make up my quota. Thatcher and I bought at eighty cents on the dollar and she paid thesame. She has her shares and it's a good investment, and she knows it. If she hadn't insisted on having the shares in her own name, Thatcherwould never have known it. "

He turned uneasily in his chair, and she was keenly alert at this signof discomfiture, and not above taking advantage of it. 

"So without her you are at Thatcher's mercy, are you? I haven't spokento her about this and she hasn't said anything to me; but Marian withher usual heedlessness mentioned it, and it was clear that Aunt Sallywas very angry. "

"What did she say?" asked Bassett anxiously. 

"She didn't say anything, but she shut her jaw tight and changed thesubject. It was what she didn't say! You'd better think well before youbroach the subject to her. "

"I've been thinking about it. If I take her stock at par she ought to besatisfied. I'll pay more if it's necessary. And of course I'll makeevery effort to restore good feeling. I think I understand her. I'lltake care of this, but you must stay out of it, and tell Marian to keepquiet. 

"Well, Aunt Sally and Thatcher are friends. He rather amuses her, withhis horse-racing, and drinking and gambling. That kind of thing doesn'tseem so bad to her. She's so used to dealing with men that she makesallowances for them. "

"Then, " he said quickly, with a smile, eager to escape through anyloophole, "maybe she will make some allowances for me! For the purposeof allaying her anger we'll assume that I'm as wicked as Thatcher. "

"Well, " she answered, gathering her strength for a final assault, "itdoesn't look as simple as that to me. Your first mistake was in gettingher into any of your businesses and the second was in making it possiblefor Thatcher to annoy her by all this ugly publicity of a lawsuit. Andwhat do you think has happened on top of all this--_that girl ishere_--here under this very roof!"

"That girl--what girl?"

His opacity incensed her; she had been brooding over her aunt's renewedinterest in Sylvia Garrison all day and his dull ignorance was the laststraw upon nerves screwed to the breaking-point. She sat up in bed anddrew her dressing-gown about her as though it were the vesture ofdespair. 

"That Garrison girl! She's not only back here, but from all appearancesshe's going to stay! Aunt Sally's infatuated with her. When the girl'sgrandfather died, Aunt Sally did everything for her--went over toMontgomery to take charge of the funeral, and then went back toWellesley to see the girl graduate. And now she's giving up her plan ofgoing to Waupegan for the summer to stay here in all the heat with agirl who hasn't the slightest claim on her. When the Keltons visitedWaupegan four years ago I saw this coming. I wanted Marian to go tocollege and tried to get you interested in the plan because that waswhat first caught Aunt Sally's fancy--Sylvia's cleverness, and thiscollege idea. But you wouldn't do anything about Marian, and now she'sthrown away her chances, and here's this stranger graduating with honorsand Aunt Sally going down there to see it! Aunt Sally's going to make acompanion of her, and you can't tell what will happen! I'd like to knowwhat you can say to your children when all Aunt Sally's money, thatshould rightly go to them, goes to a girl she's picked up out ofnowhere. This is what your politics has got us into, Morton Bassett!"

The soberness to which this brought him at last satisfied her. She hadfreely expressed the anxiety caused by Sylvia's first appearance on thedomestic horizon, but for a year or two, in his wife's absences inpursuit of health, he had heard little of her apprehensions. Marian'sown disinclination for a college career had, from the beginning, seemedto him to interpose an insurmountable barrier to parental guidance inthat direction. His wife's attitude in these new circumstances of thereturn of her aunt's protégée struck him as wholly unjustified andunreasonable. 

"You're not quite yourself when you talk that way, Hallie. ProfessorKelton was one of Aunt Sally's oldest friends; old people have a habitof going back to the friends of their youth; there's nothing strange init. And this being true, nothing could have been more natural than forAunt Sally to help the girl in her trouble, even to the extent of seeingher graduated. It was just like Aunt Sally, " he continued, warming tohis subject, "who's one of the stanchest friends anybody could have. Aunt Sally's devoted to you and your children; it's ungenerous to her toassume that a young woman she hardly knows is supplanting you or Marian. This newspaper notoriety I'm getting has troubled you and I'm sorry forit; but I can't let you entertain this delusion that your aunt'skindness to the granddaughter of one of her old friends means that AuntSally has ceased to care for you, or lost her regard for Marian andBlackford. If you think of it seriously for a moment you'll see howfoolish it is to harbor any jealousy of Miss Garrison. Come! Cheer upand forget it. If Aunt Sally got an inkling of this you may be sure that_would_ displease her. You say the girl is here in the house?"

"She's not only here, but she's here to stay! She's going to intrenchherself here!"

She sent him to the chiffonier to find a fresh handkerchief. He watchedher helplessly for a moment as she dried her eyes. Then he took herhands and bent over her. 

"Won't you try to see things a little brighter? It's all just becauseyou got too tired yesterday. You oughtn't to have gone to theconvention; and I didn't know you were going or I should have forbiddenit. "

"Well, Marian wanted to go; and we were coming to town anyhow. Andbesides, Aunt Sally had taken it into her head to go, too. She wantedthis Garrison girl to see a political convention; I suppose that was thereal reason. "

He laughed, gazing down into her tearful face, in which resentmentlingered waveringly, as in the faces of children persuaded against theirwill and parting reluctantly with the solace of tears. 

"You must get up for dinner, Hallie. Your doctors have always insistedthat you needed variety and change; and to-morrow we'll take you up tothe lake out of this heat. We have a good deal to be grateful for, afterall, Hallie. You haven't any right to feel disappointed in Marian: she'sthe nicest girl in the state, and the prettiest girl you'll findanywhere. We ought to be glad she's so high-spirited and handsome andclever. College never was for her; she certainly was never for college!I talked that over with Miss Waring a number of times. And I don'tbelieve Aunt Sally thinks less of Marian because she isn't a betterscholar. Only a small per cent of women go to college, and I'm not sureit's a good thing. I'm even a little doubtful about sending Blackford tocollege; this education business is overdone, and the sooner a boy getsinto harness the better. "

Her deep sigh implied that he might do as he liked with his son, nowthat she had so completely failed with her daughter. 

"Aunt Sally is very much interested in Mr. Harwood. She has put Sylvia'saffairs in his hands. Could it be possible--"

He groped for her unexpressed meaning, and seeing that he had notgrasped it she clarified it to his masculine intelligence. 

"If there are two persons she is interested in, and they understand eachother, it's all so much more formidable. " And then, seeing that thisalso was too subtle, she put it flatly: "What if Harwood should marrySylvia!"

"Well, that _is_ borrowing trouble!" he cried impatiently. "Aunt Sallyis interested in a great many young people. She is very fond of AllenThatcher. And Allen seems to find Marian's society agreeable, more so, Ifancy, than Harwood does;--why not speculate along that line? It's asplausible as the other. "

"Oh, that boy! That's something we must guard against, Morton; that isquite impossible. "

"I dare say it is, " he replied. "But not more unlikely than that Harwoodwill marry this Sylvia who worries you so unnecessarily. "

"Marian is going to marry somebody, some day, and that's on my mind agreat deal. You have got to give more thought to family matters. It'sright for Marian to marry, and I think a girl of her tastes shouldsettle early, but we must guard her from mistakes. I've had that on myconscience several years. "

"Of course, Hallie; and I've not been unmindful of it. "

"And if Aunt Sally is interested in young Harwood and you think well ofhim yourself--but of course I don't favor him for Marian. I should likeMarian to marry into a family of some standing. "

"Well, we'll see to it that she does; we want our daughter to behappy--we must do the best we can for our children, " he concludedlargely. 

She promised to appear at the dinner table, and he went down with someidea of seeing Mrs. Owen at once, to assure her of his honorableintentions toward her in the "Courier" matter; he wanted to relieve hisown fears as well as his wife's as to the mischief that had been wroughtby Thatcher's suit. 

In the hall below he met Sylvia, just back from her first day at thenormal school. The maid had admitted her, and she was slipping herparasol into the rack as he came downstairs. She heard his step andturned toward him, a slender, dark young woman in black. In the dim hallshe did not at once recognize him, and he spoke first. 

"Good-afternoon, Miss Garrison! I am Mr. Bassett; I believe I introducedmyself to you at Waupegan--and that seems a long time ago. "

"I remember very well, Mr. Bassett, " Sylvia replied, and they shookhands. "You found me in my dream corner by the lake and walked to Mrs. Owen's with me. I remember our meeting perfectly. "

He stood with his hand on the newel regarding her intently. She wasentirely at ease, a young woman without awkwardness or embarrassment. She had disposed of their previous meeting lightly, as though suchfortuitous incidents had not been lacking in her life. Her mourning hatcast a shadow upon her face, but he had been conscious of thefriendliness of her smile. Her dark eyes had inspected him swiftly; hewas vaguely aware of a feeling that he wanted to impress her favorably. 

"The maid said Mrs. Owen and Marian are still out. I hope Mrs. Bassettis better. I wonder if I can do anything for her. "

"No, thank you; she's quite comfortable and will be down for dinner. "

"I'm glad to hear that; suppose we find seats here. "

She walked before him into the parlor and threw back the curtains thebetter to admit the air. He watched her attentively, noting the ease andgrace of her movements, and took the chair she indicated. 

"It's very nice to see Mrs. Bassett and Marian again; they were so goodto me that summer at Waupegan; I have carried the pleasantest memoriesof that visit ever since. It seems a long time ago and it is nearly fouryears, isn't it. "

"Four this summer, I think. I remember, because I had been to Colorado, and that whole year was pretty full for me. But all these years havebeen busy ones for you, too, I hear. Your grandfather's death must havebeen a great shock to you. I knew him only by reputation, but it was areputation to be proud of. "

"Yes; Grandfather Kelton had been everything to me. "

"It was too bad he couldn't have lived to see you through college; hemust have taken a great interest in your work there, through his owntraining and scholarship. "

"It was what he wanted me to do, and I wish he could have known how Ivalue it. He was the best of men, the kindest and noblest; and he was awonderful scholar. He had the habit of thoroughness. "

"That, I suppose, was partly due to the discipline of the Navy. I fancythat a man trained in habits of exactness gets into the way of keepinghis mind ship-shape--no loose ends around anywhere. "

She smiled at this, and regarded him with rather more attention, asthough his remark had given her a new impression of him which her eyeswished to verify. 

"They tell me you expect to teach in the city schools; that has alwaysseemed to me the hardest kind of work. I should think you would prefer acollege position;--there would be less drudgery, and better socialopportunities. "

"Every one warns me that it's hard work, but I don't believe it can beso terrible. Somebody has to do it. Of course college positions are moredignified and likely to be better paid. "

He started to speak and hesitated. 

"Well, " she laughed. "You were going to add your warning, weren't you!I'm used to them. "

"No; nothing of the sort; I was going to take the liberty of saying thatif you cared to have me I should be glad to see whether our stateuniversity might not have something for you. I have friends andacquaintances who could help there. "

"Oh, you are very kind! It is very good of you to offer to do that;but--"

A slight embarrassment was manifest in the quick opening and closing ofher eyes, a slight turning of the head, but she smiled pleasantly, happily. He liked her way of smiling, and smiled himself. He found itagreeable to be talking to this young woman with the fine, candid eyes, whose manner was so assured--without assurance! She smoothed the blackgloves in her lap quietly; they were capable hands; her whole appearanceand manner somehow betokened competence. 

"The fact is, Mr. Bassett, that I have declined one or two collegepositions. My own college offered to take me in; and I believe therewere one or two other chances. But it is kind of you to offer to helpme. "

She had minimized the importance of the offers she had declined so thathe might not feel the meagreness of his proffered help; and he liked herway of doing it; but it was incredible that a young woman should declinean advantageous and promising position to accept a minor one. In theworld he knew there were many hands on all the rounds of all theavailable ladders. 

"Of course, " he hastened to say, "I knew you were efficient; that's whyI thought the public schools were not quite--not quite--worthy of yourtalents!"

Some explanation seemed necessary, and Sylvia hesitated for a moment. 

"Do I really have to be serious, Mr. Bassett? So many people--the girlsat college and some of my instructors and Mrs. Owen even--have assuredme that I am not quite right in my mind; but I will make short work ofmy reasons. Please believe that I really don't mean to take myself tooseriously. I want to teach in the public schools merely to continue myeducation; there are things to learn there that I want to know. So, yousee, after all, it's neither important nor interesting; it's only--onlymy woman's insatiable curiosity!"

He smiled, but he frowned too; it annoyed him not to comprehend her. School-teaching could only be a matter of necessity; her plea ofcuriosity must cover something deeper that she withheld. 

"I know, " she continued, "if I may say it, ever so much from books; butI have only the faintest notions of life. Now, isn't that terriblymuggy? People--and their conditions and circumstances--can only belearned by going to the original sources. "

This was not illuminative. She had only added to his befuddlement and hebent forward, soliciting some more lucid statement of her position. 

"I had hoped to go ahead and never have to explain, for I fear that inexplaining I seem to be appraising myself too high; but you won'tbelieve that of me, will you? If I took one of these college positionsand proved efficient, and had good luck, I should keep on knowing allthe rest of my life about the same sort of people, for the girls who goto college are from the more fortunate classes. There are exceptions, but they are drawn largely from homes that have some cultivation, somesort of background. The experiences of teachers in such institutions arelikely to cramp. It's all right later on, but at first, it seems to mebetter to experiment in the wider circle. Now--" and she broke off witha light laugh, eager that he should understand. 

"It's not, then, your own advantage you consult; the self-denial appealsto you; it's rather like--like a nun's vocation. You think the serviceis higher!"

"Oh, it would be if I could render service! Please don't think I feelthat the world is waiting for me to set it right; I don't believe it'sso wrong! All I mean to say is that I don't understand a lot of things, and that the knowledge I lack isn't something we can dig out of alibrary, but that we must go to life for it. There's a good deal tolearn in a city like this that's still in the making. I might have goneto New York, but there are too many elements there; it's all too big forme. Here you can see nearly as many kinds of people, and you can getcloser to them. You can see how they earn their living, and you can evenfollow them to church on Sunday and see what they get out of that!"

"I'm afraid, " he replied, after deliberating a moment, "that you aregoing to make yourself uncomfortable; you are cutting out a programme ofunhappiness. "

"Why shouldn't I make myself uncomfortable for a little while? I havenever known anything but comfort. "

"But that's your blessing; no matter how much you want to do it youcan't remove all the unhappiness in the world--not even by dividing withthe less fortunate. I've never been able to follow that philosophy. "

"Maybe, " she said, "you have never tried it!" She was seeking neither toconvince him nor to accomplish his discomfiture and to this end wasmaintaining her share of the dialogue to the accompaniment of a smile ofamity. 

"Maybe I never have, " he replied slowly. "I didn't have your advantageof seeing a place to begin. "

"But you have the advantage of every one; you have the thing that I cannever hope to have, that I don't ask for: you have the power in yourhands to do everything!"

His quick, direct glance expressed curiosity as to whether she wereappealing to his vanity or implying a sincere belief in his power. 

"Power is too large a word to apply to me, Miss Garrison. I have had agood deal of experience in politics, and in politics you can't do allyou like. "

"I didn't question that: men of the finest intentions seem to fail, andthey will probably go on failing. I know that from books; you know it ofcourse from actual dealings with the men who find their way toresponsible places, and who very often fail to accomplish the things weexpect of them. "

"The aims of most of the reformers are futile from the beginning. Legislatures can pass laws; they pass far too many; but they can't makeideal conditions out of those laws. I've seen it tried. "

"Yesterday, when you were able to make that convention do exactly whatyou wanted it to, without even being there to watch it, it must havebeen because of some ideal you were working for. You thought you wereserving some good purpose; it wasn't just spite or to show your power. It couldn't have been that!"

"I did it, " he said doggedly, as though to destroy with a single bluntthrust her tower of illusions--"I did it to smash a man named Thatcher. There wasn't any ideal nonsense about it. "

He frowned, surprised and displeased that he had spoken so roughly. Herarely let go of himself in that fashion. He expected her to takeadvantage of his admission to point a moral; but she said instantly:--

"Then, you did it beautifully! There was a certain perfection about it;it was, oh, immensely funny!"

She laughed, tossing her head lightly, a laugh of real enjoyment, and hewas surprised to find himself laughing with her. It seemed that theThatcher incident was not only funny, but that its full humorous valuehad not until that moment been wholly realized by either of them. 

She rose quickly. One of her gloves fell to the floor and he picked itup. The act of restoring it brought them close together, and their talkhad, he felt, justified another searching glance into her face. Shenodded her thanks, smiling again, and moved toward the door. He admiredthe tact which had caused her to close the discussion at precisely thesafe moment. He was a master of the art of closing interviews, and shehad placed the period at the end of the right sentence; it was where hewould have placed it himself. She had laughed!--and the novelty of beinglaughed at was refreshing. He and Thatcher had laughed in secret at theconfusion of their common enemies in old times; but most men feared him, and he had the reputation of being a mirthless person. He had rarelydiscussed politics with women; he had an idea that a woman's politics, when she had any, partook of the nature of her religion, and that it wassomething quite emotional, tending toward hysteria. He experienced asense of guilt at the relief he found in Sylvia's laughter, rememberingthat scarcely half an hour earlier he had been at pains to justifyhimself before his wife for the very act which had struck this girl asfunny. He had met Mrs. Bassett's accusations with evasion anddissimulation, and he had accomplished an escape that was not, inretrospect, wholly creditable. He hated scenes and tiresome debates ashe hated people who cringed and sidled before him. 

His manner of dealing with Thatcher had been born of a diabolical humorwhich he rarely exercised, but which afforded him a delicioussatisfaction. It was the sort of revenge one reserved for a foe capableof appreciating its humor and malignity. The answer of laughter was oneto which he was unused, and he was amazed to find that it had effectedan understanding of some vague and intangible kind between him andSylvia Garrison. She might not approve of him, he had no idea that shedid; but she had struck a chord whose vibrations pleased and tantalized. She was provocative and, to a degree, mystifying, and the abrupttermination of their talk seemed to leave the way open to otherinterviews. He thought of many things he might have said to her at themoment; but her period was not to be changed to comma or semicolon; shewas satisfied with the punctuation and had, so to speak, run away withthe pencil! She had tossed his political aims and strifes into the airwith a bewildering dismissal, and he stood like a child whose toyballoon has slipped away, half-pleased at its flight, half-mourning itsloss. 

She picked up some books she had left on a stand in the hall. He stoodwith his hands in his pockets, watching her ascent, hearing the swish ofher skirts on the stairs: but she did not look back. She was hummingsoftly to herself as she passed out of sight. 

CHAPTER XXI

A SHORT HORSE SOON CURRIED

Sylvia sat beside Bassett at dinner that night, and it was on the wholea cheerful party. Mrs. Bassett was restored to tranquillity, and beforeher aunt she always strove to hide her ills, from a feeling that thatlady, who enjoyed perfect health, and carried on the most prodigiousundertakings, had little patience with her less fortunate sisters whomthe doctors never fully discharge. Mrs. Owen had returned so late thatBassett was unable to dispose of the lawsuit before dinner; she hadgreeted her niece's husband with her usual cordiality. She always calledhim Morton, and she was Aunt Sally to him as to many hundreds of herfellow citizens. She discussed crops, markets, rumors of foreign wars, prospective changes in the President's Cabinet, the price of ice, andthe automobile invasion. Talk at Sally Owen's table was always likely tobe spirited. Bassett's anxiety as to his relations with her passed; hehad never felt more comfortable in her house. 

Only the most temerarious ever ventured to ask a forecast of Mrs. Owen'splans. Marian, who had found a school friend with an automobile and hadenjoyed a run into the country, did not share the common fear of hergreat-aunt. Mrs. Owen liked Marian's straightforward ways even whenthey approached rashness. It had occurred to her sometimes that therewas a good deal of Singleton in Marian; she, Sally Owen, was a Singletonherself, and admired the traits of that side of her family. Marianamused her now by plunging into a description of a new flat she hadpassed that afternoon which would provide admirably a winter home forthe Bassetts. Mrs. Bassett shuddered, expecting her aunt to sound awarning against the extravagance of maintaining two homes; but Mrs. Owenrallied promptly to her grandniece's support. 

"If you've got tired of my house, you couldn't do better than to take anapartment in the Verona. I saw the plans before they began it, and it'sfirst-class and up-to-date. My house is open to you and always has been, but I notice you go to the hotel about half the time. You'd better try aflat for a winter, Hallie, and let Marian see how we do things in town. "

Instantly Mrs. Bassett was alert. This could only be covert notice thatSylvia was to be installed in the Delaware Street house. Marian wasengaging her father in debate upon the merits of her plan, fortified byMrs. Owen's unexpected approval. Mrs. Bassett raised her eyes to Sylvia. Sylvia, in one of the white gowns with which she relieved her mourning, tranquilly unconscious of the dark terror she awakened in Mrs. Bassett, seemed to be sympathetically interested in the Bassetts' transfer to thecapital. 

Sylvia was guilty of the deplorable sin of making herself agreeable toevery one. She had paused on the way to her room before dinner toproffer assistance to Mrs. Bassett. With a light, soothing touch she hadbrushed the invalid's hair and dressed it; and she had produced a newkind of salts that proved delightfully refreshing. Since coming to thetable Mrs. Bassett had several times detected her husband in an exchangeof smiles with the young woman, and Marian and the usurper got onfamously. 

Mrs. Bassett had observed that Sylvia's appetite was excellent, and thishad weakened her belief in the girl's genius; there was a good deal ofEarly-Victorian superstition touching women in Hallie Bassett! But Mrs. Owen was speaking. 

"I suppose I'd see less of you all if you moved to town. Marian used torun off from Miss Waring's to cheer me up, mostly when her lessons werebad, wasn't it, Marian?"

"I love this house, Aunt Sally, but you can't have us all on your handsall the time. "

"Well, " Mrs. Owen remarked, glancing round the table quizzically, "Imight do worse. But even Sylvia scorns me; she's going to move outto-morrow. "

Mrs. Bassett with difficulty concealed her immeasurable relief. Mrs. Owen left explanations to Sylvia, who promptly supplied them. 

"That sounds as though I were about to take leave without settling mybill, doesn't it? But I thought it wise not to let it get too big; I'mgoing to move to Elizabeth House. "

"Elizabeth House! Why, Sylvia!" cried Marian. 

Mrs. Bassett smothered a sigh of satisfaction. If Aunt Sally wastransferring her protégée to the home she had established for workinggirls (and it was inconceivable that the removal could be upon Sylvia'sown initiative), the Bassett prospects brightened at once. Aunt Sallywas, in her way, an aristocrat; she was rich and her eccentricities weredue largely to her kindness of heart; but Mrs. Bassett was satisfied nowthat she was not a woman to harbor in her home a girl who labored in apublic school-house. Not only did Mrs. Bassett's confidence in her auntrise, but she felt a thrill of admiration for Sylvia, who wasunmistakably a girl who knew her place, and her place as a wage-earnerwas not in the home of one of the richest women in the state, but in ahouse provided through that lady's beneficence for the shelter of youngwomen occupied in earning a livelihood. 

"It's very nice there, " Sylvia was saying. "I stopped on my way homethis afternoon and found that they could give me a room. It's allarranged. "

"But it's only for office girls and department store clerks anddressmakers, Sylvia. I should think you would hate it. Why, my manicurelives there!"

Marian desisted, warned by her mother, who wished no jarring note to marher satisfaction in the situation. 

"That manicure girl is a circus, " said Mrs. Owen, quite oblivious of theundercurrent of her niece's thoughts. "When they had a vaudeville showlast winter she did the best stunts of any of 'em. You didn't mentionthose Jewesses that I had such a row to get in? Smart girls. One of 'emis the fastest typewriter in town; she's a credit to Jerusalem, thatgirl. And a born banker. They've started a savings club and Miriam runsit. They won't lose any money. " Mrs. Owen chuckled; and the restlaughed. There was no question of Mrs. Owen's pride in Elizabeth House. "Did you see any plumbers around the place?" she demanded of Sylvia. "I've been a month trying to get another bathroom put in on the thirdfloor, and plumbers do try the soul. "

"That's all done, " replied Sylvia. "The matron told me to tell you so. "

"I'm about due to go over there and look over the linen, " remarked Mrs. Owen, with an air of making a memorandum of a duty neglected. 

"Well, I guess it's comfortable enough, " said Marian. "But I shouldthink you could do better than that, Sylvia. You'll have to eat at thesame table with some typewriter pounder. With all your education Ishould think it would bore you. "

"Sylvia will have to learn about it for herself, Marian, " said Mrs. Bassett. "I've always understood that the executive board is verycareful not to admit girls whose character isn't above reproach. "

Mrs. Owen turned the key of her old-fashioned coffee urn sharply uponthe cup she was filling and looked her niece in the eye. 

"Oh, we're careful, Hallie; we're careful; but I tell 'em not to be_too_ careful!"

"Well, of course the aim is to protect girls, " Mrs. Bassett replied, conscious of a disconcerting acidity in her aunt's remark. 

"I'm not afraid of contamination, " observed Sylvia. 

"Of course not _that_, " rejoined Mrs. Bassett hastily. "I think it'sfine that with your culture you will go and live in such a place; itshows a beautiful spirit of self-sacrifice. "

"Oh, please don't say that! I'm going there just because I want to go!"And then, smiling to ease the moment's tension, "I expect to have thebest of times at Elizabeth House. "

"Sylvia"--remarked Mrs. Owen, drawling the name a trifle more thanusual--"Sylvia can do what she pleases anywhere. "

"I think, " said Bassett, who had not before entered into the discussion, "that Aunt Sally has struck the right word there. In these days a girlcan do as she likes; and we haven't any business to discuss MissGarrison's right to live at Elizabeth House. "

"Of course, Sylvia, we didn't mean to seem to criticize you. You knowthat, " said Mrs. Bassett, flushing. 

"You are my friends, " said Sylvia, glancing round the table, "and ifthere's criticizing to be done, you have the first right. "

"If Sylvia is to be criticized, --and I don't understand that any one hastried it, " remarked Mrs. Owen, --"I want the first chance at her myself. "And with the snapping of her spectacle case they rose from the table. 

They had barely settled themselves in the parlor when Harwood and Allenarrived in Allen's motor. Dan had expected his friend to resent hispart in the convention, and he had sought Allen at Lüders's shop tosatisfy himself that their personal relations had not been disturbed. Hehad found Allen, at the end of a day's work, perched upon a benchdiscoursing to the workmen on the Great Experiment. Allen had, itseemed, watched the convention from an obscure corner of the gallery. Hepronounced Dan's speech "immense"; "perfectly bully"; he was extravagantin his praise of it. His father's success in naming the ticket hadseemed to him a great triumph. Allen viewed the whole matter with a kindof detachment, as a spectator whose interest is wholly impersonal. Hethought there would be a great fight between the combatants; his dadhadn't finished yet, he declared, sententiously. The incidents of theconvention had convinced him that the Great Experiment was progressingaccording to some predestined formula. He and Harwood had dined togetherat the University Club and he was quite in the humor to call on theBassetts at Mrs. Owen's; and the coming of Sylvia, as to whom Mrs. Owenhad piqued his curiosity, was not to be overlooked. 

He cleared the air by brushing away the convention with a word, addressed daringly to Bassett:--

"Papa's come back from fishing! _My_ papa is digging bait, " and they alllaughed. 

"Miss Garrison, you must be the greatest of girls, for you have my ownideas! Our invincible young orator here has been telling me so!"

"That was a grand speech; many happy returns of the day!" was Marian'sgreeting to Dan. 

"You certainly have a great voice, Daniel, " remarked Mrs. Owen, "and youhad your nerve with you. "

"You were effective from the first moment, Mr. Harwood. You ought toconsider going on the lecture platform, " said Mrs. Bassett. 

"Oh, Dan hasn't come to that yet; its only defeated statesmen who spoutin the Chautauquas, " Bassett remarked. 

Harwood was in fine fettle. Many men had expressed their approval ofhim; at the club he had enjoyed the chaffing of the young gentlemen withwhom he ate luncheon daily, and whose tolerance of the universe wastinged with a certain cynicism. They liked Harwood; they knew he was a"smart" fellow; and because they liked and admired him they rallied himfreely. The president of a manufacturing company had called at theBoordman Building to retain him in a damage suit; a tribute to hisgrowing fame. Dan was a victim of that error to which young men yield inexultant moments, when, after a first brush with the pickets, they areconfident of making their own terms with life. Dan's attitude toward theworld was receptive; here in the Bassett domestic circle he felt noshame at being a Bassett man. All but Sylvia had spoken to him of hispart in the convention, and she turned to him now after a passage withAllen that had left the young man radiant. 

"You have a devoted admirer in Mr. Thatcher. He must be a difficultfriend to satisfy, " said Sylvia. 

"Then do you think I don't satisfy him?"

"Oh, perfectly! He's a combination of optimist and fatalist, I judge. Hethinks nothing matters much, for everything is coming out all right inthe end. "

"Then where do you place me in his scheme of things?"

"That depends, doesn't it, " she replied carelessly, "on whether you arethe master of the ship or only a prisoner under the hatches. "

He reddened, and she added nothing to relieve his embarrassment. 

"You think, then--?" And he stopped, uneasy under her gaze. 

"Some of the time I don't think; I just wonder. And that's verydifferent, isn't it?"

He realized now how much he had counted on the kind things he hadexpected her to say. He had plainly lost ground with her since theirtalk on the Madison campus, and he wanted to justify himself, toconvince her of his rectitude, and of her failure to understand his partin the convention, but the time and place were unpropitious. 

Allen was calling attention to the moonlight and proposing an automobileflight into the country. His car would hold them all, and he announcedhimself the safest of chauffeurs. Mrs. Owen declined, on the double pleathat she had business to attend to and did not ride in motor cars evento please Allen Thatcher; Bassett also excused himself; so the rest setoff presently under Mrs. Bassett's chaperonage. 

"Are you going downtown, Morton?" asked Mrs. Owen, as they watched themotor roll away. 

"No; I'd like to see you on a business matter, Aunt Sally, if you cangive me a few minutes. "

"Certainly, Morton; come right in. "

She flashed on the lights in her office where Thomas A. Hendricks stillgazed benevolently at Maud S. Breaking her record. 

"I owe you an apology, Aunt Sally, " Bassett began at once. "I'm sorry Igot you into a lawsuit, but things moved so fast that I didn't have achance to pull you out of the way. Thatcher and I have agreed todisagree, as you doubtless know. "

Mrs. Owen drew her spectacle case from her pocket (there were pocketsand deep ones in all her gowns), wiped her glasses and put them on. 

"You and Edward do seem to be having a little trouble. When I got home Ifound that summons the sheriff left here. Let me see; it was away backin '82 that I was sued the last time. Agent for a cornplanter sued mefor a machine I never ordered and it wasn't worth a farthing anyhow. That was on my Greene County place. Just for that I had him arrested fortrespass for going on the farm to take away the machine. He paid thecosts all right, and I hope he learned better manners. "

This reminiscence, recalled with evident enjoyment, was not whollyencouraging. It seemed darkly possible that she had cited a precedentapplicable to every case where she was haled before a court. The chairsin Mrs. Owen's office were decidedly uncomfortable; Bassett crossed andrecrossed his legs, and pressed his hand nervously to his pocket to makesure of his check-book; for he was prepared to pay his wife's aunt forher shares in the "Courier" newspaper to facilitate her elimination as aco-defendant in the suit at bar. 

"It was contemptible of Thatcher to drag you into this, for he knew youtook those shares merely to help me out. I'm sorry it has turned outthis way, but I'm anxious to make it right with you, and I'm ready tobuy your shares--at your own price, of course. "

She chose a letter from the afternoon's mail, and opened it with ahorn-handled paper-cutter, crumpling the envelope and dropping it overher shoulder into a big waste-paper basket. She was not apparentlyovercome by his magnanimity. 

"Well, well, " she said, glancing over the letter; "that man I've got atWaupegan is turning out better than I expected when I put him there; orelse he's the greatest living liar. You never can tell about thesepeople. Well, well!--Oh, yes, Morton; about that lawsuit. I saw Edwardthis afternoon and had a little talk with him about it. "

"You saw Thatcher about the suit!"

"I most certainly did, Morton. I had him go down to the bank to talk tome. "

"I'm sorry you took the trouble to do that. If you'd told me--"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of Edward Thatcher. If a man brings a lawsuitagainst me, the sooner I see him the better. I sent word to Edward andhe was waiting at the bank when I got there. "

"I'd given Thatcher credit for being above dragging a woman who hadalways been his friend into a lawsuit. He certainly owed you anapology. "

"I didn't see it just that way, Morton, and he didn't apologize. Iwouldn't have let him!"

She looked at him over her glasses disconcertingly, and he could thinkof no reply. It was possible that Thatcher had bought her stock or thatshe had made him bid for it. She had a reputation for driving hardbargains, and he judged from her manner that her conference withThatcher, whatever its nature, had not been unsatisfactory. He recalledwith exasperation his wife's displeasure over this whole affair; it wasincumbent upon him not only to reëstablish himself with Mrs. Owen, butto do it in a way to satisfy Mrs. Bassett. 

"You needn't worry about that lawsuit, Morton; there ain't going to beany lawsuit. "

She gave this time to "soak in, " as she would have expressed it, andthen concluded:--

"It's all off; I persuaded Edward to drop the suit. The case will bedismissed in the morning. "

"Dismissed? How dismissed, Aunt Sally?"

"Just dismissed; that's all there is of it. I went to see Fitch, too, and gave him a piece of my mind. He wrote me a letter I found heresaying that in my absence he'd taken the liberty of entering anappearance for me, along with you, in the case. I told him I'd attend tomy own lawsuits, and that he could just scratch his appearance off thedocket. "

The presumption of her lawyer seemed to obscure all other issues for themoment. Morton Bassett was annoyed to be kept waiting for an explanationthat was clearly due him as her co-defendant; he controlled hisirritation with difficulty. Her imprudence in having approached hisenemy filled him with forebodings; there was no telling what compromisesshe might have negotiated with Edward G. Thatcher. 

"I suppose you shamed him out of it?" he suggested. 

"Shamed him? I _scared_ him out of it! He owns a lot of property in thistown that's rented for unlawful purposes, and I told him I'd prosecutehim; that, and a few other things. He offered to buy me out at a goodprice, but he didn't get very far with that. It was a good figure, though, " she added reflectively. 

His spirits rose at this proof of her loyalty and he hastened tomanifest his appreciation. His wife's fears would be dispelled by thisevidence of her aunt's good will toward the family. 

"I rather imagined that he'd be glad to quit if he saw an easy way out, and I guess you gave it to him. Now about your stock, Aunt Sally. Idon't want you to be brought into my troubles with Thatcher any further. I appreciate your help so far, and I'm able now to pay for your shares. I don't doubt that Ed offered you a generous price to get a controllinginterest. I'll write a check for any sum you name, and you'll have mygratitude besides. "

He drew out his check-book and laid it on the table, with a feeling thatmoney, which according to tradition is a talkative commodity, might nowconclude the conversation. Mrs. Owen saw the check-book--looked at itover her glasses, apparently without emotion. 

"I'm not going to sell those shares, Morton; not to you or anybodyelse. "

"But as a matter of maintaining my own dignity--"

"Your own dignity is something I want to speak to you about, Morton. I've been watching you ever since you married Hallie, and wondering justwhere you'd bump. You and Edward Thatcher have been pretty thick andyou've had a lot of fun out of politics. This row you've got into withhim was bound to come. I know Edward better--just a little better than Iknow you. He's not a beautiful character, but he's not as bad as theymake out. But you've given him a hard rub the wrong way and he's goingto get even with you. He's mighty bitter--bitterer than it's healthy forone man to be against another. If it hadn't been for this newspaper fussI shouldn't ever have said a word to you about it; but I advise you tostraighten things up with Edward. You'd better do it for your owngood--for Hallie and the children. You've insulted him and held him upto the whole state of Indiana as a fool. You needn't think he doesn'tknow just where you gripped that convention tight, and just where youlet him have it to play with. He's got more money than you have, andhe's going to spend it to give you some of your own medicine or worse, if he can. He's like a mule that lays for the nigger that put burrsunder his collar. You're that particular nigger just now. You've made amistake, Morton. "

"But Aunt Sally--I didn't--"

"About that newspaper, Morton, " she continued, ignoring him. "I'vedecided that I'll just hang on to my stock. You've built up the'Courier' better than I expected, and that last statement showed it tobe doing fine. I don't know any place right now where I can do as wellwith the money. You see I've got about all the farms I can handle at myage, and it will be some fun to have a hand in running a newspaper. Iwant you to tell 'em down at the 'Courier' office--what's his name?Atwill? Well, you tell him I want this 'Stop, Look, Listen' businessstopped. If you can't think of anything smarter to do than that, you 'dbetter quit. You had no business to turn a newspaper against a man whoowns half of it without giving him a chance to get off the track. Youwhistled, Morton, after you had pitched him and his side-bar buggy intothe ditch and killed his horse. "

"But who had put him on the track? I hadn't! He'd been running over thestate for two years, to my knowledge, trying to undermine me. I was onlygiving him in broad daylight what he was giving me in the dark. Youdon't understand this, Aunt Sally; he's been playing on your feelings. "

"Morton Bassett, there ain't a man on earth that can play on myfeelings. I didn't let him jump on you; and I don't intend to let youabuse him. I've told you to stop nagging him, but I haven't any ideayou'll do it. That's your business. If you want a big bump, you go onand get it. About this newspaper, I'm going to keep my shares, and I'vetold Edward that you wouldn't use the paper as a club on him while I wasinterested in it. You can print all the politics you want, but it mustbe clean politics, straight out from the shoulder. "

He had lapsed into sullen silence, too stunned to interrupt the placidflow of her speech. She had not only meddled in his affairs in a fashionthat would afford comfort to his enemy, but she was now dictatingterms--this old woman whose mild tone was in itself maddening. The fearof incurring his wife's wrath alone checked an outburst of indignation. In all his life no one had ever warned him to his face that he waspursuing a course that led to destruction. He had always enjoyed hercapriciousness, her whimsical humor, but there was certainly nothing forhim to smile at in this interview. She had so plied the lash that it cutto the quick. His pride and self-confidence were deeply wounded;--hiswife's elderly aunt did not believe in his omnipotence! This was a shockin itself; but what fantastic nonsense was she uttering now?

"Since I bought that stock, Morton, I've been reading the 'Courier'clean through every day, and there are some things about that paper Idon't like. I guess you and Edward Thatcher ain't so particularlyreligious, and when you took hold of it you cut out that religious pagethey used to print every Sunday. You better tell Atwill to start that upagain. I notice, too, that the 'Courier' sneaks in little stingers atthe Jews occasionally--they may just get in by mistake, but you ought tohave a rule at the office against printing stories as old as the hillsabout Jews burning down their clothing-stores to get the insurance. I'veknown a few Gentiles that did that. The only man I know that I'd lendmoney to without security is a Jew. Let's not jump on people just tohurt their feelings. And besides, we don't any of us know much morethese days than old Moses knew. And that fellow who writes the littletwo-line pieces under the regular editorials--he's too smart, and heain't always as funny as he thinks he is. There's no use in poppingbird-shot at things if they ain't right, and that fellow's always tryingto hurt somebody's feelings without doing anybody any good. "

She opened a drawer of her desk and drew out a memorandum to refresh hermemory. 

"You've got a whole page and on Sundays two pages about baseball andautomobiles, and the horse is getting crowded down into a corner. We"--he was not unmindful of the plural--"we must print more horse news. You tell Atwill to send his young man that does the 'Horse and Track'around to see me occasionally and I'll be glad to help him get somehorse news that is news. I wouldn't want to have you bounce a young manwho's doing the best he can, but it doesn't do a newspaper any good tospeak of Dan Patch as a trotting-horse or give the record of mytwo-year-old filly Penelope O as 2:09-1/4 when she made a clean 2:09. You've got to print facts in a newspaper if you want people to respectit. How about that, Morton?"

"You're right, Aunt Sally. I'll speak to Atwill about his horse news. "

He began to wonder whether she were not amusing herself at his expense;but she gave him no reason for doubting her seriousness. They mighthave been partners from the beginning of time from her businesslikemanner of criticizing the paper. She had not only flatly refused to sellher shares, but she was taking advantage of the opportunity (for whichshe seemed to be prepared) to tell him how the "Courier" should beconducted!

"About farming, Morton, " she continued deliberately, "the 'Courier' hasfun every now and then over the poor but honest farmer, and printspictures of him when he comes to town for the State Fair that make himlook like a scarecrow. Farming, Morton, is a profession, nowadays, andthose poor yaps Eggleston wrote about in 'The Hoosier Schoolmaster' wereall dead and buried before you were born. Farmers are up and coming Ican tell you, and I wouldn't lose their business by poking fun at 'em. That Saturday column of farm news, by the way, is a fraud--all stolenout of the 'Western Farmers' Weekly' and no credit. They must keep thatcolumn in cold storage to run it the way they do. They're usually abouta season behind time--telling how to plant corn along in August andplanting winter wheat about Christmas. Our farm editor must have beenraised on a New York roof-garden. Another thing I want to speak of isthe space they give to farmers' and stockmen's societies when they meethere. The last time the Hoosier State Mulefoot Hog Association met righthere in town at the Horticultural Society's room at the State House--allthe notice they got in the 'Courier' was five lines in 'Minor Mention. 'The same day the State Bankers' Association filled three columns, andmost of that was a speech by Tom Adams on currency reform. You mighttell that funny editorial man to give Adams a poke now and then, andstop throwing chestnuts about gold bricks and green goods at farmers. And he needn't show the bad state of his liver by sarcastically speakingof farmers as honest husbandmen either; a farmer is a farmer, unless, for lack of God's grace, he's a fool! I guess the folks are coming now. I hope Allen won't knock down the house with that threshing-machine ofhis. That's all this time. Let me see--you'd better tell your editor tocall on me now and then. What did you say his name was, Morton?"

"Atwill--Arthur P. "

"Is he a son of that Ebenezer Atwill who used to be a professor inAsbury College?"

"I'm afraid not, Aunt Sally; I don't think he ever heard of Ebenezer, "replied Bassett, with all the irony he dared. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE GRAY SISTERHOOD

Elizabeth House was hospitable to male visitors, and Dan found Sylviathere often on the warm, still summer evenings, when the young women ofthe household filled the veranda and overflowed upon the steps. Sylvia'schoice of a boarding-house had puzzled Dan a good deal, but there were agood many things about Sylvia that baffled him. For example, thispreparation for teaching in a public school when she might have had anassistant professorship in a college seemed a sad waste of energy andopportunity. She was going to school to her inferiors, he maintained, submitting to instruction as meekly as though she were not qualified toenlighten her teachers in any branch of knowledge. It was preposterousthat she should deliberately elect to spend the hottest of summers inlearning to combine the principles of Pestalozzi with the methods ofDewey and Kendall. 

The acquaintance of Sylvia and Allen prospered from the start. She wasnot only a new girl in town, and one capable of debating the questionsthat interested him, but he was charmed with Elizabeth House, which wasthe kind of thing, he declared, that he had always stood for. Thedemocracy of the veranda, the good humor and ready give and take of theyoung women delighted him. They liked him and openly called him "ourbeau. " He established himself on excellent terms with the matron to theend that he might fill his automobile with her charges frequently andtake them for runs into the country. When Dan grumbled over Sylvia'sabsurd immolation on the altar of education, Allen pronounced her thegrandest girl in the world and the glory of the Great Experiment. 

Sylvia was intent these days upon fitting herself as quickly as possiblefor teaching, becoming a part of the established system and avoidingnone of the processes by which teachers are created. Her fellowstudents, most of whom were younger than she, were practically all thegreen fruitage of high schools, but she asked no immunities orprivileges by reason of her college training; she yielded herselfsubmissively to the "system, " and established herself among the othernovices on a footing of good comradeship. During the hot, vexatious daysshe met them with unfailing good cheer. The inspiring example of hercollege teachers, and not least the belief she had absorbed on theMadison campus in her girlhood, that teaching is a high calling, easedthe way for her at times when--as occasionally happened--she failed toappreciate the beauty of the "system. "

The superintendent of schools, dropping into the Normal after hours, caught Sylvia in the act of demonstrating a problem in geometry on theblackboard for the benefit of a fellow student who had not yet abandonedthe hope of entering the state university that fall. The superintendenthad been in quest of a teacher of mathematics for the Manual TrainingSchool, and on appealing to the Wellesley authorities they had sent himSylvia's name. Sylvia, the chalk still in her fingers, met his humorousreproaches smilingly. She had made him appear ridiculous in the eyes ofher _alma mater_, he said. Sylvia declined his offer and smiled. Thesuperintendent was not used to smiles like that in his corps. And thisconfident young woman seemed to know what she was about. He went awaymystified, and meeting John Ware related his experience. Ware laughedand slapped his knee. "You let that girl alone, " the minister said. "Shehas her finger on Time's wrist. Physician of the golden age. RememberMatthew Arnold's lines on Goethe? Good poem. Sylvia wants to know 'thecauses of things. ' Watch her. Great nature. "

At seven o'clock on a morning of September, Sylvia left Elizabeth Houseto begin her novitiate as a teacher. Allen had declared his intention ofsending his automobile for her every morning, an offer that was promptlydeclined. However, on that bright morning when the young world turnedschoolward, Harwood lay in wait for her. 

"This must never happen again, sir! And of course you may not carry mybooks--they're the symbol of my profession. Seventeen thousand youngpersons about like me are on the way to school this morning right herein Indiana. It would be frightfully embarrassing to the educationalsystem if young gentlemen were allowed to carry the implements of ourtrade. "

"You can't get rid of me now: I never get up as early as this unless I'mcatching a train. "

"So much the worse for you, then!"

"There will be mornings when you won't think it so much fun. It rainsand snows in Indiana sometimes. "

He still resented the idea of her sacrifice, as he called it, in thecause of education. They were now so well acquainted that they were notalways careful to be polite in their talk; but he had an uneasy feelingthat she didn't wholly approve of him. All summer, when they haddiscussed politics, she had avoided touching upon his personal interestsand activities. His alliance with Bassett, emphasized in the stateconvention, was a subject she clearly avoided. This morning, as he kepttime to her quick step, he craved her interest and sympathy. Her plaingray suit and simple cloth hat could not disguise her charm or grace. Itseemed to him that she was putting herself a little further away fromhim, that she was approaching the business of life with a determination, a spirit, a zest, that dwarfed to insignificance his own preoccupationwith far less important matters. She turned to glance back at a group ofchildren they had passed audibly speculating as to the character ofteacher the day held in store for them. 

"Don't you think they're worth working for?" Sylvia asked. 

Dan shrugged his shoulders. 

"I suppose more lives are ground up in the school-teaching machine thanin any other way. Go on! The girl who taught me my alphabet in thelittle red school-house in Harrison County earned her salary, I can tellyou. She was seventeen and wore a pink dress. "

"I'm sorry you don't approve of me or my clothes. Now Allen approves ofme: I like Allen. "

"His approval is important, I dare say. "

"Yes, very. It's nice to be approved of. It helps some. "

"And I suppose there ought to be a certain reciprocity in approval anddisapproval?"

"Oh, there's bound to be!"

Their eyes met and they laughed lightheartedly. 

"I'm going to tell you something, " said Dan. "On the reciprocal theory Ican't expect anything, but I'm lonesome and have no friends anyhow, soI'll give you a chance to say something withering and edged with a finescorn. "

"Good! I'll promise not to disappoint you. "

"I'm going to be put on the legislature ticket to-day--to fill avacancy. I suppose you'll pray earnestly for my defeat. "

"Why should I waste prayers on that? Besides, Allen solemnly declaresthat the people are to be trusted. It's not for me to set my prayersagainst the will of the pee-pull. "

"If you had a vote, " he persisted, "you wouldn't vote for me?"

"I should have to know what you want to go to the legislature for beforecommitting myself. What _are_ you doing it for?"

"To do all the mischief I can, of course; to support all the worstmeasures that come up; to jump when the boss's whip cracks!"

She refused to meet him on this ground. He saw that any expectation hemight have that she would urge him to pledge himself to noble endeavorand high achievements as a state legislator were doomed todisappointment. He was taken aback by the tone of her retort. 

"I hope you will do all those things. You could do nothing bettercalculated to help your chances. "

"Chances?"

"Your chances--and we don't any of us have too many of coming to somegood sometime. "

"I believe you are really serious; but I don't understand you. "

"Then I shall be explicit. Just this, then, to play the ungrateful partof the frank friend. The sooner you get your fingers burnt, the sooneryou will let the fire alone. I suppose Mr. Bassett has given the wordthat you are graciously to be permitted to sit in his legislature. Hecould hardly do less for you than that, after he sent you into the arenalast June to prod the sick lion for his entertainment. "

They were waiting at a corner for a break in the street traffic, and heturned toward her guardedly. 

"You put it pretty low, " he mumbled. 

"The thing itself is not so bad. From what I have heard and read aboutMr. Bassett, I don't think he is really an evil person. He probablydidn't start with any sort of ideals of public life: you did. I read inan essay the other night that the appeal of the highest should be alwaysto the lowest. But you're not appealing to anybody; you're justfollowing the band wagon to the centre of the track. Stop, Look, Listen!You've come far enough with me now. The walls of my prison house loombefore me. Good-morning!"

"Good-morning and good luck!"

That night Sylvia wrote a letter to one of her classmates in Boston. "I'm a school-teacher, " she said, --"a member of the gray sisterhood ofAmerican nuns. All over this astonishing country my sisters of thishonorable order rise up in the morning, even as you and I, to teach theyoung idea how to shoot. I look with veneration upon those of oursisterhood who have grown old in the classroom. I can see myself reducedto a bundle of nerves, irascible, worthless, ready for the scrap-pileat, we will say, forty-two--only twenty years ahead of me! My work looksso easy and I like it so much that I went in fright to the dictionary tolook up the definition of teacher. I find that I'm one who teaches orinstructs. Think of it--I! That definition should be revised to read, 'Teacher: one who, conveying certain information to others, reads infifty faces unanswerable questions as to the riddle of existence. ''School: a place where the presumably wise are convinced of their ownfolly. ' Note well, my friend: I am a gray sister, in a gray serge suitthat fits, with white cuffs and collar, and with chalk on my fingers. Oh, it's not what I'm required to teach, but what I'm going to learnthat worries me!"

Lüders's shop was not far from Sylvia's school and Allen devised manyexcuses for waylaying her. His machine being forbidden, he hung aboutuntil she appeared and trudged homeward with her. Often he came in aglow from the cabinetmaker's and submitted for her judgment thequestions that had been debated that day at the shop. There wassomething sweet and wistful and charming in his boyishness; and she wassurprised, as Harwood had been from the first, by the intelligence heevinced in political and social questions. He demanded absolute answersto problems that were perplexing wise men all over the world. 

"If I could answer that, " she would say to him, "I should be entitled toa monument more enduring than brass. The comfort and happiness ofmankind isn't to be won in a day: we mustn't pull up the old tree tillwe've got a new one planted and growing. "

"The Great Experiment will turn out all right yet! Some fellow we neverheard of will give the lever a jerk some day, and there will be a rumbleand a flash and it will run perfectly, " he asserted. 

The state campaign got under way in October, and Harwood was oftendiscussed in relation to it. Allen always praised Dan extravagantly, andwas ever alert to defend him against her criticisms. 

"My dad will run the roller over Bassett, but Dan will be smart enoughto get from under. It's the greatest show on earth--continuousvaudeville--this politics! Dan's all right. He's got more brains thanBassett. One of these days Dan will take a flop and land clean over inthe Thatcher camp. It's only a matter of time. Gratitude andconsiderations like that are holding him back. But I'm not apartisan--not even on dad's side. I'm the philosopher who sits on thefence and keeps the score by innings. "

It seemed to her, in those days and afterward, that Allen symbolized theunknown quantity in all the problems that absorbed him. His idealism wasnot a thing of the air, but a flowering from old and vigorous roots. Hispolitics was a kind of religion, and it did not prove upon analysis tobe either so fantastical or so fanatical as she had believed at first. As the days shortened, he would prolong their walk until the shops andfactories discharged their employees upon the streets. The fine thingabout the people was, he said, the fact that they were content to go onfrom day to day, doing the things they did, when the restraints uponthem were so light, --it proved the enduring worth of the GreatExperiment. Then they would plunge into the thick of the crowd and crossthe Monument plaza, where he never failed to pay a tribute in his ownfashion to the men the gray shaft commemorated. In these walks theyspoke French, which he employed more readily than she: in his high moodsit seemed to express him better than English. It amused him to apply newnames to the thoroughfares they traversed. For example, he gayly renamedMonument Place the Place de la Concorde, assuring her that the southwardvista in the Rue de la Méridienne, disclosing the lamp-bestarred terraceof the new Federal Building, and the electric torches of the Monumentbeyond, was highly reminiscent of Paris. Sylvia was able to dramatizefor herself, from the abundant material he artlessly supplied, the lifehe had led abroad during his long exile: as a youngster he had enjoyeduntrammeled freedom of the streets of Paris and Berlin, and he showed acuriously developed sympathy for the lives of the poor and unfortunatethat had been born of those early experiences. He was a great resourceto her, and she enjoyed him as she would have enjoyed a girl comrade. Heconfessed his admiration for Marian in the frankest fashion. She wasadorable; the greatest girl in the world. 

"Ah, sometime, " he would say, "who knows!"

CHAPTER XXIII

A HOUSE-BOAT ON THE KANKAKEE

Harwood's faith in Bassett as a political prophet was badly shaken bythe result of the campaign that fall. About half the Democraticcandidates for state office were elected, but even more surprising wasthe rolling-up of a good working majority in both houses of the GeneralAssembly. If Thatcher had knifed Bassett men or if Thatcher men had beenknifed at Bassett's behest, evidence of such perfidy was difficult toadduce from the returns. Harwood was not sure, as he studied thefigures, whether his party's surprising success was attributable to adevelopment of real strength in Thatcher, who had been much in evidencethroughout the campaign, or whether Bassett deserved the credit. He wasdisposed to think it only another expression of that capriciousness ofthe electorate which is often manifested in years when national successis not directly involved. While Thatcher and Bassett had apparentlystruck a truce and harmonized their factions, Harwood had at no timeentertained illusions as to the real attitude of the men toward eachother. When the _entente_ between the leaders was mentioned amongThatcher's intimates they were prone to declare that Ed would "get"Bassett; it might take time, but the day of retribution would surelycome. 

As a candidate for the lower house in Marion County, Harwood had beenthrust forward prominently into a campaign whose liveliness belied thetraditional apathy of "off" years. On the Saturday night before theelection, Thatcher and Bassett had appeared together on the platform ata great meeting at the capital--one of those final flourishes by whichcounty chairmen are prone to hearten their legions against the morrow'sbattle. Bassett had spoken for ten minutes at this rally, urging supportof the ticket and in crisp phrases giving the lie to reports of hislukewarmness. His speech was the more noteworthy from the fact that itwas the first time, in all his political career, that he had ever spokenat a political meeting, and there was no questioning its favorableimpression. 

Bassett was, moreover, reelected to his old seat in the senate withoutdifficulty; and Harwood ran ahead of his associates on the legislativeticket in Marion County, scoring a plurality that testified to hispersonal popularity. Another campaign must intervene before the UnitedStates Senatorship became an acute issue, and meanwhile the party in thestate had not in many years been so united. Credit was freely given tothe "Courier" for the formidable strength developed by the Democracy:and it had become indubitably a vigorous and conservative reflector ofparty opinion, without estranging a growing constituency of readers wholiked its clean and orderly presentation of general news. The ownershipof the newspaper had become, since the abrupt termination of the lawsuitinstituted by Thatcher, almost as much of a mystery as formerly. Harwood's intimate relations with it had not been revived, and neitherMrs. Owen nor Bassett ever spoke to him of the newspaper except in themost casual fashion. 

Dan was conscious that the senator from Fraser had changed in the yearsthat had passed since the beginning of their acquaintance. Bassett hadoutwardly altered little as he crossed the watershed of middle life; butit seemed to Dan that the ill-temper he had manifested in the Thatcheraffair had marked a climacteric. The self-control and restraint that hadso impressed him at first had visibly diminished. What Harwood had takenfor steel seemed to him now only iron after all--and brittle iron. 

During the last week of the campaign an incident occurred that shookHarwood a good deal. He had been away from the capital for several daysmaking speeches, and finding that his itinerary would permit it, he raninto town unexpectedly one night to replenish his linen and look at hismail. An interurban car landed him in town at eleven o'clock, and hewent directly to the Boordman Building. As he walked down the halltoward his office he was surprised to see a light showing on theground-glass door of Room 66. Though Bassett kept a room at the Whitcombfor private conferences, he occasionally used his office in the Boordmanfor the purpose, and seeing the rooms lighted, Dan expected to find himthere. He tried the door and found it locked, and as he drew out his keyhe heard suddenly the click of the typewriter inside. Miss Farrell wasrarely at the office at night, but as Harwood opened the door, he foundher busily tapping the keys of her machine. She swung round quickly withan air of surprise, stretched herself, and yawned. 

"Well, I wasn't exactly looking for you, but I can't deny that I'm gladto be interrupted. Hope you don't mind my doing a small job on theside--"

As Harwood stood, suit-case in hand, blinking at her, he heard a doorfarther down the hall close, followed by a step in the hall outside. Harwood had seen no lights in the neighboring offices as he crossed thehall, and in his frequent long night vigils with his law books, it wasthe rarest thing to find any of the neighboring tenants about. He turnedquickly to the door while the retreating steps were still audible. 

"Oh!"

Rose had half-risen from her seat as he put his hand to the knob and hertone of alarm arrested him. Instead of flinging open the door he droppedhis bag into a corner. His face flushed with sudden anger. 

"I didn't suppose you'd mind my doing a little extra work out of hours, Mr. Harwood. Colonel Ramsay was in the office to see Mr. Bassett thisafternoon and asked me to take some dictation for him. I guess it'sabout time for me to go home. "

She pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter with a sharp _brrrrr_and dropped it into a drawer with a single deft twist of the wrist. 

"The Colonel didn't mention it to me, " remarked Dan, feigningindifference and not looking at her. "He was making a speech at TerreHaute to-night when I left there. "

He tried to minimize the disagreeable aspects of the matter. Rose hadbeen employed by Bassett as stenographer to one of his legislativecommittees before Dan's relations with the politician began. SinceHarwood employed her Bassett had made use of her constantly in thewriting of letters. There would have been nothing extraordinary in hiscalling her to the office for an evening's work; it was the girl'sfalsehood about Ramsay and the quiet closing of the door of Bassett'sinner room that disturbed Harwood. He passed into the library and Roseleft without saying good-night. The incident annoyed Dan; Bassett's stephad been unmistakable, and the girl's confusion had its disagreeablesignificance. He had not thought this of Bassett; it was inconsonantwith the character of man he still believed Morton Bassett to be. 

In winding up the receivership of the paper company Bassett had treatedHarwood generously. Dan was out of debt; he had added forty acres ofgood land to his father's farm, and he kept a little money in bank. Hehad even made a few small investments in local securities that promisedwell, and his practice had become quite independent of Bassett: almostimperceptibly Bassett had ceased to be a factor in his prosperity. Theoffice in the Boordman Building remained the same, and Bassett spent agood deal of time there. There were days when he seemed deeplypreoccupied, and he sometimes buried himself in his room withoutobvious reason; then after an interval he would come out and throw hisleg over a corner of Dan's desk and talk to him with his earlierfrankness. Once he suggested that Dan might like to leave the Boordmanfor a new office building that was lifting the urban skyline; but thefollowing day he came rather pointedly to Dan's desk, and with anembarrassment he rarely showed, said that of course if Dan moved heshould expect to go with him; he hoped Dan had understood that. A fewdays later he entrusted Dan with several commissions that he seemed tohave devised solely to show his good will and confidence. 

Harwood was happy these days. He was still young and life had dealtkindly with him. Among lawyers he was pointed to as a coming light ofthe bar; and in politics he was the most conspicuous man of his age inthe state. He was invited to Harrison County that fall to deliver anaddress at a reunion of the veterans of his father's regiment, and thathad pleased him. He had more than justified the hopes of his parents andbrothers, and they were very proud of him. While they did not understandhis apostasy from the family's stern Republicanism, this did not greatlymatter when Dan's name so often came floating home in the Indianapolisnewspapers. His mother kept careful track of his social enthrallments;her son was frequently among those present at private and publicdinners; and when the president of Yale visited Indiana, Dan spoke atthe banquet given in his honor by the alumni; and not without emotiondoes a woman whose life has been spent on a humble farm find that herson has won a place among people of distinction in a city which is toher the capital of the Universe. There were times when Dan wished to befree of Bassett. He had reached a point where Bassett was not only oflittle service to him, but where he felt he was of little use toBassett. And it was irksome to find that all the local newspapers, except the "Courier, " constantly identified the Boordman Building withBassett's political activities. 

Amid all the agitations of the campaign Dan had seen as much as possibleof Sylvia. The settlement of Andrew Kelton's estate gave him an excusefor consulting her frequently, but he sought her frankly for thepleasure of seeing her. He found that she was a good deal at Mrs. Owen's, and it was pleasanter to run in upon her there than at ElizabethHouse, where they must needs share the parlor with other callers. Oftenhe and Allen met at Mrs. Owen's and debated the questions that wereforever perplexing young Thatcher's eager mind, --debates that Mrs. Owensuffered to run so far and then terminated with a keen observation thatleft no more to be said, sending them to the pantry to forage for foodand drink. Thatcher had resented for a time Harwood's participation inhis humiliation at the convention; but his ill-feeling had not beenproof against Allen's warm defense. Thatcher's devotion to his son hadin it a kind of pathos, and it was not in him to vent his spleen againsthis son's best friend. 

A few days after the election Thatcher invited Harwood to join him andAllen in a week's shooting in the Kankakee where he owned a house-boatthat Allen had never seen. 

"Come up, Dan, and rest your voice. It's a good place to loaf, and we'lltake John Ware along as our moral uplifter. Maybe we'll pot a few ducks, but if we don't we'll get away from our troubles for a little whileanyhow. "

The house-boat proved to be commodious and comfortable, and the ducksscarce enough to make the hunter earn his supper. I may say inparenthesis that long before Thatcher's day many great and good Hoosiersscattered birdshot over the Kankakee marshes--which, alack! have beendrained to increase Indiana's total area of arable soil. "Lew" Wallaceand other Hoosier generals and judges used to hunt ducks on theKankakee; and Maurice Thompson not only camped there, but wrote a poemabout the marshes, --a poem that _is_ a poem, --all about the bittern andthe plover and the heron, which always, at the right season, called himaway from the desk and the town to try his bow (he was the last of thetoxophilites!) on winged things he scorned to destroy with gunpowder. (Oh what a good fellow you were, Maurice Thompson, and what songs youwrote of our lakes and rivers and feathered things! And how I gloatedover those songs of fair weather in old "Atlantics" in my grandfather'sgarret, before they were bound into that slim, long volume with thearrow-pierced heron on its cover!)

John Ware, an ancient and honorable son of the tribe of Nimrod, was thebest of comrades. The striking quality in Ware was his beautifulhumanness, which had given him a peculiar hold upon men. Thatcher wasfar from being a saint, but, like many other cheerful sinners in ourcapital, he had gone to church in the days when Ware occupied the FirstCongregational pulpit. A good many years had passed since Ware had beena captain of cavalry, chasing Stuart's boys in the Valley of Virginia, but he was still a capital wing shot. A house-boat is the best place inthe world for talk, and the talk in Thatcher's boat, around thesheet-iron stove, was good those crisp November evenings. 

On Sunday Ware tramped off to a country church, taking his companionswith him. It was too bad to miss the ducks, he said, but a day's peacein the marshes gave them a chance to accumulate. That evening he talkedof Emerson, with whom he had spoken face to face in Concord in thatwhitest of houses. We shouldn't bring this into our pages if it hadn'tbeen that Ware's talk in that connection interested Thatcher greatly. And ordinarily Thatcher knew and cared less about Emerson than about theVedic Hymns. Allen was serenely happy to be smoking his pipe in thecompany of a man who had fought with Sheridan, heard Phillips speak, andtalked to John Brown and Emerson. When Ware had described his interviewwith the poet he was silent for a moment, then he refilled his pipe. 

"It's odd, " he continued, "but I've picked up copies of Emerson's booksin queer places. Not so strange either; it seems the natural thing tofind loose pages of his essays stuck around in old logging-camps. I didjust that once, when I was following Thoreau's trail through the Mainewoods. Some fellow had pinned a page of 'Compensation' on the door of acabin I struck one night when it was mighty good to find shelter, --thepines singing, snowstorm coming on. That leaf was pretty wellweather-stained; I carried it off with me and had it framed--hangs in myhouse now. Another time I was doing California on horseback, and in anabandoned shack in the Sierras I found Emerson's 'Poems'--an old copythat somebody had thumbed a good deal. I poked it out of some rubbishand came near making a fire of it. Left it, though, for the next fellow. I've noticed that if one thing like that happens to you there's bound tobe another. Is that superstition, Thatcher? I'm not superstitious, --notparticularly, --but we've all got some of it in our hides. After thatsecond time--it was away back in the seventies, when I was preaching fora spell in 'Frisco--I kept looking for the third experience that I feltwould come. "

"Oh, of course it did come!" cried Allen eagerly. 

"Well, that third time it wasn't a loose leaf torn out and stuck on aplank, or just an old weather-stained book; it was a copy that had beenspecially bound--a rare piece of work. I don't care particularly forfine bindings, but that had been done with taste, --a dark green, --thecolor you get looking across the top of a pine wood; and it seemedappropriate. Emerson would have liked it himself. "

The sheet-iron stove had grown red hot and Harwood flung open the door. The glow from the fire fell full upon the dark, rugged face and thewhite hair of the minister, who was sitting on a soap-box with hiselbows on his knees. In a gray flannel shirt he looked like a lumbermanof the North. An unusual tenderness had stolen into his lean, Indian-like face. 

"That was a long while after that ride in the Sierras. Let me see, itwas more than twenty years ago, --I can't just place the year; nodifference. I'd gone up into the Adirondacks to see my folks. I told youabout our farm once, Allen, --not far from John Brown's old place. Itisn't as lonesome up there now as it was when I was a boy; there werebully places to hide up there; I used to think of that when I wasreading Scott and Cooper. Brown could have hid there forever if he'd gotout of Virginia after the raid. Nowadays there are too many hotels, andpeople go canoeing in ironed collars. No good. My folks were all goneeven then, and strangers lived in my father's house. From the old placeI moved along, walking and canoeing it. Stopped on Saturday in asettlement where there was a church that hadn't been preached in sinceanybody could remember. Preached for 'em on Sunday. An old Indian died, while I was there, and I baptized and buried him. But that wasn't whatkept me. There was a young woman staying at the small boarding-housewhere I stopped--place run by a man and his wife. Stranger had broughther there early in the summer. City people--they told the folks theycame from New York. They were young, well-appearing folks--at least thegirl was. The man had gone off and left her there, and she was going tohave a child soon and was terribly ill. They called me in one day whenthey thought the woman was dying. The country doctor wasn't muchgood--an old fellow who didn't know that anything particular hadhappened in his profession since Harvey discovered the circulation ofthe blood. I struck off to Saranac and got a city doctor to go and lookat the woman. Nice chap he was, too. He stayed there till the woman'stroubles were over. Daughter born and everything all right. She nevermentioned the man who had left her there. Wouldn't answer the doctor'squestions and didn't tell me anything either. Strange business, just todrop in on a thing like that. "

It occurred to Harwood that this big, gray, kindly man had probablylooked upon many dark pictures in his life. The minister appeared to betalking half to himself, and there had been abrupt pauses in hischaracteristically jerky recital. There was a long silence which hebroke by striking his hands together abruptly, and shaking his head. 

"The man that kept the boarding-house was scared for fear the womanwasn't straight; didn't like the idea of having a strange girl with ababy left on his hands. I had to reason some with that fellow; but hiswife was all right, and did her full duty by the girl. She was a mightypretty young girl, and she took her troubles, whatever they were, likewhat you'd call a true sport, Ed. "

Thatcher, stretched out on a camp bed at the side of the room, chewing acigar, grunted. 

"Well, " the minister continued, "I was around there about three weeks;put in all my vacation there. Fact is I hated to go off and leave thatgirl until I was sure I couldn't do anything for her. But she wasgetting out of the woods before I left, and I offered to help her anyway I could. She didn't seem to lack for money; a couple of letters withmoney came for her, but didn't seem to cheer her much. There was a beastin the jungle, --no doubt of that, --but she was taking good care to hidehim. Didn't seem to care much about taking care of herself, even whenshe must have known that it looked bad for her. She was a flighty, volatile sort of creature; made a lot of what I'd done for her inbringing over the doctor. That doctor was a brick, too. Lots of goodpeople in the world, boys. Let me see; Dan, feel in that shooting-coatof mine on the nail behind you and you'll find the book I started totell you about. Thanks. You see it's a little banged up because I'vecarried it around with me a good deal--fishing-trips and so on; but it'sacquired tone since I began handling it--the green in that leather hasdarkened. 'Society and Solitude. ' There's the irony of fate foryou. --Where had I got to? When I went in to say good-bye we had quite atalk. I thought maybe there was some message I could carry to herfriends for her, but she was game and wouldn't hear to it. She wantedthe little girl baptized, but said she hadn't decided what to name her;asked me if I could baptize a baby without having a real name. She wasterribly cut up and cried about it. I said I guessed God Almighty didn'tcare much about names, and if she hadn't decided on one I'd name thebaby myself and I did: I named the little girl--and a mighty cuteyoungster she was, too--I named her Elizabeth--favorite name ofmine;--just the mother, lying there in bed, and the man and woman thatkept the boarding-house in the room. The mother said she wanted to dosomething for me; and as I was leaving her she pulled this book out andmade me take it. "

"I suppose it was a favorite book of hers and all that, " suggested Dan. 

"I don't think anybody had ever opened that book, " replied Ware, smiling. "It was brand-new--not a scratch on it. "

"And afterward?" asked Allen, anxious for the rest of the story. 

"Well, sir, I passed through there four years afterward and found thesame people living in the little cottage there at that settlement. Strange to say, that woman had stayed there a couple of years after thebaby was born. Hadn't any place to go, I reckon. Nobody ever went nearher, they said; but finally she picked up and left; took the baby withher. She had never been well afterward, and finally, seeing she hadn'tlong to live, she struck out for home. Wanted to die among her ownpeople, maybe. I don't know the rest of the story, Allen. What I've toldyou is all I know, --it's like finding a magazine in a country hotelwhere you haven't anything to read and dip into the middle of a serialstory. I never told anybody about that but my wife. I had a feeling thatif that woman took such pains to bury herself up there in the wildernessit wasn't my business to speak of it. But it's long ago now--mosteverything that an old chap like me knows is!"

Thatcher rose and crossed to the stove and took the book. He turned itover and scrutinized it carefully, scanned the blank pages and thesilk-faced lids in the glow from the stove, and then handed it to Allen. 

"What does that say there, that small gold print on the inside of thecover?"

"That's the binder's name--Z. Fenelsa. "

Allen closed the book, passed his hand over the smooth covers, andhanded it back to Ware. 

"What did you say the woman's name was, Ware?" asked Thatcher. 

"Didn't say, but the name she went by up there was Forbes. She told meit was an assumed name. The people she stayed with told me they neverknew any better. "

Several minutes passed in which no one spoke. The minister lapsed intoone of his deep reveries. Thatcher stood just behind him peering intothe fire. Suddenly he muttered under his breath and almost inaudibly, "Well, by God!"

CHAPTER XXIV

A WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY BALL

The Bassetts moved to the capital that winter, arriving with the phalanxof legislators in January, and establishing themselves in a furnishedhouse opportunely vacated by the Bosworths, who were taking theMediterranean trip. Bassett had been careful to announce to the peopleof Fraserville that the removal was only temporary, and that he and hisfamily would return in the spring, but Marian held private opinionsquite at variance with her father's published statements. 

Mrs. Bassett's acquiescence had been due to Mrs. Owen's surprisingsupport of Marian's plan. In declaring that she would never, neverconsent to live in a flat, Mrs. Bassett had hoped to dispose of Marian'simportunities, to which Bassett had latterly lent mild approval. When, however, Mrs. Owen suggested the Bosworth house, which could be occupiedwith the minimum of domestic vexation, Mrs. Bassett promptly consented, feeling that her aunt's interest might conceal a desire in the oldlady's breast to have some of her kinsfolk near her. Mrs. Bassett hadnot allowed her husband to forget the dangerous juxtaposition of SylviaGarrison to Mrs. Owen's check-book. "That girl, " as Mrs. Bassettdesignated Sylvia in private conversation with her husband, had beenplanted in Elizabeth House for a purpose. Her relief that Sylvia had notbeen settled in the Delaware Street residence had been of shortduration: Mrs. Bassett saw now that it was only the girl's adroit methodof impressing upon Mrs. Owen her humility and altruism. Still Mrs. Bassett was not wholly unhappy. It was something to be near at handwhere she could keep track of Sylvia's movements; and the social sceneat the capital was not without its interest for her. She was not merelythe wife of Morton Bassett, but the only child of the late BlackfordSingleton, sometime Senator in Congress. She was moreover the niece ofSally Owen, and this in itself was a social asset. She showed herhusband the cards that were left at their door, and called his attentionto the fact that the representative people of the capital were lookingthem up. He made the mistake of suggesting that the husbands of most ofthe women who had called had axes to grind at the State House, --asuggestion intended to be humorous; but she answered that many of hercallers were old friends of the Singletons, and she expressed the hopethat he would so conduct himself as to adorn less frequently thenewspaper headlines; the broad advertisement of his iniquities would beso much worse now that they were in the city, and with Marian's futureto consider, and all. 

It should be said that Marian's arrival had not gone unheeded. Thesociety columns of the capital welcomed her, and the "Advertiser"reproduced her photograph in a picture hat. She began at once to beamong those included in all manner of functions. Allen dancedcheerfully to her piping and she still telephoned to Harwood when shethought of ways of using him. Mrs. Owen had declared her intention ofgiving a "party" to introduce Marian to the society of the capital. Sally Owen had not given a "party" since Mrs. Bassett's coming out, butshe brought the same energy and thoroughness to bear upon a socialaffair that characterized her business undertakings. In preparing thelist (in itself a task) and in the discussion of details, it wasnecessary of course to consult Marian, --one usually heard Marian's viewswhether one consulted her or not, --but she and her aunt were on the bestof terms, and Mrs. Owen was sincerely anxious to satisfy her in everyparticular. On half a dozen evenings Allen or Dan brought Sylvia to theDelaware Street house to meet Marian and plan the coming event. No onewould have imagined, from the zest with which Sylvia discussed such deepquestions as the employment of musicians, the decorating of the hall, the german favors and the refreshments, that she had been at work allday in a schoolroom that had been built before ventilation was invented. 

When Sylvia was busy, she was the busiest of mortals, but when she threwherself heart and soul into play, it was with the completest detachment. She accomplished wonderful things in the way of work after schoolhoursif she received warning that either of her faithful knights meditated adescent upon her. During these councils of war to plan Marian's belateddébut, Sylvia might snowball Allen or Dan or both of them all the wayfrom Elizabeth House to Mrs. Owen's door, and then appear demurelybefore that amiable soul, with cheeks aglow and dark eyes flashing, andMrs. Owen would say: "This school-teaching ain't good for you, Sylvia;it seems to be breaking down your health. " That was a livelyquartette--Sylvia, Marian, Allen, and Dan!

Dan, now duly sworn to serve the state faithfully as a legislator, hadbeen placed on several important committees, and a busy winter stretchedbefore him. Morton Bassett's hand lay heavily upon the legislature; theyoung man had never realized until he took his seat in the lower househow firmly Bassett gripped the commonwealth. Every committee appointmentin both houses had to be approved by the senator from Fraser. Dan'sselection as chairman of the committee on corporations both pleased andannoyed him. He would have liked to believe himself honestly chosen bythe speaker on the score of fitness; but he knew well enough that therewere older men, veteran legislators, more familiar with the state'sneeds and dangers, who had a better right to the honor. The watchful"Advertiser" had not overlooked his appointment. On the day thecommittees were announced it laid before its readers a cartoon depictingBassett, seated at his desk in the senate, clutching wires that radiatedto every seat in the lower house. One desk set forth conspicuously inthe foreground was inscribed "D. H. " "The Lion and Daniel" was the tagaffixed to this cartoon, which caused much merriment among Dan's friendsat the round table of the University Club. 

Miss Bassett's début was fixed for Washington's Birthday, and as Mrs. Owen's house had no ballroom (except one of those floored attics onwhich our people persist in bestowing that ambitious title) she decidedthat the Propylæum alone would serve. Pray do not reach for yourdictionary, my friend! No matter how much Greek may have survived yourcommencement day, you would never know that our Propylæum (reared by thewomen of our town in North Street, facing the pillared façade of theBlind Institute) became, on its completion in 1890, the centre of ourintellectual and social life. The club "papers" read under that roofconstitute a literature all the nobler for the discretion that reservesit for atrabilious local criticism; the later editions of our _jeunessedorée_ have danced there and Boxed and Coxed as Dramatic Club stars onits stage. "Billy" Sumner once lectured there on "War" before theContemporary Club, to say nothing of Mr. James's appearance (hereinbefore mentioned), which left us, filled with wildest surmise, on thecrest of a new and ultimate Darien. Nor shall I omit that memorable teato the Chinese lady when the press became so great that a number oftimorous Occidentals in their best bib and tucker departed with allpossible dignity by way of the fire-escape. So the place being historic, as things go in a new country, Mrs. Owen did not, in vulgar parlance, "hire a hall, " but gave her party in a social temple of loftiestconsecration. 

It was a real winter night, with a snowstorm and the jangle ofsleigh-bells outside. The possibilities of a hall famed for its manybrilliant entertainments had never been more fully realized than onthis night of Marian Bassett's presentation. The stage was screened in arose-hung lattice that had denuded the conservatories of Newcastle andRichmond; the fireplace was a bank of roses, and the walls werefestooned in evergreens. Nor should we overlook a profile of the fatherof his country in white carnations on a green background, with all theeffect of a marble bas-relief, --a fitting embellishment for thebalcony, --done by the florist from Allen's design and under Allen'scritical eye. 

In the receiving line, established in one of the lower parlors, wereMrs. Owen, Mr. And Mrs. Morton Bassett, the Governor and his wife (hehappened just then to be a Republican), Colonel and Mrs. Vinning(retired army people), and the pick of the last October's brides andtheir young husbands. We may only glance hurriedly at the throng whoshook Mrs. Owen's hand, and were presented to Mr. And Mrs. Bassett andby them in turn to their daughter. Every one remarked how stunning thehostess looked (her gown was white, and in the latest fashion, too, --none of your quaint old lace and lavender for Aunt Sally!), andwhat amusing things she said to her guests as they filed by, knowingthem all and in her great good heart loving them all! It is something tobe an Aunt Sally where the name is a synonym for perpetual youth andperpetual kindness and helpfulness. (And if Aunt Sally didn't live justa little way down my own street, and if she hadn't bribed me not to "puther in a book" with a gift of home-cured hams from her Greene Countyfarm last Christmas, there are many more things I should like to say ofher!)

Since the little affair of the "Courier" Morton Bassett had fought shyof his wife's aunt; but to-night he stood beside her, enjoying, let ushope, the grim humor of his juxtaposition to the only person who hadever blocked any of his enterprises. Nothing escaped Mrs. Bassett, andher heart softened toward her politician husband as she saw that next toher aunt and Marian (a daughter to be proud of to-night!) Morton Bassettwas the person most observed of all observers. She noted the glancesbent upon him by the strangers to whom he was introduced, and manyacquaintances were at pains to recall themselves to him. Her husband wasa presentable man anywhere, and she resolved to deal more leniently withhis offenses in future. The governorship or a seat in the United StatesSenate would amply repay her for the heartaches so often communicated bythe clipping bureau. 

Mrs. Bassett prided herself on knowing who's who in her native state andeven she was satisfied that the gathering was representative. The "list"had not been submitted for her approval; if it had been she might havedeleted certain names and substituted others. She was unable, forexample, to justify the presence of the senior Thatcher, though herhusband assured her in a tone of magnanimity that it was all right; andshe had never admired Colonel Ramsay, though to be sure nearly every oneelse did. Was not the Colonel handsome, courteous, genial, eloquent, worthy of all admiration? Mrs. Owen had chosen a few legislators fromamong her acquaintances, chiefly gentlemen who had gallantly aided someof her measures at earlier sessions of the assembly. This accounted forthe appearance of a lone Prohibitionist who by some miracle appearedbiennially in the lower house, and for a prominent labor leader whomMrs. Owen liked on general principles. The statesman who has alreadyloomed darkly in these pages as the Tallest Delegate was taller thanever in a dress coat, but in all ways a citizen of whom VermillionCounty had reason to be proud. John Ware and Admiral Martin, findingthemselves uncomfortable in the crowd, rescued Thatcher and adjournedwith him to a room set apart for smokers. There they were regarded withmild condescension by young gentlemen who rushed in from the dance, mopping their brows and inhaling cigarettes for a moment, wearing themelancholy air becoming to those who support the pillars of society. 

At ten o'clock the receiving line had dissolved and the dance was infull swing above. Sylvia had volunteered to act as Mrs. Owen's adjutant, and she was up and down stairs many times looking after countlessdetails. She had just dispatched Allen to find partners for someout-of-town girls when Morton Bassett accosted her in the hall. 

"I'm thirsty, Miss Garrison; which punch bowl do you recommend to a manof my temperate habits?"

She turned to the table and took a glass from Mrs. Owen's butler andheld it up. 

"The only difference between the two is that one is pink. I put it inmyself. Your health and long life to Marian, " said Sylvia. 

"I'm going to take this chance to thank you for your kind interest inMarian's party. We all appreciate it. Even if you didn't do it for usbut for Mrs. Owen, we're just as grateful. There's a lot of work incarrying off an affair like this. "

He seemed in no hurry and apparently wished to prolong the talk. Theywithdrew out of the current of people passing up and down the stairway. 

"You are not dancing?" he asked. 

"No; I'm not here socially, so to speak. I'm not going out, you know; Ionly wanted to help Mrs. Owen a little. "

"Pardon me; I hadn't really forgotten. You are a busy person; Mariantells me you have begun your teaching. You don't show any evidences ofwear. "

"Oh, I never was so well in my life!"

"You will pardon me for mentioning it here, but--but I was sorry to hearfrom Mr. Harwood that the teaching is necessary. "

He was quite right, she thought, in saying that the time and place wereill-suited to such a remark. He leaned against the wall and she noticedthat his lids drooped wearily. He seemed content to linger there, wherethey caught fitfully glimpses of Marian's bright, happy face in thedance. Mrs. Owen and Mrs. Bassett were sitting in a group of dowagers atthe other end of the ballroom, identifying and commenting upon theseason's débutantes. 

"I suppose you are very busy now, " Sylvia remarked. 

Yes; this will be a busy session. "

"And I suppose you have more to do than the others; it's the penalty ofleadership. "

He flushed at the compliment, changed his position slightly, and avoidedher eyes for a moment. She detected in him to-night something that hadescaped her before. It might not be weariness after all that promptedhim to lean against the wall with one hand carelessly thrust into hispocket; he was not a man to show physical weariness. It seemed, rather, a stolid indifference either to the immediate scene or to more seriousmatters. Their meeting had seemed accidental; she could not believe hehad contrived it. If the dance bored him she was by no means his onlyrefuge; many present would have thought themselves highly favored by aword from him. A messenger brought Sylvia a question from Mrs. Owen. Inturning away to answer she gave him a chance to escape, but he waited, and when she was free again she felt that he had been watching her. 

He smiled, and stood erect as though impelled by an agreeable thought. 

"We don't meet very often, Miss Garrison, and this is hardly the placefor long conversations; you're busy, too; but I'd like to ask yousomething. "

"Certainly, Mr. Bassett!"

The newest two-step struck up and she swung her head for a moment intime to it and looked out upon the swaying forms of the dancers. 

"That's Marian's favorite, " she said. 

"That afternoon, after the convention, you remember--"

"Of course, Mr. Bassett; I remember perfectly. "

"You laughed!"

They both smiled; and it seemed to him that now, as then, it was a smileof understanding, a curious reciprocal exchange that sufficed withoutelucidation in words. 

"Well!" said Sylvia. 

"Would you mind telling me just why you laughed?"

"Oh! That would be telling a lot of things. "

Any one seeing them might have thought that this middle-aged gentlemanwas taking advantage of an opportunity to bask in the smile of a prettygirl for the sheer pleasure of her company. He was purposely detainingher, but whether from a wish to amuse himself or to mark hisindifference to what went on around him she did not fathom. The fact wasthat Sylvia had wondered herself a good deal about that interview inMrs. Owen's house, and she was not quite sure why she had laughed. 

"I'd really like to know, Miss Garrison. If I knew why you laughed atme--"

"Oh, I didn't laugh at you! At least--it wasn't just you alone I waslaughing at!"

"Not at me?"

His look of indifference vanished wholly; he seemed sincerely interestedas he waited for her reply, delayed a moment by the passing of a groupof youngsters from the ballroom to the fresher air of the hall. 

"I know perfectly well this isn't a good place to be serious in; but Ilaughed--Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, please. Don't try to spare my feelings; they're pretty badly shotup anyhow. "

"It must have been because it struck me as funny that a man likeyou--with all your influence and power--your capacity for doing bigthings--should go to so much trouble merely to show another man yourcontempt for him. Just a moment"--she deliberated an instant, liftingher head a trifle, --"it was funny, just as it would be funny if theUnited States went to war to crush a petty, ignorant pauper power; or itwould be like using the biggest pile driver to smash a mosquito. It wasridiculous just because it seemed so unnecessarily elaborate--such awaste of steam. "

She had spoken earnestly and quickly, but he laughed to assure her thathe was not offended. 

"So that was it, was it?"

"I think so; something like that. And you laughed too that day!"

"Yes; why did I laugh?" he demanded. 

"Because you knew it was grotesque, and not to be taken at all seriouslyas people did take it. And then, maybe--maybe I thought it funny thatyou should have employed Mr. Harwood to pull the lever that sent the bighammer smashing down on the insect. "

"So that was it! Well, maybe it wasn't so unnecessary after all; to befrank, I didn't think so. In my conceit I thought it a good stroke. That's a secret; nobody else knows that! Why shouldn't I have used Mr. Harwood--assuming that I did use him?"

"Can you stand any more? Shan't we talk of something else?"

Their colloquy had been longer than Sylvia found comfortable: every oneknew Bassett; every one did not know her. She was a comparative strangerin the city, and it was not wholly kind in him to make her conspicuous;yet he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. 

"You cast an excellent actor for an unworthy part, that's all. "

"I was debasing him? Is that what you think?" he persisted. 

"Yes, " she answered steadily, meeting his eyes. 

"You like him; you believe in him?"

"He has ability, " she answered guardedly. 

"Then I've done nothing to thwart him in the use of it. He's the bestadvertised young man in the state in either political party. He's in aplace now where he can make good. "

His smile was grave; it was impossible to answer him in the key ofsocial small talk. 

"The 'Advertiser' seems to think that he's in the legislature to do whatyou tell him to. "

"He doesn't have to do it, does he? He owes me nothing--absolutelynothing. He can kick me down stairs to-morrow if he wants to. It wasunderstood when he came into my office that he should be free to quit mewhenever he liked. I'd like you to know that. "

She was embarrassed by the direct look that accompanied this. Heropinions could not interest him one way or another, and he was going farin assuming that she was deeply concerned in Harwood's welfare. Theincongruity of their talk was emphasized by the languorous strains ofthe newest popular waltz that floated over them from the ballroom. 

"If it were any of my affair--which it certainly isn't--I should tellhim to stand by you--to say no to you if need be and yet remain yourfriend. "

"You think, then, that I am not beyond reclamation--that I might besaved--pulled out of the mire?"

"No man is beyond reclamation, is he? I think not; I believe not. "

The music ceased; the dancers were demanding a repetition of the number. Bassett stood his ground stubbornly. 

"Well, I've asked him to do something for me--the only thing I have everasked him to do that wasn't straight. "

There was no evading this; she wondered whether he had deliberatelyplanned this talk, and what it was leading to. In any view it wasinexplicable. His brow knit and there was a curious gravity in his eyesas they sought hers searchingly. 

"That's his affair entirely, Mr. Bassett, " she replied coldly. "He and Iare good friends, and of course I should hate to see him make amistake. "

"But the mistake may be mine; let us say that it is mine. "

"I had an idea that you didn't make mistakes. Why should you make theserious mistake of asking a good man to do a bad thing?"

"The natural inference would be that I'm a bad man, wouldn't it?"

"It wouldn't be my way of looking at it. All you need is courage to be agreat man--you can go far!"

He smiled grimly. 

"I need only one thing, you say;--but what if it's the thing I haven'tgot?"

"Get it!" she replied lightly. "But your defiance in the conventionwasn't worthy of you; it was only a piece of bravado. You don't deserveto be abused for that, --just scolded a little. That's why I laughed atyou that afternoon; I'm going to laugh at you now!"

The music had ceased again and Allen and Marian flashed out upon them inthe highest spirits. 

"Well, I like this!" cried Marian. "What are you two talking so longabout? Oh, I saw you through three dances at least!"

"Miss Garrison has been laughing at me, " said Bassett, smiling at hisdaughter. "She doesn't take me at all seriously--or too seriously: Idon't know which!"

"How could she take you seriously!" demanded Marian. "I never do!Sylvia, where on earth is our little Daniel? It's nearly time for thecotillion. And if Dan Harwood doesn't show up for that I'll neverforgive him in this world. "

"The cotillion?" repeated Bassett, glancing at his watch. "Hasn't Dangot here yet? He had a committee meeting to-night, but it ought to havebeen over before now. "

Sylvia noted that the serious look came into his eyes again for aninstant. 

"He oughtn't to have had a committe meeting on the night of my party. And it's a holiday too. "

"And after all the rehearsing we've done at Aunt Sally's the cherry-treefigure absolutely has to have him, " said Allen. "Maybe I'd better send ascout to look him up or run over to the State House myself. "

"Oh, he'll be here, " murmured Sylvia. 

Dan had undoubtedly intended to appear early at the dance, and shewondered whether his delay might not be due to the crisis in hisrelations with Bassett of which the politician had hinted. As she ranoff with Allen to make sure the apparatus for the german was in order, she wished Bassett had not spoken to her of Harwood. 

Sylvia and Allen had despaired of Dan when at a quarter of twelve heappeared. He met their reproaches cheerfully, and airily explained hisdelay. 

"State's business! Can you imagine me fresh from Richelieu's cabinet, with a trail of dead horses on the road behind me? In plain prose Ididn't get home to dress until eleven, and the snow makes it hardgoing. "

He had dressed with care nevertheless and had never looked better. Sylvia sent Allen ahead to begin clearing the floor for the cotillion, and followed more slowly with Harwood. 

"I suppose, " he remarked, half to himself, "that I really oughtn't to doit. "

"What--you hesitate now after keeping the stage waiting!"

"It may be a case for an understudy. There are reasons why. "

"Then--you have done it?"

They were at the turn of the stair and Sylvia paused. He was consciousof a quick catch in her breath. Her eyes met his for an instantsearchingly. 

"Yes; I have done it, " he answered, and looked at her wonderingly. 

A moment later he had made his peace with Mrs. Owen and paid hiscompliments to Mrs. Bassett at the favor table, heaped high withberibboned hatchets and bunches of cherries for the first figure. 

Morton Bassett had heard praise of his daughter from many lips, but hewatched her joyous course through the cherry-tree figure in the germanwith an attention that was not wholly attributable to fatherly pride. Harwood's white-gloved hand led her hither and thither through theintricate maze; one must have been sadly lacking in the pictorial sensenot to have experienced a thrill of delight in a scene so animate withgrace, so touched with color. It was ungracious to question thesincerity of those who pronounced Marian the belle of the ball whenColonel Ramsay, the supreme authority in Hoosier pulchritude, declaredher to be the fairest rose in a rose-garden of girls. He said the samething to the adoring parents of a dozen other girls that night. (TheColonel was born in Tecumseh County, on our side of the Ohio, and justplays at being a Kentuckian!) Mothers of daughters, watching the dancewith a jealous eye on their own offspring, whispered among themselvesthat as likely as not Marian's tall, broad-shouldered cavalier was theman chosen of all time to be her husband. He was her father'sconfidential man, and nothing could stay his upward course. 

Bassett saw it all and guessed what they were thinking. Sylvia flashedacross his vision now and then. He overheard people asking who she was, and he caught the answers, that she was a girl Mrs. Owen had taken up; apublic school-teacher, they believed, the daughter of an old friend. Sylvia, quite unconscious of this interest, saw that the figures she haddone so much toward planning were enacted without a hitch. The last one, the Pergola, with real roses, if you must know, well deserved ColonelRamsay's compliment. "You can't tell, " said the Colonel in his bestmanner, "where the roses end and the girls begin!"

It was two o'clock when Harwood, after taking Mrs. Owen down to supper, found himself free. He met Thatcher in the lower hall, muffled inastrakhan and swearing softly to himself because his carriage had beenlost in the blizzard. 

"Well; how are things going with you, young man?"

"Right enough. I'm tired and it's about bed-time for me. "

"Haven't got House Bill Ninety-five in your pockets have you?" askedThatcher with a grin. "A reporter for the 'Advertiser' was in herelooking for you a minute ago. He said your committee had taken a voteto-night and he wanted to know about it. Told him you'd gone home. Hopeyou appreciate that; I'm used to lying to reporters. You see, my son, Iain't in that deal. You understand? That bill was fixed up in Chicago, and every corporation lawyer that does business in the old Hoosier Statehas his eye on it. I'm not asking any questions; Lord, no! It's up toyou. Grand party; that's a nice girl of Bassett's. My wagon here? Allright. Good-night, Dan! Good-night, Bassett!"

Harwood turned and found himself face to face with Bassett, who wasloitering aimlessly about the hall. 

"Good-evening, sir, " he said, and they shook hands mechanically. 

"How are you? Party about over?"

"I should like to speak to you to-night, Mr. Bassett. It need take but aminute. "

"Better now, if it's important, " replied Bassett carelessly. 

"We voted on House Bill Ninety-five in committee to-night: the majorityreport will be against it. "

"So? What was the matter with it?"

"It's crooked, that's all. I wouldn't stand for it; two members werewilling to support it, and there will be a minority report. It's thatsame bill that was jumped on so hard at the last session, only it's beengiven a fresh coat of paint. "

"It seems to have taken you several weeks to find that out. There'snothing wrong with that bill. It merely frames a natural and reasonableright into a statute. Those labor cranks at the State House have beentrying to scare you. "

"No, sir; that thing's dead wrong! You not only know it's wrong, but youmisled me about it. That public benefit clause is put in there to throwdust in the eyes of the people; it makes possible the very combinationand absorption of industries that the party is pledged to fight. I havebawled against those things in every county in Indiana!"

Bassett nodded, but showed no irritation. His manner irritated Harwood. The younger man's lips twitched slightly as he continued. 

"And the fact that you were behind it has leaked out; the 'Advertiser'is on to it and is going to go after it to-morrow. House BillNinety-five is an outrage on the party honor and an affront to theintelligence of the people. And moreover your interest in having me madechairman of the committee that had to pass on it doesn't look good. "

"Well, sir, what are you going to do about it? I'm not particularlyinterested in that bill; but a lot of our friends are behind it, andwe've got to take care of our friends, " said Bassett, without raisinghis voice. 

Their relations were practically at an end; and Bassett did not care. But Dan felt the wrench; he felt it the more keenly because of Bassett'simpassiveness at this moment of parting. 

"You've been a kind friend to me, sir; you've--"

Bassett laid his hand with an abrupt gesture upon Harwood's arm, andsmiled a curious, mirthless smile. 

"None of that! I told you, when the time came for you to go, you needshed no tears at the parting. Remember, you don't owe me anything; we'requits. "

"I hoped you wouldn't see it just this way; that you would realize thedanger of that bill--to the party, to yourself!"

"You can score heavily by showing up the bill for what you think it is. Go ahead; it's your chance. I haven't a word to say to you. "

He folded his white gloves and put them away carefully in his breastpocket. 

"Good-night, sir!"

"Good-night, Harwood!"

The dancing continued above. Mrs. Owen insisted on seeing her last guestdepart, but begged Harwood to take Sylvia home at once. As they left afew minutes later Dan caught a glimpse of Bassett sitting alone in thesmoking-room. 

On the way to Elizabeth House Dan told Sylvia what had happened. 

The carriage plunged roughly through the drifting snow. Sleet drovesharply against the windows. 

"He lied to me about it; and I thought that with all his faults he wouldplay square with me. The whole corporation lobby is back of the bill. Iwas stupid not to have seen it earlier; I've been a dull ass about a lotof things. But it's over now; I'm done with him. "

"I'm glad--glad you met it squarely--and glad that you settled itquickly. I'm glad"--she repeated slowly--"but I'm sorry too. "

"Sorry?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry for him!"

CHAPTER XXV

THE LADY OF THE DAGUERREOTYPE

"Daniel doesn't seem to be coming, " remarked Mrs. Owen. "He hardly evermisses a Sunday afternoon. "

"He's working hard. I had no idea legislators had to work so hard, " saidSylvia. 

They sat in Mrs. Owen's office, which was cosier than the sitting-room, and the place where she seemed most comfortable. Since we looked at herdesk last a file-hook has been added to its furniture, and on it hangimpaled a few cuttings from agricultural newspapers. The content ofthese clippings will ultimately reach the "Courier's" readers, --there isno doubt of that, as Mrs. Owen and Mr. Atwill now understand each otherperfectly. It was the first Sunday in March and a blustery day, withrain and sleet alternating at the windows and an impudent wind whistlingin the chimneys. Hickory logs snapped pleasantly in the small fireplacethat was a feature of the room. Sylvia had dined with her friend, andthe day being of the sort that encourages confidences, they hadprolonged their talk. 

"When did you see Daniel last?" asked Mrs. Owen casually. 

"Last night, " replied Sylvia, meeting her friend's eyes easily. "Hedropped in for a little while. He wanted to talk about his stand onthat corporation bill. "

"Well, he and Morton have broken up housekeeping. Daniel has climbed onto the other side of the breastworks. "

Sylvia smiled. "Yes, that's about it. But I think he has acted quitefinely about it. "

"You mean he didn't jump on Morton as he might have done--didn't make agrand stand play of it?"

"Yes; he might have made capital for himself out of the corporationbill, but he didn't. He made his report without bringing personalitiesinto it. "

"And the bill was passed over the governor's veto! That was Morton's wayof showing that he didn't need Daniel. "

"Very likely. I'm rather glad it happened that way. "

"Glad Daniel got a licking?"

"Oh, not just that; but it shows him that if he's going to be thepeople's champion he will have to be unhorsed pretty often. If all thesethings could be accomplished easily, there wouldn't be any glory insuccess. It's not an easy thing to drive a man like Mr. Bassett out ofpolitics, or even to defeat the dangerous measures he introduces in thelegislature. If it were easy to get rid of them, such men wouldn't lastlong. Besides, I'm a little afraid it wasn't half so much Dan'spatriotism that was involved as it was his vanity. He was bitter becausehe found that Mr. Bassett had deceived him and was trying to use him. But in view of Mr. Bassett's many kindnesses to him he wouldn't make apersonal matter of it in the House. Dan's opposition was based on legaldefects in that bill, --points that were over the heads of most of thelegislators, --but he is now determined to keep up the fight. He findsthat Mr. Bassett is quite able to do as he pleases even without hisservices. He felt that he dealt with him magnanimously in keeping hisantagonism to the corporation bill on the high plane of its legalunsoundness. Mr. Bassett ignored this, and merely secured the passage ofthe bill by marshaling all the votes he needed in both parties. "

"That's a new scheme they say Morton has introduced into Indiana--thisgetting men on both sides to vote for one of these bad bills. That shutsup the party newspapers, and neither side can use that particular thingas ammunition at the next election. Instead of talking about House BillNinety-five in the next campaign, they will howl about the tariff onchampagne, or pensions for veterans of the Black Hawk War. They're alltarred with the same stick and don't dare call attention to the otherfellow. Daniel had better get out of politics, " she ended leadingly. 

"Please, no! He'd better stay in and learn how to make himself count. Sofar as Mr. Bassett is concerned, I think that for some reason he hadgone as far with Dan as he cared to. I think he was prepared for thebreak. "

Mrs. Owen was wiping her spectacles on a piece of chamois skin she keptin her desk for the purpose, and she concluded this rite with unusualdeliberation. 

"How do you figure that out, Sylvia?"

"This must be confidential, Aunt Sally; I have said nothing to Dan aboutit; but the night of your party Mr. Bassett was in a curious frame ofmind. "

"It seemed to me he was particularly cheerful. I thought Morton had asgood a time as anybody. "

"Superficially, yes; but I had a long talk with him--in the hall, afterthe dancing had begun. I think in spite of his apparent indifference tothe constant fire of his enemies, it has had an effect on him. He'shardened--or, if he was always hard, he doesn't care any longer whetherhe wears the velvet glove or not. That attack on Mr. Thatcher in theconvention illustrates what I mean. His self-control isn't as completeas most people seem to think it is; he lets go of himself like apetulant child. That must be a new development in him. It doesn't chimewith the other things you hear of him as a shrewd, calculating manager, who strikes his enemies in the dark. He was in an evil humor that nightor he wouldn't have talked to me as he did. He was ugly and vindictive. He was not only glad he had put Dan in the way of temptation, but hewanted me to know that he had done it. He seemed to be setting his backto the wall and daring the world. "

"Well, well, " said Mrs. Owen. "Morton has seemed a little uneasy lately. But there don't seem to be any reason why he should have picked you outto jump on. You never did anything to Morton. "

"Yes, " said Sylvia, smiling; "I laughed at him once! I laughed at himabout the way he had treated Mr. Thatcher. We stopped right there, withthe laugh; he laughed too, you know. And he took that up again at theparty--and I had to explain what my laugh meant. "

"Oh, you explained it, did you?"

And Sylvia recounted the interview. 

"I guess Morton hasn't been laughed at much, and that was why heremembered it and wanted to talk to you again. I suspect that Halliescolds him when she doesn't pet him. Most folks are afraid of Morton;that's why he could take care of that corporation bill with the'Advertiser' jumping him the way it did. Well, well! That must have beenquite a day for Morton. You laughed at him, and when the rest of youwent off in Allen's automobile that night I ran the harrow over him afew times myself. Well, well!"

Mrs. Owen smiled as though recalling an agreeable experience. "As longas there are old stumps in a field that you must plough around I haven'tgot much use for the land. When the corn comes up you don't see thestumps, just sitting on the fence and looking over the scenery; but whenyou go to put the plow through again, your same old stumps loom upagain, solider than ever. I guess Daniel will come out all right; he wasraised on a farm and ought to know how to drive a straight furrow. Bythe way, they telephoned me from Elizabeth House last night that there'sa vacant room there. Who's moved out?"

Mrs. Owen always prolonged the E of Elizabeth, and never referred to theHouse except by its full title. 

"Rose Farrell has left. Went unexpectedly, I think. I didn't know shewas going. "

"Let me see. She's that girl that worked for Morton and Daniel. What'sshe leaving for?"

"I'm going to see if I can't get her back, " replied Sylvia evasively. 

"Why Rose has been at Elizabeth House for two years and under the rulesshe can stay a year longer. She ain't getting married, is she?"

"I think not, " replied Sylvia. "I'm going to look her up and get herback if possible. "

"You do that, Sylvia. It ain't just your place, but I'll be glad ifyou'll see what's the matter. We don't want to lose a girl if we canhelp it. "

Mrs. Owen rose and transferred a pile of paperbound books from a shelfto her desk. Sylvia recognized these as college catalogues and notedbits of paper thrust into the leaves as markers. 

"I've been looking into this business some since we went down tocollege. I had a lot of these schools send me their catalogues andthey're mighty interesting, though a good deal of it I don't understand. Sylvia" (Sylvia never heard her name drawled as Mrs. Owen spoke itwithout a thrill of expectancy)--"Sylvia, there's a lot of books beingwritten, and pieces in the magazines all the time, about women and whatwe have done or can't do. What do you suppose it's all leading up to?"

"That question is bigger than I am, Aunt Sally. But I think theconditions that have thrown women out into the world as wage-earners areforcing one thing--just one thing, that is more important now than anyother--it's all summed up in the word efficiency. "

"Efficiency?"

Mrs. Owen reached for the poker and readjusted the logs; she watched theresulting sparks for a moment, then settled herself back in her chairand repeated Sylvia's word again. 

"You mean that a woman has got to learn how to make her jelly jell? Isthat your notion?"

"Exactly that. She must learn not to waste her strokes. Any scheme ofeducation for woman that leaves that out works an injury. If women areto be a permanent part of the army of wage-earning Americans they mustlearn to get full value from their minds or hands--either one, it's thesame. The trouble with us women is that there's a lot of the oldmediæval taint in us. "

"Mediæval? Say that some other way, Sylvia. "

"I mean that we're still crippled--we women--by the long years in whichnothing was expected of us but to sit in ivy-mantled casements and workembroidery while our lords went out to fight, or thrummed the lute underour windows. "

"Well, there was Joan of Arc: she delivered the goods. "

"To be sure; she does rather light up her time, doesn't she?" laughedSylvia. 

"Sylvia, the day I first saw a woman hammer a typewriter in a man'soffice, I thought the end had come. It seemed, as the saying is, 'aginnater'; and I reckon it was. Nowadays these buildings downtown are fullof women. At noontime Washington Street is crowded with girls who workin offices and shops. They don't get much pay for it either. Most ofthose girls would a lot rather work in an office or stand behind acounter than stay at home and help their mothers bake and scrub and washand iron. These same girls used to do just that, --help theirmothers, --coming downtown about once a month, or when there was a circusprocession, and having for company some young engine-wiper who took themto church or to a Thanksgiving matinée and who probably married themsome day. A girl who didn't marry took in sewing for the neighbors, andas like as not went to live with her married sister and looked after herbabies. I've seen all these things change. Nowadays girls have got tohave excitement. They like spending their days in the big buildings; themen in the offices jolly them, the men bookkeepers and clerks seem a lotnicer than the mechanics that live out in their neighborhood. When theyain't busy they loaf in the halls of the buildings flirting, or readingnovels and talking to their bosses' callers. They don't have to soiltheir hands, and you can dress a girl up in a skirt and shirt-waist soshe looks pretty decent for about two weeks of her wages. They don'tcare much about getting married unless they can strike some fellow withan automobile who can buy them better clothes than they can buythemselves. What they hanker for is a flat or boarding-house where theywon't have any housekeeping to do. Housekeeping! Their notions ofhousekeeping don't go beyond boiling an egg on a gas range and openingup a sofa to sleep on. You're an educated woman, Sylvia; what's goingto come of all this?"

"It isn't just the fault of the girls that they do this, is it? Near myschool-house there are girls who stay at home with their mothers, andmany of them are without any ambition of any kind. I'm a good deal forthe girl who wants to strike out for herself. The household arts as youknew them in your youth can't be practised in the home any more on theincome of the average man. Most women of the kind we're talking aboutwear ready-made clothes--not because they're lazy, but because thetailor-made suits which life in a city demands can't be made by anyamateur sempstress. They're turned out by the carload in great factoriesfrom designs of experts. There's no bread to bake in the modernmechanic's home, for better bread and cake are made more cheaply in themodern bakeshop. Wasn't there really a good deal of nonsense about thepies that mother used to make--I wonder? There were perhaps in everycommunity women who were natural cooks, but our Mary used to drivegrandfather crazy with her saleratus biscuits and greasy doughnuts. Agood cook in the old times was famous all over the community because thegeneral level of cooking was so low. Women used to take great pride intheir preservings and jellyings, but at the present prices of fruit andsugar a city woman would lose money making such things. It's largelybecause this work can't be done at home that girls such as we have atElizabeth House have no sort of manual dexterity and have to earn a poorliving doing something badly that they're not interested in or fittedfor. Women have one terrible handicap in going out into the world toearn their living; it's the eternal romance that's in all of us, " saidSylvia a little dreamily. "I don't believe any woman ever gets beyondthat. " It was a note she rarely struck and Mrs. Owen looked at herquickly. "I mean, the man who may be always waiting just around thecorner. "

"You mean every girl has that chance before her? Well, a happy marriageis a great thing--the greatest thing that can happen to a woman. Mymarried life was a happy one--very happy; but it didn't last long. Itwas my misfortune to lose my husband and the little girl when I wasstill young. They think I'm hard--yes, a good many people do--becauseI've been making money. But I had to do something; I couldn't sit withmy hands folded; and what I've done I've tried to do right. I hope youwon't leave love and marriage out of your life, Sylvia. In this newcondition of things that we've talked about there's no reason why awoman shouldn't work--do things, climb up high, and be a woman, too. He'll be a lucky man who gets you to stand by him and work for him andwith him. "

"Oh, " sighed Sylvia, "there are so many things to do! I want to know somuch and do so much!"

"You'll know them and do them; but I don't want you to have a one-sidedlife. Dear Sylvia, " and Mrs. Owen bent toward the girl and touched herhand gently, "I don't want you to leave love out of your life. "

There was an interval of silence and then Mrs. Owen opened a drawer anddrew out a faded morocco case. "Here's a daguerreotype of my mother andme, when I was about four years old. Notice how cute I look in thosepantalets--ever see those things before? Well, I've been thinking thatI'm a kind of left-over from daguerreotype times, and you belong to theday of the kodak. I'm a dingy old shadow in a daguerreotype picture, inpantalets, cuddled up against my mother's hoopskirt. You, Sylvia, cantake a suit-case and a kodak and travel alone to Siam; and you can teachin a college alongside of men and do any number of things my motherwould have dropped dead to think about. And, " she added quizzically, "itgives me heart failure myself sometimes, just thinking about it all. Ican't make you throw your kodak away, and I wouldn't if I could, anymore than I'd want you to sit up all night sewing clothes to wear toyour school-teaching when you can buy better ones already made that havereal style. It tickles me that some women have learned that it'sweak-minded to massage and paraffine their wrinkles out--those things, Sylvia, strike me as downright immoral. What I've been wondering iswhether I can do anything for the kind of girls we have at ElizabethHouse beyond giving them a place to sleep, and I guess you've struck theidea with that word efficiency. No girl born to-day, particularly in atown like this, is going back to make her own soap out of grease and lyein her back yard. But she's got to learn to do something well or she'llstarve or go to the bad; or if she doesn't have to work she'll fool herlife away doing nothing. Now you poke a few holes in my ideas, Sylvia. "

"Please, Aunt Sally, don't think that because I've been to college I cananswer all those questions! I'm just beginning to study them. But thelady of the daguerreotype in hoops marks one era, and the kodak girl ina short skirt and shirt-waist another. Women had to spend a good deal oftime proving that their brains could stand the strain of highereducation--that they could take the college courses prescribed for men. That's all been settled now, but we can't stop there. A collegeeducation for women is all right, but we must help the girl who can't goto college to do her work well in the office and department store andfactory. "

"Or to feed a baby so it won't die of colic, and to keep ptomaine poisonout of her ice box!" added Mrs. Owen. 

"Exactly, " replied Sylvia. 

"Suppose a girl like Marian had gone to college just as you did, whatwould it have done for her?"

"A good deal, undoubtedly. It would have given her wider interests andsobered her, and broadened her chances of happiness. "

"Maybe so, " remarked Mrs. Owen; and then a smile stole over her face. "Ireckon you can hardly call Marian a kodak girl. She's more like one ofthese flashlight things they set off with a big explosion. Only time Iever got caught in one of those pictures was at a meeting of theShort-Horn Breeders' Association last week. They fired off thatphotograph machine to get a picture for the 'Courier'--I've beenprodding them for not printing more farm and stock news--and a mansitting next to me jumped clean out of his boots and yelled fire. I hadto go over to the 'Courier' office and see the editor--that Atwill is apretty good fellow when you get used to him--to make sure they didn'tguy us farmers for not being city broke. As for Marian, folks like her!"

"No one can help liking her. She's a girl of impulses and her impulsesare all healthy and sound. And her good fellowship and good feeling areinexhaustible. She came over to see me at Elizabeth House the otherevening--had Allen bring her in his machine and leave her. The girlswere singing songs and amusing themselves in the parlor, and Marian tookoff her hat and made herself at home with them. She sang several songs, and then got to 'cutting up' and did some of those dances she's pickedup somewhere--did them well too. But with all her nonsense she has a lotof good common sense, and she will find a place for herself. She willget married one of these days and settle down beautifully. "

"Allen?"

"Possibly. The Bassetts don't seem troubled by Allen's attentions toMarian; but the real fight between Mr. Thatcher and Mr. Bassett hasn'tcome yet. "

"Who says so?"

"Oh, it's in the air; every one says so. Dan says so. "

"I've warned Morton to let Edward Thatcher alone. The United StatesSenate wouldn't be ornamented by having either one of them down there. I met Colonel Ramsay--guess he's got the senatorial bee in his hat, too--coming up on the train from Louisville the other day. There's onlyone qualification I can think of that the Colonel has for going to theSenate--he would wring tears out of the galleries when he made obituaryspeeches about the dead members. When my brother Blackford was senator, it seemed to me he spent most of his time acting as pallbearer for thedead ones. But what were we talking about, Sylvia? Oh, yes. I'm going tosend those catalogues over to your room, and as you get time I want youto study out a scheme for a little school to teach what you callefficiency to girls that have to earn their living. I don't meanschool-teaching, but a whole lot of things women ought to be doing butain't because they don't know how. Do you get the idea?"

"A school?" asked Sylvia wonderingly. 

"A kind of school. "

"It's a splendid, a beautiful idea, but you need better advice than Ican give you. They talk a good deal now about vocational training, andit's going to mean a great deal to women. "

"Well, we must get hold of all the latest ideas, and if there's any goodin us old daguerreotypes, we'll keep it, and graft it on to the kodak. "

"Oh, I hope there will always be ladies of the daguerreotype! One thingwe women have to pray to be saved from is intolerance toward oursisters. You know, " continued Sylvia with a dropping of her voice and atilting of her head that caused Mrs. Owen to laugh, --"you know we arenot awfully tolerant. And there's a breadth of view, an ability to brushaway trifles and get to the heart of things, that we're just growing upto. And magnanimity--I think we fall short there. I'm just now trying tocultivate a sisterly feeling toward these good women for whom JaneAusten and Sir Roger de Coverley and the knitting of pale-blue teacosies are all of life--who like mild twilight with the children singinghymns at the piano and the husband coming home to find his slippers setup against the baseburner. That was beautiful, but even they owesomething to the million or so women to whom Jane Addams is far moreimportant than Jane Austen. It might be more comfortable if the worldnever moved, but unfortunately it does seem to turn over occasionally. "

"I notice that you can say things like that, Sylvia, without waving yourhands, or shouting like an old woman with a shawl on her head swinging abroom at the boys in her cherry tree. We've got to learn to do that. Itwas some time after I went into business, when Jackson Owen died, beforeI learned that you couldn't shoo men the way you shoo hens. You got todrop a little corn in a fence corner and then throw your apron over 'em. It strikes me that if you could catch these girls that go to work instores and offices young enough you might put them in the way of doingsomething better. There are schools doing this kind of thing, but I'dlike to plant one right here in Indiana for the kind of girls we've gotat Elizabeth House. They haven't much ambition, most of 'em; they'restuck right where they are. I'd like to see what can be done towardchanging that, and see it started in my lifetime. And we must do itright. Think it over as you get time. " She glanced at the window. "You'dbetter stay all night, Sylvia; it's getting dark. "

"No, I must run along home. The girls expect me. "

"That school idea's just between you and me for the present, " Mrs. Owenremarked as she watched Sylvia button her mackintosh. "Look here, Sylvia, don't you need some money? I mean, of course, don't you want toborrow some?"

"Oh, never! By the way, I didn't tell you that I expect to make some?The publisher of one of grandfather's textbooks came to see me about thecopyright, and there were some changes in the book that grandfatherthought should be made and I'm going to make them. There's a chance ofit's being adopted in one or two states. And then, I want to make ageometry of my own. All the textbooks make it so hard--and it reallyisn't. The same publisher told me he thought well of my scheme, and I'mgoing ahead with it. "

"Well, don't you kill yourself writing geometries: I should thinkteaching the youngsters would be a full job. "

"That's not a job at all, Aunt Sally; that's just fun. And you know I'mnot going to do it always. I'm learning things now that I needed toknow. I only wish my mind were as sound as my health. "

"You ought to wear heavier flannels, though; it's a perfect scandal whatgirls run around in nowadays. "

She rested her hands on Sylvia's shoulders lightly, smiled into herface, and then bent forward and kissed her. 

"I don't understand why you won't wear rubbers, but be sure you don'tsit around all evening in wet stockings. "

A gray mist was hastening nightfall, though the street lamps were notyet lighted. The glow of Mrs. Owen's kindness lingered with Sylvia asshe walked toward Elizabeth House. She was constantly surprised by herfriend's intensely modern spirit--her social curiosity, and the breadthand sanity of her views. This suggestion of a vocational school foryoung women had kindled Sylvia's imagination, and her thoughts were uponit as she tramped homeward through the slush. To establish aninstitution such as Mrs. Owen had indicated would require a large sum ofmoney, and there were always the Bassetts, the heirs apparent of theiraunt's fortune. Any feeling of guilt Sylvia may have experienced byreason of her enforced connivance with Mrs. Owen for the expenditure ofher money was mitigated by her belief that the Bassetts were quitebeyond the need of their aunt's million, the figure at which Mrs. Owen'sfortune was commonly appraised. 

She was thinking of this when a few blocks from Mrs. Owen's she metMorton Bassett. The electric lamp overhead was just sputtering intolight as he moved toward her out of an intersecting street. His foldedumbrella was thrust awkwardly under his arm, and he walked slowly withbent head. The hissing of the lamp caused him to lift his eyes. Sylviapaused an instant, and he raised his hat as he recognized her. 

"Good evening, Miss Garrison! I've just been out for a walk. It's adreary evening, isn't it?"

Sylvia explained that she had been to Mrs. Owen's and was on her wayhome, and he asked if he might go with her. 

"Marian usually walked with me at Fraserville, but since we've beenhere, Sunday seems to be her busy day. I find that I don't know muchabout the residential district; I can easily lose myself in this part oftown. "

During these commonplaces she wondered just where their conversation atMarian's ball had left them; the wet street was hardly a more favorableplace for serious talk than the crowded Propylæum. The rain began tofall monotonously, and he raised his umbrella. 

"Some things have happened since our last talk, " he observed presently. 

"Yes?" she replied dubiously. 

"I want to talk to you of them, " he answered. "Dan has left me. You knowthat?"

"Yes; I know of it. "

"And you think he has done quite the fine thing about it--it was whatyou would have had him do?"

"Yes, certainly. You practically told me you were putting him to thetest. You weren't embarrassed by his course in any way; you were able toshow him that you didn't care; you didn't need him. "

"You saw that? You read that in what followed?"

"It was written so large that no one could miss it. You are the master. You proved it again. I suppose you found a great satisfaction in that. Aman must, or he wouldn't do such things. "

"You seem to understand, " he replied, turning toward her for an instant. "But there may be one thing you don't understand. "

There was a moment of silence, in which they splashed on slowly throughthe slush. 

"I liked Dan; I was fond of him. And yet I deliberately planned to makehim do that kind of thing for me. I pulled him out of the newspaperoffice and made it possible for him to study law, just that I might putmy hand on him when he could be useful. Please understand that I'm notsaying this in the hope that you will intercede to bring him back. Nothing can bring him back. I wouldn't let him come back to me if hewould starve without my help. "

Sylvia was silent; there was nothing with which she could meet this. 

"What I mean is, " he continued, "that I'm glad he shook me; I hadwondered from the beginning just when it would come, and when I saw histhings going out of my office, it satisfied something in me. I wonderwhether there's some good in me after all that made me glad in spite ofmyself that he had the manhood to quit. "

Bassett was a complex character; his talk and manner at Marian's ballhad given her a sense of this which he was now confirming. Success hadnot brought him happiness; the loss of Dan had been a blow to him, andshe felt the friendlessness and isolation of this man whom men feared. He had spoken doggedly, gruffly, and if she had marveled at their talkat the dance, her wonder was the greater now. It was inconceivable thatMorton Bassett should come to her with his difficulties. If hisconscience troubled him, or if he was touched with remorse for hisconduct toward Dan Harwood, she was unable to see why he should make hisconfession to her. It seemed that he had read her thoughts, for he spokeroughly, as though defending himself from an attack. 

"You like him; you've known him for several years; you know him probablybetter than you know any other man. "

"I suppose I do, Mr. Bassett, " said Sylvia; "we are good friends, but--that's all. "

He stopped short, and she felt his hand touch her arm for an instantlightly--it was almost like a caress, there in the rain-swept streetwith the maple boughs swishing overhead in the cold west wind. 

He quickened his pace now, as though to mark a new current in histhoughts. 

"There's a favor I want to ask of you, Miss Garrison. Dan talked to meonce or twice about your grandfather's estate. He owned some shares in abusiness I had helped to organize, the White River Canneries. The schemefailed for many reasons; the shares are worthless. I want you to let mepay you back the money Professor Kelton paid for them. I should have todo it privately--it would have to be a matter between you and me. "

[Illustration: A SUDDEN FIERCE ANGER BURNED IN HER HEART]

"Oh, no! Dan explained that to me; he didn't hold you responsible. Hesaid the company failed, that was all. You are kind to offer, but Ican't think of accepting it. "

"Very well, " he said quietly. And then added, as though to explainhimself more fully: "Your grandfather and Mrs. Owen were old friends. Hewasn't a business man. I promoted the canneries scheme and I wasresponsible for it, no matter what Harwood says about it. "

She had experienced sharp alternations of pity and apprehension in thisbrief walk. He was a prominent man; almost, it might be said, anotorious character. The instinct of self-protection was strong in her;what might lie behind his confidences, his blunt confessions, and hisoffer of help, she did not know. They had reached Elizabeth House, andshe paused on the broad steps under the shelter of the veranda. With herback toward the door she looked down upon him as he stood on thesidewalk, his umbrella deeply shadowing his head and shoulders. Shestood before him like a vestal guarding her temple from desecration. Shewas conscious of a sharp revulsion of feeling, and a sudden fierce angerburned in her heart. She spoke with a quick, passionate utterance. 

"There is something you can do for me, Mr. Bassett. I'm going to bringRose Farrell back to this house. I want you to let her alone!"

He stood dumbly staring at the door as it closed upon her. He lingered amoment, the rain beating down upon him, and then walked slowly homeward. 

CHAPTER XXVI

APRIL VISTAS

"Is it _possible_? _Is_ it possible!"

Colonel Ramsay's entrances were frequently a bit theatrical, and on aparticular afternoon in April, as he opened the door of Dan Harwood'snew office in the Law Building, the sight of Miss Farrell at thetypewriter moved him to characteristic demonstrations. Carefully closingthe door and advancing, hat in hand, with every appearance of deepesthumility, he gazed upon the young woman with a mockery of astonishment. 

"Verily, it is possible, " he solemnly ejaculated. "And what is it thatour own poet says:--

 "'When she comes home again! A thousand ways I fashion to myself the tenderness Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble--yes--'"

"Stop trembling, Colonel, and try one of our new office chairs, warranted to hold anybody but Brother Ike Pettit without fading away. "

The Colonel bent over Miss Farrell's hand reverently and sat down. 

"I've been trying to earn an honest living practicing law down at homeand this is the first chance I've had to come up and see what the latelamented legislature left of the proud old Hoosier State. Is Dan lockedup inside there with some lucrative client?"

"I regret to say that I don't believe there's a cent in his presentcaller. "

"Hark!" At this moment a roar was heard from the inner room on which"private" was printed in discreet letters. The Colonel was at oncealert. 

 "'Ask me no more; the moon may draw the sea' But Isaac Pettit's jokes shall shake the land, --

with apologies to the late Laureate. So the boys are finding their wayup here, are they? I'll wait an hour or two till that compendium ofAmerican humor has talked Dan to sleep. So you and Dan left your UncleMorton all alone in gloomy splendor in the Boordman Building!"

"Mr. Harwood made me an offer and I accepted it, " replied Rose. "This isa free country and a P. W. G. Can work where she pleases, can't she?"

"P. W. G. ?"

"Certainly, a poor working-girl"--Rose clasped her hands and bowed herhead--"if the initials fail to illuminate. "

The Colonel inspected the room, and his eyes searched Miss Farrell'sdesk. 

"Let me see, I seem to miss something. It must be the literary offeringsthat used to cluster about the scene of your labors. Your selections inold times used to delight me. No one else of my acquaintance has quiteyour feeling for romance. I always liked that one about the square-jawedAmerican engineer who won the Crown Princess of Piffle from her fatherin a poker game, but decided at the last minute to bestow her upon hisold college friend, the Russian heir-apparent, just to preserve thepeace of Europe. I remember I found you crying over the greatrenunciation one day. "

"Oh, I've passed that all up, Colonel. I'm strong for the pale high-browbusiness now. I'm doing time in all the night classes at Elizabeth Housewhere I board, and you'll hardly know your little Rose pretty soon. "

"Fitting yourself for one of the learned professions?"

"Scarcely. Just fitting myself to be decent, " replied Rose in a tonethat shifted the key of the conversation--a change which the Colonelrespected. 

"That's right, Rose. This is a good place for you, and so is Mrs. Owen'sboarding-house. By the way, who's this school-teacher Aunt Sally hastaken up--saw her at the party-great chum of the old lady's. "

"You must mean Miss Sylvia. "

"Sylvia?"

"Miss Sylvia Garrison. Colonel Ramsay, " continued Rose earnestly, resting an elbow lightly on her typewriter, "you and I are old pals--youremember that first winter I was over at the State House?"

"Very well, Rose. "

"Well, it wasn't a good place for me to be. But I was a kid and hadn'tmuch sense. I've learned a good deal since then. It ain't so easy towalk straight; so many people are careless about leaving banana peelingslying round. "

The Colonel nodded. 

"You needn't apologize to me, Rose. It's all right now, is it?"

"You can be dead sure of it, Colonel. Miss Garrison caught me by theheel of my shoe, just as I was going down the third time, and yanked meback. There's a good many cheap imitations of human beings loose aroundthis world, but that's a woman, I can tell you!"

"Glad you struck a good friend, Rose. You did well to come along withHarwood. "

"Well, she fixed that, too, after I cut loose from _him_--youunderstand? I guess Miss Garrison and Mr. Harwood are pretty goodfriends. "

"Oh!" ejaculated Ramsay. "So there's that, is there?"

"I hope so; they're all white and speak the same language. This is onthe dead. I'm only talking to you because you're an old friend. "

An occasional roar from within testified to Mr. Pettit's continuedenjoyment of his own jokes. 

"You know, " Rose continued, "I learned a good deal those winters I spentat the State House, when I was stenog to certain senate committees. Isee where you stand now, all right, Colonel. I always knew you didn'tbelong in that bunch of lobbyists that was always gum-shoeing throughthe marble halls of the State House. Thatcher sends somebody around tolook me up every little while to see if he can't coax something out ofme, --something he can use, you know. "

"Thatcher oughtn't to do that. If you want me to, I'll pull him off. "

"No; I guess I can take care of myself. He"--Rose indicated the inneroffice with a slight movement of the head, "he never tries to pump me. He ain't that kind of a fighter. But everybody that's anywhere near theinside knows that Thatcher carries a sharp knife. He's going to shedsome pink ink before he gets through. Are you on?"

They exchanged a glance. 

"Something that isn't nice?"

Rose nodded. 

"I hate to see that sort of thing brought into the game. But they'llnever find anything. The gentleman we are referring to works onnoiseless rollers. " Colonel Ramsay indicated the closed door by analmost imperceptible gesture of interrogation; and Rose replied bycompressing her lips and shaking her head. 

"He isn't in on that; he's a gentleman, you know; not a mud-slinger. "

"He might have to stand for anything Thatcher springs. Thatcher hasdeveloped into a shrewd and hard fighter. The other crowd don't laugh athim any more; it was his work that got our legislative ticket throughlast fall when Bassett passed the word that we should take a lickingjust to magnify his importance. Is Thatcher in town now?"

"No; that boy of his with the bad lung had to go off to the Adirondacks, and he went with him. "

The inner door opened at this moment, disclosing the Honorable IsaacPettit, who greeted Ramsay effusively. 

"What is immortality, gentlemen!" the Honorable Isaac Pettit inquired, clinging to the Colonel's hand. "We had a little social gathering forour new pastor up at Fraser the other night, and I sprung a new game onthe old folks. Offered a prize for anybody who could name all theVice-Presidents of the United States since Lincoln's administration, andthey couldn't even get past Grant--and Schuyler Colfax being right offour own Hoosier pastures! Then we tried for the Democratic candidatesfor President, beginning back at the war, and they couldn't even start. One young chap piped up and said Jeff Davis--oh, Lord!--which reminds methat the teaching of history in the public schools ain't what it oughtto be. They hadn't heard of Hancock, and when somebody said Blaine, theteacher of the infant class in our Sunday School said Blaine who? Thatreminds me of one time when I met Dan Voorhees, than whom God Almightynever made a nobler soul; I met Dan down here in the lobby of the oldBates House, carrying a 'Harper's Weekly' with one of Tom Nast'scartoons spread wide open. You know Dan had--"

Colonel Ramsay had been edging toward the door of Harwood's privateroom, and he now broke in upon the editor's reminiscences. 

"You tell that story to Miss Farrell, Ike. I'm spouting myself to-night, at a Christian Endeavor rally at Tipton, and want to see Dan a minute. "

Miss Farrell was inured to Pettit's anecdotes of Dan Voorhees, and theFraserville editor continued, unmindful of the closing of the door uponDan and Ramsay. 

Ramsay pushed his fedora to the back of his head and inspected Dan's newfurniture. 

"Well, you did it! You've cut loose from your base and burned yourbridges behind you. I would have brought my congratulations sooner, butI've had a long jury case on hand. You did it, my boy, and you did itlike a gentleman. You might have killed him if you had wanted to. "

"I don't want to kill anybody, " smiled Dan. "I want to practice law. "

"That's a laudable ambition, but you can't go back on us now. What we'veneeded for a long time was a young man of about your make-up who wasn'tafraid. "

"Don't rub it in, Colonel. I was a mighty long time seeing the light, and I don't deserve any praise from anybody. I mean what I say aboutpracticing law. I'm a free man now and any political work I do is goingto be along the lines of the simple, childish ideas I brought home fromcollege with me. I had begun to feel that all this political idealismwas sheer rubbish, but I put the brakes on before I got too fardownhill. If a few of us who have run with the machine and know thetricks will turn and help the bewildered idealists, we can make idealismeffective. Most of the people don't want a handful of crooks to governthem, but there's a kind of cheap cynicism abroad that discourages themen who are eager to revolt. There are newspapers that foster thatsentiment, and scores of men who won't take time to go to a caucus keepasking what's the use. Now, as for Bassett, I'm not going to bite thehand that fed me; I'm simply going to feed myself. Pettit was just inhere to sound me as to my feelings toward Thatcher. Quite frankly, I'mnot interested in Thatcher as a senatorial possibility. "

"That's all right; but if you had to make a choice between Thatcher andBassett?"

Dan shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 

"You mustn't exaggerate the importance of my influence. I don't carryUnited States senatorships around in my pocket. "

"You're the most influential man of your age in our state. I'm not sosure you wouldn't be able to elect any man you supported if the electionwere held to-morrow. "

"You've mastered the delicate art of flattery, Colonel; when the timecomes, I'll be in the fight. It's not so dead certain that our party'sgoing to have a senator to elect--there's always that. But all the wallsare covered with handwriting these days that doesn't need interpretingby me or any other Daniel. Many of the younger men all over this statein both parties are getting ready to assert themselves. What wewant--what you want, I believe--is to make this state count forsomething in national affairs. Just changing parties doesn't helpanything. I'd rather not shift at all than send some fellow to theSenate just because he can capture a caucus. It's my honest convictionthat any man can get a caucus vote if he will play according to the oldrules. You and I go out over the state bawling to the people that theyare governing this country. We appeal to them for their votes when weknow well enough that between Thatcher and Bassett as Democrats, and'Big' Jordan and Ridgefield in the Republican camp, the people don'tstand to win. It may tickle you to know that I've had some flatteringinvitations lately to join the Republicans--not from the old guard, mindyou, but from some of the young fellows who want to score results forpolicies, not politicians. I suppose, after all, Colonel, I'm only akind of academic Democrat, with no patience whatever with this eternalhitching of our ancient mule to the saloons and breweries just to win. In the next campaign I'm going to preach my academic Democracy all theway from Lake Michigan to the Ohio River, up and down and back andforth--and I'm going to do it at my own expense and not be responsibleto any state committee or anybody else. That's about where I stand. "

"Good; mighty good, Dan. All the rest of us want is for you to hollerthat in your biggest foghorn voice and you'll find the crowd with you. "

"But if the crowd isn't with me, it won't make a bit of difference; Ishall bark just the same. "

"Now that we've got down to brass tacks, I'll tell you what I've thoughtever since Bassett got his clamps on the party: that he really hasn'tany qualities of leadership; that grim, silent way of his is a good dealof a bluff. If anybody ever has the nerve to set off a firecracker justbehind him, he'll run a mile. The newspapers keep flashing him up in bigheadlines all the time, and that helps to keep the people fooled. Thelast time I saw him was just after he put through that corporation billyou broke on, and he didn't seem to have got much fun out of hisvictory; he looked pretty gray and worried. It wasn't so easy pullingthrough House Bill Ninety-five; it was the hardest job of Mort's life;but he had to do it or take the count. And Lord! he certainly lost hishead in defeating those appropriation bills; he let his spite toward thegovernor get the better of him. It wasn't the Republican governor he putin the hole; it was his own party. "

"That's the way with all these men of his type on both sides; they haveno real loyalty; they will sacrifice their parties any time just tofurther personal ends, or in this case it would seem to have been out ofsheer bad temper. I didn't use to think Bassett had any temper or anykind of emotional organization. But when he's mad it's the meanest kindof mad, blind and revengeful. "

"He's forced an extra session--he's brought that on us. Just chew onthat a minute, Dan. A Republican governor has got to reassemble aDemocratic legislature merely to correct its own faults. It looks wellin print, by George! Speaking of print, how did he come to let go of the'Courier, ' and who owns that sheet anyway? I thought when Thatchersprung that suit and dragged our Aunt Sally into it, the Wabash Riverwould run hot lava for the next forty years. But that night of the ballshe and Mort stood there on the firing-line as though nothing had everhappened. "

Harwood grinned and shook his head gravely. 

"There are some things, Colonel, that even to a good friend like you Ican't give away. Besides, I promised Atwill not to tell. "

"All right, Dan. And now, for fear you may think I've got something upmy sleeve, I want to say to you with my hand on my heart that I don'twant any office now or ever!"

"Now, Colonel, be very careful!" laughed Dan. 

"No; I'm not up here on a fishing-trip. But I want you to know where Istand and the friendly feeling of a whole lot of people toward you. Yousay the younger men are getting tired of the old boss system; I'll tellyou that a lot of the old fellows too are beginning to get restless. Theabsurdity of the whole game on both sides is beginning to get into theinner consciousness of the people. You know if I had stayed regular whenthe free-silver business came on I might have been in a position now toplay for the governorship--which is the only thing I ever wanted; rathernice to be governor of your own state, and have your name scratched on aslab at the State House door; it's even conceivable, Daniel, that a manmight do a little good--barely possible, " he concluded dryly. "I'm outof it now for good; but anything I can do to help you, don't wait towrite, just telephone me. Now--"

"I'm not so sure you can't make it yet; I'd like to see you there. "

"Thanks, Daniel; but like you I'm in the ranks of the patriots and notlooking for the pie counter. Here's another matter. Do you mind tellingme what you're up to in this White River Canneries business? I noticethat you've been sticking the can-opener into it. "

"Yes; that protest of the original stockholders against thereorganization is still pending. As administrator of the estate ofProfessor Kelton--you remember him--Madison College--I filed a petitionto be let into the case. It's been sleeping along for a couple ofyears--stockholders too poor to put up a fight. I've undertaken to probeclear into the mire. I've got lots of time and there's lots of mire!"

"Good. They say the succotash and peaches were all cooked in the samepot, and that our Uncle Mort did the skimming. "

"So they say; but believe me, I can attack him without doing violence tomy professional conscience. White River Canneries was never in theBoordman office to my knowledge. This isn't vengeance on my part; it'smy duty to get what I can for the estate. "

"Well, some of our farmers down my way got soaked in that deal, but itnever seemed worth while to waste their money in litigation. I'll beglad to turn the claims I have in my office over to you; the more youhave, the stronger fight you can make. "

"Good. I welcome business. I'm going to see if I can't get to the bottomof the can. "

As a _révolté_ Dan had attracted more attention than he liked, in allthe circumstances. Now that the legislature had adjourned, he wasanxious to give his energy to the law, and he did not encouragepolitical pilgrims to visit his office. He felt that he had behavedgenerously toward his old chief when the end came, and the promptnesswith which Bassett's old guard sought to impeach his motives in fightingthe corporation bill angered him. Threats of retaliation were conveyedto him from certain quarters; and from less violent sources he heardmuch of his ingratitude toward the man who had "made" him. He had failedin his efforts to secure the passage of several measures whose enactmentwas urged by the educational and philanthropic interests of thecommunity, and this was plainly attributable to the animosity aroused byhis desertion of the corporation bill. He had not finished with thislast measure, which had been passed by Bassett's bi-partisan combinationover the governor's veto. The labor organizations were in arms againstit and had engaged Dan to attack it in the courts. 

 * * * * *

Sylvia's approval of his course had been as cordial as he could haveasked, and as the spring advanced they were much together. They attendedconcerts, the theatre, and lectures, as often as she had time forrelaxation, and they met pretty regularly at Mrs. Owen's dinner table onSunday--often running out for long tramps in the country afterward, toreturn for supper, and a renewal of their triangular councils. TheBassetts were to continue at the Bosworth house until June, and whenMarian dashed in upon these Sunday symposiums--sometimes with a youngcavalier she had taken out for a promenade--she gave Dan to understandthat his difficulties with her father made not the slightest differenceto her. 

"But, mama!" She spoke of her mother as of one whose views must notweigh heavily against the world's general good cheer--"mama says she_never_ trusted you; that there was just that something about you thatdidn't seem quite--" Marian would shake her head and sigh suggestively, whereupon Mrs. Owen would rebuke her and send her off to find the candyin the sideboard. 

Allen, relegated for a time to a sanatorium in the Adirondacks, amusedhimself by telegraphing to Marian daily; and he usually managed to timea message to reach Mrs. Owen's Sunday dinner table with characteristicremembrances for all who might be in her house. To Dan he wrote a lettercommending his course in the legislature. 

"I always knew you would get on Dad's side one of these days. The GreatExperiment is making headway. Don't worry about me. I'm going to live tobe a hundred. There's really nothing the matter with my lungs, you know. Dad just wanted an excuse to come up here himself (mother and the girlsused me as an excuse for years, you remember). He's doing big stuntstramping over the hills. You remember that good story Ware told us thatnight up in the house-boat? You wouldn't think Dad would have so muchcuriosity, but he's been over there to look at that place Ware toldabout. He's left me now to go down to New York to see the lights. . . . I'm taking quite a literary turn. You know, besides Emerson and thosechaps who camped with him up here, Stevenson was here, too, --good oldR. L. S. !"

Several times Sylvia, Marian, and Dan collaborated in a Sunday roundrobin to Allen, in the key of his own exuberances. 

CHAPTER XXVII

HEAT LIGHTNING

"We'll finish the peaches to-night, and call it a day's work, " remarkedMrs. Owen. "Sylvia, you'd better give another turn to the covers onthose last jars. There's nothing takes the heart out of a woman likeopening a can of fruit in January and finding mould on top. There, Annie, that's enough cinnamon. Put in too much and your peaches willtaste like a drug store. "

Spicy odors floated from the kitchen of Mrs. Owen's house on Waupegan. The August afternoon sun struck goldenly upon battalions of glasses andjars in the broad, screened veranda, an extension of the kitchen itself. The newly affixed labels announced peach, crab-apple, plum, andwatermelon preserves (if the mention of this last item gives you nothrill, so much the worse for you!); jellies of many tints and flavors, and tiny cucumber pickles showing dark green amid the gayer colors. Onlythe most jaded appetite could linger without sharp impingements beforethese condensations and transformations of the kindly fruits of theearth. 

In Mrs. Owen's corps of assistants we recognize six young women fromElizabeth House--for since the first of July Elizabeth House has beenconstantly represented on Waupegan, girls coming and going in sixes fora fortnight at the farm. Mrs. Owen had not only added bedrooms to therambling old farmhouse to accommodate these visitors, but she had, whennecessary, personally arranged with their employers for their vacations. 

On the face of it, the use of her farm as a summer annex to the workinggirls' boarding-house in town was merely the whim of a kind-hearted oldwoman with her own peculiar notions of self-indulgence. A cynical memberof the summer colony remarked at the Casino that Mrs. Owen, withcharacteristic thrift, was inveigling shop-girls to her farm and thenputting them to work in her kitchen. Mrs. Owen's real purpose was thestudy of the girls in Elizabeth House with a view to determining theirneeds and aptitude: she was as interested in the woman of fortypermanently planted behind a counter as in the gayest eighteen-year-oldstenographer. An expert had built for her that spring a model plant forpoultry raising, an industry of which she confessed her own ignorance, and she found in her battery of incubators the greatest delight. 

"When a woman has spent twenty years behind a counter, Sylvia, orworking a typewriter, she hasn't much ahead of her. What's the matterwith ducks?"

They made prodigious calculations of all sorts that summer, andcontinued their study of catalogues. Mrs. Owen expected to visit thebest vocational schools in the country during the fall and winter. Theschool could not be a large one, but it must be wisely planned. Mrs. Owen had already summarized her ideas on a sheet of paper in the neat, Italian script which the daguerreotype ladies of our old seminariesalone preserve for us. The students of the proposed school were to begirls between fifteen and eighteen, who were driven by necessity intoshops, factories, and offices. None should be excluded for lack of theknowledge presupposed in students ready for high school, and the generalcourses were to be made flexible so that those who entered deficientmight be brought to a fixed standard. The vocational branches were themost difficult, and at Sylvia's suggestion several well-knownauthorities on technical education were called into conference. One ofthese had visited Waupegan and expressed his enthusiastic approval ofMrs. Owen's plans. She was anxious to avoid paralleling any similarwork, public or private. What the city schools did in manual trainingwas well enough, and she did not mean to compete with the state'stechnical school, or with its reformatory school for erring girls. Theyoung girl about to take her place behind the ribbon counter, or at asewing-machine in a garment factory, or as a badly equipped, ignorant, and hopeless stenographer, was the student for whom in due course theschool should open its doors. Where necessary, the parents of thestudents were to be paid the wages their daughters sacrificed inattending school during the two-year course proposed. The students wereto live in cottages and learn the domestic arts through their ownhousekeeping, the members of each household performing various duties inrotation. The school was to continue in session the year round, so thatflower--and kitchen--gardening might take rank with dressmaking, cooking, fruit culture, poultry raising, and other branches which Mrs. Owen proposed to have taught. 

"I can't set 'em all up in business, but I want a girl that goes throughthe school to feel that she won't have to break her back in an overallfactory all her life, or dance around some floor-walker with a waxedmustache. They tell me no American girl who has ever seen a trolley carwill go into a kitchen to work--she can't have her beaux going round tothe back door. Sylvia, we've got to turn out cooks that are worth goingto kitchen doors to see! Now, I've taught you this summer how to makecurrant jelly that you needn't be ashamed of anywhere on earth, and itdidn't hurt you any. A white woman can't learn to cook the way darkiesdo, just by instinct. That's a miracle, by the way, that I never heardexplained--how these colored women cook as the good ones do--thoseold-fashioned darkies who take the cook book out of your hand and lookat it upside down and grin and say, 'Yes, Miss Sally, ' when they can'tread a word! You catch a clean, wholesome white girl young enough, andmake her understand that her kitchen's a laboratory, and her worksomething to be proud of, and she'll not have any trouble finding placesto work where they won't ask her to clean out the furnace and wash theautomobile. "

The Bassetts had opened their cottage early and Morton Bassett had beenat the lake rather more constantly than in previous summers. Marian wasoff on a round of visits to the new-found friends that were the fruitof her winter at the capital. She was much in demand for house parties, and made her engagements, quite independently of her parents, for weeksand fortnights at widely scattered mid-Western resorts. Mrs. Bassett wasindulging in the luxury of a trained nurse this summer, but even withthis reinforcement she found it impossible to manage Marian. It needhardly be said that Mrs. Owen's philanthropic enterprises occasioned herthe greatest alarm. It was enough that "that girl" should be spendingthe summer at Waupegan, without bringing with her all her fellowboarders from Elizabeth House. 

Mrs. Bassett had now a tangible grievance against her husband. Blackford's course at the military school he had chosen for himself hadbeen so unsatisfactory that his father had been advised that he wouldnot be received for another year. It was now Mrs. Bassett's turn tocavil at her husband for the sad mess he had made of the boy'seducation. She would never have sent Blackford to a military school ifit had been her affair; she arraigned her husband for having encouragedthe boy in his dreams of West Point. 

Blackford's father continuing indifferent, Mrs. Bassett rose from bedone hot August day filled with determination. Blackford, confident ofimmunity from books through the long vacation, was enjoying himselfthoroughly at the lake. He was a perfectly healthy, good-natured lad, whose faults were much like those of the cheerful, undisciplinedMarian. His mother scanned the reports of Blackford's demerits anddecided that he required tutoring immediately. She thereupon reasonedthat it would score with her aunt if she employed "that girl" to coachthe delinquent Blackford. It would at any rate do no harm to manifest afriendly interest in her aunt's protégée, who would doubtless be glad ofa chance to earn a little pin-money. She first proposed the matter toher aunt, who declared promptly that it must be for Sylvia to say; thatSylvia was busy writing a book (she was revising her grandfather'stextbook), besides helping to entertain the Elizabeth House guests; butwhen the matter was referred to Sylvia, she cheerfully agreed to giveBlackford two hours a day. 

Sylvia quickly established herself on terms of good comradeship with herpupil. Blackford was old enough to find the proximity of a pretty girlagreeable, and Sylvia was sympathetic and encouraging. When he confidedto her his hopes of a naval career (he had finally renounced the Army)Sylvia sent off to Annapolis for the entrance requirements. She told himof her Grandfather Kelton's service in the Navy and recounted some ofthe old professor's exploits in the Civil War. The stories Sylvia hadheard at her grandfather's knee served admirably as a stimulus. As theappointments to Annapolis had to be won in competitive examinations shesoon persuaded him that the quicker he buckled down to hard study thesooner he would attain the goal. This matter arranged, Mrs. Bassett wentback to bed, where she received Sylvia occasionally and expressed hersorrow that Mrs. Owen, at her time of life, should be running aboarding-house for a lot of girls who were better off at work. Her auntwas merely making them dissatisfied with their lot. She did not guessthe import of the industries in Mrs. Owen's kitchen, as reported throughvarious agencies; they were merely a new idiosyncracy of her aunt's oldage, a deplorable manifestation of senility. 

Sylvia was a comfortable confessor; Mrs. Bassett said many things to herthat she would have liked to say to Mrs. Owen, with an obscure hope thatthey might in due course be communicated to that inexplicable old woman. And Sylvia certainly was past; mistress of the difficult art of brushinghair without tangling and pulling it, thereby tearing one's nerves toshreds--as the nurse did. Mrs. Owen's visits were only occasional, butthey usually proved disturbing. She sniffed at the nurse and advised herniece to get up. She knew a woman in Terre Haute who went to bed on herthirtieth birthday and left it only to be buried in her ninetieth year. Sylvia was a far more consoling visitor to this invalid propped up onpillows amid a litter of magazines, with the cool lake at her elbow. Sylvia did not pooh-pooh Christian Science and New Thought and suchthings with which Mrs. Bassett was disposed to experiment. Sylvia evenbestowed upon her a boon in the shape of the word "psychotherapy. " Mrs. Bassett liked it, and declared that if she read a paper before theFraserville Woman's Club the next winter--a service to which she wassolemnly pledged--psychotherapy should be her subject. Thus Mrs. Bassett found Sylvia serviceable and comforting. And the girl knew herplace, and all. 

Morton Bassett found Sylvia tutoring his son one day when he arrived atWaupegan unexpectedly. Mrs. Bassett explained the arrangement privatelyin her own fashion. 

"You seem to take no interest in your children, Morton. I thoughtBlackford was your particular pride, but the fact that he waspractically expelled from school seemed to make not the slightestimpression on you. I thought that until you _did_ realize that the boywas wasting his time here, I'd take matters into my own hands. MissGarrison seems perfectly competent; she tells me Blackford is veryquick--all he needs is application. "

"I hadn't got around to that yet, Hallie. I'd intended taking it up thisweek. I'm very busy, " murmured Bassett. 

His wife's choice of a tutor seemed inconsistent with her earlieranimosity toward Sylvia, but he shrank from asking explanations. Mrs. Bassett had grown increasingly difficult and arbitrary. 

"That's the American father all over! Well, I've done my duty. "

"No doubt it's a good arrangement. We've got to keep Blackford in hand. Where's Marian?"

"She's visiting the Willings at their place at Whitewater. She's beengone a week. "

"The Willings? Not those Burton Willings? How did that happen;--I don'tbelieve we care to have her visit the Willings. "

"They are perfectly nice people, " she replied defensively, "and Marianknew their daughter at school. Allen Thatcher is in the party, andthey're all people we know or know about. "

"Well, I don't want Marian visiting around promiscuously. I know nothingabout the family, but I don't care for Willing. And we've had enough ofyoung Thatcher. Marian's already seen too much of him. "

"Allen's a perfectly nice fellow. It isn't fair to dislike him on hisfather's account. Allen isn't a bit like his father; but even if he wereyou used to think well enough of Ed Thatcher. "

This shot was well aimed, and Bassett blinked, but he felt that he mustexercise his parental authority. If he had been culpable in neglectingBlackford he could still take a hand in Marian's affairs. 

"So I did, " he replied. "But I'm going to telegraph Marian to come home. What's the Willings' address?"

"Oh, you'll find it on a picture postal card somewhere about. I'll writeMarian to come home; but I wouldn't telegraph if I were you, Morton. Andif you don't like my employing Miss Garrison, you can get rid of her: Imerely felt that _something_ had to be done. I turn it all over to you, "she ended mournfully. 

"Oh, I have no objections to Miss Garrison. We'll see how Blackford getson with her. "

Bassett was troubled by other things that summer than his son'seducation. Harwood's declaration of war in the White River Canneriesmatter had proved wholly disagreeable, and Fitch had not been able topromise that the case might not come to trial, to Bassett'sdiscomfiture. It was a hot summer, and Bassett had spent a good deal oftime in his office at the Boordman Building, where Harwood's name nolonger adorned the door of Room 66. The 'Advertiser' continued to lay onthe lash for his defeat of the appropriations necessary to sustainseveral important state institutions while he carried through hiscorporation bill. They were saying in some quarters that he had lost hishead, and that he was now using his political power for personal warfareupon his enemies. Thatcher loomed formidably as a candidate for theleadership, and many predicted that Bassett's power was at last broken. On the other hand, Bassett's old lieutenants smiled knowingly; the oldBassett machine was still in perfect running order, they said, asThatcher would learn when he felt the wheels grinding him. 

Bassett saw Sylvia daily, and he was wary of her at first. She had dealthim a staggering blow that rainy evening at the door of ElizabethHouse--a blow which, from her, had an effect more poignant than sheknew. That incident was ended, however, and he felt that he had nothingto fear from her. No one appreciates candor so thoroughly as the man whois habitually given to subterfuge, evasion, and dissimulation. Sylvia'sconsent to tutor Blackford indicated a kindly feeling toward the family. It was hardly likely that she would report to Mrs. Bassett hisindiscretions with Rose Farrell. And his encounters with Sylvia hadmoreover encouraged the belief that she viewed life broadly andtolerantly. 

There was little for a man of Bassett's tastes to do at Waupegan. Mostof the loungers at the Casino were elderly men who played bridge, whichhe despised; and he cared little for fishing or boating. Tennis and golfdid not tempt him. His wife had practically ceased to be a figure in thesocial life of the colony; Marian was away, and Blackford's leisure wasspent with boys of his own age. Morton Bassett was lonely. 

It thus happened that he looked forward with growing interest toSylvia's daily visits to his house. He found that he could mark herprogress from Mrs. Owen's gate round the lake to his own cottage fromthe window of a den he maintained in the attic. He remained there underthe hot shingles, conscious of her presence in his house throughout hertwo hours with Blackford. Once or twice he took himself off to escapefrom her; but on these occasions he was surprised to find that he wasback on the veranda when Sylvia emerged from the living-room with herpupil. She was always cheery, and she never failed to say somethingheartening of Blackford's work. 

A number of trifling incidents occurred to bring them together. The cookleft abruptly, and Mrs. Bassett was reduced to despair. Bassett, gloomily pacing his veranda, after hearing his wife's arraignment of theworld in general and domestic servants in particular, felt the cloudslift when Sylvia came down from a voluntary visit to the invalid. Hewatched her attack the problem by long-distance telephone. Sensationsthat were new and strange and sweet assailed him as he sat near in theliving-room of his own house, seeing her at the telephone desk by thewindow, hearing her voice. Her patience in the necessary delays whileconnection was made with the city, her courtesy to her unseen auditors, the smile, the occasional word she flung at him--as much as to say, ofcourse it's bothersome but all will soon come right!--these thingsstirred in him a wistfulness and longing such as the hardy oak must feelwhen the south wind touches its bare boughs with the first faint breathof spring. 

"It's all arranged--fixed--accomplished!" Sylvia reported at last. "There's a cook coming by the afternoon train. You'll attend to meetingher? Please tell Mrs. Bassett it's Senator Ridgefield's cook who'savailable for the rest of the summer, as the family have gone abroad. She's probably good--the agent said Mrs. Ridgefield had brought her fromWashington. Let me see! She must have Thursday afternoon off and achance to go to mass on Sunday. And you of course stand the railroadfare to and from the lake; it's so nominated in the bond!"

She dismissed the whole matter with a quick gesture of her hands. 

Their next interview touched again his domestic affairs. He hadtelegraphed Marian to come home without eliciting a reply, and the nextday he found in a Chicago newspaper a spirited and much-beheadlinedaccount of the smashing of the Willings' automobile in a collision. Itseemed that they had run into Chicago for a day's shopping and had metwith this misadventure on one of the boulevards. The Willings' chauffeurhad been seriously injured. Miss Marian Bassett, definitely described asthe daughter of Morton Bassett, the well-known Indiana politician, hadbeen of the party. Allen Thatcher was another guest of the Willings, afact which added to Bassett's anger. He had never visited his hatred ofThatcher upon Allen, whom he had regarded as a harmless boy not to betaken seriously; but the conjunction of his daughter's name with that ofhis enemy's son in a newspaper of wide circulation in Indiana greatlyenraged him. It was bound to occasion talk, and he hated publicity. TheWillings were flashy people who had begun to spend noisily the moneyearned for them by an automobile patent. The indictment he drew againstMarian contained many "counts. " He could not discuss the matter with hiswife; he carefully kept from her the newspaper story of the smash-up. The hotel to which the Willings had retired for repairs was mentioned, and Bassett resolved to go to Chicago and bring Marian home. 

The best available train passed Waupegan Station at midnight, and he satalone on his veranda that evening with anger against Marian still hot inhis heart. He had yet to apprise Mrs. Bassett of his intended journey, delaying the moment as long as possible to minimize her inevitablequerulous moanings. Blackford was in his room studying, and Bassett hadgrimly paced the veranda for half an hour when the nurse came down witha request that he desist from his promenade, as it annoyed Mrs. Bassettin her chamber above. 

He thereupon subsided and retired to the darkest corner of the veranda. A four-hour vigil lay before him, and he derived no calm from the stillstars that faintly shadowed the quiet waters below. He was assailed bytorments reserved for those who, having long made others writhe withoutcaring that they suffered, hear the swish of the lash over their ownheads. He had only lately been conscious of his growing irritability. Hehated men who yield to irritation; it was a sign of weakness, a failureof self-mastery. He had been carried on by a strong tide, imagining thathe controlled it and guided it. He had used what he pleased of theapparatus of life, and when any part of the mechanism becameunnecessary, he had promptly discarded it. It angered him to find thathe had thrown away so much, that the mechanism was no longer asresponsive as it had been. The very peace of the night grated upon him. 

A light step sounded at the end of the veranda. A figure in white wasmoving toward the door, and recognizing Sylvia, he rose hastily andadvanced to meet her. 

"Is that you, Mr. Bassett? I ran over with a new grammar for Blackfordthat he will like better than the one he's using. I've marked his lessonso he can look it over before I come in the morning. How is Mrs. Bassett?"

"She's very tired and nervous to-night. Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you, no. If it isn't too late I'll run up and see Mrs. Bassettfor a moment. "

"I think you'd better not. The nurse is trying to get her to sleep. "

"Oh, then of course I shan't stop, " and Sylvia turned to go. "How soonwill Marian be home?"

"To-morrow evening; I'm going up to get her to-night, " he answeredharshly. 

"You are going to the Willings to come home with her?" asked Sylvia, surprised by his gruffness. 

He spoke in a lower tone. 

"You didn't see to-day's papers? She's been to Chicago with thoseWillings and their machine was smashed and the chauffeur hurt. I'm goingto bring her back. She had no business to be visiting the Willings inthe first place, and their taking her to Chicago without our consent wasdownright impudence. I don't want Mrs. Bassett to know of the accident. I'm going up on the night train. "

It satisfied his turbulent spirit to tell her this; he had blurted itout without attempting to conceal the anger that the thought of Marianroused in him. 

"She wasn't hurt? We should be glad of that!"

Sylvia lingered, her hand on the veranda rail. She seemed very tall inthe mellow starlight. His tone had struck her unpleasantly. There was nodoubt of his anger, or that Marian would feel the force of it when hefound her. 

"Oh, she wasn't hurt, " he answered dully. 

"It's very unfortunate that she was mixed up in it. I suppose she oughtto come home now anyhow. "

"The point is that she should never have gone! The Willings are not thekind of people I want her to know. It was a great mistake, her evergoing. "

"Yes, that may be true, " said Sylvia quietly. "I don't believe--"

"Well--" he ejaculated impatiently, as though anxious for her to speakthat he might shatter any suggestion she made. Before she came he hadsharply vizualized his meeting with Marian and the Willings. He wasimpatient for the encounter, and if Sylvia projected herself in the pathof his righteous anger, she must suffer the consequences. 

"If I were you I shouldn't go to Chicago, " said Sylvia calmly. "I thinkyour going for Marian would only make a disagreeable situation worse. The Willings may not be desirable companions for her, but she has beentheir guest, and the motor run to Chicago was only an incident of thevisit. We ought to be grateful that Marian wasn't hurt. "

"Oh, you think so! You don't know that her mother had written for her tocome home, and that I had telegraphed her. "

"When did you telegraph her?" asked Sylvia, standing her ground. 

"Yesterday; yesterday morning, in care of Willing at his farm address. "

"Then of course she didn't get your message; she couldn't have had it ifthe accident happened in time for this morning's Chicago papers. It musthave taken them all day to get from their place to Chicago. " "If she hadbeen at the Willings' where we supposed she was she would have, got themessage. And her mother had written--twice!"

"I still think it would be a serious mistake in all the circumstancesfor you to go up there in a spirit of resentment to bring Marian home. It's not exactly my business, Mr. Bassett. But I'm thinking of Marian;and you could hardly keep from Mrs. Bassett the fact that you went forMarian. It would be sure to distress her. "

"Marian needs curbing; she's got to understand that she can't gogallivanting over the country with strangers, getting her name in thenewspapers. I'm not going to have it; I'm going to stop her nonsense!"

His voice had risen with his anger. Sylvia saw that nothing was to begained by argument. 

"The main thing is to bring Marian home, isn't it, Mr. Bassett?"

"Most certainly. And when I get her here she shall stay; you may be sureof that!"

"I understand of course that you want her back, but I hope you willabandon the idea of going for her yourself. Please give that up! Ipromise that she shall come home. I can easily take the night train andcome back with her. What you do afterward is not my affair, but somehowI think this is. Please agree to my way of doing it! I can manage itvery easily. Mrs. Owen's man can take me across to the train in thelaunch. I shan't even have to explain about it to her, if you'd rather Ididn't. It will be enough if I tell her I'm going on business. You willagree, won't you--please?"

It was not in his heart to consent, and yet he consented, wondering thathe yielded. The rescue of Marian from the Willings was taken out of hishands without friction, and there remained only himself against whom tovent his anger. He was curiously agitated by the encounter. The ironicphrases he had already coined for Marian's discomfiture clinked into themelting-pot. Sylvia was turning away and he must say something, thoughhe could not express a gratitude he did not feel. His practical sensegrasped one idea feebly. He felt its imbecility the moment he hadspoken. 

"You'll allow me, of course, to pay your expenses. That must beunderstood. "

Sylvia answered over her shoulder. 

"Oh, yes; of course, Mr. Bassett. Certainly. "

He meant to accompany her to Mrs. Owen's door, but before he could moveshe was gone, running along the path, a white, ghost-like figure faintlydiscernible through the trees. He walked on tiptoe to the end of theveranda to catch the last glimpse of her, and waited till he caughtacross the quiet night the faint click of Mrs. Owen's gate. And he wasinexpressibly lonely, now that she had gone. 

He opened the door of the living-room and found his wife standing likean accusing angel by the centre table. She loomed tall in her bluetea-gown, with her brown braids falling down her back. 

"Whom were you talking to, Morton?" she demanded with ominous severity. 

"Miss Garrison came over to bring a book for Blackford. It's a grammarhe needed in his work. "

He held up the book in proof of his assertion, and as she tossed herhead and compressed her lips he flung it on the table with an effort toappear at ease. 

"She wanted him to have it before his lesson in the morning. "

"She certainly took a strange time to bring it over here. "

"It struck me as very kind of her to trouble about it. You'll take coldstanding there. I supposed you were asleep. "

"I've no doubt you did, Morton Bassett; but how do you suppose I couldsleep when you were talking right under my window? I had already sentword about the noise you were making on the veranda. "

"We were not talking loudly; I didn't suppose we were disturbing you. "

"So you were talking quietly, were you! Will you please tell me what youhave to talk to that girl about that you must whisper out there in thedark?"

"Please be reasonable, Hallie. Miss Garrison was only here a fewminutes. And as I knew noises on the veranda had disturbed you I triedto speak in a low tone. We were speaking of Blackford. "

"Well, I'd like you to know that I employed that girl to remedy yourmistakes in trying to educate Blackford, and if she has any report tomake she can make it to me. "

"Very well, then. It was only a few days ago that you told me you haddone all you were going to do about Blackford; you gave me tounderstand that you washed your hands of him. You're nervous andexcited, --very unnecessarily excited, --and I insist that you go back tobed. I'll call Miss Featherstone. "

"Miss Featherstone is asleep and you needn't bother her. I'm going tosend her away at the end of her week anyhow. She's the worst masseuse Iever had; her clumsiness simply drives me frantic. But I never thoughtyou would treat me like this--entertaining a young woman on the verandawhen you thought I was asleep and out of the way. I'm astonished at MissGarrison; I had a better opinion of her. I thought she knew her place. Ithought she understood that I employed her out of kindness; and she'sabused my confidence outrageously. "

"You can't speak that way of that young woman; she's been very good toyou. She's come to see you nearly every day and shown you manykindnesses. It is kind of her to be tutoring Blackford at all when shecame to the lake for rest. "

"For rest!"

She gulped at the enormity of this; it was beyond belief that anyintelligent being could have been deceived in a matter that was as plainas daylight to any understanding. "You think she came here for rest!Don't you know that she's hung herself around Aunt Sally's neck, andthat she's filling Aunt Sally's head with all manner of wild ideas?She's been after Aunt Sally's money ever since she saw that she couldinfluence her. Did you ever know of Aunt Sally's taking up any othergirl? Has she ever traveled over the country with Marian or shown anysuch interest in her own flesh and blood?"

"Please quiet yourself. You'll have Blackford and the nurse down here ina minute. You know perfectly well that Aunt Sally started ElizabethHouse long before she had ever heard of this girl, and you know thatyour aunt is a vigorous, independent woman who is not led around byanybody. "

Her nostrils quivered and her eyes shone with tears. She leveled her armat him rigidly. 

"I saw you walking with that girl yesterday! When she left here at noonyou came down from the den and walked along to Aunt Sally's gate withher. I could see you through the trees from my bed, laughing and talkingwith her. I suppose it was then you arranged for her to come and sitwith you on the veranda when you thought I was asleep!"

He took a step toward her and seized the outstretched hand roughly. 

"You are out of your senses or you wouldn't speak in this way of MissGarrison. She's been a kind friend to you all summer; you've told meyourself self how she's gone up to brush your hair and do little thingsfor you that the nurse couldn't do as well. You've grown morbid frombeing ill so long, but nothing was ever more infamous than yourinsinuations against Miss Garrison. She's a noble girl and it's notsurprising that Aunt Sally should like her. Everybody likes her!"

Having delivered this blow he settled himself more firmly on his feetand glared. 

"Everybody likes her!" she repeated, snatching away her hand. "I'd liketo know how you come to know so much about her. "

"I know enough about her: I know all about her!"

"Then you know more than anybody else does. Nobody else seems to know_anything_ about her!" she ended triumphantly. 

"There you go again with insinuations! It's ungenerous, it's unlikeyou. "

"Morton Bassett, " she went on huskily, "if you took some interest inyour own children it would be more to your credit. You blamed me forletting Marian go to the Willings' and then telegraphed for her to comehome. It's a beautiful relationship you have established with yourchildren! She hasn't even answered your telegram. But I suppose if shehad you'd have kept it from me. The newspapers talk about your secretiveways, but they don't know you, Morton Bassett, as I do. I suppose youcan't imagine yourself entertaining Marian on the veranda or walkingwith her, talking and laughing, as I saw you with that girl. "

"Well, thank God there's somebody I can talk and laugh with! I'm glad tobe able to tell you that Marian will be home to-morrow. You may have thesatisfaction of knowing that if you _would_ let her go to the Willings'with Allen Thatcher I can at least bring her back after you failed to doit. "

"So you did hear from her, did you! Of course you couldn't have told me:I suppose you confide in Miss Garrison now, " she ended drearily. 

His wife's fatigue, betrayed in her tired voice, did not mitigate thestab with which he wished to punish her references to Sylvia. And hedelivered it with careful calculation. 

"You are quite right, Hallie. I did speak to Miss Garrison about Marian. Miss Garrison has gone to bring Marian home. That's all; go to bed. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

A CHEERFUL BRINGER OF BAD TIDINGS

The announcement that Harwood was preparing to attack the reorganizationof the White River Canneries corporation renewed the hopes of manyvictims of that experiment in high finance, and most of the claimsreached Dan's office that summer. The legal points involved weresufficiently difficult to evoke his best energies, and he dug diligentlyin the State Library preparing his case. He was enjoying the cool, calmheights of a new freedom. Many older men were eking out a bare living atthe law, and the ranks were sadly overcrowded, but he faced the futureconfidently. He meant to practice law after ideals established by menwhose names were still potent in the community; he would not race withthe ambulance to pick up damage suits, and he refused divorce cases andsmall collection business. He meant to be a lawyer, not ascandal-hunting detective or pursuer of small debtors with a constable'sprocess. 

He tried to forget politics, and yet, in spite of his indifference, hardly a day passed that did not bring visitors to his office bent upondiscussing the outlook. Many of these were from the country; men who, like Ramsay, were hopeful of at last getting rid of Bassett. Some of hisvisitors were young lawyers like himself, most of them graduates of thestate colleges, who were disposed to take their politics seriously. Norwere these all of his own party. He found that many young Republicans, affected by the prevailing unrest, held practically his own views onnational questions. Several times he gathered up half a dozen of theseacquaintances for frugal dinners in the University Club rathskeller, orthey met in the saloon affected by Allen's friends of Lüders's carpentershop. He wanted them to see all sides of the picture, and he encouragedthem to crystallize their fears and hopes; more patriotism and lesspartisanship, they all agreed, was the thing most needed in America. 

Allen appeared in Dan's office unexpectedly one hot morning and sat downon a chair piled with open lawbooks. Allen had benefited by his month'ssojourn in the Adirondacks, and subsequent cruises in his motor car hadtanned his face becomingly. He was far from rugged, but he declared thathe expected to live forever. 

"I'm full of dark tidings! Much has happened within forty-eight hours. See about our smash-up in Chicago! Must have read it in the newspapers?"

"A nice, odorous mess, " observed Dan, filling his pipe. "I'm pained tosee that you go chasing around with the plutocrats smashing lamp-postsin our large centres of population. That sort of thing is bound toestablish your reputation as the friend of the oppressed. Was thechauffeur's funeral largely attended?"

"Pshaw; he was only scratched; we chucked him into the hospital to keephim from being arrested, that was all. Look here, old man, you don'tseem terribly sympathetic. Maybe you didn't notice that it was _my_ carthat got smashed! It looked like a junk dealer's back yard when theypulled us out. I told them to throw it into the lake: I've just ordereda new car. I never cared for that one much anyhow. "

"Another good note for the boys around Lüders's joint! You're identifiedforever with the red-necked aristocrats who smash five thousand dollarmotors and throw them away. You'd better go out in the hall and read thesign on the door. I'm a lawyer, not a father confessor to theundeserving rich. "

"This is serious, Dan, " Allen remonstrated, twirling his straw hatnervously. "All that happened in connection with the smash-up didn't getinto the newspapers. "

"The 'Advertiser' had enough of it: they printed, published, and utteredan extra with Marian's picture next to yours on the first page! Youcan't complain of the publicity you got out of that light adventure. Howmuch space do you think it was worth?"

"Stop chaffing and hear me out! I'm up against a whole lot of trouble, and I came to get your advice. You see, Dan, the Bassetts didn't knowMarian was going on that automobile trip. Her mother had writtenher to leave the Willings' and go home--twice! And her fathertelegraphed--after we left the farm. She never got the telegram. Then, when Mr. Bassett read of the smash in the papers, I guess he was warmclear through. You know he doesn't cut loose very often; and--"

"And he jumped on the train and went to Chicago to snatch Marian awayfrom the Willings? I should think he would have done just that. "

"No; oh, no! He sent Sylvia!" cried Allen. "Sylvia came up on the nighttrain, had a few words privately with Marian, took luncheon with theWillings, all as nice as you please, and off she went with Marian. "

Harwood pressed his thumb into his pipe-bowl and puffed in silence for amoment. Allen, satisfied that he had at last caught his friend'sattention, fanned himself furiously with his hat. 

"Well, " said Dan finally, "there's nothing so staggering in that. Sylvia's been staying at the lake: I suppose Mrs. Bassett must haveasked her to go up and bring Marian home when the papers screamed herdaughter's name in red ink. I understand that Mrs. Bassett's ill, and Isuppose Bassett didn't like to leave her. There's nothing fuddlesome inthat. Sylvia probably did the job well. She has the habit. What is therethat troubles you about it, Allen?"

His heart had warmed at the mention of Sylvia, and he felt more kindlytoward Allen now that she had flashed across his vision. Many times aday he found Sylvia looking up at him from the pages of his books; thisfresh news brought her near. Sylvia's journey to Chicago argued anintimacy with the Bassetts that he did not reconcile with his knowledgeof her acquaintance with the family. He was aroused by the light touchof Allen's hand on his knee. The young man bent toward him with abright light in his eyes. 

"You know, " he said, "Marian and I are engaged!"

"You're what?" bellowed Dan. 

"We're engaged, old man; we're engaged! It happened there at theWillings'. You know I think I loved her from the very first time I sawher! It's the beautifullest thing that ever came into my life. You don'tknow how happy I am: it's the kind of happiness that makes you want tocry. Oh, you don't know; nobody could ever know!"

Dan rose and paced the floor, while Allen stood watching him eagerly andpouring his heart out. Dan felt that tragedy loomed here. He did notdoubt Allen's sincerity; he was not unmoved by his manner, his volubledescription of all the phases of his happiness. Allen, with all hisfaults and weaknesses, had nevertheless a sound basis of character. Harwood's affection for him dated from that first encounter in thelonely Meridian Street house when the boy had dawned upon him in hisoveralls and red silk stockings. He had never considered Allen'sinterest in Marian serious; for Allen had to Dan's knowledge paidsimilar attentions to half a dozen other girls. Allen's imagination madea goddess of every pretty girl, and Dan had settled down to the beliefthat his friend saw in Marian only one of the many light-footed Dianasvisible in the city thoroughfares, whom he invested with deific charmsand apostrophized in glowing phrases. But that he should marryMarian--Marian, the joyous and headstrong; Marian the romping, carelessThalia of Allen's bright galaxy! She was ill-fitted for marriage, particularly to a dreamy, emotional youngster like Allen. And yet, onthe other hand, if she had arrived at a real appreciation of Allen'sfineness and gentleness and had felt his sweetness and charm, why not?

Dan's common sense told him that quite apart from the young peoplethemselves there were reasons enough against it. Dan had imagined thatAllen was content to play at being in love; that it satisfied theromantic strain in him, just as his idealization of the Great Experimentand its actors expressed and satisfied his patriotic feelings. The newsthat he had come to terms of marriage with Marian was in all thecircumstances dismaying, and opened many dark prospects. Allen stood atthe window staring across the roofs beyond. He whirled round as Danaddressed him. 

"Have you spoken to Mr. Bassett? You know that will be the first thing, Allen. "

"That's exactly what I want you to help me about? He's at Waupegan now, and of course I've got to see him. But you know this row between him anddad makes it hard. You know dad would do anything in the world forme--dear old dad! Of course I've told _him_. And you'd be surprised tosee the way he took it. You know people don't know dad the way I do. They think he's just a rough old chap, without any fine feeling aboutanything. And mother and the girls leaving him that way has hurt him; ithurts him a whole lot. And when I told him last night, up at that bighollow cave of a house, how happy I was and all that, it broke him allup. He cried, you know--dad cried!"

The thought of Edward G. Thatcher in tears failed to arrest the darkapprehensions that tramped harshly through Dan's mind. As for Bassett, Dan recalled his quondam chief's occasional flings at Allen, whom thesenator from Fraser had regarded as a spoiled and erratic but innocuoustrifler. Mrs. Bassett, Dan was aware, valued her social position highly. As the daughter of Blackford Singleton she considered herselfunassailably a member of the upper crust of the Hoosier aristocracy. AndDan suspected that Bassett also harbored similar notions of caste. 

Independently of the struggle in progress between Thatcher and Bassett, it was quite likely that the Bassetts would look askance at the idea ofa union between their daughter and Edward Thatcher's son, no matter whatmight be said in Allen's favor. Bassett's social acceptance was fairlycomplete, and he enjoyed meeting men of distinction. He was invariablywelcomed to the feasts of reason we are always, in our capital, proffering to the great and good of all lands who pause forenlightenment and inspiration in our empurpled Athens. He was neverignored in the choice of those frock-coated and silk-hatted non-partisancommittees that meet all trains at the Union Station, and quadrenniallywelcome home our eternal candidates for the joyous office ofVice-President of the Republic. He kept his dress suit packed for flightat Fraserville free of that delicate scent of camphor that sweetens theair of provincial festivals. Thatcher never, to the righteous, sensitive, local consciousness, wholly escaped from the maltster'staint, in itself horrible and shocking; nor did his patronage of buddinggenius in the prize ring, or his adventures (often noisily heralded) asa financial pillar of comic opera, tend to change or hide the leopard'sspots in a community where the Ten Commandments haven't yet beendeclared unconstitutional, save by plumbers and paperhangers. Women whohad never in their lives seen Mrs. Thatcher admired her for remaining inexile; they knew she must be (delectable phrase!) a good woman. 

"You know dad has had an awful lonely time of it, Dan, and if he hasdone things that haven't sounded nice, he's as sorry as anybody couldask. You know dad never made a cent in his life at poker, and his horseshave come near busting him lots of times. And sentiment againstbreweries over here would astonish people abroad. It's that old Puritanstrain, you know. You understand all that, Dan. "

Dan grinned in spite of himself. It was hardly less than funny toattempt a defense of Ed Thatcher by invoking the shades of the Puritans. But Thatcher did love his boy, and Dan had always given him full creditfor that. 

"Never mind the breweries; tell me the rest of it. "

"Well, " Allen continued, "dad always tells me everything, and when Ispoke of Marian he told me a lot of things. He wants to put Bassett outof business and go to the Senate. Dad's set his heart on that. I didn'tknow that any man could hate another as he hates Bassett. That businessin the state convention cut him deep;--no, don't you say a word! Dadhasn't any feeling against you; he thinks you're a fine fellow, and helikes to feel that when you quit Bassett you put yourself on his side. Maybe he's wrong, but just for my sake I want you to let him think so. But he's got it in for Bassett; he's got his guns all loaded and primed. Dad's deeper than you think. They used to say that dad was only secondfiddle to Bassett, but you'll see that dad knows a thing or two. "

Dan drummed his desk. This reference to Thatcher's ambitions onlykindled his anger and he wished that Allen would end his confidences andtake himself off. But he pricked up his ears as Allen went on. 

"I'm telling you this just to show you how it mixes up things for Marianand me. I came to you for help, old man; and I want you to see how hardit is for me to go to Mr. Bassett and tell him I want to marry Marian. "

"Just a minute, Allen. Are you quite sure that Marian has made up hermind to marry you; that she really wants to marry anybody?"

"I tell you it's all fixed! You don't imply that Marian is merelyamusing herself at my expense! It wouldn't be like you to think that. Ihave always thought you liked Marian and saw how superb she is. "

"Of course I like Marian, " said Dan hastily. "My one hope is that bothof you will be happy; and the difficulties you have suggested only makethat more important. You will have to wait. I'm not sure but that youhad better keep this to yourselves for a while--maybe for a long time. It would be wise for you to talk to Aunt Sally. She's a good friend ofyours, and one of the wisest of women. "

It was not in Allen's eye that he sought wisdom. With him, as with mostpeople who ask advice, advice was the last thing he wanted. It was hisway to unbosom himself, however, and he forged ahead with his story, with what seemed to Harwood a maddening failure to appreciate itssinister import. "You remember that when we were up there on theKankakee, John Ware told a story one night--a mighty good story about anexperience he had once?"

"Yes; he told a lot of stories. Which one do you mean?"

"Oh, the best one of all--about the woman in the Adirondacks. Youhaven't forgotten that?"

"No; I do remember something about it. "

"You may not have noticed that while Ware was telling the story dad gotup from the bed in the corner and walked over to the stove, after Warehad asked you--it was you, wasn't it?--to reach into the pocket of hiscoat over your head and get the book he was talking about--it was you hespoke to, wasn't it?"

"Yes; it comes back to me now, " replied Dan, frowning. 

"Well, I remember, because it struck me as odd that dad should beinterested; it was Emerson, you know; and dad looked at the book in thelight from the stove and asked me what the name was down in the insideof the cover. It was the binder's name in small letters, --Z. Fenelsa. Well, there's a long story about that. It's a horrible story to knowabout any man; but dad had been trying to find something he could use onBassett. He's had people--the sort you can get to do such jobs--goingover Bassett's whole life to find material. Dad says there's alwayssomething in every man's life that he wants to hide, and that if youkeep looking you can find it. You see--"

"I don't like to see, " growled Harwood. "It's an ugly idea. " And then, with sudden scorn for Thatcher's views on man's frailty, he said withemphasis: "Now, Allen, it's all right for you to talk to me aboutMarian, and your wish to marry her; but don't mix scandal up in it. I'mnot for that. I don't want to hear any stories of that kind aboutBassett. Politics is rotten enough at best without tipping over thegarbage can to find arguments. I don't believe your father is going tostoop to that. To be real frank with you, I don't think he can affordto. "

"You've got to hear it; you can't desert me now. I'm away up in the airthis morning, and even if you do hate this kind of thing, you've got tosee where dad's hatred of Bassett puts Marian and me. "

"It puts you clean out of it; away over the ropes and halfway home!That's where it puts you, " boomed Harwood. 

"Well, you've got to listen, and you've got to tell me what to do. Dadhad already investigated Bassett's years in New York, when he was ayoung man studying in the law school down there. But they could getabout so far and no farther. It's a long time ago and all the peopleBassett knew at that time had scattered to the far corners of the earth. But that book struck dad all of a heap. It fitted into what he had heardabout Bassett as a dilettante book collector; even then Bassett wasinterested in such things. And you know in that account of him you wrotein the 'Courier' that I told you I had read on the other side that firsttime we met? Well, when dad and I went to the Adirondacks it was onlypartly on my account; he met a man up there who had been working upBassett's past, and dad went over all the ground himself. It was mostamazing that it should all come out that way, but he found the place, and the same man is still living at the house where the strange womanstayed that Ware told about. I know it's just as rotten as it can be, but dad's sure Bassett was the man who took that woman there anddeserted her. It fits into a period when Bassett wasn't in New York andhe wasn't at Fraserville. They've found an old file of the Fraservillepaper at the State Library that mentions the fact that Bassett's fatherwas very ill--had a stroke--and they had hard work locating Bassett, whowas the only child. There's only one missing link in the chain ofevidence, and that's the woman herself, and her child that was born upthere. Ware told us that night how he failed to get track of them later, and dad lost the trail right there too. But that's all I need tell youabout it. That's what I've got hanging over me. And dad won't promisenot to use it on Bassett if he has to. "

Harwood's face had gone white, but he smiled and knit his fingerstogether behind his head with an air of nonchalance that he did notfeel. He knew that Thatcher meant to drive Bassett out of politics, buthe had little faith in Thatcher's ability to do so. He discreditedwholly the story Allen had so glibly recited. By Allen's own admissionthe tale was deficient in what Harwood's lawyer's instinct told him wereessentials. The idea that Bassett could ever have been so stupid as toleave traces of any imaginable iniquities plain enough for Thatcher tofind them after many years was preposterous. The spectacle of the potcalling the kettle black, never edifying, aroused Dan's ire againstThatcher. And Bassett was not that sort; his old liking for the manstirred to life again. Even the Rose Farrell incident did not supportthis wretched tissue of fabrication. He had hated Bassett for that; butit was not for the peccable Thatcher to point a mocking finger atAchilles's heel. 

"Well, " said Allen impatiently. 

"Well, " Dan blurted contemptuously, "I think your father's stoopedpretty low, that's all. You can tell him for me that if he's digging inthe muck-pile for that sort of thing, I'm done with him; I'm not onlydone with him, but if he attempts to use any such stuff as that, I'llfight him; I will raise a war on him that won't be forgotten in thisstate through all eternity. You tell him that; tell him you told me yourstory and that's what I said about it. "

"But, Dan, old man--" began Allen pleadingly. 

Harwood shook his head until his cowlick bobbed and danced. 

"You'd better get out of here, Allen. If you think you can marry MortonBassett's daughter with that kind of a scandal in your pocket, I tellyou you're mad--you've plumb gone insane! Great God, boy, you don't knowthe meaning of the words you use. You handle that thing like a childwith a loaded pistol. Don't you see what that would mean--to Marian, toBlackford, to Mrs. Bassett--to Aunt Sally! Now, you want my advice, oryou said you did, and I'm going to give you some. You go right down tothat bank over there on the corner and buy a steamer ticket and a longletter of credit. Then take the first train for New York and go back toyour mother and stay there till I send for you to come home. I meanthat--every word of it. If you don't skip I'm damned if I don't go toBassett and tell him this whole rotten story. "

Allen, the tears glistening in his frightened eyes, turned toward thedoor. 

"Good-bye, Dan, old man; I'm sorry it had to end this way. I'mdisappointed, that's all. "

He paused after opening the door, hoping to be called back, but Harwoodhad walked to the window and stood with his hands in his pockets staringinto the street. 

CHAPTER XXIX

A SONG AND A FALLING STAR

This was on Friday, and Harwood took the afternoon train for Waupegan. He had found that when he was tired or lonely or troubled he craved thesight of Sylvia. Sylvia alone could restore his equanimity; Sylvia whoworked hard but never complained of weariness; Sylvia who saw lifesteadily and saw it whole, where he caught only fitful, distortedglimpses. Yes; he must see Sylvia. Not only must he see her but therewere things he meant to say to her. 

He needed Sylvia. For several months he had been sure of that. He lovedher and he meant to marry her. Since leaving college he had indulged inseveral more or less ardent flirtations, but they had ended harmlessly;it was very different with Sylvia! He had realized all that spring thatshe was becoming increasingly necessary to him; he needed her solace andher inspiration. He thrust one or two new books on the prevailing socialunrest into his suit case and added a box of candy, smiling at thecombination. Sylvia with all her ideals was still so beautifully human. She was quite capable of nibbling bon-bons to the accompaniment of avivacious discussion of the sorrows of the world--he had seen her dojust that! With her ideals of life and service, she would not be easilywon; but he was in the race to win. Yes, there were things he meant tosay to Sylvia, and in the tedious journey through the hot afternoon toWaupegan he formulated them and visualized the situations in which heshould utter them. 

Dan reached Waupegan at six o'clock and went to one of the little innsat the lakeside near the village. He got into his flannels, ate supper, and set off for Mrs. Owen's with his offerings on the seven o'clockboat. In the old days of his intimacy with Bassett he had often visitedWaupegan, and the breach between them introduced an element ofembarrassment into his visit. He was very likely to meet his formerchief, who barely bowed to him now when they met in hotels or in thestreets of the capital. 

Jumping aboard the steamer just as it was pulling out, he at once sawBassett sitting alone in the bow. There were only a few otherpassengers, and hearing Dan's step on the deck behind him, Bassettturned slightly, nodded, and then resumed his inspection of the farthershore lines. A light overcoat lay across his knees, and the protrudingnewspapers explained his visit to the village. Dan found a seat on theopposite side of the deck, resolved to accept Bassett's own definitionof their relations--markedly expressed in Bassett's back and shouldersthat were stolidly presented to him. Dan, searching out the lights thatwere just beginning to blink on the darkling shores, found theglimmering lanterns of Mrs. Owen's landing. Sylvia was there! It wasSylvia he had come to see, and the coldness with which Morton Bassettturned his back upon him did not matter in the least. It was hispliability in Bassett's hands, manifested at the convention where he hadappeared as the boss's spokesman, that had earned him Sylvia's firstrebuke. 

He was thinking of this and of Sylvia when Bassett left his chair andcrossed the deck. Dan barely turned his head, thinking he was merelychanging his seat for a better view; but as Bassett stopped in front ofhim, Dan rose and pushed forward a chair. 

"No, thank you; I suppose you came up on the evening train. I justwondered whether you saw Fitch to-day. "

"No, sir; I didn't see him; I didn't know he wanted to see me. "

"He was here yesterday and probably hadn't had time to see you beforeyou left town. He had a proposition to make in that Canneries case. "

"I didn't know that, of course, or I should have waited. I've never hadany talk with him about the Canneries business. "

"So he said. "

Bassett clapped his hand savagely upon his hat suddenly to save it fromthe breeze that had been roused by the increasing speed of the boat. Heclearly disliked having to hold his hat on his head. Dan marked his oldchief's irritation. There were deep lines in Bassett's face that hadonly lately been written there. 

"I'll see him Monday. I only ran up for a day or two. It's frightfullyhot at home. "

Neither the heat, nor Harwood's enterprise in escaping from it, interested Bassett, who lifted his voice above the thumping of themachinery to say:--

"I told Fitch to talk to you about that suit of yours and fix it up ifwe can come to terms. I told him what I'd stand for. I'm not afraid ofthe suit, and neither is Fitch, and I want you to understand that. Myreasons for getting rid of it are quite apart from the legal questions. "

"It will save time, Mr. Bassett, if you tell Fitch that the suit won'tbe dropped until all the claims I represent are paid in full. Several ofyour associates in the reorganization have already sounded me on that, and I've said no to all of them. "

"Oh, you have, have you?" There was a hard glitter in Bassett's eyes andhis jaws tightened. 

"All right, then; go ahead, " he added, and walked grimly back to hischair. 

When the steamer stopped at his landing, Bassett jumped off and beganthe ascent to his house without looking at Harwood again. Dan felt thatit had been worth the journey to hear direct from Bassett theintimations of a wish to compromise the Canneries case. And yet, whilethe boat was backing off, it was without exultation that he watchedBassett's sturdy figure slowly climbing the steps. The signs of wear, the loss of the politician's old elasticity, touched a chord of pity inHarwood's breast. In the early days of their acquaintance it had seemedto him that Bassett could never be beaten; and yet Dan had to-night readdefeat in his face and manner. The old Morton Bassett would never haveyielded an inch, never have made overtures of compromise. He would haveemerged triumphant from any disaster. Harwood experienced something ofthe sensations of a sculptor, who, having begun a heroic figure in thegrand manner of a Michael Angelo, finds his model shrinking to a pitifulpygmy. As Bassett passed from sight he turned with a sigh toward thered, white and blue lanterns that advertised Mrs. Owen's dock to themariner. 

"Well, well, if it isn't Daniel, " exclaimed Mrs. Owen, as Harwoodgreeted her and Sylvia on her veranda. "One of the farm hands quitto-day and you can go to work in the morning, Daniel. "

"Not if I'm strong enough to run, Aunt Sally. I'm going to haveforty-eight hours' vacation if I starve to death the rest of my life. "

Rose Farrell had told him that Mrs. Owen was entertaining the ElizabethHouse girls in installments, and he was not surprised to find theveranda filled with young women. Some of them he knew and Sylviaintroduced him to the others. 

"When's Rose coming up?" asked Sylvia, balancing herself on the verandarail. "You know she's expected. "

"Do I know she's expected? Didn't I have a note from you, Aunt Sally, ordering me to send her up? She's coming just as soon as I get back, butI think of staying forever. "

"A man has come and he's come to stay forever, " murmured one of theyoung women. 

"Oh, you're an event!" laughed Sylvia. "But don't expect us to spoilyou. The sport for to-morrow is tomato pickles, and the man who skippedto-day left because Aunt Sally wanted him to help scald and peel thetomats. Your job is cut out for you. "

"All right, " he replied humbly. "I'll do anything you say but plough orcut wood. My enchanted youth on the farm was filled with those delights, and before I go back to that a swift Marathon runner must trip me. "

He was aware presently that one by one the girls were slipping away; hesaw them through the windows settling themselves at the round table ofthe living-room, where Mrs. Owen was reading a newspaper. Not more thana quarter of an hour had passed when he and Sylvia found themselvesalone. 

"I haven't scarlet fever or anything, " he remarked, noting the flightwith satisfaction. 

"I suppose we might go inside, too, " suggested Sylvia obtusely. 

"Oh, I came up for the fresh air! Most of my nights lately have beenspent in a hot office with not even a June bug for company. How are theneighbors?"

"The Bassetts? Oh, Mrs. Bassett is not at all well; Marian is at homenow; Blackford is tutoring and getting ready to take the Annapolisexaminations the first chance he gets. "

"I saw Allen to-day, " he remarked carelessly. 

She said nothing. He moved his chair nearer. 

"He told me things that scared me to death--among others that he andMarian are engaged. "

"Yes, Marian told me that. "

"Ah! She really takes it seriously, does she?"

"Yes, she takes it seriously; why shouldn't she?"

"It's the first time she ever took anything seriously; that's all. "

"Please don't speak of her like that, Dan. You know she and I arefriends, and I thought you and she were friends too. She always speaksof you in the very kindest way. Your leaving Mr. Bassett didn't make anydifference with her. And you are the greatest of Blackford's heroes nextto Nelson and Farragut. "

Dan laughed. 

"So it isn't Napoleon, and Grant and Custer any more? I'm glad he'ssettled down to something. "

"He's a fine boy with a lot of the right stuff in him. We've been havingsome lessons together. "

"Tutoring Blackford? You'll have to explain the psychological processesthat brought that about. "

"Oh, they're simple enough. He hadn't done well in school last year;Mrs. Bassett was troubled about it. I take him for a couple of hoursevery morning. Mrs. Bassett engaged me, and Mr. Bassett approved of theplan. Allen probably told you all the news, but he didn't know just howI came to go to Chicago cago to bring Marian home. It was to keep thenews of that automobile smash from Mrs. Bassett, and to save Marian'sown dignity with the Willings. "

"Oh! You went at her father's instance, did you?"

"Yes. I offered to go when I found that he was very angry and likely todeal severely and ungenerously with Marian. I thought it would be betterfor me to go. "

"As near as I can make out, you've taken the Bassetts on yourshoulders. I didn't suppose Aunt Sally would stand for that. "

"Aunt Sally doesn't know why I went to Chicago. I assume Mrs. Bassettknows I went to bring Marian home, but I don't know what Mr. Bassetttold her about it, and I haven't seen her since. It's possible my goingmay have displeased her. Blackford came here for his lessons thismorning. "

Dan moved uneasily. The domestic affairs of the Bassetts did notinterest him save as they involved Sylvia. It was like Sylvia to helpthem out of their scrapes; but Sylvia was not a person that he couldscold or abuse. 

"You needed rest and it's too bad you've had to bother with theirtroubles. Bassett was on the boat as I came over. He had a grouch. Hedoesn't look like a happy man. "

"I don't suppose he is altogether happy. And I've begged Marian not totell him she wants to marry Allen. That would certainly not cheer himany, right now. "

"I'm glad you had a chance to do that. I told Allen to skip right outfor Europe and hang on to his mother's apron strings till I send forhim. This old Capulet and Montague business doesn't ring quite true inthis twentieth century; there's something unreal about it. And just whatthose youngsters can see in each other is beyond me. "

"You must be fair about that. We haven't any right to question theirsincerity. "

"Oh, Allen is sincere enough; but you'll have to show me the documentson Marian's side of it. She sees in the situation a great lark. Thefact that her father and Thatcher are enemies appeals to her romanticinstincts. "

"I think better of it than that, Dan. She's a fine, strong, loyal girlwith a lot of hard common sense. But that doesn't relieve the situationof its immediate dangers. She's promised me not to speak to her fatheryet--not until she has my consent. When I see that it can't be helped, I'm going to speak to Mr Bassett about it myself. "

"You seem to be the good angel of the Bassett household, " he remarkedsullenly. A lover's jealousy stirred in his heart, he did not like tothink of Sylvia as preoccupied with the affairs of others, and he saw nopeace or happiness ahead for Marian and Allen. "It's all more wretchedthan you imagine. This war between Thatcher and Bassett has passed thebounds of mere political rivalry. There's an implacable hatred therethat's got to take its course. Allen told me of it this morning when hewas trying to enlist me in his cause with Marian. It's hideous--aperfectly rotten mess. Thatcher is preparing a poisoned arrow forBassett. He's raked up an old scandal, an affair with a woman. It makesmy blood run cold to think of its possibilities. "

"But Mr. Thatcher wouldn't do such a thing; he might threaten, but hewouldn't really use that sort of weapon!"

"You don't know the man, Sylvia. He will risk anything to break Bassettdown. There's nothing respectable about Thatcher but his love for Allen, and that doesn't redeem everything. "

"But you won't let it come to that. You have influence enough yourselfto stop it. Even if you hated him you would protect Mrs. Bassett and thechildren. "

"I could do nothing of the kind, Sylvia. Now that I've left Bassett myinfluence has vanished utterly. Besides, I'm out of politics. I hate thegame. It's rotten--rotten clean through. "

"I don't believe it's quite true that you have lost your influence. Iread the newspapers, and some of them are saying that you are the hopeof your party, and that you have a large following. But you wouldn't dothat, Dan; you wouldn't lend yourself to such a thing as that!"

"I'm not so sure, " he replied doggedly, angry that they should bediscussing the subject at all, though to be sure he had introduced it. "A man's family has got to suffer for his acts; it's a part of thepunishment. I'd like to see Bassett driven out of politics, but I assureyou that I don't mean to do it. There's no possibility of my having thechance. He put me in the legislature to use me; and I'm glad that's allover. As I tell you, I'm out of the game. "

"I don't sympathize with that at all, Dan; you not only ought to stayin, but you ought to do all you can to make it impossible for men likeBassett and Thatcher to have any power. The honor of the state ought tobe dear to all of us; and if I belonged to a party I think I should havea care for its honor too. "

The time was passing. It was not to discuss politics that he had gone toWaupegan. 

"Come, " he said. "Let's find a canoe and get out under the stars. "

Sylvia went for a wrap, and they had soon embarked, skimming along insilence for a time till they were free of the shores. There was no moon, but the stars shone brilliantly; a fitful west wind scarcely ruffled thewater. Along the deep-shadowed shores the dock lanterns twinkled, andabove and beyond them the lamps of the cottages flashed and vanished. Dan paddled steadily with a skilled, splashless stroke. The paddle sanknoiselessly and rose to the accompaniment of a tinkling drip as thecanoe parted the waters. There is nothing like a canoe flight understars to tranquilize a troubled and perplexed spirit, and Dan was soonwon to the mood he sought. It seemed to him that Sylvia, enfolded in thesilvery-dim dusk in the bow, was a part of the peace of sky and water. They were alone, away from the strifes and jars of the world, shut intogether as completely as though they had been flung back for unreckonedages into a world of unbroken calm. The peace that Wordsworth sought andsang crept into their blood, and each was sensible that the other knewand felt it and that it was grateful to them both. 

Sylvia spoke, after a time, of immaterial things, or answered hisquestions as to the identity of the constellations mapped in the cleararch above. 

"I dream sometimes of another existence, " she said, "as I suppose everyone does, when I knew a quiet lake that held the stars as this does. Ieven think I remember how it looked in winter, with the ice gleaming inthe moonlight, and of snow coming and the keen winds piling it indrifts. It's odd, isn't it? those memories we have that are notmemories. The metempsychosis idea must have some substance. We have allbeen somebody else sometime, and we clutch at the shadows of our oldselves, hardly believing they are shadows. "

"It's a good deal a matter of imagination, isn't it?" asked Dan, idlingwith the paddle. 

"Oh, but I haven't a bit of that. That's one thing I'm not troubledwith, and I'm sorry for it. When I look up at the stars I think of themost hideous formula for calculating their distances from the earth. When I read in a novel that it was a night of stars, I immediatelywonder what particular stars. It used to make dear Grandfather Keltonfuriously indignant to find a moon appearing in novels contrary to thealmanac; he used to check up all the moons, and he once thought ofwriting a thesis on the 'Erroneous Lunar Calculations of RecentNovelists, ' but decided that it didn't really make any difference. Andof course it doesn't. "

As they discussed novels new and old, he drew in his paddle and creptnearer her. It seemed to him that all the influences of earth and heavenhad combined to create this hour for him. To be talking to her of booksthat interpreted life and of life itself was in itself something sweet;he wished such comradeship as this, made possible by their commoninterests in the deep, surging currents of the century in which theylived, to go on forever. 

Their discussion of Tolstoy was interrupted by the swift flight of amotor boat that passed near, raising a small sea, and he seized thepaddle to steady the canoe. Then silence fell upon them. 

"Sylvia" he said softly, and again, "Sylvia!" It seemed to him that thesilence and the beauty of the night were his ally, communicating to herinfinite longings hidden in his heart which he had no words to express. "I love you, Sylvia; I love you. I came up to-night to tell you that. "

"Oh, Dan, you mustn't say it--you must never say it!"

The canoe seemed to hang between water and stars, a motionless argosy ina sea of dreams. 

"I wanted to tell you before you came away, " he went on, not heeding; "Ihave wanted to tell you for a long time. I want you to marry me. I wantyou to help me find the good things; I want you to help me to stand forthem. You came just when I needed you; you have already changed me, madea different man of me. It was through you that I escaped from my oldself that was weak and yielding, and I shall do better; yes, I shallprove to you that I am not so weak but that I can strive and achieve. Every word you ever spoke to me is written on my heart. I need you, Sylvia!"

"You're wrong, you're terribly wrong about all that; and it isn't fairto let you say such things. Please, Dan! I hoped this would nevercome--that we should go on as we have been, good friends, talking as wewere a while ago of the fine things, the great things. And it will haveto be that way--there can be nothing else. "

"But I will do my best, Sylvia! I'm not the man you knew first; youhelped me to see the light. Without you I shall fall into the darkagain. I had to tell you, Sylvia. It was inevitable that I should tellyou; I wonder I kept it to myself so long. Without you I should goadrift--no bearings, no light anywhere. "

"You found yourself, Dan; that was the way of it. I saw it andappreciated it--it meant more to me than I can tell you. I knew exactlyhow it was that you started as you did; it was part of your fate; but itmade possible the finer thing. It's nothing in you or what you've doneor may do. But I have my own work to do. I have cut a pattern for my ownlife, and I must try to follow it. I think you understand about that--Itold you that night when we talked of our aims and hopes on the campusat Montgomery that I wanted to do something for the world. And I muststill go on trying to do that. It's a poor, tiny little gleam; but Imust follow the gleam. "

"But there's nothing in that that we can't do together. We can go onseeking it together, " he pleaded. 

"I hope it may be so. We must go on being the good friends we are now. You and Aunt Sally are all I have--the best I have. I can't let youspoil that, " she ended firmly, as though, after all, this were the oneimportant thing. 

There was nothing here, he reasoned, that might not be overcome. Thework that she had planned to do imposed no barrier. Men and women werefinding out the joy of striving together; she need give up nothing injoining her life to his. He touched the hand that lay near and thrilledto the contact of her lingers. 

"Please, Dan!" she pleaded, drawing her hand away. "I mean to go on withmy life as I have begun it. I shall never marry, Dan, --marriage isn't inmy plan at all. But for you the right woman will come some day--I hopeso with all my heart. We must understand all this now. And I must besure, oh, very sure, that you know how dear it is to have had you saythese things to me. "

"But I shall say them again and always, Sylvia! This was only thebeginning; I had to speak to-night; I came here to say these things toyou. I am able to care for you now--not as I should like to, but I'mgoing to succeed. I want to ease the way for you; I mean that youmustn't go back to teaching this fall!"

"There, you see"--and he knew she smiled in her patient, sweet way thatwas dear to him--"you want to stop my work before it's begun! You seehow impossible it would be, Dan!"

"But you can do other things; there are infinite ways in which you canbe of use, doing the things you want to do. The school work is only ahandicap, --drudgery that leads to nothing. "

He knew instantly that he had erred; and that he must give her noopportunity to defend her attitude toward her work. He returned quicklyto his great longing and need. 

"Without you I'm a failure, Sylvia. If it hadn't been for you I shouldnever have freed myself of that man over there!" And he lifted his armtoward the lights of the Bassett landing on the nearer shore. 

"No; you would have saved yourself in any case; there's no questioningthat. You were bound to do it. And it wasn't the man; it was the baseservitude that you came to despise. "

"Not without you! It was your attitude toward me, after that cheap pieceof melodrama I figured in in that convention, that brought me up with ashort turn. It all came through you--my wish to measure up to yourideal. "

"That's absurd, Dan. If I believed that I should think much less of you;I really should!" she exclaimed. "It was something finer and higher thanthat; it was your own manhood asserting itself. That man over there, "she went on more quietly, "is an object of pity. He's beset on manysides. It hurt him to lose you. He's far from happy. "

"He has no claim upon happiness; he doesn't deserve happiness, " repliedDan doggedly. 

"But the break must have cost you something; haven't you missed him justa little bit?"

It was clear from her tone that she wished affirmation of this. Thereference to his former employer angered him. He had been rejoicing inhis escape from Morton Bassett, and yet Sylvia spoke of him withtolerance and sympathy. The Bassetts were coolly using her to extricatethemselves from the embarrassments resulting from their own folly; itwas preposterous that they should have sent Sylvia to bring Marian home. And his rage was intensified by the recollection of the pathos he hadhimself felt in Bassett that very evening, as he had watched him mountthe steps of his home. Sylvia was causing the old chords to vibrate withfull knowledge that, in spite of his avowed contempt for the man, MortonBassett still roused his curiosity and interest. It was unfair forSylvia to take advantage of this. 

"Bassett's nothing to me, " he said roughly. 

"He seems to me the loneliest soul I ever knew, " replied Sylvia quietly. 

"He deserves it; he's brought himself to that. "

"I don't believe he's altogether evil. There must be good in him. "

"It's because he's so evil that you pity him; it's because of that thatI'm sorry for him. It's because we know that he must be broken upon thewheel before he realizes the vile use he has made of his power that weare sorry for him. Why, Sylvia, he's the worst foe we have--all of uswho want to do what we call the great things--ease the burdens of thepoor, make government honest, catch the gleam we seek! Even poor Allen, when he stands on the Monument steps at midnight and spouts to me aboutthe Great Experiment, feels what Morton Bassett can't be made to feel. "

"But he may yet see it; even he may come to see it, " murmured Sylvia. 

"He's a hard, stubborn brute; it's in the lines of his back--I wasstudying him on the boat this evening, and my eyes followed him up thesteps after they dropped him at his dock. It's in those strong, ironhands of his. I tell you, what we feel for him is only the kind of pitywe have for those we know to be doomed by the gods to an ignominiousend. He's not worth our pity. He asks no mercy and he won't get any. "

He was at once ashamed of the temper to which he had yielded, and angryat himself for having broken the calm of the night with these discordantnotes. Sylvia's hand touched the water caressingly, waking tiny ripples. 

"Sylvia, " he said when he was calm again, "I want you to marry me. "

"I have told you, Dan, that I can never marry any one; and that must bethe end of it. "

"But your work can go on--" he began, ready for another assault uponthat barrier. 

A sailboat loitering in the light wind had stolen close upon them, andpassed hardly a paddle's length away. Dan, without changing hisposition, drove the canoe toward the shore with a few strokes of thepaddle, then steadied himself to speak again. Sylvia's eyes watched thesails vanishing like ghosts into the dark. 

"That won't do, Sylvia: that isn't enough. You haven't said that youdon't care for me; you haven't said that you don't love me! And I can'tbelieve that your ambitions alone are in the way. Believe me, that Irespect them; I should never interfere with them. There must be someother reason. I can't take no for an answer; this night was made for us;no other night will ever be just like this. Please, dear, if there areother reasons than my own poor spirit and the little I can offer, let meknow it. If you don't care, it will be kinder to say it now! If that isthe reason--even if there's some other man--let me know it now. Tell mewhat it is, Sylvia!"

It was true that she had not said she did not care. Her silence now atthe direct question stirred new fears to life in his breast, like thebeat of startled wings from a thicket in November. 

Only the lights of the sailboat were visible now, but suddenly a girl'svoice rose clear and sweet, singing to the accompaniment of guitar andmandolin. The guitar throbbed; and on its deep chords the mandolin woveits melody. The voice seemed to steal out of the heart of the night andfloat over the still waters. The unseen singer never knew the mockery ofthe song she sang. It was an old song and the air was one familiar theworld round. And it bore the answer to Dan's question which Sylvia hadcarried long in her heart, but could not speak. She did not speak itthen; it was ordained that she should never speak it. And Dan knew andunderstood. 

 "Who is Sylvia, what is she, That all the swains adore her?"

"_Who is Sylvia_?" Dan knew in that hour the answer of tears!

The song ceased. When Dan saw Sylvia's head lift, he silently took thepaddle and impelled the canoe toward the red, white, and blue lanternsthat defined Mrs. Owen's landing. They were within a hundred yards ofthe intervening green light of the Bassett dock when a brilliant meteordarted across the zenith, and Dan's exclamation broke the tension. Their eyes turned toward the heavens--Sylvia's still bright with tears, Dan knew, though he could not see her face. 

"Poor lost star!" she murmured softly. 

Dan was turning the canoe slightly to avoid the jutting shore that madea miniature harbor at the Bassett's when Sylvia uttered a low warning. Dan, instantly alert, gripped his paddle and waited. Some one hadlaunched a canoe at the Bassett boathouse. There was a stealthiness inthe performance that roused him to vigilance. He cautiously backed waterand waited. A word or two spoken in a low tone reached Dan and Sylvia:two persons seemed to be embarking. 

A canoe shot out suddenly from the dock, driven by a confident hand. 

"It must be Marian; but there's some one with her, " said Sylvia. 

Dan had already settled himself in the stern ready for a race. 

"It's probably that idiot Allen, " he growled. "We must follow them. "

Away from the shore shadows the starlight was sufficient to confirmDan's surmise as to the nature of this canoe flight. It was quite teno'clock, and the lights in the Bassett house on the bluff above had beenextinguished. It was at once clear to Dan that he must act promptly. Allen, dismayed by the complications that beset his love-affair, hadproposed an elopement, and Marian had lent a willing ear. 

"They're running away, Sylvia; we've got to head them off. " He bent tohis paddle vigorously. "They can't possibly get away. "

But it was not in Marian's blood to be thwarted in her pursuit ofadventure. She was past-mistress of the canoeist's difficult art, andher canoe flew on as though drawn away into the dark on unseen cords. 

"You'd better lend a hand, " said Dan, and Sylvia turned round and knelt, paddling Indian fashion. The canoe skimmed the water swiftly. It was intheir thoughts that Marian and Allen must not land at Waupegan, wheretheir intentions would be advertised to the world. The race must endbefore the dock was reached. At the end of a quarter of an hour Dancalled to Sylvia to cease paddling. 

"We've passed them; there's no doubt of that, " he said, peering into thedark. 

"Maybe they're just out for fun and have turned back, " suggested Sylvia. 

"I wish I could think so. More likely they're trying to throw us off. Let's check up for a moment and see if we hear them again. "

He kept the canoe moving slowly while they listened for some sign of thelost quarry. Then suddenly they heard a paddle stroke behind them, andan instant later a canoe's bow brushed their craft as lightly as a handpassing across paper. Dan threw himself forward and grasped the sidesfirmly; there was a splashing and wobbling as he arrested the flight. Acanoe is at once the most docile and the most intractable of argosies. Sylvia churned the water with her paddle, seeking to crowd the rockingcanoes closer together, while Marian endeavored to drive them apart. 

"Allen!" panted Dan, prone on the bottom of his canoe and gripping thethwarts of the rebellious craft beside him, "this must end here. "

"Let us go!" cried Allen stridently. "This is none of your business. Letus go, I say. "

Finding it impossible to free her canoe, Marian threw down her paddleangrily. They were all breathless; Dan waited till the canoes rodetogether quietly. Sylvia had brought an electric lamp which Dan nowflashed the length of the captive canoe. It searched the anxious, angryfaces of the runaways, and disclosed two suit cases that told their ownstory. 

"I told you to keep away from here, Allen. You can't do this. It won'tdo, " said Dan, snapping off the light; "you're going home with us, Marian. "

"I won't go back; you haven't any right to stop me!"

"You haven't any right to run away in this fashion, " said Sylvia, speaking for the first time. "You would cause endless trouble. It's notthe way to do it. "

"But it's the only way out, " stormed Allen. "There's no other way. Dantold me himself I couldn't speak to Mr. Bassett, and this is the onlything we could do. "

"Will you kindly tell me just what you intended doing?" asked Dan, stillgripping the canoe. 

"I'd spoken to the minister here in the village. Marian was going tospend the night at his house and we were to be married in the morningas soon as I could get a license. "

"You can't get a marriage license in Waupegan; your minister ought toknow that. "

"No; but we could have driven over early to the county seat and got it;I tell you I had it all fixed. You let go of that canoe!"

"Stand by, Sylvia, " said Dan with determination. 

He steadied himself a moment, stepped into Marian's canoe, and caught upher paddle. 

"Wait here, Sylvia. I'm going to land Allen over there at that dock withthe two white lights, and I'll come back with Marian and we'll take herhome. Flash the light occasionally so I shan't lose you. "

A few minutes later when Allen, sulky and breathing dire threats, hadbeen dropped ashore, Harwood paddled Marian home, Sylvia trailingbehind. 

It was near midnight when Sylvia, having hidden Marian's suit case inMrs. Owen's boathouse, watched the tearful and wrathful Juliet stealback into her father's house. 

Allen lodged at the inn with Dan that night and, duly urged not to makea fool of himself again, went home by the morning train. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE KING HATH SUMMONED HIS PARLIAMENT

The Great Seal of the Hoosier Commonwealth, depicting a sturdy pioneerfelling a tree while behind him a frightened buffalo gallops madly intooblivion, was affixed to a proclamation of the governor convening thelegislature in special session on the 20th of November. It was MortonBassett's legislature, declared, the Republican press, brought back tothe capital to do those things which it had left undone at the regularsession. The Democratic newspapers proved conclusively that the demandsof the state institutions said to be in dire need were the fruit of along period of Republican extravagance, for which the Democratic Party, always prone to err on the side of frugality, was in no wiseresponsible. The Republican governor had caused the legislative halls tobe reopened merely to give a false impression of Democraticincompetence, but in due season the people would express their opinionof that governor. So reasoned loyal Democrats. Legislatures are notcheap, taken at their lowest valuation, and a special session, costingsomething like one hundred thousand of the people's dollars, is anextravagance before which a governor may well hesitate. This particularconvocation of the Hoosier lawmakers, summoned easily enough by astroke of the pen, proved to be expensive in more ways than one. 

On the third day of the special session, when the tardiest member, hailing from the remote fastnesses of Switzerland County, was justfinding his seat, and before all the others had drawn their stationeryand registered a generous computation of their mileage, somethinghappened. The bill for an act entitled an act to lift the lid of thetreasure chests was about to be read for the first time when a pagecarried a telegram to Morton Bassett in the senate chamber. 

Senator Bassett read his message once and again. His neighbors on thefloor looked enviously upon the great man who thus received telegramswithout emotion. It seemed, however, to those nearest him, that the bitof yellow paper shook slightly in Bassett's hand The clerk droned on toan inattentive audience. Bassett put down the telegram, looked about, and then got upon his feet. The lieutenant-governor, yawning and idlyplaying with his gavel, saw with relief that the senator from Fraserwished to interrupt the proceedings. 

"Mr. President. "

"The senator from Fraser. "

"Mr. President, I ask leave to interrupt the reading of the bill to makean announcement. "

"There being no objection, the senator will make his announcement. "

Senators who had been smoking in the cloakroom, or talking to friendsoutside the railing, became attentive. The senator from Fraser waslittle given to speech, and it might be that he meant at this time toindicate the attitude of the majority toward the appropriations asked bythe governor. In any event, it was always wise to listen to anythingMorton Bassett had to say. 

The senator was unusually deliberate. Even when he had secured theundivided attention of the chamber he picked up the telegram and read itthrough again, as though to familiarize himself with its contents. 

"Mr. President, I have just received the following message from apersonal friend in Washington: 'The Honorable Roger B. Ridgefield, United States Senator from Indiana, while on a hunting trip inChesapeake Bay with a party of Baltimore friends, died suddenly thismorning. The death occurred at a point remote from the telegraph. Noparticulars have yet been received at Washington. ' It is with profoundsorrow, Mr. President, that I make this announcement. Though SenatorRidgefield had long been my political antagonist, he had also been, formany years, a valued personal friend. The Republican Party has lost oneof its great leaders, and the State of Indiana a son to whom men of allparties have given their ungrudging admiration. Mr. President, I movethat the senate do now adjourn to meet at ten o'clock to-morrowmorning. "

Even before the motion could be put, Bassett was passing about among thedesks. The men he spoke to nodded understandingly. A mild, subduedexcitement reigned in the chamber. It flashed through the mind of everyDemocratic member that that death in the Chesapeake had brought a crisisin the war between Bassett and Thatcher. In due course the assembly, convened in joint session, would mourn decorously the death of astatesman who had long and honorably represented the old Hoosier Statein the greatest tribunal on earth; and his passing would be feelinglyreferred to in sonorous phrases as an untoward event, a deplorable andirreparable loss to the commonwealth. To Republicans, however, it was apiece of stupendous ill-luck that the Senator should have indulged inthe childish pastime of duck shooting at an inconvenient season when theDemocratic majority in the general assembly would be able to elect asuccessor to complete his term of office. 

When the gavel fell, adjourning the senate, gentlemen were alreadyseeking in the Federal Constitution for the exact language of thesection bearing upon this emergency. If the Republican governor had notso gayly summoned the legislature he might have appointed a Senator ofhis own political faith to serve until the next regular session, following the elections a year hence. It was ungenerous and disloyal ofRoger B. Ridgefield to have taken himself out of the world in thisabrupt fashion. Before the first shock had passed, there were thoseabout the State House who, scanning the newspaper extras, were sayingthat a secret fondness for poker and not an enthusiasm for ducks had ledthe Honorable Roger B. Ridgefield to the remote arm of the Chesapeake, where he had been the guest of a financier whose influence in the upperhouse of Congress was notoriously pernicious. This did not, however, alter the immediate situation. The language of the Federal and StateConstitutions was all too explicit for the Republican minority; it wasonly in recess that a governor might fill a vacancy; and beyond doubtthe general assembly was in town, lawfully brought from the farm, thedesk, the mine, and the factory, as though expressly to satisfy thegreed for power of a voracious Democracy. 

Groups of members were retiring to quiet corners to discuss the crisis. Bassett had already designated a committee room where he would meet hisfollowers and stanch adherents. Thatcher men had gone forth to seektheir chief. The Democrats would gain a certain moral strength throughthe possession of a Senator in Congress. The man chosen to fill thevacancy would have an almost irresistible claim upon the senatorship ifthe Democrats should control the next legislature. It was worth fightingfor, that dead man's seat!

The full significance of the news was not wasted upon RepresentativeHarwood. The house adjourned promptly, and Dan hastened to writetelegrams. He wired Colonel Ramsay, of Aurora, to come to the capital onthe first train. Telegrams went flying that afternoon to every part ofIndiana. 

Thatcher read the evening papers in Chicago and kept the wires hot whilehe waited for the first train for Indianapolis. 

One of his messages, addressed to Harwood, read:

 "Breakfast with me to-morrow morning at my house. Strictly private. This is your big chance. "

Harwood, locked in his office in the Law Building, received this messageby telephone, and it aroused his ire. His relations with Thatcher didnot justify that gentleman in tendering him a strictly privatebreakfast, nor did he relish having a big chance pointed out to him byMr. Thatcher. It cannot be denied that Dan, too, felt that SenatorRidgefield had chosen a most unfortunate season for exposing himself tothe ravages of the pneumococcus. He kept away from the State House andhotels that evening, having decided to take no part in the preliminaryskirmishes until he had seen Ramsay, who would bring a cool head and atrained hand to bear upon this unforeseen situation. 

He studied the newspapers as he ate breakfast alone at the UniversityClub early the next morning. The "Advertiser" had neatly divided itsfirst page between the Honorable Roger B. Ridgefield, dead in a farcountry, and the Honorable Morton Bassett, who, it seemed, was very muchalive at the Hoosier capital. A double column headline conveyed thisintelligence:--

 BASSETT IS HIMSELF AGAIN

Harwood, nibbled his toast and winnowed the chaff of speculation fromthe grains of truth in this article. He had checked off the names of allthe Bassett men in both houses of the assembly, and listed Thatcher'ssupporters and the doubtful members. Bassett would undoubtedly make astrong showing in a caucus, but whether he would be able to command amajority remained to be seen. There were men among the doubtful whowould be disposed to favor Thatcher because he had driven a wedge intothe old Bassett stone wall. No one else had ever succeeded in imperilingthe security of that impregnable stronghold. The thought of this madeHarwood uncomfortable. It was unfortunate from every standpoint that thelegislature should be called upon to choose a Senator without the usualtime for preparation. Dan had already been struck by the general air ofirresponsibility that prevailed among the legislators. Many of themembers had looked upon the special session as a lark; they seemed tofeel that their accountability to their constituents had ended with theregular session. 

The "Courier, " Dan observed, printed an excellent biographical sketch ofthe dead Senator, and its news article on the Democratic opportunity wasseemly and colorless. The state and federal statutes bearing upon theemergency were quoted in full, but the names of Bassett and Thatcher didnot appear, nor were any possible successors to Ridgefield mentioned. Dan opened to the editorial page, and was not surprised to find theleading article a dignified eulogy of the dead Senator. Then his eyefastened upon an article so placed that it dominated the whole page. Itwas the old "Stop, Look, Listen!" editorial, reproduced with minutecitation of the date of original publication. 

Dan flinched as though a cupful of ice water had struck him in the face. Whatever scandalous knowledge touching Bassett's public or private lifeThatcher might possess, it was plain that Bassett was either ignorant ofit or knew and did not fear exposure. In either event, the republicationof the "Stop, Look, Listen!" article was an invitation to battle. 

It was in no happy frame of mind that Harwood awaited the coming ofRamsay. 

CHAPTER XXXI

SYLVIA ASKS QUESTIONS

The Wares had asked Sylvia to dine with them on Friday evening afortnight later, and Harwood was to call for her at the minister's atnine o'clock. Sylvia went directly to the Wares' from school, and onreaching the house learned that Mrs. Ware had not come home and that theminister was engaged with a caller in the parlor. Sylvia, who knew theways of the house well, left her wraps in the hall and made herselfcomfortable in the study, that curious little room that was never freefrom the odor of pipe smoke, and where an old cavalry sabre hung abovethe desk upon which in old times many sermons had been written. Asaddle, a fishing-rod, and a fowling-piece dwelt together harmoniouslyin one corner, and over the back of a chair hung a dilapidated corduroycoat. 

It had been whispered in orthodox circles that Ware had amused himselfone winter after his retirement by profanely feeding his theologicallibrary into the furnace. However true this may be, few authors wererepresented in his library, and these were as far as possible compressedin one volume. Shakespeare, Milton, Emerson, Arnold, and Whittier werealways ready to his hand; and he kept a supply of slender volumes ofSill's "Poems" in a cupboard in the hall and handed them outdiscriminatingly to his callers. The house was the resort of many youngpeople, some of them children of Ware's former parishioners, and he wasmuch given to discussing books with them; or he would readaloud--"Sohrab and Rustum, " Lowell's essay on Lincoln, or favoritechapters from "Old Curiosity Shop"; or again, it might be a reviewarticle on the social trend or a fresh view of an old economic topic. The Wares' was the pleasantest of small houses and after Mrs. Owen's theplace sought oftenest by Sylvia. 

"There's a gentleman with Mr. Ware: he's been here a long time, " saidthe maid, lingering to lay a fresh stick of wood on the grate fire. 

Sylvia, warming her hands at the blaze, heard the faint blur of voicesfrom the parlor. She surveyed the room with the indifference offamiliarity, glanced at a new magazine, and then sat down at the deskand picked up a book she had never noticed before. She was surprised tofind it a copy of "Society and Solitude" that did not match thewell-thumbed set of Emerson--one of the few "sets" Ware owned. Shepassed her hand over the green covers, that were well worn and scratchedin places. The fact that the minister boasted in his humorous way ofnever wasting money on bindings caused Sylvia to examine this volumewith an attention she would not have given it in any other house. On thefly leaf was written in pencil, in Ware's rough, uneven hand, aninscription which covered the page, with the last words cramped in thelower corner. These were almost illegible, but Sylvia felt her waythrough them slowly, and then turned to the middle of the book quicklywith an uncomfortable sense of having read a private memorandum of theminister's. The margins of his books she knew were frequently scribbledover with notes that meant nothing whatever to any one but Ware himself. After a moment her eyes sought again irresistibly the inscription. Shere-read it slowly:--

 "The way of peace they know not; and there is no judgment in their goings; they have made them crooked paths; whosoever goeth therein shall not know peace. Tramping in Adirondacks. Baptized Elizabeth at Harris's. "

It was almost like eavesdropping to come in this way upon that curiouslyabrupt Ware-like statement of the minister's: "Tramping in Adirondacks. Baptized Elizabeth at Harris's. "

The discussion in the parlor had become heated, and occasionally wordsin a voice not Ware's reached Sylvia distinctly. Some one wasalternately beseeching and threatening the minister. It was clear fromthe pauses in which she recognized Ware's deep tones that he wasyielding neither to the importunities nor the threats of his blusteringcaller. Sylvia had imagined that the storms of life had passed over theretired clergyman, and she was surprised that such an interview shouldbe taking place in his house. She was about to retreat to thedining-room to be out of reach of the voices when the parlor door openedabruptly and Thatcher appeared, with anger unmistakably showing in hisface, and apparently disposed to resume in the hall the discussion whichthe minister had terminated in the library. Thatcher seemed balder andmore repellent than when she had first seen him on the floor of theconvention hall on the day Harwood uttered Bassett's defiance. Sylviarose with the book still in her hand and walked to the end of the room;but any one in the house might have heard what Thatcher was saying. 

"That's the way with you preachers; you talk about clean politics, andwhen we get all ready to clean out a bad man, you duck; you're a lot ofcowardly dodgers. I tell you, I don't want you to say a word or figurein this thing at all; but you give me that book and I'll scare MortBassett out of town. I'll scare him clean out of Indiana, and he'llnever show his head again. Why, Ware, I've been counting on it, thatwhen you saw we were in a hole and going to lose, you'd come down fromyour high horse and help me out. I tell you, there's no doubt about it;that woman's the woman I'm looking for! I guessed it the night you toldthat story up there in the house-boat. "

"Quit this business, Ed, " the minister was saying; "I'm an old friend ofyours. But I won't budge an inch. I'd never breathed a word of thatstory before and I shouldn't have told it that night. It was so far backthat I thought it was safe. But your idea that Bassett had anything todo with that is preposterous. Your hatred of him has got the better ofyou, my friend. Drop it: forget it. If you can't whip him fair, let himwin. "

"Not much I won't; but I didn't think you'd go back on me; I thoughtbetter of you than that!"

Thatcher strode to the door and went out, slamming it after him. 

The minister peered into the library absently, and then, surprised tofind Sylvia, advanced to meet her, smiling gravely. He took both herhands, and held them, looking into her face. 

"What's this you've been reading? Ah, that book!" The volume slippedinto his hands and he glanced at it, frowning impatiently. "Poor littlebook. I ought to have burned it years ago; and I ought to have learnedby this time to keep my mouth shut. They've always said I look like anIndian, but an Indian never tells anything. I've told just one story toomany. _Mea maxima culpa!_"

He sat down in the big chair beside his desk, placed the book withinreach, and kept touching it as he talked. 

"I saw Mr. Thatcher, " said Sylvia. "He seemed very much aroused. Icouldn't help hearing a word now and then. "

"That's all right, Sylvia. I've known Thatcher for years, and last fallI went up to his house-boat on the Kankakee for a week's shooting. Allenand Dan Harwood were the rest of the party--and I happened to tell thestory of this little book--an unfinished story. We ought never to tellstories until they are finished. And it seems that Thatcher, with a zealworthy of a better cause, has been raking up the ashes of an old affairof Bassett's with a woman, and he's trying to hitch it on to the story Itold him about this book. He says by shaking this at Bassett he canpersuade him that he's got enough ammunition to blow him out of thewater. But I don't believe a word of it; I won't believe such a thing ofMorton Bassett. And even if I did, Thatcher can't have that book. I oweit to the woman whose baby I baptized up there in the hills to keep it. And the woman may be living, too, for all I know. I think of her prettyoften. She was game; wouldn't tell anything. If a man had deceived hershe stood by him. Whatever she was--I know she was not bad, not a bit ofit--the spirit of the hills had entered into her--and those arecleansing airs up there. I suppose it all made the deeper impression onme because I was born up there myself. When I strike Adirondacks inprint I put down my book and think a while. It's a picture word. Itbrings back my earliest childhood as far as I can remember. I call wordsthat make pictures that way moose words; they jump up in your memorylike a scared moose in a thicket and crash into the woods like a cavalrycharge. I can remember things that happened when I was three years old:one day father shot a deer in our cornfield and I recall it perfectly. The general atmosphere of the old place steals over me yet. The verythought of the pointed spruces, the feathery tamaracks, all the scentsand sounds of summer, and the long, white winters, does my soul goodnow. The old Hebrews understood the effect of landscape on character. They knew most everything, those old chaps. 'I will lift up mine eyesunto the hills from whence cometh my help. ' Any strength there is in medates back to the hills of my youth. I'd like to go back there to diewhen the bugle calls. "

Mrs. Ware had not yet come in. Ware lighted the lamp and freshened thefire. While he was doing this, Sylvia moved to a chair by the table andpicked up the book. What Ware had said about the hills of his youth, thewoods, the word tamarack that he had dropped carelessly, touched chordsof memory as lightly as a breeze vibrates a wind harp. Was this merelyher imagination that had been stirred, or was it indeed a recollection?Often before she had been moved by similar vague memories or longings, whatever they were. They had come to trouble her girlhood at Montgomery, when the snow whitened the campus and the wind sang in the trees. Shewas grateful that the minister had turned his back. Her hands trembledas she glanced again at the scribbled fly leaf; and more closely at thewords penciled at the bottom: "Baptized Elizabeth at Harris's. " Thatcherwanted this book to use against Bassett. Bassett was a collector of finebindings; she had heard it spoken of in the family. It was part ofMarian's pride in her father that he was a bookish man. When theminister returned to his seat Sylvia asked as she put down the book:--

"Who was Elizabeth?"

And then, little by little, in his abrupt way, he told the story, muchas he had told it that night on the Kankakee, with pauses for whichSylvia was grateful--they gave her time for thought, for filling in thelapses, for visualizing the scene he described. And the shadow of theMorton Bassett she knew crept into the picture. She recalled their earlymeetings, that first brief contact on the shore of the lake; their talkon the day following the convention when she had laughed at him; thatwet evening when they met in the street and he had expressed hisinterest in Harwood and the hope that she might care for the younglawyer. With her trained habits of reasoning she rejected this or thatbit of testimony as worthless; but even then enough remained to chillher heart. Her hands were cold as she clasped them together. Who wasElizabeth? Ah, who was Sylvia? The phrase of the song that had broughther to tears that starry night on the lake when Dan Harwood had askedher to marry him smote her again. Her grandfather's evasion of herquestions about her father and mother, and the twinges of heartache shehad experienced at college when other girls spoke of their homes, assumed now for the first time a sinister meaning. Had she, indeed, comeinto the world in dishonor, and had she in truth known that far hillcountry, with its evergreens and glistening snows?

Ware had finished his story, and sat staring into the crackling fire. Atlast he turned toward Sylvia. In the glow of the desk lamp her face waswhite, and she gazed with unseeing eyes at the inscription in the book. 

The silence was still unbroken when a few minutes later Mrs. Ware camein with Harwood, whom she had met in the street and brought home todinner. 

Dan was full of the situation in the legislature, and the table talkplayed about that topic. 

"We're sparring for time, that's all, and the people pay the freight!The deadlock is clamped on tight. I never thought Thatcher would proveso strong. I think we could shake loose enough votes from both sides toprecipitate a stampede for Ramsay, but he won't hear to it. He says hewants to do the state one patriotic service before he dies by cleaningout the bosses, and he doesn't want to spoil the record by taking thesenatorship himself. Meanwhile Bassett stands fast and there's notelling when he'll break through Thatcher's lines. "

"Thatcher was here to see me to-day--the third time. He won't come back. You know what he's after?" said Ware. 

"Yes; I understand, " Dan answered. 

"There won't be anything of that kind, will there, Dan?"

Dan shrugged his shoulders, and glanced at Sylvia and Mrs. Ware. 

"Mrs. Ware knows about it; I had to tell her, " remarked the minister, chuckling. "When Ed Thatcher makes two calls on me in one week, and oneof them at midnight, there's got to be an explanation. And Sylvia heardhim raving before I showed him out this afternoon. "

Sylvia's plate was untouched; her eyes searched those of the man wholoved her before she spoke. 

"That's an ethical point, Mr. Ware. If it were necessary to usethat, --if every other resource failed, --would you use it?"

"No! Not if Bassett's success meant the utter destruction of the state. I don't believe a word of it. I haven't the slightest confidence inThatcher's detective work, and the long arm of coincidence has to graspsomething firmer than my pitiful little book to convince me. "

Dan shook his head. 

"He doesn't need the book, Mr. Ware. I've seen the documents in thecase. Most of the evidence is circumstantial, but you remember what yourfriend Thoreau said about circumstantial evidence--something to theeffect that it's sometimes pretty convincing, as when you find a troutin the milk. "

"But has Thatcher found the trout?"

"Well, no; he hasn't exactly found the trout, but there's enough, there's altogether too much!" ended Dan despairingly. "The caucusdoesn't meet again till to-morrow night, when Thatcher promises to showhis hand. I'm going to put in the time trying to persuade Ramsay to comeround. "

"You might take it yourself, Dan, " suggested Mrs. Ware. 

"Oh, I'm not eligible; I'm a little shy of being old enough! Andbesides, I couldn't allow Ramsay to prove himself a better patriot thanI am. There are plenty of fellows who have no such scruples, and we'vegot to look out or Bassett will shift suddenly to some man of his own ifhe finds he can't nominate himself. "

"But do you think he has any idea what Thatcher has up his sleeve?"asked Ware. 

"It's possible; I dare say he knows it. He's always been master of theart of getting information from the enemy's camp. But Thatcher has shownremarkable discretion in managing this. He tells me solemnly that nobodyon earth knows his intentions except you, Allen, and me. He's savinghimself for a broadside, and he wants its full dramatic effect. "

Sylvia had hardly spoken during this discussion; but the others lookedat her curiously as she said:--

"I don't think he has it to fire; it's incredible; I don't believe it. "

"Neither do I, Sylvia, " said the minister earnestly. 

The talk at the Wares' went badly that evening. Harwood's mind was onthe political situation. As he sat in the minister's library he knewthat in upper chambers of the State House, and in hotels andboarding-houses, members of the majority in twos and threes, or here andthere a dozen, were speculating and plotting. The deadlock was becomingintolerable. Interest in the result was keen in all parts of thecountry, and the New York and Chicago newspapers had sent specialrepresentatives to watch the fight. Dan was sick of the sight and soundof it. In the strict alignment of factions he had voted with Thatcher, yet he told himself he was not a Thatcher man. He had personallyprojected Ramsay's name one night in the hope of breaking the Bassettphalanx, but the only result was to arouse Thatcher's wrath against him. Bassett's men believed in Bassett. The old superstition as to hisinvulnerability had never more thoroughly possessed the imaginations ofhis adherents. Bassett was not only himself again, but his iron gripseemed tighter than ever He was making the fight of his life, and he wasbeyond question a "game" fighter, the opposition newspapers that mostbitterly opposed Bassett tempered their denunciations with thisconcession Dan fumed at this, such bosses were always game fighters, they had to be, and the readiness of Americans to admire the gameness ofthe Bassetts deepened his hostility. The very use of sportingterminology in politics angered him. In his mind the case was docketednot as Thatcher _versus_ Bassett, but as Thatcher and Bassett _versus_the People. It all came to that. And why should not the People--thepoor, meek, long-suffering People, the "pee-pul" of familiarderision--sometimes win? His pride in the state of his birth was strong;his pride in his party was only second to it. He would serve both if hecould. Not only must Bassett be forever put down, but Thatcher also; andhe assured himself that it was not the men he despised, but thewretched, brutal mediæval system that survived in them. And sopondering, it was no wonder that Dan brought no joy to John Ware'slibrary that night. The minister himself seemed unwontedly preoccupied;Sylvia stared at the fire as though seeking in the flames answers tounanswerable questions. Mrs. Ware sought vainly to bring cheer to thecompany:

Shortly after eight o'clock, Sylvia rose to leave. 

"Aunt Sally got home from Kentucky this afternoon, and I must drop infor a minute, Dan, if you don't mind. "

Sylvia hardly spoke on the way to Mrs. Owen's. Since that night on thelake she had never been the same, or so it seemed to Dan. She had goneback to her teaching, and when they met she talked of her work and ofimpersonal things. Once he had broached the subject of marriage, --soonafter her return to town, --but she had made it quite clear that this wasa forbidden topic. The good comradeship ship and frankness of theirintercourse had passed, and it seemed to his despairing lover's heartthat it could never be regained. She carried her head a little higher;her smile was not the smile of old. He shrank from telling her thatnothing mattered if she cared for him as he believed she did. She gavehim no chance, for one thing, and he had never in his bitterself-communing found any words in which to tell her so. More than everhe needed Sylvia, but Sylvia had locked and barred the doors againsthim. 

Mrs. Owen received them in her office, and the old lady's cheeriness wasgrateful to both of them. 

"So you've been having supper with the Wares, have you, while I ate hereall by myself? A nice way to treat a lone old woman, --leaving me to propthe 'Indiana Farmer' on the coffee pot for company! I had to stay atLexington longer than I wanted to, and some of my Kentucky cousins heldme up in Louisville. I notice, Daniel, that there are some doings at theState House. I must say it was a downright sin for old Ridgefield to goduck shooting at his time of life and die just when we were gettingpolitics calmed down in this state. When I saw that old 'Stop, Look, Listen!' editorial printed like a Thanksgiving proclamation in the'Courier, ' I knew there was trouble. I must speak to Atwill. He'sletting the automobile folks run the paper again. "

She demanded to know when Dan would have time to do some work for her;she had disposed of her Kentucky farm and was going ahead with herscheme for a vocational school to be established at Waupegan. This wasthe first that Dan had heard of this project, and its bearing upon thehopes of the Bassetts as the heirs apparent of Mrs. Owen's estatestartled him. 

"I want you to draw up papers covering the whole business, Daniel, butyou've got to get rid of your legislature first. I thought of a goodname for the school, Sylvia. We'll call it Elizabeth House School, tohitch it on to the boarding-house. I want you and Daniel to go down Eastwith me right after Christmas to look at some more schools where they dothat kind of work. We'll have some fun next spring tearing up the farmand putting up the new buildings. Are Hallie and Marian in town, Sylvia?"

"No, they're at Fraserville, " Sylvia replied. "And I had a note fromBlackford yesterday. He's doing well at school now. "

"Well, I guess you did that for him, Sylvia. I hope they're all gratefulfor that. "

"Oh, it was nothing; and they paid me generously for my work. "

"Humph!" Mrs. Owen sniffed. "Children, there are things in this worldthat a check don't settle. "

There were some matters of business to be discussed. Dan had at lastreceived an offer for the Kelton house at Montgomery, and Mrs. Owenthought he ought to be able to screw the price up a couple of hundreddollars. 

"I'm all ready to close the estate when the sale is completed, " saidDan. "Practically everything will be cleaned up when the house is sold. That Canneries stock that we inventoried as worthless is pretty sure topan out. I've refused to compromise. "

"That's right, Daniel. Don't you compromise that case. This skyrocketfinance is all right for New York, but we can't allow it here in thecountry where folks are mostly square or trying to be. "

"It seems hard to let the house go, " said Sylvia. "It's given Mary ahome and we'll have to find a place for her. "

"Oh, that's all fixed, " remarked Mrs. Owen. "I've got work for her atElizabeth House. She can do the darning and mending. Daniel, have youbrought the papers from Andrew's safety box over here?"

"Yes, Aunt Sally; I did that the last time I was in Montgomery. I wantedto examine the abstract of title and be ready to close this sale if youand Sylvia approved of it. "

"Well, well, " Mrs. Owen said, in one of those irrelevances that adornedher conversation. 

Dan knew what was in her mind. Since that night on Waupegan, blessedforever by Sylvia's tears, the letter found among Professor Kelton'spapers had led him through long, intricate mazes of speculation. It wasthe torn leaf from a book that was worthless without the context; apiece of valuable evidence, but inadmissible unless supported andilluminated by other testimony. 

[Illustration: SYLVIA MUST KNOW JUST WHAT WE KNOW]

Sylvia had been singularly silent, and Mrs. Owen's keen eyes saw thatsomething was amiss. She stopped talking, as much as to say, "Now, ifyou young folks have anything troubling you, now's your time to come outwith it. "

An old clock on the stair landing boomed ten. Mrs. Owen stirredrestlessly. Sylvia, sitting in a low chair by the fire, clasped herhands abruptly, clenched them hard, and spoke, turning her head slowlyuntil her eyes rested upon Dan. 

"Dan, " she asked, "did you ever know--do you know now--what was in theletter you carried to Grandfather Kelton that first time I saw you--thetime I went to find grandfather for you?"

Dan glanced quickly at Mrs. Owen. 

"Answer Sylvia's question, Daniel, " the old lady replied. 

"Yes; I learned later what it was. And Aunt Sally knows. "

"Tell me; tell me what you know about it, " commanded Sylvia gravely, andher voice was clear now. 

Dan hesitated. He rose and stood with his arm resting on the mantel. 

"It's all right, Daniel. Now that Sylvia has asked, she must know justwhat we know, " said Mrs. Owen. 

"The letter was among your grandfather's papers. It was an offer to payfor your education. It was an unsigned letter. "

"But you know who wrote it?" asked Sylvia, not lifting her head. 

"No; I don't know that, " he replied earnestly; "we haven't the slightestidea. "

"But how did you come to be the messenger? Who gave you the letter?" shepersisted quietly. 

"Daniel never told me that, Sylvia. But if you want to know, he musttell you. It might be better for you not to know; you must considerthat. It can make no difference now of any kind. "

"It may make a difference, " said Sylvia brokenly, not lifting her head;"it may make a great deal of difference. That's why I speak of it;that's why I must know!"

"Go on, Daniel; answer Sylvia's question. "

"Mr. Fitch gave it to me. It had been entrusted to him for delivery by apersonal friend or a client: I never knew. He assured me that he had noidea what the letter contained; but he knew of course where it camefrom. He chose me for the errand, I suppose, because I was a new man inthe office, and a comparative stranger in town. I remember that he askedme if I had ever been in Montgomery, as though to be sure I had noacquaintances there. I carried back a verbal answer--which wasstipulated in the letter. The answer was 'No, ' and in what way Mr. Fitchpassed it on to his client I never knew. "

"You didn't tell me those things when we found the letter, Daniel, " saidMrs. Owen reproachfully. 

The old lady opened a drawer, found a chamois skin, and polished herglasses slowly. Dan walked away as though to escape from that figurewith averted face crouching by the fire. But without moving Sylviaspoke again, with a monotonous level of tone, and her question had theempty ring of a lawyer's interrogatory worn threadbare by repetition toa succession of witnesses:--

"At that time was Mr. Bassett among the clients of Wright and Fitch, anddid you ever see him in the office then, or at any time?"

Mrs. Owen closed the drawer deliberately and raised her eyes to Dan'saffrighted gaze. 

"Daniel, you'd better run along now. Sylvia's going to spend the nighthere. "

Sylvia had not moved or spoken again when the outer door closed onHarwood. 

CHAPTER XXXII

"MY BEAUTIFUL ONE"

Miss Farrell was surprised to find her employer already in his officewhen she unlocked the door at eight o'clock the next morning, and hersurprise was increased when Harwood, always punctilious in such matters, ignored the good-morning with which she greeted him. The electric lightsover Dan's desk were burning, a fact not lost upon his stenographer. Itwas apparent that Harwood had either spent the night in his office orhad gone to work before daylight. Rose's eyes were as sharp as her wits, and she recognized at a glance the file-envelopes and papers relating tothe Kelton estate, many of them superscribed in her own hand, that layon Harwood's desk. 

She snapped off the lights with an air that implied reproof, or couldnot have failed of that effect if the man at the desk had been consciousof the act. He was hopelessly distraught and his face appeared no lesspallid in daylight than in the electric glare in which Rose had foundhim. As the girl warmed her hands at the radiator in the reception roomthe telephone chimed cheerily. The telephone provides a welcomecompanionship for the office girl: its importunities and insolences areat once her delight and despair. Rose took down the receiver withrelief. She parleyed guardedly with an unseen questioner and addressedHarwood from the door in the cautious, apologetic tone with which wiseoffice girls break in upon the meditations of their employers. 

"Pardon me, Mr. Harwood. Shall I say you're engaged. It's Mr. Thatcher. "

Dan half-turned and replied with a tameness Rose had not expected. 

"Say what you please, Rose; only I don't want to talk to him or see him, or anybody. "

The clock in the court-house tower boomed nine sombrely. Dan distrustedits accuracy as he distrusted everything in the world that morning. Hewalked listlessly to the window and compared the face of the clock withhis watch. He had thought it must be noon; but the hour of the day didnot matter greatly. 

"It's all right, " said Rose meekly from the door. "I told him you wereprobably at the State House. "

"Whom? Oh, thank you, Rose. " And then, as though to ease her consciencefor this mild mendacity, he added: "I believe I did have an engagementover there at nine. "

"He said--" Rose began warily; and then gave him an opportunity to cuther short. 

"What did he say?"

"Oh, he was hot! He said if you came in before he found you, to say thatif you and Ramsay didn't help him deliver the freight to-day he wouldget action to-morrow; that that's the limit. "

"He said to-morrow, did he? Very well, Rose. That's all. "

Rose, virtuously indexing the letter-book, saw Harwood as he idly rangedthe rooms try the hall door to make sure it was bolted. Then he stood atthe window of his own room, staring at nothing. The telephone chimedcheerfully at intervals. Ramsay sought him; Thatcher had stationed oneof his allies at a telephone booth in the State House corridor to callthe office at regular intervals. Newspaper reporters demanded to knowwhere Harwood could be found; the governor, rankling under the criticismhe had brought upon his party by the special session, wished to seeHarwood to learn when, if possible, the legislature would take itselfhome. To these continual importunities Rose replied in tones ofsurprise, regret, or chagrin, as the individual case demanded, withoutagain troubling her employer. The index completed, she filed papers, smoothed her yellow hair at the wash stand, exchanged fraternal signalswith a girl friend in the office opposite, and read the "Courier's"report of the senatorial struggle with complete understanding of itsintricacies. 

"Rose!"

It was twelve o'clock when Harwood called her. He had brushed aside themass of documents she had noted on her arrival, and a single lettersheet lay before him. Without glancing up he bade her sit down. She hadbrought her notebook prepared to take dictation. He glanced at it andshook his head. The tired, indifferent Harwood she had found at the endof his night vigil had vanished; he was once more the alert, earnestyoung man of action she admired. 

"Rose, I want to ask you some questions. I think you will believe me ifI say that I shouldn't ask them if they were not of importance--of verygreat importance. "

"All right, Mr. Harwood. "

Her eyes had fallen upon the letter and her lids fluttered quickly. Shetouched her pompadour with the back of her hand and tightened the knotof her tie. 

"This is on the dead, Rose. It concerns a lot of people, and it'simportant for me to know the truth. And it's possible that you may notbe able to help; but if you can't the matter ends here. "

He rose and closed the door of his room to shut out the renewed jingleof the telephone. 

"I want you to look at this letter and tell me whether you ever saw itbefore. "

She took it from him, glanced at the first line indifferently, lookedclosely at the paper, and gave it back, shaking her head. 

"We never had anything like that in the office, paper or machine either. That's heavier than the stationery you had over in the BoordmanBuilding, and that's a black ribbon; we've always used purplecopying-ribbons. And that letter wasn't copied; you can tell that. "

"That doesn't answer my question, Rose. I want to know whether you eversaw that letter before. Perhaps you'd better take another look at it. "

"Oh, I can tell any of my work across the street! I don't know anythingabout that letter, Mr. Harwood. "

Her indifference had yielded to respectful indignation. She set herlips firmly, and her blue eyes expressed surprise that her employershould be thus subjecting her to cross-examination. 

"I understand perfectly, Rose, that this is unusual, and that it is notquite on the square. But this is strictly between ourselves. It's on thedead, you understand. "

"Oh, I'd do anything for you that I'd do for anybody, yes, sir--I'd domore: but I refused ten thousand dollars for what I know about whathappened in the Transportation Committee that winter I was its stenog. That's a lot of money; it would take care of me for the rest of my life;and you know Thatcher kept after me until I had to tell him a few thingsI'd do to him if he didn't let me alone. I'll answer your questionstraight, " and she looked him in the eye, "I never saw that letterbefore, and I don't know anything about it. Is that all?"

"To go back again, Rose, " resumed Dan patiently, "not many girls wouldhave the strength to resist a temptation like that, as you did. But thisis a very different case. I need your help, but it isn't for myself thatI'm trying to trace that letter. If it weren't a matter of actual need Ishouldn't trouble you--be sure of that. "

"I always thought you were on the square, but you're asking me to dosomething you wouldn't do yourself. And I've told you again that I don'tknow anything about that letter; I never saw it before. "

She tapped the edge of the desk to hide the trembling of her fingers. The tears shone suddenly in her blue eyes. 

Dan frowned, but the frown was not for Rose. She had already betrayedherself; he was confident from her manner that she knew. The promptdenial of any knowledge of the fateful sheet of paper for which he hadhoped all night had not been forthcoming. But mere assumptions would notserve him; he had walked in darkness too long not to crave the fulllight. The pathos of this girl's loyalty had touched him; her chance inlife had been the slightest, she had been wayward and had erred deeply, and yet there were fastnesses of honor in her soul that remainedunassailable. 

Her agitation distressed him; he had never seen her like this; he missedthe little affectations and the droll retorts that had always amusedhim. She was no longer the imperturbable and ready young woman whoseunwearying sunniness and amazing intuitions had so often helped himthrough perplexities. 

"As a matter of your own honor, Rose, you wouldn't tell me. But if thehonor of some one else--"

She shook her head slowly, and he paused. 

"No, " she said. "I'm only a poor little devil of a stenog and I've beenclear down, --you know that, --but I won't do it. I turned down Thatcher'sten thousand dollars, and I turned it down hard. The more important thatletter is, the less I know about it. I'll go into court and swear Inever saw or heard of it before. I don't know anything about it. If youwant me to quit, it's all right; it's all right, Mr. Harwood. You'vebeen mighty good to me and I hate to go; but I guess I'd better quit. "

He did not speak until she was quite calm again. As a last resource hemust shatter her fine loyalty by an appeal to her gratitude. 

"Rose, if some one you knew well--some one who had been the kindest offriends, and who had lent you a hand when you needed it most--were indanger, and I needed your help to protect--that person--would you tellme?"

Their eyes met; she looked away, and then, as she met his gaze again, her lips parted and the color deepened in her face. 

"You don't mean--" she began. 

"I mean that this is to help me protect a dear friend of yours and ofmine. I shouldn't have told you this if it hadn't been necessary. It'sas hard for me as it is for you, Rose. There's a great deal at stake. Innocent people will suffer if I'm unable to manage this with fullknowledge of all the facts. You think back, six years ago last spring, and tell me whether you have any knowledge, no matter how indefinite, asto where that letter was written. "

"You say, " she began haltingly, "there's a friend of mine that I couldhelp if I knew anything about your letter? You'll have to tell me who itis. "

"I'd rather not do that; I'd rather not mention any names, not even toyou. "

She was drying her eyes with her handkerchief. Her brows knit, she benther head for an instant, and then stared at him in bewilderment andunbelief, and her lips trembled. 

"You don't mean my friend--my beautiful one!--not the one who picked meup out of the dirt--" She choked and her slender frame shook--and thenshe smiled wanly and ended with the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Mybeautiful one, who took me home again and kissed me--she kissed mehere!" She touched her forehead as though the act were part of someritual, then covered her eyes. 

"You don't mean"--she cried out suddenly, --"you don't mean it's that!"

"No; it's not that; far from _that_, " replied Dan sadly, knowing whatwas in her mind. 

He went out and closed the door upon her. He called Mrs. Owen on thetelephone and told her he would be up immediately. Then he went back toRose. 

"It was like this, Mr. Harwood, " said the girl, quite composed again. "Iknew him--pretty well--you know the man I mean. After thatTransportation Committee work I guess he thought he had to keep his handon me. He's like that, you know. If he thinks anybody knows anything onhim he watches them and keeps a tight grip on them, all right. You knowthat about him?"

Dan nodded. He saw how the web of circumstance had enmeshed him from thebeginning. All the incidents of that chance visit to Fraserville towrite the sketch of Bassett for the "Courier" lived in his memory. Something had been said there about Madison College; and his connectionwith Fitch's office had been mentioned, and on the fears thus roused inMorton Bassett, he, Daniel Harwood, had reared a totteringsuperstructure of aims, hopes, ambitions, that threatened to overwhelmhim! But now, as the first shock passed, he saw all things clearly. Hewould save Sylvia even though Bassett must be saved first. If Thatchercould be silenced in no other way, he might have the senatorship; or Danwould go direct to Bassett and demand that he withdraw from the contest. He was not afraid of Morton Bassett now. 

"I had gone to work for that construction company in the Boordman whereyou found me. It was his idea to move me into your office--I guess youthought you picked me out; but he gave me a quiet tip to ask you for thejob. Well, he'd been dropping into the construction office now and thento see me--you know the boss was never in town and I hadn't much to do. He used to dictate letters--said he couldn't trust the public stenogs inthe hotels; and one day he gave me that letter to copy. He had writtenit out in lead pencil beforehand, but seemed mighty anxious to get itjust right. After I copied it he worked it over several times, before hegot it to suit him. He said it was a little business he was attending tofor a friend. We burnt up the discards in the little old grate in theoffice. He had brought some paper and envelopes along with him, and Iremember he held a sheet up to the light to make sure it didn't have awatermark. He threw down a twenty-dollar gold piece and took the letteraway with him. After I had moved into your office he spoke of thatletter once: one day when you were out he asked me how much money hadbeen mentioned in the letter. "

"When was that, Rose?"

"A few days after the state convention when you shot the hot tacks intoThatcher. He had been at Waupegan, you remember. "

Dan remembered. And he recalled also that Bassett had seen Sylvia atMrs. Owen's the day following the convention, and it was not astonishingthat the sight of her had reminded him of his offer to pay for hereducation. His own relation to the matter was clear enough now that Rosehad yielded her secret. 

Rose watched him as he drew on his overcoat and she handed him his hatand gloves. Her friend, "the beautiful one, " would not suffer; she wasconfident of this, now that Harwood was fully armed to protect her. 

"Keep after Ramsay by telephone until you find him. Tell him to comehere and wait for me if it's all day. If you fail to catch him bytelephone, go out and look for him and bring him here. "

In a moment he was hurrying toward Mrs. Owen's. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE MAN OF SHADOWS

The dome was a great blot against the stars when, shortly after eighto'clock that evening, Sylvia entered the capitol. 

All night, in the room she had occupied on that far day of her firstvisit to Mrs. Owen, Sylvia had pondered. It is not for us to know whatpassed in that still chamber between her and her friend; but it was theway of both women to meet the truth squarely. They discussed factsimpersonally, dispassionately, and what Sylvia had assumed, her oldfriend could not controvert. Not what others had done, not what othersmight do, but what course Sylvia should follow--this was the crux of thesituation. 

"I must think it out; I must think it out, " Sylvia kept repeating. Atlast Mrs. Owen left her lying dressed on the bed, and all night Sylvialay there in the dark. Toward morning she had slept, and later when Mrs. Owen carried up her breakfast she did not refer to her trouble except toask whether there was any news. Mrs. Owen understood and replied thatthere was nothing. Sylvia merely answered and said: "Then there is stilltime. " What she meant by this her kind old friend did not know; but shehad faith in her Sylvia. Dan came, but he saw Mrs. Owen only. LaterSylvia asked what he had said, and she merely nodded when Rose's storywas repeated. Again she said: "Yes; there is still time. "

Sylvia had kept her room all day, and Mrs. Owen had rigidly respectedher wish to be alone. She voluntarily appeared at the evening meal andtalked of irrelevant things: of her school work, of the sale of thehouse at Montgomery, of the projected school at Waupegan. 

"I'm going out for a while, " she said, after an hour in the littleoffice. "I shan't be gone long, Aunt Sally; don't trouble about me. Ihave my key, you know. "

When she had gone, Mrs. Owen called one of the colored men from thestable and gave him a line to Harwood, with a list of places where Danmight be found. Her message was contained in a single line:--

 "Sylvia has left the house. Keep an eye out for her; she told me nothing. "

Sylvia found consolation and courage in the cold night air; her oldfriends the stars, whose names she had learned before she knew herletters, did not leave her comfortless. They had unconsciouslycontributed to her gift for seeing life in long vistas. "When you arelooking at the stars, " Professor Kelton used to say, "you are notthinking of yourself. " It was not of herself that Sylvia was thinking. 

She prolonged her walk, gathering strength as the exercise warmed herblood, planning what she meant to do, even repeating to herself phrasesshe meant to use. So it happened that Mrs. Owen's messenger had foundDan at the State House and delivered the note, and that Dan, called froma prolonged conference with Ramsay, saw Sylvia's unmistakable figure asshe reached the top of the stairway, watched her making inquiries of alounger, saw men staring at her. It crossed his mind that she wasseeking him, and he started toward her; but she had stopped again toquestion one of the idlers in the hall. He saw her knock at a door andknew it was Bassett's room--a room that for years had been set apart forthe private councils of the senator from Fraser. As Sylvia knocked, several men came out, as though the interruption had terminated aninterview. The unveiled face of the tall, dark girl called for a secondglance; it was an odd place for a pretty young woman to be seekingMorton Bassett. They looked at each other and grinned. 

A single lamp on a table in the middle of the high-ceilinged room shed anarrow circle of light that deepened the shadows of the walls. Bassett, standing by a window, was aware of a lighter step than was usual in thisplotting chamber. He advanced toward the table with his hands in hispockets, waited till Sylvia was disclosed by the lamp, stopped abruptly, stared at her with eyes that seemed not to see her. Then he placed achair for her, muttering:--

"I thought you would come. "

It seemed to her that a sigh broke from him, hidden by the scraping ofthe chair across the bare floor. He crossed and recrossed the floorseveral times, as though now that she had come he had dismissed herfrom his thoughts. Then as he passed near her with slow, heavy step shespoke. 

"I came to talk to you, Mr. Bassett. Please turn on the other lights. "

"Pardon me, " he said; and she heard his fingers fumbling for the switchby the door. In a moment the room was flooded from the chandelieroverhead, and he returned, and sat down by the table without looking ather. 

"I shouldn't have come here, but I knew of no other way. It seemed bestto see you to-night. "

"It's all right, " he replied indifferently. 

He sat drooping, as though the light had in itself a weight that borehim down. His face was gray; his hands hung impotently from the arms ofhis chair. He still did not meet her eyes, which had taken in every lineof his figure, the little details of his dress, even the inconspicuouspearl pin thrust through the loose ends of his tie. A man opened thedoor hurriedly and peered in: Bassett was wanted elsewhere, he said. Without rising Bassett bade him wait outside. The man seemed tounderstand that he was to act as guard, and he began patroling thecorridor. The sound of his steps on the tiles was plainlydistinguishable as he passed the door. 

"It's all right now, " Bassett explained. "No one will come in here. "

He threw his arm over the back of his chair and bent upon Sylvia aglance of mingled curiosity and indifference. 

"I understand, " she said quietly, "that nothing has been done. It isnot yet too late. The situation here is as it has been?"

"Yes; if you mean out _there_. They are waiting for me. "

"I suppose Mr. Harwood is there, and Mr. Thatcher. "

He blinked at the names and changed his position slightly. 

"I dare say they are, " he answered coldly. 

"I thought it best to see you and talk to you; and I'm glad I knewbefore it was too late. "

His eyes surveyed her slowly now from head to foot. Why was she glad shehad known before it was too late? Her calmness made him uneasy, restless. It was a familiar characteristic of Morton Bassett that he metstorm and stress stoically. He was prepared for scorn, recrimination, tears; but this dark-eyed girl, sitting before him in her graywalking-dress and plain hat with a bunch of scarlet flowers showingthrough the veil she had caught up over them, seemed in no danger ofyielding to tears. Her voice fell in cool, even tones. He had said thathe expected her, but she did not know what manner of meeting he had beencounting on in his speculations. After a long look he passed his handacross his face. 

"I hope you haven't thought--you didn't think I should let them bringyou into it. "

He spoke as though this were something due her; that she was entitled tohis reassurance that the threatened cataclysm should not drag her downwith him. When she made no reply he seemed to feel that he had not madehimself clear, and he repeated, in other terms, that she need not beconcerned for the outcome; that he meant to shield her. 

"Yes; I supposed you would do that; I had expected that. "

"And, " he went on, as though to anticipate her, to eliminate thenecessity for her further explanations, "you have a right to ask whatyou please. Or we can meet again to arrange matters. I am prepared tosatisfy your demands in the fullest sense. "

His embarrassment had passed. She had sought the interview, but he hadtaken charge of it. Beyond the closed door the stage waited. This wasthe briefest interlude before the moment of his triumphant entrance. 

Sylvia smiled, an incredulous smile, and shook her head slowly, like aworn, tired mother whose patience is sorely taxed by a stubborn, unyielding child at her knee. Her lips trembled, but she bent her headfor a moment and then spoke more quickly than before, as thoughoverriding some inner spirit that strove rebelliously within her breast. 

"I know--almost all I ever need to know. But there are some things youmust tell me now. This is the first--and the last--time that I shallever speak to you of these things. I know enough--things I have stumbledupon--and I have built them up until I see the horror, the blackness. And I want to feel sure that you, too, see the pity of it all. "

Her note of subdued passion roused him now to earnestness, and he frameda disavowal of the worst she might have imagined. He could calm herfears at once, and the lines in his face relaxed at the thought that itwas in his power to afford her this relief. 

"I married your mother. There was nothing wrong about it. It was allstraight. "

"And you thought, oh, you thought I came for that--you believed I cameto have you satisfy me of her honor! I never doubted her!" and shelifted her head proudly. "And that is what you thought I came for?" Theindignation that flashed in her first stammered sentences diedfalteringly in a contemptuous whisper. 

Her words had cut him deep; he turned away aimlessly, fingering somepapers on the table beside him. Then he plunged to the heart of thematter, as though in haste to exculpate himself. 

"I never meant that it should happen as it did. I knew her in New Yorkwhen we were both students there. My father had been ill a long time; hewas bent upon my marrying the daughter of his old friend Singleton, aman of wealth and influence in our part of the state. I persuaded yourmother to run away and we were married, under an assumed name, --but itwas a marriage good in law. There's no question of that, you understand. Then I left her up there in the Adirondacks, and went home. My father'sillness was prolonged, and his condition justified me in asking yourmother to wait. She knew the circumstances and agreed to remain awayuntil I saw my way clear to acknowledging her and taking her home. Youwere born up there. Your mother grew impatient and hurt because I couldnot go back to her. But I could not--it would have ruined all my chancesat home. When I went to find my wife she had disappeared. She was aproud woman, and I suppose she had good cause for hating me. "

He told the story fully, filling in the gaps in her own knowledge. Hedid not disguise the fact of his own half-hearted search for the womanhe had deserted. He even told of the precautions he had taken to assurehimself of the death of Edna Kelton by visiting Montgomery to look ather grave before his marriage to Hallie Singleton. He had gone backagain shortly before he made the offer to pay for Sylvia's schooling, and had seen her with her grandfather in the little garden among theroses. 

Outside the guard slowly passed back and forth. Sylvia did not speak;her seeming inattention vexed and perplexed him. He thought her lackingin appreciation of his frankness. 

"Thatcher knows much of this story, but he doesn't know the whole, " hewent on. "He believes it was irregular. He's been keeping it back tospring as a sensation. He's told those men out there that he can breakme; that at the last minute he will crush me. They're waiting for menow--Thatcher and his crowd; probably chuckling to think how at lastthey've got me cornered. That's the situation. They think they're aboutrid of Morton Bassett. "

"You left her; you deserted her; you left her to die alone, unprotected, without even a name. You accepted her loyalty and fidelity, and thenthrew her aside; you slunk away alone to her grave to be sure shewouldn't trouble you again. Oh, it is black, it is horrible!"

Sylvia was looking at him with a kind of awed wonder in her eyes. For aninstant there had been a faint suggestion of contrition in his tone, butit was overwhelmed by his desire for self-justification. It was ofhimself he was thinking, not of the deed in itself, not of the woman hehad left to bear her child in an alien wilderness. 

"I tried to do what I could for you. I want you to know that. I meant tohave cared for you, that no harm should come to you, " he said, and thewords jarred upon his own ears as he spoke them. 

In her face there was less of disdain than of marvel. He wished toescape from her eyes, but they held him fast. Messengers ran hurriedlythrough the corridors; men passed the door talking in tones faintlyaudible; but the excitement in the rival camps communicated nothing ofits intensity to this quiet chamber. Men had feared Morton Bassett; thisgirl, with her wondering dark eyes, did not fear him. But he wasfollowing a course he had planned for this meeting, and he dared notshift his ground. 

"I don't want you to think that I haven't been grieved to see youworking for your living; I never meant that you should do that. Hereafter that will be unnecessary; but I am busy to-night. To-morrow, at any time you say, we will talk of those things. "

There was dismissal in his manner and tone. He was anxious to be rid ofher. The color deepened in her olive cheeks, but she bent upon him oncemore her patient, wondering, baffling smile. 

"Please never propose such a thing again, Mr. Bassett. There isabsolutely nothing of that kind that you can do for me. "

"You want to make it hard for me; but I hope you will think better ofthat. It is right that I should make the only reparation that ispossible now. "

This rang so false and was so palpably insincere that he was relievedwhen she ignored it. 

"You said a moment ago that your enemies, waiting out there, thoughtthey had you beaten. I want you to tell me just how you propose to meetMr. Thatcher's threat. "

"What am I going to do?" he broke out angrily. "I'm going into thatcaucus and beat Thatcher's game; I'm going to tell his story first! Butdon't misunderstand me; I'm going to protect you. I know men, and thosemen will respect me for coming out with it. I haven't been in politicsall these years to be beaten at last by Ed Thatcher. I've pledged votesenough to-day to give me a majority of three on the next ballot; butI'll explode Thatcher's bombshell in his own hands. I'm all prepared forhim; I have the documents--the marriage certificate and the wholebusiness. But you won't suffer; you won't be brought into it. That'swhat I'm going to do about it!"

The failure of his declaration to shake her composure disturbed him;perhaps after all his contemplated _coup_ was not so charged withelectricity as he had imagined. Nothing in his bald statement of hismarriage to her mother and the subsequent desertion had evoked thereproach, the recrimination, for which he had steeled himself when sheentered the room. He felt his hold upon the interview lessening. He hadbelieved himself expert in calculating effects, yet apparently she hadheard his announcement, delivered with a brutal directness, withoutemotion. 

"This isn't quite all, Mr. Bassett, " Sylvia began after a moment. "Youhave offered me reparation, or what you called by that name. You can'tdeny that I have a right to be satisfied with that reparation. "

"Certainly; anything in reason. It is for you to name the terms; Iexpect you to make them--adequate. "

"Let us go back a moment, " she began, smiling at the care with which hehad chosen his last word. "Last night I fought out for myself the wholematter of your scoundrelly, cowardly treatment of my mother. You canmake no reparation to her. The time passed long ago for that. And thereis absolutely nothing you can do for me. I will accept nothing from you, neither the name you denied to her nor money, now or later. So there isonly one other person whose interest or whose happiness we needconsider. "

He stared at her frowning, not understanding. Once more, as on that daywhen she had laughed at him, or again when she had taken the affairs ofhis own household into her hands, he was conscious of the strength thatlay in her, of her power to drive him back upon himself. Something ofhis own masterful spirit had entered into her, but with a difference. Her self-control, her patient persistence, her sobriety of judgment, herreasoning mind, were like his own. She was as keen and resourceful ashe, and he was eager for the explanation she withheld, as though, knowing that she had driven in his pickets, he awaited the charge of herlines. He bent toward her, feeling her charm, yielding to thefascination she had for him. 

"No, " he said gently and kindly. "I don't see; I don't understand you. "

She saw and felt the change in him; but she was on guard against areaction. He could not know how her heart throbbed, or how it had seemedfor a moment that words would not come to her lips. 

"It is to you; it is to yourself that you must make the reparation. Andyou must make it now. There may never be a time like this; it is yourgreat opportunity. "

"You think, you ask--" he began warily; and she was quick to see thatthe precise moment for the full stroke had not come; that the groundrequired preparation. 

"I think, " she interrupted, smiling gravely, "that you want me to beyour friend. More than that, we have long been friends. And deep down inyour heart I believe you want my regard; you want me to think well ofyou. And I must tell you that there's a kind of happiness--for it mustbe happiness--that comes to me at the thought of it. Something there isbetween you and me that is different; somehow we understand each other. "

His response was beyond anything she had hoped for; a light shonesuddenly in his face. There was no doubt of the sincerity of the feelingwith which he replied:--

"Yes; I have felt it; I felt it the first day we met!"

"And because there is this understanding, this tie, I dare to be frankwith you: I mean to make your reparation difficult. But you will notrefuse it; you will not disappoint me. I mean, that you must throw awaythe victory you are prepared to win. "

He shook his head slowly, but he could not evade the pleading of hereyes. 

"I can't do it; it's too much, " he muttered. "It's the goal I havesought for ten years. It would be like throwing away life itself. "

"Yes; it would be bitter; but it would be the first sacrifice you evermade in your life. You have built your life on lies. You have lurked inshadows, hating the light. You have done your work in the dark, creeping, hiding, mocking, vanishing. What you propose doing to-night inanticipating the blow of your enemy is only an act of bravado. There isno real courage in that. When you thrust Dan Harwood into the conventionto utter your sneer for you, it was the act of a coward. And that wascontemptible cowardice. You picked him up, a clean young man of ideals, and tried to train him in your cowardly shadow ways. When the prickingof your conscience made you feel some responsibility for me, youmanifested it like a coward. You sent a cowardly message to the best manthat ever lived, not knowing, not caring how it would wound him. And youhave been a great thief, stealing away from men the thing they shouldprize most, but you have taught them to distrust it--their faith intheir country--even more, their faith in each other! The shadows havefollowed you to your own home. You have hidden yourself behind a veil ofmystery, so that your own wife and children don't know the man you are. You have never been true to anything--not to yourself, not to those whoshould be near and dear to you. And you have sneered at the people whosend you here to represent them; you have betrayed them, not once but ahundred times; and you know it hasn't paid. You are the unhappiest manin the world. But there's a real power in you, or you could never havedone the things you have done--the mean and vile things. You have brainsand a genius for organizing and managing men. You could never havelasted so long without the personal qualities that a man must have tolead men. And you have led them, down and down. "

To all appearances she had spoken to dull ears. Occasionally their eyeshad met, but his gaze had wandered away to range the walls. When sheceased he moved restlessly about the room. 

"You think I am as bad as that?" he asked, pausing by the table andlooking down at her. 

"You are as bad--and as good--as that, " she replied, the hope thatstirred in her heart lighting her face. 

He shrugged his shoulders and sat down. 

"You have the wit to see that the old order of things is passing; theold apparatus you have learned to operate with a turn of the hand is outof date. Now is your chance to leave the shadow life and begin again. It's not too late to win the confidence--the gratitude even--of thepeople who now distrust and fear you. The day of reckoning is comingfast for men like you, who have made a mystery of politics, playing itas a game in the dark. I don't pretend to know much of these things, butI can see that men of your type are passing out; there would be no greatglory for you in waiting to be the last to go. And there are thingsenough for you to do. If you ally yourself with the good causes that cryfor support and leadership, you can be far more formidable than you haveever been as a skulking trickster; you can lead men up as you have ledthem down. "

"The change is coming; I have seen it coming, " he replied, catching atthe one thing it seemed safest to approve. 

But she was not to be thwarted by his acquiescence in generalities. Hesaw that she had brought him back to a point whence he must elect hiscourse, but he did not flinch at the flat restatement of her demand. 

"You have done nothing to deserve the senatorship; you are not thechoice of the people of this state. You must relinquish it; you mustgive it up!"

The earnestness with which she uttered her last words seemed, to hersurprise, to amuse him. 

"You think, " he said, "that I should go back and make a new start by adifferent route? But I don't know the schedule; my transportation isgood on only one line. " And he grinned at his joke. 

"Oh, you will have to pay your fare!" she replied quickly. "You've neverdone that. "

His grin became a smile, and he said: "You want me to walk if I can'tpay my way!"

"Yes, " she laughed happily, feeling that her victory was half won; "andyou would have to be careful to stop, look, and listen at thecrossings!"

The allusion further eased the stress of the hour; humor shone in hisgray eyes. He consulted his watch, frowned, bent his eyes upon thefloor, then turned to her with disconcerting abruptness. 

"I haven't been half the boss you think me. I've been hedged in, cramped, and shackled. All these fellows who hop the stick when I say'Jump' have their little axes I must help grind. I've fooled away thebest years of my life taking care of these little fellows, and I'vespent a lot of money on them. It's become a little monotonous, I cantell you. It's begun to get on my nerves, for I have a few; and all thishammering I've taken from the newspapers has begun to make me hot. Iknow about as much as they do about the right and wrong of things; Isuppose I know something about government and the law too!"

"Yes, " Sylvia assented eagerly. 

He readjusted himself in his chair, crossing his legs and thrusting hishands into his trousers pockets. 

"It _would_ be rather cheerful and comfortable, " he continued musingly, as though unburdening himself of old grievances, "to be free to do asyou like once in a lifetime! Those fellows in Thatcher's herd who havepractically sold out to me and are ready to deliver the goods to-nightare all rascals, swung my way by a few corporations that would like tohave me in Washington. It would be a good joke to fool them and elect aman who couldn't be bought! It's funny, but I've wondered sometimeswhether I wasn't growing tired of the old game. "

"But the new game you can play better than any of them. It's the onlyway you can find peace. "

With a gesture half-bold, half-furtive, he put out his hand and touchedlightly the glove she had drawn off and laid on the table. 

"You believe in me; you have some faith left in me?"

"Yes. "

Her hand touched his; her dark eyes searched the depths of hissoul--sought and found the shadows there and put them to flight. Whenshe spoke it was with a tenderness that was new to all his experience oflife; he had not known that there could be balm like this for a bruisedand broken spirit. This girl, seeking nothing for herself, refusinganything he could offer, had held up a mirror in which he saw himselflimned against dancing, mocking shadows. Nothing in her arraignment hadgiven him a sharper pang than her reference to his loneliness, hisfailure to command sympathy and confidence in his home relationships. Nopraise had ever been so sweet to him as hers; she not only saw hisweaknesses and dealt with them unsparingly, but she recognized also thestrength he had wasted and the power he had abused. She saw life inbroad vistas as he had believed he saw it; he was not above a stirringof pride that she appreciated him and appraised his gifts rightly. Hehad long played skillfully upon credulity and ignorance; he hadfrittered away his life in contentions with groundlings. It would be arelief, if it were possible, to deal with his peers, the enlightened, the far-seeing, and the fearless, who strove for great ends. So hepondered, while outside the sentinel kept watch like a fate. 

"Yes, " Sylvia was saying slowly, "you can make restitution. But not tothe dead--not to my mother asleep over there at Montgomery, oh, not tome! What is done is past, and you can't go back. There's no going backin this world. But you can go on--you can go on and up--"

"No! You don't see that; you don't believe that?"

"Yes, I believe it. The old life--the life of mystery and duplicity isover; you will never go back to the old way. "

"The old way?" he repeated. 

"The old unhappy way. "

"Up there at the lake you knew I was unhappy; you knew things weren'tright with me?"

"Things weren't right because you were wrong! Success hadn't made youhappy. The shadows kept dancing round you. Mrs. Bassett's troubles camelargely from worrying about you. In time Marian and Blackford will beginto see the shadows. I should think--I should think"--and he saw that shewas deeply moved--"that a man would want the love of his children; Ishould think he would want them to be proud of him. "

"His children; yes; I haven't thought enough of that. "

She had so far controlled herself, but an old ache throbbed in herheart. "In college, when I heard the girls talking of their homes, itused to hurt me more than you can ever know. There were girls among myfriends whose fathers were fine men, --some of them great and famous; andI used to feel sure that my father would have been like them. Ifelt--that I should have been proud of him. " And suddenly she flung herarms upon the table and bowed her face upon them and wept. 

He stood beside her, patiently, helplessly. The suggestion of her lonelygirlhood with its hovering shadow smote him the more deeply because itemphasized the care she had taken to subordinate herself throughouttheir talk. 

"Do you think you could ever be proud of me?--that you might even care alittle, some day?" he asked, bending over her. 

"Oh, if it could be so!" she whispered brokenly, so low that he bentcloser to hear. 

The room was very still. Sylvia rose and began drawing on her glove, notlooking at him. She was afraid to risk more; there was, indeed, nothingmore to say. It was for him to make his choice. He was silent so longthat she despaired. Then he passed his hand across his face like oneroused from sleep. 

"Wait a moment, " he said, "and I will walk home with you. "

He went to the door and dispatched the guard on an errand; then heseated himself at the table and picked up a pad of paper. He was stillwriting when Harwood entered. Sylvia and Dan exchanged a nod, but nowords passed between them. They watched the man at the table, as hewrote with a deliberation that Dan remembered as characteristic of him. When he had finished, he copied what he had written, put the copy in hisbreastpocket and buttoned his coat before glancing at Harwood. 

"If I withdraw my name, what will happen?" he asked quietly. 

"Ramsay will be nominated, sir, " Dan answered. 

Bassett studied a moment, fingering the memorandum he had written; thenhe looked at Dan quizzically. 

"Just between ourselves, Dan, do you really think the Colonel'sstraight?"

"If he isn't, he has fooled a lot of people, " Dan replied. 

He had no idea of what had happened, but he felt that all was well withSylvia. It seemed a long time since Bassett had called him Dan!

"Well, I guess the Colonel's the best we can do. I'm out of it. This ismy formal withdrawal. Hand it to Robbins--you know him, of course. Ittells him what I want done. My votes go to Ramsay on the next ballot. Ilook to you to see that it's played square. Give the Colonel mycompliments. That's all. Good-night. "

 * * * * *

Harwood called Robbins from the room where Bassett's men lounged, waiting for the convening of the caucus, and delivered the message. Ashe hurried toward Thatcher's headquarters he paused suddenly, and bentover the balcony beneath the dome to observe two figures that wereslowly descending one of the broad stairways. Morton Bassett and Sylviawere leaving the building together. A shout rang out, echoing hollowlythrough the corridors, and was followed by scattering cheers from menwho were already hastening toward the senate chamber where the caucussessions were held. 

Somehow Morton Bassett's sturdy shoulders, his step, quickened to adaptit to the pace of his companion, did not suggest defeat. Dan stillwatched as the two crossed the rotunda on their way to the street. Bassett was talking; he paused for an instant and looked up at the dome, as though calling his companion's attention to its height. 

Sylvia glanced up, nodded, and smiled as though affirming somethingBassett had said; and then the two vanished from Dan's sight. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

WE GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING

"Sylvia was reading in her grandfather's library when the bell tinkled. "

With these words our chronicle began, and they again slip from the penas I begin these last pages. When Morton Bassett left her at the door ofElizabeth House she had experienced a sudden call of the truant spirit. Sylvia wanted to be alone, to stand apart for a little while from theclanging world and take counsel of herself. Hastily packing a bag shecaught the last train for Montgomery, walked to the Kelton cottage, androused Mary, who had been its lone tenant since the Professor's death. She sent Mary to bed, and after kindling a fire in the grate, roamedabout the small, comfortable rooms, touching wistfully the books, thepictures, the scant bric-à-brac. She made ready her own bed under theeaves where she had dreamed her girlhood dreams, shaking from the sheetsshe found in the linen chest the leaves of lavender that Mary had strewnamong them. The wind rose in the night and slammed fitfully a blindthat, as long as she could remember, had uttered precisely that sameprotest against the wind's presumption. It was all quite like old times, and happy memories of the past stole back and laid healing hands uponher. 

She slept late, and woke to look out upon a white world. Across thecampus floated the harsh clamor of the chapel bell, and she saw thestudents tramping through the swirling snow just as she had seen them inthe old times, the glad and happy times when it had seemed that theworld was bounded by the lines of the campus, and that nothing laybeyond it really worth considering but Centre Church and the court-houseand the dry-goods shop where her grandfather had bought her first andonly doll. She bade Mary sit down and talk to her while she atebreakfast in the little dining-room; and the old woman poured out uponher the gossip of the Lane, the latest trespasses of the Greekprofessor's cow, the escapades of the Phi Gamma Delta's new dog, thehealth of Dr. Wandless, the new baby at the house of the Latinprofessor, the ill-luck of the Madison Eleven, and like matters thatwere, and that continue to be, of concern in Buckeye Lane. Rumors of thesale of the cottage had reached Mary, but Sylvia took pains to reassureher. 

"Oh, you don't go with the house, Mary! Mrs. Owen has a plan for you. You haven't any cause for worry. But it's too bad to sell the house. I'dlike to get a position teaching in Montgomery and come back here andlive with you. There's no place in the world quite like this. "

"But it's quiet, Miss, and the repairs keep going on. Mr. Harwood had toput a new downspout on the kitchen; the old one had rusted to pieces. The last time he was over--that was a month ago--he came in and sat downto wait for his train, he said; and I told him to help himself to thebooks, but when I looked in after a while he was just sitting in thatchair out there by the window looking out at nothing. And when I askedhim if he'd have a cup of tea, he never answered; not till I went upclose and spoke again. He's peculiar, but a good-hearted gentleman. Youcan see that. And when he paid me my wages that day he made it fivedollars extra, and when I asked him what it was for, he smiled a funnykind of smile he has, and said, 'It's for being good to Sylvia when shewas a little girl. ' He's peculiar, very peculiar, but he's kind. Andwhen I said I didn't have to be paid for that, he said all right, heguessed that was so, but for me to keep the money and buy a new bonnetor give it to the priest. A very kind gentleman, that Mr. Harwood, butpeculiar. "

The sun came out shortly before noon. Sylvia walked into town, boughtsome flowers, and drove to the cemetery. She told the driver not towait, and lingered long in the Kelton lot where snow-draped evergreensmarked its four corners. The snow lay smooth on the two graves, and sheplaced her flowers upon them softly without disturbing the whitecovering. A farmboy whistling along the highway saw her in the lonelycemetery and trudged on silently, but he did not know that the womantending her graves did not weep, or that when she turned slowly away, looking back at last from the iron gates, it was not of the past shethought, nor of the heartache buried there, but of a world newlypurified, with long, broad vistas of hope and aspiration lengtheningbefore her. But we must not too long leave the bell--an absurdcontrivance of wire and knob--that tinkled rather absently and eerily inthe kitchen pantry. Let us repeat once more and for the last time:--

Sylvia was reading in her grandfather's library when the bell tinkled. 

Truly enough, a book lay in her lap, but it may be that, after all, shehad not done more than skim its pages--an old "Life of Nelson" that hadbeen a favorite of her grandfather's. Sylvia rose, put down the book, marked it carefully as on that first occasion which so insistently comesback to us as we look in upon her. Mary appeared at the library door, but withdrew, seeing that Sylvia was answering the bell. 

Some one was stamping vigorously on the step, and as Sylvia opened thedoor, Dan Harwood stood there, just as on that other day; now, to besure, he seemed taller than then, though it must be only the effect ofhis long ulster. 

"How do you do, Sylvia, " he said, and stepped inside without waiting fora parley like that in which Sylvia had engaged him on thatnever-to-be-forgotten afternoon in June. "You oughtn't to try to hide;it isn't fair for one thing, and hiding is impossible for another. "

"It's too bad you came, " said Sylvia, "for I should have been hometo-morrow. I came just because I wanted to be alone for a day. "

"I came, " said Dan, laughing, "because I didn't like being alone. "

"I hope Aunt Sally isn't troubled about me. I hadn't time to tell her Iwas coming here; I don't believe I really thought about it; I simplywanted to come back here once more before the house is turned over tostrangers. "

"Oh, Aunt Sally wasn't worried half as much as I was. She said you wereall right; she has great faith in your ability to take care of yourself. I'm pretty sure of it, too, " he said, and bent his eyes upon her keenly. 

There was nothing there to dismay him; her olive cheeks still glowedwith color from her walk, and her eyes were clear and steady. 

"Did you see the paper--to-day's paper?" he asked, when they were seatedbefore the fire. 

"No, " she replied, folding her arms and looking at the point of herslipper that rested against the brass fender. 

"You will be glad to know that the trouble is all over. Ramsay has thesenatorship, all but the confirmation of the joint session, which ismerely a formality. They've conferred on me the joy of presenting hisname. Ramsay is clean and straight, and thoroughly in sympathy with allthe new ideas that are sound. Personally I like him. He's the mostpopular and the most presentable man we have, and his election to theSenate will greatly strengthen the party. "

He did not know how far he might speak of the result and of the causesthat had contributed to it. He was relieved when she asked, very simplyand naturally, --

"I suppose Mr. Bassett made it possible; it couldn't have been, youcouldn't have brought it about, without him. "

"If he hadn't withdrawn he could have had the nomination himself!Thatcher's supporters were growing wobbly and impatient. We shouldn'tany of us care to see Thatcher occupy a seat in the Senate that has beenfilled by Oliver Morton and Joe MacDonald and Ben Harrison and DaveTurpie. We Hoosiers are not perfect, but our Senators first and lasthave been men of brains and character. Ramsay won't break the apostolicsuccession; he's all right. "

"You think Mr. Bassett might have had it; you have good reason forbelieving that?" she asked. 

"I could name you the men who were ready to go to him. He had thestampede all ready, down to the dress rehearsal. He practically gaveaway a victory he had been working for all his life. "

"Yes; he is like that; he can do such things, " murmured Sylvia. 

"History has been making rapidly in the past twenty-four hours. Bassetthas bought Thatcher's interest in the 'Courier, ' and he proposes editingit himself. More than that, he was at my office this morning when I gotthere, and he asked me, as a special favor to him, to take a few sharesin the company to qualify me as secretary of the corporation, and saidhe wanted me to help him. He said he thought it about time for Indianato have a share in the general reform movement; talked about it asthough this were something he had always intended doing, but had beenprevented by press of other matters. He spoke of the Canneries case andwanted to know if I cared to reconsider my refusal to settle it. He putit quite impersonally--said Fitch told him he couldn't do more thanprolong the litigation by appeals, and that in the end he was bound tobe whipped. And I agreed, on terms that really weren't generous on mypart. He said all right; that he wanted to clear up all his old businessas quickly as possible. As he left my office I almost called him back tothrow off the last pound I had exacted; he really made me feel ashamedof my greed. The old spell he had for me in the beginning came backagain. I believe in him; I never believed in any man so much, Sylvia!And if he does throw his weight on the right side it will mean a lot toevery good cause men and women are contending for these days. It willmean a lot to the state, to the whole country. "

"And so much, oh, so much to him!"

Just what had passed between Bassett and Sylvia he only surmised; but itwas clear that the warmth with which he had spoken of his old employerwas grateful to Sylvia. He had not meant to dwell upon Bassett, and yetthe brightening of her eyes, her flash of feeling, the deep innermeaning of her ejaculation, had thrilled him. 

"I've said more than I meant to; I didn't come to talk of those things, Sylvia. "

"I'm glad you thought I should like to know--about him. I'm glad youtold me. "

They were quiet for a little while, then he said, "Sylvia!" verysoftly. 

"Not that, Dan; please! I can't bear to hear that. It will break myheart if you begin that!"

She rose and faced him, her back to the wall. 

He had come to complete the declaration which the song had interruptedon the lake, and at the first hint the chords that had been touched bythe unknown singer vibrated sharply, bringing back her old heartache. Hecrossed to her quickly that he might show her how completely the memoryof that night had been obliterated; that it had vanished utterly andceased to be, like the ripple stirred to a moment's life by the brush ofa swallow's wing on still water. He stood beside her and took both herhands in his strong clasp. 

"We are going to be married, Sylvia; we are going to be married, here, now, to-day!"

"No, no!"

She turned away her head, but his arms enfolded her; he bent down andkissed her forehead, her eyes, and her lips last of all. 

"Yes; here and now. Unless you say you don't care for me, that you don'tlove me. If you say those things I shall go away. "

She did not say them. She clung to him and looked long into his face, and kissed him. 

Harwood had chosen the hour well. Sylvia had met bravely the greatcrisis of her life, and had stood triumphant and satisfied, weary butcontent in the clear ether to which she had climbed; but it was a reliefto yield herself at last to the sway of emotions long checked andstifled. Save for her grandfather's devoted kindness, and the friendshipof Mrs. Owen, her experiences of affection had been singularly meagre. She had resolved that if Dan should speak of love again she would bestrong enough to resist him; but she had yielded unhesitatingly at aword. And it was inexpressibly sweet to yield, to feel his strong armsclasping her, to hear his protestations and assurances, to know that herlife had found shelter and protection. She knew that she had neverquestioned or doubted, but that her faith had grown with her love forhim. Not only had he chosen the hour well, but there was a fitness inhis choice of place. The familiar scene emphasized her sense ofdependence upon him and gave a sweet poignancy to the memories of herchildhood and youth that were enshrined within the cottage walls. Inthis room, in the garden outside, on the campus across the Lane, she hadknown the first tremulous wonderings and had heard the first whisperedanswers to life's riddles and enigmas; and now she knew that in Lovelives the answer to all things. 

After a little she rested her hands on his shoulders, half-clinging tohim, half-repelling him, and he pressed his hands upon her cheeks, to beready for the question he had read in her eyes. 

"But, " she faltered, "there are things I have promised to do for AuntSally; we shall have to wait a long time!"

"Not for Aunt Sally, " he cried happily. "Here she is at the door now. Ileft her and John Ware at Dr. Wandless's. "

"Well, well!" exclaimed Mrs. Owen, advancing into the room and throwingopen her coat. "You said you meant to get back to the city in time tocatch that limited for New York, and you haven't got much margin, Daniel, I can tell you that!"

 * * * * *

It seemed to the people who heard of it afterward a most romanticmarriage, that of Sylvia and Dan Harwood; but whatever view we may takeof this, it was certainly of all weddings the simplest. They stood therebefore the mantel above which still hung the broken half of a ship'swheel. Mrs. Owen, very tall and gaunt, was at one side, and Dr. Wandlessat the other; and old Mary, abashed and bewildered, looked on withdilated eyes and crossed herself at intervals. 

John Ware drew a service book from his pocket, and his fingers trembledas he began. For none in the room, not even for Sylvia, had this hourdeeper meaning than for the gray soldier. He read slowly, as though thiswere a new thing in the world, that a man and a woman had chosen to walktogether to the end of their days. And once his voice broke. He who, ina hill country far away, had baptized this woman into the fold of Christthe Shepherd, wavered for an instant as he said:--

"Elizabeth, wilt thou have this man--"

Sylvia lifted her head. She had not expected this, nor had Dan; but Dr. Wandless had already stepped forward to give her in marriage, and as sherepeated her name after the minister, she felt the warm, reassuringpressure of Dan's hand. 

And so they went forth together from the little cottage by the campuswhere they had first met; nor may it have been wholly a fancy of Dr. Wandless's that the stars came out earlier that white, winter evening toadd their blessing!

A POSTSCRIPT BY THE CHRONICLER

Those who resent as an impertinence the chronicler's intrusion upon thescene may here depart and slam the door, if such violence truly expresstheir sentiments. Others, averse to precipitous leavetaking, may linger, hat in hand, for the epilogue. 

I attended a public hearing by the senate committee on child labor atthe last session of the general assembly, accompanying my neighbor, Mrs. Sally Owen, and we found seats immediately behind Mr. And Mrs. DanielHarwood. 

"There's _E_-lizabeth and Daniel, " remarked Mrs. Owen, as they turnedround and nodded to us. I found it pleasant to watch the Harwoods, whoare, as may have been surmised, old friends of mine. The meetinggathered headway, and as one speaker after another was presented by thechairman, I observed that Mrs. Harwood and her husband frequentlyexchanged glances of approval; and I'm afraid that Mrs. Harwood'sprofile, and that winning smile of hers, interested me quite as much asthe pleas of those who advocated the pending bill. Then therepresentative of a manufacturers' organization inveighed against themeasure, and my two friends became even more deeply absorbed. It was atelling speech, by one of the best-known lawyers in the state. Once Isaw Dan's cowlick shake like the plume of an angry warrior as his wifeturned toward him inquiringly. When the orator concluded, I saw themdiscussing his arguments in emphatic whispers, and I was so pleased withthe picture they made that I failed to catch the name of the speakerwhom the chairman was introducing. A nudge from Mrs. Owen caused me tolift my eyes to the rostrum. 

"The next speaker is Mrs. Allen Thatcher, " announced the chairman, beaming inanely as a man always does when it becomes his gratefulprivilege to present a pretty woman to an audience. Having known Mariana long time, it was almost too much for my composure to behold herthere, beyond question the best-dressed woman in the senate chamber, with a single American Beauty thrust into her coat, and a bewilderingrose-trimmed hat crowning her fair head. A pleasant sight anywhere onearth, this daughter of the Honorable Morton Bassett, sometime senatorfrom Fraser; but her appearance in the legislative hall long dominatedby her father confirmed my faith in the ultimate adjustments of the lawof compensations. I had known Marian of old as an expert golfer and themost tireless dancer at Waupegan; but that speech broke all her records. 

Great is the emotional appeal of a pretty woman in an unapproachablehat, but greater still the power of the born story-teller! I knew thatMarian visited Elizabeth House frequently and told stories of her own orgave recitations at the Saturday night entertainments; but this wasMarian with a difference. She stated facts and drove them home withanecdotes. It was a vigorous, breathless performance, and themanufacturers' attorney confessed afterward that she had given him agood trouncing. When she concluded (I remember that her white-glovedhand smote the speaker's desk with a sharp thwack at her last word), Iwas conscious that the applause was started by a stout, bald gentlemanwhom I had not noticed before. I turned to look at the author of thisspontaneous outburst and found that it was the Honorable Edward G. Thatcher, whose unfeigned pride in his daughter-in-law was good to see. 

When the applause had ceased, Mrs. Owen sighed deeply and ejaculated:"Well, well!"

As we walked home Aunt Sally grew talkative. "I used to say it was allin the Book of Job and believed it; but there are some things that Jobdidn't know after all. When I put Marian on the board of trusteees of_E_-lizabeth House School, it was just to make good feeling in thefamily, and I didn't suppose she would attend a meeting; but she's oneof the best women on that job. And _E_-lizabeth"--I loved the way shedrawled the name, and repeated it--"_E_-lizabeth says they couldn't dowithout her. I guess between 'em those girls will make _E_-lizabethHouse School go right. That investment will be a dividend payer. Andthere's Morton Bassett, that I never took much stock in, why, he'ssettled down to being a decent and useful citizen. There ain't a betternewspaper in the country than the 'Courier, ' and that first editorial, up at the top of the page every morning, he writes himself, and it's gota smack to it--a kind of pawpaw and persimmon flavor that shows it'shonest. I guess settling up that Canneries business cost him somemoney, but things had always come too easy for Morton. And now thatthey've moved down here, Hallie's cheered up a good deal, and she showssigns of being cured of the sanatorium habit. "

We were passing round the Monument, whose candelabra flooded the plazawith light, and Mrs. Owen inveighed for a moment against automobiles ingeneral as we narrowly escaped being run down by a honking juggernaut atChrist Church corner. 

"It seems Morton has grown some, " she resumed. "He's even got big enoughto forgive his enemies, and John Ware says only great men do that. You've noticed that 'Hoosier Folks at Home' column in the 'Courier'?Well, Ike Pettit runs that; Morton brought him to town on purpose afterEdward Thatcher closed out the Fraserville paper. I read every word ofthat column every day. It gives you a kind of moving-picture show ofcloverfields, and children singing in the country schools, and ruralfree delivery wagons throwing off magazines and newspapers, and theinterurban cars cutting slices out of the lonesomeness of the countryfolks. It's certainly amazing how times change, and I want to live aslong as I can and keep on changing with 'em! Why, these farmers thatused to potter around all winter worrying over their debts to theinsurance companies are now going to Lafayette every January to learnhow to make corn pay, and they're putting bathrooms in their houses andcombing the hay out of their whiskers. They take their wives along with'em to the University, so they can have a rest and learn to bake breadthat won't bring up the death-rate; and when those women go home theydig the nails out of the windows to let the fresh air in, and move themelodeon to the wood-pile, and quit frying meat except when the ministerstops for dinner. It's all pretty comfortable and cheerful and busy inIndiana, with lots of old-fashioned human kindness flowing round; andit's getting better all the time. And I guess it's always got to be thatway, out here in God's country. "

THE END