ALICE ADAMS

By Booth Tarkington

CHAPTER I

The patient, an old-fashioned man, thought the nurse made a mistake inkeeping both of the windows open, and her sprightly disregard of hisprotests added something to his hatred of her. Every evening he told herthat anybody with ordinary gumption ought to realize that night air wasbad for the human frame. "The human frame won't stand everything, Miss Perry, " he warned her, resentfully. "Even a child, if it had justordinary gumption, ought to know enough not to let the night air blow onsick people yes, nor well people, either! 'Keep out of the night air, nomatter how well you feel. ' That's what my mother used to tell me when Iwas a boy. 'Keep out of the night air, Virgil, ' she'd say. 'Keep out ofthe night air. '"

"I expect probably her mother told her the same thing, " the nursesuggested. 

"Of course she did. My grandmother----"

"Oh, I guess your GRANDmother thought so, Mr. Adams! That was when allthis flat central country was swampish and hadn't been drained off yet. I guess the truth must been the swamp mosquitoes bit people and gave 'emmalaria, especially before they began to put screens in their windows. Well, we got screens in these windows, and no mosquitoes are goin' tobite us; so just you be a good boy and rest your mind and go to sleeplike you need to. "

"Sleep?" he said. "Likely!"

He thought the night air worst of all in April; he hadn't a doubt itwould kill him, he declared. "It's miraculous what the human frame WILLsurvive, " he admitted on the last evening of that month. "But you andthe doctor ought to both be taught it won't stand too dang much! Youpoison a man and poison and poison him with this April night air----"

"Can't poison you with much more of it, " Miss Perry interrupted him, indulgently. "To-morrow it'll be May night air, and I expect that'll bea lot better for you, don't you? Now let's just sober down and be a goodboy and get some nice sound sleep. "

She gave him his medicine, and, having set the glass upon the centertable, returned to her cot, where, after a still interval, she snoredfaintly. Upon this, his expression became that of a man goaded out ofoverpowering weariness into irony. 

"Sleep? Oh, CERTAINLY, thank you!"

However, he did sleep intermittently, drowsed between times, and evendreamed; but, forgetting his dreams before he opened his eyes, andhaving some part of him all the while aware of his discomfort, hebelieved, as usual, that he lay awake the whole night long. He wasconscious of the city as of some single great creature resting fitfullyin the dark outside his windows. It lay all round about, in the dampcover of its night cloud of smoke, and tried to keep quiet for a fewhours after midnight, but was too powerful a growing thing ever tolie altogether still. Even while it strove to sleep it muttered withdigestions of the day before, and these already merged with rumblingsof the morrow. "Owl" cars, bringing in last passengers over distanttrolley-lines, now and then howled on a curve; faraway metallicstirrings could be heard from factories in the sooty suburbs on theplain outside the city; east, west, and south, switch-engines chuggedand snorted on sidings; and everywhere in the air there seemed to bea faint, voluminous hum as of innumerable wires trembling overhead tovibration of machinery underground. 

In his youth Adams might have been less resentful of sounds such asthese when they interfered with his night's sleep: even duringan illness he might have taken some pride in them as proof of hiscitizenship in a "live town"; but at fifty-five he merely hated thembecause they kept him awake. They "pressed on his nerves, " as he put it;and so did almost everything else, for that matter. 

He heard the milk-wagon drive into the cross-street beneath his windowsand stop at each house. The milkman carried his jars round to the "backporch, " while the horse moved slowly ahead to the gate of the nextcustomer and waited there. "He's gone into Pollocks', " Adams thought, following this progress. "I hope it'll sour on 'em before breakfast. Delivered the Andersons'. Now he's getting out ours. Listen to the darnbrute! What's HE care who wants to sleep!" His complaint was of thehorse, who casually shifted weight with a clink of steel shoes on theworn brick pavement of the street, and then heartily shook himself inhis harness, perhaps to dislodge a fly far ahead of its season. Lighthad just filmed the windows; and with that the first sparrow woke, chirped instantly, and roused neighbours in the trees of the small yard, including a loud-voiced robin. Vociferations began irregularly, but weresoon unanimous. 

"Sleep? Dang likely now, ain't it!"

Night sounds were becoming day sounds; the far-away hooting offreight-engines seemed brisker than an hour ago in the dark. A cheerfulwhistler passed the house, even more careless of sleepers than themilkman's horse had been; then a group of coloured workmen came by, andalthough it was impossible to be sure whether they were homeward boundfrom night-work or on their way to day-work, at least it was certainthat they were jocose. Loose, aboriginal laughter preceded them afar, and beat on the air long after they had gone by. 

The sick-room night-light, shielded from his eyes by a newspaper proppedagainst a water-pitcher, still showed a thin glimmering that had grownoffensive to Adams. In his wandering and enfeebled thoughts, whichwere much more often imaginings than reasonings, the attempt of thenight-light to resist the dawn reminded him of something unpleasant, though he could not discover just what the unpleasant thing was. Herewas a puzzle that irritated him the more because he could not solve it, yet always seemed just on the point of a solution. However, he may havelost nothing cheerful by remaining in the dark upon the matter; forif he had been a little sharper in this introspection he might haveconcluded that the squalor of the night-light, in its seeming effortto show against the forerunning of the sun itself, had stimulated somehalf-buried perception within him to sketch the painful little synopsisof an autobiography. 

In spite of noises without, he drowsed again, not knowing that he did;and when he opened his eyes the nurse was just rising from her cot. Hetook no pleasure in the sight, it may be said. She exhibited to him aface mismodelled by sleep, and set like a clay face left on its cheek ina hot and dry studio. She was still only in part awake, however, and bythe time she had extinguished the night-light and given her patient histonic, she had recovered enough plasticity. "Well, isn't that grand!We've had another good night, " she said as she departed to dress in thebathroom. 

"Yes, you had another!" he retorted, though not until after she hadclosed the door. 

Presently he heard his daughter moving about in her room across thenarrow hall, and so knew that she had risen. He hoped she would comein to see him soon, for she was the one thing that didn't press on hisnerves, he felt; though the thought of her hurt him, as, indeed, everythought hurt him. But it was his wife who came first. 

She wore a lank cotton wrapper, and a crescent of gray hair escaped toone temple from beneath the handkerchief she had worn upon her head forthe night and still retained; but she did everything possible to makeher expression cheering. 

"Oh, you're better again! I can see that, as soon as I look at you, " shesaid. "Miss Perry tells me you've had another splendid night. "

He made a sound of irony, which seemed to dispose unfavourably of MissPerry, and then, in order to be more certainly intelligible, he added, "She slept well, as usual!"

But his wife's smile persisted. "It's a good sign to be cross; it meansyou're practically convalescent right now. "

"Oh, I am, am I?"

"No doubt in the world!" she exclaimed. "Why, you're practically a wellman, Virgil--all except getting your strength back, of course, and thatisn't going to take long. You'll be right on your feet in a couple ofweeks from now. "

"Oh, I will?"

"Of course you will!" She laughed briskly, and, going to the table inthe center of the room, moved his glass of medicine an inch or two, turned a book over so that it lay upon its other side, and for a fewmoments occupied herself with similar futilities, having taken on theair of a person who makes things neat, though she produced no suchactual effect upon them. "Of course you will, " she repeated, absently. "You'll be as strong as you ever were; maybe stronger. " She paused for amoment, not looking at him, then added, cheerfully, "So that you can flyaround and find something really good to get into. "

Something important between them came near the surface here, for thoughshe spoke with what seemed but a casual cheerfulness, there was alittle betraying break in her voice, a trembling just perceptible in theutterance of the final word. And she still kept up the affectation ofbeing helpfully preoccupied with the table, and did not look at herhusband--perhaps because they had been married so many years thatwithout looking she knew just what his expression would be, andpreferred to avoid the actual sight of it as long as possible. Meanwhile, he stared hard at her, his lips beginning to move with littledistortions not lacking in the pathos of a sick man's agitation. 

"So that's it, " he said. "That's what you're hinting at. "

"'Hinting?'" Mrs. Adams looked surprised and indulgent. "Why, I'm notdoing any hinting, Virgil. "

"What did you say about my finding 'something good to get into?'" heasked, sharply. "Don't you call that hinting?"

Mrs. Adams turned toward him now; she came to the bedside and would havetaken his hand, but he quickly moved it away from her. 

"You mustn't let yourself get nervous, " she said. "But of course whenyou get well there's only one thing to do. You mustn't go back to thatold hole again. "

"'Old hole?' That's what you call it, is it?" In spite of his weakness, anger made his voice strident, and upon this stimulation she spoke moreurgently. 

"You just mustn't go back to it, Virgil. It's not fair to any of us, andyou know it isn't. "

"Don't tell me what I know, please!"

She clasped her hands, suddenly carrying her urgency to plaintiveentreaty. "Virgil, you WON'T go back to that hole?"

"That's a nice word to use to me!" he said. "Call a man's business ahole!"

"Virgil, if you don't owe it to me to look for something different, don't you owe it to your children? Don't tell me you won't do what weall want you to, and what you know in your heart you ought to! And ifyou HAVE got into one of your stubborn fits and are bound to go backthere for no other reason except to have your own way, don't tell me so, for I can't bear it!"

He looked up at her fiercely. "You've got a fine way to cure a sickman!" he said; but she had concluded her appeal--for that time--andinstead of making any more words in the matter, let him see that therewere tears in her eyes, shook her head, and left the room. 

Alone, he lay breathing rapidly, his emaciated chest proving itselfequal to the demands his emotion put upon it. "Fine!" he repeated, withhusky indignation. "Fine way to cure a sick man! Fine!" Then, after asilence, he gave forth whispering sounds as of laughter, his expressionthe while remaining sore and far from humour. 

"And give us our daily bread!" he added, meaning that his wife's littleperformance was no novelty. 

CHAPTER II

In fact, the agitation of Mrs. Adams was genuine, but so well under hercontrol that its traces vanished during the three short steps shetook to cross the narrow hall between her husband's door and the oneopposite. Her expression was matter-of-course, rather than pathetic, asshe entered the pretty room where her daughter, half dressed, sat beforea dressing-table and played with the reflections of a three-leafedmirror framed in blue enamel. That is, just before the moment ofher mother's entrance, Alice had been playing with the mirror'sreflections--posturing her arms and her expressions, clasping her handsbehind her neck, and tilting back her head to foreshorten the face in atableau conceived to represent sauciness, then one of smiling weariness, then one of scornful toleration, and all very piquant; but as the dooropened she hurriedly resumed the practical, and occupied her hands inthe arrangement of her plentiful brownish hair. 

They were pretty hands, of a shapeliness delicate and fine. "The bestthings she's got!" a cold-blooded girl friend said of them, and meantto include Alice's mind and character in the implied list of possessionssurpassed by the notable hands. However that may have been, the restof her was well enough. She was often called "a right prettygirl"--temperate praise meaning a girl rather pretty than otherwise, and this she deserved, to say the least. Even in repose she deservedit, though repose was anything but her habit, being seldom seen uponher except at home. On exhibition she led a life of gestures, the unkindsaid to make her lovely hands more memorable; but all of her usuallyaccompanied the gestures of the hands, the shoulders ever giving themtheir impulses first, and even her feet being called upon, at the sametime, for eloquence. 

So much liveliness took proper place as only accessory to that of theface, where her vivacity reached its climax; and it was unfortunate thatan ungifted young man, new in the town, should have attempted to definethe effect upon him of all this generosity of emphasis. He said that"the way she used her cute hazel eyes and the wonderful glow of herfacial expression gave her a mighty spiritual quality. " His actualrendition of the word was "spirichul"; but it was not his pronunciationthat embalmed this outburst in the perennial laughter of Alice's girlfriends; they made the misfortune far less his than hers. 

Her mother comforted her too heartily, insisting that Alice had "plentyenough spiritual qualities, " certainly more than possessed by the othergirls who flung the phrase at her, wooden things, jealous of everythingthey were incapable of themselves; and then Alice, getting morechampionship than she sought, grew uneasy lest Mrs. Adams should repeatsuch defenses "outside the family"; and Mrs. Adams ended by weepingbecause the daughter so distrusted her intelligence. Alice frequentlythought it necessary to instruct her mother. 

Her morning greeting was an instruction to-day; or, rather, it wasan admonition in the style of an entreaty, the more petulant as Alicethought that Mrs. Adams might have had a glimpse of the posturings tothe mirror. This was a needless worry; the mother had caught a thousandsuch glimpses, with Alice unaware, and she thought nothing of the onejust flitted. 

"For heaven's sake, mama, come clear inside the room and shut the door!PLEASE don't leave it open for everybody to look at me!"

"There isn't anybody to see you, " Mrs. Adams explained, obeying. "MissPerry's gone downstairs, and----"

"Mama, I heard you in papa's room, " Alice said, not dropping the note ofcomplaint. "I could hear both of you, and I don't think you ought to getpoor old papa so upset--not in his present condition, anyhow. "

Mrs. Adams seated herself on the edge of the bed. "He's better all thetime, " she said, not disturbed. "He's almost well. The doctor says soand Miss Perry says so; and if we don't get him into the right frameof mind now we never will. The first day he's outdoors he'll go back tothat old hole--you'll see! And if he once does that, he'll settle downthere and it'll be too late and we'll never get him out. "

"Well, anyhow, I think you could use a little more tact with him. "

"I do try to, " the mother sighed. "It never was much use with him. Idon't think you understand him as well as I do, Alice. "

"There's one thing I don't understand about either of you, " Alicereturned, crisply. "Before people get married they can do anything theywant to with each other. Why can't they do the same thing after they'remarried? When you and papa were young people and engaged, he'd have doneanything you wanted him to. That must have been because you knew how tomanage him then. Why can't you go at him the same way now?"

Mrs. Adams sighed again, and laughed a little, making no other response;but Alice persisted. "Well, WHY can't you? Why can't you ask him to dothings the way you used to ask him when you were just in love with eachother? Why don't you anyhow try it, mama, instead of ding-donging athim?"

"'Ding-donging at him, ' Alice?" Mrs. Adams said, with a pathos somewhatemphasized. "Is that how my trying to do what I can for you strikesyou?"

"Never mind that; it's nothing to hurt your feelings. " Alice disposed ofthe pathos briskly. "Why don't you answer my question? What's the matterwith using a little more tact on papa? Why can't you treat him the wayyou probably did when you were young people, before you were married? Inever have understood why people can't do that. "

"Perhaps you WILL understand some day, " her mother said, gently. "Maybeyou will when you've been married twenty-five years. "

"You keep evading. Why don't you answer my question right straight out?"

"There are questions you can't answer to young people, Alice. "

"You mean because we're too young to understand the answer? I don't seethat at all. At twenty-two a girl's supposed to have some intelligence, isn't she? And intelligence is the ability to understand, isn't it?Why do I have to wait till I've lived with a man twenty-five years tounderstand why you can't be tactful with papa?"

"You may understand some things before that, " Mrs. Adams said, tremulously. "You may understand how you hurt me sometimes. Youthcan't know everything by being intelligent, and by the time you couldunderstand the answer you're asking for you'd know it, and wouldn't needto ask. You don't understand your father, Alice; you don't know what ittakes to change him when he's made up his mind to be stubborn. "

Alice rose and began to get herself into a skirt. "Well, I don't thinkmaking scenes ever changes anybody, " she grumbled. "I think a littlejolly persuasion goes twice as far, myself. "

"'A little jolly persuasion!'" Her mother turned the echo of this phraseinto an ironic lament. "Yes, there was a time when I thought that, too!It didn't work; that's all. "

"Perhaps you left the 'jolly' part of it out, mama. "

For the second time that morning--it was now a little after seveno'clock--tears seemed about to offer their solace to Mrs. Adams. "Imight have expected you to say that, Alice; you never do miss a chance, "she said, gently. "It seems queer you don't some time miss just ONEchance!"

But Alice, progressing with her toilet, appeared to be little concerned. "Oh, well, I think there are better ways of managing a man than justhammering at him. "

Mrs. Adams uttered a little cry of pain. "'Hammering, ' Alice?"

"If you'd left it entirely to me, " her daughter went on, briskly, "Ibelieve papa'd already be willing to do anything we want him to. "

"That's it; tell me I spoil everything. Well, I won't interfere from nowon, you can be sure of it. "

"Please don't talk like that, " Alice said, quickly. "I'm old enough torealize that papa may need pressure of all sorts; I only think it makeshim more obstinate to get him cross. You probably do understand himbetter, but that's one thing I've found out and you haven't. There!"She gave her mother a friendly tap on the shoulder and went to the door. "I'll hop in and say hello to him now. "

As she went, she continued the fastening of her blouse, and appeared inher father's room with one hand still thus engaged, but she patted hisforehead with the other. 

"Poor old papa-daddy!" she said, gaily. "Every time he's better somebodytalks him into getting so mad he has a relapse. It's a shame!"

Her father's eyes, beneath their melancholy brows, looked up at herwistfully. "I suppose you heard your mother going for me, " he said. 

"I heard you going for her, too!" Alice laughed. "What was it allabout?"

"Oh, the same danged old story!"

"You mean she wants you to try something new when you get well?" Aliceasked, with cheerful innocence. "So we could all have a lot more money?"

At this his sorrowful forehead was more sorrowful than ever. The deephorizontal lines moved upward to a pattern of suffering so familiar tohis daughter that it meant nothing to her; but he spoke quietly. "Yes;so we wouldn't have any money at all, most likely. "

"Oh, no!" she laughed, and, finishing with her blouse, patted his cheekswith both hands. "Just think how many grand openings there must be fora man that knows as much as you do! I always did believe you could getrich if you only cared to, papa. "

But upon his forehead the painful pattern still deepened. "Don't youthink we've always had enough, the way things are, Alice?"

"Not the way things ARE!" She patted his cheeks again; laughed again. "It used to be enough, maybe anyway we did skimp along on it--but theway things are now I expect mama's really pretty practical in her ideas, though, I think it's a shame for her to bother you about it while you'reso weak. Don't you worry about it, though; just think about other thingstill you get strong. "

"You know, " he said; "you know it isn't exactly the easiest thing in theworld for a man of my age to find these grand openings you speak of. Andwhen you've passed half-way from fifty to sixty you're apt to see somerisk in giving up what you know how to do and trying something new. "

"My, what a frown!" she cried, blithely. "Didn't I tell you to stopthinking about it till you get ALL well?" She bent over him, givinghim a gay little kiss on the bridge of his nose. "There! I must run tobreakfast. Cheer up now! Au 'voir!" And with her pretty hand she wavedfurther encouragement from the closing door as she departed. 

Lightsomely descending the narrow stairway, she whistled as she went, her fingers drumming time on the rail; and, still whistling, she cameinto the dining-room, where her mother and her brother were already atthe table. The brother, a thin and sallow boy of twenty, greeted herwithout much approval as she took her place. 

"Nothing seems to trouble you!" he said. 

"No; nothing much, " she made airy response. "What's troubling yourself, Walter?"

"Don't let that worry you!" he returned, seeming to consider this to berepartee of an effective sort; for he furnished a short laugh to gowith it, and turned to his coffee with the manner of one who hassatisfactorily closed an episode. 

"Walter always seems to have so many secrets!" Alice said, studyinghim shrewdly, but with a friendly enough amusement in her scrutiny. "Everything he does or says seems to be acted for the benefit of somemysterious audience inside himself, and he always gets its applause. Take what he said just now: he seems to think it means something, butif it does, why, that's just another secret between him and the secretaudience inside of him! We don't really know anything about Walter atall, do we, mama?"

Walter laughed again, in a manner that sustained her theory well enough;then after finishing his coffee, he took from his pocket a flattenedpacket in glazed blue paper; extracted with stained fingers a bent andwrinkled little cigarette, lighted it, hitched up his belted trouserswith the air of a person who turns from trifles to things better worthhis attention, and left the room. 

Alice laughed as the door closed. "He's ALL secrets, " she said. "Don'tyou think you really ought to know more about him, mama?"

"I'm sure he's a good boy, " Mrs. Adams returned, thoughtfully. "He'sbeen very brave about not being able to have the advantages that areenjoyed by the boys he's grown up with. I've never heard a word ofcomplaint from him. "

"About his not being sent to college?" Alice cried. "I should think youwouldn't! He didn't even have enough ambition to finish high school!"

Mrs. Adams sighed. "It seemed to me Walter lost his ambition when nearlyall the boys he'd grown up with went to Eastern schools to prepare forcollege, and we couldn't afford to send him. If only your father wouldhave listened----"

Alice interrupted: "What nonsense! Walter hated books and studying, andathletics, too, for that matter. He doesn't care for anything nice thatI ever heard of. What do you suppose he does like, mama? He must likesomething or other somewhere, but what do you suppose it is? What doeshe do with his time?"

"Why, the poor boy's at Lamb and Company's all day. He doesn't getthrough until five in the afternoon; he doesn't HAVE much time. "

"Well, we never have dinner until about seven, and he's always late fordinner, and goes out, heaven knows where, right afterward!" Alice shookher head. "He used to go with our friends' boys, but I don't think hedoes now. "

"Why, how could he?" Mrs. Adams protested. "That isn't his fault, poorchild! The boys he knew when he was younger are nearly all away atcollege. "

"Yes, but he doesn't see anything of 'em when they're here atholiday-time or vacation. None of 'em come to the house any more. "

"I suppose he's made other friends. It's natural for him to wantcompanions, at his age. "

"Yes, " Alice said, with disapproving emphasis. "But who are they? I'vegot an idea he plays pool at some rough place down-town. "

"Oh, no; I'm sure he's a steady boy, " Mrs. Adams protested, but her tonewas not that of thoroughgoing conviction, and she added, "Life mightbe a very different thing for him if only your father can be brought tosee----"

"Never mind, mama! It isn't me that has to be convinced, you know; andwe can do a lot more with papa if we just let him alone about it for aday or two. Promise me you won't say any more to him until--well, untilhe's able to come downstairs to table. Will you?"

Mrs. Adams bit her lip, which had begun to tremble. "I think you cantrust me to know a FEW things, Alice, " she said. "I'm a little olderthan you, you know. "

"That's a good girl!" Alice jumped up, laughing. "Don't forget it's thesame as a promise, and do just cheer him up a little. I'll say good-byeto him before I go out. "

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, I've got lots to do. I thought I'd run out to Mildred's to see whatshe's going to wear to-night, and then I want to go down and buy ayard of chiffon and some narrow ribbon to make new bows for myslippers--you'll have to give me some money----"

"If he'll give it to me!" her mother lamented, as they went toward thefront stairs together; but an hour later she came into Alice's room witha bill in her hand. 

"He has some money in his bureau drawer, " she said. "He finally told mewhere it was. "

There were traces of emotion in her voice, and Alice, looking shrewdlyat her, saw moisture in her eyes. 

"Mama!" she cried. "You didn't do what you promised me you wouldn't, didyou--NOT before Miss Perry!"

"Miss Perry's getting him some broth, " Mrs. Adams returned, calmly. "Besides, you're mistaken in saying I promised you anything; I said Ithought you could trust me to know what is right. "

"So you did bring it up again!" And Alice swung away from her, strodeto her father's door, flung it open, went to him, and put a light handsoothingly over his unrelaxed forehead. 

"Poor old papa!" she said. "It's a shame how everybody wants to troublehim. He shan't be bothered any more at all! He doesn't need to haveeverybody telling him how to get away from that old hole he's worked inso long and begin to make us all nice and rich. HE knows how!"

Thereupon she kissed him a consoling good-bye, and made another gaydeparture, the charming hand again fluttering like a white butterfly inthe shadow of the closing door. 

CHAPTER III

Mrs. Adams had remained in Alice's room, but her mood seemed to havechanged, during her daughter's little more than momentary absence. 

"What did he SAY?" she asked, quickly, and her tone was hopeful. 

"'Say?'" Alice repeated, impatiently. "Why, nothing. I didn't let him. Really, mama, I think the best thing for you to do would be to just keepout of his room, because I don't believe you can go in there and nottalk to him about it, and if you do talk we'll never get him to do theright thing. Never!"

The mother's response was a grieving silence; she turned from herdaughter and walked to the door. 

"Now, for goodness' sake!" Alice cried. "Don't go making tragedy out ofmy offering you a little practical advice!"

"I'm not, " Mrs. Adams gulped, halting. "I'm just--just going to dust thedownstairs, Alice. " And with her face still averted, she went out intothe little hallway, closing the door behind her. A moment later shecould be heard descending the stairs, the sound of her footstepscarrying somehow an effect of resignation. 

Alice listened, sighed, and, breathing the words, "Oh, murder!" turnedto cheerier matters. She put on a little apple-green turban with a dimgold band round it, and then, having shrouded the turban in a whiteveil, which she kept pushed up above her forehead, she got herself intoa tan coat of soft cloth fashioned with rakish severity. After that, having studied herself gravely in a long glass, she took from one ofthe drawers of her dressing-table a black leather card-case cornered insilver filigree, but found it empty. 

She opened another drawer wherein were two white pasteboard boxes ofcards, the one set showing simply "Miss Adams, " the other engraved inGothic characters, "Miss Alys Tuttle Adams. " The latter belonged toAlice's "Alys" period--most girls go through it; and Alice must havefelt that she had graduated, for, after frowning thoughtfully at theexhibit this morning, she took the box with its contents, and let thewhite shower fall from her fingers into the waste-basket beside hersmall desk. She replenished the card-case from the "Miss Adams"box; then, having found a pair of fresh white gloves, she tucked anivory-topped Malacca walking-stick under her arm and set forth. 

She went down the stairs, buttoning her gloves and still wearingthe frown with which she had put "Alys" finally out of her life. Shedescended slowly, and paused on the lowest step, looking about her withan expression that needed but a slight deepening to betoken bitterness. Its connection with her dropping "Alys" forever was slight, however. 

The small frame house, about fifteen years old, was already incliningto become a new Colonial relic. The Adamses had built it, moving into itfrom the "Queen Anne" house they had rented until they took this step infashion. But fifteen years is a long time to stand still in the midlandcountry, even for a house, and this one was lightly made, though theAdamses had not realized how flimsily until they had lived in it forsome time. "Solid, compact, and convenient" were the instructions to thearchitect, and he had made it compact successfully. Alice, pausingat the foot of the stairway, was at the same time fairly in the"living-room, " for the only separation between the "living room" and thehall was a demarcation suggested to willing imaginations by a pair ofwooden columns painted white. These columns, pine under the paint, were bruised and chipped at the base; one of them showed a crack thatthreatened to become a split; the "hard-wood" floor had become uneven;and in a corner the walls apparently failed of solidity, where thewall-paper had declined to accompany some staggerings of the plasterbeneath it. 

The furniture was in great part an accumulation begun with the weddinggifts; though some of it was older, two large patent rocking-chairs anda footstool having belonged to Mrs. Adams's mother in the days of hardbrown plush and veneer. For decoration there were pictures and vases. Mrs. Adams had always been fond of vases, she said, and every yearher husband's Christmas present to her was a vase of one sort oranother--whatever the clerk showed him, marked at about twelve orfourteen dollars. The pictures were some of them etchings framed ingilt: Rheims, Canterbury, schooners grouped against a wharf; and Alicecould remember how, in her childhood, her father sometimes pointed outthe watery reflections in this last as very fine. But it was a long timesince he had shown interest in such things--"or in anything much, " asshe thought. 

Other pictures were two water-colours in baroque frames; one being theAmalfi monk on a pergola wall, while the second was a yard-wide displayof iris blossoms, painted by Alice herself at fourteen, as a birthdaygift to her mother. Alice's glance paused upon it now with no greatpride, but showed more approval of an enormous photograph of theColosseum. This she thought of as "the only good thing in the room";it possessed and bestowed distinction, she felt; and she did not regrethaving won her struggle to get it hung in its conspicuous place ofhonour over the mantelpiece. Formerly that place had been held foryears by a steel-engraving, an accurate representation of the SuspensionBridge at Niagara Falls. It was almost as large as its successor, the"Colosseum, " and it had been presented to Mr. Adams by colleagues inhis department at Lamb and Company's. Adams had shown some feeling whenAlice began to urge its removal to obscurity in the "upstairs hall"; heeven resisted for several days after she had the "Colosseum" chargedto him, framed in oak, and sent to the house. She cheered him up, ofcourse, when he gave way; and her heart never misgave her that theremight be a doubt which of the two pictures was the more dismaying. 

Over the pictures, the vases, the old brown plush rocking-chairs andthe stool, over the three gilt chairs, over the new chintz-covered easychair and the gray velure sofa--over everything everywhere, was thefamiliar coating of smoke grime. It had worked into every fibre ofthe lace curtains, dingying them to an unpleasant gray; it lay onthe window-sills and it dimmed the glass panes; it covered the walls, covered the ceiling, and was smeared darker and thicker in all corners. Yet here was no fault of housewifery; the curse could not be lifted, asthe ingrained smudges permanent on the once white woodwork proved. Thegrime was perpetually renewed; scrubbing only ground it in. 

This particular ugliness was small part of Alice's discontent, forthough the coating grew a little deeper each year she was used to it. Moreover, she knew that she was not likely to find anything better ina thousand miles, so long as she kept to cities, and that none ofher friends, however opulent, had any advantage of her here. Indeed, throughout all the great soft-coal country, people who considerthemselves comparatively poor may find this consolation: cleanliness hasbeen added to the virtues and beatitudes that money can not buy. 

Alice brightened a little as she went forward to the front door, andshe brightened more when the spring breeze met her there. Then alldepression left her as she walked down the short brick path to thesidewalk, looked up and down the street, and saw how bravely the mapleshade-trees, in spite of the black powder they breathed, were flingingout their thousands of young green particles overhead. 

She turned north, treading the new little shadows on the pavementbriskly, and, having finished buttoning her gloves, swung down herMalacca stick from under her arm to let it tap a more leisurelyaccompaniment to her quick, short step. She had to step quickly if shewas to get anywhere; for the closeness of her skirt, in spite of itslittle length, permitted no natural stride; but she was pleased to beimpeded, these brevities forming part of her show of fashion. 

Other pedestrians found them not without charm, though approval may havebeen lacking here and there, and at the first crossing Alice sufferedwhat she might have accounted an actual injury, had she allowed herselfto be so sensitive. An elderly woman in fussy black silk stood there, waiting for a streetcar; she was all of a globular modelling, witha face patterned like a frost-bitten peach; and that the approachinggracefulness was uncongenial she naively made too evident. Her round, wan eyes seemed roused to bitter life as they rose from the curved highheels of the buckled slippers to the tight little skirt, and thence withstartled ferocity to the Malacca cane, which plainly appeared to her asa decoration not more astounding than it was insulting. 

Perceiving that the girl was bowing to her, the globular lady hurriedlymade shift to alter her injurious expression. "Good morning, Mrs. Dowling, " Alice said, gravely. Mrs. Dowling returned the salutation witha smile as convincingly benevolent as the ghastly smile upon a SantaClaus face; and then, while Alice passed on, exploded toward her asingle compacted breath through tightened lips. 

The sound was eloquently audible, though Mrs. Dowling remained unawarethat in this or any manner whatever she had shed a light upon herthoughts; for it was her lifelong innocent conviction that other peoplesaw her only as she wished to be seen, and heard from her only what sheintended to be heard. At home it was always her husband who pulled downthe shades of their bedroom window. 

Alice looked serious for a few moments after the little encounter, thenfound some consolation in the behaviour of a gentleman of forty orso who was coming toward her. Like Mrs. Dowling, he had begun to showconsciousness of Alice's approach while she was yet afar off; but histokens were of a kind pleasanter to her. He was like Mrs. Dowling again, however, in his conception that Alice would not realize the significanceof what he did. He passed his hand over his neck-scarf to see that itlay neatly to his collar, smoothed a lapel of his coat, and adjustedhis hat, seeming to be preoccupied the while with problems that kepthis eyes to the pavement; then, as he came within a few feet of her, he looked up, as in a surprised recognition almost dramatic, smiledwinningly, lifted his hat decisively, and carried it to the full arm'slength. 

Alice's response was all he could have asked. The cane in her righthand stopped short in its swing, while her left hand moved in a prettygesture as if an impulse carried it toward the heart; and she smiled, with her under lip caught suddenly between her teeth. Months ago she hadseen an actress use this smile in a play, and it came perfectly to Alicenow, without conscious direction, it had been so well acquired; but thepretty hand's little impulse toward the heart was an original bit allher own, on the spur of the moment. 

The gentleman went on, passing from her forward vision as he replacedhis hat. Of himself he was nothing to Alice, except for the graciouscircumstance that he had shown strong consciousness of a pretty girl. Hewas middle-aged, substantial, a family man, securely married; andAlice had with him one of those long acquaintances that never becomeemphasized by so much as five minutes of talk; yet for this inconsequentmeeting she had enacted a little part like a fragment in a pantomime ofSpanish wooing. 

It was not for him--not even to impress him, except as a messenger. Alice was herself almost unaware of her thought, which was one of therunning thousands of her thoughts that took no deliberate form in words. Nevertheless, she had it, and it was the impulse of all her prettybits of pantomime when she met other acquaintances who made theirappreciation visible, as this substantial gentleman did. In Alice'sunworded thought, he was to be thus encouraged as in some measure achampion to speak well of her to the world; but more than this: he wasto tell some magnificent unknown bachelor how wonderful, how mysterious, she was. 

She hastened on gravely, a little stirred reciprocally with thesupposed stirrings in the breast of that shadowy ducal mate, who must besomewhere "waiting, " or perhaps already seeking her; for she more oftenthought of herself as "waiting" while he sought her; and sometimes thisview of things became so definite that it shaped into a murmur on herlips. "Waiting. Just waiting. " And she might add, "For him!" Then, beingtwenty-two, she was apt to conclude the mystic interview by laughing atherself, though not without a continued wistfulness. 

She came to a group of small coloured children playing waywardly in apuddle at the mouth of a muddy alley; and at sight of her they gave overtheir pastime in order to stare. She smiled brilliantly upon them, butthey were too struck with wonder to comprehend that the manifestationwas friendly; and as Alice picked her way in a little detour to keepfrom the mud, she heard one of them say, "Lady got cane! Jeez'!"

She knew that many coloured children use impieties familiarly, and shewas not startled. She was disturbed, however, by an unfavourable hint inthe speaker's tone. He was six, probably, but the sting of a criticismis not necessarily allayed by knowledge of its ignoble source, andAlice had already begun to feel a slight uneasiness about her cane. Mrs. Dowling's stare had been strikingly projected at it; other women morethan merely glanced, their brows and lips contracting impulsively; andAlice was aware that one or two of them frankly halted as soon as shehad passed. 

She had seen in several magazines pictures of ladies with canes, and onthat account she had bought this one, never questioning that fashion isrecognized, even in the provinces, as soon as beheld. On the contrary, these staring women obviously failed to realize that what they werebeing shown was not an eccentric outburst, but the bright harbinger ofan illustrious mode. Alice had applied a bit of artificial pigment toher lips and cheeks before she set forth this morning; she did notneed it, having a ready colour of her own, which now mounted high withannoyance. 

Then a splendidly shining closed black automobile, with windows ofpolished glass, came silently down the street toward her. Within it, asin a luxurious little apartment, three comely ladies in mourning satand gossiped; but when they saw Alice they clutched one another. Theyinstantly recovered, bowing to her solemnly as they were borne by, yetwere not gone from her sight so swiftly but the edge of her side glancecaught a flash of teeth in mouths suddenly opened, and the dark glistenof black gloves again clutching to share mirth. 

The colour that outdid the rouge on Alice's cheek extended its area andgrew warmer as she realized how all too cordial had been her nod andsmile to these humorous ladies. But in their identity lay a significancecausing her a sharper smart, for they were of the family of that Lamb, chief of Lamb and Company, who had employed her father since before shewas born. 

"And know his salary! They'd be SURE to find out about that!" was herthought, coupled with another bitter one to the effect that they hadprobably made instantaneous financial estimates of what she wore thoughcertainly her walking-stick had most fed their hilarity. 

She tucked it under her arm, not swinging it again; and her breathbecame quick and irregular as emotion beset her. She had been enjoyingher walk, but within the space of the few blocks she had gone since shemet the substantial gentleman, she found that more than the walk wasspoiled: suddenly her life seemed to be spoiled, too; though she did notview the ruin with complaisance. These Lamb women thought her and hercane ridiculous, did they? she said to herself. That was their parvenublood: to think because a girl's father worked for their grandfathershe had no right to be rather striking in style, especially when thestriking WAS her style. Probably all the other girls and women wouldagree with them and would laugh at her when they got together, and, what might be fatal, would try to make all the men think her a sillypretender. Men were just like sheep, and nothing was easier than forwomen to set up as shepherds and pen them in a fold. "To keep outoutsiders, " Alice thought. "And make 'em believe I AM an outsider. What's the use of living?"

All seemed lost when a trim young man appeared, striding out of across-street not far before her, and, turning at the corner, cametoward her. Visibly, he slackened his gait to lengthen the time of hisapproach, and, as he was a stranger to her, no motive could be ascribedto him other than a wish to have a longer time to look at her. 

She lifted a pretty hand to a pin at her throat, bit her lip--not withthe smile, but mysteriously--and at the last instant before her shadowtouched the stranger, let her eyes gravely meet his. A moment later, having arrived before the house which was her destination, she haltedat the entrance to a driveway leading through fine lawns to theintentionally important mansion. It was a pleasant and impressiveplace to be seen entering, but Alice did not enter at once. She paused, examining a tiny bit of mortar which the masons had forgotten to scrapefrom a brick in one of the massive gate-posts. She frowned at this tinydefacement, and with an air of annoyance scraped it away, using theferrule of her cane an act of fastidious proprietorship. If any one hadlooked back over his shoulder he would not have doubted that she livedthere. 

Alice did not turn to see whether anything of the sort happened or not, but she may have surmised that it did. At all events, it was withan invigorated step that she left the gateway behind her and wentcheerfully up the drive to the house of her friend Mildred. 

CHAPTER IV

Adams had a restless morning, and toward noon he asked Miss Perry tocall his daughter; he wished to say something to her. 

"I thought I heard her leaving the house a couple of hours ago--maybelonger, " the nurse told him. "I'll go see. " And she returned from thebrief errand, her impression confirmed by information from Mrs. Adams. "Yes. She went up to Miss Mildred Palmer's to see what she's going towear to-night. "

Adams looked at Miss Perry wearily, but remained passive, making noinquiries; for he was long accustomed to what seemed to him a kind ofjargon among ladies, which became the more incomprehensible when theytried to explain it. A man's best course, he had found, was just to letit go as so much sound. His sorrowful eyes followed the nurse as shewent back to her rocking-chair by the window, and her placidity showedhim that there was no mystery for her in the fact that Alice walkedtwo miles to ask so simple a question when there was a telephone inthe house. Obviously Miss Perry also comprehended why Alice thought itimportant to know what Mildred meant to wear. Adams understood why Aliceshould be concerned with what she herself wore "to look neat and tidyand at her best, why, of course she'd want to, " he thought--but herealized that it was forever beyond him to understand why the clothingof other people had long since become an absorbing part of her life. 

Her excursion this morning was no novelty; she was continually going tosee what Mildred meant to wear, or what some other girl meant to wear;and when Alice came home from wherever other girls or women had beengathered, she always hurried to her mother with earnest descriptions ofthe clothing she had seen. At such times, if Adams was present, he mightrecognize "organdie, " or "taffeta, " or "chiffon, " as words definingcertain textiles, but the rest was too technical for him, and hewas like a dismal boy at a sermon, just waiting for it to get itselffinished. Not the least of the mystery was his wife's interest: she wasalmost indifferent about her own clothes, and when she consulted Aliceabout them spoke hurriedly and with an air of apology; but when Alicedescribed other people's clothes, Mrs. Adams listened as eagerly as thedaughter talked. 

"There they go!" he muttered to-day, a moment after he heard the frontdoor closing, a sound recognizable throughout most of the thinly builthouse. Alice had just returned, and Mrs. Adams called to her from theupper hallway, not far from Adams's door. 

"What did she SAY?"

"She was sort of snippy about it, " Alice returned, ascending the stairs. "She gets that way sometimes, and pretended she hadn't made up her mind, but I'm pretty sure it'll be the maize Georgette with Malines flounces. "

"Didn't you say she wore that at the Pattersons'?" Mrs. Adams inquired, as Alice arrived at the top of the stairs. "And didn't you tell me shewore it again at the----"

"Certainly not, " Alice interrupted, rather petulantly. "She's never wornit but once, and of course she wouldn't want to wear anything to-nightthat people have seen her in a lot. "

Miss Perry opened the door of Adams's room and stepped out. "Your fatherwants to know if you'll come and see him a minute, Miss Adams. "

"Poor old thing! Of course!" Alice exclaimed, and went quickly into theroom, Miss Perry remaining outside. "What's the matter, papa? Gettingawful sick of lying on his tired old back, I expect. "

"I've had kind of a poor morning, " Adams said, as she patted his handcomfortingly. "I been thinking----"

"Didn't I tell you not to?" she cried, gaily. "Of course you'll havepoor times when you go and do just exactly what I say you mustn't. Youstop thinking this very minute!"

He smiled ruefully, closing his eyes; was silent for a moment, thenasked her to sit beside the bed. "I been thinking of something I wantedto say, " he added. 

"What like, papa?"

"Well, it's nothing--much, " he said, with something deprecatory in histone, as if he felt vague impulses toward both humour and apology. "Ijust thought maybe I ought to've said more to you some time or otherabout--well, about the way things ARE, down at Lamb and Company's, forinstance. "

"Now, papa!" She leaned forward in the chair she had taken, andpretended to slap his hand crossly. "Isn't that exactly what I said youcouldn't think one single think about till you get ALL well?"

"Well----" he said, and went on slowly, not looking at her, but at theceiling. "I just thought maybe it wouldn't been any harm if some time orother I told you something about the way they sort of depend on me downthere. "

"Why don't they show it, then?" she asked, quickly. "That's just whatmama and I have been feeling so much; they don't appreciate you. "

"Why, yes, they do, " he said. "Yes, they do. They began h'isting mysalary the second year I went in there, and they've h'isted it a littleevery two years all the time I've worked for 'em. I've been head of thesundries department for seven years now, and I could hardly have moreauthority in that department unless I was a member of the firm itself. "

"Well, why don't they make you a member of the firm? That's what theyought to've done! Yes, and long ago!"

Adams laughed, but sighed with more heartiness than he had laughed. "They call me their 'oldest stand-by' down there. " He laughed again, apologetically, as if to excuse himself for taking a little pride inthis title. "Yes, sir; they say I'm their 'oldest stand-by'; and I guessthey know they can count on my department's turning in as good a reportas they look for, at the end of every month; but they don't have to takea man into the firm to get him to do my work, dearie. "

"But you said they depended on you, papa. "

"So they do; but of course not so's they couldn't get along without me. "He paused, reflecting. "I don't just seem to know how to put it--Imean how to put what I started out to say. I kind of wanted to tellyou--well, it seems funny to me, these last few years, the way yourmother's taken to feeling about it. I'd like to see a betterestablished wholesale drug business than Lamb and Company this side theAlleghanies--I don't say bigger, I say better established--and it's kindof funny for a man that's been with a business like that as long asI have to hear it called a 'hole. ' It's kind of funny when you think, yourself, you've done pretty fairly well in a business like that, andthe men at the head of it seem to think so, too, and put your salaryjust about as high as anybody could consider customary--well, what Imean, Alice, it's kind of funny to have your mother think it's mostlyjust--mostly just a failure, so to speak. "

His voice had become tremulous in spite of him; and this sign ofweakness and emotion had sufficient effect upon Alice. She bent over himsuddenly, with her arm about him and her cheek against his. "Poor papa!"she murmured. "Poor papa!"

"No, no, " he said. "I didn't mean anything to trouble you. I justthought----" He hesitated. "I just wondered--I thought maybe it wouldn'tbe any harm if I said something about how things ARE down there. Igot to thinking maybe you didn't understand it's a pretty good place. They're fine people to work for; and they've always seemed to thinksomething of me;--the way they took Walter on, for instance, soon as Iasked 'em, last year. Don't you think that looked a good deal as if theythought something of me, Alice?"

"Yes, papa, " she said, not moving. 

"And the work's right pleasant, " he went on. "Mighty nice boys in ourdepartment, Alice. Well, they are in all the departments, for thatmatter. We have a good deal of fun down there some days. "

She lifted her head. "More than you do at home 'some days, ' I expect, papa!" she said. 

He protested feebly. "Now, I didn't mean that--I didn't want to troubleyou----"

She looked at him through winking eyelashes. "I'm sorry I called it a'hole, ' papa. "

"No, no, " he protested, gently. "It was your mother said that. "

"No. I did, too. "

"Well, if you did, it was only because you'd heard her. "

She shook her head, then kissed him. "I'm going to talk to her, " shesaid, and rose decisively. 

But at this, her father's troubled voice became quickly louder: "Youbetter let her alone. I just wanted to have a little talk with you. Ididn't mean to start any--your mother won't----"

"Now, papa!" Alice spoke cheerfully again, and smiled upon him. "I wantyou to quit worrying! Everything's going to be all right and nobody'sgoing to bother you any more about anything. You'll see!"

She carried her smile out into the hall, but after she had closed thedoor her face was all pity; and her mother, waiting for her in theopposite room, spoke sympathetically. 

"What's the matter, Alice? What did he say that's upset you?"

"Wait a minute, mama. " Alice found a handkerchief, used it for eyes andsuffused nose, gulped, then suddenly and desolately sat upon the bed. "Poor, poor, POOR papa!" she whispered. 

"Why?" Mrs. Adams inquired, mildly. "What's the matter with him?Sometimes you act as if he weren't getting well. What's he been talkingabout?"

"Mama--well, I think I'm pretty selfish. Oh, I do!"

"Did he say you were?"

"Papa? No, indeed! What I mean is, maybe we're both a little selfish totry to make him go out and hunt around for something new. "

Mrs. Adams looked thoughtful. "Oh, that's what he was up to!"

"Mama, I think we ought to give it up. I didn't dream it had really hurthim. "

"Well, doesn't he hurt us?"

"Never that I know of, mama. "

"I don't mean by SAYING things, " Mrs. Adams explained, impatiently. "There are more ways than that of hurting people. When a man sticks to asalary that doesn't provide for his family, isn't that hurting them?"

"Oh, it 'provides' for us well enough, mama. We have what we need--if Iweren't so extravagant. Oh, _I_ know I am!"

But at this admission her mother cried out sharply. "'Extravagant!'You haven't one tenth of what the other girls you go with have. Andyou CAN'T have what you ought to as long as he doesn't get out of thathorrible place. It provides bare food and shelter for us, but what'sthat?"

"I don't think we ought to try any more to change him. "

"You don't?" Mrs. Adams came and stood before her. "Listen, Alice: yourfather's asleep; that's his trouble, and he's got to be waked up. Hedoesn't know that things have changed. When you and Walter were littlechildren we did have enough--at least it seemed to be about as muchas most of the people we knew. But the town isn't what it was in thosedays, and times aren't what they were then, and these fearful PRICESaren't the old prices. Everything else but your father has changed, andall the time he's stood still. He doesn't know it; he thinks becausethey've given him a hundred dollars more every two years he's quite aprosperous man! And he thinks that because his children cost him morethan he and I cost our parents he gives them--enough!"

"But Walter----" Alice faltered. "Walter doesn't cost him anything atall any more. " And she concluded, in a stricken voice, "It's all--me!"

"Why shouldn't it be?" her mother cried. "You're young--you're just atthe time when your life should be fullest of good things and happiness. Yet what do you get?"

Alice's lip quivered; she was not unsusceptible to such an appeal, butshe contrived the semblance of a protest. "I don't have such a bad timenot a good DEAL of the time, anyhow. I've got a good MANY of the thingsother girls have----"

"You have?" Mrs. Adams was piteously satirical. "I suppose you've gota limousine to go to that dance to-night? I suppose you've only gotto call a florist and tell him to send you some orchids? I supposeyou've----"

But Alice interrupted this list. Apparently in a single instant allemotion left her, and she became businesslike, as one in the midst oftrifles reminded of really serious matters. She got up from the bedand went to the door of the closet where she kept her dresses. "Oh, seehere, " she said, briskly. "I've decided to wear my white organdie if youcould put in a new lining for me. I'm afraid it'll take you nearly allafternoon. "

She brought forth the dress, displayed it upon the bed, and Mrs. Adamsexamined it attentively. 

"Do you think you could get it done, mama?"

"I don't see why not, " Mrs. Adams answered, passing a thoughtful handover the fabric. "It oughtn't to take more than four or five hours. "

"It's a shame to have you sit at the machine that long, " Alice said, absently, adding, "And I'm sure we ought to let papa alone. Let's justgive it up, mama. "

Mrs. Adams continued her thoughtful examination of the dress. "Did youbuy the chiffon and ribbon, Alice?"

"Yes. I'm sure we oughtn't to talk to him about it any more, mama. "

"Well, we'll see. "

"Let's both agree that we'll NEVER say another single word to him aboutit, " said Alice. "It'll be a great deal better if we just let him makeup his mind for himself. "

CHAPTER V

With this, having more immediately practical questions before them, theydropped the subject, to bend their entire attention upon the dress; andwhen the lunch-gong sounded downstairs Alice was still sketching repairsand alterations. She continued to sketch them, not heeding the summons. 

"I suppose we'd better go down to lunch, " Mrs. Adams said, absently. "She's at the gong again. " "In a minute, mama. Now about thesleeves----" And she went on with her planning. Unfortunately thegong was inexpressive of the mood of the person who beat upon it. Itconsisted of three little metal bowls upon a string; they were unequalin size, and, upon being tapped with a padded stick, gave forthvibrations almost musically pleasant. It was Alice who had substitutedthis contrivance for the brass "dinner-bell" in use throughout herchildhood; and neither she nor the others of her family realized thatthe substitution of sweeter sounds had made the life of that householdmore difficult. In spite of dismaying increases in wages, the Adamsesstill strove to keep a cook; and, as they were unable to pay the higherrates demanded by a good one, what they usually had was a whimsicalcoloured woman of nomadic impulses. In the hands of such a person theold-fashioned "dinner-bell" was satisfying; life could instantly bemade intolerable for any one dawdling on his way to a meal; the bell wascapable of every desirable profanity and left nothing bottled up in thebreast of the ringer. But the chamois-covered stick might whack uponAlice's little Chinese bowls for a considerable length of time andproduce no great effect of urgency upon a hearer, nor any other effect, except fury in the cook. The ironical impossibility of expressingindignation otherwise than by sounds of gentle harmony provedexasperating; the cook was apt to become surcharged, so that explosiveresignations, never rare, were somewhat more frequent after theintroduction of the gong. 

Mrs. Adams took this increased frequency to be only anothermanifestation of the inexplicable new difficulties that beset allhousekeeping. You paid a cook double what you had paid one a few yearsbefore; and the cook knew half as much of cookery, and had no gratitude. The more you gave these people, it seemed, the worse they behaved--acondition not to be remedied by simply giving them less, because youcouldn't even get the worst unless you paid her what she demanded. Nevertheless, Mrs. Adams remained fitfully an optimist in the matter. Brought up by her mother to speak of a female cook as "the girl, " shehad been instructed by Alice to drop that definition in favour of onenot an improvement in accuracy: "the maid. " Almost always, duringthe first day or so after every cook came, Mrs. Adams would say, atintervals, with an air of triumph: "I believe--of course it's a littlesoon to be sure--but I do really believe this new maid is the treasurewe've been looking for so long!" Much in the same way that Alice dreamedof a mysterious perfect mate for whom she "waited, " her mother hada fairy theory that hidden somewhere in the universe there was thetreasure, the perfect "maid, " who would come and cook in the Adamses'kitchen, not four days or four weeks, but forever. 

The present incumbent was not she. Alice, profoundly interested herself, kept her mother likewise so preoccupied with the dress that they werebut vaguely conscious of the gong's soft warnings, though these wererepeated and protracted unusually. Finally the sound of a hearty voice, independent and enraged, reached the pair. It came from the hall below. 

"I says goo'-BYE!" it called. "Da'ss all!"

Then the front door slammed. 

"Why, what----" Mrs. Adams began. 

They went down hurriedly to find out. Miss Perry informed them. 

"I couldn't make her listen to reason, " she said. "She rang the gongfour or five times and got to talking to herself; and then she went upto her room and packed her bag. I told her she had no business to go outthe front door, anyhow. "

Mrs. Adams took the news philosophically. "I thought she had somethinglike that in her eye when I paid her this morning, and I'm notsurprised. Well, we won't let Mr. Adams know anything's the matter tillI get a new one. "

They lunched upon what the late incumbent had left chilling on thetable, and then Mrs. Adams prepared to wash the dishes; she would "havethem done in a jiffy, " she said, cheerfully. But it was Alice who washedthe dishes. 

"I DON'T like to have you do that, Alice, " her mother protested, following her into the kitchen. "It roughens the hands, and when a girlhas hands like yours----"

"I know, mama. " Alice looked troubled, but shook her head. "It can't behelped this time; you'll need every minute to get that dress done. "

Mrs. Adams went away lamenting, while Alice, no expert, began to splashthe plates and cups and saucers in the warm water. After a while, asshe worked, her eyes grew dreamy: she was making little gay-colouredpictures of herself, unfounded prophecies of how she would look and whatwould happen to her that evening. She saw herself, charming and demure, wearing a fluffy idealization of the dress her mother now determinedlystruggled with upstairs; she saw herself framed in a garlanded archway, the entrance to a ballroom, and saw the people on the shining floorturning dramatically to look at her; then from all points a rush ofyoung men shouting for dances with her; and she constructed a superbstranger, tall, dark, masterfully smiling, who swung her out of theclamouring group as the music began. She saw herself dancing with him, saw the half-troubled smile she would give him; and she accuratelysmiled that smile as she rinsed the knives and forks. 

These hopeful fragments of drama were not to be realized, she knew; butshe played that they were true, and went on creating them. In all ofthem she wore or carried flowers--her mother's sorrow for her in thisdetail but made it the more important--and she saw herself glamorouswith orchids; discarded these for an armful of long-stemmed, heavyroses; tossed them away for a great bouquet of white camellias; andso wandered down a lengthening hothouse gallery of floral beauty, allcostly and beyond her reach except in such a wistful day-dream. And uponher present whole horizon, though she searched it earnestly, she coulddiscover no figure of a sender of flowers. 

Out of her fancies the desire for flowers to wear that night emergeddefinitely and became poignant; she began to feel that it might beparticularly important to have them. "This might be the night!" She wasstill at the age to dream that the night of any dance may be the vitalpoint in destiny. No matter how commonplace or disappointing otherdance nights have been this one may bring the great meeting. The unknownmagnifico may be there. 

Alice was almost unaware of her own reveries in which this beingappeared--reveries often so transitory that they developed and passed ina few seconds. And in some of them the being was not wholly a stranger;there were moments when he seemed to be composed of recognizablefragments of young men she knew--a smile she had liked, from one; thefigure of another, the hair of another--and sometimes she thoughthe might be concealed, so to say, within the person of an actualacquaintance, someone she had never suspected of being the right seekerfor her, someone who had never suspected that it was she who "waited"for him. Anything might reveal them to each other: a look, a turn of thehead, a singular word--perhaps some flowers upon her breast or in herhand. 

She wiped the dishes slowly, concluding the operation by dropping asaucer upon the floor and dreamily sweeping the fragments under thestove. She sighed and replaced the broom near a window, letting herglance wander over the small yard outside. The grass, repulsivelybesooted to the colour of coal-smoke all winter, had lately come to lifeagain and now sparkled with green, in the midst of which a tiny shot ofblue suddenly fixed her absent eyes. They remained upon it for severalmoments, becoming less absent. 

It was a violet. 

Alice ran upstairs, put on her hat, went outdoors and began to searchout the violets. She found twenty-two, a bright omen--since the numberwas that of her years--but not enough violets. There were no more; shehad ransacked every foot of the yard. 

She looked dubiously at the little bunch in her hand, glanced atthe lawn next door, which offered no favourable prospect; then wentthoughtfully into the house, left her twenty-two violets in a bowlof water, and came quickly out again, her brow marked with a frown ofdecision. She went to a trolley-line and took a car to the outskirts ofthe city where a new park had been opened. 

Here she resumed her search, but it was not an easily rewarded one, and for an hour after her arrival she found no violets. She walkedconscientiously over the whole stretch of meadow, her eyes rovingdiscontentedly; there was never a blue dot in the groomed expanse; butat last, as she came near the borders of an old grove of trees, leftuntouched by the municipal landscapers, the little flowers appeared, andshe began to gather them. She picked them carefully, loosening the earthround each tiny plant, so as to bring the roots up with it, that itmight live the longer; and she had brought a napkin, which shedrenched at a hydrant, and kept loosely wrapped about the stems of hercollection. 

The turf was too damp for her to kneel; she worked patiently, stoopingfrom the waist; and when she got home in a drizzle of rain at fiveo'clock her knees were tremulous with strain, her back ached, and shewas tired all over, but she had three hundred violets. Her mother moanedwhen Alice showed them to her, fragrant in a basin of water. 

"Oh, you POOR child! To think of your having to: work so hard to getthings that other girls only need; lift their little fingers for!"

"Never mind, " said Alice, huskily. "I've got 'em and I AM going to havea good time to-night!"

"You've just got to!" Mrs. Adams agreed, intensely sympathetic. "TheLord knows you deserve to, after picking all these violets, poor thing, and He wouldn't be mean enough to keep you from it. I may have to getdinner before I finish the dress, but I can get it done in a few minutesafterward, and it's going to look right pretty. Don't you worry aboutTHAT! And with all these lovely violets----"

"I wonder----" Alice began, paused, then went on, fragmentarily: "Isuppose--well, I wonder--do you suppose it would have been better policyto have told Walter before----"

"No, " said her mother. "It would only have given him longer to grumble. "

"But he might----"

"Don't worry, " Mrs. Adams reassured her. "He'll be a little cross, buthe won't be stubborn; just let me talk to him and don't you say anythingat all, no matter what HE says. "

These references to Walter concerned some necessary manoeuvres whichtook place at dinner, and were conducted by the mother, Alice havingaccepted her advice to sit in silence. Mrs. Adams began by laughingcheerfully. "I wonder how much longer it took me to cook this dinnerthan it does Walter to eat it?" she said. "Don't gobble, child! There'sno hurry. "

In contact with his own family Walter was no squanderer of words. 

"Is for me, " he said. "Got date. "

"I know you have, but there's plenty of time. "

He smiled in benevolent pity. "YOU know, do you? If you made anycoffee--don't bother if you didn't. Get some down-town. " He seemedabout to rise and depart; whereupon Alice, biting her lip, sent apanic-stricken glance at her mother. 

But Mrs. Adams seemed not at all disturbed; and laughed again. "Why, what nonsense, Walter! I'll bring your coffee in a few minutes, butwe're going to have dessert first. "

"What sort?"

"Some lovely peaches. "

"Doe' want 'ny canned peaches, " said the frank Walter, moving back hischair. "G'-night. "

"Walter! It doesn't begin till about nine o'clock at the earliest. "

He paused, mystified. "What doesn't?"

"The dance. "

"What dance?"

"Why, Mildred Palmer's dance, of course. "

Walter laughed briefly. "What's that to me?"

"Why, you haven't forgotten it's TO-NIGHT, have you?" Mrs. Adams cried. "What a boy!"

"I told you a week ago I wasn't going to that ole dance, " he returned, frowning. "You heard me. "

"Walter!" she exclaimed. "Of COURSE you're going. I got your clothes allout this afternoon, and brushed them for you. They'll look very nice, and----"

"They won't look nice on ME, " he interrupted. "Got date down-town, Itell you. "

"But of course you'll----"

"See here!" Walter said, decisively. "Don't get any wrong ideas in yourhead. I'm just as liable to go up to that ole dance at the Palmers' as Iam to eat a couple of barrels of broken glass. "

"But, Walter----"

Walter was beginning to be seriously annoyed. "Don't 'Walter' me! I'm nos'ciety snake. I wouldn't jazz with that Palmer crowd if they coaxed mewith diamonds. "

"Walter----"

"Didn't I tell you it's no use to 'Walter' me?" he demanded. 

"My dear child----"

"Oh, Glory!"

At this Mrs. Adams abandoned her air of amusement, looked hurt, andglanced at the demure Miss Perry across the table. "I'm afraid MissPerry won't think you have very good manners, Walter. "

"You're right she won't, " he agreed, grimly. "Not if I haf to hear anymore about me goin' to----"

But his mother interrupted him with some asperity: "It seems verystrange that you always object to going anywhere among OUR friends, Walter. "

"YOUR friends!" he said, and, rising from his chair, gave utterance toan ironical laugh strictly monosyllabic. "Your friends!" he repeated, going to the door. "Oh, yes! Certainly! Good-NIGHT!"

And looking back over his shoulder to offer a final brief view of hisderisive face, he took himself out of the room. 

Alice gasped: "Mama----"

"I'll stop him!" her mother responded, sharply; and hurried after thetruant, catching him at the front door with his hat and raincoat on. 

"Walter----"

"Told you had a date down-town, " he said, gruffly, and would have openedthe door, but she caught his arm and detained him. 

"Walter, please come back and finish your dinner. When I take all thetrouble to cook it for you, I think you might at least----"

"Now, now!" he said. "That isn't what you're up to. You don't want tomake me eat; you want to make me listen. "

"Well, you MUST listen!" She retained her grasp upon his arm, andmade it tighter. "Walter, please!" she entreated, her voice becomingtremulous. "PLEASE don't make me so much trouble!"

He drew back from her as far as her hold upon him permitted, and lookedat her sharply. "Look here!" he said. "I get you, all right! What's thematter of Alice GOIN' to that party by herself?"

"She just CAN'T!"

"Why not?"

"It makes things too MEAN for her, Walter. All the other girls havesomebody to depend on after they get there. "

"Well, why doesn't she have somebody?" he asked, testily. "Somebodybesides ME, I mean! Why hasn't somebody asked her to go? She ought to beTHAT popular, anyhow, I sh'd think--she TRIES enough!"

"I don't understand how you can be so hard, " his mother wailed, huskily. "You know why they don't run after her the way they do the other girlsshe goes with, Walter. It's because we're poor, and she hasn't got anybackground. 

"'Background?'" Walter repeated. "'Background?' What kind of talk isthat?"

"You WILL go with her to-night, Walter?" his mother pleaded, notstopping to enlighten him. "You don't understand how hard things are forher and how brave she is about them, or you COULDN'T be so selfish! It'dbe more than I can bear to see her disappointed to-night! She went clearout to Belleview Park this afternoon, Walter, and spent hours and hourspicking violets to wear. You WILL----"

Walter's heart was not iron, and the episode of the violets may havereached it. "Oh, BLUB!" he said, and flung his soft hat violently at thewall. 

His mother beamed with delight. "THAT'S a good boy, darling! You'llnever be sorry you----"

"Cut it out, " he requested. "If I take her, will you pay for a taxi?"

"Oh, Walter!" And again Mrs. Adams showed distress. "Couldn't you?"

"No, I couldn't; I'm not goin' to throw away my good money like that, and you can't tell what time o' night it'll be before she's willin' tocome home. What's the matter you payin' for one?"

"I haven't any money. "

"Well, father----"

She shook her head dolefully. "I got some from him this morning, andI can't bother him for any more; it upsets him. He's ALWAYS been soterribly close with money----"

"I guess he couldn't help that, " Walter observed. "We're liable to go tothe poorhouse the way it is. Well, what's the matter our walkin' to thisrotten party?"

"In the rain, Walter?"

"Well, it's only a drizzle and we can take a streetcar to within a blockof the house. "

Again his mother shook her head. "It wouldn't do. "

"Well, darn the luck, all right!" he consented, explosively. "I'll gether something to ride in. It means seventy-five cents. "

"Why, Walter!" Mrs. Adams cried, much pleased. "Do you know how to get acab for that little? How splendid!"

"Tain't a cab, " Walter informed her crossly. "It's a tin Lizzie, but youdon't haf' to tell her what it is till I get her into it, do you?"

Mrs. Adams agreed that she didn't. 

CHAPTER VI

Alice was busy with herself for two hours after dinner; but a littlebefore nine o'clock she stood in front of her long mirror, completed, bright-eyed and solemn. Her hair, exquisitely arranged, gave all sheasked of it; what artificialities in colour she had used upon her facewere only bits of emphasis that made her prettiness the more distinct;and the dress, not rumpled by her mother's careful hours of work, was awhite cloud of loveliness. Finally there were two triumphant bouquetsof violets, each with the stems wrapped in tin-foil shrouded by a bow ofpurple chiffon; and one bouquet she wore at her waist and the other shecarried in her hand. 

Miss Perry, called in by a rapturous mother for the free treat of a lookat this radiance, insisted that Alice was a vision. "Purely and simplya vision!" she said, meaning that no other definition whatever wouldsatisfy her. "I never saw anybody look a vision if she don't look oneto-night, " the admiring nurse declared. "Her papa'll think the same I doabout it. You see if he doesn't say she's purely and simply a vision. "

Adams did not fulfil the prediction quite literally when Alice paid abrief visit to his room to "show" him and bid him good-night; but hechuckled feebly. "Well, well, well!" he said. 

"You look mighty fine--MIGHTY fine!" And he waggled a bony finger at hertwo bouquets. "Why, Alice, who's your beau?"

"Never you mind!" she laughed, archly brushing his nose with the violetsin her hand. "He treats me pretty well, doesn't he?"

"Must like to throw his money around! These violets smell mighty sweet, and they ought to, if they're going to a party with YOU. Have a goodtime, dearie. "

"I mean to!" she cried; and she repeated this gaily, but with anemphasis expressing sharp determination as she left him. "I MEAN to!"

"What was he talking about?" her mother inquired, smoothing the ratherworn and old evening wrap she had placed on Alice's bed. "What were youtelling him you 'mean to?'"

Alice went back to her triple mirror for the last time, then stoodbefore the long one. "That I mean to have a good time to-night, " shesaid; and as she turned from her reflection to the wrap Mrs. Adams heldup for her, "It looks as though I COULD, don't you think so?"

"You'll just be a queen to-night, " her mother whispered in fond emotion. "You mustn't doubt yourself. "

"Well, there's one thing, " said Alice. "I think I do look nice enough toget along without having to dance with that Frank Dowling! All I ask isfor it to happen just once; and if he comes near me to-night I'm goingto treat him the way the other girls do. Do you suppose Walter's got thetaxi out in front?"

"He--he's waiting down in the hall, " Mrs. Adams answered, nervously; andshe held up another garment to go over the wrap. 

Alice frowned at it. "What's that, mama?"

"It's--it's your father's raincoat. I thought you'd put it on over----"

"But I won't need it in a taxicab. "

"You will to get in and out, and you needn't take it into the Palmers'. You can leave it in the--in the--It's drizzling, and you'll need it. "

"Oh, well, " Alice consented; and a few minutes later, as with Walter'sassistance she climbed into the vehicle he had provided, she betterunderstood her mother's solicitude. 

"What on earth IS this, Walter?" she asked. 

"Never mind; it'll keep you dry enough with the top up, " he returned, taking his seat beside her. Then for a time, as they went rather jerkilyup the street, she was silent; but finally she repeated her question:"What IS it, Walter?"

"What's what?"

"This--this CAR?"

"It's a ottomobile. "

"I mean--what kind is it?"

"Haven't you got eyes?"

"It's too dark. "

"It's a second-hand tin Lizzie, " said Walter. "D'you know what thatmeans? It means a flivver. "

"Yes, Walter. "

"Got 'ny 'bjections?"

"Why, no, dear, " she said, placatively. "Is it yours, Walter? Have youbought it?"

"Me?" he laughed. "_I_ couldn't buy a used wheelbarrow. I rent thissometimes when I'm goin' out among 'em. Costs me seventy-five cents andthe price o' the gas. "

"That seems very moderate. "

"I guess it is! The feller owes me some money, and this is the only wayI'd ever get it off him. "

"Is he a garage-keeper?"

"Not exactly!" Walter uttered husky sounds of amusement. "You'll be justas happy, I guess, if you don't know who he is, " he said. 

His tone misgave her; and she said truthfully that she was content notto know who owned the car. "I joke sometimes about how you keep thingsto yourself, " she added, "but I really never do pry in your affairs, Walter. "

"Oh, no, you don't!"

"Indeed, I don't. "

"Yes, you're mighty nice and cooing when you got me where you want me, "he jeered. "Well, _I_ just as soon tell you where I get this car. "

"I'd just as soon you wouldn't, Walter, " she said, hurriedly. "Pleasedon't. "

But Walter meant to tell her. "Why, there's nothin' exactly CRIMINALabout it, " he said. "It belongs to old J. A. Lamb himself. He keeps itfor their coon chauffeur. I rent it from him. "

"From Mr. LAMB?"

"No; from the coon chauffeur. "

"Walter!" she gasped. 

"Sure I do! I can get it any night when the coon isn't goin' to use ithimself. He's drivin' their limousine to-night--that little HenriettaLamb's goin' to the party, no matter if her father HAS only been deadless'n a year!" He paused, then inquired: "Well, how d'you like it?"

She did not speak, and he began to be remorseful for having impartedso much information, though his way of expressing regret was his own. "Well, you WILL make the folks make me take you to parties!" he said. "Igot to do it the best way I CAN, don't I?"

Then as she made no response, "Oh, the car's CLEAN enough, " he said. "This coon, he's as particular as any white man; you needn't worry aboutthat. " And as she still said nothing, he added gruffly, "I'd of had abetter car if I could afforded it. You needn't get so upset about it. "

"I don't understand--" she said in a low voice--"I don't understand howyou know such people. "

"Such people as who?"

"As--coloured chauffeurs. "

"Oh, look here, now!" he protested, loudly. "Don't you know this is ademocratic country?"

"Not quite that democratic, is it, Walter?"

"The trouble with you, " he retorted, "you don't know there's anybody intown except just this silk-shirt crowd. " He paused, seeming to awaita refutation; but as none came, he expressed himself definitely: "Theymake me sick. "

They were coming near their destination, and the glow of the big, brightly lighted house was seen before them in the wet night. Othercars, not like theirs, were approaching this center of brilliance; longtriangles of light near the ground swept through the fine drizzle; smallred tail-lights gleamed again from the moist pavement of the street;and, through the myriads of little glistening leaves along the curvingdriveway, glimpses were caught of lively colours moving in a white glareas the limousines released their occupants under the shelter of theporte-cochere. 

Alice clutched Walter's arm in a panic; they were just at the drivewayentrance. "Walter, we mustn't go in there. "

"What's the matter?"

"Leave this awful car outside. "

"Why, I----"

"Stop!" she insisted, vehemently. "You've got to! Go back!"

"Oh, Glory!"

The little car was between the entrance posts; but Walter backed it out, avoiding a collision with an impressive machine which swerved awayfrom them and passed on toward the porte-cochere, showing a man's facegrinning at the window as it went by. "Flivver runabout got the wrongnumber!" he said. 

"Did he SEE us?" Alice cried. 

"Did who see us?"

"Harvey Malone--in that foreign coupe. "

"No; he couldn't tell who we were under this top, " Walter assured her ashe brought the little car to a standstill beside the curbstone, out inthe street. "What's it matter if he did, the big fish?"

Alice responded with a loud sigh, and sat still. 

"Well, want to go on back?" Walter inquired. "You bet I'm willing!"

"No. "

"Well, then, what's the matter our drivin' on up to the porte-cochere?There's room for me to park just the other side of it. "

"No, NO!"

"What you expect to do? Sit HERE all night?"

"No, leave the car here. "

"_I_ don't care where we leave it, " he said. "Sit still till I lock her, so none o' these millionaires around here'll run off with her. " He gotout with a padlock and chain; and, having put these in place, offeredAlice his hand. "Come on, if you're ready. "

"Wait, " she said, and, divesting herself of the raincoat, handed it toWalter. "Please leave this with your things in the men's dressing-room, as if it were an extra one of your own, Walter. "

He nodded; she jumped out; and they scurried through the drizzle. 

As they reached the porte-cochere she began to laugh airily, and spoketo the impassive man in livery who stood there. "Joke on us!" shesaid, hurrying by him toward the door of the house. "Our car broke downoutside the gate. "

The man remained impassive, though he responded with a faint gleamas Walter, looking back at him, produced for his benefit a cynicaldistortion of countenance which offered little confirmation of Alice'saccount of things. Then the door was swiftly opened to the brother andsister; and they came into a marble-floored hall, where a dozen sleekedyoung men lounged, smoked cigarettes and fastened their gloves, as theywaited for their ladies. Alice nodded to one or another of these, andwent quickly on, her face uplifted and smiling; but Walter detained herat the door to which she hastened. 

"Listen here, " he said. "I suppose you want me to dance the first dancewith you----"

"If you please, Walter, " she said, meekly. 

"How long you goin' to hang around fixin' up in that dressin'-room?"

"I'll be out before you're ready yourself, " she promised him; and kepther word, she was so eager for her good time to begin. When he camefor her, they went down the hall to a corridor opening upon three greatrooms which had been thrown open together, with the furniture removedand the broad floors waxed. At one end of the corridor musicians sat ina green grove, and Walter, with some interest, turned toward these; buthis sister, pressing his arm, impelled him in the opposite direction. 

"What's the matter now?" he asked. "That's Jazz Louie and his half-breedbunch--three white and four mulatto. Let's----?"

"No, no, " she whispered. "We must speak to Mildred and Mr. And Mrs. Palmer. "

"'Speak' to 'em? I haven't got a thing to say to THOSE berries!"

"Walter, won't you PLEASE behave?"

He seemed to consent, for the moment, at least, and suffered her to takehim down the corridor toward a floral bower where the hostess stood withher father and mother. Other couples and groups were moving in thesame direction, carrying with them a hubbub of laughter and fragmentarychatterings; and Alice, smiling all the time, greeted people onevery side of her eagerly--a little more eagerly than most of themresponded--while Walter nodded in a noncommittal manner to one or two, said nothing, and yawned audibly, the last resource of a person whofinds himself nervous in a false situation. He repeated his yawn andwas beginning another when a convulsive pressure upon his arm made himunderstand that he must abandon this method of reassuring himself. Theywere close upon the floral bower. 

Mildred was giving her hand to one and another of her guests as rapidlyas she could, passing them on to her father and mother, and at thesame time resisting the efforts of three or four detached bachelors whobesought her to give over her duty in favour of the dance-music justbeginning to blare. 

She was a large, fair girl, with a kindness of eye somewhat withheld byan expression of fastidiousness; at first sight of her it was clear thatshe would never in her life do anything "incorrect, " or wear anything"incorrect. " But her correctness was of the finer sort, and had no airof being studied or achieved; conduct would never offer her a problem tobe settled from a book of rules, for the rules were so deep within herthat she was unconscious of them. And behind this perfection there wasan even ampler perfection of what Mrs. Adams called "background. " Thebig, rich, simple house was part of it, and Mildred's father and motherwere part of it. They stood beside her, large, serene people, murmuringgraciously and gently inclining their handsome heads as they gave theirhands to the guests; and even the youngest and most ebullient of thesetook on a hushed mannerliness with a closer approach to the bower. 

When the opportunity came for Alice and Walter to pass within thisprecinct, Alice, going first, leaned forward and whispered in Mildred'sear. "You DIDN'T wear the maize georgette! That's what I thought youwere going to. But you look simply DARLING! And those pearls----"

Others were crowding decorously forward, anxious to be done withceremony and get to the dancing; and Mildred did not prolong theintimacy of Alice's enthusiastic whispering. With a faint accession ofcolour and a smile tending somewhat in the direction of rigidity, shecarried Alice's hand immediately onward to Mrs. Palmer's. Alice's owncolour showed a little heightening as she accepted the suggestion thusimplied; nor was that emotional tint in any wise decreased, a momentlater, by an impression that Walter, in concluding the brief exchangeof courtesies between himself and the stately Mr. Palmer, had againreassured himself with a yawn. 

But she did not speak of it to Walter; she preferred not to confirm theimpression and to leave in her mind a possible doubt that he had doneit. He followed her out upon the waxed floor, said resignedly: "Well, come on, " put his arm about her, and they began to dance. 

Alice danced gracefully and well, but not so well as Walter. Of all thesteps and runs, of all the whimsical turns and twirlings, of all therhythmic swayings and dips commanded that season by such blarings aswere the barbaric product, loud and wild, of the Jazz Louies and theirhalf-breed bunches, the thin and sallow youth was a master. Upon hisface could be seen contempt of the easy marvels he performed as hemoved in swift precision from one smooth agility to another; and if sometoo-dainty or jealous cavalier complained that to be so much a stylistin dancing was "not quite like a gentleman, " at least Walter's style waswhat the music called for. No other dancer in the room could be thoughtcomparable to him. Alice told him so. 

"It's wonderful!" she said. "And the mystery is, where you ever learnedto DO it! You never went to dancing-school, but there isn't a man in theroom who can dance half so well. I don't see why, when you dance likethis, you always make such a fuss about coming to parties. "

He sounded his brief laugh, a jeering bark out of one side of the mouth, and swung her miraculously through a closing space between two othercouples. "You know a lot about what goes on, don't you? You prob'lythink there's no other place to dance in this town except thesefrozen-face joints. "

"'Frozen face?'" she echoed, laughing. "Why, everybody's having asplendid time. Look at them. "

"Oh, they holler loud enough, " he said. "They do it to make each otherthink they're havin' a good time. You don't call that Palmer familyfrozen-face berries, I s'pose. No?"

"Certainly not. They're just dignified and----"

"Yeuh!" said Walter. "They're dignified, 'specially when you tried towhisper to Mildred to show how IN with her you were, and she moved youon that way. SHE'S a hot friend, isn't she!"

"She didn't mean anything by it. She----"

"Ole Palmer's a hearty, slap you-on-the-back ole berry, " Walterinterrupted; adding in a casual tone, "All I'd like, I'd like to hithim. "

"Walter! By the way, you mustn't forget to ask Mildred for a dancebefore the evening is over. "

"Me?" He produced the lop-sided appearance of his laugh, but withoutmaking it vocal. "You watch me do it!"

"She probably won't have one left, but you must ask her, anyway. "

"Why must I?"

"Because, in the first place, you're supposed to, and, in the secondplace, she's my most intimate friend. "

"Yeuh? Is she? I've heard you pull that 'most-intimate-friend' stuffoften enough about her. What's SHE ever do to show she is?"

"Never mind. You really must ask her, Walter. I want you to; and I wantyou to ask several other girls afterwhile; I'll tell you who. "

"Keep on wanting; it'll do you good. "

"Oh, but you really----"

"Listen!" he said. "I'm just as liable to dance with any of thesefairies as I am to buy a bucket o' rusty tacks and eat 'em. Forget it!Soon as I get rid of you I'm goin' back to that room where I left my hatand overcoat and smoke myself to death. "

"Well, " she said, a little ruefully, as the frenzy of Jazz Louie and hishalf-breeds was suddenly abated to silence, "you mustn't--you mustn'tget rid of me TOO soon, Walter. "

They stood near one of the wide doorways, remaining where they hadstopped. Other couples, everywhere, joined one another, formingvivacious clusters, but none of these groups adopted the brother andsister, nor did any one appear to be hurrying in Alice's direction toask her for the next dance. She looked about her, still maintaining thatjubilance of look and manner she felt so necessary--for it is to thegirls who are "having a good time" that partners are attracted--and, inorder to lend greater colour to her impersonation of a lively belle, she began to chatter loudly, bringing into play an accompaniment offrolicsome gesture. She brushed Walter's nose saucily with the bunchof violets in her hand, tapped him on the shoulder, shook her prettyforefinger in his face, flourished her arms, kept her shoulders moving, and laughed continuously as she spoke. 

"You NAUGHTY old Walter!" she cried. "AREN'T you ashamed to be such awonderful dancer and then only dance with your own little sister! Youcould dance on the stage if you wanted to. Why, you could made yourFORTUNE that way! Why don't you? Wouldn't it be just lovely to have allthe rows and rows of people clapping their hands and shouting, 'Hurrah!Hurrah, for Walter Adams! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

He stood looking at her in stolid pity. 

"Cut it out, " he said. "You better be givin' some of these berries theeye so they'll ask you to dance. "

She was not to be so easily checked, and laughed loudly, flourishing herviolets in his face again. "You WOULD like it; you know you would; youneedn't pretend! Just think! A whole big audience shouting, 'Hurrah!HURRAH! HUR----'"

"The place'll be pulled if you get any noisier, " he interrupted, notungently. "Besides, I'm no muley cow. "

"A 'COW?'" she laughed. "What on earth----"

"I can't eat dead violets, " he explained. "So don't keep tryin' to makeme do it. "

This had the effect he desired, and subdued her; she abandoned herunsisterly coquetries, and looked beamingly about her, but her smile wasmore mechanical than it had been at first. 

At home she had seemed beautiful; but here, where the other girlscompeted, things were not as they had been there, with only her motherand Miss Perry to give contrast. These crowds of other girls had alldone their best, also, to look beautiful, though not one of them hadworked so hard for such a consummation as Alice had. They did not needto; they did not need to get their mothers to make old dresses over;they did not need to hunt violets in the rain. 

At home her dress had seemed beautiful; but that was different, too, where there were dozens of brilliant fabrics, fashioned in newways--some of these new ways startling, which only made the wearerscenters of interest and shocked no one. And Alice remembered that shehad heard a girl say, not long before, "Oh, ORGANDIE! Nobody wearsorgandie for evening gowns except in midsummer. " Alice had thoughtlittle of this; but as she looked about her and saw no organdie excepther own, she found greater difficulty in keeping her smile as arch andspontaneous as she wished it. In fact, it was beginning to make her faceache a little. 

Mildred came in from the corridor, heavily attended. She carried a greatbouquet of violets laced with lilies of-the-valley; and the violets werelusty, big purple things, their stems wrapped in cloth of gold, withsilken cords dependent, ending in long tassels. She and her convoypassed near the two young Adamses; and it appeared that one of theconvoy besought his hostess to permit "cutting in"; they were "doing itother places" of late, he urged; but he was denied and told to consolehimself by holding the bouquet, at intervals, until his third of thesixteenth dance should come. Alice looked dubiously at her own bouquet. 

Suddenly she felt that the violets betrayed her; that any one who lookedat them could see how rustic, how innocent of any florist's craft theywere "I can't eat dead violets, " Walter said. The little wild flowers, dying indeed in the warm air, were drooping in a forlorn mass; and itseemed to her that whoever noticed them would guess that she had pickedthem herself. She decided to get rid of them. 

Walter was becoming restive. "Look here!" he said. "Can't you flag oneo' these long-tailed birds to take you on for the next dance? You cameto have a good time; why don't you get busy and have it? I want to getout and smoke. "

"You MUSTN'T leave me, Walter, " she whispered, hastily. "Somebody'llcome for me before long, but until they do----"

"Well, couldn't you sit somewhere?"

"No, no! There isn't any one I could sit with. "

"Well, why not? Look at those ole dames in the corners. What's thematter your tyin' up with some o' them for a while?"

"PLEASE, Walter; no!"

In fact, that indomitable smile of hers was the more difficult tomaintain because of these very elders to whom Walter referred. Theywere mothers of girls among the dancers, and they were there to fend andcontrive for their offspring; to keep them in countenance through anytrial; to lend them diplomacy in the carrying out of all enterprises;to be "background" for them; and in these essentially biologicalfunctionings to imitate their own matings and renew the excitement oftheir nuptial periods. Older men, husbands of these ladies and fathersof eligible girls, were also to be seen, most of them with Mr. Palmerin a billiard-room across the corridor. Mr. And Mrs. Adams had not beeninvited. "Of course papa and mama just barely know Mildred Palmer, "Alice thought, "and most of the other girls' fathers and mothers are oldfriends of Mr. And Mrs. Palmer, but I do think she might have ASKED papaand mama, anyway--she needn't have been afraid just to ask them;she knew they couldn't come. " And her smiling lip twitched a littlethreateningly, as she concluded the silent monologue. "I suppose shethinks I ought to be glad enough she asked Walter!"

Walter was, in fact, rather noticeable. He was not Mildred's only guestto wear a short coat and to appear without gloves; but he was singular(at least in his present surroundings) on account of a kind ofcoiffuring he favoured, his hair having been shaped after what seemeda Mongol inspiration. Only upon the top of the head was actual hairperceived, the rest appearing to be nudity. And even more than by anydifference in mode he was set apart by his look and manner, in whichthere seemed to be a brooding, secretive and jeering superiority andthis was most vividly expressed when he felt called upon for his loud, short, lop-sided laugh. Whenever he uttered it Alice laughed, too, asloudly as she could, to cover it. 

"Well, " he said. "How long we goin' to stand here? My feet are sproutin'roots. "

Alice took his arm, and they began to walk aimlessly through the rooms, though she tried to look as if they had a definite destination, keepingher eyes eager and her lips parted;--people had called jovially to themfrom the distance, she meant to imply, and they were going to join thesemerry friends. She was still upon this ghostly errand when a furiousoutbreak of drums and saxophones sounded a prelude for the second dance. 

Walter danced with her again, but he gave her a warning. "I don't wantto leave you high and dry, " he told her, "but I can't stand it. I got toget somewhere I don't haf' to hurt my eyes with these berries; I'll goblind if I got to look at any more of 'em. I'm goin' out to smoke assoon as the music begins the next time, and you better get fixed forit. "

Alice tried to get fixed for it. As they danced she nodded sunnily toevery man whose eye she caught, smiled her smile with the underlip caught between her teeth; but it was not until the end of theintermission after the dance that she saw help coming. 

Across the room sat the globular lady she had encountered that morning, and beside the globular lady sat a round-headed, round-bodied girl;her daughter, at first glance. The family contour was also as evidenta characteristic of the short young man who stood in front of Mrs. Dowling, engaged with her in a discussion which was not withoutevidences of an earnestness almost impassioned. Like Walter, he wasdeclining to dance a third time with sister; he wished to go elsewhere. 

Alice from a sidelong eye watched the controversy: she saw the globularyoung man glance toward her, over his shoulder; whereupon Mrs. Dowling, following this glance, gave Alice a look of open fury, became much morevehement in the argument, and even struck her knee with a round, fatfist for emphasis. 

"I'm on my way, " said Walter. "There's the music startin' up again, andI told you----"

She nodded gratefully. "It's all right--but come back before long, Walter. "

The globular young man, red with annoyance, had torn himself fromhis family and was hastening across the room to her. "C'n I have thisdance?"

"Why, you nice Frank Dowling!" Alice cried. "How lovely!"

CHAPTER VII

They danced. Mr. Dowling should have found other forms of exercise andpastime. 

Nature has not designed everyone for dancing, though sometimes thoseshe has denied are the last to discover her niggardliness. But the roundyoung man was at least vigorous enough--too much so, when his kneescollided with Alice's--and he was too sturdy to be thrown off his feet, himself, or to allow his partner to fall when he tripped her. He heldher up valiantly, and continued to beat a path through the crowd ofother dancers by main force. 

He paid no attention to anything suggested by the efforts of themusicians, and appeared to be unaware that there should have been someconnection between what they were doing and what he was doing; but hemay have listened to other music of his own, for his expression was ofhigh content; he seemed to feel no doubt whatever that he was dancing. Alice kept as far away from him as under the circumstances she could;and when they stopped she glanced down, and found the execution ofunseen manoeuvres, within the protection of her skirt, helpful to one ofher insteps and to the toes of both of her slippers. 

Her cheery partner was paddling his rosy brows with a fine handkerchief. "That was great!" he said. "Let's go out and sit in the corridor;they've got some comfortable chairs out there. "

"Well--let's not, " she returned. "I believe I'd rather stay in here andlook at the crowd. "

"No; that isn't it, " he said, chiding her with a waggish forefinger. "You think if you go out there you'll miss a chance of someone elseasking you for the next dance, and so you'll have to give it to me. "

"How absurd!" Then, after a look about her that revealed nothingencouraging, she added graciously, "You can have the next if you wantit. "

"Great!" he exclaimed, mechanically. "Now let's get out of here--out ofTHIS room, anyhow. "

"Why? What's the matter with----"

"My mother, " Mr. Dowling explained. "But don't look at her. She keepsmotioning me to come and see after Ella, and I'm simply NOT going to doit, you see!"

Alice laughed. "I don't believe it's so much that, " she said, andconsented to walk with him to a point in the next room from which Mrs. Dowling's continuous signalling could not be seen. "Your mother hatesme. "

"Oh, no; I wouldn't say that. No, she don't, " he protested, innocently. "She don't know you more than just to speak to, you see. So how couldshe?"

"Well, she does. I can tell. "

A frown appeared upon his rounded brow. "No; I'll tell you the way shefeels. It's like this: Ella isn't TOO popular, you know--it's hard tosee why, because she's a right nice girl, in her way--and mother thinksI ought to look after her, you see. She thinks I ought to dance a wholelot with her myself, and stir up other fellows to dance with her--it'ssimply impossible to make mother understand you CAN'T do that, you see. And then about me, you see, if she had her way I wouldn't get to dancewith anybody at all except girls like Mildred Palmer and Henrietta Lamb. Mother wants to run my whole programme for me, you understand, but thetrouble of it is--about girls like that, you see well, I couldn't dowhat she wants, even if I wanted to myself, because you take thosegirls, and by the time I get Ella off my hands for a minute, why, theirdances are always every last one taken, and where do I come in?"

Alice nodded, her amiability undamaged. "I see. So that's why you dancewith me. "

"No, I like to, " he protested. "I rather dance with you than I do withthose girls. " And he added with a retrospective determination whichshowed that he had been through quite an experience with Mrs. Dowling inthis matter. "I TOLD mother I would, too!"

"Did it take all your courage, Frank?"

He looked at her shrewdly. "Now you're trying to tease me, " he said. "Idon't care; I WOULD rather dance with you! In the first place, you'rea perfectly beautiful dancer, you see, and in the second, a man feels alot more comfortable with you than he does with them. Of course I knowalmost all the other fellows get along with those girls all right; butI don't waste any time on 'em I don't have to. _I_ like people that arealways cordial to everybody, you see--the way you are. "

"Thank you, " she said, thoughtfully. 

"Oh, I MEAN it, " he insisted. "There goes the band again. Shall we?"

"Suppose we sit it out?" she suggested. "I believe I'd like to go out inthe corridor, after all--it's pretty warm in here. "

Assenting cheerfully, Dowling conducted her to a pair of easy-chairswithin a secluding grove of box-trees, and when they came to thisretreat they found Mildred Palmer just departing, under escort of awell-favoured gentleman about thirty. As these two walked slowly away, in the direction of the dancing-floor, they left it not to be doubtedthat they were on excellent terms with each other; Mildred was evidentlywilling to make their progress even slower, for she halted momentarily, once or twice; and her upward glances to her tall companion's face wereof a gentle, almost blushing deference. Never before had Alice seenanything like this in her friend's manner. 

"How queer!" she murmured. 

"What's queer?" Dowling inquired as they sat down. 

"Who was that man?"

"Haven't you met him?"

"I never saw him before. Who is he?"

"Why, it's this Arthur Russell. "

"What Arthur Russell? I never heard of him. " Mr. Dowling was puzzled. "Why, THAT'S funny! Only the last time I saw you, you were telling mehow awfully well you knew Mildred Palmer. "

"Why, certainly I do, " Alice informed him. "She's my most intimatefriend. "

"That's what makes it seem so funny you haven't heard anything aboutthis Russell, because everybody says even if she isn't engaged to himright now, she most likely will be before very long. I must say it looksa good deal that way to me, myself. "

"What nonsense!" Alice exclaimed. "She's never even mentioned him tome. "

The young man glanced at her dubiously and passed a finger over the tinyprong that dashingly composed the whole substance of his moustache. 

"Well, you see, Mildred IS pretty reserved, " he remarked. "This Russellis some kind of cousin of the Palmer family, I understand. "

"He is?"

"Yes--second or third or something, the girls say. You see, my sisterElla hasn't got much to do at home, and don't read anything, or sew, orplay solitaire, you see; and she hears about pretty much everything thatgoes on, you see. Well, Ella says a lot of the girls have been talkingabout Mildred and this Arthur Russell for quite a while back, you see. They were all wondering what he was going to look like, you see; becausehe only got here yesterday; and that proves she must have been talkingto some of 'em, or else how----"

Alice laughed airily, but the pretty sound ended abruptly with anaudible intake of breath. "Of course, while Mildred IS my most intimatefriend, " she said, "I don't mean she tells me everything--and naturallyshe has other friends besides. What else did your sister say she toldthem about this Mr. Russell?"

"Well, it seems he's VERY well off; at least Henrietta Lamb told Ella hewas. Ella says----"

Alice interrupted again, with an increased irritability. "Oh, nevermind what Ella says! Let's find something better to talk about than Mr. Russell!"

"Well, I'M willing, " Mr. Dowling assented, ruefully. "What you want totalk about?"

But this liberal offer found her unresponsive; she sat leaning back, silent, her arms along the arms of her chair, and her eyes, moist andbright, fixed upon a wide doorway where the dancers fluctuated. She wasdisquieted by more than Mildred's reserve, though reserve so marked hadcertainly the significance of a warning that Alice's definition, "mymost intimate friend, " lacked sanction. Indirect notice to this effectcould not well have been more emphatic, but the sting of it was leftfor a later moment. Something else preoccupied Alice: she had justbeen surprised by an odd experience. At first sight of this Mr. ArthurRussell, she had said to herself instantly, in words as definite as ifshe spoke them aloud, though they seemed more like words spoken to herby some unknown person within her: "There! That's exactly the kind oflooking man I'd like to marry!"

In the eyes of the restless and the longing, Providence often appears tobe worse than inscrutable: an unreliable Omnipotence given to haphazardwhimsies in dealing with its own creatures, choosing at random someamong them to be rent with tragic deprivations and others to be pettedwith blessing upon blessing. 

In Alice's eyes, Mildred had been blessed enough; something ought tobe left over, by this time, for another girl. The final touch to theheaping perfection of Christmas-in-everything for Mildred was that thisMr. Arthur Russell, good-looking, kind-looking, graceful, the perfectfiance, should be also "VERY well off. " Of course! These rich alwaysmarried one another. And while the Mildreds danced with their ArthurRussells the best an outsider could do for herself was to sit with FrankDowling--the one last course left her that was better than dancing withhim. 

"Well, what DO you want to talk about?" he inquired. 

"Nothing, " she said. "Suppose we just sit, Frank. " But a moment latershe remembered something, and, with a sudden animation, began toprattle. She pointed to the musicians down the corridor. "Oh, look atthem! Look at the leader! Aren't they FUNNY? Someone told me they'recalled 'Jazz Louie and his half-breed bunch. ' Isn't that just crazy?Don't you love it? Do watch them, Frank. "

She continued to chatter, and, while thus keeping his glance away fromherself, she detached the forlorn bouquet of dead violets from her dressand laid it gently beside the one she had carried. 

The latter already reposed in the obscurity selected for it at the baseof one of the box-trees. 

Then she was abruptly silent. 

"You certainly are a funny girl, " Dowling remarked. "You say you don'twant to talk about anything at all, and all of a sudden you breakout and talk a blue streak; and just about the time I begin to getinterested in what you're saying you shut off! What's the matter withgirls, anyhow, when they do things like that?"

"I don't know; we're just queer, I guess. "

"I say so! Well, what'll we do NOW? Talk, or just sit?"

"Suppose we just sit some more. "

"Anything to oblige, " he assented. "I'm willing to sit as long as youlike. "

But even as he made his amiability clear in this matter, the peace wasthreatened--his mother came down the corridor like a rolling, ominouscloud. She was looking about her on all sides, in a fidget of annoyance, searching for him, and to his dismay she saw him. She immediately made ahorrible face at his companion, beckoned to him imperiously with a dumpyarm, and shook her head reprovingly. The unfortunate young man tried torepulse her with an icy stare, but this effort having obtained little toencourage his feeble hope of driving her away, he shifted his chairso that his back was toward her discomfiting pantomime. He shouldhave known better, the instant result was Mrs. Dowling in motion at animpetuous waddle. 

She entered the box-tree seclusion with the lower rotundities of herface hastily modelled into the resemblance of an over-benevolent smilea contortion which neglected to spread its intended geniality upward tothe exasperated eyes and anxious forehead. 

"I think your mother wants to speak to you, Frank, " Alice said, uponthis advent. 

Mrs. Dowling nodded to her. "Good evening, Miss Adams, " she said. "Ijust thought as you and Frank weren't dancing you wouldn't mind mydisturbing you----"

"Not at all, " Alice murmured. 

Mr. Dowling seemed of a different mind. "Well, what DO you want?" heinquired, whereupon his mother struck him roguishly with her fan. 

"Bad fellow!" She turned to Alice. "I'm sure you won't mind excusing himto let him do something for his old mother, Miss Adams. "

"What DO you want?" the son repeated. 

"Two very nice things, " Mrs. Dowling informed him. "Everybody is soanxious for Henrietta Lamb to have a pleasant evening, because it's thevery first time she's been anywhere since her father's death, and ofcourse her dear grandfather's an old friend of ours, and----"

"Well, well!" her son interrupted. "Miss Adams isn't interested in allthis, mother. "

"But Henrietta came to speak to Ella and me, and I told her you were soanxious to dance with her----"

"Here!" he cried. "Look here! I'd rather do my own----"

"Yes; that's just it, " Mrs. Dowling explained. "I just thought it wassuch a good opportunity; and Henrietta said she had most of her dancestaken, but she'd give you one if you asked her before they were allgone. So I thought you'd better see her as soon as possible. "

Dowling's face had become rosy. "I refuse to do anything of the kind. "

"Bad fellow!" said his mother, gaily. "I thought this would be the besttime for you to see Henrietta, because it won't be long till all herdances are gone, and you've promised on your WORD to dance the next withElla, and you mightn't have a chance to do it then. I'm sure Miss Adamswon't mind if you----"

"Not at all, " Alice said. 

"Well, _I_ mind!" he said. "I wish you COULD understand that when Iwant to dance with any girl I don't need my mother to ask her for me. Ireally AM more than six years old!"

He spoke with too much vehemence, and Mrs. Dowling at once saw howto have her way. As with husbands and wives, so with many fathers anddaughters, and so with some sons and mothers: the man will himself becross in public and think nothing of it, nor will he greatly mind alittle crossness on the part of the woman; but let her show agitationbefore any spectator, he is instantly reduced to a coward's slavery. Women understand that ancient weakness, of course; for it is one oftheir most important means of defense, but can be used ignobly. 

Mrs. Dowling permitted a tremulousness to become audible in her voice. "It isn't very--very pleasant--to be talked to like that by your ownson--before strangers!"

"Oh, my! Look here!" the stricken Dowling protested. "_I_ didn'tsay anything, mother. I was just joking about how you never get overthinking I'm a little boy. I only----"

Mrs. Dowling continued: "I just thought I was doing you a little favour. I didn't think it would make you so angry. "

"Mother, for goodness' sake! Miss Adams'll think----"

"I suppose, " Mrs. Dowling interrupted, piteously, "I suppose it doesn'tmatter what _I_ think!"

"Oh, gracious!"

Alice interfered; she perceived that the ruthless Mrs. Dowling meant tohave her way. "I think you'd better go, Frank. Really. "

"There!" his mother cried. "Miss Adams says so, herself! What more doyou want?"

"Oh, gracious!" he lamented again, and, with a sick look over hisshoulder at Alice, permitted his mother to take his arm and propel himaway. Mrs. Dowling's spirits had strikingly recovered even before thepair passed from the corridor: she moved almost bouncingly beside herembittered son, and her eyes and all the convolutions of her abundantface were blithe. 

Alice went in search of Walter, but without much hope of finding him. What he did with himself at frozen-face dances was one of his mostsuccessful mysteries, and her present excursion gave her no clue leadingto its solution. When the musicians again lowered their instrumentsfor an interval she had returned, alone, to her former seat within thepartial shelter of the box-trees. 

She had now to practice an art that affords but a limited variety ofmethods, even to the expert: the art of seeming to have an escort orpartner when there is none. The practitioner must imply, merely byexpression and attitude, that the supposed companion has left her foronly a few moments, that she herself has sent him upon an errand; and, if possible, the minds of observers must be directed toward a conclusionthat this errand of her devising is an amusing one; at all events, sheis alone temporarily and of choice, not deserted. She awaits a devotedman who may return at any instant. 

Other people desired to sit in Alice's nook, but discovered her inoccupancy. She had moved the vacant chair closer to her own, and shesat with her arm extended so that her hand, holding her lace kerchief, rested upon the back of this second chair, claiming it. Sucha preemption, like that of a traveller's bag in the rack, wasunquestionable; and, for additional evidence, sitting with her kneescrossed, she kept one foot continuously moving a little, in cadence withthe other, which tapped the floor. Moreover, she added a fine detail:her half-smile, with the under lip caught, seemed to struggle againstrepression, as if she found the service engaging her absent companioneven more amusing than she would let him see when he returned: there wasjovial intrigue of some sort afoot, evidently. Her eyes, beaming withsecret fun, were averted from intruders, but sometimes, when couplesapproached, seeking possession of the nook, her thoughts about theabsentee appeared to threaten her with outright laughter; and thoughone or two girls looked at her skeptically, as they turned away, theirescorts felt no such doubts, and merely wondered what importantly funnyaffair Alice Adams was engaged in. She had learned to do it perfectly. 

She had learned it during the last two years; she was twenty when forthe first time she had the shock of finding herself without an applicantfor one of her dances. When she was sixteen "all the nice boys in town, "as her mother said, crowded the Adamses' small veranda and steps, or satnear by, cross-legged on the lawn, on summer evenings; and at eighteenshe had replaced the boys with "the older men. " By this time most of"the other girls, " her contemporaries, were away at school or college, and when they came home to stay, they "came out"--that feeble revivalof an ancient custom offering the maiden to the ceremonial inspection ofthe tribe. Alice neither went away nor "came out, " and, in contrast withthose who did, she may have seemed to lack freshness of lustre--jewelsare richest when revealed all new in a white velvet box. And Alice mayhave been too eager to secure new retainers, too kind in her efforts tokeep the old ones. She had been a belle too soon. 

CHAPTER VIII

The device of the absentee partner has the defect that it cannot beemployed for longer than ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and it maynot be repeated more than twice in one evening: a single repetition, indeed, is weak, and may prove a betrayal. Alice knew that her presentperformance could be effective during only this interval betweendances; and though her eyes were guarded, she anxiously counted over thepartnerless young men who lounged together in the doorways within herview. Every one of them ought to have asked her for dances, she thought, and although she might have been put to it to give a reason why any ofthem "ought, " her heart was hot with resentment against them. 

For a girl who has been a belle, it is harder to live through these badtimes than it is for one who has never known anything better. Like afigure of painted and brightly varnished wood, Ella Dowling sat againstthe wall through dance after dance with glassy imperturbability; it waseasier to be wooden, Alice thought, if you had your mother with you, asElla had. You were left with at least the shred of a pretense that youcame to sit with your mother as a spectator, and not to offer yourselfto be danced with by men who looked you over and rejected you--not forthe first time. "Not for the first time": there lay a sting! Why had youthought this time might be different from the other times? Why had youbroken your back picking those hundreds of violets?

Hating the fatuous young men in the doorways more bitterly for everyinstant that she had to maintain her tableau, the smiling Alice knewfierce impulses to spring to her feet and shout at them, "You IDIOTS!"Hands in pockets, they lounged against the pilasters, or faced oneanother, laughing vaguely, each one of them seeming to Alice no morethan so much mean beef in clothes. She wanted to tell them they were nobetter than that; and it seemed a cruel thing of heaven to let them goon believing themselves young lords. They were doing nothing, killingtime. Wasn't she at her lowest value at least a means of killing time?Evidently the mean beeves thought not. And when one of them finallylounged across the corridor and spoke to her, he was the very one towhom she preferred her loneliness. 

"Waiting for somebody, Lady Alicia?" he asked, negligently; and his easyburlesque of her name was like the familiarity of the rest of him. Hewas one of those full-bodied, grossly handsome men who are powerful andactive, but never submit themselves to the rigour of becoming athletes, though they shoot and fish from expensive camps. Gloss is the mostshining outward mark of the type. Nowadays these men no longer usebrilliantine on their moustaches, but they have gloss bought frommanicure-girls, from masseurs, and from automobile-makers; and theireyes, usually large, are glossy. None of this is allowed to interferewith business; these are "good business men, " and often make largefortunes. They are men of imagination about two things--women and money, and, combining their imaginings about both, usually make a wise firstmarriage. Later, however, they are apt to imagine too much about somelittle woman without whom life seems duller than need be. They run away, leaving the first wife well enough dowered. They are never intentionallyunkind to women, and in the end they usually make the mistake ofthinking they have had their money's worth of life. Here was Mr. HarveyMalone, a young specimen in an earlier stage of development, trying tomarry Henrietta Lamb, and now sauntering over to speak to Alice, as atime-killer before his next dance with Henrietta. 

Alice made no response to his question, and he dropped lazily into thevacant chair, from which she sharply withdrew her hand. "I might as welluse his chair till he comes, don't you think? You don't MIND, do you, old girl?"

"Oh, no, " Alice said. "It doesn't matter one way or the other. Pleasedon't call me that. "

"So that's how you feel?" Mr. Malone laughed indulgently, without muchinterest. "I've been meaning to come to see you for a long time honestlyI have--because I wanted to have a good talk with you about old times. Iknow you think it was funny, after the way I used to come to your housetwo or three times a week, and sometimes oftener--well, I don't blameyou for being hurt, the way I stopped without explaining or anything. The truth is there wasn't any reason: I just happened to have a lot ofimportant things to do and couldn't find the time. But I AM going tocall on you some evening--honestly I am. I don't wonder you think----"

"You're mistaken, " Alice said. "I've never thought anything about it atall. "

"Well, well!" he said, and looked at her languidly. "What's the use ofbeing cross with this old man? He always means well. " And, extending hisarm, he would have given her a friendly pat upon the shoulder but sheevaded it. "Well, well!" he said. "Seems to me you're getting awfultetchy! Don't you like your old friends any more?"

"Not all of them. "

"Who's the new one?" he asked, teasingly. "Come on and tell us, Alice. Who is it you were holding this chair for?"

"Never mind. "

"Well, all I've got to do is to sit here till he comes back; then I'llsee who it is. "

"He may not come back before you have to go. "

"Guess you got me THAT time, " Malone admitted, laughing as he rose. "They're tuning up, and I've got this dance. I AM coming around tosee you some evening. " He moved away, calling back over his shoulder, "Honestly, I am!"

Alice did not look at him. 

She had held her tableau as long as she could; it was time for her toabandon the box-trees; and she stepped forth frowning, as if a littleannoyed with the absentee for being such a time upon her errand;whereupon the two chairs were instantly seized by a coquetting pairwho intended to "sit out" the dance. She walked quickly down the broadcorridor, turned into the broader hall, and hurriedly entered thedressing-room where she had left her wraps. 

She stayed here as long as she could, pretending to arrange her hairat a mirror, then fidgeting with one of her slipper-buckles; but theintelligent elderly woman in charge of the room made an indefinitesojourn impracticable. "Perhaps I could help you with that buckle, Miss, " she suggested, approaching. "Has it come loose?" Alice wrencheddesperately; then it was loose. The competent woman, producing needleand thread, deftly made the buckle fast; and there was nothing for Aliceto do but to express her gratitude and go. 

She went to the door of the cloak-room opposite, where a coloured manstood watchfully in the doorway. "I wonder if you know which of thegentlemen is my brother, Mr. Walter Adams, " she said. 

"Yes'm; I know him. "

"Could you tell me where he is?"

"No'm; I couldn't say. "

"Well, if you see him, would you please tell him that his sister, MissAdams, is looking for him and very anxious to speak to him?"

"Yes'm. Sho'ly, sho'ly!"

As she went away he stared after her and seemed to swell with somebursting emotion. In fact, it was too much for him, and he suddenlyretired within the room, releasing strangulated laughter. 

Walter remonstrated. Behind an excellent screen of coats and hats, in aremote part of the room, he was kneeling on the floor, engaged in a gameof chance with a second coloured attendant; and the laughter becameso vehement that it not only interfered with the pastime in hand, butthreatened to attract frozen-face attention. 

"I cain' he'p it, man, " the laughter explained. "I cain' he'p it! Yousut'n'y the beatin'es' white boy 'n 'is city!"

The dancers were swinging into an "encore" as Alice halted for anirresolute moment in a doorway. Across the room, a cluster of matronssat chatting absently, their eyes on their dancing daughters; and Alice, finding a refugee's courage, dodged through the scurrying couples, seated herself in a chair on the outskirts of this colony of elders, and began to talk eagerly to the matron nearest her. The matron seemedunaccustomed to so much vivacity, and responded but dryly, whereuponAlice was more vivacious than ever; for she meant now to present thepicture of a jolly girl too much interested in these wise older women tobother about every foolish young man who asked her for a dance. 

Her matron was constrained to go so far as to supply a tolerant nod, nowand then, in complement to the girl's animation, and Alice was gratefulfor the nods. In this fashion she supplemented the exhausted resourcesof the dressing-room and the box-tree nook; and lived through two moredances, when again Mr. Frank Dowling presented himself as a partner. 

She needed no pretense to seek the dressing-room for repairs after thatnumber; this time they were necessary and genuine. Dowling waited forher, and when she came out he explained for the fourth or fifth time howthe accident had happened. "It was entirely those other people's fault, "he said. "They got me in a kind of a corner, because neither of thosefellows knows the least thing about guiding; they just jam ahead andexpect everybody to get out of their way. It was Charlotte Thom'sdiamond crescent pin that got caught on your dress in the back and madesuch a----"

"Never mind, " Alice said in a tired voice. "The maid fixed it so thatshe says it isn't very noticeable. "

"Well, it isn't, " he returned. "You could hardly tell there'd beenanything the matter. Where do you want to go? Mother's been interferingin my affairs some more and I've got the next taken. "

"I was sitting with Mrs. George Dresser. You might take me back there. "

He left her with the matron, and Alice returned to her picture-making, so that once more, while two numbers passed, whoever cared to look wasoffered the sketch of a jolly, clever girl preoccupied with her elders. Then she found her friend Mildred standing before her, presenting Mr. Arthur Russell, who asked her to dance with him. 

Alice looked uncertain, as though not sure what her engagements were;but her perplexity cleared; she nodded, and swung rhythmically away withthe tall applicant. She was not grateful to her hostess for this alms. What a young hostess does with a fiance, Alice thought, is to make himdance with the unpopular girls. She supposed that Mr. Arthur Russell hadalready danced with Ella Dowling. 

The loan of a lover, under these circumstances, may be painful to thelessee, and Alice, smiling never more brightly, found nothing to say toMr. Russell, though she thought he might have found something to say toher. "I wonder what Mildred told him, " she thought. "Probably she said, 'Dearest, there's one more girl you've got to help me out with. Youwouldn't like her much, but she dances well enough and she's having arotten time. Nobody ever goes near her any more. '"

When the music stopped, Russell added his applause to the hand-clappingthat encouraged the uproarious instruments to continue, and as theyrenewed the tumult, he said heartily, "That's splendid!"

Alice gave him a glance, necessarily at short range, and found his eyeskindly and pleased. Here was a friendly soul, it appeared, who probably"liked everybody. " No doubt he had applauded for an "encore" when hedanced with Ella Dowling, gave Ella the same genial look, and said, "That's splendid!"

When the "encore" was over, Alice spoke to him for the first time. 

"Mildred will be looking for you, " she said. "I think you'd better takeme back to where you found me. "

He looked surprised. "Oh, if you----"

"I'm sure Mildred will be needing you, " Alice said, and as she took hisarm and they walked toward Mrs. Dresser, she thought it might be justpossible to make a further use of the loan. "Oh, I wonder if you----"she began. 

"Yes?" he said, quickly. 

"You don't know my brother, Walter Adams, " she said. "But he's somewhereI think possibly he's in a smoking-room or some place where girls aren'texpected, and if you wouldn't think it too much trouble to inquire----"

"I'll find him, " Russell said, promptly. "Thank you so much for thatdance. I'll bring your brother in a moment. "

It was to be a long moment, Alice decided, presently. Mrs. Dresser hadgrown restive; and her nods and vague responses to her young dependent'sgaieties were as meager as they could well be. Evidently the matron hadno intention of appearing to her world in the light of a chaperone forAlice Adams; and she finally made this clear. With a word or two ofexcuse, breaking into something Alice was saying, she rose and went tosit next to Mildred's mother, who had become the nucleus of the cluster. So Alice was left very much against the wall, with short stretchesof vacant chairs on each side of her. She had come to the end of herpicture-making, and could only pretend that there was something amusingthe matter with the arm of her chair. 

She supposed that Mildred's Mr. Russell had forgotten Walter by thistime. "I'm not even an intimate enough friend of Mildred's for him tohave thought he ought to bother to tell me he couldn't find him, " shethought. And then she saw Russell coming across the room toward her, with Walter beside him. She jumped up gaily. 

"Oh, thank you!" she cried. "I know this naughty boy must have beenterribly hard to find. Mildred'll NEVER forgive me! I've put you to somuch----"

"Not at all, " he said, amiably, and went away, leaving the brother andsister together. 

"Walter, let's dance just once more, " Alice said, touching his armplacatively. "I thought--well, perhaps we might go home then. "

But Walter's expression was that of a person upon whom an outrage hasjust been perpetrated. "No, " he said. "We've stayed THIS long, I'm goin'to wait and see what they got to eat. And you look here!" He turned uponher angrily. "Don't you ever do that again!"

"Do what?"

"Send somebody after me that pokes his nose into every corner of thehouse till he finds me! 'Are you Mr. Walter Adams?' he says. I guess hemust asked everybody in the place if they were Mr. Walter Adams! Well, I'll bet a few iron men you wouldn't send anybody to hunt for me againif you knew where he found me!"

"Where was it?"

Walter decided that her fit punishment was to know. "I was shootin' dicewith those coons in the cloak-room. "

"And he saw you?"

"Unless he was blind!" said Walter. "Come on, I'll dance this one moredance with you. Supper comes after that, and THEN we'll go home. "

Mrs. Adams heard Alice's key turning in the front door and hurried downthe stairs to meet her. 

"Did you get wet coming in, darling?" she asked. "Did you have a goodtime?"

"Just lovely!" Alice said, cheerily, and after she had arranged thelatch for Walter, who had gone to return the little car, she followedher mother upstairs and hummed a dance-tune on the way. 

"Oh, I'm so glad you had a nice time, " Mrs. Adams said, as they reachedthe door of her daughter's room together. "You DESERVED to, and it'slovely to think----"

But at this, without warning, Alice threw herself into her mother'sarms, sobbing so loudly that in his room, close by, her father, halfdrowsing through the night, started to full wakefulness. 

CHAPTER IX

On a morning, a week after this collapse of festal hopes, Mrs. Adamsand her daughter were concluding a three-days' disturbance, the "Springhouse-cleaning"--postponed until now by Adams's long illness--and Alice, on her knees before a chest of drawers, in her mother's room, pausedthoughtfully after dusting a packet of letters wrapped in worn muslin. She called to her mother, who was scrubbing the floor of the hallwayjust beyond the open door, "These old letters you had in the bottom drawer, weren't they some papawrote you before you were married?"

Mrs. Adams laughed and said, "Yes. Just put 'em back where they were--orelse up in the attic--anywhere you want to. "

"Do you mind if I read one, mama?"

Mrs. Adams laughed again. "Oh, I guess you can if you want to. I expectthey're pretty funny!"

Alice laughed in response, and chose the topmost letter of the packet. "My dear, beautiful girl, " it began; and she stared at these singularwords. They gave her a shock like that caused by overhearing somebewildering impropriety; and, having read them over to herself severaltimes, she went on to experience other shocks. 

MY DEAR, BEAUTIFUL GIRL:

This time yesterday I had a mighty bad case of blues because I had nothad a word from you in two whole long days and when I do not hear fromyou every day things look mighty down in the mouth to me. Now it is allso different because your letter has arrived and besides I have got apiece of news I believe you will think as fine as I do. Darling, youwill be surprised, so get ready to hear about a big effect on ourfuture. It is this way. I had sort of a suspicion the head of the firmkind of took a fancy to me from the first when I went in there, andliked the way I attended to my work and so when he took me on thisbusiness trip with him I felt pretty sure of it and now it turns outI was about right. In return I guess I have got about the best boss inthis world and I believe you will think so too. Yes, sweetheart, afterthe talk I have just had with him if J. A. Lamb asked me to cut my handoff for him I guess I would come pretty near doing it because what hesays means the end of our waiting to be together. From New Years on heis going to put me in entire charge of the sundries dept. And what doyou think is going to be my salary? Eleven hundred cool dollars a year($1, 100. 00). That's all! Just only a cool eleven hundred per annum!Well, I guess that will show your mother whether I can take care of youor not. And oh how I would like to see your dear, beautiful, loving facewhen you get this news. 

I would like to go out on the public streets and just dance and shoutand it is all I can do to help doing it, especially when I know we willbe talking it all over together this time next week, and oh my darling, now that your folks have no excuse for putting it off any longer wemight be in our own little home before Xmas. 

Would you be glad?

Well, darling, this settles everything and makes our future just aboutas smooth for us as anybody could ask. I can hardly realize after allthis waiting life's troubles are over for you and me and we have nothingto do but to enjoy the happiness granted us by this wonderful, beautifulthing we call life. I know I am not any poet and the one I tried towrite about you the day of the picnic was fearful but the way I THINKabout you is a poem. 

Write me what you think of the news. I know but write me anyhow. 

I'll get it before we start home and I can be reading it over all thetime on the tram. 

Your always loving

VIRGIL. 

The sound of her mother's diligent scrubbing in the hall came backslowly to Alice's hearing, as she restored the letter to the packet, wrapped the packet in its muslin covering, and returned it to thedrawer. She had remained upon her knees while she read the letter; nowshe sank backward, sitting upon the floor with her hands behind her, anunconscious relaxing for better ease to think. Upon her face there hadfallen a look of wonder. 

For the first time she was vaguely perceiving that life is everlastingmovement. Youth really believes what is running water to be a permanentcrystallization and sees time fixed to a point: some people have darkhair, some people have blond hair, some people have gray hair. Untilthis moment, Alice had no conviction that there was a universe beforeshe came into it. She had always thought of it as the background ofherself: the moon was something to make her prettier on a summer night. 

But this old letter, through which she saw still flickering an ancientstarlight of young love, astounded her. Faintly before her it revealedthe whole lives of her father and mother, who had been young, afterall--they REALLY had--and their youth was now so utterly passed fromthem that the picture of it, in the letter, was like a burlesque ofthem. And so she, herself, must pass to such changes, too, and all thatnow seemed vital to her would be nothing. 

When her work was finished, that afternoon, she went into her father'sroom. His recovery had progressed well enough to permit the departureof Miss Perry; and Adams, wearing one of Mrs. Adams's wrappers over hisnight-gown, sat in a high-backed chair by a closed window. The weatherwas warm, but the closed window and the flannel wrapper had not sufficedhim: round his shoulders he had an old crocheted scarf of Alice's; hislegs were wrapped in a heavy comfort; and, with these swathings abouthim, and his eyes closed, his thin and grizzled head making but a slightindentation in the pillow supporting it, he looked old and little andqueer. 

Alice would have gone out softly, but without opening his eyes, he spoketo her: "Don't go, dearie. Come sit with the old man a little while. "

She brought a chair near his. "I thought you were napping. "

"No. I don't hardly ever do that. I just drift a little sometimes. "

"How do you mean you drift, papa?"

He looked at her vaguely. "Oh, I don't know. Kind of pictures. They geta little mixed up--old times with times still ahead, like planning whatto do, you know. That's as near a nap as I get--when the pictures mix upsome. I suppose it's sort of drowsing. "

She took one of his hands and stroked it. "What do you mean when you sayyou have pictures like 'planning what to do'?" she asked. 

"I mean planning what to do when I get out and able to go to workagain. "

"But that doesn't need any planning, " Alice said, quickly. "You're goingback to your old place at Lamb's, of course. "

Adams closed his eyes again, sighing heavily, but made no otherresponse. 

"Why, of COURSE you are!" she cried. "What are you talking about?"

His head turned slowly toward her, revealing the eyes, open in a haggardstare. "I heard you the other night when you came from the party, " hesaid. "I know what was the matter. "

"Indeed, you don't, " she assured him. "You don't know anything about it, because there wasn't anything the matter at all. "

"Don't you suppose I heard you crying? What'd you cry for if therewasn't anything the matter?"

"Just nerves, papa. It wasn't anything else in the world. "

"Never mind, " he said. "Your mother told me. "

"She promised me not to!"

At that Adams laughed mournfully. "It wouldn't be very likely I'd hearyou so upset and not ask about it, even if she didn't come and tell meon her own hook. You needn't try to fool me; I tell you I know what wasthe matter. "

"The only matter was I had a silly fit, " Alice protested. "It did megood, too. "

"How's that?"

"Because I've decided to do something about it, papa. "

"That isn't the way your mother looks at it, " Adams said, ruefully. "Shethinks it's our place to do something about it. Well, I don't know--Idon't know; everything seems so changed these days. You've always beena good daughter, Alice, and you ought to have as much as any of thesegirls you go with; she's convinced me she's right about THAT. Thetrouble is----" He faltered, apologetically, then went on, "I mean thequestion is--how to get it for you. "

"No!" she cried. "I had no business to make such a fuss just because alot of idiots didn't break their necks to get dances with me and becauseI got mortified about Walter--Walter WAS pretty terrible----"

"Oh, me, my!" Adams lamented. "I guess that's something we just haveto leave work out itself. What you going to do with a boy nineteen ortwenty years old that makes his own living? Can't whip him. Can't keephim locked up in the house. Just got to hope he'll learn better, Isuppose. "

"Of course he didn't want to go to the Palmers', " Alice explained, tolerantly--"and as mama and I made him take me, and he thought that waspretty selfish in me, why, he felt he had a right to amuse himself anyway he could. Of course it was awful that this--that this Mr. Russellshould----" In spite of her, the recollection choked her. 

"Yes, it was awful, " Adams agreed. "Just awful. Oh, me, my!"

But Alice recovered herself at once, and showed him a cheerful face. "Well, just a few years from now I probably won't even remember it! Ibelieve hardly anything amounts to as much as we think it does at thetime. "

"Well--sometimes it don't. "

"What I've been thinking, papa: it seems to me I ought to DO something. "

"What like?"

She looked dreamy, but was obviously serious as she told him: "Well, I mean I ought to be something besides just a kind of nobody. I oughtto----" She paused. 

"What, dearie?"

"Well--there's one thing I'd like to do. I'm sure I COULD do it, too. "

"What?"

"I want to go on the stage: I know I could act. " At this, her fatherabruptly gave utterance to a feeble cackling of laughter; and whenAlice, surprised and a little offended, pressed him for his reason, hetried to evade, saying, "Nothing, dearie. I just thought of something. "But she persisted until he had to explain. 

"It made me think of your mother's sister, your Aunt Flora, that diedwhen you were little, " he said. "She was always telling how she wasgoing on the stage, and talking about how she was certain she'd make agreat actress, and all so on; and one day your mother broke out and saidshe ought 'a' gone on the stage, herself, because she always knew shehad the talent for it--and, well, they got into kind of a spat aboutwhich one'd make the best actress. I had to go out in the hall tolaugh!"

"Maybe you were wrong, " Alice said, gravely. "If they both felt it, whywouldn't that look as if there was talent in the family? I've ALWAYSthought----"

"No, dearie, " he said, with a final chuckle. "Your mother and Floraweren't different from a good many others. I expect ninety per cent. Ofall the women I ever knew were just sure they'd be mighty fine actressesif they ever got the chance. Well, I guess it's a good thing; they enjoythinking about it and it don't do anybody any harm. "

Alice was piqued. For several days she had thought almost continuouslyof a career to be won by her own genius. Not that she planned details, or concerned herself with first steps; her picturings overleaped allthat. Principally, she saw her name great on all the bill-boards of thatunkind city, and herself, unchanged in age but glamorous with fame andParis clothes, returning in a private car. No doubt the pleasantestdevelopment of her vision was a dialogue with Mildred; and this becameso real that, as she projected it, Alice assumed the proper expressionsfor both parties to it, formed words with her lips, and even spoke someof them aloud. "No, I haven't forgotten you, Mrs. Russell. I rememberyou quite pleasantly, in fact. You were a Miss Palmer, I recall, inthose funny old days. Very kind of you, I'm shaw. I appreciate youreagerness to do something for me in your own little home. As you say, areception WOULD renew my acquaintanceship with many old friends--but I'mshaw you won't mind my mentioning that I don't find much inspiration inthese provincials. I really must ask you not to press me. An artist'stime is not her own, though of course I could hardly expect you tounderstand----"

Thus Alice illuminated the dull time; but she retired from the interviewwith her father still manfully displaying an outward cheerfulness, whiledepression grew heavier within, as if she had eaten soggy cake. Herfather knew nothing whatever of the stage, and she was aware of hisignorance, yet for some reason his innocently skeptical amusementreduced her bright project almost to nothing. Something like this alwayshappened, it seemed; she was continually making these illuminations, allgay with gildings and colourings; and then as soon as anybody else somuch as glanced at them--even her father, who loved her--the prettydesigns were stricken with a desolating pallor. "Is this LIFE?" Alicewondered, not doubting that the question was original and all her own. "Is it life to spend your time imagining things that aren't so, andnever will be? Beautiful things happen to other people; why should I bethe only one they never CAN happen to?"

The mood lasted overnight; and was still upon her the next afternoonwhen an errand for her father took her down-town. Adams had decidedto begin smoking again, and Alice felt rather degraded, as well asembarrassed, when she went into the large shop her father had named, andasked for the cheap tobacco he used in his pipe. She fell back upon anair of amused indulgence, hoping thus to suggest that her purchasewas made for some faithful old retainer, now infirm; and although thecalmness of the clerk who served her called for no such elaboration ofher sketch, she ornamented it with a little laugh and with the remark, as she dropped the package into her coat-pocket, "I'm sure it'll pleasehim; they tell me it's the kind he likes. "

Still playing Lady Bountiful, smiling to herself in anticipation of thejoy she was bringing to the simple old negro or Irish follower of thefamily, she left the shop; but as she came out upon the crowded pavementher smile vanished quickly. 

Next to the door of the tobacco-shop, there was the open entrance to astairway, and, above this rather bleak and dark aperture, a sign-boarddisplayed in begrimed gilt letters the information that Frincke'sBusiness College occupied the upper floors of the building. Furthermore, Frincke here publicly offered "personal instruction and training inpractical mathematics, bookkeeping, and all branches of the businesslife, including stenography, typewriting, etc. "

Alice halted for a moment, frowning at this signboard as though it weresomething surprising and distasteful which she had never seen before. Yet it was conspicuous in a busy quarter; she almost always passed itwhen she came down-town, and never without noticing it. Nor was this thefirst time she had paused to lift toward it that same glance of vaguemisgiving. 

The building was not what the changeful city defined as a modern one, and the dusty wooden stairway, as seen from the pavement, disappearedupward into a smoky darkness. So would the footsteps of a girl ascendingthere lead to a hideous obscurity, Alice thought; an obscurity as drearyand as permanent as death. And like dry leaves falling about her she sawher wintry imaginings in the May air: pretty girls turning intowithered creatures as they worked at typing-machines; old maids "takingdictation" from men with double chins; Alice saw old maids of a dozendifferent kinds "taking dictation. " Her mind's eye was crowded withthem, as it always was when she passed that stairway entrance; andthough they were all different from one another, all of them looked alittle like herself. 

She hated the place, and yet she seldom hurried by it or avertedher eyes. It had an unpleasant fascination for her, and a mysteriousreproach, which she did not seek to fathom. She walked on thoughtfullyto-day; and when, at the next corner, she turned into the street thatled toward home, she was given a surprise. Arthur Russell came rapidlyfrom behind her, lifting his hat as she saw him. 

"Are you walking north, Miss Adams?" he asked. "Do you mind if I walkwith you?"

She was not delighted, but seemed so. "How charming!" she cried, givinghim a little flourish of the shapely hands; and then, because shewondered if he had seen her coming out of the tobacco-shop, she laughedand added, "I've just been on the most ridiculous errand!"

"What was that?"

"To order some cigars for my father. He's been quite ill, poor man, andhe's so particular--but what in the world do _I_ know about cigars?"

Russell laughed. "Well, what DO you know about 'em? Did you select bythe price?"

"Mercy, no!" she exclaimed, and added, with an afterthought, "Of coursehe wrote down the name of the kind he wanted and I gave it to theshopman. I could never have pronounced it. "

CHAPTER X

In her pocket as she spoke her hand rested upon the little sack oftobacco, which responded accusingly to the touch of her restlessfingers; and she found time to wonder why she was building up thisfiction for Mr. Arthur Russell. His discovery of Walter's device forwhiling away the dull evening had shamed and distressed her; but shewould have suffered no less if almost any other had been the discoverer. In this gentleman, after hearing that he was Mildred's Mr. ArthurRussell, Alice felt not the slightest "personal interest"; and there wasyet to develop in her life such a thing as an interest not personal. Attwenty-two this state of affairs is not unique. 

So far as Alice was concerned Russell might have worn a placard, "Engaged. " She looked upon him as diners entering a restaurant look upontables marked "Reserved": the glance, slightly discontented, passes onat once. Or so the eye of a prospector wanders querulously over stakedand established claims on the mountainside, and seeks the virgin landbeyond; unless, indeed, the prospector be dishonest. But Alice was noclaim-jumper--so long as the notice of ownership was plainly posted. 

Though she was indifferent now, habit ruled her: and, at the very timeshe wondered why she created fictitious cigars for her father, shewas also regretting that she had not boldly carried her Malacca stickdown-town with her. Her vivacity increased automatically. 

"Perhaps the clerk thought you wanted the cigars for yourself, " Russellsuggested. "He may have taken you for a Spanish countess. "

"I'm sure he did!" Alice agreed, gaily; and she hummed a bar or two of"LaPaloma, " snapping her fingers as castanets, and swaying her body alittle, to suggest the accepted stencil of a "Spanish Dancer. " "Wouldyou have taken me for one, Mr. Russell?" she asked, as she concluded theimpersonation. 

"I? Why, yes, " he said. "I'D take you for anything you wanted me to. "

"Why, what a speech!" she cried, and, laughing, gave him a quick glancein which there glimmered some real surprise. He was looking ather quizzically, but with the liveliest appreciation. Her surpriseincreased; and she was glad that he had joined her. 

To be seen walking with such a companion added to her pleasure. Shewould have described him as "altogether quite stunning-looking"; and sheliked his tall, dark thinness, his gray clothes, his soft hat, and hisclean brown shoes; she liked his easy swing of the stick he carried. 

"Shouldn't I have said it?" he asked. "Would you rather not be taken fora Spanish countess?"

"That isn't it, " she explained. "You said----"

"I said I'd take you for whatever you wanted me to. Isn't that allright?"

"It would all depend, wouldn't it?"

"Of course it would depend on what you wanted. "

"Oh, no!" she laughed. "It might depend on a lot of things. "

"Such as?"

"Well----" She hesitated, having the mischievous impulse to say, "Suchas Mildred!" But she decided to omit this reference, and became serious, remembering Russell's service to her at Mildred's house. "Speaking ofwhat I want to be taken for, " she said;--"I've been wondering ever sincethe other night what you did take me for! You must have taken me for thesister of a professional gambler, I'm afraid!"

Russell's look of kindness was the truth about him, she was to discover;and he reassured her now by the promptness of his friendly chuckle. "Then your young brother told you where I found him, did he? I kept myface straight at the time, but I laughed afterward--to myself. Itstruck me as original, to say the least: his amusing himself with thosedarkies. "

"Walter IS original, " Alice said; and, having adopted this new view ofher brother's eccentricities, she impulsively went on to make it moreplausible. "He's a very odd boy, and I was afraid you'd misunderstand. He tells wonderful 'darky stories, ' and he'll do anything to drawcoloured people out and make them talk; and that's what he was doing atMildred's when you found him for me--he says he wins their confidenceby playing dice with them. In the family we think he'll probably writeabout them some day. He's rather literary. "

"Are you?" Russell asked, smiling. 

"I? Oh----" She paused, lifting both hands in a charming gesture ofhelplessness. "Oh, I'm just--me!"

His glance followed the lightly waved hands with keen approval, thenrose to the lively and colourful face, with its hazel eyes, its smalland pretty nose, and the lip-caught smile which seemed the climax ofher decorative transition. Never had he seen a creature so plastic or sowistful. 

Here was a contrast to his cousin Mildred, who was not wistful, andcontrolled any impulses toward plasticity, if she had them. "By George!"he said. "But you ARE different!"

With that, there leaped in her such an impulse of roguish gallantryas she could never resist. She turned her head, and, laughing andbright-eyed, looked him full in the face. 

"From whom?" she cried. 

"From--everybody!" he said. "Are you a mind-reader?"

"Why?"

"How did you know I was thinking you were different from my cousin, Mildred Palmer?"

"What makes you think I DID know it?"

"Nonsense!" he said. "You knew what I was thinking and I knew you knew. "

"Yes, " she said with cool humour. "How intimate that seems to make usall at once!"

Russell left no doubt that he was delighted with these gaieties of hers. "By George!" he exclaimed again. "I thought you were this sort of girlthe first moment I saw you!"

"What sort of girl? Didn't Mildred tell you what sort of girl I am whenshe asked you to dance with me?"

"She didn't ask me to dance with you--I'd been looking at you. You weretalking to some old ladies, and I asked Mildred who you were. "

"Oh, so Mildred DIDN'T----" Alice checked herself. "Who did she tell youI was?"

"She just said you were a Miss Adams, so I----"

"'A' Miss Adams?" Alice interrupted. 

"Yes. Then I said I'd like to meet you. "

"I see. You thought you'd save me from the old ladies. "

"No. I thought I'd save myself from some of the girls Mildred wasgetting me to dance with. There was a Miss Dowling----"

"Poor man!" Alice said, gently, and her impulsive thought was thatMildred had taken few chances, and that as a matter of self-defense hercarefulness might have been well founded. This Mr. Arthur Russell was amuch more responsive person than one had supposed. 

"So, Mr. Russell, you don't know anything about me except what youthought when you first saw me?"

"Yes, I know I was right when I thought it. "

"You haven't told me what you thought. "

"I thought you were like what you ARE like. "

"Not very definite, is it? I'm afraid you shed more light a minute orso ago, when you said how different from Mildred you thought I was. ThatWAS definite, unfortunately!"

"I didn't say it, " Russell explained. "I thought it, and you read mymind. That's the sort of girl I thought you were--one that could read aman's mind. Why do you say 'unfortunately' you're not like Mildred?"

Alice's smooth gesture seemed to sketch Mildred. "Because she'sperfect--why, she's PERFECTLY perfect! She never makes a mistake, andeverybody looks up to her--oh, yes, we all fairly adore her! She's likesome big, noble, cold statue--'way above the rest of us--and she hardlyever does anything mean or treacherous. Of all the girls I know Ibelieve she's played the fewest really petty tricks. She's----"

Russell interrupted; he looked perplexed. "You say she's perfectlyperfect, but that she does play SOME----"

Alice laughed, as if at his sweet innocence. "Men are so funny!" sheinformed him. "Of course girls ALL do mean things sometimes. My owncareer's just one long brazen smirch of 'em! What I mean is, Mildred'sperfectly perfect compared to the rest of us. "

"I see, " he said, and seemed to need a moment or two of thoughtfulness. Then he inquired, "What sort of treacherous things do YOU do?"

"I? Oh, the very worst kind! Most people bore me particularly the men inthis town--and I show it. "

"But I shouldn't call that treacherous, exactly. "

"Well, THEY do, " Alice laughed. "It's made me a terribly unpopularcharacter! I do a lot of things they hate. For instance, at a dance I'da lot rather find some clever old woman and talk to her than dance withnine-tenths of these nonentities. I usually do it, too. "

"But you danced as if you liked it. You danced better than any othergirl I----"

"This flattery of yours doesn't quite turn my head, Mr. Russell, " Aliceinterrupted. "Particularly since Mildred only gave you Ella Dowling tocompare with me!"

"Oh, no, " he insisted. "There were others--and of course Mildred, herself. "

"Oh, of course, yes. I forgot that. Well----" She paused, then added, "Icertainly OUGHT to dance well. "

"Why is it so much a duty?"

"When I think of the dancing-teachers and the expense to papa! All sortsof fancy instructors--I suppose that's what daughters have fathers for, though, isn't it? To throw money away on them?"

"You don't----" Russell began, and his look was one of alarm. "Youhaven't taken up----"

She understood his apprehension and responded merrily, "Oh, murder, no!You mean you're afraid I break out sometimes in a piece of cheeseclothand run around a fountain thirty times, and then, for an encore, showhow much like snakes I can make my arms look. "

"I SAID you were a mind-reader!" he exclaimed. "That's exactly what Iwas pretending to be afraid you might do. "

"'Pretending?' That's nicer of you. No; it's not my mania. "

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing in particular that I know of just now. Of course I've hadthe usual one: the one that every girl goes through. "

"What's that?"

"Good heavens, Mr. Russell, you can't expect me to believe you're reallya man of the world if you don't know that every girl has a time in herlife when she's positive she's divinely talented for the stage! It's theonly universal rule about women that hasn't got an exception. I don'tmean we all want to go on the stage, but we all think we'd be wonderfulif we did. Even Mildred. Oh, she wouldn't confess it to you: you'd haveto know her a great deal better than any man can ever know her to findout. "

"I see, " he said. "Girls are always telling us we can't know them. Iwonder if you----"

She took up his thought before he expressed it, and again he wasfascinated by her quickness, which indeed seemed to him almosttelepathic. "Oh, but DON'T we know one another, though!" she cried. 

"Such things we have to keep secret--things that go on right before YOUReyes!"

"Why don't some of you tell us?" he asked. 

"We can't tell you. "

"Too much honour?"

"No. Not even too much honour among thieves, Mr. Russell. We don't tellyou about our tricks against one another because we know it wouldn'tmake any impression on you. The tricks aren't played against you, andyou have a soft side for cats with lovely manners!"

"What about your tricks against us?"

"Oh, those!" Alice laughed. "We think they're rather cute!"

"Bravo!" he cried, and hammered the ferrule of his stick upon thepavement. 

"What's the applause for?"

"For you. What you said was like running up the black flag to themasthead. "

"Oh, no. It was just a modest little sign in a pretty flower-bed:'Gentlemen, beware!'"

"I see I must, " he said, gallantly. 

"Thanks! But I mean, beware of the whole bloomin' garden!" Then, pickingup a thread that had almost disappeared: "You needn't think you'll everfind out whether I'm right about Mildred's not being an exception byasking her, " she said. "She won't tell you: she's not the sort that evermakes a confession. "

But Russell had not followed her shift to the former topic. "'Mildred'snot being an exception?'" he said, vaguely. "I don't----"

"An exception about thinking she could be a wonderful thing on the stageif she only cared to. If you asked her I'm pretty sure she'd say, 'Whatnonsense!' Mildred's the dearest, finest thing anywhere, but you won'tfind out many things about her by asking her. "

Russell's expression became more serious, as it did whenever his cousinwas made their topic. "You think not?" he said. "You think she's----"

"No. But it's not because she isn't sincere exactly. It's only becauseshe has such a lot to live up to. She has to live up to being a girlon the grand style to herself, I mean, of course. " And without pausingAlice rippled on, "You ought to have seen ME when I had the stage-fever!I used to play 'Juliet' all alone in my room. ' She lifted her arms ingraceful entreaty, pleading musically, "O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest thy love prove----"

She broke off abruptly with a little flourish, snapping thumb and fingerof each outstretched hand, then laughed and said, "Papa used to makesuch fun of me! Thank heaven, I was only fifteen; I was all over it bythe next year. "

"No wonder you had the fever, " Russell observed. "You do it beautifully. Why didn't you finish the line?"

"Which one? 'Lest thy love prove likewise variable'? Juliet was sayingit to a MAN, you know. She seems to have been ready to worry about hisconstancy pretty early in their affair!"

Her companion was again thoughtful. "Yes, " he said, seeming to be ratherirksomely impressed with Alice's suggestion. "Yes; it does appear so. "

Alice glanced at his serious face, and yielded to an audacioustemptation. "You mustn't take it so hard, " she said, flippantly. 

"It isn't about you: it's only about Romeo and Juliet. "

"See here!" he exclaimed. "You aren't at your mind-reading again, areyou? There are times when it won't do, you know!"

She leaned toward him a little, as if companionably: they were walkingslowly, and this geniality of hers brought her shoulder in light contactwith his for a moment. "Do you dislike my mind-reading?" she asked, and, across their two just touching shoulders, gave him her sudden look ofsmiling wistfulness. "Do you hate it?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't, " he said, gravely. "It's quitepleasant. But I think it says, 'Gentlemen, beware!'"

She instantly moved away from him, with the lawless and frank laugh ofone who is delighted to be caught in a piece of hypocrisy. "How lovely!"she cried. Then she pointed ahead. "Our walk is nearly over. We'recoming to the foolish little house where I live. It's a queer littleplace, but my father's so attached to it the family have about given uphope of getting him to build a real house farther out. He doesn't mindour being extravagant about anything else, but he won't let us alter onesingle thing about his precious little old house. Well!" She halted, andgave him her hand. "Adieu!"

"I couldn't, " he began; hesitated, then asked: "I couldn't come in withyou for a little while?"

"Not now, " she said, quickly. "You can come----" She paused. 

"When?"

"Almost any time. " She turned and walked slowly up the path, but hewaited. "You can come in the evening if you like, " she called back tohim over her shoulder. 

"Soon?"

"As soon as you like!" She waved her hand; then ran indoors and watchedhim from a window as he went up the street. He walked rapidly, a fine, easy figure, swinging his stick in a way that suggested exhilaration. Alice, staring after him through the irregular apertures of a lacecurtain, showed no similar buoyancy. Upon the instant she closedthe door all sparkle left her: she had become at once the simple andsometimes troubled girl her family knew. 

"What is going on out there?" her mother asked, approaching from thedining-room. 

"Oh, nothing, " Alice said, indifferently, as she turned away. "That Mr. Russell met me downtown and walked up with me. "

"Mr. Russell? Oh, the one that's engaged to Mildred?"

"Well--I don't know for certain. He didn't seem so much like an engagedman to me. " And she added, in the tone of thoughtful preoccupation:"Anyhow--not so terribly!"

Then she ran upstairs, gave her father his tobacco, filled his pipe forhim, and petted him as he lighted it. 

CHAPTER XI

After that, she went to her room and sat down before her three-leavedmirror. There was where she nearly always sat when she came into herroom, if she had nothing in mind to do. She went to that chair asnaturally as a dog goes to his corner. 

She leaned forward, observing her profile; gravity seemed to be hermood. But after a long, almost motionless scrutiny, she began to producedramatic sketches upon that ever-ready stage, her countenance: sheshowed gaiety, satire, doubt, gentleness, appreciation of a companionand love-in-hiding--all studied in profile first, then repeated for a"three-quarter view. " Subsequently she ran through them, facing herselfin full. 

In this manner she outlined a playful scenario for her next interviewwith Arthur Russell; but grew solemn again, thinking of the impressionshe had already sought to give him. She had no twinges for anyunderminings of her "most intimate friend"--in fact, she felt that herwork on a new portrait of Mildred for Mr. 

Russell had been honest and accurate. But why had it been her instinctto show him an Alice Adams who didn't exist?

Almost everything she had said to him was upon spontaneous impulse, springing to her lips on the instant; yet it all seemed to have beenfounded upon a careful design, as if some hidden self kept such designsin stock and handed them up to her, ready-made, to be used for its ownpurpose. What appeared to be the desired result was a false-colouredimage in Russell's mind; but if he liked that image he wouldn't beliking Alice Adams; nor would anything he thought about the image be athought about her. 

Nevertheless, she knew she would go on with her false, fancy colouringsof this nothing as soon as she saw him again; she had just beenpracticing them. "What's the idea?" she wondered. "What makes me tellsuch lies? Why shouldn't I be just myself?" And then she thought, "Butwhich one is myself?"

Her eyes dwelt on the solemn eyes in the mirror; and her lips, disquieted by a deepening wonder, parted to whisper:

"Who in the world are you?"

The apparition before her had obeyed her like an alert slave, but now, as she subsided to a complete stillness, that aspect changed to theold mockery with which mirrors avenge their wrongs. The nucleus of somequeer thing seemed to gather and shape itself behind the nothingness ofthe reflected eyes until it became almost an actual strange presence. If it could be identified, perhaps the presence was that of the hiddendesigner who handed up the false, ready-made pictures, and, for unknownpurposes, made Alice exhibit them; but whatever it was, she suddenlyfound it monkey-like and terrifying. In a flutter she jumped up and wentto another part of the room. 

A moment or two later she was whistling softly as she hung her lightcoat over a wooden triangle in her closet, and her musing now wasquainter than the experience that led to it; for what she thought wasthis, "I certainly am a queer girl!" She took a little pride in so muchoriginality, believing herself probably the only person in the world tohave such thoughts as had been hers since she entered the room, and thefirst to be disturbed by a strange presence in the mirror. In fact, theeffect of the tiny episode became apparent in that look of preoccupiedcomplacency to be seen for a time upon any girl who has found reason tosuspect that she is a being without counterpart. 

This slight glow, still faintly radiant, was observed across thedinner-table by Walter, but he misinterpreted it. "What YOU lookin' soself-satisfied about?" he inquired, and added in his knowing way, "I sawyou, all right, cutie!"

"Where'd you see me?"

"Down-town. "

"This afternoon, you mean, Walter?"

"Yes, 'this afternoon, I mean, Walter, '" he returned, burlesquingher voice at least happily enough to please himself; for he laughedapplausively. "Oh, you never saw me! I passed you close enough to pulla tooth, but you were awful busy. I never did see anybody as busy asyou get, Alice, when you're towin' a barge. My, but you keep your handsgoin'! Looked like the air was full of 'em! That's why I'm onto why youlook so tickled this evening; I saw you with that big fish. "

Mrs. Adams laughed benevolently; she was not displeased with thisrallying. "Well, what of it, Walter?" she asked. "If you happen to seeyour sister on the street when some nice young man is being attentive toher----"

Walter barked and then cackled. "Whoa, Sal!" he said. "You got the partsmixed. It's little Alice that was 'being attentive. ' I know the big fishshe was attentive to, all right, too. "

"Yes, " his sister retorted, quietly. "I should think you might haverecognized him, Walter. "

Walter looked annoyed. "Still harpin' on THAT!" he complained. "The kindof women I like, if they get sore they just hit you somewhere on theface and then they're through. By the way, I heard this Russell wassupposed to be your dear, old, sweet friend Mildred's steady. What youdoin' walkin' as close to him as all that?"

Mrs. Adams addressed her son in gentle reproof, "Why Walter!"

"Oh, never mind, mama, " Alice said. "To the horrid all things arehorrid. "

"Get out!" Walter protested, carelessly. "I heard all about this Russelldown at the shop. Young Joe Lamb's such a talker I wonder he don't ruinhis grandfather's business; he keeps all us cheap help standin' roundlistening to him nine-tenths of our time. Well, Joe told me thisRussell's some kin or other to the Palmer family, and he's got somelittle money of his own, and he's puttin' it into ole Palmer's trustcompany and Palmer's goin' to make him a vice-president of the company. Sort of a keep-the-money-in-the-family arrangement, Joe Lamb says. "

Mrs. Adams looked thoughtful. "I don't see----" she began. 

"Why, this Russell's supposed to be tied up to Mildred, " her sonexplained. "When ole Palmer dies this Russell will be his son-in-law, and all he'll haf' to do'll be to barely lift his feet and step intothe ole man's shoes. It's certainly a mighty fat hand-me-out for thisRussell! You better lay off o' there, Alice. Pick somebody that's gotless to lose and you'll make better showing. "

Mrs. Adams's air of thoughtfulness had not departed. "But you say thisMr. Russell is well off on his own account, Walter. "

"Oh, Joe Lamb says he's got some little of his own. Didn't know howmuch. "

"Well, then----"

Walter laughed his laugh. "Cut it out, " he bade her. "Alice wouldn't runin fourth place. "

Alice had been looking at him in a detached way, as though estimatingthe value of a specimen in a collection not her own. "Yes, " she said, indifferently. "You REALLY are vulgar, Walter. "

He had finished his meal; and, rising, he came round the table to herand patted her good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Good ole Allie!" hesaid. "HONEST, you wouldn't run in fourth place. If I was you I'd nevereven start in the class. That frozen-face gang will rule you off thetrack soon as they see your colours. "

"Walter!" his mother said again. 

"Well, ain't I her brother?" he returned, seeming to be entirely seriousand direct, for the moment, at least. "_I_ like the ole girl all right. Fact is, sometimes I'm kind of sorry for her. "

"But what's it all ABOUT?" Alice cried. "Simply because you met medown-town with a man I never saw but once before and just barely know!Why all this palaver?"

"'Why?'" he repeated, grinning. "Well, I've seen you start before, youknow!" He went to the door, and paused. "I got no date to-night. Takeyou to the movies, you care to go. "

She declined crisply. "No, thanks!"

"Come on, " he said, as pleasantly as he knew how. 

"Give me a chance to show you a better time than we had up at thatfrozen-face joint. I'll get you some chop suey afterward. "

"No, thanks!"

"All right, " he responded and waved a flippant adieu. "As the barbersays, 'The better the advice, the worse it's wasted!' Good-night!"

Alice shrugged her shoulders; but a moment or two later, as the jar ofthe carelessly slammed front door went through the house, she shook herhead, reconsidering. "Perhaps I ought to have gone with him. It mighthave kept him away from whatever dreadful people are his friends--atleast for one night. "

"Oh, I'm sure Walter's a GOOD boy, " Mrs. Adams said, soothingly; andthis was what she almost always said when either her husband or Aliceexpressed such misgivings. "He's odd, and he's picked up right queermanners; but that's only because we haven't given him advantages likethe other young men. But I'm sure he's a GOOD boy. "

She reverted to the subject a little later, while she washed the dishesand Alice wiped them. "Of course Walter could take his place with theother nice boys of the town even yet, " she said. "I mean, if we couldafford to help him financially. They all belong to the country clubs andhave cars and----"

"Let's don't go into that any more, mama, " the daughter begged her. "What's the use?"

"It COULD be of use, " Mrs. Adams insisted. "It could if your father----"

"But papa CAN'T. "

"Yes, he can. "

"But how can he? He told me a man of his age CAN'T give up a businesshe's been in practically all his life, and just go groping about forsomething that might never turn up at all. I think he's right about it, too, of course!"

Mrs. Adams splashed among the plates with a new vigour heightened by anold bitterness. "Oh, yes, " she said. "He talks that way; but he knowsbetter. "

"How could he 'know better, ' mama?"

"HE knows how!"

"But what does he know?"

Mrs. Adams tossed her head. "You don't suppose I'm such a fool I'dbe urging him to give up something for nothing, do you, Alice? Do yousuppose I'd want him to just go 'groping around' like he was tellingyou? That would be crazy, of course. Little as his work at Lamb's bringsin, I wouldn't be so silly as to ask him to give it up just on a CHANCEhe could find something else. Good gracious, Alice, you must give mecredit for a little intelligence once in a while!"

Alice was puzzled. "But what else could there be except a chance? Idon't see----"

"Well, I do, " her mother interrupted, decisively. "That man could makeus all well off right now if he wanted to. We could have been rich longago if he'd ever really felt as he ought to about his family. "

"What! Why, how could----"

"You know how as well as I do, " Mrs. Adams said, crossly. "I guess youhaven't forgotten how he treated me about it the Sunday before he gotsick. "

She went on with her work, putting into it a sudden violence inspired bythe recollection; but Alice, enlightened, gave utterance to a laughof lugubrious derision. "Oh, the GLUE factory again!" she cried. "Howsilly!" And she renewed her laughter. 

So often do the great projects of parents appear ignominious to theirchildren. Mrs. Adams's conception of a glue factory as a fairy godmotherof this family was an absurd old story which Alice had never takenseriously. She remembered that when she was about fifteen her motherbegan now and then to say something to Adams about a "glue factory, "rather timidly, and as a vague suggestion, but never without irritatinghim. Then, for years, the preposterous subject had not been mentioned;possibly because of some explosion on the part of Adams, when hisdaughter had not been present. But during the last year Mrs. Adams hadquietly gone back to these old hints, reviving them at intervals andalso reviving her husband's irritation. Alice's bored impression wasthat her mother wanted him to found, or buy, or do something, orother, about a glue factory; and that he considered the proposal soimpracticable as to be insulting. The parental conversations took placewhen neither Alice nor Walter was at hand, but sometimes Alice had comein upon the conclusion of one, to find her father in a shouting mood, and shocking the air behind him with profane monosyllables as hedeparted. Mrs. Adams would be left quiet and troubled; and when Alice, sympathizing with the goaded man, inquired of her mother why thesetiresome bickerings had been renewed, she always got the brooding andcryptic answer, "He COULD do it--if he wanted to. " Alice failed tocomprehend the desirability of a glue factory--to her mind a fatherengaged in a glue factory lacked impressiveness; had no advantage overa father employed by Lamb and Company; and she supposed that Adams knewbetter than her mother whether such an enterprise would be profitableor not. Emphatically, he thought it would not, for she had heard himshouting at the end of one of these painful interviews, "You can keep upyour dang talk till YOU die and _I_ die, but I'll never make one God'scent that way!"

There had been a culmination. Returning from church on the Sundaypreceding the collapse with which Adams's illness had begun, Alicefound her mother downstairs, weeping and intimidated, while her father'sstamping footsteps were loudly audible as he strode up and down his roomoverhead. So were his endless repetitions of invective loudly audible:"That woman! Oh, that woman; Oh, that danged woman!"

Mrs. Adams admitted to her daughter that it was "the old glue factory"and that her husband's wildness had frightened her into a "solemnpromise" never to mention the subject again so long as she had breath. Alice laughed. The "glue factory" idea was not only a bore, butridiculous, and her mother's evident seriousness about it one of thoseinexplicable vagaries we sometimes discover in the people we know best. But this Sunday rampage appeared to be the end of it, and when Adamscame down to dinner, an hour later, he was unusually cheerful. Alicewas glad he had gone wild enough to settle the glue factory once and forall; and she had ceased to think of the episode long before Friday ofthat week, when Adams was brought home in the middle of the afternoon byhis old employer, the "great J. A. Lamb, " in the latter's car. 

During the long illness the "glue factory" was completely forgotten, byAlice at least; and her laugh was rueful as well as derisive now, in thekitchen, when she realized that her mother's mind again dwelt upon thisabandoned nuisance. "I thought you'd got over all that nonsense, mama, "she said. 

Mrs. Adams smiled, pathetically. "Of course you think it's nonsense, dearie. Young people think everything's nonsense that they don't knowanything about. "

"Good gracious!" Alice cried. "I should think I used to hear enoughabout that horrible old glue factory to know something about it!"

"No, " her mother returned patiently. "You've never heard anything aboutit at all. "

"I haven't?"

"No. Your father and I didn't discuss it before you children. All youever heard was when he'd get in such a rage, after we'd been speaking ofit, that he couldn't control himself when you came in. Wasn't _I_ alwaysquiet? Did _I_ ever go on talking about it?"

"No; perhaps not. But you're talking about it now, mama, after youpromised never to mention it again. "

"I promised not to mention it to your father, " said Mrs. Adams, gently. "I haven't mentioned it to him, have I?"

"Ah, but if you mention it to me I'm afraid you WILL mention it to him. You always do speak of things that you have on your mind, and youmight get papa all stirred up again about--" Alice paused, a light ofdivination flickering in her eyes. "Oh!" she cried. "I SEE!"

"What do you see?"

"You HAVE been at him about it!"

"Not one single word!"

"No!" Alice cried. "Not a WORD, but that's what you've meant all along!You haven't spoken the words to him, but all this urging him to change, to 'find something better to go into'--it's all been about nothing onearth but your foolish old glue factory that you know upsets him, andyou gave your solemn word never to speak to him about again! You didn'tsay it, but you meant it--and he KNOWS that's what you meant! Oh, mama!"

Mrs. Adams, with her hands still automatically at work in the floodeddishpan, turned to face her daughter. "Alice, " she said, tremulously, "what do I ask for myself?"

"What?"

"I say, What do I ask for myself? Do you suppose _I_ want anything?Don't you know I'd be perfectly content on your father's present incomeif I were the only person to be considered? What do I care about anypleasure for myself? I'd be willing never to have a maid again; _I_don't mind doing the work. If we didn't have any children I'd be glad todo your father's cooking and the housework and the washing and ironing, too, for the rest of my life. I wouldn't care. I'm a poor cook and apoor housekeeper; I don't do anything well; but it would be good enoughfor just him and me. I wouldn't ever utter one word of com----"

"Oh, goodness!" Alice lamented. "What IS it all about?"

"It's about this, " said Mrs. Adams, swallowing. "You and Walter are anew generation and you ought to have the same as the rest of the newgeneration get. Poor Walter--asking you to go to the movies and aChinese restaurant: the best he had to offer! Don't you suppose _I_ seehow the poor boy is deteriorating? Don't you suppose I know what YOUhave to go through, Alice? And when I think of that man upstairs----"The agitated voice grew louder. "When I think of him and know thatnothing in the world but his STUBBORNNESS keeps my children from havingall they want and what they OUGHT to have, do you suppose I'm going tohold myself bound to keep to the absolute letter of a silly promise hegot from me by behaving like a crazy man? I can't! I can't do it! Nomother could sit by and see him lock up a horn of plenty like that inhis closet when the children were starving!"

"Oh, goodness, goodness me!" Alice protested. "We aren't precisely'starving, ' are we?"

Mrs. Adams began to weep. "It's just the same. Didn't I see how flushedand pretty you looked, this afternoon, after you'd been walking withthis young man that's come here? Do you suppose he'd LOOK at a girl likeMildred Palmer if you had what you ought to have? Do you suppose he'd begoing into business with her father if YOUR father----"

"Good heavens, mama; you're worse than Walter: I just barely know theman! DON'T be so absurd!"

"Yes, I'm always 'absurd, '" Mrs. Adams moaned. "All I can do is cry, while your father sits upstairs, and his horn of plenty----"

But Alice interrupted with a peal of desperate laughter. "Oh, that'horn of plenty!' Do come down to earth, mama. How can you call a GLUEfactory, that doesn't exist except in your mind, a 'horn of plenty'? Dolet's be a little rational!"

"It COULD be a horn of plenty, " the tearful Mrs. Adams insisted. "Itcould! You don't understand a thing about it. "

"Well, I'm willing, " Alice said, with tired skepticism. "Make meunderstand, then. Where'd you ever get the idea?"

Mrs. Adams withdrew her hands from the water, dried them on a towel, and then wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "Your father could make afortune if he wanted to, " she said, quietly. "At least, I don't say afortune, but anyhow a great deal more than he does make. "

"Yes, I've heard that before, mama, and you think he could make it outof a glue factory. What I'm asking is: How?"

"How? Why, by making glue and selling it. Don't you know how bad mostglue is when you try to mend anything? A good glue is one of the rarestthings there is; and it would just sell itself, once it got started. Well, your father knows how to make as good a glue as there is in theworld. "

Alice was not interested. "What of it? I suppose probably anybody couldmake it if they wanted to. "

"I SAID you didn't know anything about it. Nobody else could make it. Your father knows a formula for making it. "

"What of that?"

"It's a secret formula. It isn't even down on paper. It's worth anyamount of money. "

"'Any amount?'" Alice said, remaining incredulous. "Why hasn't papa soldit then?"

"Just because he's too stubborn to do anything with it at all!"

"How did papa get it?"

"He got it before you were born, just after we were married. I didn'tthink much about it then: it wasn't till you were growing up and I sawhow much we needed money that I----"

"Yes, but how did papa get it?" Alice began to feel a little morecurious about this possible buried treasure. "Did he invent it?"

"Partly, " Mrs. Adams said, looking somewhat preoccupied. "He and anotherman invented it. "

"Then maybe the other man----"

"He's dead. "

"Then his family----"

"I don't think he left any family, " Mrs. Adams said. "Anyhow, it belongsto your father. At least it belongs to him as much as it does to any oneelse. He's got an absolutely perfect right to do anything he wants towith it, and it would make us all comfortable if he'd do what I want himto--and he KNOWS it would, too!"

Alice shook her head pityingly. "Poor mama!" she said. "Of course heknows it wouldn't do anything of the kind, or else he'd have done itlong ago. "

"He would, you say?" her mother cried. "That only shows how little youknow him!"

"Poor mama!" Alice said again, soothingly. "If papa were like what yousay he is, he'd be--why, he'd be crazy!"

Mrs. Adams agreed with a vehemence near passion. "You're right about himfor once: that's just what he is! He sits up there in his stubbornnessand lets us slave here in the kitchen when if he wanted to--if he'd somuch as lift his little finger----"

"Oh, come, now!" Alice laughed. "You can't build even a glue factorywith just one little finger. "

Mrs. Adams seemed about to reply that finding fault with a figureof speech was beside the point; but a ringing of the front door bellforestalled the retort. "Now, who do you suppose that is?" she wonderedaloud, then her face brightened. "Ah--did Mr. Russell ask if hecould----"

"No, he wouldn't be coming this evening, " Alice said. "Probably it's thegreat J. A. Lamb: he usually stops for a minute on Thursdays to ask howpapa's getting along. I'll go. "

She tossed her apron off, and as she went through the house herexpression was thoughtful. She was thinking vaguely about the gluefactory and wondering if there might be "something in it" after all. Ifher mother was right about the rich possibilities of Adams's secret--butthat was as far as Alice's speculations upon the matter went at thistime: they were checked, partly by the thought that her father probablyhadn't enough money for such an enterprise, and partly by the fact thatshe had arrived at the front door. 

CHAPTER XII

The fine old gentleman revealed when she opened the door was probablythe last great merchant in America to wear the chin beard. White aswhite frost, it was trimmed short with exquisite precision, while hisupper lip and the lower expanses of his cheeks were clean and rosy fromfresh shaving. With this trim white chin beard, the white waistcoat, the white tie, the suit of fine gray cloth, the broad and brilliantlypolished black shoes, and the wide-brimmed gray felt hat, here was aman who had found his style in the seventies of the last century, andthenceforth kept it. Files of old magazines of that period might showhim, in woodcut, as, "Type of Boston Merchant"; Nast might have drawnhim as an honest statesman. He was eighty, hale and sturdy, not aged;and his quick blue eyes, still unflecked, and as brisk as a boy's, saweverything. 

"Well, well, well!" he said, heartily. "You haven't lost any of yourgood looks since last week, I see, Miss Alice, so I guess I'm to takeit you haven't been worrying over your daddy. The young feller's gettingalong all right, is he?"

"He's much better; he's sitting up, Mr. Lamb. Won't you come in?"

"Well, I don't know but I might. " He turned to call toward twin disks oflight at the curb, "Be out in a minute, Billy"; and the silhouette of achauffeur standing beside a car could be seen to salute in response, asthe old gentleman stepped into the hall. "You don't suppose your daddy'sreceiving callers yet, is he?"

"He's a good deal stronger than he was when you were here last week, butI'm afraid he's not very presentable, though. "

"'Presentable?'" The old man echoed her jovially. "Pshaw! I've seen lotsof sick folks. _I_ know what they look like and how they love to kind ofnest in among a pile of old blankets and wrappers. Don't you worry aboutTHAT, Miss Alice, if you think he'd like to see me. "

"Of course he would--if----" Alice hesitated; then said quickly, "Ofcourse he'd love to see you and he's quite able to, if you care to comeup. "

She ran up the stairs ahead of him, and had time to snatch the crochetedwrap from her father's shoulders. Swathed as usual, he was sittingbeside a table, reading the evening paper; but when his employerappeared in the doorway he half rose as if to come forward in greeting. 

"Sit still!" the old gentleman shouted. "What do you mean? Don't youknow you're weak as a cat? D'you think a man can be sick as long as youhave and NOT be weak as a cat? What you trying to do the polite with MEfor?"

Adams gratefully protracted the handshake that accompanied theseinquiries. "This is certainly mighty fine of you, Mr. Lamb, " he said. "I guess Alice has told you how much our whole family appreciate yourcoming here so regularly to see how this old bag o' bones was gettingalong. Haven't you, Alice?"

"Yes, papa, " she said; and turned to go out, but Lamb checked her. 

"Stay right here, Miss Alice; I'm not even going to sit down. I knowhow it upsets sick folks when people outside the family come in for thefirst time. "

"You don't upset me, " Adams said. "I'll feel a lot better for getting aglimpse of you, Mr. Lamb. "

The visitor's laugh was husky, but hearty and re-assuring, like hisvoice in speaking. "That's the way all my boys blarney me, Miss Alice, "he said. "They think I'll make the work lighter on 'em if they canget me kind of flattered up. You just tell your daddy it's no use; hedoesn't get on MY soft side, pretending he likes to see me even whenhe's sick. "

"Oh, I'm not so sick any more, " Adams said. "I expect to be back in myplace ten days from now at the longest. "

"Well, now, don't hurry it, Virgil; don't hurry it. You take your time;take your time. "

This brought to Adams's lips a feeble smile not lacking in a kind ofvanity, as feeble. "Why?" he asked. "I suppose you think my departmentruns itself down there, do you?"

His employer's response was another husky laugh. "Well, well, well!" hecried, and patted Adams's shoulder with a strong pink hand. "Listen tothis young feller, Miss Alice, will you! He thinks we can't get alongwithout him a minute! Yes, sir, this daddy of yours believes the wholeworks 'll just take and run down if he isn't there to keep 'em wound up. I always suspected he thought a good deal of himself, and now I know hedoes!"

Adams looked troubled. "Well, I don't like to feel that my salary'sgoing on with me not earning it. "

"Listen to him, Miss Alice! Wouldn't you think, now, he'd let me be theone to worry about that? Why, on my word, if your daddy had his way, _I_wouldn't be anywhere. He'd take all my worrying and everything else offmy shoulders and shove me right out of Lamb and Company! He would!"

"It seems to me I've been soldiering on you a pretty long while, Mr. Lamb, " the convalescent said, querulously. "I don't feel right about it;but I'll be back in ten days. You'll see. "

The old man took his hand in parting. "All right; we'll see, Virgil. Ofcourse we do need you, seriously speaking; but we don't need you so badwe'll let you come down there before you're fully fit and able. " He wentto the door. "You hear, Miss Alice? That's what I wanted to make the oldfeller understand, and what I want you to kind of enforce on him. Theold place is there waiting for him, and it'd wait ten years if it tookhim that long to get good and well. You see that he remembers it, MissAlice!"

She went down the stairs with him, and he continued to impress this uponher until he had gone out of the front door. And even after that, thehusky voice called back from the darkness, as he went to his car, "Don'tforget, Miss Alice; let him take his own time. We always want him, butwe want him to get good and well first. Good-night, good-night, younglady!"

When she closed the door her mother came from the farther end of the"living-room, " where there was no light; and Alice turned to her. 

"I can't help liking that old man, mama, " she said. "He always soundsso--well, so solid and honest and friendly! I do like him. "

But Mrs. Adams failed in sympathy upon this point. "He didn't sayanything about raising your father's salary, did he?" she asked, dryly. 

"No. "

"No. I thought not. "

She would have said more, but Alice, indisposed to listen, began towhistle, ran up the stairs, and went to sit with her father. She foundhim bright-eyed with the excitement a first caller brings into a slowconvalescence: his cheeks showed actual hints of colour; and he wassmiling tremulously as he filled and lit his pipe. She brought thecrocheted scarf and put it about his shoulders again, then took a chairnear him. 

"I believe seeing Mr. Lamb did do you good, papa, " she said. "I sort ofthought it might, and that's why I let him come up. You really look alittle like your old self again. "

Adams exhaled a breathy "Ha!" with the smoke from his pipe as he wavedthe match to extinguish it. "That's fine, " he said. "The smoke I hadbefore dinner didn't taste the way it used to, and I kind of wondered ifI'd lost my liking for tobacco, but this one seems to be all right. Youbet it did me good to see J. A. Lamb! He's the biggest man that's everlived in this town or ever will live here; and you can take all theGovernors and Senators or anything they've raised here, and put 'em ina pot with him, and they won't come out one-two-three alongside o' him!And to think as big a man as that, with all his interests and everythinghe's got on his mind--to think he'd never let anything prevent him fromcoming here once every week to ask how I was getting along, and thenwalk right upstairs and kind of CALL on me, as it were well, it makesme sort of feel as if I wasn't so much of a nobody, so to speak, as yourmother seems to like to make out sometimes. "

"How foolish, papa! Of COURSE you're not 'a nobody. '"

Adams chuckled faintly upon his pipe-stem, what vanity he had seeming tobe further stimulated by his daughter's applause. "I guess there aren'ta whole lot of people in this town that could claim J. A. Showed thatmuch interest in 'em, " he said. "Of course I don't set up to believeit's all because of merit, or anything like that. He'd do the same foranybody else that'd been with the company as long as I have, but stillit IS something to be with the company that long and have him show heappreciates it. "

"Yes, indeed, it is, papa. "

"Yes, sir, " Adams said, reflectively. "Yes, sir, I guess that's so. Andbesides, it all goes to show the kind of a man he is. Simon pure, that'swhat that man is, Alice. Simon pure! There's never been anybody workfor him that didn't respect him more than they did any other man in theworld, I guess. And when you work for him you know he respects you, too. Right from the start you get the feeling that J. A. Puts absoluteconfidence in you; and that's mighty stimulating: it makes you want toshow him he hasn't misplaced it. There's great big moral values to theway a man like him gets you to feeling about your relations with thebusiness: it ain't all just dollars and cents--not by any means!"

He was silent for a time, then returned with increasing enthusiasm tothis theme, and Alice was glad to see so much renewal of life in him; hehad not spoken with a like cheerful vigour since before his illness. Thevisit of his idolized great man had indeed been good for him, puttingnew spirit into him; and liveliness of the body followed that of thespirit. His improvement carried over the night: he slept well andawoke late, declaring that he was "pretty near a well man and ready forbusiness right now. " Moreover, having slept again in the afternoon, he dressed and went down to dinner, leaning but lightly on Alice, whoconducted him. 

"My! but you and your mother have been at it with your scrubbing anddusting!" he said, as they came through the "living-room. " "I don't knowI ever did see the house so spick and span before!" His glance fell upona few carnations in a vase, and he chuckled admiringly. "Flowers, too!So THAT'S what you coaxed that dollar and a half out o 'me for, thismorning!"

Other embellishments brought forth his comment when he had taken his oldseat at the head of the small dinner-table. "Why, I declare, Alice!" heexclaimed. "I been so busy looking at all the spick-and-spanishnessafter the house-cleaning, and the flowers out in the parlour--'livingroom' I suppose you want me to call it, if I just GOT to befashionable--I been so busy studying over all this so-and-so, I declareI never noticed YOU till this minute! My, but you ARE all dressed up!What's goin' on? What's it about: you so all dressed up, and flowers inthe parlour and everything?"

"Don't you see, papa? It's in honour of your coming downstairs again, ofcourse. "

"Oh, so that's it, " he said. "I never would 'a' thought of that, Iguess. "

But Walter looked sidelong at his father, and gave forth his sly andknowing laugh. "Neither would I!" he said. 

Adams lifted his eyebrows jocosely. "You're jealous, are you, sonny? Youdon't want the old man to think our young lady'd make so much fuss overhim, do you?"

"Go on thinkin' it's over you, " Walter retorted, amused. "Go on andthink it. It'll do you good. "

"Of course I'll think it, " Adams said. "It isn't anybody's birthday. Certainly the decorations are on account of me coming downstairs. Didn'tyou hear Alice say so?"

"Sure, I heard her say so. "

"Well, then----"

Walter interrupted him with a little music. Looking shrewdly at Alice, he sang:

 "I was walkin' out on Monday with my sweet thing. She's my neat thing, My sweet thing: I'll go round on Tuesday night to see her. Oh, how we'll spoon----"

"Walter!" his mother cried. "WHERE do you learn such vulgar songs?"However, she seemed not greatly displeased with him, and laughed as shespoke. 

"So that's it, Alice!" said Adams. "Playing the hypocrite with your oldman, are you? It's some new beau, is it?"

"I only wish it were, " she said, calmly. "No. It's just what I said:it's all for you, dear. "

"Don't let her con you, " Walter advised his father. "She's gotexpectations. You hang around downstairs a while after dinner and you'llsee. "

But the prophecy failed, though Adams went to his own room withoutwaiting to test it. No one came. 

Alice stayed in the "living-room" until half-past nine, when she wentslowly upstairs. Her mother, almost tearful, met her at the top, andwhispered, "You mustn't mind, dearie. "

"Mustn't mind what?" Alice asked, and then, as she went on her way, laughed scornfully. "What utter nonsense!" she said. 

Next day she cut the stems of the rather scant show of carnations andrefreshed them with new water. At dinner, her father, still in highspirits, observed that she had again "dressed up" in honour of hissecond descent of the stairs; and Walter repeated his fragment ofobjectionable song; but these jocularities were rendered pointless bythe eventless evening that followed; and in the morning the carnationsbegan to appear tarnished and flaccid. 

Alice gave them a long look, then threw them away; and neither Walternor her father was inspired to any rallying by her plain costume forthat evening. Mrs. Adams was visibly depressed. 

When Alice finished helping her mother with the dishes, she wentoutdoors and sat upon the steps of the little front veranda. The night, gentle with warm air from the south, surrounded her pleasantly, and theperpetual smoke was thinner. Now that the furnaces of dwelling-houseswere no longer fired, life in that city had begun to be less like lifein a railway tunnel; people were aware of summer in the air, and inthe thickened foliage of the shade-trees, and in the sky. Stars wereunveiled by the passing of the denser smoke fogs, and to-night theycould be seen clearly; they looked warm and near. Other girls sat uponverandas and stoops in Alice's street, cheerful as young fishermen alongthe banks of a stream. 

Alice could hear them from time to time; thin sopranos persistent inlaughter that fell dismally upon her ears. She had set no lines or netsherself, and what she had of "expectations, " as Walter called them, werevanished. For Alice was experienced; and one of the conclusions she drewfrom her experience was that when a man says, "I'd take you for anythingyou wanted me to, " he may mean it or, he may not; but, if he does, hewill not postpone the first opportunity to say something more. Littleaffairs, once begun, must be warmed quickly; for if they cool they aredead. 

But Alice was not thinking of Arthur Russell. When she tossed away thecarnations she likewise tossed away her thoughts of that young man. Shehad been like a boy who sees upon the street, some distance before him, a bit of something round and glittering, a possible dime. He hopes it isa dime, and, until he comes near enough to make sure, he plays that itis a dime. In his mind he has an adventure with it: he buys somethingdelightful. If he picks it up, discovering only some tin-foil which hashappened upon a round shape, he feels a sinking. A dulness falls uponhim. 

So Alice was dull with the loss of an adventure; and when the laughterof other girls reached her, intermittently, she had not sprightlinessenough left in her to be envious of their gaiety. Besides, theseneighbours were ineligible even for her envy, being of another caste;they could never know a dance at the Palmers', except remotely, througha newspaper. Their laughter was for the encouragement of snappy youngmen of the stores and offices down-town, clerks, bookkeepers, whatnot--some of them probably graduates of Frincke's Business College. 

Then, as she recalled that dark portal, with its dusty stairway mountingbetween close walls to disappear in the upper shadows, her mind drewback as from a doorway to Purgatory. Nevertheless, it was a pictureoften in her reverie; and sometimes it came suddenly, without sequence, into the midst of her other thoughts, as if it leaped up among them froma lower darkness; and when it arrived it wanted to stay. So a traveller, still roaming the world afar, sometimes broods without apparent reasonupon his family burial lot: "I wonder if I shall end there. "

The foreboding passed abruptly, with a jerk of her breath, as thestreet-lamp revealed a tall and easy figure approaching from the north, swinging a stick in time to its stride. She had given Russell up--and hecame. 

"What luck for me!" he exclaimed. "To find you alone!"

Alice gave him her hand for an instant, not otherwise moving. "I'm gladit happened so, " she said. "Let's stay out here, shall we? Do you thinkit's too provincial to sit on a girl's front steps with her?"

"'Provincial?' Why, it's the very best of our institutions, " hereturned, taking his place beside her. "At least, I think so to-night. "

"Thanks! Is that practice for other nights somewhere else?"

"No, " he laughed. "The practicing all led up to this. Did I come toosoon?"

"No, " she replied, gravely. "Just in time!"

"I'm glad to be so accurate; I've spent two evenings wanting to come, Miss Adams, instead of doing what I was doing. "

"What was that?"

"Dinners. Large and long dinners. Your fellow-citizens are immenselyhospitable to a newcomer. "

"Oh, no, " Alice said. "We don't do it for everybody. Didn't you findyourself charmed?"

"One was a men's dinner, " he explained. "Mr. Palmer seemed to think Iought to be shown to the principal business men. "

"What was the other dinner?"

"My cousin Mildred gave it. "

"Oh, DID she!" Alice said, sharply, but she recovered herself in thesame instant, and laughed. "She wanted to show you to the principalbusiness women, I suppose. "

"I don't know. At all events, I shouldn't give myself out to be so muchfeted by your 'fellow-citizens, ' after all, seeing these were both doneby my relatives, the Palmers. However, there are others to follow, I'mafraid. I was wondering--I hoped maybe you'd be coming to some of them. Aren't you?"

"I rather doubt it, " Alice said, slowly. "Mildred's dance was almost theonly evening I've gone out since my father's illness began. He seemedbetter that day; so I went. He was better the other day when he wantedthose cigars. He's very much up and down. " She paused. "I'd almostforgotten that Mildred is your cousin. "

"Not a very near one, " he explained. "Mr. Palmer's father was mygreat-uncle. "

"Still, of course you are related. "

"Yes; that distantly. "

Alice said placidly, "It's quite an advantage. "

He agreed. "Yes. It is. "

"No, " she said, in the same placid tone. "I mean for Mildred. "

"I don't see----"

She laughed. "No. You wouldn't. I mean it's an advantage over the restof us who might like to compete for some of your time; and the worst ofit is we can't accuse her of being unfair about it. We can't prove sheshowed any trickiness in having you for a cousin. Whatever else shemight plan to do with you, she didn't plan that. So the rest of us mustjust bear it!"

"The 'rest of you!'" he laughed. "It's going to mean a great deal ofsuffering!"

Alice resumed her placid tone. "You're staying at the Palmers', aren'tyou?"

"No, not now. I've taken an apartment. I'm going to live here; I'mpermanent. Didn't I tell you?"

"I think I'd heard somewhere that you were, " she said. "Do you thinkyou'll like living here?"

"How can one tell?"

"If I were in your place I think I should be able to tell, Mr. Russell. "

"How?"

"Why, good gracious!" she cried. "Haven't you got the most perfectcreature in town for your--your cousin? SHE expects to make you likeliving here, doesn't she? How could you keep from liking it, even if youtried not to, under the circumstances?"

"Well, you see, there's such a lot of circumstances, " he explained; "I'mnot sure I'll like getting back into a business again. I suppose mostof the men of my age in the country have been going through the sameexperience: the War left us with a considerable restlessness of spirit. "

"You were in the War?" she asked, quickly, and as quickly answeredherself, "Of course you were!"

"I was a left-over; they only let me out about four months ago, " hesaid. "It's quite a shake-up trying to settle down again. "

"You were in France, then?"

"Oh, yes; but I didn't get up to the front much--only two or threetimes, and then just for a day or so. I was in the transportationservice. "

"You were an officer, of course. "

"Yes, " he said. "They let me play I was a major. "

"I guessed a major, " she said. "You'd always be pretty grand, ofcourse. "

Russell was amused. "Well, you see, " he informed her, "as it happened, we had at least several other majors in our army. Why would I always besomething 'pretty grand?'"

"You're related to the Palmers. Don't you notice they always affect thepretty grand?"

"Then you think I'm only one of their affectations, I take it. "

"Yes, you seem to be the most successful one they've got!" Alice said, lightly. "You certainly do belong to them. " And she laughed as if atsomething hidden from him. "Don't you?"

"But you've just excused me for that, " he protested. "You said nobodycould be blamed for my being their third cousin. What a contradictorygirl you are!"

Alice shook her head. "Let's keep away from the kind of girl I am. "

"No, " he said. "That's just what I came here to talk about. "

She shook her head again. "Let's keep first to the kind of man you are. I'm glad you were in the War. "

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. " She was quiet a moment, for she was thinking thathere she spoke the truth: his service put about him a little glamourthat helped to please her with him. She had been pleased with him duringtheir walk; pleased with him on his own account; and now that pleasurewas growing keener. She looked at him, and though the light in whichshe saw him was little more than starlight, she saw that he was lookingsteadily at her with a kindly and smiling seriousness. All at once itseemed to her that the night air was sweeter to breathe, as if a distantfragrance of new blossoms had been blown to her. She smiled back to him, and said, "Well, what kind of man are you?"

"I don't know; I've often wondered, " he replied. "What kind of girl areyou?"

"Don't you remember? I told you the other day. I'm just me!"

"But who is that?"

"You forget everything;" said Alice. "You told me what kind of a girlI am. You seemed to think you'd taken quite a fancy to me from the veryfirst. "

"So I did, " he agreed, heartily. 

"But how quickly you forgot it!"

"Oh, no. I only want YOU to say what kind of a girl you are. "

She mocked him. "'I don't know; I've often wondered!' What kind of agirl does Mildred tell you I am? What has she said about me since shetold you I was 'a Miss Adams?'"

"I don't know; I haven't asked her. "

"Then DON'T ask her, " Alice said, quickly. 

"Why?"

"Because she's such a perfect creature and I'm such an imperfect one. Perfect creatures have the most perfect way of ruining the imperfectones. "

"But then they wouldn't be perfect. Not if they----"

"Oh, yes, they remain perfectly perfect, " she assured him. "That'sbecause they never go into details. They're not so vulgar as to comeright out and TELL that you've been in jail for stealing chickens. They just look absent-minded and say in a low voice, 'Oh, very; but Iscarcely think you'd like her particularly'; and then begin to talk ofsomething else right away. "

His smile had disappeared. "Yes, " he said, somewhat ruefully. "Thatdoes sound like Mildred. You certainly do seem to know her! Do you knoweverybody as well as that?"

"Not myself, " Alice said. "I don't know myself at all. I got towondering about that--about who I was--the other day after you walkedhome with me. "

He uttered an exclamation, and added, explaining it, "You do give a mana chance to be fatuous, though! As if it were walking home with me thatmade you wonder about yourself!"

"It was, " Alice informed him, coolly. "I was wondering what I wanted tomake you think of me, in case I should ever happen to see you again. "

This audacity appeared to take his breath. "By George!" he cried. 

"You mustn't be astonished, " she said. "What I decided then was that Iwould probably never dare to be just myself with you--not if I caredto have you want to see me again--and yet here I am, just being myselfafter all!"

"You ARE the cheeriest series of shocks, " Russell exclaimed, whereuponAlice added to the series. 

"Tell me: Is it a good policy for me to follow with you?" she asked, andhe found the mockery in her voice delightful. "Would you advise me tooffer you shocks as a sort of vacation from suavity?"

"Suavity" was yet another sketch of Mildred; a recognizable one, or itwould not have been humorous. In Alice's hands, so dexterous in thiswork, her statuesque friend was becoming as ridiculous as a fine figureof wax left to the mercies of a satirist. 

But the lively young sculptress knew better than to overdo: what she didmust appear to spring all from mirth; so she laughed as if unwillingly, and said, "I MUSTN'T laugh at Mildred! In the first place, she'syour--your cousin. And in the second place, she's not meant to be funny;it isn't right to laugh at really splendid people who take themselvesseriously. In the third place, you won't come again if I do. "

"Don't be sure of that, " Russell said, "whatever you do. "

"'Whatever I do?'" she echoed. "That sounds as if you thought I COULD beterrific! Be careful; there's one thing I could do that would keep youaway. "

"What's that?"

"I could tell you not to come, " she said. "I wonder if I ought to. "

"Why do you wonder if you 'ought to?'"

"Don't you guess?"

"No. "

"Then let's both be mysteries to each other, " she suggested. "I mystifyyou because I wonder, and you mystify me because you don't guess why Iwonder. We'll let it go at that, shall we?"

"Very well; so long as it's certain that you DON'T tell me not to comeagain. "

"I'll not tell you that--yet, " she said. "In fact----" She paused, reflecting, with her head to one side. "In fact, I won't tell you notto come, probably, until I see that's what you want me to tell you. I'll let you out easily--and I'll be sure to see it. Even before you do, perhaps. "

"That arrangement suits me, " Russell returned, and his voice held notrace of jocularity: he had become serious. "It suits me better ifyou're enough in earnest to mean that I can come--oh, not whenever Iwant to; I don't expect so much!--but if you mean that I can see youpretty often. "

"Of course I'm in earnest, " she said. "But before I say you can come'pretty often, ' I'd like to know how much of my time you'd need if youdid come 'whenever you want to'; and of course you wouldn't daremake any answer to that question except one. Wouldn't you let me haveThursdays out?"

"No, no, " he protested. "I want to know. Will you let me come prettyoften?"

"Lean toward me a little, " Alice said. "I want you to understand. " Andas he obediently bent his head near hers, she inclined toward him as ifto whisper; then, in a half-shout, she cried, "YES!"

He clapped his hands. "By George!" he said. "What a girl you are!"

"Why?"

"Well, for the first reason, because you have such gaieties as that one. I should think your father would actually like being ill, just to be inthe house with you all the time. "

"You mean by that, " Alice inquired, "I keep my family cheerful with myamusing little ways?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"There were only boys in your family, weren't there, Mr. Russell?"

"I was an only child, unfortunately. "

"Yes, " she said. "I see you hadn't any sisters. "

For a moment he puzzled over her meaning, then saw it, and was moredelighted with her than ever. "I can answer a question of yours, now, that I couldn't a while ago. "

"Yes, I know, " she returned, quietly. 

"But how could you know?"

"It's the question I asked you about whether you were going to likeliving here, " she said. "You're about to tell me that now you know youWILL like it. "

"More telepathy!" he exclaimed. "Yes, that was it, precisely. I supposethe same thing's been said to you so many times that you----"

"No, it hasn't, " Alice said, a little confused for the moment. "Not atall. I meant----" She paused, then asked in a gentle voice, "Would youreally like to know?"

"Yes. "

"Well, then, I was only afraid you didn't mean it. "

"See here, " he said. "I did mean it. I told you it was being prettydifficult for me to settle down to things again. Well, it's moredifficult than you know, but I think I can pull through in fair spiritsif I can see a girl like you 'pretty often. '"

"All right, " she said, in a business-like tone. "I've told you that youcan if you want to. "

"I do want to, " he assured her. "I do, indeed!"

"How often is 'pretty often, ' Mr. Russell?"

"Would you walk with me sometimes? To-morrow?"

"Sometimes. Not to-morrow. The day after. "

"That's splendid!" he said. "You'll walk with me day after to-morrow, and the night after that I'll see you at Miss Lamb's dance, won't I?"

But this fell rather chillingly upon Alice. "Miss Lamb's dance? WhichMiss Lamb?" she asked. 

"I don't know--it's the one that's just coming out of mourning. "

"Oh, Henrietta--yes. Is her dance so soon? I'd forgotten. "

"You'll be there, won't you?" he asked. "Please say you're going. "

Alice did not respond at once, and he urged her again: "Please dopromise you'll be there. "

"No, I can't promise anything, " she said, slowly. "You see, for onething, papa might not be well enough. "

"But if he is?" said Russell. "If he is you'll surely come, won't you?Or, perhaps----" He hesitated, then went on quickly, "I don't know therules in this place yet, and different places have different rules; butdo you have to have a chaperone, or don't girls just go to dances withthe men sometimes? If they do, would you--would you let me take you?"

Alice was startled. "Good gracious!"

"What's the matter?"

"Don't you think your relatives----Aren't you expected to go withMildred--and Mrs. Palmer?"

"Not necessarily. It doesn't matter what I might be expected to do, " hesaid. "Will you go with me?"

"I----No; I couldn't. "

"Why not?"

"I can't. I'm not going. "

"But why?"

"Papa's not really any better, " Alice said, huskily. "I'm too worriedabout him to go to a dance. " Her voice sounded emotional, genuinelyenough; there was something almost like a sob in it. "Let's talk ofother things, please. "

He acquiesced gently; but Mrs. Adams, who had been listening to theconversation at the open window, just overhead, did not hear him. Shehad correctly interpreted the sob in Alice's voice, and, tremblingwith sudden anger, she rose from her knees, and went fiercely to herhusband's room. 

CHAPTER XIII

He had not undressed, and he sat beside the table, smoking his pipe andreading his newspaper. Upon his forehead the lines in that old pattern, the historical map of his troubles, had grown a little vaguer lately;relaxed by the complacency of a man who not only finds his healthrestored, but sees the days before him promising once more a familiarroutine that he has always liked to follow. 

As his wife came in, closing the door behind her, he looked upcheerfully, "Well, mother, " he said, "what's the news downstairs?"

"That's what I came to tell you, " she informed him, grimly. 

Adams lowered his newspaper to his knee and peered over his spectaclesat her. She had remained by the door, standing, and the great greenishshadow of the small lamp-shade upon his table revealed her butdubiously. "Isn't everything all right?" he asked. "What's the matter?"

"Don't worry: I'm going to tell you, " she said, her grimness notrelaxed. "There's matter enough, Virgil Adams. Matter enough to make mesick of being alive!"

With that, the markings on his brows began to emerge again in all theirsharpness; the old pattern reappeared. "Oh, my, my!" he lamented. "Ithought maybe we were all going to settle down to a little peace for awhile. What's it about now?"

"It's about Alice. Did you think it was about ME or anything forMYSELF?"

Like some ready old machine, always in order, his irritability respondedimmediately and automatically to her emotion. "How in thunder could Ithink what it's about, or who it's for? SAY it, and get it over!"

"Oh, I'll 'say' it, " she promised, ominously. "What I've come to ask youis, How much longer do you expect me to put up with that old man and hisdoings?"

"Whose doings? What old man?"

She came at him, fiercely accusing. "You know well enough what old man, Virgil Adams! That old man who was here the other night. "

"Mr. Lamb?"

"Yes; 'Mister Lamb!'" She mocked his voice. "What other old man would Ibe likely to mean except J. A. Lamb?"

"What's he been doing now?" her husband inquired, satirically. "Where'dyou get something new against him since the last time you----"

"Just this!" she cried. "The other night when that man was here, if I'dknown how he was going to make my child suffer, I'd never have let himset his foot in my house. "

Adams leaned back in his chair as though her absurdity had eased hismind. "Oh, I see, " he said. "You've just gone plain crazy. That's theonly explanation of such talk, and it suits the case. "

"Hasn't that man made us all suffer every day of our lives?" shedemanded. "I'd like to know why it is that my life and my children'slives have to be sacrificed to him?"

"How are they 'sacrificed' to him?"

"Because you keep on working for him! Because you keep on letting himhand out whatever miserable little pittance he chooses to give you;that's why! It's as if he were some horrible old Juggernaut and I had tosee my children's own father throwing them under the wheels to keep himsatisfied. "

"I won't hear any more such stuff!" Lifting his paper, Adams affected toread. 

"You'd better listen to me, " she admonished him. "You might be sorryyou didn't, in case he ever tried to set foot in my house again! I mighttell him to his face what I think of him. "

At this, Adams slapped the newspaper down upon his knee. "Oh, the devil!What's it matter what you think of him?"

"It had better matter to you!" she cried. "Do you suppose I'm goingto submit forever to him and his family and what they're doing to mychild?"

"What are he and his family doing to 'your child?'"

Mrs. Adams came out with it. "That snippy little Henrietta Lamb hasalways snubbed Alice every time she's ever had the chance. She'sfollowed the lead of the other girls; they've always all of 'em beenjealous of Alice because she dared to try and be happy, and becauseshe's showier and better-looking than they are, even though you do giveher only about thirty-five cents a year to do it on! They've all doneeverything on earth they could to drive the young men away from herand belittle her to 'em; and this mean little Henrietta Lamb's been theworst of the whole crowd to Alice, every time she could see a chance. "

"What for?" Adams asked, incredulously. "Why should she or anybody elsepick on Alice?"

"'Why?' 'What for?'" his wife repeated with a greater vehemence. "Do YOUask me such a thing as that? Do you really want to know?"

"Yes; I'd want to know--I would if I believed it. "

"Then I'll tell you, " she said in a cold fury. "It's on account of you, Virgil, and nothing else in the world. "

He hooted at her. "Oh, yes! These girls don't like ME, so they pick onAlice. "

"Quit your palavering and evading, " she said. "A crowd of girls likethat, when they get a pretty girl like Alice among them, they act justlike wild beasts. They'll tear her to pieces, or else they'll chaseher and run her out, because they know if she had half a chance she'doutshine 'em. They can't do that to a girl like Mildred Palmer becauseshe's got money and family to back her. Now you listen to me, VirgilAdams: the way the world is now, money IS family. Alice would have justas much 'family' as any of 'em every single bit--if you hadn't fallenbehind in the race. "

"How did I----"

"Yes, you did!" she cried. "Twenty-five years ago when we were startingand this town was smaller, you and I could have gone with any of 'emif we'd tried hard enough. Look at the people we knew then that do holdtheir heads up alongside of anybody in this town! WHY can they? Becausethe men of those families made money and gave their children everythingthat makes life worth living! Why can't we hold our heads up? Becausethose men passed you in the race. They went up the ladder, andyou--you're still a clerk down at that old hole!"

"You leave that out, please, " he said. "I thought you were going to tellme something Henrietta Lamb had done to our Alice. "

"You BET I'm going to tell you, " she assured him, vehemently. "But firstI'm telling WHY she does it. It's because you've never given Alice anybacking nor any background, and they all know they can do anything theylike to her with perfect impunity. If she had the hundredth part of whatTHEY have to fall back on she'd have made 'em sing a mighty differentsong long ago!"

"How would she?"

"Oh, my heavens, but you're slow!" Mrs. Adams moaned. "Look here! Youremember how practically all the nicest boys in this town used to comehere a few years ago. Why, they were all crazy over her; and the girlsHAD to be nice to her then. Look at the difference now! There'll be awhole month go by and not a young man come to call on her, let alonesend her candy or flowers, or ever think of TAKING her any place andyet she's prettier and brighter than she was when they used to come. Itisn't the child's fault she couldn't hold 'em, is it? Poor thing, SHEtried hard enough! I suppose you'd say it was her fault, though. "

"No; I wouldn't. "

"Then whose fault is it?"

"Oh, mine, mine, " he said, wearily. "I drove the young men away, ofcourse. "

"You might as well have driven 'em, Virgil. It amounts to just the samething. "

"How does it?"

"Because as they got older a good many of 'em began to think more aboutmoney; that's one thing. Money's at the bottom of it all, for thatmatter. Look at these country clubs and all such things: the othergirls' families belong and we don't, and Alice don't; and she can't gounless somebody takes her, and nobody does any more. Look at the othergirls' houses, and then look at our house, so shabby and old-fashionedshe'd be pretty near ashamed to ask anybody to come in and sit downnowadays! Look at her clothes--oh, yes; you think you shelled out a lotfor that little coat of hers and the hat and skirt she got last March;but it's nothing. Some of these girls nowadays spend more than yourwhole salary on their clothes. And what jewellery has she got? A platedwatch and two or three little pins and rings of the kind people's maidswouldn't wear now. Good Lord, Virgil Adams, wake up! Don't sit there andtell me you don't know things like this mean SUFFERING for the child!"

He had begun to rub his hands wretchedly back and forth over his bonyknees, as if in that way he somewhat alleviated the tedium caused by herracking voice. "Oh, my, my!" he muttered. "OH, my, my!"

"Yes, I should think you WOULD say 'Oh, my, my!'" she took him up, loudly. "That doesn't help things much! If you ever wanted to DOanything about it, the poor child might see some gleam of hope in herlife. You don't CARE for her, that's the trouble; you don't care asingle thing about her. "

"I don't?"

"No; you don't. Why, even with your miserable little salary you couldhave given her more than you have. You're the closest man I ever knew:it's like pulling teeth to get a dollar out of you for her, now andthen, and yet you hide some away, every month or so, in some wretchedlittle investment or other. You----"

"Look here, now, " he interrupted, angrily. "You look here! If I didn'tput a little by whenever I could, in a bond or something, where wouldyou be if anything happened to me? The insurance doctors never passedme; YOU know that. Haven't we got to have SOMETHING to fall back on?"

"Yes, we have!" she cried. "We ought to have something to go on withright now, too, when we need it. Do you suppose these snippets wouldtreat Alice the way they do if she could afford to ENTERTAIN? They leaveher out of their dinners and dances simply because they know she can'tgive any dinners and dances to leave them out of! They know she can'tget EVEN, and that's the whole story! That's why Henrietta Lamb's donethis thing to her now. "

Adams had gone back to his rubbing of his knees. "Oh, my, my!" he said. "WHAT thing?"

She told him. "Your dear, grand, old Mister Lamb's Henrietta has sentout invitations for a large party--a LARGE one. Everybody that isanybody in this town is asked, you can be sure. There's a very fineyoung man, a Mr. Russell, has just come to town, and he's interestedin Alice, and he's asked her to go to this dance with him. Well, Alicecan't accept. She can't go with him, though she'd give anything inthe world to do it. Do you understand? The reason she can't is becauseHenrietta Lamb hasn't invited her. Do you want to know why Henriettahasn't invited her? It's because she knows Alice can't get even, andbecause she thinks Alice ought to be snubbed like this on account ofonly being the daughter of one of her grandfather's clerks. I HOPE youunderstand!"

"Oh, my, my!" he said. "OH, my, my!"

"That's your sweet old employer, " his wife cried, tauntingly. "That'syour dear, kind, grand old Mister Lamb! Alice has been left out of agood many smaller things, like big dinners and little dances, but thisis just the same as serving her notice that she's out of everything! Andit's all done by your dear, grand old----"

"Look here!" Adams exclaimed. "I don't want to hear any more of that!You can't hold him responsible for everything his grandchildren do, Iguess! He probably doesn't know a thing about it. You don't suppose he'stroubling HIS head over----"

But she burst out at him passionately. "Suppose you trouble YOUR headabout it! You'd better, Virgil Adams! You'd better, unless you want tosee your child just dry up into a miserable old maid! She's still youngand she has a chance for happiness, if she had a father that didn'tbring a millstone to hang around her neck, instead of what he ought togive her! You just wait till you die and God asks you what you had inyour breast instead of a heart!"

"Oh, my, my!" he groaned. "What's my heart got to do with it?"

"Nothing! You haven't got one or you'd give her what she needed. Am Iasking anything you CAN'T do? You know better; you know I'm not!"

At this he sat suddenly rigid, his troubled hands ceasing to rub hisknees; and he looked at her fixedly. "Now, tell me, " he said, slowly. "Just what ARE you asking?"

"You know!" she sobbed. 

"You mean you've broken your word never to speak of THAT to me again?"

"What do _I_ care for my word?" she cried, and, sinking to the floor athis feet, rocked herself back and forth there. "Do you suppose I'lllet my 'word' keep me from struggling for a little happiness for mychildren? It won't, I tell you; it won't! I'll struggle for that till Idie! I will, till I die till I die!"

He rubbed his head now instead of his knees, and, shaking all over, hegot up and began with uncertain steps to pace the floor. 

"Hell, hell, hell!" he said. "I've got to go through THAT again!"

"Yes, you have!" she sobbed. "Till I die. "

"Yes; that's what you been after all the time I was getting well. "

"Yes, I have, and I'll keep on till I die!"

"A fine wife for a man, " he said. "Beggin' a man to be a dirty dog!"

"No! To be a MAN--and I'll keep on till I die!"

Adams again fell back upon his last solace: he walked, half staggering, up and down the room, swearing in a rhythmic repetition. 

His wife had repetitions of her own, and she kept at them in a voicethat rose to a higher and higher pitch, like the sound of an oldwell-pump. "Till I die! Till I die! Till I DIE!"

She ended in a scream; and Alice, coming up the stairs, thanked heaventhat Russell had gone. She ran to her father's door and went in. 

Adams looked at her, and gesticulated shakily at the convulsive figureon the floor. "Can you get her out of here?"

Alice helped Mrs. Adams to her feet; and the stricken woman threw herarms passionately about her daughter. 

"Get her out!" Adams said, harshly; then cried, "Wait!"

Alice, moving toward the door, halted, and looked at him blankly, overher mother's shoulder. "What is it, papa?"

He stretched out his arm and pointed at her. "She says--she says youhave a mean life, Alice. "

"No, papa. "

Mrs. Adams turned in her daughter's arms. "Do you hear her lie? Couldn'tyou be as brave as she is, Virgil?"

"Are you lying, Alice?" he asked. "Do you have a mean time?"

"No, papa. "

He came toward her. "Look at me!" he said. "Things like this dancenow--is that so hard to bear?"

Alice tried to say, "No, papa, " again, but she couldn't. Suddenly and inspite of herself she began to cry. 

"Do you hear her?" his wife sobbed. "Now do you----"

He waved at them fiercely. "Get out of here!" he said. "Both of you! Getout of here!"

As they went, he dropped in his chair and bent far forward, so that hishaggard face was concealed from them. Then, as Alice closed the door, hebegan to rub his knees again, muttering, "Oh, my, my! OH, my, my!"

CHAPTER XIV

There shone a jovial sun overhead on the appointed "day afterto-morrow"; a day not cool yet of a temperature friendly to walkers; andthe air, powdered with sunshine, had so much life in it that it seemedto sparkle. To Arthur Russell this was a day like a gay companion whopleased him well; but the gay companion at his side pleased him evenbetter. She looked her prettiest, chattered her wittiest, smiled herwistfulest, and delighted him with all together. 

"You look so happy it's easy to see your father's taken a good turn, " hetold her. 

"Yes; he has this afternoon, at least, " she said. "I might have otherreasons for looking cheerful, though. "

"For instance?"

"Exactly!" she said, giving him a sweet look just enough mocked by herlaughter. "For instance!"

"Well, go on, " he begged. 

"Isn't it expected?" she asked. 

"Of you, you mean?"

"No, " she returned. "For you, I mean!"

In this style, which uses a word for any meaning that quick look andcolourful gesture care to endow it with, she was an expert; and shecarried it merrily on, leaving him at liberty (one of the great valuesof the style) to choose as he would how much or how little she meant. Hewas content to supply mere cues, for although he had little coquetry ofhis own, he had lately begun to find that the only interesting momentsin his life were those during which Alice Adams coquetted with him. Happily, these obliging moments extended themselves to cover allthe time he spent with her. However serious she might seem, whateverappeared to be her topic, all was thou-and-I. 

He planned for more of it, seeing otherwise a dull evening ahead; andreverted, afterwhile, to a forbidden subject. "About that dance at MissLamb's--since your father's so much better----"

She flushed a little. "Now, now!" she chided him. "We agreed not to sayany more about that. "

"Yes, but since he IS better----"

Alice shook her head. "He won't be better to-morrow. He always has a badday after a good one especially after such a good one as this is. "

"But if this time it should be different, " Russell persisted; "wouldn'tyou be willing to come if he's better by to-morrow evening? Why not waitand decide at the last minute?"

She waved her hands airily. "What a pother!" she cried. "What does itmatter whether poor little Alice Adams goes to a dance or not?"

"Well, I thought I'd made it clear that it looks fairly bleak to me ifyou don't go. "

"Oh, yes!" she jeered. 

"It's the simple truth, " he insisted. "I don't care a great deal aboutdances these days; and if you aren't going to be there----"

"You could stay away, " she suggested. "You wouldn't!"

"Unfortunately, I can't. I'm afraid I'm supposed to be the excuse. MissLamb, in her capacity as a friend of my relatives----"

"Oh, she's giving it for YOU! I see! On Mildred's account you mean?"

At that his face showed an increase of colour. "I suppose just onaccount of my being a cousin of Mildred's and of----"

"Of course! You'll have a beautiful time, too. Henrietta'll see that youhave somebody to dance with besides Miss Dowling, poor man!"

"But what I want somebody to see is that I dance with you! And perhapsyour father----"

"Wait!" she said, frowning as if she debated whether or not to tell himsomething of import; then, seeming to decide affirmatively, she asked:"Would you really like to know the truth about it?"

"If it isn't too unflattering. "

"It hasn't anything to do with you at all, " she said. "Of course I'dlike to go with you and to dance with you--though you don't seem torealize that you wouldn't be permitted much time with me. "

"Oh, yes, I----"

"Never mind!" she laughed. "Of course you wouldn't. But even if papashould be better to-morrow, I doubt if I'd go. In fact, I know Iwouldn't. There's another reason besides papa. "

"Is there?"

"Yes. The truth is, I don't get on with Henrietta Lamb. As a matter offact, I dislike her, and of course that means she dislikes me. I shouldnever think of asking her to anything I gave, and I really wonder sheasks me to things SHE gives. " This was a new inspiration; and Alice, beginning to see her way out of a perplexity, wished that she hadthought of it earlier: she should have told him from the first that sheand Henrietta had a feud, and consequently exchanged no invitations. Moreover, there was another thing to beset her with little anxieties:she might better not have told him from the first, as she had indeedtold him by intimation, that she was the pampered daughter of anindulgent father, presumably able to indulge her; for now she mustelaborately keep to the part. Veracity is usually simple; and itsopposite, to be successful, should be as simple; but practitioners ofthe opposite are most often impulsive, like Alice; and, like her, theybecome enmeshed in elaborations. 

"It wouldn't be very nice for me to go to her house, " Alice went on, "when I wouldn't want her in mine. I've never admired her. I've alwaysthought she was lacking in some things most people are supposed to beequipped with--for instance, a certain feeling about the death of afather who was always pretty decent to his daughter. Henrietta's fatherdied just, eleven months and twenty-seven days before your cousin'sdance, but she couldn't stick out those few last days and make it ayear; she was there. "

Alice stopped, then laughed ruefully, exclaiming, "But this is dreadfulof me!"

"Is it?"

"Blackguarding her to you when she's giving a big party for you! Justthe way Henrietta would blackguard me to you--heaven knows what sheWOULDN'T say if she talked about me to you! It would be fair, of course, but--well, I'd rather she didn't!" And with that, Alice let her prettyhand, in its white glove, rest upon his arm for a moment; and he lookeddown at it, not unmoved to see it there. "I want to be unfair aboutjust this, " she said, letting a troubled laughter tremble throughher appealing voice as she spoke. "I won't take advantage of her withanybody, except just--you! I'd a little rather you didn't hear anybodyblackguard me, and, if you don't mind--could you promise not to giveHenrietta the chance?"

It was charmingly done, with a humorous, faint pathos altogethergenuine; and Russell found himself suddenly wanting to shout at her, "Oh, you DEAR!" Nothing else seemed adequate; but he controlled theimpulse in favour of something more conservative. 

"Imagine any one speaking unkindly of you--not praising you!"

"Who HAS praised me to you?" she asked, quickly. 

"I haven't talked about you with any one; but if I did, I knowthey'd----"

"No, no!" she cried, and went on, again accompanying her words withlittle tremulous runs of laughter. "You don't understand this town yet. You'll be surprised when you do; we're different. We talk about oneanother fearfully! Haven't I just proved it, the way I've been going forHenrietta? Of course I didn't say anything really very terrible abouther, but that's only because I don't follow that practice the way mostof the others do. They don't stop with the worst of the truth they canfind: they make UP things--yes, they really do! And, oh, I'd RATHER theydidn't make up things about me--to you!"

"What difference would it make if they did?" he inquired, cheerfully. "I'd know they weren't true. "

"Even if you did know that, they'd make a difference, " she said. "Oh, yes, they would! It's too bad, but we don't like anything quite so wellthat's had specks on it, even if we've wiped the specks off;--it's justthat much spoiled, and some things are all spoiled the instant they'rethe least bit spoiled. What a man thinks about a girl, for instance. Doyou want to have what you think about me spoiled, Mr. Russell?"

"Oh, but that's already far beyond reach, " he said, lightly. 

"But it can't be!" she protested. 

"Why not?"

"Because it never can be. Men don't change their minds about one anotheroften: they make it quite an event when they do, and talk about it asif something important had happened. But a girl only has to go down-townwith a shoe-string unfastened, and every man who sees her will changehis mind about her. Don't you know that's true?"

"Not of myself, I think. "

"There!" she cried. "That's precisely what every man in the world wouldsay!"

"So you wouldn't trust me?"

"Well--I'll be awfully worried if you give 'em a chance to tell you thatI'm too lazy to tie my shoe-strings!"

He laughed delightedly. "Is that what they do say?" he asked. 

"Just about! Whatever they hope will get results. " She shook her headwisely. "Oh, yes; we do that here!"

"But I don't mind loose shoe-strings, " he said. "Not if they're yours. "

"They'll find out what you do mind. "

"But suppose, " he said, looking at her whimsically; "suppose I wouldn'tmind anything--so long as it's yours?"

She courtesied. "Oh, pretty enough! But a girl who's talked about has aweakness that's often a fatal one. "

"What is it?"

"It's this: when she's talked about she isn't THERE. That's how theykill her. "

"I'm afraid I don't follow you. "

"Don't you see? If Henrietta--or Mildred--or any of 'em--or some oftheir mothers--oh, we ALL do it! Well, if any of 'em told you I didn'ttie my shoe-strings, and if I were there, so that you could see me, you'd know it wasn't true. Even if I were sitting so that you couldn'tsee my feet, and couldn't tell whether the strings were tied or not justthen, still you could look at me, and see that I wasn't the sort of girlto neglect my shoe-strings. But that isn't the way it happens: they'llget at you when I'm nowhere around and can't remind you of the sort ofgirl I really am. "

"But you don't do that, " he complained. "You don't remind me you don'teven tell me--the sort of girl you really are! I'd like to know. "

"Let's be serious then, " she said, and looked serious enough herself. "Would you honestly like to know?"

"Yes. "

"Well, then, you must be careful. "

"'Careful?'" The word amused him. 

"I mean careful not to get me mixed up, " she said. "Careful not to mixup the girl you might hear somebody talking about with the me I honestlytry to make you see. If you do get those two mixed up--well, the wholeshow'll be spoiled!"

"What makes you think so?"

"Because it's----" She checked herself, having begun to speak tooimpulsively; and she was disturbed, realizing in what tricky stuff shedealt. What had been on her lips to say was, "Because it'shappened before!" She changed to, "Because it's so easy to spoilanything--easiest of all to spoil anything that's pleasant. "

"That might depend. "

"No; it's so. And if you care at all about--about knowing a girl who'dlike someone to know her----"

"Just 'someone?' That's disappointing. "

"Well--you, " she said. 

"Tell me how 'careful' you want me to be, then!"

"Well, don't you think it would be nice if you didn't give anybody thechance to talk about me the way--the way I've just been talking aboutHenrietta Lamb?"

With that they laughed together, and he said, "You may be cutting me offfrom a great deal of information, you know. "

"Yes, " Alice admitted. "Somebody might begin to praise me to you, too;so it's dangerous to ask you to change the subject if I ever happen tobe mentioned. But after all----" She paused. 

"'After all' isn't the end of a thought, is it?"

"Sometimes it is of a girl's thought; I suppose men are neater abouttheir thoughts, and always finish 'em. It isn't the end of the thought Ihad then, though. "

"What is the end of it?"

She looked at him impulsively. "Oh, it's foolish, " she said, and shelaughed as laughs one who proposes something probably impossible. "But, WOULDN'T it be pleasant if two people could ever just keep themselvesTO themselves, so far as they two were concerned? I mean, if they couldjust manage to be friends without people talking about it, or talking toTHEM about it?"

"I suppose that might be rather difficult, " he said, more amused thanimpressed by her idea. 

"I don't know: it might be done, " she returned, hopefully. "Especiallyin a town of this size; it's grown so it's quite a huge place thesedays. People can keep themselves to themselves in a big place better, you know. For instance, nobody knows that you and I are taking a walktogether today. "

"How absurd, when here we are on exhibition!"

"No; we aren't. "

"We aren't?"

"Not a bit of it!" she laughed. "We were the other day, when you walkedhome with me, but anybody could tell that had just happened by chance, on account of your overtaking me; people can always see things likethat. But we're not on exhibition now. Look where I've led you!"

Amused and a little bewildered, he looked up and down the street, which was one of gaunt-faced apartment-houses, old, sooty, frameboarding-houses, small groceries and drug-stores, laundries and one-roomplumbers' shops, with the sign of a clairvoyant here and there. 

"You see?" she said. "I've been leading you without your knowing it. Ofcourse that's because you're new to the town, and you give yourself upto the guidance of an old citizen. "

"I'm not so sure, Miss Adams. It might mean that I don't care where Ifollow so long as I follow you. "

"Very well, " she said. "I'd like you to keep on following me at leastlong enough for me to show you that there's something nicer ahead of usthan this dingy street. "

"Is that figurative?" he asked. 

"Might be!" she returned, gaily. "There's a pretty little park at theend, but it's very proletarian, and nobody you and I know will be morelikely to see us there than on this street. "

"What an imagination you have!" he exclaimed. "You turn our properlittle walk into a Parisian adventure. "

She looked at him in what seemed to be a momentary grave puzzlement. "Perhaps you feel that a Parisian adventure mightn't please your--yourrelatives?"

"Why, no, " he returned. "You seem to think of them oftener than I do. "

This appeared to amuse Alice, or at least to please her, for shelaughed. "Then I can afford to quit thinking of them, I suppose. It'sonly that I used to be quite a friend of Mildred's--but there! weneedn't to go into that. I've never been a friend of Henrietta Lamb's, though, and I almost wish she weren't taking such pains to be a friendof yours. "

"Oh, but she's not. It's all on account of----"

"On Mildred's account, " Alice finished this for him, coolly. "Yes, ofcourse. "

"It's on account of the two families, " he was at pains to explain, alittle awkwardly. "It's because I'm a relative of the Palmers, and thePalmers and the Lambs seem to be old family friends. "

"Something the Adamses certainly are not, " Alice said. "Not with eitherof 'em; particularly not with the Lambs!" And here, scarce aware of whatimpelled her, she returned to her former elaborations and colourings. "You see, the differences between Henrietta and me aren't entirelypersonal: I couldn't go to her house even if I liked her. The Lambs andAdamses don't get on with each other, and we've just about come to thebreaking-point as it happens. "

"I hope it's nothing to bother you. "

"Why? A lot of things bother me. "

"I'm sorry they do, " he said, and seemed simply to mean it. 

She nodded gratefully. "That's nice of you, Mr. Russell. It helps. Thebreak between the Adamses and the Lambs is a pretty bothersome thing. It's been coming on a long time. " She sighed deeply, and the sighwas half genuine; this half being for her father, but the other halfprobably belonged to her instinctive rendering of Juliet Capulet, daughter to a warring house. "I hate it all so!" she added. 

"Of course you must. "

"I suppose most quarrels between families are on account of business, "she said. "That's why they're so sordid. Certainly the Lambs seem asordid lot to me, though of course I'm biased. " And with that she beganto sketch a history of the commercial antagonism that had risen betweenthe Adamses and the Lambs. 

The sketching was spontaneous and dramatic. Mathematics had no part init; nor was there accurate definition of Mr. Adams's relation to theinstitution of Lamb and Company. The point was clouded, in fact; thoughthat might easily be set down to the general haziness of young ladiesconfronted with the mysteries of trade or commerce. Mr. Adams either hadbeen a vague sort of junior member of the firm, it appeared, or elsehe should have been made some such thing; at all events, he was an oldmainstay of the business; and he, as much as any Lamb, had helped tobuild up the prosperity of the company. But at last, tired of providingso much intelligence and energy for which other people took profitgreater than his own, he had decided to leave the company and found abusiness entirely for himself. The Lambs were going to be enraged whenthey learned what was afoot. 

Such was the impression, a little misted, wrought by Alice's quicknarrative. But there was dolorous fact behind it: Adams had succumbed. 

His wife, grave and nervous, rather than triumphant, in success, hadtold their daughter that the great J. A. Would be furious and possiblyvindictive. Adams was afraid of him, she said. 

"But what for, mama?" Alice asked, since this seemed a turn of affairsout of reason. "What in the world has Mr. Lamb to do with papa's leavingthe company to set up for himself? What right has he to be angry aboutit? If he's such a friend as he claims to be, I should think he'd beglad--that is, if the glue factory turns out well. What will he be angryfor?"

Mrs. Adams gave Alice an uneasy glance, hesitated, and then explainedthat a resignation from Lamb's had always been looked upon, especiallyby "that old man, " as treachery. You were supposed to die in theservice, she said bitterly, and her daughter, a little mystified, accepted this explanation. Adams had not spoken to her of his surrender;he seemed not inclined to speak to her at all, or to any one. 

Alice was not serious too long, and she began to laugh as she cameto the end of her decorative sketch. "After all, the whole thing isperfectly ridiculous, " she said. "In fact, it's FUNNY! That's on accountof what papa's going to throw over the Lamb business FOR! To save yourlife you couldn't imagine what he's going to do!"

"I won't try, then, " Russell assented. 

"It takes all the romance out of ME, " she laughed. "You'll never go fora Parisian walk with me again, after I tell you what I'll be heiressto. " They had come to the entrance of the little park; and, as Alice hadsaid, it was a pretty place, especially on a day so radiant. Trees ofthe oldest forest stood there, hale and serene over the trim, brightgrass; and the proletarians had not come from their factories at thishour; only a few mothers and their babies were to be seen, here andthere, in the shade. "I think I'll postpone telling you about it till weget nearly home again, " Alice said, as they began to saunter down one ofthe gravelled paths. "There's a bench beside a spring farther on; wecan sit there and talk about a lot of things--things not so sticky as mydowry's going to be. "

"'Sticky?'" he echoed. "What in the world----" She laughed despairingly. 

"A glue factory!"

Then he laughed, too, as much from friendliness as from amusement; andshe remembered to tell him that the project of a glue factory was still"an Adams secret. " It would be known soon, however, she added; and thewhole Lamb connection would probably begin saying all sorts of things, heaven knew what!

Thus Alice built her walls of flimsy, working always gaily, or with atleast the air of gaiety; and even as she rattled on, there was somewherein her mind a constant little wonder. Everything she said seemed to benecessary to support something else she had said. How had it happened?She found herself telling him that since her father had decided onmaking so great a change in his ways, she and her mother hoped at lastto persuade him to give up that "foolish little house" he had been soobstinate about; and she checked herself abruptly on this declivity justas she was about to slide into a remark concerning her own preferencefor a "country place. " Discretion caught her in time; and somethingelse, in company with discretion, caught her, for she stopped short inher talk and blushed. 

They had taken possession of the bench beside the spring, by this time;and Russell, his elbow on the back of the bench and his chin on hishand, the better to look at her, had no guess at the cause of the blush, but was content to find it lovely. At his first sight of Alice she hadseemed pretty in the particular way of being pretty that he happenedto like best; and, with every moment he spent with her, this prettinessappeared to increase. He felt that he could not look at her enough: hisgaze followed the fluttering of the graceful hands in almost continualgesture as she talked; then lifted happily to the vivacious face again. She charmed him. 

After her abrupt pause, she sighed, then looked at him with her eyebrowslifted in a comedy appeal. "You haven't said you wouldn't give Henriettathe chance, " she said, in the softest voice that can still have a littlelaugh running in it. 

He was puzzled. "Give Henrietta the chance?"

"YOU know! You'll let me keep on being unfair, won't you? Not give theother girls a chance to get even?"

He promised, heartily. 

CHAPTER XV

Alice had said that no one who knew either Russell or herself would belikely to see them in the park or upon the dingy street; but althoughthey returned by that same ungenteel thoroughfare they were seen bya person who knew them both. Also, with some surprise on the part ofRussell, and something more poignant than surprise for Alice, they sawthis person. 

All of the dingy street was ugly, but the greater part of it appeared tobe honest. The two pedestrians came upon a block or two, however, whereit offered suggestions of a less upright character, like a steady enoughworkingman with a naughty book sticking out of his pocket. Three or fourdim shops, a single story in height, exhibited foul signboards, yet fairenough so far as the wording went; one proclaiming a tobacconist, onea junk-dealer, one a dispenser of "soft drinks and cigars. " The mostcredulous would have doubted these signboards; for the craft of themodern tradesman is exerted to lure indoors the passing glance, since ifthe glance is pleased the feet may follow; but this alleged tobacconistand his neighbours had long been fond of dust on their windows, evidently, and shades were pulled far down on the glass of their doors. Thus the public eye, small of pupil in the light of the open street, wasintentionally not invited to the dusky interiors. Something differentfrom mere lack of enterprise was apparent; and the signboards might havebeen omitted; they were pains thrown away, since it was plain to theworld that the business parts of these shops were the brighter backrooms implied by the dark front rooms; and that the commerce there wasin perilous new liquors and in dice and rough girls. 

Nothing could have been more innocent than the serenity with which thesewicked little places revealed themselves for what they were; and, boundby this final tie of guilelessness, they stood together in a row whichended with a companionable barbershop, much like them. Beyond was aseries of soot-harried frame two-story houses, once part of a cheerfulneighbourhood when the town was middle-aged and settled, and not old andgrowing. These houses, all carrying the label. "Rooms, " had the worriedlook of vacancy that houses have when they are too full of everybodywithout being anybody's home; and there was, too, a surreptitiousair about them, as if, like the false little shops, they advertisedsomething by concealing it. 

One of them--the one next to the barber-shop--had across its front anample, jig-sawed veranda, where aforetime, no doubt, the father of afamily had fanned himself with a palm-leaf fan on Sunday afternoons, watching the surreys go by, and where his daughter listened to mandolinsand badinage on starlit evenings; but, although youth still held theveranda, both the youth and the veranda were in decay. The four or fiveyoung men who lounged there this afternoon were of a type known to shadypool-parlours. Hats found no favour with them; all of them wore caps;and their tight clothes, apparently from a common source, showeda vivacious fancy for oblique pockets, false belts, and Easter-eggcolourings. Another thing common to the group was the expression ofeye and mouth; and Alice, in the midst of her other thoughts, had adistasteful thought about this. 

The veranda was within a dozen feet of the sidewalk, and as she and herescort came nearer, she took note of the young men, her face hardeninga little, even before she suspected there might be a resemblance betweenthem and any one she knew. Then she observed that each of these loungerswore not for the occasion, but as of habit, a look of furtivelyamused contempt; the mouth smiled to one side as if not to dislodge acigarette, while the eyes kept languidly superior. All at once Alice wasreminded of Walter; and the slight frown caused by this idea had justbegun to darken her forehead when Walter himself stepped out of the opendoor of the house and appeared upon the veranda. Upon his head was a newstraw hat, and in his hand was a Malacca stick with an ivory top, forAlice had finally decided against it for herself and had given it tohim. His mood was lively: he twirled the stick through his fingers likea drum-major's baton, and whistled loudly. 

Moreover, he was indeed accompanied. With him was a thin girl who hadmade a violent black-and-white poster of herself: black dress, blackflimsy boa, black stockings, white slippers, great black hat down uponthe black eyes; and beneath the hat a curve of cheek and chin made whiteas whitewash, and in strong bilateral motion with gum. 

The loungers on the veranda were familiars of the pair; hailed them withcacklings; and one began to sing, in a voice all tin:

 "Then my skirt, Sal, and me did go Right straight to the moving-pitcher show. OH, you bashful vamp!"

The girl laughed airily. "God, but you guys are wise!" she said. 

"Come on, Wallie. "

Walter stared at his sister; then grinned faintly, and nodded at Russellas the latter lifted his hat in salutation. Alice uttered an incoherentsyllable of exclamation, and, as she began to walk faster, she bit herlip hard, not in order to look wistful, this time, but to help her keeptears of anger from her eyes. 

Russell laughed cheerfully. "Your brother certainly seems to have foundthe place for 'colour' today, " he said. "That girl's talk must be fullof it. "

But Alice had forgotten the colour she herself had used in accountingfor Walter's peculiarities, and she did not understand. "What?" shesaid, huskily. 

"Don't you remember telling me about him? How he was going to write, probably, and would go anywhere to pick up types and get them to talk?"

She kept her eyes ahead, and said sharply, "I think his literary tastesscarcely cover this case!"

"Don't be too sure. He didn't look at all disconcerted. He didn't seemto mind your seeing him. "

"That's all the worse, isn't it?"

"Why, no, " her friend said, genially. "It means he didn't considerthat he was engaged in anything out of the way. You can't expect tounderstand everything boys do at his age; they do all sorts of queerthings, and outgrow them. Your brother evidently has a taste for queerpeople, and very likely he's been at least half sincere when he's madeyou believe he had a literary motive behind it. We all go through----"

"Thanks, Mr. Russell, " she interrupted. "Let's don't say any more. "

He looked at her flushed face and enlarged eyes; and he liked her allthe better for her indignation: this was how good sisters ought to feel, he thought, failing to understand that most of what she felt was notabout Walter. He ventured only a word more. "Try not to mind it so much;it really doesn't amount to anything. "

She shook her head, and they went on in silence; she did not look at himagain until they stopped before her own house. Then she gave him onlyone glimpse of her eyes before she looked down. "It's spoiled, isn'tit?" she said, in a low voice. 

"What's 'spoiled?'"

"Our walk--well, everything. Somehow it always--is. "

"'Always is' what?" he asked. 

"Spoiled, " she said. 

He laughed at that; but without looking at him she suddenly offered himher hand, and, as he took it, he felt a hurried, violent pressure uponhis fingers, as if she meant to thank him almost passionately for beingkind. She was gone before he could speak to her again. 

In her room, with the door locked, she did not go to her mirror, but toher bed, flinging herself face down, not caring how far the pillowsput her hat awry. Sheer grief had followed her anger; grief forthe calamitous end of her bright afternoon, grief for the "end ofeverything, " as she thought then. Nevertheless, she gradually grew morecomposed, and, when her mother tapped on the door presently, let her in. Mrs. Adams looked at her with quick apprehension. 

"Oh, poor child! Wasn't he----"

Alice told her. "You see how it--how it made me look, mama, " shequavered, having concluded her narrative. "I'd tried to cover upWalter's awfulness at the dance with that story about his being'literary, ' but no story was big enough to cover this up--and oh! itmust make him think I tell stories about other things!"

"No, no, no!" Mrs. Adams protested. "Don't you see? At the worst, all HEcould think is that Walter told stories to you about why he likes to bewith such dreadful people, and you believed them. That's all HE'D think;don't you see?"

Alice's wet eyes began to show a little hopefulness. "You honestly thinkit might be that way, mama?"

"Why, from what you've told me he said, I KNOW it's that way. Didn't hesay he wanted to come again?"

"N-no, " Alice said, uncertainly. "But I think he will. At least I beginto think so now. He----" She stopped. 

"From all you tell me, he seems to be a very desirable young man, " Mrs. Adams said, primly. 

Her daughter was silent for several moments; then new tears gatheredupon her downcast lashes. "He's just--dear!" she faltered. 

Mrs. Adams nodded. "He's told you he isn't engaged, hasn't he?"

"No. But I know he isn't. Maybe when he first came here he was near it, but I know he's not. "

"I guess Mildred Palmer would LIKE him to be, all right!" Mrs. Adamswas frank enough to say, rather triumphantly; and Alice, with a loweredhead, murmured:

"Anybody--would. "

The words were all but inaudible. 

"Don't you worry, " her mother said, and patted her on the shoulder. "Everything will come out all right; don't you fear, Alice. Can't yousee that beside any other girl in town you're just a perfect QUEEN? Doyou think any young man that wasn't prejudiced, or something, would needmore than just one look to----"

But Alice moved away from the caressing hand. "Never mind, mama. Iwonder he looks at me at all. And if he does again, after seeing mybrother with those horrible people----"

"Now, now!" Mrs. Adams interrupted, expostulating mournfully. "I'm sureWalter's a GOOD boy----"

"You are?" Alice cried, with a sudden vigour. "You ARE?"

"I'm sure he's GOOD, yes--and if he isn't, it's not his fault. It'smine. "

"What nonsense!"

"No, it's true, " Mrs. Adams lamented. "I tried to bring him up to begood, God knows; and when he was little he was the best boy I ever saw. When he came from Sunday-school he'd always run to me and we'd go overthe lesson together; and he let me come in his room at night to hear hisprayers almost until he was sixteen. Most boys won't do that withtheir mothers--not nearly that long. I tried so hard to bring him upright--but if anything's gone wrong it's my fault. "

"How could it be? You've just said----"

"It's because I didn't make your father this--this new step earlier. Then Walter might have had all the advantages that other----"

"Oh, mama, PLEASE!" Alice begged her. "Let's don't go over all thatagain. Isn't it more important to think what's to be done about him? Ishe going to be allowed to go on disgracing us as he does?"

Mrs. Adams sighed profoundly. "I don't know what to do, " she confessed, unhappily. "Your father's so upset about--about this new step he'staking--I don't feel as if we ought to----"

"No, no!" Alice cried. "Papa mustn't be distressed with this, on top ofeverything else. But SOMETHING'S got to be done about Walter. "

"What can be?" her mother asked, helplessly. "What can be?"

Alice admitted that she didn't know. 

At dinner, an hour later, Walter's habitually veiled glance lifted, now and then, to touch her furtively;--he was waiting, as he would havesaid, for her to "spring it"; and he had prepared a brief and sinceredefense to the effect that he made his own living, and would liketo inquire whose business it was to offer intrusive comment upon hisprivate conduct. But she said nothing, while his father and mother wereas silent as she. Walter concluded that there was to be no attack, butchanged his mind when his father, who ate only a little, and broodinglyat that, rose to leave the table and spoke to him. 

"Walter, " he said, "when you've finished I wish you'd come up to myroom. I got something I want to say to you. "

Walter shot a hard look at his apathetic sister, then turned to hisfather. "Make it to-morrow, " he said. "This is Satad'y night and I got adate. "

"No, " Adams said, frowning. "You come up before you go out. It'simportant. "

"All right; I've had all I want to eat, " Walter returned. "I got a fewminutes. Make it quick. "

He followed his father upstairs, and when they were in the room togetherAdams shut the door, sat down, and began to rub his knees. 

"Rheumatism?" the boy inquired, slyly. "That what you want to talk to meabout?"

"No. " But Adams did not go on; he seemed to be in difficulties forwords, and Walter decided to help him. 

"Hop ahead and spring it, " he said. "Get it off your mind: I'll tell theworld _I_ should worry! You aren't goin' to bother ME any, so why botheryourself? Alice hopped home and told you she saw me playin' around withsome pretty gay-lookin' berries and you----"

"Alice?" his father said, obviously surprised. "It's nothing aboutAlice. "

"Didn't she tell you----"

"I haven't talked with her all day. "

"Oh, I see, " Walter said. "She told mother and mother told you. "

"No, neither of 'em have told me anything. What was there to tell?"

Walter laughed. "Oh, it's nothin', " he said. "I was just startin' outto buy a girl friend o' mine a rhinestone buckle I lost to her on a bet, this afternoon, and Alice came along with that big Russell fish; and Ithought she looked sore. She expects me to like the kind she likes, andI don't like 'em. I thought she'd prob'ly got you all stirred up aboutit. "

"No, no, " his father said, peevishly. "I don't know anything about it, and I don't care to know anything about it. I want to talk to you aboutsomething important. "

Then, as he was again silent, Walter said, "Well, TALK about it; I'mlistening. "

"It's this, " Adams began, heavily. "It's about me going into this gluebusiness. Your mother's told you, hasn't she?"

"She said you were goin' to leave the old place down-town and start aglue factory. That's all I know about it; I got my own affairs to 'tendto. "

"Well, this is your affair, " his father said, frowning. "You can't staywith Lamb and Company. "

Walter looked a little startled. "What you mean, I can't? Why not?"

"You've got to help me, " Adams explained slowly; and he frowned moredeeply, as if the interview were growing increasingly laborious for him. "It's going to be a big pull to get this business on its feet. "

"Yes!" Walter exclaimed with a sharp skepticism. "I should say it was!"He stared at his father incredulously. "Look here; aren't you just alittle bit sudden, the way you're goin' about things? You've let mothershove you a little too fast, haven't you? Do you know anything aboutwhat it means to set up a new business these days?"

"Yes, I know all about it, " Adams said. "About this business, I do. "

"How do you?"

"Because I made a long study of it. I'm not afraid of going about it thewrong way; but it's a hard job and you'll have to put in all whateversense and strength you've got. "

Walter began to breathe quickly, and his lips were agitated; then he setthem obstinately. "Oh; I will, " he said. 

"Yes, you will, " Adams returned, not noticing that his son's inflectionwas satiric. "It's going to take every bit of energy in your body, andall the energy I got left in mine, and every cent of the little I'vesaved, besides something I'll have to raise on this house. I'm goingright at it, now I've got to; and you'll have to quit Lamb's by the endof next week. "

"Oh, I will?" Walter's voice grew louder, and there was a shrillnessin it. "I got to quit Lamb's the end of next week, have I?" He steppedforward, angrily. "Listen!" he said. "I'm not walkin' out o' Lamb's, see? I'm not quittin' down there: I stay with 'em, see?"

Adams looked up at him, astonished. "You'll leave there next Saturday, "he said. "I've got to have you. "

"You don't anything o' the kind, " Walter told him, sharply. "Do youexpect to pay me anything?"

"I'd pay you about what you been getting down there. "

"Then pay somebody else; _I_ don't know anything about glue. You getsomebody else. "

"No. You've got to---"

Walter cut him off with the utmost vehemence. "Don't tell me what I gotto do! I know what I got to do better'n you, I guess! I stay at Lamb's, see?"

Adams rose angrily. "You'll do what I tell you. You can't stay downthere. "

"Why can't I?"

"Because I won't let you. "

"Listen! Keep on not lettin' me: I'll be there just the same. "

At that his father broke into a sour laughter. "THEY won't let you, Walter! They won't have you down there after they find out I'm going. "

"Why won't they? You don't think they're goin' to be all shot to piecesover losin' YOU, do you?"

"I tell you they won't let you stay, " his father insisted, loudly. 

"Why, what do they care whether you go or not?"

"They'll care enough to fire YOU, my boy!"

"Look here, then; show me why. "

"They'll do it!"

"Yes, " Walter jeered; "you keep sayin' they will, but when I ask you toshow me why, you keep sayin' they will! That makes little headway withME, I can tell you!"

Adams groaned, and, rubbing his head, began to pace the floor. Walter'srefusal was something he had not anticipated; and he felt the weaknessof his own attempt to meet it: he seemed powerless to do anything bututter angry words, which, as Walter said, made little headway. "Oh, my, my!" he muttered, "OH, my, my!"

Walter, usually sallow, had grown pale: he watched his father narrowly, and now took a sudden resolution. "Look here, " he said. "When you sayLamb's is likely to fire me because you're goin' to quit, you talk likethe people that have to be locked up. I don't know where you get suchthings in your head; Lamb and Company won't know you're gone. Listen: Ican stay there long as I want to. But I'll tell you what I'll do: makeit worth my while and I'll hook up with your old glue factory, afterall. "

Adams stopped his pacing abruptly, and stared at him. "'Make it worthyour while?' What you mean?"

"I got a good use for three hundred dollars right now, " Walter said. "Let me have it and I'll quit Lamb's to work for you. Don't let me haveit and I SWEAR I won't!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Is everybody crazy that needs three hundred dollars?"

"Yes, " Adams said. "They are if they ask ME for it, when I got tostretch every cent I can lay my hands on to make it look like a dollar!"

"You won't do it?"

Adams burst out at him. "You little fool! If I had three hundred dollarsto throw away, besides the pay I expected to give you, haven't you gotsense enough to see I could hire a man worth three hundred dollarsmore to me than you'd be? It's a FINE time to ask me for three hundreddollars, isn't it! What FOR? Rhinestone buckles to throw around on your'girl friends?' Shame on you! Ask me to BRIBE you to help yourself andyour own family!"

"I'll give you a last chance, " Walter said. "Either you do what I want, or I won't do what you want. Don't ask me again after this, because----"

Adams interrupted him fiercely. "'Ask you again!' Don't worry aboutthat, my boy! All I ask you is to get out o' my room. "

"Look here, " Walter said, quietly; and his lopsided smile distorted hislivid cheek. "Look here: I expect YOU wouldn't give me three hundreddollars to save my life, would you?"

"You make me sick, " Adams said, in his bitterness. "Get out of here. "

Walter went out, whistling; and Adams drooped into his old chair againas the door closed. "OH, my, my!" he groaned. "Oh, Lordy, Lordy! The wayof the transgressor----"

CHAPTER XVI

He meant his own transgression and his own way; for Walter's stubbornrefusal appeared to Adams just then as one of the inexplicable butrighteous besettings he must encounter in following that way. "Oh, Lordy, Lord!" he groaned, and then, as resentment moved him--"That dangboy! Dang idiot" Yet he knew himself for a greater idiot because he hadnot been able to tell Walter the truth. He could not bring himself to doit, nor even to state his case in its best terms; and that was becausehe felt that even in its best terms the case was a bad one. 

Of all his regrets the greatest was that in a moment of vanity andtenderness, twenty-five years ago, he had told his young wife a businesssecret. He had wanted to show how important her husband was becoming, and how much the head of the universe, J. A. Lamb, trusted to hisintegrity and ability. The great man had an idea: he thought of"branching out a little, " he told Adams confidentially, and there werepossibilities of profit in glue. 

What he wanted was a liquid glue to be put into little bottles and soldcheaply. "The kind of thing that sells itself, " he said; "the kind ofthing that pays its own small way as it goes along, until it has profitsenough to begin advertising it right. Everybody has to use glue, and ifI make mine convenient and cheap, everybody'll buy mine. But it's gotto be glue that'll STICK; it's got to be the best; and if we find howto make it we've got to keep it a big secret, of course, or anybody cansteal it from us. There was a man here last month; he knew a formulahe wanted to sell me, 'sight unseen'; but he was in such a hurry I gotsuspicious, and I found he'd managed to steal it, working for the bigpackers in their glue-works. We've got to find a better glue than that, anyhow. I'm going to set you and Campbell at it. You're a practical, wide-awake young feller, and Campbell's a mighty good chemist; I guessyou two boys ought to make something happen. "

His guess was shrewd enough. Working in a shed a little way outside thetown, where their cheery employer visited them sometimes to study theirmalodorous stews, the two young men found what Lamb had set them tofind. But Campbell was thoughtful over the discovery. "Look here, " hesaid. "Why ain't this just about yours and mine? After all, it may beLamb's money that's paid for the stuff we've used, but it hasn't costmuch. "

"But he pays US, " Adams remonstrated, horrified by his companion's idea. "He paid us to do it. It belongs absolutely to him. "

"Oh, I know he THINKS it does, " Campbell admitted, plaintively. "Isuppose we've got to let him take it. It's not patentable, and he'llhave to do pretty well by us when he starts his factory, because he'sgot to depend on us to run the making of the stuff so that the workmencan't get onto the process. You better ask him the same salary I do, andmine's going to be high. "

But the high salary, thus pleasantly imagined, was never paid. Campbelldied of typhoid fever, that summer, leaving Adams and his employer theonly possessors of the formula, an unwritten one; and Adams, pleased tothink himself more important to the great man than ever, told his wifethat there could be little doubt of his being put in sole charge ofthe prospective glue-works. Unfortunately, the enterprise remainedprospective. 

Its projector had already become "inveigled into another side-line, "as he told Adams. One of his sons had persuaded him to take up a"cough-lozenge, " to be called the "Jalamb Balm Trochee"; and the lozengedid well enough to amuse Mr. Lamb and occupy his spare time, which wasreally about all he had asked of the glue project. He had "all the MONEYanybody ought to want, " he said, when Adams urged him; and he could"start up this little glue side-line" at any time; the formula was safein their two heads. 

At intervals Adams would seek opportunity to speak of "the little glueside-line" to his patron, and to suggest that the years were passing;but Lamb, petting other hobbies, had lost interest. "Oh, I'll start itup some day, maybe. If I don't, I may turn it over to my heirs: it'salways an asset, worth something or other, of course. We'll probablytake it up some day, though, you and I. "

The sun persistently declined to rise on that day, and, as time wenton, Adams saw that his rather timid urgings bored his employer, and heceased to bring up the subject. Lamb apparently forgot all about glue, but Adams discovered that unfortunately there was someone else whoremembered it. 

"It's really YOURS, " she argued, that painful day when for the firsttime she suggested his using his knowledge for the benefit of himselfand his family. "Mr. Campbell might have had a right to part of it, buthe died and didn't leave any kin, so it belongs to you. "

"Suppose J. A. Lamb hired me to saw some wood, " Adams said. "Would thesticks belong to me?"

"He hasn't got any right to take your invention and bury it, " sheprotested. "What good is it doing him if he doesn't DO anything with it?What good is it doing ANYBODY? None in the world! And what harm wouldit do him if you went ahead and did this for yourself and for yourchildren? None in the world! And what could he do to you if he WAS oldpig enough to get angry with you for doing it? He couldn't do a singlething, and you've admitted he couldn't, yourself. So what's your reasonfor depriving your children and your wife of the benefits you know youcould give 'em?"

"Nothing but decency, " he answered; and she had her reply ready forthat. It seemed to him that, strive as he would, he could not reach hermind with even the plainest language; while everything that she said tohim, with such vehemence, sounded like so much obstinate gibberish. Over and over he pressed her with the same illustration, on the point ofownership, though he thought he was varying it. 

"Suppose he hired me to build him a house: would that be MY house?"

"He didn't hire you to build him a house. You and Campbell invented----"

"Look here: suppose you give a cook a soup-bone and some vegetables, andpay her to make you a soup: has she got a right to take and sell it? Youknow better!"

"I know ONE thing: if that old man tried to keep your own invention fromyou he's no better than a robber!"

They never found any point of contact in all their passionatediscussions of this ethical question; and the question was no moresettled between them, now that Adams had succumbed, than it had everbeen. But at least the wrangling about it was over: they were gravetogether, almost silent, and an uneasiness prevailed with her as much aswith him. 

He had already been out of the house, to walk about the small greenyard; and on Monday afternoon he sent for a taxicab and went down-town, but kept a long way from the "wholesale section, " where stood theformidable old oblong pile of Lamb and Company. He arranged for thesale of the bonds he had laid away, and for placing a mortgage upon hishouse; and on his way home, after five o'clock, he went to see an oldfriend, a man whose term of service with Lamb and Company was even alittle longer than his own. 

This veteran, returned from the day's work, was sitting in front of theapartment house where he lived, but when the cab stopped at the curb herose and came forward, offering a jocular greeting. "Well, well, VirgilAdams! I always thought you had a sporty streak in you. Travel inyour own hired private automobile nowadays, do you? Pamperin' yourselfbecause you're still layin' off sick, I expect. "

"Oh, I'm well enough again, Charley Lohr, " Adams said, as he got out andshook hands. Then, telling the driver to wait, he took his friend's arm, walked to the bench with him, and sat down. "I been practically well forsome time, " he said. "I'm fixin' to get into harness again. "

"Bein' sick has certainly produced a change of heart in you, " hisfriend laughed. "You're the last man I ever expected to see blowin'yourself--or anybody else to a taxicab! For that matter, I never heardof you bein' in ANY kind of a cab, 'less'n it might be when you beenpall-bearer for somebody. What's come over you?"

"Well, I got to turn over a new leaf, and that's a fact, " Adams said. "Igot a lot to do, and the only way to accomplish it, it's got to be donesoon, or I won't have anything to live on while I'm doing it. "

"What you talkin' about? What you got to do except to get strong enoughto come back to the old place?"

"Well----" Adams paused, then coughed, and said slowly, "Fact is, Charley Lohr, I been thinking likely I wouldn't come back. "

"What! What you talkin' about?"

"No, " said Adams. "I been thinking I might likely kind of branch out onmy own account. "

"Well, I'll be doggoned!" Old Charley Lohr was amazed; he ruffled uphis gray moustache with thumb and forefinger, leaving his mouth openbeneath, like a dark cave under a tangled wintry thicket. "Why, that'sthe doggonedest thing I ever heard!" he said. "I already am the oldestinhabitant down there, but if you go, there won't be anybody else of theold generation at all. What on earth you thinkin' of goin' into?"

"Well, " said Adams, "I rather you didn't mention it till I get startedof course anybody'll know what it is by then--but I HAVE been kind ofplanning to put a liquid glue on the market. "

His friend, still ruffling the gray moustache upward, stared at him infrowning perplexity. "Glue?" he said. "GLUE!"

"Yes. I been sort of milling over the idea of taking up something likethat. "

"Handlin' it for some firm, you mean?"

"No. Making it. Sort of a glue-works likely. "

Lohr continued to frown. "Let me think, " he said. "Didn't the ole manhave some such idea once, himself?"

Adams leaned forward, rubbing his knees; and he coughed again before hespoke. "Well, yes. Fact is, he did. That is to say, a mighty long whileago he did. "

"I remember, " said Lohr. "He never said anything about it that I knowof; but seems to me I recollect we had sort of a rumour around the placehow you and that man--le's see, wasn't his name Campbell, that died oftyphoid fever? Yes, that was it, Campbell. Didn't the ole man have youand Campbell workin' sort of private on some glue proposition or other?"

"Yes, he did. " Adams nodded. "I found out a good deal about glue then, too. "

"Been workin' on it since, I suppose?"

"Yes. Kept it in my mind and studied out new things about it. "

Lohr looked serious. "Well, but see here, " he said. "I hope it ain'tanything the ole man'll think might infringe on whatever he had youdoin' for HIM. You know how he is: broad-minded, liberal, free-handedman as walks this earth, and if he thought he owed you a cent he'd sellhis right hand for a pork-chop to pay it, if that was the only way; butif he got the idea anybody was tryin' to get the better of him, he'dsell BOTH his hands, if he had to, to keep 'em from doin' it. Yes, ateighty, he would! Not that I mean I think you might be tryin' to get thebetter of him, Virg. You're a mighty close ole codger, but such a thingain't in you. What I mean: I hope there ain't any chance for the ole manto THINK you might be----"

"Oh, no, " Adams interrupted. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe he'llever think about it at all, and if he did he wouldn't have any realright to feel offended at me: the process I'm going to use is one Iexpect to change and improve a lot different from the one Campbell and Iworked on for him. "

"Well, that's good, " said Lohr. "Of course you know what you're up to:you're old enough, God knows!" He laughed ruefully. "My, but it willseem funny to me--down there with you gone! I expect you and I bothbeen gettin' to be pretty much dead-wood in the place, the way the youngfellows look at it, and the only one that'd miss either of us would bethe other one! Have you told the ole man yet?"

"Well----" Adams spoke laboriously. "No. No, I haven't. I thought--well, that's what I wanted to see you about. "

"What can I do?"

"I thought I'd write him a letter and get you to hand it to him for me. "

"My soul!" his friend exclaimed. "Why on earth don't you just go downthere and tell him?"

Adams became pitiably embarrassed. He stammered, coughed, stammeredagain, wrinkling his face so deeply he seemed about to weep; but finallyhe contrived to utter an apologetic laugh. "I ought to do that, ofcourse; but in some way or other I just don't seem to be able to--tomanage it. "

"Why in the world not?" the mystified Lohr inquired. 

"I could hardly tell you--'less'n it is to say that when you been withone boss all your life it's so--so kind of embarrassing--to quit him, Ijust can't make up my mind to go and speak to him about it. No; I got itin my head a letter's the only satisfactory way to do it, and I thoughtI'd ask you to hand it to him. "

"Well, of course I don't mind doin' that for you, " Lohr said, mildly. "But why in the world don't you just mail it to him?"

"Well, I'll tell you, " Adams returned. "You know, like that, it'd haveto go through a clerk and that secretary of his, and I don't know whoall. There's a couple of kind of delicate points I want to put in it:for instance, I want to explain to him how much improvement and so onI'm going to introduce on the old process I helped to work out withCampbell when we were working for him, so't he'll understand it's adifferent article and no infringement at all. Then there's anotherthing: you see all during while I was sick he had my salary paid tome it amounts to considerable, I was on my back so long. Under thecircumstances, because I'm quitting, I don't feel as if I ought toaccept it, and so I'll have a check for him in the letter to cover it, and I want to be sure he knows it, and gets it personally. If it had togo through a lot of other people, the way it would if I put it in themail, why, you can't tell. So what I thought: if you'd hand it to himfor me, and maybe if he happened to read it right then, or anything, it might be you'd notice whatever he'd happen to say about it--and youcould tell me afterward. "

"All right, " Lohr said. "Certainly if you'd rather do it that way, I'llhand it to him and tell you what he says; that is, if he says anythingand I hear him. Got it written?"

"No; I'll send it around to you last of the week. " Adams movedtoward his taxicab. "Don't say anything to anybody about it, Charley, especially till after that. "

"All right. "

"And, Charley, I'll be mighty obliged to you, " Adams said, and came backto shake hands in farewell. "There's one thing more you might do--ifyou'd ever happen to feel like it. " He kept his eyes rather vaguelyfixed on a point above his friend's head as he spoke, and his voice wasnot well controlled. "I been--I been down there a good many years andI may not 'a' been so much use lately as I was at first, but I alwaystried to do my best for the old firm. If anything turned out so's theyDID kind of take offense with me, down there, why, just say a good wordfor me--if you'd happen to feel like it, maybe. "

Old Charley Lohr assured him that he would speak a good word ifopportunity became available; then, after the cab had driven away, he went up to his small apartment on the third floor and mutteredruminatively until his wife inquired what he was talking to himselfabout. 

"Ole Virg Adams, " he told her. "He's out again after his long spell ofsickness, and the way it looks to me he'd better stayed in bed. "

"You mean he still looks too bad to be out?"

"Oh, I expect he's gettin' his HEALTH back, " Lohr said, frowning. 

"Then what's the matter with him? You mean he's lost his mind?"

"My goodness, but women do jump at conclusions!" he exclaimed. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Lohr, "what other conclusion did you leave me to jumpat?"

Her husband explained with a little heat: "People can have a sicknessthat AFFECTS their mind, can't they? Their mind can get some affectedwithout bein' LOST, can't it?"

"Then you mean the poor man's mind does seem affected?"

"Why, no; I'd scarcely go as far as that, " Lohr said, inconsistently, and declined to be more definite. 

Adams devoted the latter part of that evening to the composition of hisletter--a disquieting task not completed when, at eleven o'clock, heheard his daughter coming up the stairs. She was singing to herself in alow, sweet voice, and Adams paused to listen incredulously, with hispen lifted and his mouth open, as if he heard the strangest sound in theworld. Then he set down the pen upon a blotter, went to his door, andopened it, looking out at her as she came. 

"Well, dearie, you seem to be feeling pretty good, " he said. "What youbeen doing?"

"Just sitting out on the front steps, papa. "

"All alone, I suppose. "

"No. Mr. Russell called. "

"Oh, he did?" Adams pretended to be surprised. "What all could you andhe find to talk about till this hour o' the night?"

She laughed gaily. "You don't know me, papa!"

"How's that?"

"You've never found out that I always do all the talking. "

"Didn't you let him get a word in all evening?"

"Oh, yes; every now and then. "

Adams took her hand and petted it. "Well, what did he say?"

Alice gave him a radiant look and kissed him. "Not what you think!" shelaughed; then slapped his cheek with saucy affection, pirouetted acrossthe narrow hall and into her own room, and curtsied to him as she closedher door. 

Adams went back to his writing with a lighter heart; for since Alicewas born she had been to him the apple of his eye, his own phrase inthinking of her; and what he was doing now was for her. 

He smiled as he picked up his pen to begin a new draft of the painfulletter; but presently he looked puzzled. After all, she could be happyjust as things were, it seemed. Then why had he taken what his wifecalled "this new step, " which he had so long resisted?

He could only sigh and wonder. "Life works out pretty peculiarly, " hethought; for he couldn't go back now, though the reason he couldn't wasnot clearly apparent. He had to go ahead. 

CHAPTER XVII

He was out in his taxicab again the next morning, and by noon he hadsecured what he wanted. 

It was curiously significant that he worked so quickly. All the yearsduring which his wife had pressed him toward his present shift he hadsworn to himself, as well as to her, that he would never yield; and yetwhen he did yield he had no plans to make, because he found themalready prepared and worked out in detail in his mind; as if he had longcontemplated the "step" he believed himself incapable of taking. 

Sometimes he had thought of improving his income by exchanging hislittle collection of bonds for a "small rental property, " if he couldfind "a good buy"; and he had spent many of his spare hours ramblingover the enormously spreading city and its purlieus, looking for theideal "buy. " It remained unattainable, so far as he was concerned; buthe found other things. 

Not twice a crow's mile from his own house there was a dismal andslummish quarter, a decayed "industrial district" of earlier days. Mostof the industries were small; some of them died, perishing of bankruptcyor fire; and a few had moved, leaving their shells. Of the relics, thebest was a brick building which had been the largest and most importantfactory in the quarter: it had been injured by a long vacancy almostas serious as a fire, in effect, and Adams had often guessed at the sumneeded to put it in repair. 

When he passed it, he would look at it with an interest which hesupposed detached and idly speculative. "That'd be just the thing, " hethought. "If a fellow had money enough, and took a notion to set up somenew business on a big scale, this would be a pretty good place--to makeglue, for instance, if that wasn't out of the question, of course. It would take a lot of money, though; a great deal too much for me toexpect to handle--even if I'd ever dream of doing such a thing. "

Opposite the dismantled factory was a muddy, open lot of two acresor so, and near the middle of the lot, a long brick shed stood ina desolate abandonment, not happily decorated by old coatings oftheatrical and medicinal advertisements. But the brick shed had twowooden ells, and, though both shed and ells were of a single story, herewas empty space enough for a modest enterprise--"space enough for almostanything, to start with, " Adams thought, as he walked through the lowbuildings, one day, when he was prospecting in that section. "Yes, Isuppose I COULD swing this, " he thought. "If the process belonged tome, say, instead of being out of the question because it isn't myproperty--or if I was the kind of man to do such a thing anyhow, herewould be something I could probably get hold of pretty cheap. They'dwant a lot of money for a lease on that big building over the way--butthis, why, I should think it'd be practically nothing at all. "

Then, by chance, meeting an agent he knew, he made inquiries--merely tosatisfy a casual curiosity, he thought--and he found matters much as hehad supposed, except that the owners of the big building did not wishto let, but to sell it, and this at a price so exorbitant that Adamslaughed. But the long brick shed in the great muddy lot was for sale orto let, or "pretty near to be given away, " he learned, if anybody wouldtake it. 

Adams took it now, though without seeing that he had been destinedto take it, and that some dreary wizard in the back of his head hadforeseen all along that he would take it, and planned to be ready. Hedrove in his taxicab to look the place over again, then down-town toarrange for a lease; and came home to lunch with his wife and daughter. Things were "moving, " he told them. 

He boasted a little of having acted so decisively, and said that sincethe dang thing had to be done, it was "going to be done RIGHT!" He wasalmost cheerful, in a feverish way, and when the cab came for him again, soon after lunch, he explained that he intended not only to get thingsdone right, but also to "get 'em done quick!" Alice, following him tothe front door, looked at him anxiously and asked if she couldn't help. He laughed at her grimly. 

"Then let me go along with you in the cab, " she begged. "You don't lookable to start in so hard, papa, just when you're barely beginning to getyour strength back. Do let me go with you and see if I can't help--or atleast take care of you if you should get to feeling badly. "

He declined, but upon pressure let her put a tiny bottle of spirits ofammonia in his pocket, and promised to make use of it if he "felt faintor anything. " Then he was off again; and the next morning had men atwork in his sheds, though the wages he had to pay frightened him. 

He directed the workmen in every detail, hurrying them by example andexhortations, and receiving, in consequence, several declarations ofindependence, as well as one resignation, which took effect immediately. "Yous capitalusts seem to think a man's got nothin' to do but break hisback p'doosin' wealth fer yous to squander, " the resigning person loudlycomplained. "You look out: the toiler's day is a-comin', and it ain't sofur off, neither!" But the capitalist was already out of hearing, goneto find a man to take this orator's place. 

By the end of the week, Adams felt that he had moved satisfactorilyforward in his preparations for the simple equipment he needed; buthe hated the pause of Sunday. He didn't WANT any rest, he told Aliceimpatiently, when she suggested that the idle day might be good for him. 

Late that afternoon he walked over to the apartment house where oldCharley Lohr lived, and gave his friend the letter he wanted the headof Lamb and Company to receive "personally. " "I'll take it as a mightygreat favour in you to hand it to him personally, Charley, " he said, inparting. "And you won't forget, in case he says anything about it--andremember if you ever do get a chance to put in a good word for me later, you know----"

Old Charley promised to remember, and, when Mrs. Lohr came out of the"kitchenette, " after the door closed, he said thoughtfully, "Just skinand bones. "

"You mean Mr. Adams is?" Mrs. Lohr inquired. 

"Who'd you think I meant?" he returned. "One o' these partridges in thewall-paper?"

"Did he look so badly?"

"Looked kind of distracted to me, " her husband replied. "These littlethin fellers can stand a heap sometimes, though. He'll be over hereagain Monday. "

"Did he say he would?"

"No, " said Lohr. "But he will. You'll see. He'll be over to find outwhat the big boss says when I give him this letter. Expect I'd be kindof anxious, myself, if I was him. "

"Why would you? What's Mr. Adams doing to be so anxious about?"

Lohr's expression became one of reserve, the look of a man who hasfound that when he speaks his inner thoughts his wife jumps too far toconclusions. "Oh, nothing, " he said. "Of course any man starting up anew business is bound to be pretty nervous a while. He'll be over hereto-morrow evening, all right; you'll see. "

The prediction was fulfilled: Adams arrived just after Mrs. Lohr hadremoved the dinner dishes to her "kitchenette"; but Lohr had littleinformation to give his caller. 

"He didn't say a word, Virgil; nary a word. I took it into his officeand handed it to him, and he just sat and read it; that's all. I kind ofstood around as long as I could, but he was sittin' at his desk with hisside to me, and he never turned around full toward me, as it were, so Icouldn't hardly even tell anything. All I know: he just read it. "

"Well, but see here, " Adams began, nervously. "Well----"

"Well what, Virg?"

"Well, but what did he say when he DID speak?"

"He didn't speak. Not so long I was in there, anyhow. He just sat thereand read it. Read kind of slow. Then, when he came to the end, he turnedback and started to read it all over again. By that time there was threeor four other men standin' around in the office waitin' to speak to him, and I had to go. "

Adams sighed, and stared at the floor, irresolute. "Well, I'll begetting along back home then, I guess, Charley. So you're sure youcouldn't tell anything what he might have thought about it, then?"

"Not a thing in the world. I've told you all I know, Virg. "

"I guess so, I guess so, " Adams said, mournfully. "I feel mightyobliged to you, Charley Lohr; mighty obliged. Good-night to you. " And hedeparted, sighing in perplexity. 

On his way home, preoccupied with many thoughts, he walked so slowlythat once or twice he stopped and stood motionless for a few moments, without being aware of it; and when he reached the juncture of thesidewalk with the short brick path that led to his own front door, hestopped again, and stood for more than a minute. "Ah, I wish I knew, " hewhispered, plaintively. "I do wish I knew what he thought about it. "

He was roused by a laugh that came lightly from the little veranda nearby. "Papa!" Alice called gaily. "What are you standing there mutteringto yourself about?"

"Oh, are you there, dearie?" he said, and came up the path. A tallfigure rose from a chair on the veranda. 

"Papa, this is Mr. Russell. "

The two men shook hands, Adams saying, "Pleased to make youracquaintance, " as they looked at each other in the faint light diffusedthrough the opaque glass in the upper part of the door. Adams'simpression was of a strong and tall young man, fashionable but gentle;and Russell's was of a dried, little old business man with a grizzledmoustache, worried bright eyes, shapeless dark clothes, and a homelymanner. 

"Nice evening, " Adams said further, as their hands parted. "Nice time o'year it is, but we don't always have as good weather as this; that'sthe trouble of it. Well----" He went to the door. "Well--I bid you goodevening, " he said, and retired within the house. 

Alice laughed. "He's the old-fashionedest man in town, I suppose andfrightfully impressed with you, I could see!"

"What nonsense!" said Russell. "How could anybody be impressed with me?"

"Why not? Because you're quiet? Good gracious! Don't you know thatyou're the most impressive sort? We chatterers spend all our timeplaying to you quiet people. "

"Yes; we're only the audience. "

"'Only!'" she echoed. "Why, we live for you, and we can't live withoutyou. "

"I wish you couldn't, " said Russell. "That would be a new experience forboth of us, wouldn't it?"

"It might be a rather bleak one for me, " she answered, lightly. "I'mafraid I'll miss these summer evenings with you when they're over. I'llmiss them enough, thanks!"

"Do they have to be over some time?" he asked. 

"Oh, everything's over some time, isn't it?"

Russell laughed at her. "Don't let's look so far ahead as that, " hesaid. "We don't need to be already thinking of the cemetery, do we?"

"I didn't, " she said, shaking her head. "Our summer evenings will beover before then, Mr. Russell. "

"Why?" he asked. 

"Good heavens!" she said. "THERE'S laconic eloquence: almost a proposalin a single word! Never mind, I shan't hold you to it. But to answeryou: well, I'm always looking ahead, and somehow I usually see about howthings are coming out. "

"Yes, " he said. "I suppose most of us do; at least it seems as if wedid, because we so seldom feel surprised by the way they do come out. But maybe that's only because life isn't like a play in a theatre, andmost things come about so gradually we get used to them. "

"No, I'm sure I can see quite a long way ahead, " she insisted, gravely. "And it doesn't seem to me as if our summer evenings could last verylong. Something'll interfere--somebody will, I mean--they'll SAYsomething----"

"What if they do?"

She moved her shoulders in a little apprehensive shiver. "It'll changeyou, " she said. "I'm just sure something spiteful's going to happen tome. You'll feel differently about--things. "

"Now, isn't that an idea!" he exclaimed. 

"It will, " she insisted. "I know something spiteful's going to happen!"

"You seem possessed by a notion not a bit flattering to me, " heremarked. 

"Oh, but isn't it? That's just what it is! Why isn't it?"

"Because it implies that I'm made of such soft material the slightestbreeze will mess me all up. I'm not so like that as I evidently appear;and if it's true that we're afraid other people will do the things we'dbe most likely to do ourselves, it seems to me that I ought to be theone to be afraid. I ought to be afraid that somebody may say somethingabout me to you that will make you believe I'm a professional forger. "

"No. We both know they won't, " she said. "We both know you're the sortof person everybody in the world says nice things about. " She liftedher hand to silence him as he laughed at this. "Oh, of course you are! Ithink perhaps you're a little flirtatious--most quiet men have that onesly way with 'em--oh, yes, they do! But you happen to be the kind ofman everybody loves to praise. And if you weren't, _I_ shouldn't hearanything terrible about you. I told you I was unpopular: I don't seeanybody at all any more. The only man except you who's been to see me ina month is that fearful little fat Frank Dowling, and I sent word to HIMI wasn't home. Nobody'd tell me of your wickedness, you see. "

"Then let me break some news to you, " Russell said. "Nobody would tellme of yours, either. Nobody's even mentioned you to me. "

She burlesqued a cry of anguish. "That IS obscurity! I suppose I'mtoo apt to forget that they say the population's about half a millionnowadays. There ARE other people to talk about, you feel, then?"

"None that I want to, " he said. "But I should think the size of theplace might relieve your mind of what seems to insist on burdening it. Besides, I'd rather you thought me a better man than you do. "

"What kind of a man do I think you are?"

"The kind affected by what's said about people instead of by what theydo themselves. "

"Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not, " he said. "If you want our summer evenings to be overyou'll have to drive me away yourself. "

"Nobody else could?"

"No. "

She was silent, leaning forward, with her elbows on her knees and herclasped hands against her lips. Then, not moving, she said softly:

"Well--I won't!"

She was silent again, and he said nothing, but looked at her, seemingto be content with looking. Her attitude was one only a graceful personshould assume, but she was graceful; and, in the wan light, which madea prettily shaped mist of her, she had beauty. Perhaps it was beauty ofthe hour, and of the love scene almost made into form by what they hadboth just said, but she had it; and though beauty of the hour passes, hewho sees it will long remember it and the hour when it came. 

"What are you thinking of?" he asked. 

She leaned back in her chair and did not answer at once. Then she said:

"I don't know; I doubt if I was thinking of anything. It seems to me Iwasn't. I think I was just being sort of sadly happy just then. "

"Were you? Was it 'sadly, ' too?"

"Don't you know?" she said. "It seems to me that only little childrencan be just happily happy. I think when we get older our happiestmoments are like the one I had just then: it's as if we heard strains ofminor music running through them--oh, so sweet, but oh, so sad!"

"But what makes it sad for YOU?"

"I don't know, " she said, in a lighter tone. "Perhaps it's a kind ofuseless foreboding I seem to have pretty often. It may be that--or itmay be poor papa. "

"You ARE a funny, delightful girl, though!" Russell laughed. "When yourfather's so well again that he goes out walking in the evenings!"

"He does too much walking, " Alice said. "Too much altogether, over athis new plant. But there isn't any stopping him. " She laughed and shookher head. "When a man gets an ambition to be a multi-millionaire hisfamily don't appear to have much weight with him. He'll walk all hewants to, in spite of them. "

"I suppose so, " Russell said, absently; then he leaned forward. "I wishI could understand better why you were 'sadly' happy. "

Meanwhile, as Alice shed what further light she could on this point, theman ambitious to be a "multi-millionaire" was indeed walking too muchfor his own good. He had gone to bed, hoping to sleep well and riseearly for a long day's work, but he could not rest, and now, in hisnightgown and slippers, he was pacing the floor of his room. 

"I wish I DID know, " he thought, over and over. "I DO wish I knew how hefeels about it. "

CHAPTER XVIII

That was a thought almost continuously in his mind, even when he washardest at work; and, as the days went on and he could not free himself, he became querulous about it. "I guess I'm the biggest dang fool alive, "he told his wife as they sat together one evening. "I got plenty elseto bother me, without worrying my head off about what HE thinks. Ican't help what he thinks; it's too late for that. So why should I keeppestering myself about it?"

"It'll wear off, Virgil, " Mrs. Adams said, reassuringly. She was gentleand sympathetic with him, and for the first time in many years he wouldcome to sit with her and talk, when he had finished his day's work. Hehad told her, evading her eye, "Oh, I don't blame you. You didn't getafter me to do this on your own account; you couldn't help it. "

"Yes; but it don't wear off, " he complained. "This afternoon I wasshowing the men how I wanted my vats to go, and I caught my fool selfstanding there saying to my fool self, 'It's funny I don't hear how hefeels about it from SOMEbody. ' I was saying it aloud, almost--and it ISfunny I don't hear anything!"

"Well, you see what it means, don't you, Virgil? It only means he hasn'tsaid anything to anybody about it. Don't you think you're getting kindof morbid over it?"

"Maybe, maybe, " he muttered. 

"Why, yes, " she said, briskly. "You don't realize what a little bit ofa thing all this is to him. It's been a long, long while since thelast time you even mentioned glue to him, and he's probably forgotteneverything about it. "

"You're off your base; it isn't like him to forget things, " Adamsreturned, peevishly. "He may seem to forget 'em, but he don't. "

"But he's not thinking about this, or you'd have heard from him beforenow. "

Her husband shook his head. "Ah, that's just it!" he said. "Why HAVEN'TI heard from him?"

"It's all your morbidness, Virgil. Look at Walter: if Mr. Lamb held thisup against you, would he still let Walter stay there? Wouldn't he havedischarged Walter if he felt angry with you?"

"That dang boy!" Adams said. "If he WANTED to come with me now, Iwouldn't hardly let him, What do you suppose makes him so bull-headed?"

"But hasn't he a right to choose for himself?" she asked. "I supposehe feels he ought to stick to what he thinks is sure pay. As soon as hesees that you're going to succeed with the glue-works he'll want to bewith you quick enough. "

"Well, he better get a little sense in his head, " Adams returned, crossly. "He wanted me to pay him a three-hundred-dollar bonus inadvance, when anybody with a grain of common sense knows I need everypenny I can lay my hands on!"

"Never mind, " she said. "He'll come around later and be glad of thechance. "

"He'll have to beg for it then! _I_ won't ask him again. "

"Oh, Walter will come out all right; you needn't worry. And don't yousee that Mr. Lamb's not discharging him means there's no hard feelingagainst you, Virgil?"

"I can't make it out at all, " he said, frowning. "The only thing I canTHINK it means is that J. A. Lamb is so fair-minded--and of course heIS one of the fair-mindedest men alive I suppose that's the reason hehasn't fired Walter. He may know, " Adams concluded, morosely--"he mayknow that's just another thing to make me feel all the meaner: keepingmy boy there on a salary after I've done him an injury. "

"Now, now!" she said, trying to comfort him. "You couldn't do anybody aninjury to save your life, and everybody knows it. "

"Well, anybody ought to know I wouldn't WANT to do an injury, butthis world isn't built so't we can do just what we want. " He paused, reflecting. "Of course there may be one explanation of why Walter'sstill there: J. A. Maybe hasn't noticed that he IS there. There's somany I expect he hardly knows him by sight. "

"Well, just do quit thinking about it, " she urged him. "It only bothersyou without doing any good. Don't you know that?"

"Don't I, though!" he laughed, feebly. "I know it better'n anybody! Howfunny that is: when you know thinking about a thing only pesters youwithout helping anything at all, and yet you keep right on pesteringyourself with it!"

"But WHY?" she said. "What's the use when you know you haven't doneanything wrong, Virgil? You said yourself you were going to improve theprocess so much it would be different from the old one, and you'd REALLYhave a right to it. "

Adams had persuaded himself of this when he yielded; he had found itnecessary to persuade himself of it--though there was a part of him, ofcourse, that remained unpersuaded; and this discomfiting part of him waswhat made his present trouble. "Yes, I know, " he said. "That's true, butI can't quite seem to get away from the fact that the principle of theprocess is a good deal the same--well, it's more'n that; it's just aboutthe same as the one he hired Campbell and me to work out for him. Truthis, nobody could tell the difference, and I don't know as there ISany difference except in these improvements I'm making. Of course, theimprovements do give me pretty near a perfect right to it, as a personmight say; and that's one of the things I thought of putting in myletter to him; but I was afraid he'd just think I was trying to make upexcuses, so I left it out. I kind of worried all the time I was writingthat letter, because if he thought I WAS just making up excuses, why, itmight set him just so much more against me. "

Ever since Mrs. Adams had found that she was to have her way, the depthsof her eyes had been troubled by a continuous uneasiness; and, althoughshe knew it was there, and sometimes veiled it by keeping the revealingeyes averted from her husband and children, she could not always coverit under that assumption of absent-mindedness. The uneasy look becamevivid, and her voice was slightly tremulous now, as she said, "Butwhat if he SHOULD be against you--although I don't believe he is, ofcourse--you told me he couldn't DO anything to you, Virgil. "

"No, " he said, slowly. "I can't see how he could do anything. It wasjust a secret, not a patent; the thing ain't patentable. I've tried tothink what he could do--supposing he was to want to--but I can't figureout anything at all that would be any harm to me. There isn't any way inthe world it could be made a question of law. Only thing he could do'dbe to TELL people his side of it, and set 'em against me. I been kind ofwaiting for that to happen, all along. "

She looked somewhat relieved. "So did I expect it, " she said. "I wasdreading it most on Alice's account: it might have--well, young men areso easily influenced and all. But so far as the business is concerned, what if Mr. Lamb did talk? That wouldn't amount to much. It wouldn'taffect the business; not to hurt. And, besides, he isn't even doingthat. "

"No; anyhow not yet, it seems. " And Adams sighed again, wistfully. "ButI WOULD give a good deal to know what he thinks!"

Before his surrender he had always supposed that if he did such anunthinkable thing as to seize upon the glue process for himself, what hewould feel must be an overpowering shame. But shame is the rarest thingin the world: what he felt was this unremittent curiosity about his oldemployer's thoughts. It was an obsession, yet he did not want to hearwhat Lamb "thought" from Lamb himself, for Adams had a second obsession, and this was his dread of meeting the old man face to face. Such anencounter could happen only by chance and unexpectedly; since Adamswould have avoided any deliberate meeting, so long as his legs hadstrength to carry him, even if Lamb came to the house to see him. 

But people do meet unexpectedly; and when Adams had to be down-town hekept away from the "wholesale district. " One day he did see Lamb, as thelatter went by in his car, impassive, going home to lunch; and Adams, in the crowd at a corner, knew that the old man had not seen him. Nevertheless, in a street car, on the way back to his sheds, an hourlater, he was still subject to little shivering seizures of horror. 

He worked unceasingly, seeming to keep at it even in his sleep, for healways woke in the midst of a planning and estimating that must havebeen going on in his mind before consciousness of himself returned. Moreover, the work, thus urged, went rapidly, in spite of the high wageshe had to pay his labourers for their short hours. "It eats money, " hecomplained, and, in fact, by the time his vats and boilers were inplace it had eaten almost all he could supply; but in addition to hisequipment he now owned a stock of "raw material, " raw indeed; and whenoperations should be a little further along he was confident his bankerwould be willing to "carry" him. 

Six weeks from the day he had obtained his lease he began hisglue-making. The terrible smells came out of the sheds and went writhinglike snakes all through that quarter of the town. A smiling man, strolling and breathing the air with satisfaction, would turn a cornerand smile no more, but hurry. However, coloured people had almost allthe dwellings of this old section to themselves; and although even theywere troubled, there was recompense for them. Being philosophic aboutwhat appeared to them as in the order of nature, they sought neitherescape nor redress, and soon learned to bear what the wind brought them. They even made use of it to enrich those figures of speech with whichthe native impulses of coloured people decorate their communications:they flavoured metaphor, simile, and invective with it; and thus may besaid to have enjoyed it. But the man who produced it took a hot bathas soon as he reached his home the evening of that first day when hismanufacturing began. Then he put on fresh clothes; but after dinner heseemed to be haunted, and asked his wife if she "noticed anything. "

She laughed and inquired what he meant. 

"Seems to me as if that glue-works smell hadn't quit hanging to me, " heexplained. "Don't you notice it?"

"No! What an idea!"

He laughed, too, but uneasily; and told her he was sure "the dang gluesmell" was somehow sticking to him. Later, he went outdoors and walkedup and down the small yard in the dusk; but now and then he stood still, with his head lifted, and sniffed the air suspiciously. "Can YOU smellit?" he called to Alice, who sat upon the veranda, prettily dressed andwaiting in a reverie. 

"Smell what, papa?"

"That dang glue-works. "

She did the same thing her mother had done: laughed, and said, "No! Howfoolish! Why, papa, it's over two miles from here!"

"You don't get it at all?" he insisted. 

"The idea! The air is lovely to-night, papa. "

The air did not seem lovely to him, for he was positive that he detectedthe taint. He wondered how far it carried, and if J. A. Lamb would smellit, too, out on his own lawn a mile to the north; and if he did, wouldhe guess what it was? Then Adams laughed at himself for such nonsense;but could not rid his nostrils of their disgust. To him the whole townseemed to smell of his glue-works. 

Nevertheless, the glue was making, and his sheds were busy. "Guesswe're stirrin' up this ole neighbourhood with more than the smell, " hisforeman remarked one morning. 

"How's that?" Adams inquired. 

"That great big, enormous ole dead butterine factory across the streetfrom our lot, " the man said. "Nothin' like settin' an example to bringreal estate to life. That place is full o' carpenters startin' in tomake a regular buildin' of it again. Guess you ought to have thecredit of it, because you was the first man in ten years to see anypossibilities in this neighbourhood. "

Adams was pleased, and, going out to see for himself, heard a greathammering and sawing from within the building; while carpenters werejust emerging gingerly upon the dangerous roof. He walked out over thedried mud of his deep lot, crossed the street, and spoke genially toa workman who was removing the broken glass of a window on the groundfloor. 

"Here! What's all this howdy-do over here?"

"Goin' to fix her all up, I guess, " the workman said. "Big job it is, too. "

"Sh' think it would be. "

"Yes, sir; a pretty big job--a pretty big job. Got men at it on all fourfloors and on the roof. They're doin' it RIGHT. "

"Who's doing it?"

"Lord! I d' know. Some o' these here big manufacturing corporations, Iguess. "

"What's it going to be?"

"They tell ME, " the workman answered--"they tell ME she's goin' to be abutterine factory again. Anyways, I hope she won't be anything to smelllike that glue-works you got over there not while I'm workin' aroundher, anyways!"

"That smell's all right, " Adams said. "You soon get used to it. "

"You do?" The man appeared incredulous. "Listen! I was over in France:it's a good thing them Dutchmen never thought of it; we'd of had toquit!"

Adams laughed, and went back to his sheds. "I guess my foreman wasright, " he told his wife, that evening, with a little satisfaction. "As soon as one man shows enterprise enough to found an industry in abroken-down neighbourhood, somebody else is sure to follow. I kind oflike the look of it: it'll help make our place seem sort of more busyand prosperous when it comes to getting a loan from the bank--and I gotto get one mighty soon, too. I did think some that if things go as wellas there's every reason to think they OUGHT to, I might want to spreadout and maybe get hold of that old factory myself; but I hardly expectedto be able to handle a proposition of that size before two or threeyears from now, and anyhow there's room enough on the lot I got, if weneed more buildings some day. Things are going about as fine as I couldask: I hired some girls to-day to do the bottling--coloured girls alongabout sixteen to twenty years old. Afterwhile, I expect to get a machineto put the stuff in the little bottles, when we begin to get goodreturns; but half a dozen of these coloured girls can do it all rightnow, by hand. We're getting to have really quite a little plant overthere: yes, sir, quite a regular little plant!"

He chuckled, and at this cheerful sound, of a kind his wife had almostforgotten he was capable of producing, she ventured to put her hand uponhis arm. They had gone outdoors, after dinner, taking two chairs withthem, and were sitting through the late twilight together, keeping wellaway from the "front porch, " which was not yet occupied, however Alicewas in her room changing her dress. 

"Well, honey, " Mrs. Adams said, taking confidence not only to put herhand upon his arm, but to revive this disused endearment;--"it's grandto have you so optimistic. Maybe some time you'll admit I was right, after all. Everything's going so well, it seems a pity you didn't takethis--this step--long ago. Don't you think maybe so, Virgil?"

"Well--if I was ever going to, I don't know but I might as well of. I got to admit the proposition begins to look pretty good: I know thestuff'll sell, and I can't see a thing in the world to stop it. It doeslook good, and if--if----" He paused. 

"If what?" she said, suddenly anxious. 

He laughed plaintively, as if confessing a superstition. "It'sfunny--well, it's mighty funny about that smell. I've got so used to itat the plant I never seem to notice it at all over there. It's only whenI get away. Honestly, can't you notice----?"

"Virgil!" She lifted her hand to strike his arm chidingly. "Do quitharping on that nonsense!"

"Oh, of course it don't amount to anything, " he said. "A person canstand a good deal of just smell. It don't WORRY me any. "

"I should think not especially as there isn't any. "

"Well, " he said, "I feel pretty fair over the whole thing--a lotbetter'n I ever expected to, anyhow. I don't know as there's any reasonI shouldn't tell you so. "

She was deeply pleased with this acknowledgment, and her voice hadtenderness in it as she responded: "There, honey! Didn't I always sayyou'd be glad if you did it?"

Embarrassed, he coughed loudly, then filled his pipe and lit it. "Well, "he said, slowly, "it's a puzzle. Yes, sir, it's a puzzle. "

"What is?"

"Pretty much everything, I guess. "

As he spoke, a song came to them from a lighted window over their heads. Then the window darkened abruptly, but the song continued as Alice wentdown through the house to wait on the little veranda. "Mi chiamo Mimi, "she sang, and in her voice throbbed something almost startling in itssweetness. Her father and mother listened, not speaking until the songstopped with the click of the wire screen at the front door as Alicecame out. 

"My!" said her father. "How sweet she does sing! I don't know as I everheard her voice sound nicer than it did just then. "

"There's something that makes it sound that way, " his wife told him. 

"I suppose so, " he said, sighing. "I suppose so. You think----"

"She's just terribly in love with him!"

"I expect that's the way it ought to be, " he said, then drew uponhis pipe for reflection, and became murmurous with the symptoms ofmelancholy laughter. "It don't make things less of a puzzle, though, does it?"

"In what way, Virgil?"

"Why, here, " he said--"here we go through all this muck and moil to helpfix things nicer for her at home, and what's it all amount to? Seemslike she's just gone ahead the way she'd 'a' gone anyhow; and now, Isuppose, getting ready to up and leave us! Ain't that a puzzle to you?It is to me. "

"Oh, but things haven't gone that far yet. "

"Why, you just said----"

She gave a little cry of protest. "Oh, they aren't ENGAGED yet. Ofcourse they WILL be; he's just as much interested in her as she is inhim, but----"

"Well, what's the trouble then?"

"You ARE a simple old fellow!" his wife exclaimed, and then rose fromher chair. "That reminds me, " she said. 

"What of?" he asked. "What's my being simple remind you of?"

"Nothing!" she laughed. "It wasn't you that reminded me. It was justsomething that's been on my mind. I don't believe he's actually everbeen inside our house!"

"Hasn't he?"

"I actually don't believe he ever has, " she said. "Of course wemust----" She paused, debating. 

"We must what?"

"I guess I better talk to Alice about it right now, " she said. "He don'tusually come for about half an hour yet; I guess I've got time. " Andwith that she walked away, leaving him to his puzzles. 

CHAPTER XIX

Alice was softly crooning to herself as her mother turned the corner ofthe house and approached through the dusk. 

"Isn't it the most BEAUTIFUL evening!" the daughter said. "WHY can'tsummer last all year? Did you ever know a lovelier twilight than this, mama?"

Mrs. Adams laughed, and answered, "Not since I was your age, I expect. "

Alice was wistful at once. "Don't they stay beautiful after my age?"

"Well, it's not the same thing. "

"Isn't it? Not ever?"

"You may have a different kind from mine, " the mother said, a littlesadly. "I think you will, Alice. You deserve----"

"No, I don't. I don't deserve anything, and I know it. But I'm gettinga great deal these days--more than I ever dreamed COULD come to me. I'm--I'm pretty happy, mama!"

"Dearie!" Her mother would have kissed her, but Alice drew away. 

"Oh, I don't mean----" She laughed nervously. "I wasn't meaning totell you I'm ENGAGED, mama. We're not. I mean--oh! things seem prettybeautiful in spite of all I've done to spoil 'em. "

"You?" Mrs. Adams cried, incredulously. "What have you done to spoilanything?"

"Little things, " Alice said. "A thousand little silly--oh, what'sthe use? He's so honestly what he is--just simple and good andintelligent--I feel a tricky mess beside him! I don't see why he likesme; and sometimes I'm afraid he wouldn't if he knew me. "

"He'd just worship you, " said the fond mother. "And the more he knewyou, the more he'd worship you. "

Alice shook her head. "He's not the worshiping kind. Not like that atall. He's more----"

But Mrs. Adams was not interested in this analysis, and she interruptedbriskly, "Of course it's time your father and I showed some interest inhim. I was just saying I actually don't believe he's ever been insidethe house. "

"No, " Alice said, musingly; "that's true: I don't believe he has. Exceptwhen we've walked in the evening we've always sat out here, even thosetwo times when it was drizzly. It's so much nicer. "

"We'll have to do SOMETHING or other, of course, " her mother said. 

"What like?"

"I was thinking----" Mrs. Adams paused. "Well, of course we could hardlyput off asking him to dinner, or something, much longer. "

Alice was not enthusiastic; so far from it, indeed, that there was amelancholy alarm in her voice. "Oh, mama, must we? Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do. I really do. "

"Couldn't we--well, couldn't we wait?"

"It looks queer, " Mrs. Adams said. "It isn't the thing at all for ayoung man to come as much as he does, and never more than just barelymeet your father and mother. No. We ought to do something. "

"But a dinner!" Alice objected. "In the first place, there isn't anybodyI want to ask. There isn't anybody I WOULD ask. "

"I didn't mean trying to give a big dinner, " her mother explained. "Ijust mean having him to dinner. That mulatto woman, Malena Burns, goesout by the day, and she could bring a waitress. We can get some flowersfor the table and some to put in the living-room. We might just as wellgo ahead and do it to-morrow as any other time; because your father's ina fine mood, and I saw Malena this afternoon and told her I might wanther soon. She said she didn't have any engagements this week, and I canlet her know to-night. Suppose when he comes you ask him for to-morrow, Alice. Everything'll be very nice, I'm sure. Don't worry about it. "

"Well--but----" Alice was uncertain. 

"But don't you see, it looks so queer, not to do SOMETHING?" her motherurged. "It looks so kind of poverty-stricken. We really oughtn't to waitany longer. "

Alice assented, though not with a good heart. "Very well, I'll ask him, if you think we've got to. "

"That matter's settled then, " Mrs. Adams said. "I'll go telephoneMalena, and then I'll tell your father about it. "

But when she went back to her husband, she found him in an excitedstate of mind, and Walter standing before him in the darkness. Adams wasalmost shouting, so great was his vehemence. 

"Hush, hush!" his wife implored, as she came near them. "They'll hearyou out on the front porch!"

"I don't care who hears me, " Adams said, harshly, though he tempered hisloudness. "Do you want to know what this boy's asking me for? I thoughthe'd maybe come to tell me he'd got a little sense in his head at last, and a little decency about what's due his family! I thought he wasgoing to ask me to take him into my plant. No, ma'am; THAT'S not what hewants!"

"No, it isn't, " Walter said. In the darkness his face could not be seen;he stood motionless, in what seemed an apathetic attitude; and he spokequietly, "No, " he repeated. "That isn't what I want. "

"You stay down at that place, " Adams went on, hotly, "instead of tryingto be a little use to your family; and the only reason you're ALLOWED tostay there is because Mr. Lamb's never happened to notice you ARE stillthere! You just wait----"

"You're off, " Walter said, in the same quiet way. "He knows I'm there. He spoke to me yesterday: he asked me how I was getting along with mywork. "

"He did?" Adams said, seeming not to believe him. 

"Yes. He did. "

"What else did he say, Walter?" Mrs. Adams asked quickly. 

"Nothin'. Just walked on. "

"I don't believe he knew who you were, " Adams declared. 

"Think not? He called me 'Walter Adams. '"

At this Adams was silent; and Walter, after waiting a moment, said:

"Well, are you going to do anything about me? About what I told you Igot to have?"

"What is it, Walter?" his mother asked, since Adams did not speak. 

Walter cleared his throat, and replied in a tone as quiet as that hehad used before, though with a slight huskiness, "I got to have threehundred and fifty dollars. You better get him to give it to me if youcan. "

Adams found his voice. "Yes, " he said, bitterly. "That's all he asks!He won't do anything I ask HIM to, and in return he asks me for threehundred and fifty dollars! That's all!"

"What in the world!" Mrs. Adams exclaimed. "What FOR, Walter?"

"I got to have it, " Walter said. 

"But what FOR?"

His quiet huskiness did not alter. "I got to have it. "

"But can't you tell us----"

"I got to have it. "

"That's all you can get out of him, " Adams said. "He seems to thinkit'll bring him in three hundred and fifty dollars!"

A faint tremulousness became evident in the husky voice. "Haven't yougot it?"

"NO, I haven't got it!" his father answered. "And I've got to go to abank for more than my pay-roll next week. Do you think I'm a mint?"

"I don't understand what you mean, Walter, " Mrs. Adams interposed, perplexed and distressed. "If your father had the money, of coursehe'd need every cent of it, especially just now, and, anyhow, you couldscarcely expect him to give it to you, unless you told us what you wantwith it. But he hasn't got it. "

"All right, " Walter said; and after standing a moment more, in silence, he added, impersonally, "I don't see as you ever did anything much forme, anyhow either of you. "

Then, as if this were his valedictory, he turned his back upon them, walked away quickly, and was at once lost to their sight in thedarkness. 

"There's a fine boy to've had the trouble of raising!" Adams grumbled. "Just crazy, that's all. "

"What in the world do you suppose he wants all that money for?" hiswife said, wonderingly. "I can't imagine what he could DO with it. Iwonder----" She paused. "I wonder if he----"

"If he what?" Adams prompted her irritably. 

"If he COULD have bad--associates. "

"God knows!" said Adams. "_I_ don't! It just looks to me like he hadsomething in him I don't understand. You can't keep your eye on a boyall the time in a city this size, not a boy Walter's age. You got a girlpretty much in the house, but a boy'll follow his nature. _I_ don't knowwhat to do with him!"

Mrs. Adams brightened a little. "He'll come out all right, " she said. "I'm sure he will. I'm sure he'd never be anything really bad: and he'llcome around all right about the glue-works, too; you'll see. Of courseevery young man wants money--it doesn't prove he's doing anything wrongjust because he asks you for it. "

"No. All it proves to me is that he hasn't got good sense asking me forthree hundred and fifty dollars, when he knows as well as you do theposition I'm in! If I wanted to, I couldn't hardly let him have threehundred and fifty cents, let alone dollars!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to let ME have that much--and maybe a littlemore, " she ventured, timidly; and she told him of her plans for themorrow. He objected vehemently. 

"Oh, but Alice has probably asked him by this time, " Mrs. Adams said. "It really must be done, Virgil: you don't want him to think she'sashamed of us, do you?"

"Well, go ahead, but just let me stay away, " he begged. "Of course Iexpect to undergo a kind of talk with him, when he gets ready to saysomething to us about Alice, but I do hate to have to sit through afashionable dinner. "

"Why, it isn't going to bother you, " she said; "just one young man as aguest. "

"Yes, I know; but you want to have all this fancy cookin'; and I seewell enough you're going to get that old dress suit out of the cedarchest in the attic, and try to make me put it on me. "

"I do think you better, Virgil. "

"I hope the moths have got in it, " he said. "Last time I wore it was tothe banquet, and it was pretty old then. Of course I didn't mind wearingit to the banquet so much, because that was what you might call quite anoccasion. " He spoke with some reminiscent complacency; "the banquet, "an affair now five years past, having provided the one time in hislife when he had been so distinguished among his fellow-citizens as toreceive an invitation to be present, with some seven hundred others, atthe annual eating and speech-making of the city's Chamber of Commerce. "Anyhow, as you say, I think it would look foolish of me to wear a dresssuit for just one young man, " he went on protesting, feebly. "What's theuse of all so much howdy-do, anyway? You don't expect him to believe weput on all that style every night, do you? Is that what you're after?"

"Well, we want him to think we live nicely, " she admitted. 

"So that's it!" he said, querulously. "You want him to think that's ourregular gait, do you? Well, he'll know better about me, no matter howyou fix me up, because he saw me in my regular suit the evening sheintroduced me to him, and he could tell anyway I'm not one of thesemoving-picture sporting-men that's always got a dress suit on. Besides, you and Alice certainly have some idea he'll come AGAIN, haven't you?If they get things settled between 'em he'll be around the house and tomeals most any time, won't he? You don't hardly expect to put on styleall the time, I guess. Well, he'll see then that this kind of thing wasall show-off, and bluff, won't he? What about it?"

"Oh, well, by THAT time----" She left the sentence unfinished, as ifabsently. "You could let us have a little money for to-morrow, couldn'tyou, honey?"

"Oh, I reckon, I reckon, " he mumbled. "A girl like Alice is somecomfort: she don't come around acting as if she'd commit suicide if shedidn't get three hundred and fifty dollars in the next five minutes. Iexpect I can spare five or six dollars for your show-off if I got to. "

However, she finally obtained fifteen before his bedtime; and the nextmorning "went to market" after breakfast, leaving Alice to make thebeds. Walter had not yet come downstairs. "You had better call him, "Mrs. Adams said, as she departed with a big basket on her arm. "I expecthe's pretty sleepy; he was out so late last night I didn't hear him comein, though I kept awake till after midnight, listening for him. Tell himhe'll be late to work if he doesn't hurry; and see that he drinks hiscoffee, even if he hasn't time for anything else. And when Malena comes, get her started in the kitchen: show her where everything is. " Shewaved her hand, as she set out for a corner where the cars stopped. "Everything'll be lovely. Don't forget about Walter. "

Nevertheless, Alice forgot about Walter for a few minutes. She closedthe door, went into the "living-room" absently, and stared vaguely atone of the old brown-plush rocking-chairs there. Upon her foreheadwere the little shadows of an apprehensive reverie, and her thoughtsoverlapped one another in a fretful jumble. "What will he think? Theseold chairs--they're hideous. I'll scrub those soot-streaks onthe columns: it won't do any good, though. That long crack in thecolumn--nothing can help it. What will he think of papa? I hopemama won't talk too much. When he thinks of Mildred's house, or ofHenrietta's, or any of 'em, beside this--She said she'd buy plentyof roses; that ought to help some. Nothing could be done about thesehorrible chairs: can't take 'em up in the attic--a room's got to havechairs! Might have rented some. No; if he ever comes again he'd see theyweren't here. 'If he ever comes again'--oh, it won't be THAT bad! Butit won't be what he expects. I'm responsible for what he expects: heexpects just what the airs I've put on have made him expect. What did Iwant to pose so to him for--as if papa were a wealthy man and all that?What WILL he think? The photograph of the Colosseum's a rather goodthing, though. It helps some--as if we'd bought it in Rome perhaps. Ihope he'll think so; he believes I've been abroad, of course. Theother night he said, 'You remember the feeling you get in theSainte-Chapelle'. --There's another lie of mine, not saying I didn'tremember because I'd never been there. What makes me do it? Papa MUSTwear his evening clothes. But Walter----"

With that she recalled her mother's admonition, and went upstairs toWalter's door. She tapped upon it with her fingers. 

"Time to get up, Walter. The rest of us had breakfast over half an hourago, and it's nearly eight o'clock. You'll be late. Hurry down and I'llhave some coffee and toast ready for you. " There came no sound fromwithin the room, so she rapped louder. 

"Wake up, Walter!"

She called and rapped again, without getting any response, and then, finding that the door yielded to her, opened it and went in. Walter wasnot there. 

He had been there, however; had slept upon the bed, though not insidethe covers; and Alice supposed he must have come home so late that hehad been too sleepy to take off his clothes. Near the foot of the bedwas a shallow closet where he kept his "other suit" and his eveningclothes; and the door stood open, showing a bare wall. Nothing whateverwas in the closet, and Alice was rather surprised at this for a moment. "That's queer, " she murmured; and then she decided that when he woke hefound the clothes he had slept in "so mussy" he had put on his "othersuit, " and had gone out before breakfast with the mussed clothes to havethem pressed, taking his evening things with them. Satisfied with thisexplanation, and failing to observe that it did not account for theabsence of shoes from the closet floor, she nodded absently, "Yes, thatmust be it"; and, when her mother returned, told her that Walter hadprobably breakfasted down-town. They did not delay over this; thecoloured woman had arrived, and the basket's disclosures were important. 

"I stopped at Worlig's on the way back, " said Mrs. Adams, flushed withhurry and excitement. "I bought a can of caviar there. I thought we'dhave little sandwiches brought into the 'living-room' before dinner, theway you said they did when you went to that dinner at the----"

"But I think that was to go with cocktails, mama, and of course wehaven't----"

"No, " Mrs. Adams said. "Still, I think it would be nice. We can makethem look very dainty, on a tray, and the waitress can bring them in. Ithought we'd have the soup already on the table; and we can walk rightout as soon as we have the sandwiches, so it won't get cold. Then, afterthe soup, Malena says she can make sweetbread pates with mushrooms: andfor the meat course we'll have larded fillet. Malena's really afancy cook, you know, and she says she can do anything like that toperfection. We'll have peas with the fillet, and potato balls andBrussels sprouts. Brussels sprouts are fashionable now, they told meat market. Then will come the chicken salad, and after that theice-cream--she's going to make an angel-food cake to go with it--andthen coffee and crackers and a new kind of cheese I got at Worlig's, hesays is very fine. "

Alice was alarmed. "Don't you think perhaps it's too much, mama?"

"It's better to have too much than too little, " her mother said, cheerfully. "We don't want him to think we're the kind that skimp. Lordknows we have to enough, though, most of the time! Get the flowers inwater, child. I bought 'em at market because they're so much cheaperthere, but they'll keep fresh and nice. You fix 'em any way you want. Hurry! It's got to be a busy day. "

She had bought three dozen little roses. Alice took them and began toarrange them in vases, keeping the stems separated as far as possible sothat the clumps would look larger. She put half a dozen in each of threevases in the "living-room, " placing one vase on the table in the centerof the room, and one at each end of the mantelpiece. Then she took therest of the roses to the dining-room; but she postponed the arrangementof them until the table should be set, just before dinner. She wasthoughtful; planning to dry the stems and lay them on the tableclothlike a vine of roses running in a delicate design, if she found that thedozen and a half she had left were enough for that. If they weren't shewould arrange them in a vase. 

She looked a long time at the little roses in the basin of water, whereshe had put them; then she sighed, and went away to heavier tasks, while her mother worked in the kitchen with Malena. Alice dusted the"living-room" and the dining-room vigorously, though all the time with alook that grew more and more pensive; and having dusted everything, shewiped the furniture; rubbed it hard. After that, she washed the floorsand the woodwork. 

Emerging from the kitchen at noon, Mrs. Adams found her daughter onhands and knees, scrubbing the bases of the columns between the hall andthe "living-room. "

"Now, dearie, " she said, "you mustn't tire yourself out, and you'dbetter come and eat something. Your father said he'd get a bitedown-town to-day--he was going down to the bank--and Walter eatsdown-town all the time lately, so I thought we wouldn't bother to setthe table for lunch. Come on and we'll have something in the kitchen. "

"No, " Alice said, dully, as she went on with the work. "I don't wantanything. "

Her mother came closer to her. "Why, what's the matter?" she asked, briskly. "You seem kind of pale, to me; and you don't look--you don'tlook HAPPY. "

"Well----" Alice began, uncertainly, but said no more. 

"See here!" Mrs. Adams exclaimed. "This is all just for you! You oughtto be ENJOYING it. Why, it's the first time we've--we've entertainedin I don't know how long! I guess it's almost since we had that littleparty when you were eighteen. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I don't know. "

"But, dearie, aren't you looking FORWARD to this evening?"

The girl looked up, showing a pallid and solemn face. "Oh, yes, ofcourse, " she said, and tried to smile. "Of course we had to do it--I dothink it'll be nice. Of course I'm looking forward to it. "

CHAPTER XX

She was indeed "looking forward" to that evening, but in a cloud ofapprehension; and, although she could never have guessed it, this wasthe simultaneous condition of another person--none other than the guestfor whose pleasure so much cooking and scrubbing seemed to be necessary. Moreover, Mr. Arthur Russell's premonitions were no product of merecoincidence; neither had any magical sympathy produced them. His stateof mind was rather the result of rougher undercurrents which had all thetime been running beneath the surface of a romantic friendship. 

Never shrewder than when she analyzed the gentlemen, Alice did notlibel him when she said he was one of those quiet men who are a bitflirtatious, by which she meant that he was a bit "susceptible, " thesame thing--and he had proved himself susceptible to Alice upon hisfirst sight of her. "There!" he said to himself. "Who's that?" And inthe crowd of girls at his cousin's dance, all strangers to him, she wasthe one he wanted to know. 

Since then, his summer evenings with her had been as secluded as if, forthree hours after the falling of dusk, they two had drawn apart fromthe world to some dear bower of their own. The little veranda was thatglamorous nook, with a faint golden light falling through the glass ofthe closed door upon Alice, and darkness elsewhere, except for the oneround globe of the street lamp at the corner. The people who passedalong the sidewalk, now and then, were only shadows with voices, movingvaguely under the maple trees that loomed in obscure contours againstthe stars. So, as the two sat together, the back of the world was thewall and closed door behind them; and Russell, when he was away fromAlice, always thought of her as sitting there before the closed door. Aglamour was about her thus, and a spell upon him; but he had a formlessanxiety never put into words: all the pictures of her in his mindstopped at the closed door. 

He had another anxiety; and, for the greater part, this was of her owncreating. She had too often asked him (no matter how gaily) what heheard about her, too often begged him not to hear anything. Then, hopingto forestall whatever he might hear, she had been at too great pains toaccount for it, to discredit and mock it; and, though he laughed at herfor this, telling her truthfully he did not even hear her mentioned, theeverlasting irony that deals with all such human forefendings prevailed. 

Lately, he had half confessed to her what a nervousness she hadproduced. "You make me dread the day when I'll hear somebody speaking ofyou. You're getting me so upset about it that if I ever hear anybody somuch as say the name 'Alice Adams, ' I'll run!" The confession was buthalf of one because he laughed; and she took it for an assurance ofloyalty in the form of burlesque. 

She misunderstood: he laughed, but his nervousness was genuine. 

After any stroke of events, whether a happy one or a catastrophe, wesee that the materials for it were a long time gathering, and the onlymarvel is that the stroke was not prophesied. What bore the air of fatalcoincidence may remain fatal indeed, to this later view; but, with thehaphazard aspect dispelled, there is left for scrutiny the same ancienthint from the Infinite to the effect that since events have never yetfailed to be law-abiding, perhaps it were well for us to deduce thatthey will continue to be so until further notice. 

. . . On the day that was to open the closed door in the background ofhis pictures of Alice, Russell lunched with his relatives. There werebut the four people, Russell and Mildred and her mother and father, inthe great, cool dining-room. Arched French windows, shaded by awnings, admitted a mellow light and looked out upon a green lawn ending in along conservatory, which revealed through its glass panes a carnival ofplants in luxuriant blossom. From his seat at the table, Russellglanced out at this pretty display, and informed his cousins that hewas surprised. "You have such a glorious spread of flowers all over thehouse, " he said, "I didn't suppose you'd have any left out yonder. Infact, I didn't know there were so many splendid flowers in the world. "

Mrs. Palmer, large, calm, fair, like her daughter, responded with a mildreproach: "That's because you haven't been cousinly enough to get usedto them, Arthur. You've almost taught us to forget what you look like. "

In defense Russell waved a hand toward her husband. "You see, he's begunto keep me so hard at work----"

But Mr. Palmer declined the responsibility. "Up to four or five in theafternoon, perhaps, " he said. "After that, the young gentleman is asmuch a stranger to me as he is to my family. I've been wondering who shecould be. "

"When a man's preoccupied there must be a lady then?" Russell inquired. 

"That seems to be the view of your sex, " Mrs. Palmer suggested. "It wasmy husband who said it, not Mildred or I. "

Mildred smiled faintly. "Papa may be singular in his ideas; they maycome entirely from his own experience, and have nothing to do withArthur. "

"Thank you, Mildred, " her cousin said, bowing to her gratefully. "Youseem to understand my character--and your father's quite as well!"

However, Mildred remained grave in the face of this customarypleasantry, not because the old jest, worn round, like what preceded it, rolled in an old groove, but because of some preoccupation of her own. Her faint smile had disappeared, and, as her cousin's glance met hers, she looked down; yet not before he had seen in her eyes the flicker ofsomething like a question--a question both poignant and dismayed. He mayhave understood it; for his own smile vanished at once in favour of areciprocal solemnity. 

"You see, Arthur, " Mrs. Palmer said, "Mildred is always a good cousin. She and I stand by you, even if you do stay away from us for weeks andweeks. " Then, observing that he appeared to be so occupied with a bunchof iced grapes upon his plate that he had not heard her, she began totalk to her husband, asking him what was "going on down-town. "

Arthur continued to eat his grapes, but he ventured to look again atMildred after a few moments. She, also, appeared to be occupied witha bunch of grapes though she ate none, and only pulled them from theirstems. She sat straight, her features as composed and pure as those ofa new marble saint in a cathedral niche; yet her downcast eyes seemed toconceal many thoughts; and her cousin, against his will, was more awareof what these thoughts might be than of the leisurely conversationbetween her father and mother. All at once, however, he heard somethingthat startled him, and he listened--and here was the effect of allAlice's forefendings; he listened from the first with a sinking heart. 

Mr. Palmer, mildly amused by what he was telling his wife, had justspoken the words, "this Virgil Adams. " What he had said was, "thisVirgil Adams--that's the man's name. Queer case. "

"Who told you?" Mrs. Palmer inquired, not much interested. 

"Alfred Lamb, " her husband answered. "He was laughing about his father, at the club. You see the old gentleman takes a great pride in hisjudgment of men, and always boasted to his sons that he'd never in hislife made a mistake in trusting the wrong man. Now Alfred and JamesAlbert, Junior, think they have a great joke on him; and they've twittedhim so much about it he'll scarcely speak to them. From the first, Alfred says, the old chap's only repartee was, 'You wait and you'llsee!' And they've asked him so often to show them what they're going tosee that he won't say anything at all!"

"He's a funny old fellow, " Mrs. Palmer observed. "But he's so shrewd Ican't imagine his being deceived for such a long time. Twenty years, yousaid?"

"Yes, longer than that, I understand. It appears when this man--thisAdams--was a young clerk, the old gentleman trusted him with one of hisbusiness secrets, a glue process that Mr. Lamb had spent some money toget hold of. The old chap thought this Adams was going to have quitea future with the Lamb concern, and of course never dreamed he wasdishonest. Alfred says this Adams hasn't been of any real use for years, and they should have let him go as dead wood, but the old gentlemanwouldn't hear of it, and insisted on his being kept on the payroll; sothey just decided to look on it as a sort of pension. Well, one morninglast March the man had an attack of some sort down there, and Mr. Lambgot his own car out and went home with him, himself, and worried abouthim and went to see him no end, all the time he was ill. "

"He would, " Mrs. Palmer said, approvingly. "He's a kind-heartedcreature, that old man. "

Her husband laughed. "Alfred says he thinks his kind-heartednessis about cured! It seems that as soon as the man got well again hedeliberately walked off with the old gentleman's glue secret. Justcalmly stole it! Alfred says he believes that if he had a stroke in theoffice now, himself, his father wouldn't lift a finger to help him!"

Mrs. Palmer repeated the name to herself thoughtfully. "'Adams'--'VirgilAdams. ' You said his name was Virgil Adams?"

"Yes. "

She looked at her daughter. "Why, you know who that is, Mildred, " shesaid, casually. "It's that Alice Adams's father, isn't it? Wasn't hisname Virgil Adams?"

"I think it is, " Mildred said. 

Mrs. Palmer turned toward her husband. "You've seen this Alice Adamshere. Mr. Lamb's pet swindler must be her father. "

Mr. Palmer passed a smooth hand over his neat gray hair, which was notdisturbed by this effort to stimulate recollection. "Oh, yes, " he said. "Of course--certainly. Quite a good-looking girl--one of Mildred'sfriends. How queer!"

Mildred looked up, as if in a little alarm, but did not speak. Hermother set matters straight. "Fathers ARE amusing, " she said smilinglyto Russell, who was looking at her, though how fixedly she did notnotice; for she turned from him at once to enlighten her husband. "Everygirl who meets Mildred, and tries to push the acquaintance by cominghere until the poor child has to hide, isn't a FRIEND of hers, my dear!"

Mildred's eyes were downcast again, and a faint colour rose in hercheeks. "Oh, I shouldn't put it quite that way about Alice Adams, " shesaid, in a low voice. "I saw something of her for a time. She's notunattractive in a way. "

Mrs. Palmer settled the whole case of Alice carelessly. "A pushing sortof girl, " she said. "A very pushing little person. "

"I----" Mildred began; and, after hesitating, concluded, "I ratherdropped her. "

"Fortunate you've done so, " her father remarked, cheerfully. "Especiallysince various members of the Lamb connection are here frequently. Theymightn't think you'd show great tact in having her about the place. " Helaughed, and turned to his cousin. "All this isn't very interesting topoor Arthur. How terrible people are with a newcomer in a town; theytalk as if he knew all about everybody!"

"But we don't know anything about these queer people, ourselves, " saidMrs. Palmer. "We know something about the girl, of course--she used tobe a bit too conspicuous, in fact! However, as you say, we might find asubject more interesting for Arthur. "

She smiled whimsically upon the young man. "Tell the truth, " she said. "Don't you fairly detest going into business with that tyrant yonder?"

"What? Yes--I beg your pardon!" he stammered. 

"You were right, " Mrs. Palmer said to her husband. "You've bored him so, talking about thievish clerks, he can't even answer an honest question. "

But Russell was beginning to recover his outward composure. "Try meagain, " he said. "I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. "

This was the best he found to say. There was a part of him that wantedto protest and deny, but he had not heat enough, in the chill that hadcome upon him. Here was the first "mention" of Alice, and with it thereason why it was the first: Mr. Palmer had difficulty in recalling her, and she happened to be spoken of, only because her father's betrayal ofa benefactor's trust had been so peculiarly atrocious that, in the viewof the benefactor's family, it contained enough of the element of humourto warrant a mild laugh at a club. There was the deadliness of thestory: its lack of malice, even of resentment. Deadlier still wereMrs. Palmer's phrases: "a pushing sort of girl, " "a very pushing littleperson, " and "used to be a bit TOO conspicuous, in fact. " But she spokeplacidly and by chance; being as obviously without unkindly motive asMr. Palmer was when he related the cause of Alfred Lamb's amusement. Her opinion of the obscure young lady momentarily her topic had beenexpressed, moreover, to her husband, and at her own table. She satthere, large, kind, serene--a protest might astonish but couldnot change her; and Russell, crumpling in his strained fingers thelace-edged little web of a napkin on his knee, found heart enough togrow red, but not enough to challenge her. 

She noticed his colour, and attributed it to the embarrassment of ascrupulously gallant gentleman caught in a lapse of attention to a lady. "Don't be disturbed, " she said, benevolently. "People aren't expected tolisten all the time to their relatives. A high colour's very becomingto you, Arthur; but it really isn't necessary between cousins. You canalways be informal enough with us to listen only when you care to. "

His complexion continued to be ruddier than usual, however, throughoutthe meal, and was still somewhat tinted when Mrs. Palmer rose. "Theman's bringing you cigarettes here, " she said, nodding to the twogentlemen. "We'll give you a chance to do the sordid kind of talking weknow you really like. Afterwhile, Mildred will show you what's in bloomin the hothouse, if you wish, Arthur. "

Mildred followed her, and, when they were alone in another of thespacious rooms, went to a window and looked out, while her mother seatedherself near the center of the room in a gilt armchair, mellowed withold Aubusson tapestry. Mrs. Palmer looked thoughtfully at her daughter'sback, but did not speak to her until coffee had been brought for them. 

"Thanks, " Mildred said, not turning, "I don't care for any coffee, Ibelieve. "

"No?" Mrs. Palmer said, gently. "I'm afraid our good-looking cousinwon't think you're very talkative, Mildred. You spoke only about twiceat lunch. I shouldn't care for him to get the idea you're piqued becausehe's come here so little lately, should you?"

"No, I shouldn't, " Mildred answered in a low voice, and with that sheturned quickly, and came to sit near her mother. "But it's what I amafraid of! Mama, did you notice how red he got?"

"You mean when he was caught not listening to a question of mine? Yes;it's very becoming to him. "

"Mama, I don't think that was the reason. I don't think it was becausehe wasn't listening, I mean. "

"No?"

"I think his colour and his not listening came from the same reason, "Mildred said, and although she had come to sit near her mother, shedid not look at her. "I think it happened because you and papa----" Shestopped. 

"Yes?" Mrs. Palmer said, good-naturedly, to prompt her. "Your father andI did something embarrassing?"

"Mama, it was because of those things that came out about Alice Adams. "

"How could that bother Arthur? Does he know her?"

"Don't you remember?" the daughter asked. "The day after my dance Imentioned how odd I thought it was in him--I was a little disappointedin him. I'd been seeing that he met everybody, of course, but she wasthe only girl HE asked to meet; and he did it as soon as he noticed her. I hadn't meant to have him meet her--in fact, I was rather sorry I'dfelt I had to ask her, because she oh, well, she's the sort that 'triesfor the new man, ' if she has half a chance; and sometimes they seemquite fascinated--for a time, that is. I thought Arthur was aboveall that; or at the very least I gave him credit for being toosophisticated. "

"I see, " Mrs. Palmer said, thoughtfully. "I remember now that you spokeof it. You said it seemed a little peculiar, but of course it reallywasn't: a 'new man' has nothing to go by, except his own firstimpressions. You can't blame poor Arthur--she's quite a piquant lookinglittle person. You think he's seen something of her since then?"

Mildred nodded slowly. "I never dreamed such a thing till yesterday, and even then I rather doubted it--till he got so red, just now! I wassurprised when he asked to meet her, but he just danced with her onceand didn't mention her afterward; I forgot all about it--in fact, Ivirtually forgot all about HER. I'd seen quite a little of her----"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Palmer. "She did keep coming here!"

"But I'd just about decided that it really wouldn't do, " Mildred wenton. "She isn't--well, I didn't admire her. "

"No, " her mother assented, and evidently followed a direct connectionof thought in a speech apparently irrelevant. "I understand the youngMalone wants to marry Henrietta. I hope she won't; he seems rather agross type of person. "

"Oh, he's just one, " Mildred said. "I don't know that he and Alice Adamswere ever engaged--she never told me so. She may not have been engagedto any of them; she was just enough among the other girls to get talkedabout--and one of the reasons I felt a little inclined to be nice toher was that they seemed to be rather edging her out of the circle. Itwasn't long before I saw they were right, though. I happened to mentionI was going to give a dance and she pretended to take it as a matterof course that I meant to invite her brother--at least, I thought shepretended; she may have really believed it. At any rate, I had to sendhim a card; but I didn't intend to be let in for that sort of thingagain, of course. She's what you said, 'pushing'; though I'm awfullysorry you said it. "

"Why shouldn't I have said it, my dear?"

"Of course I didn't say 'shouldn't. '" Mildred explained, gravely. "Imeant only that I'm sorry it happened. "

"Yes; but why?"

"Mama"--Mildred turned to her, leaning forward and speaking in a loweredvoice--"Mama, at first the change was so little it seemed as if Arthurhardly knew it himself. He'd been lovely to me always, and he was stilllovely to me but--oh, well, you've understood--after my dance it wasmore as if it was just his nature and his training to be lovely to me, as he would be to everyone a kind of politeness. He'd never said heCARED for me, but after that I could see he didn't. It was clear--afterthat. I didn't know what had happened; I couldn't think of anything I'ddone. Mama--it was Alice Adams. "

Mrs. Palmer set her little coffee-cup upon the table beside her, calmlyfollowing her own motion with her eyes, and not seeming to realize withwhat serious entreaty her daughter's gaze was fixed upon her. Mildredrepeated the last sentence of her revelation, and introduced a stress ofinsistence. 

"Mama, it WAS Alice Adams!"

But Mrs. Palmer declined to be greatly impressed, so far as herappearance went, at least; and to emphasize her refusal, she smiledindulgently. "What makes you think so?"

"Henrietta told me yesterday. "

At this Mrs. Palmer permitted herself to laugh softly aloud. "Goodheavens! Is Henrietta a soothsayer? Or is she Arthur's particularconfidante?"

"No. Ella Dowling told her. "

Mrs. Palmer's laughter continued. "Now we have it!" she exclaimed. "It'sa game of gossip: Arthur tells Ella, Ella tells Henrietta, and Henriettatells----"

"Don't laugh, please, mama, " Mildred begged. "Of course Arthur didn'ttell anybody. It's roundabout enough, but it's true. I know it! Ihadn't quite believed it, but I knew it was true when he got so red. Helooked--oh, for a second or so he looked--stricken! He thought I didn'tnotice it. Mama, he's been to see her almost every evening lately. Theytake long walks together. That's why he hasn't been here. "

Of Mrs. Palmer's laughter there was left only her indulgent smile, whichshe had not allowed to vanish. "Well, what of it?" she said. 

"Mama!"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Palmer. "What of it?"

"But don't you see?" Mildred's well-tutored voice, though modulated andrepressed even in her present emotion, nevertheless had a tendency toquaver. "It's true. Frank Dowling was going to see her one evening andhe saw Arthur sitting on the stoop with her, and didn't go in. And Ellaused to go to school with a girl who lives across the street from here. She told Ella----"

"Oh, I understand, " Mrs. Palmer interrupted. "Suppose he does go there. My dear, I said, 'What of it?'"

"I don't see what you mean, mama. I'm so afraid he might think we knewabout it, and that you and papa said those things about her and herfather on that account--as if we abused them because he goes thereinstead of coming here. "

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Palmer rose, went to a window, and, turning there, stood with her back to it, facing her daughter and looking at hercheerfully. "Nonsense, my dear! It was perfectly clear that she wasmentioned by accident, and so was her father. What an extraordinary man!If Arthur makes friends with people like that, he certainly knows betterthan to expect to hear favourable opinions of them. Besides, it's only alittle passing thing with him. "

"Mama! When he goes there almost every----"

"Yes, " Mrs. Palmer said, dryly. "It seems to me I've heard somewherethat other young men have gone there 'almost every!' She doesn'tlast, apparently. Arthur's gallant, and he's impressionable--buthe's fastidious, and fastidiousness is always the check onimpressionableness. A girl belongs to her family, too--and this one doesespecially, it strikes me! Arthur's very sensible; he sees more thanyou'd think. "

Mildred looked at her hopefully. "Then you don't believe he's likely toimagine we said those things of her in any meaning way?"

At this, Mrs. Palmer laughed again. "There's one thing you seem not tohave noticed, Mildred. "

"What's that?"

"It seems to have escaped your attention that he never said a word. "

"Mightn't that mean----?" Mildred began, but she stopped. 

"No, it mightn't, " her mother replied, comprehending easily. "On thecontrary, it might mean that instead of his feeling it too deeply tospeak, he was getting a little illumination. "

Mildred rose and came to her. "WHY do you suppose he never told us hewent there? Do you think he's--do you think he's pleased with her, andyet ashamed of it? WHY do you suppose he's never spoken of it?"

"Ah, that, " Mrs. Palmer said, --"that might possibly be her own doing. If it is, she's well paid by what your father and I said, because wewouldn't have said it if we'd known that Arthur----" She checked herselfquickly. Looking over her daughter's shoulder, she saw the two gentlemencoming from the corridor toward the wide doorway of the room; and shegreeted them cheerfully. "If you've finished with each other for awhile, " she added, "Arthur may find it a relief to put his thoughts onsomething prettier than a trust company--and more fragrant. "

Arthur came to Mildred. 

"Your mother said at lunch that perhaps you'd----"

"I didn't say 'perhaps, ' Arthur, " Mrs. Palmer interrupted, to correcthim. "I said she would. If you care to see and smell those lovely thingsout yonder, she'll show them to you. Run along, children!"

Half an hour later, glancing from a window, she saw them come fromthe hothouses and slowly cross the lawn. Arthur had a fine rose in hisbuttonhole and looked profoundly thoughtful. 

CHAPTER XXI

That morning and noon had been warm, though the stirrings of a feeblebreeze made weather not flagrantly intemperate; but at about threeo'clock in the afternoon there came out of the southwest a heat like anaffliction sent upon an accursed people, and the air was soon dead ofit. Dripping negro ditch-diggers whooped with satires praising hell andhot weather, as the tossing shovels flickered up to the street level, where sluggish male pedestrians carried coats upon hot arms, andfanned themselves with straw hats, or, remaining covered, wore soakedhandkerchiefs between scalp and straw. Clerks drooped in silent, bigdepartment stores, stenographers in offices kept as close to electricfans as the intervening bulk of their employers would let them; guestsin hotels left the lobbies and went to lie unclad upon their beds; whilein hospitals the patients murmured querulously against the heat, andperhaps against some noisy motorist who strove to feel the air bysplitting it, not troubled by any foreboding that he, too, that hournext week, might need quiet near a hospital. The "hot spell" was atrue spell, one upon men's spirits; for it was so hot that, in suburbanoutskirts, golfers crept slowly back over the low undulations of theirclub lands, abandoning their matches and returning to shelter. 

Even on such a day, sizzling work had to be done, as in winter. Therewere glowing furnaces to be stoked, liquid metals to be poured; but suchtasks found seasoned men standing to them; and in all the city probablyno brave soul challenged the heat more gamely than Mrs. Adams did, when, in a corner of her small and fiery kitchen, where all day long herhired African immune cooked fiercely, she pressed her husband's eveningclothes with a hot iron. No doubt she risked her life, but she riskedit cheerfully in so good and necessary a service for him. She would havegiven her life for him at any time, and both his and her own for herchildren. 

Unconscious of her own heroism, she was surprised to find herself ratherfaint when she finished her ironing. However, she took heart to believethat the clothes looked better, in spite of one or two scorched places;and she carried them upstairs to her husband's room before increasingblindness forced her to grope for the nearest chair. Then, trying torise and walk, without having sufficiently recovered, she had to sitdown again; but after a little while she was able to get upon her feet;and, keeping her hand against the wall, moved successfully to the doorof her own room. Here she wavered; might have gone down, had she notbeen stimulated by the thought of how much depended upon her;--she madea final great effort, and floundered across the room to her bureau, where she kept some simple restoratives. They served her need, or herfaith in them did; and she returned to her work. 

She went down the stairs, keeping a still tremulous hand upon the rail;but she smiled brightly when Alice looked up from below, where thewoodwork was again being tormented with superfluous attentions. 

"Alice, DON'T!" her mother said, commiseratingly. "You did all that thismorning and it looks lovely. What's the use of wearing yourself out onit? You ought to be lying down, so's to look fresh for to-night. "

"Hadn't you better lie down yourself?" the daughter returned. "Are youill, mama?"

"Certainly not. What in the world makes you think so?"

"You look pretty pale, " Alice said, and sighed heavily. "It makes meashamed, having you work so hard--for me. "

"How foolish! I think it's fun, getting ready to entertain a littleagain, like this. I only wish it hadn't turned so hot: I'm afraid yourpoor father'll suffer--his things are pretty heavy, I noticed. Well, it'll do him good to bear something for style's sake this once, anyhow!"She laughed, and coming to Alice, bent down and kissed her. "Dearie, "she said, tenderly, "wouldn't you please slip upstairs now and take justa little teeny nap to please your mother?"

But Alice responded only by moving her head slowly, in token of refusal. 

"Do!" Mrs. Adams urged. "You don't want to look worn out, do you?"

"I'll LOOK all right, " Alice said, huskily. "Do you like the way I'vearranged the furniture now? I've tried all the different ways it'll go. "

"It's lovely, " her mother said, admiringly. "I thought the last way youhad it was pretty, too. But you know best; I never knew anybody with somuch taste. If you'd only just quit now, and take a little rest----"

"There'd hardly be time, even if I wanted to; it's after five but Icouldn't; really, I couldn't. How do you think we can manage aboutWalter--to see that he wears his evening things, I mean?"

Mrs. Adams pondered. "I'm afraid he'll make a lot of objections, onaccount of the weather and everything. I wish we'd had a chance totell him last night or this morning. I'd have telephoned to him thisafternoon except--well, I scarcely like to call him up at that place, since your father----"

"No, of course not, mama. "

"If Walter gets home late, " Mrs. Adams went on, "I'll just slip out andspeak to him, in case Mr. Russell's here before he comes. I'll just tellhim he's got to hurry and get his things on. "

"Maybe he won't come home to dinner, " Alice suggested, rather hopefully. "Sometimes he doesn't. "

"No; I think he'll be here. When he doesn't come he usually telephonesby this time to say not to wait for him; he's very thoughtful aboutthat. Well, it really is getting late: I must go and tell her she oughtto be preparing her fillet. Dearie, DO rest a little. "

"You'd much better do that yourself, " Alice called after her, but Mrs. Adams shook her head cheerily, not pausing on her way to the fierykitchen. 

Alice continued her useless labours for a time; then carried her bucketto the head of the cellar stairway, where she left it upon the top step;and, closing the door, returned to the "living-room;" Again she changedthe positions of the old plush rocking-chairs, moving them into thecorners where she thought they might be least noticeable; and whilethus engaged she was startled by a loud ringing of the door-bell. Fora moment her face was panic-stricken, and she stood staring, thenshe realized that Russell would not arrive for another hour, at theearliest, and recovering her equipoise, went to the door. 

Waiting there, in a languid attitude, was a young coloured woman, witha small bundle under her arm and something malleable in her mouth. "Listen, " she said. "You folks expectin' a coloured lady?"

"No, " said Alice. "Especially not at the front door. "

"Listen, " the coloured woman said again. "Listen. Say, listen. Ain'tthey another coloured lady awready here by the day? Listen. Ain't MizMalena Burns here by the day this evenin'? Say, listen. This the numberhouse she give ME. "

"Are you the waitress?" Alice asked, dismally. 

"Yes'm, if Malena here. "

"Malena is here, " Alice said, and hesitated; but she decided not tosend the waitress to the back door; it might be a risk. She let her in. "What's your name?"

"Me? I'm name' Gertrude. Miss Gertrude Collamus. "

"Did you bring a cap and apron?"

Gertrude took the little bundle from under her arm. "Yes'm. I'm allfix'. "

"I've already set the table, " Alice said. "I'll show you what we wantdone. "

She led the way to the dining-room, and, after offering some instructionthere, received by Gertrude with languor and a slowly moving jaw, shetook her into the kitchen, where the cap and apron were put on. Theeffect was not fortunate; Gertrude's eyes were noticeably bloodshot, an affliction made more apparent by the white cap; and Alice drew hermother apart, whispering anxiously, "Do you suppose it's too late to get someone else?"

"I'm afraid it is, " Mrs. Adams said. "Malena says it was hard enough toget HER! You have to pay them so much that they only work when they feellike it. "

"Mama, could you ask her to wear her cap straighter? Every time shemoves her head she gets it on one side, and her skirt's too long behindand too short in front--and oh, I've NEVER seen such FEET!" Alicelaughed desolately. "And she MUST quit that terrible chewing!"

"Never mind; I'll get to work with her. I'll straighten her out all Ican, dearie; don't worry. " Mrs. Adams patted her daughter's shoulderencouragingly. "Now YOU can't do another thing, and if you don't run andbegin dressing you won't be ready. It'll only take me a minute to dress, myself, and I'll be down long before you will. Run, darling! I'll lookafter everything. "

Alice nodded vaguely, went up to her room, and, after only a moment withher mirror, brought from her closet the dress of white organdie shehad worn the night when she met Russell for the first time. She laid itcarefully upon her bed, and began to make ready to put it on. Her mothercame in, half an hour later, to "fasten" her. 

"I'M all dressed, " Mrs. Adams said, briskly. "Of course it doesn'tmatter. He won't know what the rest of us even look like: How could he?I know I'm an old SIGHT, but all I want is to look respectable. Do I?"

"You look like the best woman in the world; that's all!" Alice said, with a little gulp. 

Her mother laughed and gave her a final scrutiny. "You might use justa tiny bit more colour, dearie--I'm afraid the excitement's made you alittle pale. And you MUST brighten up! There's sort of a look in youreyes as if you'd got in a trance and couldn't get out. You've had it allday. I must run: your father wants me to help him with his studs. Walterhasn't come yet, but I'll look after him; don't worry, And you betterHURRY, dearie, if you're going to take any time fixing the flowers onthe table. "

She departed, while Alice sat at the mirror again, to follow her adviceconcerning a "tiny bit more colour. " Before she had finished, her fatherknocked at the door, and, when she responded, came in. He was dressedin the clothes his wife had pressed; but he had lost substantially inweight since they were made for him; no one would have thought that theyhad been pressed. They hung from him voluminously, seeming to be theclothes of a larger man. 

"Your mother's gone downstairs, " he said, in a voice of distress. 

"One of the buttonholes in my shirt is too large and I can't keep thedang thing fastened. _I_ don't know what to do about it! I only got oneother white shirt, and it's kind of ruined: I tried it before I did thisone. Do you s'pose you could do anything?"

"I'll see, " she said. 

"My collar's got a frayed edge, " he complained, as she examined histroublesome shirt. "It's a good deal like wearing a saw; but I expectit'll wilt down flat pretty soon, and not bother me long. I'm liable towilt down flat, myself, I expect; I don't know as I remember any suchhot night in the last ten or twelve years. " He lifted his head andsniffed the flaccid air, which was laden with a heavy odour. "My, butthat smell is pretty strong!" he said. 

"Stand still, please, papa, " Alice begged him. "I can't see what's thematter if you move around. How absurd you are about your old glue smell, papa! There isn't a vestige of it, of course. "

"I didn't mean glue, " he informed her. "I mean cabbage. Is thatfashionable now, to have cabbage when there's company for dinner?"

"That isn't cabbage, papa. It's Brussels sprouts. "

"Oh, is it? I don't mind it much, because it keeps that glue smell offme, but it's fairly strong. I expect you don't notice it so much becauseyou been in the house with it all along, and got used to it while it wasgrowing. "

"It is pretty dreadful, " Alice said. "Are all the windows opendownstairs?"

"I'll go down and see, if you'll just fix that hole up for me. "

"I'm afraid I can't, " she said. "Not unless you take your shirt off andbring it to me. I'll have to sew the hole smaller. "

"Oh, well, I'll go ask your mother to----"

"No, " said Alice. "She's got everything on her hands. Run and take itoff. Hurry, papa; I've got to arrange the flowers on the table before hecomes. "

He went away, and came back presently, half undressed, bringing theshirt. "There's ONE comfort, " he remarked, pensively, as she worked. "I've got that collar off--for a while, anyway. I wish I could go totable like this; I could stand it a good deal better. Do you seem to bemaking any headway with the dang thing?"

"I think probably I can----"

Downstairs the door-bell rang, and Alice's arms jerked with the shock. 

"Golly!" her father said. "Did you stick your finger with that foolneedle?"

She gave him a blank stare. "He's come!"

She was not mistaken, for, upon the little veranda, Russell stood facingthe closed door at last. However, it remained closed for a considerabletime after he rang. Inside the house the warning summons of the bell wasimmediately followed by another sound, audible to Alice and her fatheras a crash preceding a series of muffled falls. Then came a distantvoice, bitter in complaint. 

"Oh, Lord!" said Adams. "What's that?"

Alice went to the top of the front stairs, and her mother appeared inthe hall below. 

"Mama!"

Mrs. Adams looked up. "It's all right, " she said, in a loud whisper. "Gertrude fell down the cellar stairs. Somebody left a bucket there, and----" She was interrupted by a gasp from Alice, and hastened toreassure her. "Don't worry, dearie. She may limp a little, but----"

Adams leaned over the banisters. "Did she break anything?" he asked. 

"Hush!" his wife whispered. "No. She seems upset and angry about it, more than anything else; but she's rubbing herself, and she'll be allright in time to bring in the little sandwiches. Alice! Those flowers!"

"I know, mama. But----"

"Hurry!" Mrs. Adams warned her. "Both of you hurry! I MUST let him in!"

She turned to the door, smiling cordially, even before she opened it. "Do come right in, Mr. Russell, " she said, loudly, lifting her voicefor additional warning to those above. "I'm SO glad to receive youinformally, this way, in our own little home. There's a hat-rack hereunder the stairway, " she continued, as Russell, murmuring some response, came into the hall. "I'm afraid you'll think it's almost TOO informal, my coming to the door, but unfortunately our housemaid's just had alittle accident--oh, nothing to mention! I just thought we betternot keep you waiting any longer. Will you step into our living-room, please?"

She led the way between the two small columns, and seated herself in oneof the plush rocking-chairs, selecting it because Alice had once pointedout that the chairs, themselves, were less noticeable when they hadpeople sitting in them. "Do sit down, Mr. Russell; it's so very warmit's really quite a trial just to stand up!"

"Thank you, " he said, as he took a seat. "Yes. It is quite warm. " Andthis seemed to be the extent of his responsiveness for the moment. He was grave, rather pale; and Mrs. Adams's impression of him, asshe formed it then, was of "a distinguished-looking young man, reallyelegant in the best sense of the word, but timid and formal when hefirst meets you. " She beamed upon him, and used with everything she saida continuous accompaniment of laughter, meaningless except that it wasmeant to convey cordiality. "Of course we DO have a great deal of warmweather, " she informed him. "I'm glad it's so much cooler in the housethan it is outdoors. "

"Yes, " he said. "It is pleasanter indoors. " And, stopping with thissingle untruth, he permitted himself the briefest glance about the room;then his eyes returned to his smiling hostess. 

"Most people make a great fuss about hot weather, " she said. "The onlyperson I know who doesn't mind the heat the way other people do isAlice. She always seems as cool as if we had a breeze blowing, no matterhow hot it is. But then she's so amiable she never minds anything. It'sjust her character. She's always been that way since she was a littlechild; always the same to everybody, high and low. I think character'sthe most important thing in the world, after all, don't you, Mr. Russell?"

"Yes, " he said, solemnly; and touched his bedewed white forehead with ahandkerchief. 

"Indeed it is, " she agreed with herself, never failing to continue hermurmur of laughter. "That's what I've always told Alice; but she neversees anything good in herself, and she just laughs at me when I praiseher. She sees good in everybody ELSE in the world, no matter howunworthy they are, or how they behave toward HER; but she alwaysunderestimates herself. From the time she was a little child she wasalways that way. When some other little girl would behave selfishly ormeanly toward her, do you think she'd come and tell me? Never a wordto anybody! The little thing was too proud! She was the same way aboutschool. The teachers had to tell me when she took a prize; she'd bringit home and keep it in her room without a word about it to her fatherand mother. Now, Walter was just the other way. Walter would----" Buthere Mrs. Adams checked herself, though she increased the volume ofher laughter. "How silly of me!" she exclaimed. "I expect you know howmothers ARE, though, Mr. Russell. Give us a chance and we'll talk aboutour children forever! Alice would feel terribly if she knew how I'vebeen going on about her to you. "

In this Mrs. Adams was right, though she did not herself suspect it, and upon an almost inaudible word or two from him she went on with hertopic. "Of course my excuse is that few mothers have a daughter likeAlice. I suppose we all think the same way about our children, but SOMEof us must be right when we feel we've got the best. Don't you thinkso?"

"Yes. Yes, indeed. "

"I'm sure _I_ am!" she laughed. "I'll let the others speak forthemselves. " She paused reflectively. "No; I think a mother knowswhen she's got a treasure in her family. If she HASN'T got one, she'llpretend she has, maybe; but if she has, she knows it. I certainlyknow _I_ have. She's always been what people call 'the joy of thehousehold'--always cheerful, no matter what went wrong, and always readyto smooth things over with some bright, witty saying. You must be surenot to TELL we've had this little chat about her--she'd just be furiouswith me--but she IS such a dear child! You won't tell her, will you?"

"No, " he said, and again applied the handkerchief to his forehead for aninstant. "No, I'll----" He paused, and finished lamely: "I'll--not tellher. "

Thus reassured, Mrs. Adams set before him some details of her daughter'spopularity at sixteen, dwelling upon Alice's impartiality among heryoung suitors: "She never could BEAR to hurt their feelings, and alwaystreated all of them just alike. About half a dozen of them were justBOUND to marry her! Naturally, her father and I considered any such idearidiculous; she was too young, of course. "

Thus the mother went on with her biographical sketches, while the paleyoung man sat facing her under the hard overhead light of a white globe, set to the ceiling; and listened without interrupting. She was glad tohave the chance to tell him a few things about Alice he might nothave guessed for himself, and, indeed, she had planned to find such anopportunity, if she could; but this was getting to be altogether toomuch of one, she felt. As time passed, she was like an actor who mustimprovise to keep the audience from perceiving that his fellow-playershave missed their cues; but her anxiety was not betrayed to the stilllistener; she had a valiant soul. 

Alice, meanwhile, had arranged her little roses on the table in as manyways, probably, as there were blossoms; and she was still at it whenher father arrived in the dining-room by way of the back stairs and thekitchen. 

"It's pulled out again, " he said. "But I guess there's no help for itnow; it's too late, and anyway it lets some air into me when it bulges. I can sit so's it won't be noticed much, I expect. Isn't it time youquit bothering about the looks of the table? Your mother's been talkingto him about half an hour now, and I had the idea he came on youraccount, not hers. Hadn't you better go and----"

"Just a minute. " Alice said, piteously. "Do YOU think it looks allright?"

"The flowers? Fine! Hadn't you better leave 'em the way they are, though?"

"Just a minute, " she begged again. "Just ONE minute, papa!" And sheexchanged a rose in front of Russell's plate for one that seemed to hera little larger. 

"You better come on, " Adams said, moving to the door. 

"Just ONE more second, papa. " She shook her head, lamenting. "Oh, I wishwe'd rented some silver!"

"Why?"

"Because so much of the plating has rubbed off a lot of it. JUST asecond, papa. " And as she spoke she hastily went round the table, gathering the knives and forks and spoons that she thought had theirplating best preserved, and exchanging them for more damaged pieces atRussell's place. "There!" she sighed, finally. 

"Now I'll come. " But at the door she paused to look back dubiously, overher shoulder. 

"What's the matter now?"

"The roses. I believe after all I shouldn't have tried that vine effect;I ought to have kept them in water, in the vase. It's so hot, theyalready begin to look a little wilted, out on the dry tablecloth likethat. I believe I'll----"

"Why, look here, Alice!" he remonstrated, as she seemed disposed to turnback. "Everything'll burn up on the stove if you keep on----"

"Oh, well, " she said, "the vase was terribly ugly; I can't do anybetter. We'll go in. " But with her hand on the door-knob she paused. "No, papa. We mustn't go in by this door. It might look as if----"

"As if what?"

"Never mind, " she said. "Let's go the other way. "

"I don't see what difference it makes, " he grumbled, but neverthelessfollowed her through the kitchen, and up the back stairs then throughthe upper hallway. At the top of the front stairs she paused for amoment, drawing a deep breath; and then, before her father's puzzledeyes, a transformation came upon her. 

Her shoulders, like her eyelids, had been drooping, but now she threwher head back: the shoulders straightened, and the lashes lifted oversparkling eyes; vivacity came to her whole body in a flash; and shetripped down the steps, with her pretty hands rising in time to thelilting little tune she had begun to hum. 

At the foot of the stairs, one of those pretty hands extended itself atfull arm's length toward Russell, and continued to be extended until itreached his own hand as he came to meet her. "How terrible of me!" sheexclaimed. "To be so late coming down! And papa, too--I think you knoweach other. "

Her father was advancing toward the young man, expecting to shake handswith him, but Alice stood between them, and Russell, a little flushed, bowed to him gravely over her shoulder, without looking at him;whereupon Adams, slightly disconcerted, put his hands in his pockets andturned to his wife. 

"I guess dinner's more'n ready, " he said. "We better go sit down. "

But she shook her head at him fiercely, "Wait!" she whispered. 

"What for? For Walter?"

"No; he can't be coming, " she returned, hurriedly, and again warned himby a shake of her head. "Be quiet!"

"Oh, well----" he muttered. 

"Sit down!"

He was thoroughly mystified, but obeyed her gesture and went to therocking-chair in the opposite corner, where he sat down, and, with anexpression of meek inquiry, awaited events. 

Meanwhile, Alice prattled on: "It's really not a fault of mine, being tardy. The shameful truth is I was trying to hurry papa. He'sincorrigible: he stays so late at his terrible old factory--terrible newfactory, I should say. I hope you don't HATE us for making you dine withus in such fearful weather! I'm nearly dying of the heat, myself, so youhave a fellow-sufferer, if that pleases you. Why is it we always bearthings better if we think other people have to stand them, too?" And sheadded, with an excited laugh: "SILLY of us, don't you think?"

Gertrude had just made her entrance from the dining-room, bearing atray. She came slowly, with an air of resentment; and her skirt stillneeded adjusting, while her lower jaw moved at intervals, though notnow upon any substance, but reminiscently, of habit. She halted beforeAdams, facing him. 

He looked plaintive. "What you want o' me?" he asked. 

For response, she extended the tray toward him with a gesture ofindifference; but he still appeared to be puzzled. "What in theworld----?" he began, then caught his wife's eye, and had presence ofmind enough to take a damp and plastic sandwich from the tray. "Well, I'll TRY one, " he said, but a moment later, as he fulfilled thispromise, an expression of intense dislike came upon his features, andhe would have returned the sandwich to Gertrude. However, as shehad crossed the room to Mrs. Adams he checked the gesture, and sathelplessly, with the sandwich in his hand. He made another effort toget rid of it as the waitress passed him, on her way back to thedining-room, but she appeared not to observe him, and he continued to betroubled by it. 

Alice was a loyal daughter. "These are delicious, mama, " she said; andturning to Russell, "You missed it; you should have taken one. Toobad we couldn't have offered you what ought to go with it, of course, but----"

She was interrupted by the second entrance of Gertrude, who announced, "Dinner serve', " and retired from view. 

"Well, well!" Adams said, rising from his chair, with relief. "That'sgood! Let's go see if we can eat it. " And as the little group movedtoward the open door of the dining-room he disposed of his sandwich bydropping it in the empty fireplace. 

Alice, glancing back over her shoulder, was the only one who saw him, and she shuddered in spite of herself. Then, seeing that he looked ather entreatingly, as if he wanted to explain that he was doing the besthe could, she smiled upon him sunnily, and began to chatter to Russellagain. 

CHAPTER XXII

Alice kept her sprightly chatter going when they sat down, though thetemperature of the room and the sight of hot soup might have discourageda less determined gayety. Moreover, there were details as unpropitiousas the heat: the expiring roses expressed not beauty but pathos, andwhat faint odour they exhaled was no rival to the lusty emanations ofthe Brussels sprouts; at the head of the table, Adams, sitting low inhis chair, appeared to be unable to flatten the uprising wave ofhis starched bosom; and Gertrude's manner and expression were of arecognizable hostility during the long period of vain waiting for thecups of soup to be emptied. Only Mrs. Adams made any progress in thisdirection; the others merely feinting, now and then lifting their spoonsas if they intended to do something with them. 

Alice's talk was little more than cheerful sound, but, to fill adesolate interval, served its purpose; and her mother supported herwith ever-faithful cooings of applausive laughter. "What a funny thingweather is!" the girl ran on. "Yesterday it was cool--angels had chargeof it--and to-day they had an engagement somewhere else, so the devilsaw his chance and started to move the equator to the North Pole; but bythe time he got half-way, he thought of something else he wanted to do, and went off; and left the equator here, right on top of US! I wish he'dcome back and get it!"

"Why, Alice dear!" her mother cried, fondly. "What an imagination! Nota very pious one, I'm afraid Mr. Russell might think, though!" Here shegave Gertrude a hidden signal to remove the soup; but, as there wasno response, she had to make the signal more conspicuous. Gertrude wasleaning against the wall, her chin moving like a slow pendulum, herstreaked eyes fixed mutinously upon Russell. Mrs. Adams nodded severaltimes, increasing the emphasis of her gesture, while Alice talkedbriskly; but the brooding waitress continued to brood. A faint snap ofthe fingers failed to disturb her; nor was a covert hissing whisper ofavail, and Mrs. Adams was beginning to show signs of strain when herdaughter relieved her. 

"Imagine our trying to eat anything so hot as soup on a night likethis!" Alice laughed. "What COULD have been in the cook's mind not togive us something iced and jellied instead? Of course it's because she'sequatorial, herself, originally, and only feels at home when Mr. Satanmoves it north. " She looked round at Gertrude, who stood behind her. "Dotake this dreadful soup away!"

Thus directly addressed, Gertrude yielded her attention, thoughunwillingly, and as if she decided only by a hair's weight not torevolt, instead. However, she finally set herself in slow motion; butoverlooked the supposed head of the table, seeming to be unaware ofthe sweltering little man who sat there. As she disappeared towardthe kitchen with but three of the cups upon her tray he turned to lookplaintively after her, and ventured an attempt to recall her. 

"Here!" he said, in a low voice. "Here, you!"

"What is it, Virgil?" his wife asked. 

"What's her name?"

Mrs. Adams gave him a glance of sudden panic, and, seeing that theguest of the evening was not looking at her, but down at the white clothbefore him, she frowned hard, and shook her head. 

Unfortunately Alice was not observing her mother, and asked, innocently:"What's whose name, papa?"

"Why, this young darky woman, " he explained. "She left mine. "

"Never mind, " Alice laughed. "There's hope for you, papa. She hasn'tgone forever!"

"I don't know about that, " he said, not content with this impulsiveassurance. "She LOOKED like she is. " And his remark, considered as aprediction, had begun to seem warranted before Gertrude's return withchina preliminary to the next stage of the banquet. 

Alice proved herself equal to the long gap, and rattled on through itwith a spirit richly justifying her mother's praise of her as "alwaysready to smooth things over"; for here was more than long delay to besmoothed over. She smoothed over her father and mother for Russell; andshe smoothed over him for them, though he did not know it, and remainedunaware of what he owed her. With all this, throughout her prattlings, the girl's bright eyes kept seeking his with an eager gayety, which butlittle veiled both interrogation and entreaty--as if she asked: "Is ittoo much for you? Can't you bear it? Won't you PLEASE bear it? I wouldfor you. Won't you give me a sign that it's all right?"

He looked at her but fleetingly, and seemed to suffer from the heat, inspite of every manly effort not to wipe his brow too often. His colour, after rising when he greeted Alice and her father, had departed, leavinghim again moistly pallid; a condition arising from discomfort, no doubt, but, considered as a decoration, almost poetically becoming to him. Not less becoming was the faint, kindly smile, which showed his wish toexpress amusement and approval; and yet it was a smile rather strainedand plaintive, as if he, like Adams, could only do the best he could. 

He pleased Adams, who thought him a fine young man, and decidedlythe quietest that Alice had ever shown to her family. In her father'sopinion this was no small merit; and it was to Russell's credit, too, that he showed embarrassment upon this first intimate presentation; herewas an applicant with both reserve and modesty. "So far, he seems to befirst rate a mighty fine young man, " Adams thought; and, prompted by nowish to part from Alice but by reminiscences of apparent candidates lesspleasing, he added, "At last!"

Alice's liveliness never flagged. Her smoothing over of things was analmost continuous performance, and had to be. Yet, while she chatteredthrough the hot and heavy courses, the questions she asked herselfwere as continuous as the performance, and as poignant as what her eyesseemed to be asking Russell. Why had she not prevailed over her mother'sfear of being "skimpy?" Had she been, indeed, as her mother said shelooked, "in a trance?" But above all: What was the matter with HIM? Whathad happened? For she told herself with painful humour that somethingeven worse than this dinner must be "the matter with him. "

The small room, suffocated with the odour of boiled sprouts, grew hotterand hotter as more and more food appeared, slowly borne in, betweendeathly long waits, by the resentful, loud-breathing Gertrude. And whileAlice still sought Russell's glance, and read the look upon his facea dozen different ways, fearing all of them; and while the stragglinglittle flowers died upon the stained cloth, she felt her heart grow asheavy as the food, and wondered that it did not die like the roses. 

With the arrival of coffee, the host bestirred himself to make known ahospitable regret, "By George!" he said. "I meant to buy some cigars. "He addressed himself apologetically to the guest. "I don't know what Iwas thinking about, to forget to bring some home with me. I don't use'em myself--unless somebody hands me one, you might say. I've alwaysbeen a pipe-smoker, pure and simple, but I ought to remembered for kindof an occasion like this. "

"Not at all, " Russell said. "I'm not smoking at all lately; but when Ido, I'm like you, and smoke a pipe. "

Alice started, remembering what she had told him when he overtook her onher way from the tobacconist's; but, after a moment, looking at him, she decided that he must have forgotten it. If he had remembered, shethought, he could not have helped glancing at her. On the contrary, heseemed more at ease, just then, than he had since they sat down, for hewas favouring her father with a thoughtful attention as Adams respondedto the introduction of a man's topic into the conversation at last. "Well, Mr. Russell, I guess you're right, at that. I don't say but whatcigars may be all right for a man that can afford 'em, if he likes 'embetter than a pipe, but you take a good old pipe now----"

He continued, and was getting well into the eulogium customarilyprovoked by this theme, when there came an interruption: the door-bellrang, and he paused inquiringly, rather surprised. 

Mrs. Adams spoke to Gertrude in an undertone:

"Just say, 'Not at home. '"

"What?"

"If it's callers, just say we're not at home. "

Gertrude spoke out freely: "You mean you astin' me to 'tend you' frontdo' fer you?"

She seemed both incredulous and affronted, but Mrs. Adams persisted, though somewhat apprehensively. "Yes. Hurry--uh--please. Just say we'renot at home if you please. "

Again Gertrude obviously hesitated between compliance and revolt, andagain the meeker course fortunately prevailed with her. She gave Mrs. Adams a stare, grimly derisive, then departed. When she came back shesaid:

"He say he wait. "

"But I told you to tell anybody we were not at home, " Mrs Adamsreturned. "Who is it?"

"Say he name Mr. Law. "

"We don't know any Mr. Law. "

"Yes'm; he know you. Say he anxious to speak Mr. Adams. Say he wait. "

"Tell him Mr. Adams is engaged. "

"Hold on a minute, " Adams intervened. "Law? No. I don't know any Mr. Law. You sure you got the name right?"

"Say he name Law, " Gertrude replied, looking at the ceiling to expressher fatigue. "Law. 'S all he tell me; 's all I know. "

Adams frowned. "Law, " he said. "Wasn't it maybe 'Lohr?'"

"Law, " Gertrude repeated. "'S all he tell me; 's all I know. "

"What's he look like?"

"He ain't much, " she said. "'Bout you' age; got brustly white moustache, nice eye-glasses. "

"It's Charley Lohr!" Adams exclaimed. "I'll go see what he wants. "

"But, Virgil, " his wife remonstrated, "do finish your coffee; he mightstay all evening. Maybe he's come to call. "

Adams laughed. "He isn't much of a caller, I expect. Don't worry: I'lltake him up to my room. " And turning toward Russell, "Ah--if you'll justexcuse me, " he said; and went out to his visitor. 

When he had gone, Mrs. Adams finished her coffee, and, having glancedintelligently from her guest to her daughter, she rose. "I think perhapsI ought to go and shake hands with Mr. Lohr, myself, " she said, addingin explanation to Russell, as she reached the door, "He's an old friendof my husband's and it's a very long time since he's been here. "

Alice nodded and smiled to her brightly, but upon the closing of thedoor, the smile vanished; all her liveliness disappeared; and with thischange of expression her complexion itself appeared to change, so thather rouge became obvious, for she was pale beneath it. However, Russelldid not see the alteration, for he did not look at her; and it was buta momentary lapse the vacation of a tired girl, who for ten seconds letsherself look as she feels. Then she shot her vivacity back into place asby some powerful spring. 

"Penny for your thoughts!" she cried, and tossed one of the wiltedroses at him, across the table. "I'll bid more than a penny; I'll bidtuppence--no, a poor little dead rose a rose for your thoughts, Mr. Arthur Russell! What are they?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't any. "

"No, of course not, " she said. "Who could have thoughts in weather likethis? Will you EVER forgive us?"

"What for?"

"Making you eat such a heavy dinner--I mean LOOK at such a heavy dinner, because you certainly didn't do more than look at it--on such a night!But the crime draws to a close, and you can begin to cheer up!" Shelaughed gaily, and, rising, moved to the door. "Let's go in the otherroom; your fearful duty is almost done, and you can run home as soon asyou want to. That's what you're dying to do. "

"Not at all, " he said in a voice so feeble that she laughed aloud. 

"Good gracious!" she cried. "I hadn't realized it was THAT bad!"

For this, though he contrived to laugh, he seemed to have no verbalretort whatever; but followed her into the "living-room, " where shestopped and turned, facing him. 

"Has it really been so frightful?" she asked. 

"Why, of course not. Not at all. "

"Of course yes, though, you mean!"

"Not at all. It's been most kind of your mother and father and you. "

"Do you know, " she said, "you've never once looked at me for more than asecond at a time the whole evening? And it seemed to me I looked rathernice to-night, too!"

"You always do, " he murmured. 

"I don't see how you know, " she returned; and then stepping closerto him, spoke with gentle solicitude: "Tell me: you're really feelingwretchedly, aren't you? I know you've got a fearful headache, orsomething. Tell me!"

"Not at all. "

"You are ill--I'm sure of it. "

"Not at all. "

"On your word?"

"I'm really quite all right. "

"But if you are----" she began; and then, looking at him with adesperate sweetness, as if this were her last resource to rouse him, "What's the matter, little boy?" she said with lisping tenderness. "Tellauntie!"

It was a mistake, for he seemed to flinch, and to lean backward, however, slightly. She turned away instantly, with a flippant lift anddrop of both hands. "Oh, my dear!" she laughed. "I won't eat you!"

And as the discomfited young man watched her, seeming able to lifthis eyes, now that her back was turned, she went to the front door andpushed open the screen. "Let's go out on the porch, " she said. "Where webelong!"

Then, when he had followed her out, and they were seated, "Isn't thisbetter?" she asked. "Don't you feel more like yourself out here?"

He began a murmur: "Not at----"

But she cut him off sharply: "Please don't say 'Not at all' again!"

"I'm sorry. "

"You do seem sorry about something, " she said. "What is it? Isn't ittime you were telling me what's the matter?"

"Nothing. Indeed nothing's the matter. Of course one IS rather affectedby such weather as this. It may make one a little quieter than usual, ofcourse. "

She sighed, and let the tired muscles of her face rest. Under the hardlights, indoors, they had served her until they ached, and it was aluxury to feel that in the darkness no grimacings need call upon them. 

"Of course, if you won't tell me----" she said. 

"I can only assure you there's nothing to tell. "

"I know what an ugly little house it is, " she said. "Maybe it was thefurniture--or mama's vases that upset you. Or was it mama herself--orpapa?"

"Nothing 'upset' me. "

At that she uttered a monosyllable of doubting laughter. "I wonder whyyou say that. "

"Because it's so. "

"No. It's because you're too kind, or too conscientious, or tooembarrassed--anyhow too something--to tell me. " She leaned forward, elbows on knees and chin in hands, in the reflective attitude she knewhow to make graceful. "I have a feeling that you're not going to tellme, " she said, slowly. "Yes--even that you're never going to tell me. Iwonder--I wonder----"

"Yes? What do you wonder?"

"I was just thinking--I wonder if they haven't done it, after all. "

"I don't understand. "

"I wonder, " she went on, still slowly, and in a voice of reflection, "Iwonder who HAS been talking about me to you, after all? Isn't that it?"

"Not at----" he began, but checked himself and substituted another formof denial. "Nothing is 'it. '"

"Are you sure?"

"Why, yes. "

"How curious!" she said. 

"Why?"

"Because all evening you've been so utterly different. "

"But in this weather----"

"No. That wouldn't make you afraid to look at me all evening!"

"But I did look at you. Often. "

"No. Not really a LOOK. "

"But I'm looking at you now. "

"Yes--in the dark!" she said. "No--the weather might make you evenquieter than usual, but it wouldn't strike you so nearly dumb. No--andit wouldn't make you seem to be under such a strain--as if you thoughtonly of escape!"

"But I haven't----"

"You shouldn't, " she interrupted, gently. "There's nothing you have toescape from, you know. You aren't committed to--to this friendship. "

"I'm sorry you think----" he began, but did not complete the fragment. 

She took it up. "You're sorry I think you're so different, you mean tosay, don't you? Never mind: that's what you did mean to say, but youcouldn't finish it because you're not good at deceiving. "

"Oh, no, " he protested, feebly. "I'm not deceiving. I'm----"

"Never mind, " she said again. "You're sorry I think you're sodifferent--and all in one day--since last night. Yes, your voice SOUNDSsorry, too. It sounds sorrier than it would just because of my thinkingsomething you could change my mind about in a minute so it means you'resorry you ARE different. "

"No--I----"

But disregarding the faint denial, "Never mind, " she said. "Do youremember one night when you told me that nothing anybody else could dowould ever keep you from coming here? That if you--if you left me itwould be because I drove you away myself?"

"Yes, " he said, huskily. "It was true. "

"Are you sure?"

"Indeed I am, " he answered in a low voice, but with conviction. 

"Then----" She paused. "Well--but I haven't driven you away. "

"No. "

"And yet you've gone, " she said, quietly. 

"Do I seem so stupid as all that?"

"You know what I mean. " She leaned back in her chair again, and herhands, inactive for once, lay motionless in her lap. When she spoke itwas in a rueful whisper:

"I wonder if I HAVE driven you away?"

"You've done nothing--nothing at all, " he said. 

"I wonder----" she said once more, but she stopped. In her mind she wasgoing back over their time together since the first meeting--fragmentsof talk, moments of silence, little things of no importance, littlethings that might be important; moonshine, sunshine, starlight; and herthoughts zigzagged among the jumbling memories; but, as if she made forherself a picture of all these fragments, throwing them upon the canvashaphazard, she saw them all just touched with the one tainting qualitythat gave them coherence, the faint, false haze she had put over thisfriendship by her own pretendings. And, if this terrible dinner, oranything, or everything, had shown that saffron tint in its true colourto the man at her side, last night almost a lover, then she had indeedof herself driven him away, and might well feel that she was lost. 

"Do you know?" she said, suddenly, in a clear, loud voice. "I have thestrangest feeling. I feel as if I were going to be with you only aboutfive minutes more in all the rest of my life!"

"Why, no, " he said. "Of course I'm coming to see you--often. I----"

"No, " she interrupted. "I've never had a feeling like this before. It's--it's just SO; that's all! You're GOING--why, you're never cominghere again!" She stood up, abruptly, beginning to tremble all over. "Why, it's FINISHED, isn't it?" she said, and her trembling was manifestnow in her voice. "Why, it's all OVER, isn't it? Why, yes!"

He had risen as she did. "I'm afraid you're awfully tired and nervous, "he said. "I really ought to be going. "

"Yes, of COURSE you ought, " she cried, despairingly. "There's nothingelse for you to do. When anything's spoiled, people CAN'T do anythingbut run away from it. So good-bye!"

"At least, " he returned, huskily, "we'll only--only say good-night. "

Then, as moving to go, he stumbled upon the veranda steps, "Your HAT!"she cried. "I'd like to keep it for a souvenir, but I'm afraid you needit!"

She ran into the hall and brought his straw hat from the chair where hehad left it. "You poor thing!" she said, with quavering laughter. "Don'tyou know you can't go without your hat?"

Then, as they faced each other for the short moment which both of themknew would be the last of all their veranda moments, Alice's brokenlaughter grew louder. "What a thing to say!" she cried. "What a romanticparting--talking about HATS!"

Her laughter continued as he turned away, but other sounds came fromwithin the house, clearly audible with the opening of a door upstairs--along and wailing cry of lamentation in the voice of Mrs. Adams. Russellpaused at the steps, uncertain, but Alice waved to him to go on. 

"Oh, don't bother, " she said. "We have lots of that in this funny littleold house! Good-bye!"

And as he went down the steps, she ran back into the house and closedthe door heavily behind her. 

CHAPTER XXIII

Her mother's wailing could still be heard from overhead, though morefaintly; and old Charley Lohr was coming down the stairs alone. 

He looked at Alice compassionately. "I was just comin' to suggest maybeyou'd excuse yourself from your company, " he said. "Your mother wasbound not to disturb you, and tried her best to keep you from hearin'how she's takin' on, but I thought probably you better see to her. "

"Yes, I'll come. What's the matter?"

"Well, " he said, "_I_ only stepped over to offer my sympathy andservices, as it were. _I_ thought of course you folks knew all about it. Fact is, it was in the evening paper--just a little bit of an item onthe back page, of course. "

"What is it?"

He coughed. "Well, it ain't anything so terrible, " he said. "Fact is, your brother Walter's got in a little trouble--well, I suppose you mightcall it quite a good deal of trouble. Fact is, he's quite considerableshort in his accounts down at Lamb and Company. "

Alice ran up the stairs and into her father's room, where Mrs. Adamsthrew herself into her daughter's arms. "Is he gone?" she sobbed. "Hedidn't hear me, did he? I tried so hard----"

Alice patted the heaving shoulders her arms enclosed. "No, no, " shesaid. "He didn't hear you--it wouldn't have mattered--he doesn't matteranyway. "

"Oh, POOR Walter!" The mother cried. "Oh, the POOR boy! Poor, poorWalter! Poor, poor, poor, POOR----"

"Hush, dear, hush!" Alice tried to soothe her, but the lament couldnot be abated, and from the other side of the room a repetition ina different spirit was as continuous. Adams paced furiously there, pounding his fist into his left palm as he strode. "The dang boy!" hesaid. "Dang little fool! Dang idiot! Dang fool! Whyn't he TELL me, thedang little fool?"

"He DID!" Mrs. Adams sobbed. "He DID tell you, and you wouldn't GIVE itto him. "

"He DID, did he?" Adams shouted at her. "What he begged me for was moneyto run away with! He never dreamed of putting back what he took. Whatthe dangnation you talking about--accusing me!"

"He NEEDED it, " she said. "He needed it to run away with! How could heexpect to LIVE, after he got away, if he didn't have a little money? Oh, poor, poor, POOR Walter! Poor, poor, poor----"

She went back to this repetition; and Adams went back to his own, thenpaused, seeing his old friend standing in the hallway outside the opendoor. 

"Ah--I'll just be goin', I guess, Virgil, " Lohr said. "I don't see asthere's any use my tryin' to say any more. I'll do anything you want meto, you understand. "

"Wait a minute, " Adams said, and, groaning, came and went down thestairs with him. "You say you didn't see the old man at all?"

"No, I don't know a thing about what he's going to do, " Lohr said, asthey reached the lower floor. "Not a thing. But look here, Virgil, I don't see as this calls for you and your wife to take on so hardabout--anyhow not as hard as the way you've started. "

"No, " Adams gulped. "It always seems that way to the other party that'sonly looking on!"

"Oh, well, I know that, of course, " old Charley returned, soothingly. "But look here, Virgil: they may not catch the boy; they didn't evenseem to be sure what train he made, and if they do get him, why, the oleman might decide not to prosecute if----"

"HIM?" Adams cried, interrupting. "Him not prosecute? Why, that's whathe's been waiting for, all along! He thinks my boy and me both cheatedhim! Why, he was just letting Walter walk into a trap! Didn't you saythey'd been suspecting him for some time back? Didn't you say they'dbeen watching him and were just about fixing to arrest him?"

"Yes, I know, " said Lohr; "but you can't tell, especially if you raisethe money and pay it back. "

"Every cent!" Adams vociferated. "Every last penny! I can raise it--IGOT to raise it! I'm going to put a loan on my factory to-morrow. Oh, I'll get it for him, you tell him! Every last penny!"

"Well, ole feller, you just try and get quieted down some now. " Charleyheld out his hand in parting. "You and your wife just quiet down some. You AIN'T the healthiest man in the world, you know, and you alreadybeen under quite some strain before this happened. You want to takecare of yourself for the sake of your wife and that sweet little girlupstairs, you know. Now, good-night, " he finished, stepping out upon theveranda. "You send for me if there's anything I can do. "

"Do?" Adams echoed. "There ain't anything ANYBODY can do!" And then, ashis old friend went down the path to the sidewalk, he called after him, "You tell him I'll pay him every last cent! Every last, dang, dirtyPENNY!"

He slammed the door and went rapidly up the stairs, talking loudly tohimself. "Every dang, last, dirty penny! Thinks EVERYBODY in this familywants to steal from him, does he? Thinks we're ALL yellow, does he?I'll show him!" And he came into his own room vociferating, "Every last, dang, dirty penny!"

Mrs. Adams had collapsed, and Alice had put her upon his bed, where shelay tossing convulsively and sobbing, "Oh, POOR Walter!" over andover, but after a time she varied the sorry tune. "Oh, poor Alice!" shemoaned, clinging to her daughter's hand. "Oh, poor, POOR Alice to haveTHIS come on the night of your dinner--just when everything seemed to begoing so well--at last--oh, poor, poor, POOR----"

"Hush!" Alice said, sharply. "Don't say 'poor Alice!' I'm all right. "

"You MUST be!" her mother cried, clutching her. "You've just GOT to be!ONE of us has got to be all right--surely God wouldn't mind just ONE ofus being all right--that wouldn't hurt Him----"

"Hush, hush, mother! Hush!"

But Mrs. Adams only clutched her the more tightly. "He seemed SUCH anice young man, dearie! He may not see this in the paper--Mr. Lohr saidit was just a little bit of an item--he MAY not see it, dearie----"

Then her anguish went back to Walter again; and to his needs as afugitive--she had meant to repair his underwear, but had postponed doingso, and her neglect now appeared to be a detail as lamentable as thecalamity itself. She could neither be stilled upon it, nor herselfexhaust its urgings to self-reproach, though she finally took up anothertheme temporarily. Upon an unusually violent outbreak of her husband's, in denunciation of the runaway, she cried out faintly that he was cruel;and further wearied her broken voice with details of Walter's beauty asa baby, and of his bedtime pieties throughout his infancy. 

So the hot night wore on. Three had struck before Mrs. Adams was got tobed; and Alice, returning to her own room, could hear her father's barefeet thudding back and forth after that. "Poor papa!" she whispered inhelpless imitation of her mother. "Poor papa! Poor mama! Poor Walter!Poor all of us!"

She fell asleep, after a time, while from across the hall the barefeet still thudded over their changeless route; and she woke at seven, hearing Adams pass her door, shod. In her wrapper she ran out into thehallway and found him descending the stairs. 

"Papa!"

"Hush, " he said, and looked up at her with reddened eyes. "Don't wakeyour mother. "

"I won't, " she whispered. "How about you? You haven't slept any at all!"

"Yes, I did. I got some sleep. I'm going over to the works now. I gotto throw some figures together to show the bank. Don't worry: I'll getthings fixed up. You go back to bed. Good-bye. "

"Wait!" she bade him sharply. 

"What for?"

"You've got to have some breakfast. "

"Don't want 'ny. "

"You wait!" she said, imperiously, and disappeared to return almost atonce. "I can cook in my bedroom slippers, " she explained, "but I don'tbelieve I could in my bare feet!"

Descending softly, she made him wait in the dining-room until shebrought him toast and eggs and coffee. "Eat!" she said. "And I'm goingto telephone for a taxicab to take you, if you think you've really gotto go. "

"No, I'm going to walk--I WANT to walk. "

She shook her head anxiously. "You don't look able. You've walked allnight. "

"No, I didn't, " he returned. "I tell you I got some sleep. I got all Iwanted anyhow. "

"But, papa----"

"Here!" he interrupted, looking up at her suddenly and setting down hiscup of coffee. "Look here! What about this Mr. Russell? I forgot allabout him. What about him?"

Her lip trembled a little, but she controlled it before she spoke. "Well, what about him, papa?" she asked, calmly enough. 

"Well, we could hardly----" Adams paused, frowning heavily. "We couldhardly expect he wouldn't hear something about all this. "

"Yes; of course he'll hear it, papa. "

"Well?"

"Well, what?" she asked, gently. 

"You don't think he'd be the--the cheap kind it'd make a differencewith, of course. "

"Oh, no; he isn't cheap. It won't make any difference with him. "

Adams suffered a profound sigh to escape him. "Well--I'm glad of that, anyway. "

"The difference, " she explained--"the difference was made without hishearing anything about Walter. He doesn't know about THAT yet. "

"Well, what does he know about?"

"Only, " she said, "about me. "

"What you mean by that, Alice?" he asked, helplessly. 

"Never mind, " she said. "It's nothing beside the real trouble we'rein--I'll tell you some time. You eat your eggs and toast; you can't keepgoing on just coffee. "

"I can't eat any eggs and toast, " he objected, rising. "I can't. "

"Then wait till I can bring you something else. "

"No, " he said, irritably. "I won't do it! I don't want any dang food!And look here"--he spoke sharply to stop her, as she went toward thetelephone--"I don't want any dang taxi, either! You look after yourmother when she wakes up. I got to be at WORK!"

And though she followed him to the front door, entreating, he could notbe stayed or hindered. He went through the quiet morning streets ata rickety, rapid gait, swinging his old straw hat in his hands, andwhispering angrily to himself as he went. His grizzled hair, not trimmedfor a month, blew back from his damp forehead in the warm breeze; hisreddened eyes stared hard at nothing from under blinking lids; and oneside of his face twitched startlingly from time to time;--children mighthave run from him, or mocked him. 

When he had come into that fallen quarter his industry had partlyrevived and wholly made odorous, a negro woman, leaning upon herwhitewashed gate, gazed after him and chuckled for the benefit of agossiping friend in the next tiny yard. "Oh, good Satan! Wha'ssa matterthat ole glue man?"

"Who? Him?" the neighbour inquired. "What he do now?"

"Talkin' to his ole se'f!" the first explained, joyously. "Look likegone distracted--ole glue man!"

Adams's legs had grown more uncertain with his hard walk, and hestumbled heavily as he crossed the baked mud of his broad lot, but caredlittle for that, was almost unaware of it, in fact. Thus his eyes sawas little as his body felt, and so he failed to observe something thatwould have given him additional light upon an old phrase that alreadymeant quite enough for him. 

There are in the wide world people who have never learned its meaning;but most are either young or beautifully unobservant who remainwholly unaware of the inner poignancies the words convey: "a rain ofmisfortunes. " It is a boiling rain, seemingly whimsical in its choice ofspots whereon to fall; and, so far as mortal eye can tell, neither thejust nor the unjust may hope to avoid it, or need worry themselves byexpecting it. It had selected the Adams family for its scaldings; noquestion. 

The glue-works foreman, standing in the doorway of the brick shed, observed his employer's eccentric approach, and doubtfully stroked awhiskered chin. 

"Well, they ain't no putticular use gettin' so upset over it, " he said, as Adams came up. "When a thing happens, why, it happens, and that's allthere is to it. When a thing's so, why, it's so. All you can do about itis think if there's anything you CAN do; and that's what you better bedoin' with this case. "

Adams halted, and seemed to gape at him. "What--case?" he said, withdifficulty. "Was it in the morning papers, too?"

"No, it ain't in no morning papers. My land! It don't need to be in nopapers; look at the SIZE of it!"

"The size of what?"

"Why, great God!" the foreman exclaimed. "He ain't even seen it. Look!Look yonder!"

Adams stared vaguely at the man's outstretched hand and pointingforefinger, then turned and saw a great sign upon the facade of the bigfactory building across the street. The letters were large enough to beread two blocks away. 

 "AFTER THE FIFTEENTH OF NEXT MONTH THIS BUILDING WILL BE OCCUPIED BY THE J. A. LAMB LIQUID GLUE CO. INC. "

A gray touring-car had just come to rest before the principal entranceof the building, and J. A. Lamb himself descended from it. He glancedover toward the humble rival of his projected great industry, saw hisold clerk, and immediately walked across the street and the lot to speakto him. 

"Well, Adams, " he said, in his husky, cheerful voice, "how's yourglue-works?"

Adams uttered an inarticulate sound, and lifted the hand that held hishat as if to make a protective gesture, but failed to carry it out; andhis arm sank limp at his side. The foreman, however, seemed to feel thatsomething ought to be said. 

"Our glue-works, hell!" he remarked. "I guess we won't HAVE noglue-works over here not very long, if we got to compete with the sizedthing you got over there!"

Lamb chuckled. "I kind of had some such notion, " he said. "You see, Virgil, I couldn't exactly let you walk off with it like swallering apat o' butter, now, could I? It didn't look exactly reasonable to expectme to let go like that, now, did it?"

Adams found a half-choked voice somewhere in his throat. "Do you--wouldyou step into my office a minute, Mr. Lamb?"

"Why, certainly I'm willing to have a little talk with you, " the oldgentleman said, as he followed his former employee indoors, and headded, "I feel a lot more like it than I did before I got THAT up, overyonder, Virgil!"

Adams threw open the door of the rough room he called his office, havingas justification for this title little more than the fact that he had atelephone there and a deal table that served as a desk. "Just step intothe office, please, " he said. 

Lamb glanced at the desk, at the kitchen chair before it, at thetelephone, and at the partition walls built of old boards, some coveredwith ancient paint and some merely weatherbeaten, the salvage of ahouse-wrecker; and he smiled broadly. "So these are your offices, arethey?" he asked. "You expect to do quite a business here, I guess, don'tyou, Virgil?"

Adams turned upon him a stricken and tortured face. "Have you seenCharley Lohr since last night, Mr. Lamb?"

"No; I haven't seen Charley. "

"Well, I told him to tell you, " Adams began;--"I told him I'd payyou----"

"Pay me what you expect to make out o' glue, you mean, Virgil?"

"No, " Adams said, swallowing. "I mean what my boy owes you. That's whatI told Charley to tell you. I told him to tell you I'd pay you everylast----"

"Well, well!" the old gentleman interrupted, testily. "I don't knowanything about that. "

"I'm expecting to pay you, " Adams went on, swallowing again, painfully. "I was expecting to do it out of a loan I thought I could get on myglue-works. "

The old gentleman lifted his frosted eyebrows. "Oh, out o' theGLUE-works? You expected to raise money on the glue-works, did you?"

At that, Adams's agitation increased prodigiously. "How'd you THINK Iexpected to pay you?" he said. "Did you think I expected to get money onmy own old bones?" He slapped himself harshly upon the chest and legs. "Do you think a bank'll lend money on a man's ribs and his broken-downold knee-bones? They won't do it! You got to have some BUSINESSprospects to show 'em, if you haven't got any property nor securities;and what business prospects have I got now, with that sign of yours upover yonder? Why, you don't need to make an OUNCE o' glue; your sign'sfixed ME without your doing another lick! THAT'S all you had to do; justput your sign up! You needn't to----"

"Just let me tell you something, Virgil Adams, " the old man interrupted, harshly. "I got just one right important thing to tell you before wetalk any further business; and that's this: there's some few men in thistown made their money in off-colour ways, but there aren't many; andthose there are have had to be a darn sight slicker than you know how tobe, or ever WILL know how to be! Yes, sir, and they none of them had thelittle gumption to try to make it out of a man that had the spirit notto let 'em, and the STRENGTH not to let 'em! I know what you thought. 'Here, ' you said to yourself, 'here's this ole fool J. A. Lamb; he'skind of worn out and in his second childhood like; I can put it over onhim, without his ever----'"

"I did not!" Adams shouted. "A great deal YOU know about my feelingsand all what I said to myself! There's one thing I want to tell YOU, and that's what I'm saying to myself NOW, and what my feelings are thisMINUTE!"

He struck the table a great blow with his thin fist, and shook thedamaged knuckles in the air. "I just want to tell you, whatever I didfeel, I don't feel MEAN any more; not to-day, I don't. There's a meanerman in this world than _I_ am, Mr. Lamb!"

"Oh, so you feel better about yourself to-day, do you, Virgil?"

"You bet I do! You worked till you got me where you want me; andI wouldn't do that to another man, no matter what he did to me! Iwouldn't----"

"What you talkin' about! How've I 'got you where I want you?'"

"Ain't it plain enough?" Adams cried. "You even got me where I can'traise the money to pay back what my boy owes you! Do you supposeanybody's fool enough to let me have a cent on this business after onelook at what you got over there across the road?"

"No, I don't. "

"No, you don't, " Adams echoed, hoarsely. "What's more, you knew my housewas mortgaged, and my----"

"I did not, " Lamb interrupted, angrily. "What do _I_ care about yourhouse?"

"What's the use your talking like that?" Adams cried. "You got me whereI can't even raise the money to pay what my boy owes the company, so'tI can't show any reason to stop the prosecution and keep him out thepenitentiary. That's where you worked till you got ME!"

"What!" Lamb shouted. "You accuse me of----"

"'Accuse you?' What am I telling you? Do you think I got no EYES?" AndAdams hammered the table again. "Why, you knew the boy was weak----"

"I did not!"

"Listen: you kept him there after you got mad at my leaving the wayI did. You kept him there after you suspected him; and you had himwatched; you let him go on; just waited to catch him and ruin him!"

"You're crazy!" the old man bellowed. "I didn't know there was anythingagainst the boy till last night. You're CRAZY, I say!"

Adams looked it. With his hair disordered over his haggard forehead andbloodshot eyes; with his bruised hands pounding the table and flying ina hundred wild and absurd gestures, while his feet shuffled constantlyto preserve his balance upon staggering legs, he was the picture of aman with a mind gone to rags. 

"Maybe I AM crazy!" he cried, his voice breaking and quavering. "MaybeI am, but I wouldn't stand there and taunt a man with it if I'd done tohim what you've done to me! Just look at me: I worked all my life foryou, and what I did when I quit never harmed you--it didn't make twocents' worth o' difference in your life and it looked like it'd mean allthe difference in the world to my family--and now look what you've DONEto me for it! I tell you, Mr. Lamb, there never was a man looked up toanother man the way I looked up to you the whole o' my life, but I don'tlook up to you any more! You think you got a fine day of it now, ridingup in your automobile to look at that sign--and then over here at mypoor little works that you've ruined. But listen to me just thisone last time!" The cracking voice broke into falsetto, and thegesticulating hands fluttered uncontrollably. "Just you listen!" hepanted. "You think I did you a bad turn, and now you got me ruined forit, and you got my works ruined, and my family ruined; and if anybody'd'a' told me this time last year I'd ever say such a thing to you I'dcalled him a dang liar, but I DO say it: I say you've acted toward melike--like a--a doggone mean--man!"

His voice, exhausted, like his body, was just able to do him this finalservice; then he sank, crumpled, into the chair by the table, his chindown hard upon his chest. 

"I tell you, you're crazy!" Lamb said again. "I never in the world----"But he checked himself, staring in sudden perplexity at his accuser. "Look here!" he said. "What's the matter of you? Have you got another ofthose----?" He put his hand upon Adams's shoulder, which jerked feeblyunder the touch. 

The old man went to the door and called to the foreman. 

"Here!" he said. "Run and tell my chauffeur to bring my car over here. Tell him to drive right up over the sidewalk and across the lot. Tellhim to hurry!"

So, it happened, the great J. A. Lamb a second time brought his formerclerk home, stricken and almost inanimate. 

CHAPTER XXIV

About five o'clock that afternoon, the old gentleman came back toAdams's house; and when Alice opened the door, he nodded, walkedinto the "living-room" without speaking; then stood frowning as if hehesitated to decide some perplexing question. 

"Well, how is he now?" he asked, finally. 

"The doctor was here again a little while ago; he thinks papa's comingthrough it. He's pretty sure he will. "

"Something like the way it was last spring?"

"Yes. "

"Not a bit of sense to it!" Lamb said, gruffly. "When he was gettingwell the other time the doctor told me it wasn't a regular stroke, so tospeak--this 'cerebral effusion' thing. Said there wasn't any particularreason for your father to expect he'd ever have another attack, if he'dtake a little care of himself. Said he could consider himself well asanybody else long as he did that. "

"Yes. But he didn't do it!"

Lamb nodded, sighed aloud, and crossed the room to a chair. "Iguess not, " he said, as he sat down. "Bustin' his health up over hisglue-works, I expect. "

"Yes. "

"I guess so; I guess so. " Then he looked up at her with a glimmer ofanxiety in his eyes. "Has he came to yet?"

"Yes. He's talked a little. His mind's clear; he spoke to mama and meand to Miss Perry. " Alice laughed sadly. "We were lucky enough to gether back, but papa didn't seem to think it was lucky. When he recognizedher he said, 'Oh, my goodness, 'tisn't YOU, is it!'"

"Well, that's a good sign, if he's getting a little cross. Did he--didhe happen to say anything--for instance, about me?"

This question, awkwardly delivered, had the effect of removing thegirl's pallor; rosy tints came quickly upon her cheeks. "He--yes, hedid, " she said. "Naturally, he's troubled about--about----" She stopped. 

"About your brother, maybe?"

"Yes, about making up the----"

"Here, now, " Lamb said, uncomfortably, as she stopped again. "Listen, young lady; let's don't talk about that just yet. I want to ask you: youunderstand all about this glue business, I expect, don't you?"

"I'm not sure. I only know----"

"Let me tell you, " he interrupted, impatiently. "I'll tell you all aboutit in two words. The process belonged to me, and your father up andwalked off with it; there's no getting around THAT much, anyhow. "

"Isn't there?" Alice stared at him. "I think you're mistaken, Mr. Lamb. Didn't papa improve it so that it virtually belonged to him?"

There was a spark in the old blue eyes at this. "What?" he cried. "Isthat the way he got around it? Why, in all my life I never heard of sucha----" But he left the sentence unfinished; the testiness went out ofhis husky voice and the anger out of his eyes. "Well, I expect maybethat was the way of it, " he said. "Anyhow, it's right for you to standup for your father; and if you think he had a right to it----"

"But he did!" she cried. 

"I expect so, " the old man returned, pacifically. "I expect so, probably. Anyhow, it's a question that's neither here nor there, rightnow. What I was thinking of saying--well, did your father happen to letout that he and I had words this morning?"

"No. "

"Well, we did. " He sighed and shook his head. "Your father--well, heused some pretty hard expressions toward me, young lady. They weren'tSO, I'm glad to say, but he used 'em to me, and the worst of it was hebelieved 'em. Well, I been thinking it over, and I thought I'd just havea kind of little talk with you to set matters straight, so to speak. "

"Yes, Mr. Lamb. "

"For instance, " he said, "it's like this. Now, I hope you won't think Imean any indelicacy, but you take your brother's case, since we got tomention it, why, your father had the whole thing worked out in his mindabout as wrong as anybody ever got anything. If I'd acted the way yourfather thought I did about that, why, somebody just ought to take me outand shoot me! Do YOU know what that man thought?"

"I'm not sure. "

He frowned at her, and asked, "Well, what do you think about it?"

"I don't know, " she said. "I don't believe I think anything at all aboutanything to-day. "

"Well, well, " he returned; "I expect not; I expect not. You kind of lookto me as if you ought to be in bed yourself, young lady. "

"Oh, no. "

"I guess you mean 'Oh, yes'; and I won't keep you long, but there'ssomething we got to get fixed up, and I'd rather talk to you than Iwould to your mother, because you're a smart girl and always friendly;and I want to be sure I'm understood. Now, listen. "

"I will, " Alice promised, smiling faintly. 

"I never even hardly noticed your brother was still working for me, " heexplained, earnestly. "I never thought anything about it. My sons sortof tried to tease me about the way your father--about his taking up thisglue business, so to speak--and one day Albert, Junior, asked me if Ifelt all right about your brother's staying there after that, and I toldhim--well, I just asked him to shut up. If the boy wanted to stay there, I didn't consider it my business to send him away on account ofany feeling I had toward his father; not as long as he did his workright--and the report showed he did. Well, as it happens, it looks nowas if he stayed because he HAD to; he couldn't quit because he'd 'a'been found out if he did. Well, he'd been covering up his shortage for aconsiderable time--and do you know what your father practically chargedme with about that?"

"No, Mr. Lamb. "

In his resentment, the old gentleman's ruddy face became ruddier and hishusky voice huskier. "Thinks I kept the boy there because I suspectedhim! Thinks I did it to get even with HIM! Do I look to YOU like a manthat'd do such a thing?"

"No, " she said, gently. "I don't think you would. "

"No!" he exclaimed. "Nor HE wouldn't think so if he was himself; he'sknown me too long. But he must been sort of brooding over this wholebusiness--I mean before Walter's trouble he must been taking it to heartpretty hard for some time back. He thought I didn't think much ofhim any more--and I expect he maybe wondered some what I was goingto DO--and there's nothing worse'n that state of mind to make a mansuspicious of all kinds of meanness. Well, he practically stood up thereand accused me to my face of fixing things so't he couldn't ever raisethe money to settle for Walter and ask us not to prosecute. That's thestate of mind your father's brooding got him into, young lady--chargingme with a trick like that!"

"I'm sorry, " she said. "I know you'd never----"

The old man slapped his sturdy knee, angrily. "Why, that dang fool of aVirgil Adams!" he exclaimed. "He wouldn't even give me a chance to talk;and he got me so mad I couldn't hardly talk, anyway! He might 'a' knownfrom the first I wasn't going to let him walk in and beat me out of myown--that is, he might 'a' known I wouldn't let him get ahead of me ina business matter--not with my boys twitting me about it every fewminutes! But to talk to me the way he did this morning--well, he was outof his head; that's all! Now, wait just a minute, " he interposed, as sheseemed about to speak. "In the first place, we aren't going to push thiscase against your brother. I believe in the law, all right, andbusiness men got to protect themselves; but in a case like this, whererestitution's made by the family, why, I expect it's just as wellsometimes to use a little influence and let matters drop. Of course yourbrother'll have to keep out o' this state; that's all. "

"But--you said----" she faltered. 

"Yes. What'd I say?"

"You said, 'where restitution's made by the family. ' That's what seemedto trouble papa so terribly, because--because restitution couldn't----"

"Why, yes, it could. That's what I'm here to talk to you about. "

"I don't see----"

"I'm going to TELL you, ain't I?" he said, gruffly. "Just hold yourhorses a minute, please. " He coughed, rose from his chair, walked up anddown the room, then halted before her. "It's like this, " he said. "AfterI brought your father home, this morning, there was one of the things hetold me, when he was going for me, over yonder--it kind of stuck inmy craw. It was something about all this glue controversy not meaninganything to me in particular, and meaning a whole heap to him and hisfamily. Well, he was wrong about that two ways. The first one was, it did mean a good deal to me to have him go back on me after so manyyears. I don't need to say any more about it, except just to tell you itmeant quite a little more to me than you'd think, maybe. The other wayhe was wrong is, that how much a thing means to one man and how littleit means to another ain't the right way to look at a business matter. "

"I suppose it isn't, Mr. Lamb. "

"No, " he said. "It isn't. It's not the right way to look at anything. Yes, and your father knows it as well as I do, when he's in his rightmind; and I expect that's one of the reasons he got so mad at me--butanyhow, I couldn't help thinking about how much all this thing HAD maybemeant to him;--as I say, it kind of stuck in my craw. I want you to tellhim something from me, and I want you to go and tell him right off, ifhe's able and willing to listen. You tell him I got kind of a notionhe was pushed into this thing by circumstances, and tell him I've livedlong enough to know that circumstances can beat the best of us--you tellhim I said 'the BEST of us. ' Tell him I haven't got a bit of feelingagainst him--not any more--and tell him I came here to ask him not tohave any against me. "

"Yes, Mr. Lamb. "

"Tell him I said----" The old man paused abruptly and Alice wassurprised, in a dull and tired way, when she saw that his lips had begunto twitch and his eyelids to blink; but he recovered himself almostat once, and continued: "I want him to remember, 'Forgive us ourtransgressions, as we forgive those that transgress against us'; and ifhe and I been transgressing against each other, why, tell him I thinkit's time we QUIT such foolishness!"

He coughed again, smiled heartily upon her, and walked toward the door;then turned back to her with an exclamation: "Well, if I ain't an oldfool!"

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Why, I forgot what we were just talking about! Your father wants tosettle for Walter's deficit. Tell him we'll be glad to accept it; butof course we don't expect him to clean the matter up until he's able totalk business again. "

Alice stared at him blankly enough for him to perceive that furtherexplanations were necessary. "It's like this, " he said. "You see, ifyour father decided to keep his works going over yonder, I don't say buthe might give us some little competition for a time, 'specially as he'sgot the start on us and about ready for the market. Then I was figuringwe could use his plant--it's small, but it'd be to our benefit to havethe use of it--and he's got a lease on that big lot; it may come inhandy for us if we want to expand some. Well, I'd prefer to make a dealwith him as quietly as possible---no good in every Tom, Dick and Harryhearing about things like this--but I figured he could sell out to mefor a little something more'n enough to cover the mortgage he put onthis house, and Walter's deficit, too--THAT don't amount to muchin dollars and cents. The way I figure it, I could offer him aboutninety-three hundred dollars as a total--or say ninety-three hundred andfifty--and if he feels like accepting, why, I'll send a confidential manup here with the papers soon's your father's able to look 'em over. Youtell him, will you, and ask him if he sees his way to accepting thatfigure?"

"Yes, " Alice said; and now her own lips twitched, while her eyes filledso that she saw but a blurred image of the old man, who held out hishand in parting. "I'll tell him. Thank you. "

He shook her hand hastily. "Well, let's just keep it kind of quiet, "he said, at the door. "No good in every Tom, Dick and Harry knowing allwhat goes on in town! You telephone me when your papa's ready to go overthe papers--and call me up at my house to-night, will you? Let me hearhow he's feeling?"

"I will, " she said, and through her grateful tears gave him a smilealmost radiant. "He'll be better, Mr. Lamb. We all will. "

CHAPTER XXV

One morning, that autumn, Mrs. Adams came into Alice's room, and foundher completing a sober toilet for the street; moreover, the expressionrevealed in her mirror was harmonious with the business-like severityof her attire. "What makes you look so cross, dearie?" the mother asked. "Couldn't you find anything nicer to wear than that plain old darkdress?"

"I don't believe I'm cross, " the girl said, absently. "I believe I'mjust thinking. Isn't it about time?"

"Time for what?"

"Time for thinking--for me, I mean?"

Disregarding this, Mrs. Adams looked her over thoughtfully. "I can't seewhy you don't wear more colour, " she said. "At your age it's becomingand proper, too. Anyhow, when you're going on the street, I think youought to look just as gay and lively as you can manage. You want to show'em you've got some spunk!"

"How do you mean, mama?"

"I mean about Walter's running away and the mess your father made of hisbusiness. It would help to show 'em you're holding up your head just thesame. "

"Show whom!"

"All these other girls that----"

"Not I!" Alice laughed shortly, shaking her head. "I've quit dressing atthem, and if they saw me they wouldn't think what you want 'em to. It'sfunny; but we don't often make people think what we want 'em to, mama. You do thus and so; and you tell yourself, 'Now, seeing me do thus andso, people will naturally think this and that'; but they don't. Theythink something else--usually just what you DON'T want 'em to. I supposeabout the only good in pretending is the fun we get out of foolingourselves that we fool somebody. "

"Well, but it wouldn't be pretending. You ought to let people see you'restill holding your head up because you ARE. You wouldn't want thatMildred Palmer to think you're cast down about--well, you know youwouldn't want HER not to think you're holding your head up, would you?"

"She wouldn't know whether I am or not, mama. " Alice bit her lip, thensmiled faintly as she said:

"Anyhow, I'm not thinking about my head in that way--not this morning, I'm not. "

Mrs. Adams dropped the subject casually. "Are you going down-town?" sheinquired. 

"Yes. "

"What for?"

"Just something I want to see about. I'll tell you when I come back. Anything you want me to do?"

"No; I guess not to-day. I thought you might look for a rug, but I'drather go with you to select it. We'll have to get a new rug for yourfather's room, I expect. "

"I'm glad you think so, mama. I don't suppose he's ever even noticed it, but that old rug of his--well, really!"

"I didn't mean for him, " her mother explained, thoughtfully. "No; hedon't mind it, and he'd likely make a fuss if we changed it on hisaccount. No; what I meant--we'll have to put your father in Walter'sroom. He won't mind, I don't expect--not much. "

"No, I suppose not, " Alice agreed, rather sadly. "I heard the bellawhile ago. Was it somebody about that?"

"Yes; just before I came upstairs. Mrs. Lohr gave him a note to me, andhe was really a very pleasant-looking young man. A VERY pleasant-lookingyoung man, " Mrs. Adams repeated with increased animation and athoughtful glance at her daughter. "He's a Mr. Will Dickson; he has afirst-rate position with the gas works, Mrs. Lohr says, and he's fullyable to afford a nice room. So if you and I double up in here, thenwith that young married couple in my room, and this Mr. Dickson in yourfather's, we'll just about have things settled. I thought maybe I couldmake one more place at table, too, so that with the other people fromoutside we'd be serving eleven altogether. You see if I have to pay thiscook twelve dollars a week--it can't be helped, I guess--well, one morewould certainly help toward a profit. Of course it's a terribly worryingthing to see how we WILL come out. Don't you suppose we could squeeze inone more?"

"I suppose it COULD be managed; yes. "

Mrs. Adams brightened. "I'm sure it'll be pleasant having that youngmarried couple in the house and especially this Mr. Will Dickson. Heseemed very much of a gentleman, and anxious to get settled in goodsurroundings. I was very favourably impressed with him in every way; andhe explained to me about his name; it seems it isn't William, it's just'Will'; his parents had him christened that way. It's curious. " Shepaused, and then, with an effort to seem casual, which veiled nothingfrom her daughter: "It's QUITE curious, " she said again. "But it'srather attractive and different, don't you think?"

"Poor mama!" Alice laughed compassionately. "Poor mama!"

"He is, though, " Mrs. Adams maintained. "He's very much of a gentleman, unless I'm no judge of appearances; and it'll really be nice to have himin the house. "

"No doubt, " Alice said, as she opened her door to depart. "I don'tsuppose we'll mind having any of 'em as much as we thought we would. Good-bye. "

But her mother detained her, catching her by the arm. "Alice, you dohate it, don't you!"

"No, " the girl said, quickly. "There wasn't anything else to do. "

Mrs. Adams became emotional at once: her face cried tragedy, and hervoice misfortune. "There MIGHT have been something else to do! Oh, Alice, you gave your father bad advice when you upheld him in taking amiserable little ninety-three hundred and fifty from that old wretch! Ifyour father'd just had the gumption to hold out, they'd have had to payhim anything he asked. If he'd just had the gumption and a little manlyCOURAGE----"

"Hush!" Alice whispered, for her mother's voice grew louder. "Hush!He'll hear you, mama. "

"Could he hear me too often?" the embittered lady asked. "If he'dlistened to me at the right time, would we have to be taking in boardersand sinking DOWN in the scale at the end of our lives, instead of goingUP? You were both wrong; we didn't need to be so panicky--that was justwhat that old man wanted: to scare us and buy us out for nothing! Ifyour father'd just listened to me then, or if for once in his life he'djust been half a MAN----"

Alice put her hand over her mother's mouth. "You mustn't! He WILL hearyou!"

But from the other side of Adams's closed door his voice camequerulously. "Oh, I HEAR her, all right!"

"You see, mama?" Alice said, and, as Mrs. Adams turned away, weeping, the daughter sighed; then went in to speak to her father. 

He was in his old chair by the table, with a pillow behind his head, but the crocheted scarf and Mrs. Adams's wrapper swathed him no more;he wore a dressing-gown his wife had bought for him, and was smoking hispipe. "The old story, is it?" he said, as Alice came in. "The same, sameold story! Well, well! Has she gone?"

"Yes, papa. "

"Got your hat on, " he said. "Where you going?"

"I'm going down-town on an errand of my own. Is there anything you want, papa?"

"Yes, there is. " He smiled at her. "I wish you'd sit down a while andtalk to me unless your errand----"

"No, " she said, taking a chair near him. "I was just going down to seeabout some arrangements I was making for myself. There's no hurry. "

"What arrangements for yourself, dearie?"

"I'll tell you afterwards--after I find out something about 'em myself. "

"All right, " he said, indulgently. "Keep your secrets; keep yoursecrets. " He paused, drew musingly upon his pipe, and shook his head. "Funny--the way your mother looks at things! For the matter o' that, everything's pretty funny, I expect, if you stop to think about it. Forinstance, let her say all she likes, but we were pushed right spang tothe wall, if J. A. Lamb hadn't taken it into his head to make thatoffer for the works; and there's one of the things I been thinking aboutlately, Alice: thinking about how funny they work out. "

"What did you think about it, papa!"

"Well, I've seen it happen in other people's lives, time and time again;and now it's happened in ours. You think you're going to be pushed rightup against the wall; you can't see any way out, or any hope at all; youthink you're GONE--and then something you never counted on turns up;and, while maybe you never do get back to where you used to be, yetsomehow you kind of squirm out of being right SPANG against the wall. You keep on going--maybe you can't go much, but you do go a little. Seewhat I mean?"

"Yes. I understand, dear. "

"Yes, I'm afraid you do, " he said. "Too bad! You oughtn't to understandit at your age. It seems to me a good deal as if the Lord really meantfor the young people to have the good times, and for the old to havethe troubles; and when anybody as young as you has trouble there's a bigmistake somewhere. "

"Oh, no!" she protested. 

But he persisted whimsically in this view of divine error: "Yes, itdoes look a good deal that way. But of course we can't tell; we're nevercertain about anything--not about anything at all. Sometimes I look atit another way, though. Sometimes it looks to me as if a body's troublescame on him mainly because he hadn't had sense enough to know how not tohave any--as if his troubles were kind of like a boy's getting kept inafter school by the teacher, to give him discipline, or something orother. But, my, my! We don't learn easy!" He chuckled mournfully. "Notto learn how to live till we're about ready to die, it certainly seemsto me dang tough!"

"Then I wouldn't brood on such a notion, papa, " she said. 

"'Brood?' No!" he returned. "I just kind o' mull it over. " He chuckledagain, sighed, and then, not looking at her, he said, "That Mr. Russell--your mother tells me he hasn't been here again--not since----"

"No, " she said, quietly, as Adams paused. "He never came again. "

"Well, but maybe----"

"No, " she said. "There isn't any 'maybe. ' I told him good-bye thatnight, papa. It was before he knew about Walter--I told you. "

"Well, well, " Adams said. "Young people are entitled to their ownprivacy; I don't want to pry. " He emptied his pipe into a chipped sauceron the table beside him, laid the pipe aside, and reverted to a formertopic. "Speaking of dying----"

"Well, but we weren't!" Alice protested. 

"Yes, about not knowing how to live till you're through living--and THENmaybe not!" he said, chuckling at his own determined pessimism. "I seeI'm pretty old because I talk this way--I remember my grandmother sayingthings a good deal like all what I'm saying now; I used to hear herat it when I was a young fellow--she was a right gloomy old lady, Iremember. Well, anyhow, it reminds me: I want to get on my feet again assoon as I can; I got to look around and find something to go into. "

Alice shook her head gently. "But, papa, he told you----"

"Never mind throwing that dang doctor up at me!" Adams interrupted, peevishly. "He said I'd be good for SOME kind of light job--if I couldfind just the right thing. 'Where there wouldn't be either any physicalor mental strain, ' he said. Well, I got to find something like that. Anyway, I'll feel better if I can just get out LOOKING for it. "

"But, papa, I'm afraid you won't find it, and you'll be disappointed. "

"Well, I want to hunt around and SEE, anyhow. "

Alice patted his hand. "You must just be contented, papa. Everything'sgoing to be all right, and you mustn't get to worrying about doinganything. We own this house it's all clear--and you've taken care ofmama and me all our lives; now it's our turn. "

"No, sir!" he said, querulously. "I don't like the idea of being thelandlady's husband around a boarding-house; it goes against my gizzard. _I_ know: makes out the bills for his wife Sunday mornings--works witha screw-driver on somebody's bureau drawer sometimes--'tends the furnacemaybe--one the boarders gives him a cigar now and then. That's a FINElife to look forward to! No, sir; I don't want to finish as a landlady'shusband!"

Alice looked grave; for she knew the sketch was but too accuratelyprophetic in every probability. "But, papa, " she said, to console him, "don't you think maybe there isn't such a thing as a 'finish, ' afterall! You say perhaps we don't learn to live till we die but maybe that'show it is AFTER we die, too--just learning some more, the way we dohere, and maybe through trouble again, even after that. "

"Oh, it might be, " he sighed. "I expect so. "

"Well, then, " she said, "what's the use of talking about a 'finish?' Wedo keep looking ahead to things as if they'd finish something, but whenwe get TO them, they don't finish anything. They're just part of goingon. I'll tell you--I looked ahead all summer to something I was afraidof, and I said to myself, 'Well, if that happens, I'm finished!' But itwasn't so, papa. It did happen, and nothing's finished; I'm going on, just the same only----" She stopped and blushed. 

"Only what?" he asked. 

"Well----" She blushed more deeply, then jumped up, and, standing beforehim, caught both his hands in hers. "Well, don't you think, since we dohave to go on, we ought at least to have learned some sense about how todo it?"

He looked up at her adoringly. 

"What _I_ think, " he said, and his voice trembled;--"I think you'rethe smartest girl in the world! I wouldn't trade you for the wholekit-and-boodle of 'em!"

But as this folly of his threatened to make her tearful, she kissed himhastily, and went forth upon her errand. 

Since the night of the tragic-comic dinner she had not seen Russell, norcaught even the remotest chance glimpse of him; and it was curious thatshe should encounter him as she went upon such an errand as now engagedher. At a corner, not far from that tobacconist's shop she had just leftwhen he overtook her and walked with her for the first time, she met himto-day. He turned the corner, coming toward her, and they were face toface; whereupon that engaging face of Russell's was instantly reddened, but Alice's remained serene. 

She stopped short, though; and so did he; then she smiled brightly asshe put out her hand. 

"Why, Mr. Russell!"

"I'm so--I'm so glad to have this--this chance, " he stammered. "I'vewanted to tell you--it's just that going into a new undertaking--thisbusiness life--one doesn't get to do a great many things he'd like to. Ihope you'll let me call again some time, if I can. "

"Yes, do!" she said, cordially, and then, with a quick nod, went brisklyon. 

She breathed more rapidly, but knew that he could not have detected it, and she took some pride in herself for the way she had met this littlecrisis. But to have met it with such easy courage meant to her somethingmore reassuring than a momentary pride in the serenity she had shown. For she found that what she had resolved in her inmost heart was nowreally true: she was "through with all that!"

She walked on, but more slowly, for the tobacconist's shop was not farfrom her now--and, beyond it, that portal of doom, Frincke's BusinessCollege. Already Alice could read the begrimed gilt letters of thesign; and although they had spelled destiny never with a more painfulimminence than just then, an old habit of dramatizing herself stillprevailed with her. 

There came into her mind a whimsical comparison of her fate with thatof the heroine in a French romance she had read long ago and rememberedwell, for she had cried over it. The story ended with the heroine'staking the veil after a death blow to love; and the final scene againbecame vivid to Alice, for a moment. Again, as when she had readand wept, she seemed herself to stand among the great shadows in thecathedral nave; smelled the smoky incense on the enclosed air, and heardthe solemn pulses of the organ. She remembered how the novice's fatherknelt, trembling, beside a pillar of gray stone; how the faithless loverwatched and shivered behind the statue of a saint; how stifled sobs andoutcries were heard when the novice came to the altar; and how a shaftof light struck through the rose-window, enveloping her in an amberglow. 

It was the vision of a moment only, and for no longer than a moment didAlice tell herself that the romance provided a prettier way of takingthe veil than she had chosen, and that a faithless lover, shaking withremorse behind a saint's statue, was a greater solace than one left on astreet corner protesting that he'd like to call some time--if he could!Her pity for herself vanished more reluctantly; but she shook it off andtried to smile at it, and at her romantic recollections--at all of them. She had something important to think of. 

She passed the tobacconist's, and before her was that dark entrance tothe wooden stairway leading up to Frincke's Business College--the verydoorway she had always looked upon as the end of youth and the end ofhope. 

How often she had gone by here, hating the dreary obscurity of thatstairway; how often she had thought of this obscurity as something lyingin wait to obliterate the footsteps of any girl who should ascend intothe smoky darkness above! Never had she passed without those ominousimaginings of hers: pretty girls turning into old maids "takingdictation"--old maids of a dozen different types, yet all looking alittle like herself. 

Well, she was here at last! She looked up and down the street quickly, and then, with a little heave of the shoulders, she went bravely in, under the sign, and began to climb the wooden steps. Half-way up theshadows were heaviest, but after that the place began to seem brighter. There was an open window overhead somewhere, she found; and the steps atthe top were gay with sunshine.