BEASLEY'S CHRISTMAS PARTY

BY

BOOTH TARKINGTON

ILLUSTRATED BYRUTH SYPHERD CLEMENTS

October, 1909. 

TO

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

I

The maple-bordered street was as still as a country Sunday; so quietthat there seemed an echo to my footsteps. It was four o'clock in themorning; clear October moonlight misted through the thinning foliage tothe shadowy sidewalk and lay like a transparent silver fog upon thehouse of my admiration, as I strode along, returning from my firstnight's work on the "Wainwright Morning Despatch. "

I had already marked that house as the finest (to my taste) inWainwright, though hitherto, on my excursions to this metropolis, thestate capital, I was not without a certain native jealousy thatSpencerville, the county-seat where I lived, had nothing so good. Now, however, I approached its purlieus with a pleasure in it quiteunalloyed, for I was at last myself a resident (albeit of only one day'sstanding) of Wainwright, and the house--though I had not even an ideawho lived there--part of my possessions as a citizen. Moreover, I mightenjoy the warmer pride of a next-door-neighbor, for Mrs. Apperthwaite's, where I had taken a room, was just beyond. 

This was the quietest part of Wainwright; business stopped short of it, and the "fashionable residence section" had overleaped this "forgottenbackwater, " leaving it undisturbed and unchanging, with that look aboutit which is the quality of few urban quarters, and eventually of none, as a town grows to be a city--the look of still being a neighborhood. This friendliness of appearance was largely the emanation of the homelyand beautiful house which so greatly pleased my fancy. 

It might be difficult to say why I thought it the "finest" house inWainwright, for a simpler structure would be hard to imagine; it wasmerely a big, old-fashioned brick house, painted brown and very plain, set well away from the street among some splendid forest trees, with afair spread of flat lawn. But it gave back a great deal for your glance, just as some people do. It was a large house, as I say, yet it lookednot like a mansion but like a home; and made you wish that you lived init. Or, driving by, of an evening, you would have liked to hitch yourhorse and go in; it spoke so surely of hearty, old-fashioned peopleliving there, who would welcome you merrily. 

It looked like a house where there were a grandfather and a grandmother;where holidays were warmly kept; where there were boisterous familyreunions to which uncles and aunts, who had been born there, wouldreturn from no matter what distances; a house where big turkeys would beon the table often; where one called "the hired man" (and named eitherAbner or Ole) would crack walnuts upon a flat-iron clutched between hisknees on the back porch; it looked like a house where they playedcharades; where there would be long streamers of evergreen and dozens ofwreaths of holly at Christmas-time; where there were tearful, happyweddings and great throwings of rice after little brides, from the broadfront steps: in a word, it was the sort of a house to make the hearts ofspinsters and bachelors very lonely and wistful--and that is about asnear as I can come to my reason for thinking it the finest house inWainwright. 

The moon hung kindly above its level roof in the silence of that Octobermorning, as I checked my gait to loiter along the picket fence; butsuddenly the house showed a light of its own. The spurt of a match tookmy eye to one of the upper windows, then a steadier glow of orange toldme that a lamp was lighted. The window was opened, and a man looked outand whistled loudly. 

I stopped, thinking that he meant to attract my attention; thatsomething might be wrong; that perhaps some one was needed to go for adoctor. My mistake was immediately evident, however; I stood in theshadow of the trees bordering the sidewalk, and the man at the windowhad not seen me. 

"Boy! Boy!" he called, softly. "Where are you, Simpledoria?"

He leaned from the window, looking downward. "Why, THERE you are!" heexclaimed, and turned to address some invisible person within the room. "He's right there, underneath the window. I'll bring him up. " He leanedout again. "Wait there, Simpledoria!" he called. "I'll be down in ajiffy and let you in. "

Puzzled, I stared at the vacant lawn before me. The clear moonlightrevealed it brightly, and it was empty of any living presence; therewere no bushes nor shrubberies--nor even shadows--that could have beenmistaken for a boy, if "Simpledoria" WAS a boy. There was no dog insight; there was no cat; there was nothing beneath the window exceptthick, close-cropped grass. 

A light shone in the hallway behind the broad front doors; one of thesewas opened, and revealed in silhouette the tall, thin figure of a man ina long, old-fashioned dressing-gown. 

"Simpledoria, " he said, addressing the night air with considerableseverity, "I don't know what to make of you. You might have caught yourdeath of cold, roving out at such an hour. But there, " he continued, more indulgently; "wipe your feet on the mat and come in. You're safeNOW!"

He closed the door, and I heard him call to some one up-stairs, as herearranged the fastenings:

"Simpledoria is all right--only a little chilled. I'll bring him up toyour fire. "

I went on my way in a condition of astonishment that engendered, almost, a doubt of my eyes; for if my sight was unimpaired and myself notsubject to optical or mental delusion, neither boy nor dog nor bird norcat, nor any other object of this visible world, had entered that openeddoor. Was my "finest" house, then, a place of call for wandering ghosts, who came home to roost at four in the morning?

It was only a step to Mrs. Apperthwaite's; I let myself in with the keythat good lady had given me, stole up to my room, went to my window, andstared across the yard at the house next door. The front window in thesecond story, I decided, necessarily belonged to that room in which thelamp had been lighted; but all was dark there now. I went to bed, anddreamed that I was out at sea in a fog, having embarked on a transparentvessel whose preposterous name, inscribed upon glass life-belts, depending here and there from an invisible rail, was SIMPLEDORIA. 

II

Mrs. Apperthwaite's was a commodious old house, the greater part of itof about the same age, I judged, as its neighbor; but the late Mr. Apperthwaite had caught the Mansard fever of the late 'Seventies, andthe building-disease, once fastened upon him, had never known aconvalescence, but, rather, a series of relapses, the tokens of which, in the nature of a cupola and a couple of frame turrets, wereterrifyingly apparent. These romantic misplacements seemed to me notinharmonious with the library, a cheerful and pleasantly shabbyapartment down-stairs, where I found (over a substratum of history, encyclopaedia, and family Bible) some worn old volumes of Godey's Lady'sBook, an early edition of Cooper's works; Scott, Bulwer, Macaulay, Byron, and Tennyson, complete; some odd volumes of Victor Hugo, of theelder Dumas, of Flaubert, of Gautier, and of Balzac; Clarissa, LallaRookh, The Alhambra, Beulah, Uarda, Lucile, Uncle Tom's Cabin, Ben-Hur, Trilby, She, Little Lord Fauntleroy; and of a later decade, there werenovels about those delicately tangled emotions experienced by thesupreme few; and stories of adventurous royalty; tales of "clean-limbedyoung American manhood;" and some thin volumes of rather precious verse. 

'Twas amid these romantic scenes that I awaited the sound of thelunch-bell (which for me was the announcement of breakfast), when Iarose from my first night's slumbers under Mrs. Apperthwaite's roof; andI wondered if the books were a fair mirror of Miss Apperthwaite's mind(I had been told that Mrs. Apperthwaite had a daughter). Mrs. Apperthwaite herself, in her youth, might have sat to an illustrator ofScott or Bulwer. Even now you could see she had come as near beingromantically beautiful as was consistently proper for such a timid, gentle little gentlewoman as she was. Reduced, by her husband'sinsolvency (coincident with his demise) to "keeping boarders, " she didit gracefully, as if the urgency thereto were only a spirit of quiethospitality. It should be added in haste that she set an excellenttable. 

Moreover, the guests who gathered at her board were of a very attractivedescription, as I decided the instant my eye fell upon the lady who satopposite me at lunch. I knew at once that she was Miss Apperthwaite, she"went so, " as they say, with her mother; nothing could have been moresuitable. Mrs. Apperthwaite was the kind of woman whom you would expectto have a beautiful daughter, and Miss Apperthwaite more than fulfilledher mother's promise. 

I guessed her to be more than Juliet Capulet's age, indeed, yet stillbetween that and the perfect age of woman. She was of a larger, fuller, more striking type than Mrs. Apperthwaite, a bolder type, one might putit--though she might have been a great deal bolder than Mrs. Apperthwaite without being bold. Certainly she was handsome enough tomake it difficult for a young fellow to keep from staring at her. Shehad an abundance of very soft, dark hair, worn almost severely, as ifits profusion necessitated repression; and I am compelled to admit thather fine eyes expressed a distant contemplation--obviously of habit notof mood--so pronounced that one of her enemies (if she had any) mighthave described them as "dreamy. "

Only one other of my own sex was present at the lunch-table, a Mr. Dowden, an elderly lawyer and politician of whom I had heard, and towhom Mrs. Apperthwaite, coming in after the rest of us were seated, introduced me. She made the presentation general; and I had theexperience of receiving a nod and a slow glance, in which there was asort of dusky, estimating brilliance, from the beautiful lady oppositeme. 

It might have been better mannered for me to address myself to Mr. Dowden, or one of the very nice elderly women, who were myfellow-guests, than to open a conversation with Miss Apperthwaite; but Idid not stop to think of that. 

"You have a splendid old house next door to you here, MissApperthwaite, " I said. "It's a privilege to find it in view from mywindow. "

There was a faint stir as of some consternation in the little company. The elderly ladies stopped talking abruptly and exchanged glances, though this was not of my observation at the moment, I think, butrecurred to my consciousness later, when I had perceived my blunder. 

"May I ask who lives there?" I pursued. 

Miss Apperthwaite allowed her noticeable lashes to cover her eyes for aninstant, then looked up again. 

"A Mr. Beasley, " she said. 

"Not the Honorable David Beasley!" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, " she returned, with a certain gravity which I afterward wished hadchecked me. "Do you know him?"

"Not in person, " I explained. "You see, I've written a good deal abouthim. I was with the "Spencerville Journal" until a few days ago, andeven in the country we know who's who in politics over the state. Beasley's the man that went to Congress and never made a speech--nevermade even a motion to adjourn--but got everything his district wanted. There's talk of him now for Governor. "

"Indeed?"

"And so it's the Honorable David Beasley who lives in that splendidplace. How curious that is!"

"Why?" asked Miss Apperthwaite. 

"It seems too big for one man, " I answered; "and I've always had theimpression Mr. Beasley was a bachelor. "

"Yes, " she said, rather slowly, "he is. "

"But of course he doesn't live there all alone, " I supposed, aloud, "probably he has--"

"No. There's no one else--except a couple of colored servants. "

"What a crime!" I exclaimed. "If there ever was a house meant for alarge family, that one is. Can't you almost hear it crying out for heapsand heaps of romping children? I should think--"

I was interrupted by a loud cough from Mr. Dowden, so abrupt andartificial that his intention to check the flow of my innocent prattlewas embarrassingly obvious--even to me!

"Can you tell me, " he said, leaning forward and following up theinterruption as hastily as possible, "what the farmers were getting fortheir wheat when you left Spencerville?"

"Ninety-four cents, " I answered, and felt my ears growing red withmortification. Too late, I remembered that the new-comer in a communityshould guard his tongue among the natives until he has unravelled theskein of their relationships, alliances, feuds, and private wars--aprecept not unlike the classic injunction:

 "Yes, my darling daughter. Hang your clothes on a hickory limb, But don't go near the water. "

However, in my confusion I warmly regretted my failure to follow it, andresolved not to blunder again. 

Mr. Dowden thanked me for the information for which he had no realdesire, and, the elderly ladies again taking up (with all too evidentrelief) their various mild debates, he inquired if I played bridge. "ButI forget, " he added. "Of course you'll be at the 'Despatch' office inthe evenings, and can't be here. " After which he immediately began toquestion me about my work, making his determination to give me noopportunity again to mention the Honorable David Beasley unnecessarilyconspicuous, as I thought. 

I could only conclude that some unpleasantness had arisen betweenhimself and Beasley, probably of political origin, since they were bothin politics, and of personal (and consequently bitter) development; andthat Mr. Dowden found the mention of Beasley not only unpleasant tohimself but a possible embarrassment to the ladies (who, I supposed, were aware of the quarrel) on his account. 

After lunch, not having to report at the office immediately, I took untomyself the solace of a cigar, which kept me company during a strollabout Mrs. Apperthwaite's capacious yard. In the rear I found anold-fashioned rose-garden--the bushes long since bloomless and nowbrown with autumn--and I paced its gravelled paths up and down, at thesame time favoring Mr. Beasley's house with a covert study that wouldhave done credit to a porch-climber, for the sting of my blunder at thetable was quiescent, or at least neutralized, under the itch of acuriosity far from satisfied concerning the interesting premises nextdoor. The gentleman in the dressing-gown, I was sure, could have been noother than the Honorable David Beasley himself. He came not in eyeshotnow, neither he nor any other; there was no sign of life about theplace. That portion of his yard which lay behind the house was notwithin my vision, it is true, his property being here separated fromMrs. Apperthwaite's by a board fence higher than a tall man could reach;but there was no sound from the other side of this partition, save thatcaused by the quiet movement of rusty leaves in the breeze. 

My cigar was at half-length when the green lattice door of Mrs. Apperthwaite's back porch was opened and Miss Apperthwaite, bearing asaucer of milk, issued therefrom, followed, hastily, by a very white, fat cat, with a pink ribbon round its neck, a vibrant nose, and fixed, voracious eyes uplifted to the saucer. The lady and her cat offered toview a group as pretty as a popular painting; it was even improved when, stooping, Miss Apperthwaite set the saucer upon the ground, and, continuing in that posture, stroked the cat. To bend so far is a test ofa woman's grace, I have observed. 

She turned her face toward me and smiled. "I'm almost at the age, yousee. "

"What age?" I asked, stupidly enough. 

"When we take to cats, " she said, rising. "Spinsterhood" we like to callit. 'Single-blessedness!'"

"That is your kind heart. You decline to make one of us happy to thedespair of all the rest. "

She laughed at this, though with no very genuine mirth, I marked, andlet my 1830 attempt at gallantry pass without other retort. 

"You seemed interested in the old place yonder. " She indicated Mr. Beasley's house with a nod. 

"Oh, I understood my blunder, " I said, quickly. "I wish I had known thesubject was embarrassing or unpleasant to Mr. Dowden. "

"What made you think that?"

"Surely, " I said, "you saw how pointedly he cut me off. "

"Yes, " she returned, thoughtfully. "He rather did; it's true. At least, I see how you got that impression. " She seemed to muse upon this, letting her eyes fall; then, raising them, allowed her far-away gaze torest upon the house beyond the fence, and said, "It IS an interestingold place. "

"And Mr. Beasley himself--" I began. 

"Oh, " she said, "HE isn't interesting. That's his trouble!"

"You mean his trouble not to--"

She interrupted me, speaking with sudden, surprising energy, "I meanhe's a man of no imagination. "

"No imagination!" I exclaimed. 

"None in the world! Not one ounce of imagination! Not one grain!"

"Then who, " I cried--"or what--is Simpledoria?"

"Simple--what?" she said, plainly mystified. 

"Simpledoria. "

"Simpledoria?" she repeated, and laughed. "What in the world is that?"

"You never heard of it before?"

"Never in my life. "

"You've lived next door to Mr. Beasley a long time, haven't you?"

"All my life. "

"And I suppose you must know him pretty well. "

"What next?" she said, smiling. 

"You said he lived there all alone, " I went on, tentatively. 

"Except for an old colored couple, his servants. "

"Can you tell me--" I hesitated. "Has he ever been thought--well, 'queer'?"

"Never!" she answered, emphatically. "Never anything so exciting! Merelydeadly and hopelessly commonplace. " She picked up the saucer, nowexceedingly empty, and set it upon a shelf by the lattice door. "Whatwas it about--what was that name?--'Simpledoria'?"

"I will tell you, " I said. And I related in detail the singularperformance of which I had been a witness in the late moonlight beforethat morning's dawn. As I talked, we half unconsciously moved across thelawn together, finally seating ourselves upon a bench beyond therose-beds and near the high fence. The interest my companion exhibitedin the narration might have surprised me had my nocturnal experienceitself been less surprising. She interrupted me now and then withlittle, half-checked ejaculations of acute wonder, but sat for the mostpart with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, her faceturned eagerly to mine and her lips parted in half-breathless attention. There was nothing "far away" about her eyes now; they were widely andintently alert. 

When I finished, she shook her head slowly, as if quite dumfounded, andaltered her position, leaning against the back of the bench and gazingstraight before her without speaking. It was plain that her neighbor'sextraordinary behavior had revealed a phase of his character novelenough to be startling. 

"One explanation might be just barely possible, " I said. "If it is, itis the most remarkable case of somnambulism on record. Did you ever hearof Mr. Beasley's walking in his--"

She touched me lightly but peremptorily on the arm in warning, and Istopped. On the other side of the board fence a door opened creakily, and there sounded a loud and cheerful voice--that of the gentleman inthe dressing-gown. 

"HERE we come!" it said; "me and big Bill Hammersley. I want to showBill I can jump ANYWAYS three times as far as he can! Come on, Bill. "

"Is that Mr. Beasley's voice?" I asked, under my breath. 

Miss Apperthwaite nodded in affirmation. 

"Could he have heard me?"

"No, " she whispered. "He's just come out of the house. " And then toherself, "Who under heaven is Bill Hammersley? I never heard of HIM!"

"Of course, Bill, " said the voice beyond the fence, "if you're afraidI'll beat you TOO badly, you've still got time to back out. I didunderstand you to kind of hint that you were considerable of a jumper, but if--What? What'd you say, Bill?" There ensued a moment's completesilence. "Oh, all right, " the voice then continued. "You say you're inthis to win, do you? Well, so'm I, Bill Hammersley; so'm I. Who'll gofirst? Me? All right--from the edge of the walk here. Now then!One--two--three! HA!"

A sound came to our ears of some one landing heavily--and at fulllength, it seemed--on the turf, followed by a slight, rusty groan in thesame voice. "Ugh! Don't you laugh, Bill Hammersley! I haven't jumped asmuch as I OUGHT to, these last twenty years; I reckon I've kind of lostthe hang of it. Aha!" There were indications that Mr. Beasley waspicking himself up, and brushing his trousers with his hands. "Now, it'syour turn, Bill. What say?" Silence again, followed by, "Yes, I'll makeSimpledoria get out of the way. Come here, Simpledoria. Now, Bill, putyour heels together on the edge of the walk. That's right. All ready?Now then! One for the money--two for the show--three to make ready--andfour for to GO!" Another silence. "By jingo, Bill Hammersley, you'vebeat me! Ha, ha! That WAS a jump! What say?" Silence once more. "You sayyou can do even better than that? Now, Bill, don't brag. Oh! you sayyou've often jumped farther? Oh! you say that was up in Scotland, whereyou had a spring-board? Oho! All right; let's see how far you can jumpwhen you really try. There! Heels on the walk again. That's right; swingyour arms. One--two--three! THERE you go!" Another silence. "ZING! Well, sir, I'll be e-tarnally snitched to flinders if you didn't do it THATtime, Bill Hammersley! I see I never really saw any jumping before inall my born days. It's eleven feet if it's an inch. What? You say you--"

I heard no more, for Miss Apperthwaite, her face flushed and her eyesshining, beckoned me imperiously to follow her, and departed sohurriedly that it might be said she ran. 

"I don't know, " said I, keeping at her elbow, "whether it's more likeAlice or the interlocutor's conversation at a minstrel show. "

"Hush!" she warned me, though we were already at a safe distance, anddid not speak again until we had reached the front walk. There shepaused, and I noted that she was trembling--and, no doubt correctly, judged her emotion to be that of consternation. 

"There was no one THERE!" she exclaimed. "He was all by himself! It wasjust the same as what you saw last night!"

"Evidently. "

"Did it sound to you"--there was a little awed tremor in her voice thatI found very appealing--"did it sound to you like a person who'd losthis MIND?"

"I don't know, " I said. "I don't know at all what to make of it. "

"He couldn't have been"--her eyes grew very wide--"intoxicated!"

"No. I'm sure it wasn't that. "

"Then _I_ don't know what to make of it, either. All that wild talkabout 'Bill Hammersley' and 'Simpledoria' and spring-boards in Scotlandand--"

"And an eleven-foot jump, " I suggested. 

"Why, there's no more a 'Bill Hammersley, '" she cried, with a gesture ofexcited emphasis, "than there is a 'Simpledoria'!"

"So it appears, " I agreed. 

"He's lived there all alone, " she said, solemnly, "in that big house, solong, just sitting there evening after evening all by himself, nevergoing out, never reading anything, not even thinking; but just sittingand sitting and sitting and SITTING--Well, " she broke off, suddenly, shook the frown from her forehead, and made me the offer of a dazzlingsmile, "there's no use bothering one's own head about it. "

"I'm glad to have a fellow-witness, " I said. "It's so eerie I might haveconcluded there was something the matter with ME. "

"You're going to your work?" she asked, as I turned toward the gate. "I'm very glad I don't have to go to mine. "

"Yours?" I inquired, rather blankly. 

"I teach algebra and plain geometry at the High School, " said thissurprising young woman. "Thank Heaven, it's Saturday! I'm reading LesMiserables for the seventh time, and I'm going to have a real ORGY overGervaise and the barricade this afternoon!"

III

I do not know why it should have astonished me to find that MissApperthwaite was a teacher of mathematics except that (to myinexperienced eye) she didn't look it. She looked more like CharlotteCorday!

I had the pleasure of seeing her opposite me at lunch the next day (whenMr. Dowden kept me occupied with Spencerville politics, obviously fromfear that I would break out again), but no stroll in the yard with herrewarded me afterward, as I dimly hoped, for she disappeared before Ileft the table, and I did not see her again for a fortnight. Onweek-days she did not return to the house for lunch, my only meal atMrs. Apperthwaite's (I dined at a restaurant near the "Despatch"office), and she was out of town for a little visit, her mother informedus, over the following Saturday and Sunday. She was not altogether outof my thoughts, however--indeed, she almost divided them with theHonorable David Beasley. 

A better view which I was afforded of this gentleman did not lessen myinterest in him; increased it rather; it also served to make theextraordinary didoes of which he had been the virtuoso and I theaudience more than ever profoundly inexplicable. My glimpse of him inthe lighted doorway had given me the vaguest impression of hisappearance, but one afternoon--a few days after my interview with MissApperthwaite--I was starting for the office and met him full-face-on ashe was turning in at his gate. I took as careful invoice of him as Icould without conspicuously glaring. 

There was something remarkably "taking, " as we say, about thisman--something easy and genial and quizzical and careless. He was thekind of person you LIKE to meet on the street; whose cheerful passingsends you on feeling indefinably a little gayer than you did. He wastall, thin--even gaunt, perhaps--and his face was long, rather pale, andshrewd and gentle; something in its oddity not unremindful of the lateSol Smith Russell. His hat was tilted back a little, the slightest bitto one side, and the sparse, brownish hair above his high forehead wasgoing to be gray before long. He looked about forty. 

The truth is, I had expected to see a cousin german to Don Quixote; Ihad thought to detect signs and gleams of wildness, howeverslight--something a little "off. " One glance of that kindly and humorouseye told me such expectation had been nonsense. Odd he might havebeen--Gadzooks! he looked it--but "queer"? Never. The fact that MissApperthwaite could picture such a man as this "sitting and sitting andsitting" himself into any form of mania or madness whatever spoke loudlyof her own imagination, indeed! The key to "Simpledoria" was to besought under some other mat. 

. .. As I began to know some of my co-laborers on the "Despatch, " and topick up acquaintances, here and there, about town, I sometimes made Mr. Beasley the subject of inquiry. Everybody knew him. "Oh yes, I know DaveBEASLEY!" would come the reply, nearly always with a chuckling sort oflaugh. I gathered that he had a name for "easy-going" which amounted toeccentricity. It was said that what the ward-heelers and camp-followersgot out of him in campaign times made the political managers cry. He wasthe first and readiest prey for every fraud and swindler that came toWainwright, I heard, and yet, in spite of this and of his hatred of"speech-making" ("He's as silent as Grant!" said one informant), he hada large practice, and was one of the most successful lawyers in thestate. 

One story they told of him (or, as they were more apt to put it, "on"him) was repeated so often that I saw it had become one of the town'straditions. One bitter evening in February, they related, he wasapproached upon the street by a ragged, whining, and shivering oldreprobate, notorious for the various ingenuities by which he had wornout the patience of the charity organizations. He asked Beasley for adime. Beasley had no money in his pockets, but gave the man hisovercoat, went home without any himself, and spent six weeks in bed witha bad case of pneumonia as the direct result. His beneficiary sold theovercoat, and invested the proceeds in a five-day's spree, in theclosing scenes of which a couple of brickbats were featured to high, spectacular effect. One he sent through a jeweller's show-window in anattempt to intimidate some wholly imaginary pursuers, the other heprojected at a perfectly actual policeman who was endeavoring to soothehim. The victim of Beasley's charity and the officer were then borne tothe hospital in company. 

It was due in part to recollections of this legend and others of asimilar character that people laughed when they said, "Oh yes, I knowDave BEASLEY!"

Altogether, I should say, Beasley was about the most popular man inWainwright. I could discover nowhere anything, however, to shed thefaintest light upon the mystery of Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria. Itwas not until the Sunday of Miss Apperthwaite's absence that therevelation came. 

That afternoon I went to call upon the widow of a second-cousin of mine;she lived in a cottage not far from Mrs. Apperthwaite's, upon the samestreet. I found her sitting on a pleasant veranda, with boxes offlowering plants along the railing, though Indian summer was now closeupon departure. She was rocking meditatively, and held a finger in amorocco volume, apparently of verse, though I suspected she had beenbetter entertained in the observation of the people and vehiclesdecorously passing along the sunlit thoroughfare within her view. 

We exchanged inevitable questions and news of mutual relatives; I hadtold her how I liked my work and what I thought of Wainwright, and shewas congratulating me upon having found so pleasant a place to live asMrs. Apperthwaite's, when she interrupted herself to smile and nod acordial greeting to two gentlemen driving by in a phaeton. They wavedtheir hats to her gayly, then leaned back comfortably against thecushions--and if ever two men were obviously and incontestably on thebest of terms with each other, THESE two were. They were David Beasleyand Mr. Dowden. "I do wish, " said my cousin, resuming her rocking--"Ido wish dear David Beasley would get a new trap of some kind; that oldphaeton of his is a disgrace! I suppose you haven't met him? Of course, living at Mrs. Apperthwaite's, you wouldn't be apt to. "

"But what is he doing with Mr. Dowden?" I asked. 

She lifted her eyebrows. "Why--taking him for a drive, I suppose. "

"No. I mean--how do they happen to be together?"

"Why shouldn't they be? They're old friends--"

"They ARE!" And, in answer to her look of surprise, I explained that Ihad begun to speak of Beasley at Mrs. Apperthwaite's, and described theabruptness with which Dowden had changed the subject. 

"I see, " my cousin nodded, comprehendingly. "That's simple enough. George Dowden didn't want you to talk of Beasley THERE. I suppose it mayhave been a little embarrassing for everybody--especially if AnnApperthwaite heard you. "

"Ann? That's Miss Apperthwaite? Yes; I was speaking directly to her. WhySHOULDN'T she have heard me? She talked of him herself a littlelater--and at some length, too. "

"She DID!" My cousin stopped rocking, and fixed me with her glitteringeye. "Well, of all!"

"Is it so surprising?"

The lady gave her boat to the waves again. "Ann Apperthwaite thinksabout him still!" she said, with something like vindictiveness. "I'vealways suspected it. She thought you were new to the place and didn'tknow anything about it all, or anybody to mention it to. That's it!"

"I'm still new to the place, " I urged, "and still don't know anythingabout it all. "

"They used to be engaged, " was her succinct and emphatic answer. 

I found it but too illuminating. "Oh, oh!" I cried. "I WAS an innocent, wasn't I?"

"I'm glad she DOES think of him, " said my cousin. "It serves her right. I only hope HE won't find it out, because he's a poor, faithfulcreature; he'd jump at the chance to take her back--and she doesn'tdeserve him. "

"How long has it been, " I asked, "since they used to be engaged?"

"Oh, a good while--five or six years ago, I think--maybe more; timeskips along. Ann Apperthwaite's no chicken, you know. " (Such was thelady's expression. ) "They got engaged just after she came home fromcollege, and of all the idiotically romantic girls--"

"But she's a teacher, " I interrupted, "of mathematics. "

"Yes. " She nodded wisely. "I always thought that explained it: theromance is a reaction from the algebra. I never knew a person connectedwith mathematics or astronomy or statistics, or any of those exactthings, who didn't have a crazy streak in 'em SOMEwhere. They've got toblow off steam and be foolish to make up for putting in so much of theirtime at hard sense. But don't you think that I dislike Ann Apperthwaite. She's always been one of my best friends; that's why I feel at libertyto abuse her--and I always will abuse her when I think how she treatedpoor David Beasley. "

"How did she treat him?"

"Threw him over out of a clear sky one night, that's all. Just sent himhome and broke his heart; that is, it would have been broken if he'd hadany kind of disposition except the one the Lord blessed him with--justall optimism and cheerfulness and make-the-best-of-it-ness! He's nevercared for anybody else, and I guess he never will. "

"What did she do it for?"

"NOTHING!" My cousin shot the indignant word from her lips. "Nothing inthe wide WORLD!"

"But there must have been--"

"Listen to me, " she interrupted, "and tell me if you ever heard anythingqueerer in your life. They'd been engaged--Heaven knows how long--overtwo years; probably nearer three--and always she kept putting it off;wouldn't begin to get ready, wouldn't set a day for the wedding. ThenMr. Apperthwaite died, and left her and her mother stranded high and drywith nothing to live on. David had everything in the world to giveher--and STILL she wouldn't! And then, one day, she came up here andtold me she'd broken it off. Said she couldn't stand it to be engaged toDavid Beasley another minute!"

"But why?"

"Because"--my cousin's tone was shrill with her despair of expressingthe satire she would have put into it--"because, she said he was a manof no imagination!"

"She still says so, " I remarked, thoughtfully. 

"Then it's time she got a little imagination herself!" snapped mycompanion. "David Beasley's the quietest man God has made, but everybodyknows what he IS! There are some rare people in this world that aren'tall TALK; there are some still rarer ones that scarcely ever talk atall--and David Beasley's one of them. I don't know whether it's becausehe can't talk, or if he can and hates to; I only know he doesn't. AndI'm glad of it, and thank the Lord he's put a few like that into thistalky world! David Beasley's smile is better than acres of otherpeople's talk. My Providence! Wouldn't anybody, just to look at him, know that he does better than talk? He THINKS! The trouble with AnnApperthwaite was that she was too young to see it. She was so full ofnovels and poetry and dreaminess and highfalutin nonsense she couldn'tsee ANYTHING as it really was. She'd study her mirror, and see such aheroine of romance there that she just couldn't bear to have a fiancewho hadn't any chance of turning out to be the crown-prince of Kenoshain disguise! At the very least, to suit HER he'd have had to wear a'well-trimmed Vandyke' and coo sonnets in the gloaming, or read On aBalcony to her by a red lamp. 

"Poor David! Outside of his law-books, I don't believe he's ever readanything but Robinson Crusoe and the Bible and Mark Twain. Oh, youshould have heard her talk about it!--'I couldn't bear it another day, 'she said, 'I couldn't STAND it! In all the time I've known him I don'tbelieve he's ever asked me a single question--except when he asked ifI'd marry him. He never says ANYTHING--never speaks at ALL!' she said. 'You don't know a blessing when you see it, ' I told her. 'Blessing!' shesaid. 'There's nothing IN the man! He has no DEPTHS! He hasn't any moreimagination than the chair he sits and sits and sits in! Half the timehe answers what I say to him by nodding and saying 'um-hum, ' with thatsame old foolish, contented smile of his. I'd have gone MAD if it hadlasted any longer!' I asked her if she thought married life consistedvery largely of conversations between husband and wife; and she answeredthat even married life ought to have some POETRY in it. 'Some romance, 'she said, 'some soul! And he just comes and sits, ' she said, 'and sitsand sits and sits and sits! And I can't bear it any longer, and I'vetold him so. '"

"Poor Mr. Beasley, " I said. 

"_I_ think, 'Poor Ann Apperthwaite!'" retorted my cousin. "I'd like toknow if there's anything NICER than just to sit and sit and sit and sitwith as lovely a man as that--a man who understands things, and thinksand listens and smiles--instead of everlastingly talking!"

"As it happens, " I remarked, "I've heard Mr. Beasley talk. "

"Why, of course he talks, " she returned, "when there's any real use init. And he talks to children; he's THAT kind of man. "

"I meant a particular instance, " I began; meaning to see if she couldgive me any clew to Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria, but at that momentthe gate clicked under the hand of another caller. My cousin rose togreet him; and presently I took my leave without having been able to getback upon the subject of Beasley. 

Thus, once more baffled, I returned to Mrs. Apperthwaite's--and withinthe hour came into full possession of the very heart of that dark andsubtle mystery which overhung the house next door and so perplexed mysoul. 

IV

Finding that I had still some leisure before me, I got a book from myroom and repaired to the bench in the garden. But I did not read; I hadbut opened the book when my attention was arrested by sounds from theother side of the high fence--low and tremulous croonings of distinctlyAfrican derivation:

 "Ah met mah sistuh in a-mawnin', She 'uz a-waggin' up de hill SO slow! 'Sistuh, you mus' git a rastle in doo time, B'fo de hevumly do's cloze--iz!'"

It was the voice of an aged negro; and the simultaneous slight creakingof a small hub and axle seemed to indicate that he was pushing orpulling a child's wagon or perambulator up and down the walk from thekitchen door to the stable. Whiles, he proffered soothing music: overand over he repeated the chant, though with variations; encountering inturn his brother, his daughter, each of his parents, his uncle, hiscousin, and his second-cousin, one after the other ascending the sameslope with the same perilous leisure. 

"Lay still, honey. " He interrupted his injunctions to the second-cousin. "Des keep on a-nappin' an' a-breavin' de f'esh air. Dass wha's go' mekyou good an' well agin. "

Then there spoke the strangest voice that ever fell upon my ear; it wasnot like a child's, neither was it like a very old person's voice; itmight have been a grasshopper's, it was so thin and little, and made ofsuch tiny wavers and quavers and creakings. 

"I--want--" said this elfin voice, "I--want--Bill--Hammersley!"

The shabby phaeton which had passed my cousin's house was drawing up tothe curb near Beasley's gate. Evidently the old negro saw it. 

"Hi dar!" he exclaimed. "Look at dat! Hain' Bill a comin' yonnah desedzacly on de dot an' to de vey spot an' instink when you 'quiah fo''im, honey? Dar come Mist' Dave, right on de minute, an' you kin bet yo'las hunnud dollahs he got dat Bill Hammersley wif 'im! Come along, honey-chile! Ah's go' to pull you 'roun in de side yod fo' to meet 'em. "

The small wagon creaked away, the chant resuming as it went. 

Mr. Dowden jumped out of the phaeton with a wave of his hand to thedriver, Beasley himself, who clucked to the horse and drove through hisopen carriage-gates and down the drive on the other side of the house, where he was lost to my view. 

Dowden, entering our own gate, nodded in a friendly fashion to me, and Iadvanced to meet him. 

"Some day I want to take you over next door, " he said, cordially, as Icame up. "You ought to know Beasley, especially as I hear you're doingsome political reporting. Dave Beasley's going to be the next governorof this state, you know. " He laughed, offered me a cigar, and we satdown together on the front steps. 

"From all I hear, " I rejoined, "YOU ought to know who'll get it. " (Itwas said in town that Dowden would "come pretty near having thenomination in his pocket. ")

"I expect you thought I shifted the subject pretty briskly the otherday?" He glanced at me quizzically from under the brim of his black felthat. "I meant to tell you about that, but the opportunity didn't occur. You see--"

"I understand, " I interrupted. "I've heard the story. You thought itmight be embarrassing to Miss Apperthwaite. "

"I expect I was pretty clumsy about it, " said Dowden, cheerfully. "Well, well--" he flicked his cigar with a smothered ejaculation that was halfa sigh and half a laugh; "it's a mighty strange case. Here they keep onliving next door to each other, year after year, each going on alonewhen they might just as well--" He left the sentence unfinished, savefor a vocal click of compassion. "They bow when they happen to meet, butthey haven't exchanged a word since the night she sent him away, longago. " He shook his head, then his countenance cleared and he chuckled. "Well, sir, Dave's got something at home to keep him busy enough, thesedays, I expect!"

"Do you mind telling me?" I inquired. "Is its name 'Simpledoria'?"

Mr. Dowden threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Lord, no! What onearth made you think that?"

I told him. It was my second success with this narrative; however, therewas a difference: my former auditor listened with flushed and breathlessexcitement, whereas the present one laughed consumedly throughout. Especially he laughed with a great laughter at the picture of Beasley'scoming down at four in the morning to open the door for nothing on seaor land or in the waters under the earth. I gave account, also, of themiraculous jumping contest (though I did not mention Miss Apperthwaite'shaving been with me), and of the elfin voice I had just now overhearddemanding "Bill Hammersley. "

"So I expect you must have decided, " he chuckled, when I concluded, "that David Beasley has gone just plain, plum insane. "

"Not a bit of it. Nobody could look at him and not know better thanthat. "

"You're right THERE!" said Dowden, heartily. "And now I'll tell you allthere is TO it. You see, Dave grew up with a cousin of his namedHamilton Swift; they were boys together; went to the same school, andthen to college. I don't believe there was ever a high word spokenbetween them. Nobody in this life ever got a quarrel out of DaveBeasley, and Hamilton Swift was a mighty good sort of a fellow, too. Hewent East to live, after they got out of college, yet they alwaysmanaged to get together once a year, generally about Christmas-time; youcouldn't pass them on the street without hearing their laughter ringingout louder than the sleigh-bells, maybe over some old joke between them, or some fool thing they did, perhaps, when they were boys. But finallyHamilton Swift's business took him over to the other side of the waterto live; and he married an English girl, an orphan without any kin. Thatwas about seven years ago. Well, sir, this last summer he and his wifewere taking a trip down in Switzerland, and they were bothdrowned--tipped over out of a rowboat in Lake Lucerne--and word camethat Hamilton Swift's will appointed Dave guardian of the one child theyhad, a little boy--Hamilton Swift, Junior's his name. He was sent acrossthe ocean in charge of a doctor, and Dave went on to New York to meethim. He brought him home here the very day before you passed the houseand saw poor Dave getting up at four in the morning to let that ghostin. And a mighty funny ghost Simpledoria is!"

"I begin to understand, " I said, "and to feel pretty silly, too. "

"Not at all, " he rejoined, heartily. "That little chap's freaks wouldmystify anybody, especially with Dave humoring 'em the ridiculous way hedoes. Hamilton Swift, Junior, is the curiousest child I ever saw--andthe good Lord knows He made all children powerful mysterious! This poorlittle cuss has a complication of infirmities that have kept him on hisback most of his life, never knowing other children, never playing, oranything; and he's got ideas and ways that I never saw the beat of! Hewas born sick, as I understand it--his bones and nerves and insides areall wrong, somehow--but it's supposed he gets a little better from yearto year. He wears a pretty elaborate set of braces, and he's subject toattacks, too--I don't know the name for 'em--and loses what little voicehe has sometimes, all but a whisper. He had one, I know, the day afterBeasley brought him home, and that was probably the reason you thoughtDave was carrying on all to himself about that jumping-match out in theback-yard. The boy must have been lying there in the little wagon theyhave for him, while Dave cut up shines with 'Bill Hammersley. ' Ofcourse, most children have make-believe friends and companions, especially if they haven't any brothers or sisters, but this lonelylittle feller's got HIS people worked out in his mind and materializedbeyond any I ever heard of. Dave got well acquainted with 'em on thetrain on the way home, and they certainly are giving him a lively time. Ho, ho! Getting him up at four in the morning--"

Mr. Dowden's mirth overcame him for a moment; when he had mastered it, he continued: "Simpledoria--now where do you suppose he got thatname?--well, anyway, Simpledoria is supposed to be Hamilton Swift, Junior's St. Bernard dog. Beasley had to BATHE him the other day, hetold me! And Bill Hammersley is supposed to be a boy of Hamilton Swift, Junior's own age, but very big and strong; he has rosy cheeks, and hecan do more in athletics than a whole college track-team. That's thereason he outjumped Dave so far, you see. "

V

Miss Apperthwaite was at home the following Saturday. I found her in thelibrary with Les Miserables on her knee when I came down from my room alittle before lunch-time; and she looked up and gave me a smile thatmade me feel sorry for any one she had ceased to smile upon. 

"I wanted to tell you, " I said, with a little awkwardness but plenty oftruth, "I've found out that I'm an awful fool. "

"But that's something, " she returned, encouragingly--"at least thebeginning of wisdom. "

"I mean about Mr. Beasley--the mystery I was absurd enough to find in'Simpledoria. ' I want to tell you--"

"Oh, _I_ know, " she said; and although she laughed with an effect ofcarelessness, that look which I had thought "far away" returned to hereyes as she spoke. There was a certain inscrutability about MissApperthwaite sometimes, it should be added, as if she did not like to betoo easily read. "I've heard all about it. Mr. Beasley's been appointedtrustee or something for poor Hamilton Swift's son, a pitiful littleinvalid boy who invents all sorts of characters. The old darky from overthere told our cook about Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria. So, you see, I understand. "

"I'm glad you do, " I said. 

A little hardness--one might even have thought it bitterness--becameapparent in her expression. "And I'm glad there's SOMEbody in thathouse, at last, with a little imagination!"

"From everything I have heard, " I returned, summoning sufficientboldness, "it would be difficult to say which has more--Mr. Beasley orthe child. "

Her glance fell from mine at this, but not quickly enough to conceal asudden, half-startled look of trouble (I can think of no other way toexpress it) that leaped into it; and she rose, for the lunch-bell wasringing. 

"I'm just finishing the death of Jean Valjean, you know, in LesMiserables, " she said, as we moved to the door. "I'm always afraid I'llcry over that. I try not to, because it makes my eyes red. "

And, in truth, there was a vague rumor of tears about her eyes--not asif she had shed them, but more as if she were going to--though I had notnoticed it when I came in. 

. .. That afternoon, when I reached the "Despatch" office, I wascommissioned to obtain certain political information from the HonorableDavid Beasley, an assignment I accepted with eagerness, notwithstandingthe commiseration it brought me from one or two of my fellows in thereporter's room. "You won't get anything out of HIM!" they said. Andthey were true prophets. 

I found him looking over some documents in his office; a reflective, unlighted cigar in the corner of his mouth; his chair tilted back andhis feet on a window-sill. He nodded, upon my statement of the affairthat brought me, and, without shifting his position, gave me a look ofslow but wholly friendly scrutiny over his shoulder, and bade me sitdown. I began at once to put the questions I was told to askhim--interrogations (he seemed to believe) satisfactorily answered byslowly and ruminatively stroking the left side of his chin with two longfingers of his right hand, the while he smiled in genial contemplationof a tarred roof beyond the window. Now and then he would give me a mildand drawling word or two, not brilliantly illuminative, it may beremarked. "Well--about that--" he began once, and came immediately to afull stop. 

"Yes?" I said, hopefully, my pencil poised. 

"About that--I guess--"

"Yes, Mr. Beasley?" I encouraged him, for he seemed to have dried uppermanently. 

"Well, sir--I guess--Hadn't you better see some one else about THAT?"

This with the air of a man who would be but too fluent and copious uponany subject in the world except the one particular point. 

I never met anybody else who looked so pleasantly communicative andmanaged to say so little. In fact, he didn't say anything at all; and Iguessed that this faculty was not without its value in his politicalcareer, disastrous as it had proved to his private happiness. His habitof silence, moreover, was not cultivated: you could see that "the secretof it" was just that he was BORN quiet. 

My note-book remained noteless, and finally, at some odd evasion of his, accomplished by a monosyllable, I laughed outright--and he did, too! Hejoined cachinnations with me heartily, and with a twinklingquizzicalness that somehow gave me the idea that he might be thinking(rather apologetically) to himself: "Yes, sir, that old Beasley man iscertainly a mighty funny critter!"

When I went away, a few moments later, and left him still intermittentlychuckling, the impression remained with me that he had had some suchdeprecatory and surreptitious thought. 

Two or three days after that, as I started down-town from Mrs. Apperthwaite's, Beasley came out of his gate, bound in the samedirection. He gave me a look of gay recognition and offered his hand, saying, "WELL! Up in THIS neighborhood!" as if that were a matter ofconsiderable astonishment. 

I mentioned that I was a neighbor, and we walked on together. I don'tthink he spoke again, except for a "Well, sir!" or two of genialsurprise at something I said, and, now and then, "You don't tell me!"which he had a most eloquent way of exclaiming; but he listened visiblyto my own talk, and laughed at everything that I meant for funny. 

I never knew anybody who gave one a greater responsiveness; he seemed tobe WITH you every instant; and HOW he made you feel it was the truemystery of Beasley, this silent man who never talked, except (as mycousin said) to children. 

It happened that I thus met him, as we were both starting down-town, andwalked on with him, several days in succession; in a word, it became ahabit. Then, one afternoon, as I turned to leave him at the "Despatch"office, he asked me if I wouldn't drop in at his house the next day fora cigar before we started. I did; and he asked me if I wouldn't comeagain the day after that. So this became a habit, too. 

A fortnight elapsed before I met Hamilton Swift, Junior; for he, poorlittle father of dream-children, could be no spectator of track eventsupon the lawn, but lay in his bed up-stairs. However, he grew better atlast, and my presentation took place. 

We had just finished our cigars in Beasley's airy, old-fashioned"sitting-room, " and were rising to go, when there came the faintcreaking of small wheels from the hall. Beasley turned to me with theapologetic and monosyllabic chuckle that was distinctly his alone. 

"I've got a little chap here--" he said; then went to the door. "Bob!"

The old darky appeared in the doorway pushing a little wagon like areclining-chair on wheels, and in it sat Hamilton Swift, Junior. 

My first impression of him was that he was all eyes: I couldn't look atanything else for a time, and was hardly conscious of the rest of thatweazened, peaked little face and the under-sized wisp of a body with itspathetic adjuncts of metal and leather. I think they were the brightesteyes I ever saw--as keen and intelligent as a wicked old woman's, withalas trustful and cheery as the eyes of a setter pup. 

"HOO-ray!"

Thus the Honorable Mr. Beasley, waving a handkerchief thrice around hishead and thrice cheering. 

And the child, in that cricket's voice of his, replied:

"Br-r-ra-vo!"

This was the form of salutation familiarly in use between them. Beasleyfollowed it by inquiring, "Who's with us to-day?"

"I'm MISTER Swift, " chirped the little fellow. "MIS-TER Swift, if youplease, Cousin David Beasley. "

Beasley executed a formal bow. "There is a gentleman here who'd like tomeet you. " And he presented me with some grave phrases commendatory ofmy general character, addressing the child as "Mister Swift"; whereuponMister Swift gave me a ghostly little hand and professed himself glad tomeet me. 

"And besides me, " he added, to Beasley, "there's Bill Hammersley and Mr. Corley Linbridge. "

A faint perplexity manifested itself upon Beasley's face at this, ashadow which cleared at once when I asked if I might not be permitted tomeet these personages, remarking that I had heard from Dowden of BillHammersley, though until now a stranger to the fame of Mr. CorleyLinbridge. 

Beasley performed the ceremony with intentional elegance, while theboy's great eyes swept glowingly from his cousin's face to mine and backagain. I bowed and shook hands with the air, once to my left and once tomy right. "And Simpledoria!" cried Mister Swift. "You'll enjoySimpledoria. "

"Above all things, " I said. "Can he shake hands? Some dogs can. "

"Watch him!"

Mister Swift lifted a commanding finger. "Simpledoria, shake hands!"

I knelt beside the wagon and shook an imaginary big paw. At this MisterSwift again shook hands with me and allowed me to perceive, in hisluminous regard, a solemn commendation and approval. 

In this wise was my initiation into the beautiful old house and thecordiality of its inmates completed; and I became a familiar of DavidBeasley and his ward, with the privilege to go and come as I pleased;there was always gay and friendly welcome. I always came for the cigarafter lunch, sometimes for lunch itself; sometimes I dined there insteadof down-town; and now and then when it happened that an errand orassignment took me that way in the afternoon, I would run in and "visit"awhile with Hamilton Swift, Junior, and his circle of friends. 

There were days, of course, when his attacks were upon him, and onlyBeasley and the doctor and old Bob saw him; I do not know what the boy'smental condition was at such times; but when he was better, and could bewheeled about the house and again receive callers, he displayed analmost dismaying activity of mind--it was active enough, certainly, tokeep far ahead of my own. And he was masterful: still, Beasley andDowden and I were never directly chidden for insubordination, thoughmade to wince painfully by the look of troubled surprise that met uswhen we were not quick enough to catch his meaning. 

The order of the day with him always began with the "HOO-ray" and"BR-R-RA-vo" of greeting; after which we were to inquire, "Who's with usto-day?" Whereupon he would make known the character in which he electedto be received for the occasion. If he announced himself as "MisterSwift, " everything was to be very grown-up and decorous indeed. Formalities and distances were observed; and Mr. Corley Linbridge (anelderly personage of great dignity and distinction as amountain-climber) was much oftener included in the conversation thanBill Hammersley. If, however, he declared himself to be "Hamilton Swift, Junior, " which was his happiest mood, Bill Hammersley and Simpledoriawere in the ascendant, and there were games and contests. (Dowden, Beasley, and I all slid down the banisters on one of the Hamilton Swift, Junior, days, at which really picturesque spectacle the boy almost criedwith laughter--and old Bob and his wife, who came running from thekitchen, DID cry. ) He had a third appellation for himself--"Just littleHamilton"; but this was only when the creaky voice could hardly chirp atall and the weazened face was drawn to one side with suffering. When hetold us he was "Just little Hamilton" we were very quiet. 

Once, for ten days, his Invisibles all went away on a visit: HamiltonSwift, Junior, had become interested in bears. While this lasted, all ofBeasley's trousers were, as Dowden said, "a sight. " For that matter, Dowden himself was quite hoarse in court from growling so much. Thebears were dismissed abruptly: Bill Hammersley and Mr. Corley Linbridgeand Simpledoria came trooping back, and with them they brought thatwonderful family, the Hunchbergs. 

Beasley had just opened the front door, returning at noon from hisoffice, when Hamilton Swift, Junior's voice came piping from thelibrary, where he was reclining in his wagon by the window. 

"Cousin David Beasley! Cousin David, come a-running!" he cried. "Comea-running! The Hunchbergs are here!"

Of course Cousin David Beasley came a-running, and was immediatelyintroduced to the whole Hunchberg family, a ceremony which old Bob, whowas with the boy, had previously undergone with courtly grace. 

"They like Bob, " explained Hamilton. "Don't you, Mr. Hunchberg? Yes, hesays they do extremely!" (He used such words as "extremely" often;indeed, as Dowden said, he talked "like a child in a book, " which wasdue, I dare say, to his English mother. ) "And I'm sure, " the boy wenton, "that all the family will admire Cousin David. Yes, Mr. Hunchbergsays, he thinks they will. "

And then (as Bob told me) he went almost out of his head with joy whenBeasley offered Mr. Hunchberg a cigar and struck a match for him tolight it. 

"But WHAR, " exclaimed the old darky, "whar in de name o' de good Gawd dode chile git dem NAMES? Hit lak to SKEER me!"

That was a subject often debated between Dowden and me: there wasnothing in Wainwright that could have suggested them, and it did notseem probable he could have remembered them from over the water. In myopinion they were the inventions of that busy and lonely little brain. 

I met the Hunchberg family, myself, the day after their arrival, andBeasley, by that time, had become so well acquainted with them that hecould remember all their names, and helped in the introductions. Therewas Mr. Hunchberg--evidently the child's favorite, for he was describedas the possessor of every engaging virtue--and there was that livelymatron, Mrs. Hunchberg; there were the Hunchberg young gentlemen, Tom, Noble, and Grandee; and the young ladies, Miss Queen, Miss Marble, andMiss Molanna--all exceedingly gay and pretty. There was also ColonelHunchberg, an uncle; finally there was Aunt Cooley Hunchberg, a somewhatdecrepit but very amiable old lady. Mr. Corley Linbridge happened to becalling at the same time; and, as it appeared to be Beasley's duty tokeep the conversation going and constantly to include all of the partyin its general flow, it struck me that he had truly (as Dowden said)"enough to keep him busy. "

The Hunchbergs had lately moved to Wainwright from Constantinople, Ilearned; they had decided not to live in town, however, having purchaseda fine farm out in the country, and, on account of the distance, wereable to call at Beasley's only about eight times a day, and seldom morethan twice in the evening. Whenever a mystic telephone announced thatthey were on the way, the child would have himself wheeled to a window;and when they came in sight he would cry out in wild delight, whileBeasley hastened to open the front door and admit them. 

They were so real to the child, and Beasley treated them with suchconsistent seriousness, that between the two of them I sometimes beganto feel that there actually were such people, and to have moments ofhalf-surprise that I couldn't see them; particularly as each of theHunchberg's developed a character entirely his own to the lastpeculiarity, such as the aged Aunt Cooley Hunchberg's deafness, on whichaccount Beasley never once forgot to raise his voice when he addressedher. Indeed, the details of actuality in all this appeared to bring asgreat a delight to the man as to the child. Certainly he built them upwith infinite care. On one occasion when Mr. Hunchberg and I happened tobe calling, Hamilton remarked with surprise that Simpledoria had comeinto the room without licking his hand as he usually did, and had creptunder the table. Mr. Hunchberg volunteered the information (throughBeasley) that upon his approach to the house he had seen Simpledoriachasing a cat. It was then debated whether chastisement was in order, but finally decided that Simpledoria's surreptitious manner of entranceand his hiding under the table were sufficient indication that he wellunderstood his baseness, and would never let it happen again. And so, Beasley having coaxed him out from under the table, the offender "satup, " begged, and was forgiven. I could almost feel the splendid shaggyhead under my hand when, in turn, I patted Simpledoria to show that thereconciliation was unanimous. 

VI

Autumn trailed the last leaves behind her flying brown robes one night;we woke to a skurry of snow next morning; and it was winter. Down-town, along the sidewalks, the merchants set lines of poles, covered them withevergreen, and ran streamers of green overhead to encourage the festalshopping. Salvation Army Santa Clauses stamped their feet and rang bellson the corners, and pink-faced children fixed their noses immovably todisplay-windows. For them, the season of seasons, the time of times, wasat hand. 

To a certain new reporter on the "Despatch" the stir and gayety of thestreets meant little more than that the days had come when it was nightin the afternoon, and that he was given fewer political assignments. This was annoying, because Beasley's candidacy for the governorship hadgiven me a personal interest in the political situation. The nominatingconvention of his party would meet in the spring; the nomination wascertain to carry the election also, and thus far Beasley showed morestrength than any other man in the field. "Things are looking his way, "said Dowden. "He's always worked hard for the party; not on the stump, of course, " he laughed; "but the boys understand there are moreimportant things than speech-making. His record in Congress gave him theconfidence of everybody in the state, and, besides that, people alwaystrust a quiet man. I tell you if nothing happens he'll get it. "

"I'm FER Beasley, " another politician explained, in an interview, "because he's Dave Beasley! Yes, sir, I'm FER him. You know the boys sayif a man is only FOR you, in this state, there isn't much in it and hemay go back on it; but if he's FER you, he means it. Well, I'm FERBeasley!"

There were other candidates, of course; none of them formidable; but Iwas surprised to learn of the existence of a small but energetic factionopposing our friend in Wainwright, his own town. ("What are yousurprised about?" inquired Dowden. "Don't you know what our folks arelike, YET? If St. Paul lived in Wainwright, do you suppose he could runfor constable without some of his near neighbors getting out to try anddown him?")

The head and front (and backbone, too) of the opposition to Beasley wasa close-fisted, hard-knuckled, risen-from-the-soil sort of man, onenamed Simeon Peck. He possessed no inconsiderable influence, I heard;was a hard worker, and vigorously seconded by an energetic lieutenant, ayoung man named Grist. These, and others they had been able to draw totheir faction, were bitterly and eagerly opposed to Beasley'snomination, and worked without ceasing to prevent it. 

I quote the invaluable Mr. Dowden again: "Grist's against us because hehad a quarrel with a clerk in Beasley's office, and wanted Beasley todischarge him, and Beasley wouldn't; Sim Peck's against us out of justplain wrong-headedness, and because he never was for ANYTHING nor FERanybody in his life. I had a talk with the old mutton-head the otherday; he said our candidate ought to be a farmer, a 'man of the commonpeople, ' and when I asked him where he'd find anybody more a 'man of thecommon people' than Beasley, he said Beasley was 'too much of a societyman' to suit him! The idea of Dave as a 'society man' was too much forme, and I laughed in Sim Peck's face, but that didn't stop Sim Peck!'Jest look at the style he lives in, ' he yelped. 'Ain't he fairly LAPPEDin luxury? Look at that big house he lives in! Look at the way he goesaround in that phaeton of his--and a nigger to drive him half the time!'I had to holler again, and, of course, that made Sim twice as mad as hestarted out to be; and he went off swearing he'd show ME, before thecampaign was over. The only trouble he and Grist and that crowd couldgive us would be by finding out something against Dave, and they can'tdo that because there isn't anything to find out. "

I shared his confidence on this latter score, but was somewhat lesssanguine on some others. There were only two newspapers of any politicalinfluence in Wainwright, the "Despatch" and the "Journal, " both operatedin the interest of Beasley's party, and neither had "come out" for him. The gossip I heard about our office led me to think that each waswaiting to see what headway Sim Peck and his faction would make; the"Journal" especially, I knew, had some inclination to coquette withPeck, Grist, and Company. Altogether, their faction was not entirely tobe despised. 

Thus, my thoughts were a great deal more occupied with Beasley's chancesthan with the holiday spirit that now, with furs and bells and wreathingmists of snow, breathed good cheer over the town. So little, indeed, hadthis spirit touched me that, one evening when one of my colleagues, standing before the grate-fire in the reporters' room, yawned and saidhe'd be glad when to-morrow was over, I asked him what was theparticular trouble with to-morrow. 

"Christmas, " he explained, languidly. "Always so tedious. Like Sunday. "

"It makes me homesick, " said another, a melancholy little man who wasforever bragging of his native Duluth. 

"Christmas, " I repeated--"to-morrow!"

It was Christmas Eve, and I had not known it! I leaned back in my chairin sudden loneliness, what pictures coming before me of long-agoChristmas Eves at home!--old Christmas Eves when there was a Tree. .. . 

My name was called; the night City Editor had an assignment for me. "Goup to Sim Peck's, on Madison Street, " he said. "He thinks he's gotsomething on David Beasley, but won't say any more over the telephone. See what there is in it. "

I picked up my hat and coat, and left the office at a speed which musthave given my superior the highest conception of my journalistic zeal. At a telephone station on the next corner I called up Mrs. Apperthwaite's house and asked for Dowden. 

"What are you doing?" I demanded, when his voice had responded. 

"Playing bridge, " he answered. 

"Are you going out anywhere?"

"No. What's the trouble?"

"I'll tell you later. I may want to see you before I go back to theoffice. "

"All right. I'll be here all evening. "

I hung up the receiver and made off on my errand. 

Down-town the streets were crowded with the package-laden people, bending heads and shoulders to the bitter wind, which swept a blinding, sleet-like snow horizontally against them. At corners it struck sotumultuous a blow upon the chest of the pedestrians that for a moment itwould halt them, and you could hear them gasping half-smothered "AHS"like bathers in a heavy surf. Yet there was a gayety in this eager gale;the crowds pressed anxiously, yet happily, up and down the street intheir generous search for things to give away. It was not the rich whostruggled through the storm to-night; these were people who carriedtheir own bundles home. You saw them: toilers and savers, tired mothersand fathers, worn with the grinding thrift of all the year, but now forthis one night careless of how hard-saved the money, reckless ofeverything but the joy of giving it to bring the children joy on the onegreat to-morrow. So they bent their heads to the freezing wind, theirarms laden with daring bundles and their hearts uplifted with thetremulous happiness of giving more than they could afford. Meanwhile, Mr. Simeon Peck, honest man, had chosen this season to work harm if hemight to the gentlest of his fellow-men. 

I found Mr. Peck waiting for me at his house. There were four other menwith him, one of whom I recognized as Grist, a squat young man withslippery-looking black hair and a lambrequin mustache. They were donningtheir coats and hats in the hall when I arrived. 

"From the 'Despatch, ' hay?" Mr. Peck gave me greeting, as he wound aknit comforter about his neck. "That's good. We'd most give you up. Thishere's Mr. Grist, and Mr. Henry P. Cullop, and Mr. Gus Schulmeyer--threemen that feel the same way about Dave Beasley that I do. That otheryoung feller, " he waved a mittened hand to the fourth man--"he's fromthe 'Journal. ' Likely you're acquainted. "

The young man from the 'Journal' was unknown to me; moreover, I was farfrom overjoyed at his presence. 

"I've got you newspaper men here, " continued Mr. Peck, "because I'mgoin' to show you somep'n' about Dave Beasley that'll open a good manyfolk's eyes when it's in print. "

"Well, what is it?" I asked, rather sharply. 

"Jest hold your horses a little bit, " he retorted. "Grist and me knows, and so do Mr. Cullop and Mr. Schulmeyer. And I'm goin' to take them andyou two reporters to LOOK at it. All ready? Then come on. "

He threw open the door, stooped to the gust that took him by the throat, and led the way out into the storm. 

"What IS he up to?" I gasped to the "Journal" man as we followed in astraggling line. 

"I don't know any more than you do, " he returned. "He thinks he's gotsomething that'll queer Beasley. Peck's an old fool, but it's justpossible he's got hold of something. Nearly everybody has ONE thing, atleast, that they don't want found out. It may be a good story. Lord, what a night!"

I pushed ahead to the leader's side. "See here, Mr. Peck--" I began, buthe cut me off. 

"You listen to ME, young man! I'm givin' you some news for your paper, and I'm gittin' at it my own way, but I'll git AT it, don't you worry!I'm goin' to let some folks around here know what kind of a feller DaveBeasley really is; yes, and I'm goin' to show George Dowden he can'tlaugh at ME!"

"You're going to show Mr. Dowden?" I said. "You mean you're going totake him on this expedition, too?"

"TAKE him!" Mr. Peck emitted an acrid bark of laughter. "I guess HE'S atBeasley's, all right. "

"No, he isn't; he's at home--at Mrs. Apperthwaite's--playing cards. "

"What!"

"I happen to know that he'll be there all evening. "

Mr. Peck smote his palms together. "Grist!" he called, over hisshoulder, and his colleague struggled forward. "Listen to this: evenDowden ain't at Beasley's. Ain't the Lord workin' fer us to-night!"

"Why don't you take Dowden with you, " I urged, "if there's anything youwant to show him?"

"By George, I WILL!" shouted Peck. "I've got him where the hair's shortNOW!"

"That's right, " said Grist. 

"Gentlemen"--Peck turned to the others--"when we git to Mrs. Apperthwaite's, jest stop outside along the fence a minute. I reckenwe'll pick up a recruit. "

Shivering, we took up our way again in single file, stumbling throughdrifts that had deepened incredibly within the hour. The wind wasstraight against us, and so stingingly sharp and so laden with thedriving snow that when we reached Mrs. Apperthwaite's gate (which weapproached from the north, not passing Beasley's) my eyes were so fullof smarting tears I could see only blurred planes of light dancingvaguely in the darkness, instead of brightly lit windows. 

"Now, " said Peck, panting and turning his back to the wind; "the rest ofyou gentlemen wait out here. You two newspaper men, you come with me. "

He opened the gate and went in, the "Journal" reporter and Ifollowing--all three of us wiping our half-blinded eyes. When we reachedthe shelter of the front porch, I took the key from my pocket and openedthe door. 

"I live here, " I explained to Mr. Peck. 

"All right, " he said. "Jest step in and tell George Dowden that SimPeck's out here and wants to see him at the door a minute. Be quick. "

I went into the library, and there sat Dowden contemplatively playingbridge with two of the elderly ladies and Miss Apperthwaite. Thelast-mentioned person quite took my breath away. 

In honor of the Christmas Eve (I supposed) she wore an evening dress ofblack lace, and the only word for what she looked has suffered suchmisuse that one hesitates over it: yet that is what she was--regal--andno less! There was a sort of splendor about her. It detracted nothingfrom this that her expression was a little sad: something not uncommonwith her lately; a certain melancholy, faint but detectable, like breathon a mirror. I had attributed it to Jean Valjean, though perhapsto-night it might have been due merely to bridge. 

"What is it?" asked Dowden, when, after an apology for disturbing thegame, I had drawn him out in the hall. 

I motioned toward the front door. "Simeon Peck. He thinks he's gotsomething on Mr. Beasley. He's waiting to see you. "

Dowden uttered a sharp, half-coherent exclamation and stepped quickly tothe door. "Peck!" he said, as he jerked it open. 

"Oh, I'm here!" declared that gentleman, stepping into view. "I've comearound to let you know that you couldn't laugh like a horse at ME nomore, George Dowden! So YOU weren't invited, either. "

"Invited?" said Dowden, "Where?"

"Over to the BALL your friend is givin'. "

"What friend?"

"Dave Beasley. So you ain't quite good enough to dance with hishigh-society friends!"

"What are you talking about?" Dowden demanded, impatiently. 

"I reckon you won't be quite so strong fer Beasley, " responded Peck, with a vindictive little giggle, "when you find he can use you in hisBUSINESS, but when it comes to ENTERTAININ'--oh no, you ain't quite theboy!"

"I'd appreciate your explaining, " said Dowden. "It's kind of coldstanding here. "

Peck laughed shrilly. "Then I reckon you better git your hat and coatand come along. Can't do US no harm, and might be an eye-opener fer YOU. Grist and Gus Schulmeyer and Hank Cullop's waitin' out yonder at thegate. We be'n havin' kind of a consultation at my house over somep'n'Grist seen at Beasley's a little earlier in the evening. "

"What did Grist see?"

"HACKS! Hacks drivin' up to Beasley's house--a whole lot of 'em. Gristwas down the street a piece, and it was pretty dark, but he could seethe lamps and hear the doors slam as the people got out. Besides, thewhole place is lit up from cellar to attic. Grist come on to my houseand told me about it, and I begun usin' the telephone; called up all themen that COUNT in the party--found most of 'em at home, too. I ast 'emif they was invited to this ball to-night; and not a one of 'em was. THEY'RE only in politics; they ain't high SOCIETY enough to be ast toMr. Beasley's dancin'-parties! But I WOULD 'a' thought he'd let YOUin--ANYWAYS fer the second table!" Mr. Peck shrilled out his acrid andexultant laugh again. "I got these fellers from the newspapers, and allI want is to git this here ball in print to-morrow, and see what theboys that do the work at the primaries have to say about it--and whattheir WIVES'll say about the man that's too high-toned to have 'em inhis house. I'll bet Beasley thought he was goin' to keep these doin'squiet; afraid the farmers might not believe he's jest the plain man hesets up to be--afraid that folks like you that ain't invited might turnagainst him. I'LL fool him! We're goin' to see what there is to see, andI'm goin' to have these boys from the newspapers write a full account ofit. If you want to come along, I expect it'll do you a power o' good. "

"I'll go, " said Dowden, quickly. He got his coat and hat from a table inthe hall, and we rejoined the huddled and shivering group at the gate. 

"Got my recruit, gents!" shrilled Peck, slapping Dowden boisterously onthe shoulders. "I reckon he'll git a change of heart to-night!"

And now, sheltering my eyes from the stinging wind, I saw what I hadbeen too blind to see as we approached Mrs. Apperthwaite's. Beasley'shouse WAS illuminated; every window, up stairs and down, was aglow withrosy light. That was luminously evident, although the shades werelowered. 

"Look at that!" Peck turned to Dowden, giggling triumphantly. "Wha'd Itell you! How do you feel about it NOW?"

"But where are the hacks?" asked Dowden, gravely. 

"Folks all come, " answered Mr. Peck, with complete assurance. "Won't beno more hacks till they begin to go home. "

We plunged ahead as far as the corner of Beasley's fence, where Peckstopped us again, and we drew together, slapping our hands and stampingour feet. Peck was delighted--a thoroughly happy man; his sour giggle ofexultation had become continuous, and the same jovial break was audiblein Grist's voice as he said to the "Journal" reporter and me:

"Go ahead, boys. Git your story. We'll wait here fer you. "

The "Journal" reporter started toward the gate; he had gone, perhaps, twenty feet when Simeon Peck whistled in sharp warning. The reporterstopped short in his tracks. 

Beasley's front door was thrown open, and there stood Beasley himself inevening dress, bowing and smiling, but not at us, for he did not see us. The bright hall behind him was beautiful with evergreen streamers andwreaths, and great flowering plants in jars. A strain of dance-musicwandered out to us as the door opened, but there was nobody except DavidBeasley in sight, which certainly seemed peculiar--for a ball!

"Rest of 'em inside, dancin', " explained Mr. Peck, crouching behind thepicket-fence. "I'll bet the house is more'n half full o' low-neckedwimmin!"

"Sh!" said Grist. "Listen. "

Beasley had begun to speak, and his voice, loud and clear, sounded overthe wind. "Come right in, Colonel!" he said. "I'd have sent a carriagefor you if you hadn't telephoned me this afternoon that your rheumatismwas so bad you didn't expect to be able to come. I'm glad you're wellagain. Yes, they're all here, and the ladies are getting up a quadrillein the sitting-room. "

(It was at this moment that I received upon the calf of the right leg akick, the ecstatic violence of which led me to attribute it to Mr. Dowden. )

"Gentlemen's dressing-room up-stairs to the right, Colonel, " calledBeasley, as he closed the door. 

There was a pause of awed silence among us. 

(I improved it by returning the kick to Mr. Dowden. He made noacknowledgment of its reception other than to sink his chin a littledeeper into the collar of his ulster. )

"By the Almighty!" said Simeon Peck, hoarsely. "Who--WHAT was DaveBeasley talkin' to? There wasn't nobody THERE!"

"Git out, " Grist bade him; but his tone was perturbed. "He seen thatreporter. He was givin' us the laugh. "

"He's crazy!" exclaimed Peck, vehemently. 

Immediately all four members of his party began to talk at the sametime: Mr. Schulmeyer agreeing with Grist, and Mr. Cullop holding withPeck that Beasley had surely become insane; while the "Journal" man, returning, was certain that he had not been seen. Argument became awrangle; excitement over the remarkable scene we had witnessed, and, perhaps, a certain sharpness partially engendered by the risk offreezing, led to some bitterness. High words were flung upon the wind. Eventually, Simeon Peck got the floor to himself for a moment. 

"See here, boys, there's no use gittin' mad amongs' ourselves, " hevociferated. "One thing we're all agreed on: nobody here never seen nosuch a dam peculiar performance as WE jest seen in their whole livesbefore. THURfore, ball or NO ball, there's somep'n' mighty wrong aboutthis business. Ain't that so?"

They said it was. 

"Well, then, there's only one thing to do--let's find out what it is. "

"You bet we will. "

"I wouldn't send no one in there alone, " Peck went on, excitedly, "witha crazy man. Besides, I want to see what's goin' on, myself. "--"So dowe!" This was unanimous. 

"Then let's see if there ain't some way to do it. Perhaps he ain'tpulled all the shades down on the other side the house. Lots o' peoplefergit to do that. "

There was but one mind in the party regarding this proposal. The nextminute saw us all cautiously sneaking into the side yard, a ragged lineof bent and flapping figures, black against the snow. 

Simeon Peck's expectations were fulfilled--more than fulfilled. Not onlywere all the shades of the big, three-faced bay-window of the"sitting-room" lifted, but (evidently on account of the too greatgenerosity of a huge log-fire that blazed in the old-fashionedchimney-place) one of the windows was half-raised as well. Here, in theshadow just beyond the rosy oblongs of light that fell upon the snow, wegathered and looked freely within. 

Part of the room was clear to our view, though about half of it was shutoff from us by the very king of all Christmas-trees, glittering withdozens and dozens of candles, sumptuous in silver, sparkling in gold, and laden with Heaven alone knows how many and what delectableenticements. Opposite the Tree, his back against the wall, sat old Bob, clad in a dress of state, part of which consisted of a swallow-tail coat(with an overgrown chrysanthemum in the buttonhole), a red necktie, anda pink-and-silver liberty cap of tissue-paper. He was scraping a fiddle"like old times come again, " and the tune he played was, "Oh, my Liza, po' gal!" My feet shuffled to it in the snow. 

No one except old Bob was to be seen in the room, but we watched him andlistened breathlessly. When he finished "Liza, " he laid the fiddleacross his knee, wiped his face with a new and brilliant blue silkhandkerchief, and said:

"Now come de big speech. "

The Honorable David Beasley, carrying a small mahogany table, steppedout from beyond the Christmas-tree, advanced to the centre of the room;set the table down; disappeared for a moment and returned with a whitewater-pitcher and a glass. He placed these upon the table, bowedgracefully several times, then spoke:

"Ladies and gentlemen--" There he paused. 

"Well, " said Mr. Simeon Peck, slowly, "don't this beat hell!"

"Look out!" The "Journal" reporter twitched his sleeve. "Ladiespresent. "

"Where?" said I. 

He leaned nearer me and spoke in a low tone. "Just behind us. Shefollowed us over from your boarding-house. She's been standing aroundnear us all along. I supposed she was Dowden's daughter, probably. "

"He hasn't any daughter, " I said, and stepped back to the hooded figureI had been too absorbed in our quest to notice. 

It was Miss Apperthwaite. 

She had thrown a loose cloak over her head and shoulders; but envelopedin it as she was, and crested and epauletted with white, I knew her atonce. There was no mistaking her, even in a blizzard. 

She caught my hand with a strong, quick pressure, and, bending her headto mine, said, close to my ear:

"I heard everything that man said in our hallway. You left the librarydoor open when you called Mr. Dowden out. "

"So, " I returned, maliciously, "you--you couldn't HELP following!"

She released my hand--gently, to my surprise. 

"Hush, " she whispered. "He's saying something. "

"Ladies and gentlemen, " said Beasley again--and stopped again. 

Dowden's voice sounded hysterically in my right ear. (Miss Apperthwaitehad whispered in my left. ) "The only speech he's ever made in hislife--and he's stuck!"

But Beasley wasn't: he was only deliberating. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he began--"Mr. And Mrs. Hunchberg, ColonelHunchberg and Aunt Cooley Hunchberg, Miss Molanna, Miss Queen, and MissMarble Hunchberg, Mr. Noble, Mr. Tom, and Mr. Grandee Hunchberg, Mr. Corley Linbridge, and Master Hammersley:--You see before you to-night, my person, merely the representative of your real host. MISTER Swift. Mister Swift has expressed a wish that there should be a speech, and hasdeputed me to make it. He requests that the subject he has assigned meshould be treated in as dignified a manner as is possible--consideringthe orator. Ladies and gentlemen"--he took a sip of water--"I will nowaddress you upon the following subject: 'Why we Call Christmas-time theBest Time. '

"Christmas-time is the best time because it is the kindest time. Nobodyever felt very happy without feeling very kind, and nobody ever feltvery kind without feeling at least a LITTLE happy. So, of course, eitherway about, the happiest time is the kindest time--that's THIS time. Themost beautiful things our eyes can see are the stars; and for thatreason, and in remembrance of One star, we set candles on the Tree to bestars in the house. So we make Christmas-time a time of stars indoors;and they shine warmly against the cold outdoors that is like the cold ofother seasons not so kind. We set our hundred candles on the Tree andkeep them bright throughout the Christmas-time, for while they shineupon us we have light to see this life, not as a battle, but as themarch of a mighty Fellowship! Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you!"

He bowed to right and left, as to an audience politely applauding, and, lifting the table and its burden, withdrew; while old Bob again set hisfiddle to his chin and scraped the preliminary measures of a quadrille. 

Beasley was back in an instant, shouting as he came: "TAKE yourpardners! Balance ALL!"

And then and there, and all by himself, he danced a quadrille, performing at one and the same time for four lively couples. Never in mylife have I seen such gyrations and capers as were cut by thatlong-legged, loose-jointed, miraculously flying figure. He was in thewildest motion without cessation, never the fraction of an instantstill; calling the figures at the top of his voice and dancing themsimultaneously; his expression anxious but polite (as is the habit ofother dancers); his hands extended as if to swing his partner or corner, or "opposite lady"; and his feet lifting high and flapping down in anold-fashioned step. "FIRST four, forward and back!" he shouted. "Forwardand SALUTE! BALANCE to corners! SWING pardners! GR-R-RANDRight-and-Left!"

I think the combination of abandon and decorum with which he performedthat "Grand Right-and-Left" was the funniest thing I have ever seen. ButI didn't laugh at it. 

Neither did Miss Apperthwaite. 

"NOW do you believe me?" Peck was arguing, fiercely, with Mr. Schulmeyer. "Is he crazy, or ain't he?"

"He is, " Grist agreed, hoarsely. "He is a stark, starin', ravin', roarin' lunatic! And the nigger's humorin' him!"

They were all staring, open-mouthed and aghast, into the lighted room. 

"Do you see where it puts US?" Simeon Peck's rasping voice rose high. 

"I guess I do!" said Grist. "We come out to buy a barn, and got a houseand lot fer the same money. It's the greatest night's work you everdone, Sim Peck!"

"I guess it is!"

"Shake on it, Sim. "

They shook hands, exalted with triumph. 

"This'll do the work, " giggled Peck. "It's about two-thousand per cent. Better than the story we started to git. Why, Dave Beasley'll be in apadded cell in a month! It'll be all over town to-morrow, and he'll haveas much chance fer governor as that nigger in there!" In his ecstasy hesmote Dowden deliriously in the ribs. "What do you think of yourcandidate NOW?"

"Wait, " said Dowden. "Who came in the hacks that Grist saw?"

This staggered Mr. Peck. He rubbed his mitten over his woollen cap as ifscratching his head. "Why, " he said, slowly--"who in Halifax DID come inthem hacks?"

"The Hunchbergs, " said I. 

"Who's the Hunchbergs? Where--"

"Listen, " said Dowden. 

"FIRST couple, FACE out!" shouted Beasley, facing out with an invisiblelady on his akimboed arm, while old Bob sawed madly at A New Coon inTown. 

"SECOND couple, FALL in!" Beasley wheeled about and enacted the secondcouple. 

"THIRD couple!" He fell in behind himself again. 

"FOURTH couple, IF you please! BALANCE--ALL!--I beg your pardon, MissMolanna, I'm afraid I stepped on your train. --SASHAY ALL!"

After the "sashay"--the noblest and most dashing bit of gymnasticsdisplayed in the whole quadrille--he bowed profoundly to his invisiblepartner and came to a pause, wiping his streaming face. Old Bobdexterously swung A New Coon into the stately measures of a triumphalmarch. 

"And now, " Beasley announced, in stentorian tones, "if the ladies willbe so kind as to take the gentlemen's arms, we will proceed to thedining-room and partake of a slight collation. "

Thereupon came a slender piping of joy from that part of the roomscreened from us by the Tree. 

"Oh, Cousin David Beasley, that was the BEAUTIFULLEST quadrille everdanced in the world! And, please, won't YOU take Mrs. Hunchberg out tosupper?"

Then into the vision of our paralyzed and dumfounded watchers came thelittle wagon, pulled by the old colored woman, Bob's wife, in her best, and there, propped upon pillows, lay Hamilton Swift, Junior, his soulshining rapture out of his great eyes, a bright spot of color on each ofhis thin cheeks. He lifted himself on one elbow, and for an instantsomething seemed to be wrong with the brace under his chin. 

Beasley sprang to him and adjusted it tenderly. Then he bowedelaborately toward the mantel-piece. 

"Mrs. Hunchberg, " he said, "may I have the honor?" And offered his arm. 

"And I must have MISTER Hunchberg, " chirped Hamilton. "He must walk withme. "

"He tells ME, " said Beasley, "he'll be mighty glad to. And there's aplate of bones for Simpledoria. "

"You lead the way, " cried the child; "you and Mrs. Hunchberg. "

"Are we all in line?" Beasley glanced back over his shoulder. "HOO-ray!Now, let us on. Ho! there!"

"BR-R-RA-vo!" applauded Mister Swift. 

And Beasley, his head thrown back and his chest out, proudly led theway, stepping nobly and in time to the exhilarating measures. HamiltonSwift, Junior, towed by the beaming old mammy, followed in his wagon, his thin little arm uplifted and his fingers curled as if they held atrusted hand. 

When they reached the door, old Bob rose, turned in after them, and, still fiddling, played the procession and himself down the hall. 

And so they marched away, and we were left staring into the emptyroom. .. . 

"My soul!" said the "Journal" reporter, gasping. "And he did allTHAT--just to please a little sick kid!"

"I can't figure it out, " murmured Sim Peck, piteously. 

"_I_ can, " said the "Journal" reporter. "This story WILL be all overtown to-morrow. " He glanced at me, and I nodded. "It'll be all overtown, " he continued, "though not in any of the papers--and I don'tbelieve it's going to hurt Dave Beasley's chances any. "

Mr. Peck and his companions turned toward the street; they wentsilently. 

The young man from the "Journal" overtook them. "Thank you for sendingfor me, " he said, cordially. "You've given me a treat. I'm FER Beasley!"

Dowden put his hand on my shoulder. He had not observed the third figurestill remaining. 

"Well, sir, " he remarked, shaking the snow from his coat, "they wereright about one thing: it certainly was mighty low down of Dave not toinvite ME--and you, too--to his Christmas party. Let him go to thunderwith his old invitations, I'm going in, anyway! Come on. I'm plumfroze. "

There was a side door just beyond the bay-window, and Dowden went to itand rang, loud and long. It was Beasley himself who opened it. 

"What in the name--" he began, as the ruddy light fell upon Dowden'sface and upon me, standing a little way behind. "What ARE youtwo--snow-banks? What on earth are you fellows doing out here?"

"We've come to your Christmas party, you old horse-thief!" Thus Mr. Dowden. 

"HOO-ray!" said Beasley. 

Dowden turned to me. "Aren't you coming?"

"What are you waiting for, old fellow?" said Beasley. 

I waited a moment longer, and then it happened. 

She came out of the shadow and went to the foot of the steps, her cloakfalling from her shoulders as she passed me. I picked it up. 

She lifted her arms pleadingly, though her head was bent with whatseemed to me a beautiful sort of shame. She stood there with the snowdriving against her and did not speak. Beasley drew his hand slowlyacross his eyes--to see if they were really there, I think. 

"David, " she said, at last. "You've got so many lovely people in yourhouse to-night: isn't there room for--for just one fool? It'sChristmas-time!"