[Frontispiece: He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that maybe heard all over the South Side. ]

DAVID LOCKWIN

The People's Idol

BY

JOHN McGOVERN, AUTHOR OF

"Daniel Trentworthy, " "Burritt Durand, " "Geoffrey, " "Jason Hortner, ""King Darwin, " etc. 

CHICAGO:

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 

COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY JOHN M'GOVERN. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 

COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY JOHN M'GOVERN. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Book I - Davy

Chapter

 I. Harpwood and Lockwin II. The People's Idol III. Of Sneezes IV. Bad News All Around V. Dr. Floddin's Patient VI. A Reign of Terror VII. The Primaries VIII. Fifty Kegs of Beer IX. The Night Before Election X. Elected XI. Lynch-Law for Corkey XII. In Georgian Bay XIII. Off Cape Croker XIV. In the Conventional Days

Book II - Esther Lockwin

 I. Extra! Extra! II. Corkey's Fear of a Widow's Grief III. The Cenotaph IV. A Knolling Bell

Book III - Robert Chalmers

 I. A Difficult Problem II. A Complete Disguise III. Before the Telegraph Office IV. "A Sound of Revelry by Night" V. Letters of Consolation VI. The Yawl VII. A Rash Act VIII. A Good Scheme IX. A Heroic Act X. Esther as a Liberal Patron

Book IV - George Harpwood

 I. Corkey's Good Scheme II. Happiness and Peace III. At 3 in the Morning IV. The Bridegroom V. At Six O'clock

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Frontispiece: He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that may beheard all over the South Side. 

Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. 

The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. 

Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black granite lettersover the portal. 

"It's a good scheme, Corkey. "

But the bride still stands under the lamp on the portico, statuesque asZenobia or Medea. 

DAVID LOCKWIN

THE PEOPLE'S IDOL

BOOK I

DAVY

CHAPTER I

HARPWOOD AND LOCKWIN

Esther Wandrell, of Chicago, will be worth millions of dollars. 

It is a thought that inspires the young men of all the city withmomentous ambitions. Why does she wait so long? Whom does she favor?

To-night the carriages are trolling and rumbling to the great mansionof the Wandrells on Prairie Avenue. The women are positive in theirexclamations of reunion, and this undoubted feminine joy exhilarates, and entertains the men. The lights are brilliant, the music is faraway and clever, the flowers and decorations are novel. 

If you look in the faces of the guests you shall see that the affaircannot fail. Everybody has personally assured the success of theevening. 

Many times has this hospitable home opened to its companies of selectedmen, and women. Often has the beautiful Esther Wandrell smiled uponthe young men--upon rich and poor alike. Why is she, at twenty-sevenyears of age, rich, magnificent and unmarried?

Ask her mother, who married at fifteen. Ask the father, who for tenyears worried to think his only child might go away from him at any day. 

"I tell you, " says Dr. Tarpion, "Harpwood will get her, and get herto-night. That is what this party is for. I've seen them together, and I know what's in the air. "

"Is that so?" says David Lockwin. 

"Yes, it is so, and you know you don't like Harpwood any too well sincehe got your primary in the Eleventh. "

"I should say I didn't!" says Lockwin, half to himself. 

At a distance, Esther Wandrell passes on Harpwood's arm. 

"Who is Harpwood?" asks Lockwin. 

"I'm blessed if I know, " answers Dr. Tarpion. 

"How long has he been in town?"

"Not over two years. "

"Do you know anybody who knows him?"

"He owes me a bill. "

"What was he sick of?"

"Worry. "

The man and woman repass. The woman looks toward Lockwin and his dearfriend the renowned Dr. Irenaeus Tarpion. Guests speak of Harpwood. His suit is bold. The lady is apparently interested. 

"I should not think you would like that?" says the doctor. 

"Why should I care, after all?" asks Lockwin. 

"Well, if ever I have seen two men whose destinies are hostile, itseems to me that you and Harpwood fill the condition. If he gets intoWandrell's family you might as well give up politics. "

"Perhaps I might do that anyhow. "

"Well, you are an odd man. I'll not dispute that. What you will do atany given time I'll not try to prophesy. "

The twain separate. However, of any two men in Chicago, perhaps DavidLockwin and Dr. Tarpion are most agreeable to each other. From boyhoodthey have been familiar. If one has said to the other, "Do that!" ithas been done. 

"I fear you cannot be spared from your other guests, Esther, " saysLockwin. 

"I fear you are trying to escape to that dear doctor of yours. Now, are you not?"

"No. I have been with him for half an hour already. Esther, you are afine-looking woman. Upon my honor, now--"

She will not tolerate it, yet she never looked so pleased before. 

"Tell me, " she says, "of your little boy. "

"Of my foundling?"

"Yes, I love to hear you speak of him. "

"Well, Esther, the truest thing I have heard of my boy was said by oldRichard Tarbelle. He stopped me the other day. You know our housesadjoin. 'Mr. Lockwin, ' said he, as he came home with his basket--hegoes to his son's hotel each day for family stores--'I often say toMary that the happiest moment in my day is when I give an apple or anorange to your boy, for the look on that child's face is the nearest weever get to heaven on this earth. "

"O, beautiful! beautiful! Mr. Lockwin. "

"Yes, indeed, Esther. I took that little fellow three years ago. Ihad no idea he would grow so pretty. Folks said it was the oddest ofpranks, but if I had bought fifteen more horses than I could use, ordogs enough to craze the neighborhood, or even a parrot, like my goodneigbor Tarbelle, everybody would have been satisfied. Of course, Ihad to take a house and keep a number of people for whom a bachelor hasno great need. But, Esther, when I go home there is framed in mywindow the most welcome picture human eye has ever seen--that littleface, Esther!"

The man is enwrapped. The woman joins in the man's exaltation. 

"He is the most beautiful child I have ever seen anywhere. It is thetalk of everybody. You are so proud of him when you ride together!"

"Esther, I have seen him in the morning when he came to rouse me--hisface as white as his gown; his golden hair long, and so fleecy that itwould stand all about his head; his mouth arched like the Indian's bow;his great blue eyes bordered with dark brows and lashed with jet-blackhairs a half-inch long. That picture, Esther, I fear no painter canget. I marvel why I do not make the attempt. "

"He is as bright as he is beautiful, " she says. 

"Yes, Esther, I have looked over this world. Childhood is alwaysbeautiful--always sweet to me--but my boy is without equal, and nearlyeverybody admits it. "

"He is not yours, David. "

The man looks inquiringly. 

"I have as good a right to love him as you have. I do love him. "

The man has been eloquent and self-forgetful. The woman has lost hercommand. Tears are coming in her eyes. Shame is mantling her cheeks. David Lockwin is startled. 

George Harpwood passes in the distance with Esther's mother on his arm. 

"Esther, you know me, with all my faults. I think we could be happytogether--we three--you and I and the boy. Will you marry me? Willyou be a mother to my little boy? He is lonesome while I am gone!"

The matter is settled. It has come by surprise. If David Lockwin hadforeseen it, he would have left the field open to Harpwood. 

If Esther Wandrell had foreseen it, she would have shunned DavidLockwin. It is her dearest hope, and yet--

CHAPTER II

THE PEOPLE'S IDOL

If David Lockwin had planned to increase all his prospects, and if allhis plans had worked with precision, he could in nowise have pushed hisinterests more powerfully than by marrying Esther Wandrell. 

It might have been said of Lockwin that he was impractical; that he wasa dreamer. He had done singular things. He had not studied the waysof public opinion. 

But now, to solidify all his future--to take a secure place in society, especially as his leanings toward politics are pronounced--to do thesethings--this palliates and excuses the adoption of the golden-hairedboy. 

Lockwin hears this from his friend, the doctor. Lockwin hears it fromthe world. The more he hears it the less he likes it. 

But people, particularly the doctor, are happy in Lockwin. Hispopularity in the district is amazing. He will soon be deep inpolitics. He has put Harpwood out of the combat--so the doctor says. 

And David Lockwin, when he comes home at night, still sees his boy atthe window. What a noble affection is that love for this waif! Whyshould such a thought seize the man as he sits in his library with wifeand son? Why should not David be tender and good to the woman wholoves him so well, and is so proud of her husband?

Tender and good he is--as if he pitied her. Tender and good is she. So that if an orphan in the great city should be in the especial careof the Lord, why should not that orphan drop into this house, exactlyas has happened, and no matter at all what society may have said?

"You must run for Congress!" the doctor commands. 

It spurs Lockwin. He thinks of the great white dome at Washington. Hethinks of his marked ability as an orator, everywhere conceded. Hesays he does not care to enter upon a life so active, but he is nottruly in earnest. 

"You must run for Congress!" the committee says the next week. 

Feelings of friendliness for the incumbent of the office to giveLockwin a sufficient excuse for inaction. 

The incumbent dies suddenly a week later. 

"You must run to save the party, " the committeemen announce. 

A day later the matter is settled. The great editors are seen; theboss of the machine is satisfied; the ward-workers and thesaloon-keepers are infused with party allegiance. 

David Lockwin begins at one end of State street and drinks, or pretendsto drink, at every bar between Lake and Fortieth streets. Thislibation poured on the altar of liberty, he is popularly declared to bein the race. The newspapers announce that he is the people's idol, andthe boss of the machine sends word to the newspapers that it is allwell enough, but it must be kept up. 

David Lockwin rents head-quarters in the district, and shakes handswith all the touching committees. Twelve members of the Sons of Laborcan carry their union over to him. It will require $100, as the unionis mostly democratic. 

They are told they must see Mr. Lockwin's central committee. But Mr. Lockwin must be prepared to deliver an address on the need of reform inthe government, looking to the civil service, to retrenchment and tothe complete allegiance of the officeholder to his employers, thevoters. 

Mr. Lockwin must listen with attention to a plan by which the centralcommittee of the Sodalified Assembly can be packed with republicans atthe annual election, to take place the next Sunday. This will enableLockwin to carry the district in case he should get the nomination. Toshow a deep interest in the party and none in himself must arousepopular idolatry. 

This popular idolatry must be kept awake, because Harpwood has openedhead-quarters and is visited by the same touching committees. He hasbeen up and down State street, and has drunk more red liquor than wasseen to go down Lockwin's throat. In more ways than one, Harpwoodshows the timber out of which popular idols are made. 

The doctor is alarmed. He makes a personal canvass of all hispatients. They do not know when the primaries will be held. They donot know who ought to go to Washington. All they know is that thecongressman is dead and there must be a special election, which isgoing to cost them some extra money. If the boss of the machine willsee to it, that will do!

But Lockwin is the man. This the boss has been at pains to determine. The marriage has made things clear. 

One should study the boss. Why is he king? If we have a democracy howis it that everybody in office or in hope of office obeys the pontiff?It is the genius of the people for government. The boss is at a summerresort near the city. 

To him comes Harpwood, and finds the great contractor, the promoter ofthe outer docks, the park commissioners, and a half-dozen other greatmen already on the ground. 

"Harpwood, " says the boss, "I am out of politics, particularly in yourdistrict. Yet, if you can carry the primaries, I could help youconsiderably. Carry the primaries, me boy, and I'll talk with youfurther. See you again. Good-bye. "

The next day comes Lockwin. 

There are no "me-boys" now. Here is the candidate. He must be put inirons. 

"Lockwin, what makes you want to go to Congress?"

"I don't believe I do want to go, but I was told you wished to see meup here, privately. "

"Well, you ought to know whether or not you want to go. Nobody wantsyou there if it isn't yourself. Harpwood will go if you don't. "

"Yes, I suppose so. "

"Well, if you want our support, we must have a pledge from you. Iguess you want to go, and we are willing to put you there for theunexpired term and the next one. Then are you ready to climb down?Say the word. The mayor and the senator are out there waiting for me. "

"All right. It is a bargain. "

"And you won't feel bad when we knock you out, in three years?"

"No. I will probably be glad to come home. "

"Very well; we will carry the primaries. But that district needswatching. Spend lots of money. "

CHAPTER III

OF SNEEZES

There is no chapter on sneezes in "Tristam Shandy. " The faithfulBoswell has recorded no sneeze of Dr. Johnson. Spinoza does not reckonit among the things the citizen may do without offense to a free state. Montesquieu does not give the Spirit of Sneezing, nor tell how theancients sneezed. Pascal, in all his vanities of man, has no thoughton sneezing. Bacon has missed it. Of all the glorious company ofShakespeare's brain, a few snored, but not one sneezed or spoke ofsneezing. Darwin avoids it. Hegel and Schlegel haven't a word of it. The encyclopedias leave it for the dictionaries. 

We might suppose the gentle latitudes and halcyon seas of Asia and theMediterranean had failed to develop the sneeze, save that the immortalMontaigue, a friend in need to every reader, will point you thatAristotle told why the people bless a man who sneezes. "The gods blessyou!" said the Athenian. "God bless you!" says the Irishman orScotchman of to-day. 

A sneeze is to enter the politics of the First District. Could anypolitical boss, however prudent or scholarly, foresee it? A sneeze isto influence the life of David Lockwin. Does not providence move in amysterious way?

A great newspaper has employed as its marine reporter a singularcharacter. He once was rich--that is, he had $10, 000 in currency. Howhad he made it? Running a faro bank. How did he lose it? By taking apartner, who "played it in"--that is, the partner conspired with anoutside player, or "patron" of the house. Why did not our man beginover again? He was disheartened--tired of the business. Besides, itgives a gambler a bad name to be robbed--it is like a dishonoredhusband. 

The marine reporter's ancestors were knights. The ancestral name wasCoeur de Cheval. The attrition of centuries, and the hurry of theindustrial period, have diminished this name in sound and dignity toCarkey, and finally to Corkey. 

Naturally of a knightly fiber, this queer man has no sooner establishedhimself in command of the port of Chicago than he has found his dearestdreams realized. To become the ornament of the sailor's fraternity isbut to go up and down the docks, drinking the whisky which comes infree from Canada and sneezing. 

"We steer toward Corkey's sneeze, " the sailors declare. 

To produce the greatest sneeze that was ever heard in the valley of theMississippi, give us, then, a man who is called a "sawed-off" by thosewho love him--a very thick, very short, very tobaccofied, strong man incavalry pants, with a jacket of the heaviest chinchilla--a restless, oathful, laconic, thirsty, never-drunk "editor. " It is a man after thesailor's own heart. It is a man, too, well known to the gamblers, andthey all vote in Lockwin's district. 

Parlor entertainers make a famous sneeze by delegating to each of agroup some vowel in the word "h--sh!" It shall be "hash" for this one, "hish" for that one, "hush" for still another, and so on. Then theprofessor counts three, at which all yell together, and theconsolidated sound is a sneeze. 

In a chorus the leader may tell you one singer is worth all the rest. So, if Corkey were in this parlor, and should render one unforeseen, unpremeditated sneeze, you would not know the parlorful had sneezedalong with him. Corkey's sneeze is unapproachable, unrivaled, hated, feared, admired, reverenced. The devout say "God bless you!" with deepunction. The adventurous declare that such a sneeze would buckle thecabin-floor of a steamer like a wave in the trough of the sea. 

When Corkey sneezes, sailors are moved to treat to the drinks. Theymark it as an event. A sailor will treat you because it is Christmas, or because Corkey has sneezed. 

Greatness consists in doing one thing better or worse than any one elsecan do it. Thus it is rare a man is so really great as Corkey. 

CHAPTER IV

BAD NEWS ALL AROUND

With thousands of gamblers in good luck, and thousands of sailors inport, why should not the saloons of the dock regions resound also withpolitics--a politics of ultra-marine color--Corkey recooking andwarming the cold statesmanship of his newspaper, breaking the counterwith his fist, paying gorgeously for both drinks and glasses, smilingwhen the sailors expel outside politicians and at last rocking thebuilding with his sneeze. 

It is thus settled that Corkey shall go to Congress from Lockwin'sdistrict. Because this is a sailor's matter it is difficult to handleit from the adversary's side. The political boss first hears of itthrough the information of a rival marine reporter on a democraticsheet. 

This is on Wednesday. The primaries are to be held on Friday. Theboss has never dealt with a similar mishap. He learns that ten wagonshave been engaged by the president of the sailors' society. Heobserves that the season is favorable to Corkey's plans. 

What, then, does Corkey want?

"Nothing!"

What is he after? He surely doesn't expect to go to Washington!

"That's what I expect. You just screw your nut straight that time, sure. "

What does he want to go to Congress for?

"Well, my father got there. I guess my grandfather was in, too. Mygreat-grandfather wasn't no bad player. But I don't care nothing fordead men. I'm going to Congress to start the labor party. I'm goingto have Eight Hours and more fog-horns on the Manitous and the Foxes. I'm going to have a Syrena on the break-water. "

The siren-horn is just now the wonder of the lake region. 

"I tell you she'll be a bird. "

The eyes grow brighter, the face grows dark, the mouth squares, thehead vibrates, the little tongue plays about a mass of jet-blacktobacco--the sneeze comes. 

"That's a bird, too, " says the political boss. 

If Corkey is to start a labor party, why should he set out to carry arepublican primary election?

"Oh, well, you're asking too many questions. Will you take a drink?Come down and see the boys. See how solid I've got 'em. "

Lockwin's brow clouds as the boss tells of this new development. 

"Those sailors will fight, " he says. 

"But Corkey reckons on the gamblers, " explains the boss, "and we canfix the gamblers. "

"What will you do?"

"Do? I'll do as I did in 1868, when I was running the Third. Theeight-hour men had the ward. "

"What did you do?"

"I carted over the West Side car company's laborers--a thousand on 'em. "

David Lockwin starts for home. His heart is heavy. To-day has beenhard. The delegations of nominating committees have been eager andgreedy. The disbursements have been large. An anonymous circular hasappeared, which calls attention to the fact that David Lockwin is amere reader of books, an heir of some money who has married for moremoney. Good citizens are invited to cast aside social reasons and oustthe machine candidate, for the nomination of Lockwin will be asurrender of the district into the clutches of the ring at the cityhall. 

There is more than political rancor in this handbill. 

There is more than a well defined, easily perceived personal malice inthis argument. 

There is the poisoning sting of the truth--the truth said in a generalway, but striking in a special and a tender place. 

The house is reached. Lockwin has not enlarged his establishment. Politics, at least, has spared him the humiliation of moving on PrairieAvenue. Politics has kept him "among the people. "

It is the house which holds his boy. Lockwin did not adopt the boy formoney! The boy was not a step on the way to Congress! Lockwin did notbecome a popular idol because he became a father to the foundling!

It is a cooling and a comforting thought. Yesterday, while Lockwin satin his study hurriedly preparing his statement to the party, on theneeds of the nation and a reformed civil service, the golden head wasas deep at a little desk beside. Pencil in hand, the child hadaddressed the voters of the First District, explaining to them thereasons why his papa should be elected. "Josephus, " wrote curly-head;"Groceries, " he added; "Ice, " he concluded; A, B, C, D and so on, witha tail the wrong way on J. 

It is a memory that robs politics of its bitterness. Lockwin opens thedoor and kisses his wife affectionately. After all, he is a mostfortunate man. If there were a decent way he would let Harpwood go toCongress and be rid of him. 

"Davy is very sick, " she says, with a white face. 

"What! My boy!! When was he taken? Is it diphtheria? What has thedoctor said? Why wasn't I called? Where is he? Here, Davy, here'spapa. Here's papa! Old boy! Old fel'! Oh, God, I'm so scared!"

All this as Lockwin goes up the stairs. 

It is a wheezing little voice that replies; "S-u-h-p-e-s-o-J! What'sthat, papa?"

"Does that hurt, Davy? There? or there?"

"That's 'Josephus, ' papa, on your big book, that I'll have some day--itI live. If I live I'll have all your books!"

CHAPTER V

DR. FLODDIN'S PATIENT

If there be one thing of which great Chicago stands in fear, it is thatKing Herod of the latter day, diphtheria. 

This terror of the people is absolute, ignorant, and therefore supine. The cattle have a scourge, but the loss of money makes men active. When the rinderpest appears, governors issue proclamations. Whenhorses show the glanders, quarantine is established. But when afather's flock is cut off, it is done before he can move, and otherfathers will not or cannot interpose for their own protection. 

All the other fathers do is to discount the worst--to dread the unseensword which is suspended over all heads. 

When David Lockwin heard that one of his tenants had a child dead withthe contagion, the popular idol strove to recall his movements. Had hebeen in the sick-room? Had Davy been in that region? The thoughtwhich had finally alarmed Lockwin was the recollection that he hadstopped with Davy in the grocery beneath the apartments of the dyingchild. 

That was nine days before. Why is Dr. Tarpion absent? What a goodfortune, however, that Dr. Floddin can be given charge. And if thedisease be diphtheria, whisky will alleviate and possibly cure thepatient. It is a hobby with Lockwin. 

Dr. Floddin has come rather oddly by this practice. Who he is, noother regular doctor knows. But Dr. Floddin has an honest face, andkeeps a little drug store on State street below Eighteenth. He usuallycharges fifty cents a visit, which is all he believes his services tobe worth. This piece of quackery would ruin his name with Lockwin, were it known to him, or had Dr. Tarpion been consulted. 

The regular fee is two dollars. 

The poor come daily to Dr. Floddin's, and his fame is often in theirmouths. 

Why is Davy white and beautiful? Why is he gentle and so marvelouslyintelligent?

A year back, when his tonsils swelled, Dr. Tarpion said they must becut out. The house-keeper said it was the worst possible thing to do. The cook said it should never be done. The peddling huckster's sonsaid Dr. Floddin didn't believe in it. 

Then Davy would wake in the night. "I tan't breathe, " he wouldcomplain. 

"Yes, you can, Davy. Papa's here. Lie down, Davy. Here's a drink. "

And in the morning all would be well. Davy would be in the librarypreparing for a great article. 

The tribe on the other street, back, played ball from morning untilnight. The toddler of the lot was no bigger than Davy. Every face wasas round and red as a Spitzbergen apple. 

Last summer Lockwin and Davy went for a ball and bat, the people alongthe cross-street as usual admiring the boy. A blacksmith shop was onthe way. A white bulldog was at the forge. He leaped away from hismaster, and was on the walk in an instant. With a dash he was on Davy, his heavy paw in the neat little pocket, bursting it and strewing themarbles and the written articles. Snap! went the mouth on the child'sface, but it was merely a caprice. 

"Bulldog never bite a child, " observed the blacksmith. 

But Lockwin had time only to take his baby between his legs. "Pleasecall in your dog, " he said to the blacksmith. "Please call him in. Please call him in. "

The dog was recalled. The child smiled, and yet he felt he had beenill served. The little hanging pocket testified that Lockwin musttarry in that hateful locality and pick up the treasure and documents. 

Trembling in every joint, he called at the house of an acquaintance. "I dislike to keep you here, " said the friend, "if you are afraid ofthe whooping-cough. We have it here in the house. "

It seemed to David Lockwin that the city was an inhospitable place forchildhood. The man and child traveled on and on. They reached the toystore. They stood before the soda fountain. They bought bat and ball. 

It was too far. They rode by street car three miles in order to returnthe half mile. The child was asleep when they reached home. 

"I drank sewer water, " he observed to the housekeeper, speaking of thesoda fountain, for sewer gas is a thing for Chicagoans to discuss withmuch learning. 

So Davy and David went on the rear lot to play ball. The neighboringtribe offered their services for two-old-cat. The little white boywith the golden curls made a great hit. 

"Bully for the codger!" quoth all the red-cheeked. 

"We will cut off his curls and make him as healthy as those youngones, " said Lockwin. 

"You'll never do it!" said the housekeeper. 

"Such as him do be too pretty for this life, " said the cook, almostwith tears in her eyes. 

And just at this epoch of new hygiene Davy's eyes grew sore. "Take himto a specialist, " said Dr. Tarpion. 

The specialist made the eyes a little worse. 

"Them's just such eyes as Dr. Floddin cured on my sister, " said thepeddling huckster's son at the kitchen door. 

The housekeeper could say as much for a relative whom the cheapdruggist had served. 

"Can you cure my boy?" was Lockwin's question to Dr. Floddin. 

"I think so, " said the good man. He was gratified to be called to therelief of a person of so much consequence. Thereupon began a patienttreatment of Davy's tonsils, his nose, and his eyes. As if Dr. Floddinknew all things, he foretold the day when the boy would reappear in hisown countenance. 

"Bless your little soul, " the housekeeper would say, "I can't for thelife of me laugh at you. But you do look so strange!"

"I thought, " Lockwin would say, "I loved you for your beauty, Davy, butI guess it was for yourself. "

"I guess you will love me better when I can play ball with the swearboys, won't you, papa?"

"Yes, you must get strong. We will cut off your curls then. "

"And may I sit in your library and write articles if I will be verystill and not get mud on me? They throwed mud on me once, papa. "

Poor little swollen-eyed Davy! Yet richer than almost any other livingthing in Chicago. None knew him but to love him. "I didn't think itwould hit him, " said even the barbarian who shied the clod at Davy. 

When Esther Lockwin took charge of that home she found Davy all issuedfrom the chrysalis of sores and swellings. If he had once beenbeautiful, he was now more lovely. The union of intelligence, affection, and seemliness was startling to Esther's mind. 

It was a dream. It knit her close to her husband. The child talked ofhis papa all day. Because his new mother listened so intently, hefound less time to write his articles, and no time at all out-doors. 

"Don't let him study if you can help it, " said Dr. Floddin. 

The child stood at his favorite place in the window, waiting for oldRichard Tarbelle to come home. 

"'Bon-Ton Grocery, ' mamma; what is 'Bon-Ton?'"

"That is the name of the grocery. "

"Yes, I see that. It's on the wagon, of course, but does Mr. Bon-Tonkeep your grocery?"

How, therefore, shall the book of this world be shut from Davy? But, is it not a bad thing to see the child burst out crying in the midst ofan article?

"Don't write any more to-day, baby, " the housekeeper would say. 

"Come down and get the elephant I baked for yez, pet, " the cook wouldbeg. 

And then Richard Tarbelle would come around the corner with his basket, his eye fastened on that window where the smiling child was pictured. 

"Here, Davy. There was a banquet at the hotel last night. See thatbunch of grapes, now!"

"You are very kind, Mr. Tarbelle. "

"Mrs. Lockwin, I have been a hard man all my life. When I had myargument with the bishop on baptism--"

"Yes, Mr. Tarbelle, you are very kind. "

"Mrs. Lockwin, as I said, I have been a hard man all my life, but yourlittle boy has enslaved me. Sixty-three years! I don't believe Ilooked twice at my own three boys. But they are great men. Big timesat the _ho_-tel, Mrs. Lockwin. Four hundred people on cots. Here, Davy, you can carry an orange, too. Well, Mary will be waiting for me. Your servant, madam. Good day. I hear your husband is up forCongress. Tell him he has my vote. Good day, madam. Yes, Mary, yes, yes. Good-bye, Davy. Good-bye, madam. "

CHAPTER VI

A REIGN OF TERROR

When a man is in politics--when the party is intrusting its sacredinterests to his leadership--it is expected that he will stay athead-quarters. It is as good as understood that he will be where thetouching committees can touch him. His clarion voice must be hearddenouncing the evil plans of the political enemy. 

The absence of David Lockwin from his head-quarters is thereforedeclared to be a "bomb-shell. " In the afternoon papers it is said thathe has undoubtedly withdrawn in favor of Harpwood. 

The morning papers announce serious illness in Lockwin's family. 

What they announce matters nothing to Lockwin. He cannot be seen. 

If it be diphtheria Lockwin will use whisky plentifully. It is hishobby that whisky is the only antidote. 

Dr. Floddin has taken charge. He believes that whisky would increaseDavy's fever. "It is not diphtheria, " he says. "Be assured on thatpoint. It is probably asthma. "

Whatever it may be, it is terrible to David Lockwin, and to Esther, andto all. 

The child draws his breath with a force that sometimes makes itselfheard all over the house. He must be treated with emetics. He is inthe chamber this Wednesday night, on a couch beside the great bed. Theroom has been hot, but by what chance does the furnace fail at such amoment? It is David Lockwin up and down, all night--now going to bedin hope the child will sleep--now rising in terror to hear that shrillbreathing--now rousing all hands to heat the house and start a fire atthe mantel. Where is Dr. Cannoncart's book? Read that. Ah, here itis. "For asthma, I have found that stramonium leaves give relief. Make a decoction and spray the patient. "

Off the man goes to the drug store for the packet of stramonium. Itmust be had quickly. It must be boiled, and that means an hour. It isincredible that the fire should go out! The man sweats a cold liquor. He feels like a murderer. He feels bereft. He is exhausted with aweek of political orgy. 

And yet along toward morning, as the gray morn grows red in response tothe stained glasses and rich carpetings, the room is warm once more. The whistling in the child's throat is less shrill. The man and thewoman sit by the little couch and the man presses the rubber bulb andsprays the air about the sick boy. 

He will take no medicine. Never before did he refuse to obey. But nowhe is in deeper matters. It requires all his strength and all histhoughts to get his breath. As for medicine, he will not take it. Forthe spray he is grateful. His beautiful eyes open gloriously when abreath has come without that hard tugging for it. 

At eight in the morning the man and the woman eat--a cup of coffee anda nubbin of bread. The mother of Esther arrives. She too is terrifiedby the ordeal through which the child is passing. 

"Go to the head-quarters, David, " she says. "You are needed. Pa saysso. I will stay all day, "

"Oh, Mother Wandrell, what do you think?"

"Here is your Dr. Floddin, ask him. "

The doctor speaks sadly. "He is much worse. What has happened?"

"The fires went out, " answers Lockwin. 

"Get some flaxseed at once. Get a stove in here. These fine houseskill many people. Keep the body enswathed in the double poultice, butdon't let the emulsion touch his skin directly. What is the effect ofthe medicine? I see he has taken a little. The bottleful is not goingfast enough. "

"He has taken no medicine at all, " says Esther. "It was spilled. "

David Lockwin, starting for head-quarters, must now attend the fixingof a stove where there is little accommodation for a stove. 

"Give me the child, " says the cook, "and the fire will not go out. "

"It would be murder for me to go to head-quarters, and I believe itwould be double murder, " he whispers to himself. He is in a lamentablestate. At two o'clock, with the stove up, the flaxseed cooking, theboy warmly bandaged, the asthmatic sounds diminished, and the womencertain they have administered some of the medicine to the stubbornpatient, Lockwin finds that he can lie down. He sleeps till dark, while Corkey organizes for the most tumultuous primaries that were everheld in Chicago. 

With the twilight settling in upon his bed Lockwin starts intowakefulness. He has dreamed of two-old-cat. "Bully for the codger!"the tribe of red-faces yell. In the other room he now hears the dismalgasps of his curly-head. 

He rinses his mouth with water, not daring to ask if the worst iscoming. He knows it is not coming, else he had been called. Yet he isnot quick to enter the sick chamber. 

"David, it is your duty to make him take it, " the mother says, as shegoes. "Esther, you look worse than David. "

Thus the night begins. The child has learned to dislike theimprisonment of poultices. The air is heavy with flaxseed. The basinof stramonium water adds its melancholy odor to the room. 

It is the first trouble Lockwin has ever seen. He is as unready andunwilling as poor little Davy. It is murder--that furnace going out. This thought comes to Lockwin over and over; perhaps the feeling ofmurder is because Davy is not an own son. 

It is all wretched and hideous! The slime of politics and the smell offlaxseed unite to demoralize the man. O if Dr. Tarpion were only here!But Davy will take no medicine; how could Tarpion help Davy?

Yes, that medicine--ipecac! The name has been hateful to Lockwin fromchildhood. 

Let Corkey win the primaries! What odds? Will not that releaseLockwin from the touching committees? Does he wish to owe his electionto a street car-company in another quarter of the city?

Perhaps Harpwood will win! How would that aid Davy? Ah, Davy! Davy!all comes back to him! It is a strange influence this little boy hasthrown upon David Lockwin, child of fortune and people's idol. 

It is a decent and wholesome thing---the only good and noble deed whichDavid Lockwin can just now credit to himself. He bathes his hotforehead again. 

Yes, Davy! Davy! Davy--the very thought of Davy restores the fallenspirit. That water, too, seems to purify. Water and Davy! But it isthe well Davy--the little face framed at the window, waiting for papa, waiting to know about Josephus--it is that Davy which stimulates thesoul. 

Is it not a trial, then, to hear this boy--this rock of Lockwin'sbetter nature--in the grapple with Death himself?

If Davy were the flesh and blood of Lockwin, perhaps Lockwin mightdetermine that the child should follow its own wishes as to the takingof ipecac. But this question of murder--this general feeling ofChicago that its babes are slaughtered willfully--takes hold of the manpowerfully as he gathers his own scattered forces of life. 

"Esther, will you not go to the rear chamber and sleep?"

The child appeals to her that her presence aids him. 

"May I sit down here, Davy?"

There is a nod. 

"Will you take some medicine now, Davy?"

"No, ma'am!" comes the gasping voice. 

The man sprays with the stramonium. The doctor returns. 

"Your boy is very ill with the asthma, Mr. Lockwin. He ought to berelieved. But I think he will pull through. Do not allow your nervesto be over-strained by the asthmatic respiration. It gives you morepain than it gives to Davy. "

"Do you suffer, Davy?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Ah, well, he does not know what we mean. Get him to take themedicine, Mr. Lockwin. It is your duty. "

Duty! Alas! Is not David Lockwin responding to both love and dutyalready? Is it not a response such as he did not believe he could make?

The doctor goes. The man works the rubber bulb until his fingers growparalytic. Esther sleeps from exhaustion. The child gets oversprayed. The man stirs the flaxseed--how soon the stuff dries out! He addswater. He rinses his mouth. He arranges the mash on the cloths. Itis cold already, and he puts it on the sheet-iron of the stove. 

But Davy is still. How to get the poultices changed? The man feelsabout the blessed little body. A tide of tenderness sweeps through hisframe. Alas! the poultices are cold again, and hard. 

They are doing no good. 

"Esther, I beg pardon, but will you assist me with the flaxseed?"

"Certainly, David. Have I slept? Why did you not call me sooner?Here, lamby! Here, lamby! Let mamma help you. "

The poultices are to be heated again. The woman concludes the affair. The man sits stretched in a chair, hands deep in pockets, one ankleover the other, chin deep on his breast. 

"Esther, " he says at last, "it must be done! It must be done! Givehim to me!"

"Oh, David, don't hurt him!"

The man has turned to brute. He seizes the child as the spoiler of acity might begin his rapine. 

"Pour the medicine--quick!"

It is ready. 

"Now, Davy, you must take this, or I don't know but papa will--I don'tknow but papa will kill you. "

Up and down the little form is hurled. Stubbornly the little willcontends for its own liberty. Rougher and rougher become the motions, darker and darker becomes the man's face--Satanic now--a murderer, benton having his own will. 

"Oh, David, David!"

"Keep still, Esther! I'll tolerate nothing from you!"

Has there been a surrender of the gasping child? The man is toomurderous to hear it. 

"I'll take it, papa! I'll take it, papa!"

It is a poor, wheezing little cry, barely distinguishable. How long ithas been coming to the understanding of those terrible captors cannotbe known. 

How eagerly does the shapely little hand clutch the spoon. "Another, "he nods. It is swallowed. The golden head is hidden in the couch. 

And David Lockwin sits trembling on the bed, gazing in hatred on themedicine that has entered between him and his foundling. 

"Papa had to do it! Papa had to do it! You will forgive him, pet?"So the woman whispers. 

There is no answer. 

The man sprays the air. "You won't blame papa, will you, Davy?"

The answer is eager. "No, please! Please, papa!"

It is a reign of terror erected on the government of love. It is chaosand asthma together. 

"It is a horrible deed!" David Lockwin comments inwardly. 

"Mother will be so glad, " says Esther. She pities the man. She wouldnot have been so cruel. She would have used gentler means, as she hadbeen doing for twenty-eight hours! And Davy would have taken nomedicine. 

The room is at eighty degrees. The spray goes incessantly. Themedicine is taken every half hour. 

At three o'clock the emetic acts, giving immediate relief. 

"I have heard my mother say, " says Esther, "that a child is eased by achange of flannels. He is better now. I think I will put on a cleanundershirt. "

The woman takes the sick child in her lap and sits near the stove. Thedifficulties of the night return. 

Why should the man's eyes be riveted on that captive's form! Ah! Whata pitiful look is that on golden-head's face! The respiration is oncemore impeded. The little ribs start into sight. The little bellows ofthe body sucks with all its force. The breath comes at last. There isno complaint. There is the mute grandeur of Socrates. 

"It is in us all!" the man cries. 

"What is it in us all, David?" asks the woman. 

"Cover him quickly, Esther, my dear, " the man gasps, and buries hisface in the pillow. "God of mercy, wipe that picture out of mymemory!" he prays. 

CHAPTER VII

THE PRIMARIES

The sun of Friday morning shines brightly. The sparrows chirp, thewagons rattle, the boys cry the papers, and the household smiles. 

The peddling huckster's son is not surprised. He knew Dr. Floddinwould cure Davy. 

The cook buys heavily. They'll eat now. "Mind what I'll fix for thatdarlint to-day!" she threatens. 

The housekeeper has taken Esther's place at Davy's couch. 

"You have undoubtedly saved the life of your boy by making him take theemetic. He will love you just as much. I know--Mrs. Lockwin wastelling me how much it disturbed you. Don't lose your empire over him, and he will be all right in a week. He must not have a relapse--thatmight kill him. "

"Doctor, I am risen out of hell, the third day. I cannot tell you whatI have felt, especially since midnight. But I can tell you now what Iwant. I desire that you shall take my place on this case. My personalaffairs are extremely pressing. What yesterday was impossible is noweasy. In fact, it seems to me that only impossibilities are probable. Remember that money is of no account. Throw aside your other practice. See that the women keep my boy from catching that cold again and I willpay you any sum you may name. "

In Lockwin's school money will purchase all things. Money will nowkeep Davy from a relapse. Money will carry the primaries. Money willwin the election. 

After all, Lockwin is inclined to smile at the terrors of the eveningbefore. "I was in need of sleep, " he says. 

He has not slept since. Why is he so brave now? But brave he is. Hecarries an air of happiness all about him. He has left his Davytalking in his own voice, breathing with perfect freedom and ready togo to sleep. 

The people's idol appears at head-quarters. He tells all the boys ofhis good fortune. They open his barrel and become more in hope of thecountry than ever before. 

The great Corkey appears also at Lockwin's head-quarters. "Hear you'vehad sickness. " he says. "Sorry, because I guess I've knocked you outwhile you was at home. I never like to take an unfair advantage ofnobody. "

"Glad to see you, Mr. Corkey. Go ahead! Nobody happier than meto-day. "

"He beats me, " said Corkey; "but he isn't goin' to be so sweetto-night. "

"Oh, I'm elected, sure!" Corkey announces on the docks. "Harpwood heoffer me the collectorship of the port if I git down. But I go roundto Lockwin's, and he seem to hope I'd win. He beats _me_. "

"Why, he's the machine man, Corkey. You don't expect to beat themachine?"

"Cert. All machines is knocked out, some time, ain't they?"

"Not by the marines, Corkey. "

"I can lick the man who comes down on these docks to say I'm going toget the worst of it. "

Corkey is accordingly elected, and all hands take a drink at the otherfellow's invitation, for which the great Corkey demands the privilegeof paying. With this prologue the crowds start for the primaries. 

"Lockwin, I expect you to stand straight up to the work to-day. Youwent back on us a little through the week. I know how sickness is, butmy wife died while I was in charge of one campaign. Politics ispolitics. Stand to the work to-day. Nothing's the matter. You'vecreated a good feeling among the boys. I've got to give the carcompany some more streets anyhow. The residents are hot forfacilities. So don't bother about their coming over. They will beover about three o'clock. Let Corkey have the precincts of the Secondand Third. If he comes further, a-repeating, you folks must fight. Hewill vote the gamblers but they will put in vest-pocket tickets foryou. Understand? Got all I said? Give Corkey two wards---if he canget the sailors up. "

Such are the day's injunctions of the political boss. It is only aspecial election in one district. It is practically settled already. The boss has a thousand other matters of equal moment. 

This is a day on which the prominent citizen stays out of politics. The polling booths are built of stout timber in front of some saloon. The line which is in possession votes all day. Every vote counts one. 

The sailors arrive and form in line before the various polls of theSecond and Third wards. 

A stranger--a tenderfoot--that is, a resident party man, entitled tovote--takes his place in the line. 

"What did you tell me I lied for?" asks a very tough politician. 

"I didn't tell you you lied. "

"I lie, do I?"

Several toughs seize the infuriated politician and hold him while theresident escapes. 

These wards will be carried for Corkey. In twice as many otherprecincts the situation is precisely the same, except that Harpwood andLockwin, the recognized rivals, have the polls. 

At three o'clock the wagons begin to unload, vote and reload. A placeis made at the head of the line for these "passengers. "

The "passenger" sailors vote at all of Corkey's precincts. They startfor the other wards. 

Now we may see the man Lockwin as commandant. He has the police andthe touching committees. He is voting his own "passengers" by thethousands. 

The sailors arrive in wagons. 

"You can't unload here!" says Lockwin. 

The sailors unload. 

Eight men seize a sailor and land him back in the wagon. 

Corkey sits on the wagon in front. He draws his revolver. 

"Put up that gun!" cries Lockwin. 

"Put up your pop, Corkey, " cry a half-dozen friendly toughs. 

"I hate to do it, " says Corkey, "but I guess them fellers has got thedrop on me. "

The battle is over. The sailors are all in the wagon. They drive offtoward another precinct. 

Corkey is pronounced a white-flag man. It is recalled that he let apartner play in his faro bank and did not kill the traitor. 

"Oh, Corkey ain't no good at all, " say the bad men from Bitter Creek. 

It heats their blood. They shake hands with Lockwin and deploy on thethreatened precincts. 

When the sailors unload at the next precinct of the Fourth ward theemissaries who have arrived with notice of Corkey's surrender--thesegreat hearts lead the fight. A saloon-keeper rushes out with abung-starter and hits a sailor on the head. An alderman bites off asailor's ear. An athletic sailor fells the first six foes who advanceupon him. A shot is fired. The long line at the polls dissolves as ifby magic. The judges of election disappear out the back door. 

There is nothing for the unoccupied alderman to do but to place 400Lockwin ballots in the box. 

The Lockwin ballot contains the name of delegates who are sworn for alltime to the alderman. 

The police finally arrest all the fighting sailors and hurry them tothe station. 

The attempt of Corkey to carry any wards or precincts outside of theFirst and Second is futile. It passes the practicable. In theory itwas good. 

Twelve wagon-loads of fighting sailors ought to be able to voteanywhere. 

A Napoleon would have massed his forces and conquered precincts. 

But Napoleon himself sometimes displayed the white feather. 

And that is the only way in which Corkey resembles Napoleon. 

CHAPTER VIII

FIFTY KEGS OF BEER

"It is estimated, " says the opposition press, "that Lockwin, the richman's candidate, backed by the machine, the organized toughs of the'Levee, ' and the gamblers, has spent over $25, 000 of corruption money. The primaries, which were held yesterday, were the most disgracefulpolitical exhibitions which have ever been offered in our civichistory. Harpwood was counted out in every ward but one. Corkey, thesailors' candidate, carried two wards by the same tactics which thepolice made use of elsewhere. In the First and Second, the officersarrested all 'disturbers' on complaint of Corkeyites. Everywhere elseCorkeyites were either forced off the field or are now in the bull-pensat the stations. 

"As our interview with the mayor shows, he is unacquainted with factswhich everybody else possesses. It is well enough to repeat that weshall never have a real mayor until the present rule-or-ruin machineshall be destroyed. 

"It is to be hoped that the split which threatens the convention ofto-day will herald the dawn of law-and-order rule, when bossism, clamorfor office, and saloon primaries will happily be things of the past. "

The primaries which were held on Friday elected delegates to theconvention of Saturday. If we scan the large body which is nowgathering, it may be seen that the business of to-day is to be done bymen who either hold or control office. The sidewalk inspectors, thehealth inspectors, the city and county building men, the men of the"institutions;" and the men of the postoffice are delegates. It may besafely guessed that they have no desire other than to hold their placesuntil better places can be commanded. The party can trust itsdelegates. In this hall is gathered the effective governing force ofthe whole city. To these men a majority of the citizens haverelinquished the business of public service. All those citizens whoobject are in the minority, and a majority of the minority object, onlybecause it is desired that a different set of men should perform thesame labors in the same way. 

The political boss is not in sight. Eight delegations of Harpwood menare admitted because they cannot be kept out. The convention is calledto order by a motion that a Lockwin man shall be chairman. 

Four saloon-keepers stand upon chairs and shout. 

Four bouncers of four rival saloons pull the orators down to the floor. The saloon-keepers are unarmed--their bung-starters are at home. TheLockwin man is in the chair. He has not been elected. Election insuch a hubbub is impossible, and is not expected. 

But the assumption of the chair by anybody is a good thing. Theconvention is thus enabled to learn that Corkey is making a speech. Achair is held on top of another chair. On this conspicuous perch thehero of the docks holds forth. 

Corkey is an oddity. He is a new factor in politics. The rounders arecurious to hear what he is saying. 

"Your honor!" cries Corkey in a loud voice. 

There is a sensation of merriment, which angers the orator. 

"Oh, I know you're all no-gooders, " he says. "I know that as well asany of ye. "

There is a hurricane of cat-calls from the galleries. 

There are cries of "Come down!" "Pull down his vest!" "See thesawed-off!"

"Yes, 'come down'!" yells the speaker in a white heat. "That's whatyou bloodsuckers make Lockwin do. He come down! I should say he did!But I'm no soft mark--you hear me? You bet your sweet life!"

The merriment is over. This is outrageous. The dignity of thisconvention has been compromised. There is a furious movement in therear. The tumult is again unrestrained. Corkey has blundered. 

The chairman pounds for order. The police begin to "suppress theexcitement. "

"Mr. Corkey, I understand, has an important announcement to make, "cries the chair. 

"You bet I _have_!" corroborates the navigator. 

"Spit it out!"

"Make the turn, Corkey!"

"Everything goes as it lays!"

Such are the preparatory comments of the audience. 

"Your honor--"

Corkey has been "pulled" for gambling. His public addresses heretoforehave been made before the police justice. 

"YOUR HONOR, MR. CHAIRMAN, AND MR. DELEGATES:--We're goin' to quit you. We're goin' to walk, to sherry, to bolt. We didn't have no fair chanceto vote our men yesterday. We carried our wards just as you carriedyour'n. We've just as good a right to the candidate as you have. Wetherefore with-with-with-go out--and you can bet your sweet life westay out! and you hear me--"

"Goon!" "Goon!" "Ki-yi!" "Yip-yip!"

Such are the flattering outbursts. Why does the orator pause?

His head quakes and vibrates, his face grows black, the mouth opensinto a parallelogram, the sharp little tongue plays about the mass ofblack tobacco. 

The convention leaps to its feet. The Sneeze has come. 

"That settles it!" cry the delegates. "Bounce any man that'll do sucha thing as that! Fire him out!"

The irresistible movement has reached Corkey's eyrie. Four faithfulCorkeyites are holding Corkey's platform. The assault on thesesupports, these Atlases, brings the collapse of Corkey. He goes downfighting, and he fights like a hero. One of the toughs who saw Corkeyput away his revolver at the primary is badly battered before he canretreat. 

The melee is a good-sized one. "It is to be observed, " writes thekeen-eyed reporters, "that the consumption of peanuts rises to itsmaximum during the purgation of a convention. "

The convention is purged. The fumes of whisky and tobacco increase. The crash of peanuts ceases. The committee on credentials reports. Harmony is to be the watchword. In this interest it has been agreed toseat four Harpwood delegates and eight Lockwin delegates in each of thecontests. 

Although the Harpwood delegates howl with indignation, it is only ahowl. None of them go out. They will all vote. But their votes willnot affect the nomination. If otherwise, the convention can be againpurged and the correct result established. That would be bloody anddifficult. Wait until it shall be necessary. 

"It is one of the workings of the status quo, " writes the reporter ofthe single-tax weekly, "that friction is everywhere reduced to theminimum of the system. There is little waste of bloody noses inpolitics. "

"It is getting past dinner time. Why not be through with this? Whatis the matter?"

These are the questions of the sidewalk inspectors, who perhaps ache toreturn to their other public duties. 

"It is Corkey's fault--Corkey's fault! But here's the platform, now!"

"We point with the finger of scorn--" reads the clerk in a great voice. 

"That's the stuff!" respond the faithful, shaking hands one withanother. 

"Order!" scream the bouncers and police. They desire to hear theplatform. It is the hinge on which liberty hangs. It is the brassidol of politics. 

"And the peace, prosperity and general happiness of the American peoplewill ever remain dear to the party which saved the union and nowreaches a fraternal hand across the bloody chasm!" So reads the clerk. 

"That's what! We win on that! They can't answer to that!"

"We demand a free ballot and a fair count!"

"No more bulldozing!" exclaims the bouncer who has heard the plank. 

"We guarantee to the sovereign electors of the First district, and tothe whole population of the nation a reform of the civil service and anentire abolition of the spoils system. "

"I suppose, " says the bouncer, "that things is going on too open inWashington. "

The reading ceases. 

"Ki-yi!" "Hooray!" "He-e-e-e-e-e!" "Zip-zip-zippee!"

There is a crash of peanuts, a tornado of bad air, a tempest of wildand joyous noise. 

"The platform was received with genuine enthusiasm. It was adoptedwithout a dissenting voice. " Thus the reporters write hurriedly. 

There has been an uproar ever since the question was put. Now, if thedelegate quicken his ear, he may hear the chairman commanding:

"All those in favor will vote 'aye!'"

Again there is the tempest. The Harpwood delegates have voted aye!

"What is it?" ask most of the delegates. 

"Lockwin is nominated by acclamation, " comes the answer from the front. 

"Oh, is he?" say the delegates, Harpwood men and all. 

There is a numerous outgo for liquor. A man is escorted to the stage. He is cheered by those who see him. Most of the leading delegates arebargaining for places on the central committee. The Harpwood men areto be taken care of. 

The speech goes on. "It is, " says the orator, "the proudest day of mylife, I assure you. "

"Do you suppose he's gone broke?" inquire the committee men. 

"It is the matchless character of our institutions--" continues thecandidate. 

"We'd be done up if the other fellows should indorse Corkey, " says ahungry saloon-keeper. 

"--The matchless character of our institutions that the people hold thereins of government. "

The orator is gathering an audience. "The people" are hungry, but loveof oratory is a still weaker place in their armor. The voice rises. The eye flashes. The cheeks turn crimson. The form straightens. 

The orator weeps and he thunders. 

"Hi--_hi_!" says the hungry saloon-keeper, in sudden admiration. 

"America! My fellow-countrymen, it is the palm of the desert--the rockof liberty. 

 "We have a weapon firmer set, And better than the bayonet; A weapon that comes down as still As snowflakes fall upon the sod; But executes a freeman's will As lightning does the will of God. "

The effect is electric. 

"Jiminy!" whistles the hungry saloonkeeper, "ain't we lucky we put himup? I could sell fifty kag if he spoke anywhere in the same block. "

CHAPTER IX

THE NIGHT BEFORE ELECTION

"The art of declamation, " says Colton, "has been sinking in value fromthe moment that speakers were foolish enough to publish and readerswise enough to read. "

All speakers are not foolish enough to publish; all readers are notwise enough to read. Besides, there is still a distinct art of oratorywhich has not lost its hold on the ears of men. 

The orator weeps and he thunders. His audience by turns laments andclamors. But the orator, on the inner side of his spirit, is morecalm. The practice of his wiles has dulled the edge of his feelings. 

It may be, therefore, that the orator's art is not honest. Yet whoknows that the painter himself really admires the landscape which, inhis picture, gathers so much fame for him? The interests of thenation are now to be husbanded in this First Congressional district. The silvery voice of the gifted orator is to reclaim the wandering orlagging voter. 

The man who has lost faith in the power of the ballot is to be revivedwith the stimulus of human speech. It can be done. It is done inevery campaign. 

Lockwin is doing it each afternoon and night. Bravely he meets the cryof "Money and machine. " One would think he needed no better text. 

But his secret text is Davy. Davy, whose life has been intrusted toDr. Floddin, the friend of the poor, the healer who healed the eyes ofthe peddling huckster's son's sister, the eyes of the housekeeper'srelatives, and the eyes of Davy himself. 

The orator's speech may be impassioned, but he is thinking of Davy. 

The orator may be infusing the noblest of patriotism in his hearers'hearts, but often he hardly knows what he is saying. 

At a telling point he stops to think of Davy. 

The hearer confesses that the question is unanswered. 

Is Davy safe? Of course. "Then, my fellow-citizens, behold the superbrank of America among nations!" [Cheers. ]

Is Dr. Tarpion to be gone another week, and is the cook right when shesays Davy must eat? "Can we not, my friends and neighbors, lend ourhumble aid in restoring these magnificent institutions of liberty totheir former splendor?" [Cries of "Hear!" "Hear!" "Down in front!"]

"The winning candidate, " says the majority press, "is making aprodigious effort. It is confidentially explained that he was woundedby the charges of desertion or lukewarmness, which were circulatedduring the week of the primaries. "

Dr. Floddin is therefore to take care of Davy. Dr. Floddin's horse issick. It is a poor nag at best--a fifty-cents-a-call steed. Thedoctor meantime has a horse from the livery. 

Davy is to continue the emetic treatment. He sits on the floor in theparlor and turns his orguinette. "Back to Our Mountains" is hisfavorite air. He has twenty-eight tunes, and he plays Verdi's piecetwenty-eight times as often as any of the others. 

"Oh, Davy, you'll kill us!" laments the housekeeper, for the littleorguinette is stridulent and loud. 

"He'll kill himself, " says the cook. "He's not strong enough to grindthat hand-organ. He eats nothing at all, at all. "

"Papa isn't here any more, but I take my medicine, " the child says. The drug is weakening his stomach. 

"It is the only way, " says Dr. Floddin, "to relieve his lungs. "

"Are you sure he is safe?" asks Esther. "Are you sure it was asthma?"

"Oh, yes. Did you not see the white foam? That is asthma. "

"You do not come often enough, doctor. I know Mr. Lockwin would beangry if he knew. "

"My horse will be well to-morrow and I can call twice. But the childhas passed the crisis. You must soon give him air. Let him play awhile in the back yard. His lungs must be accustomed to the cold ofwinter. "

"I presume Mr. Lockwin will take us south in December. "

"Yes, I guess he'd better. "

But Esther does not let Davy go out. The rattle is still in the littlechest. 

Lockwin is home at one o'clock in the morning. He visits Davy's bed. How beautiful is the sleeping child! "My God! if he had died!"

Lockwin is up and away at seven o'clock in the morning. "Be careful ofthe boy, Esther, " he says. "What does the doctor seem to think?"

"He gives the same medicine, " says Esther, "but Davy played hisorguinette for over an hour yesterday. "

"He did! Good! Esther, that lifts me up. I wish I could have heardhim!"

"David, I fear that you are overtasking yourself. Do be careful!please be careful!"

Tears come in the fine eyes of the wife. Lockwin's back is turned. 

"Good! Good!" he is saying. "So Davy played! I'll warrant it was'Back to Our Mountains!'"

"Yes, " says the wife. 

"Good! Good! That's right. By-bye, Esther. "

And the man goes out to victory whistling the lament of the crooningwitch, "Back to Our Mountains! Back to Our Mountains!"

"Why should Davy be so fond of that?" thinks the whistler. 

But this week of campaign cannot stretch out forever. It must end, just as Lockwin feels that another speech had killed him. It must endwith Lockwin's nerves agog, so that when a book falls over on theshelves he starts like a deer at a shot. 

It is Monday night, and there will be no speeches by the candidates. Esther has prepared to celebrate the evening by a gathering of ahalf-dozen intimate friends to hear an eminent violinist, whoseperformances are the delight of Chicago. The violinist is doublyeminent because he has a wife who is devoted to her husband's renown. 

Lockwin sits on a sofa with his pet nestled at the side. What a senseof rest is this! How near heaven is this! He looks down on his littleboy and has but one wish--that he might be across the room to beholdthe picture. Perhaps the man is extravagantly fond of that view ofcurly head, white face, dark brow and large, clear eyes!

Would the violinist make such an effect if his wife were not there tostrike those heavy opening chords of that "Faust" fantasie?

"Will they play 'Back to Our Mountains?'" whispers the child. 

"Keep still, Davy, " the man says, himself silenced by a great rendition. 

"The doctor's horse is sick, " whispers Davy, hoarsely. 

"Yes, I know, " says the man. "Bravo, professor, bravo! You are agreat artist. "

"But the doctor's both horses is sick, " insists Davy. 

"Bravo! professor, bravo!"

Now comes the sweetest of cradle-songs, the professor with damper onhis strings, the professor's wife scarcely touching the piano. 

The strain ends. The man is in tears--not the tears of an orator. Heglances at the child and the great eyes are likewise dim. "Kiss me, Davy!"

But it is as if Davy were too hard at work with an article. He mustbreak from the room, the man suddenly wishing that the child could findits chief relief in him. 

"Yet I made him take the medicine, " thinks the man, in terror of thatnight. 

The professor will take some little thing to eat--a glass of beer, perhaps--but he must not stay. 

They go below, where Davy has told the cook of the extraordinaryprofessor who can scarcely speak English. Davy has asked him if hecould spell Josephus. "After all, " says Davy, "I'd be ashamed to playso loud if I couldn't spell Josephus. It hurt my head. "

"Yes, you darlint, " says the cook; "here's some ice cream. I don'twant you to wait. Eat it now. "

"I can't eat anything but medicine, " says Davy, "and I have to eat thator papa wouldn't love me. Do you think he loves me?"

"Ah, yes, darlint. Don't ye's be afraid of that. Thim as don't lovethe likes of ye's is scarcer than hen's teeth. "

"T-double-e-t-h, " observes the scholarly Davy. 

"My! my!" cries the cook. 

At the table, the professor will not care for any beer. Well, let itbe a little. Well, another glass. Yes, the glasses are not large. Another? Yes. 

"Ah! Meester Lockwin, " he says at last, "I like to play for you. Youlook very tired, I hear you will go to the--to the--"

The professor must be aided by his good wife. 

"To the Congress--ah, yes, to the Congress. "

"If I shall be elected to-morrow, " smiles the candidate. 

The friends go to their homes. It is not late. Esther has explainedthe need her husband has of both diversion and rest. "He is naturallyan unhappy man, " she says, "but Davy and I are making him happier. "

"Of all the men I have ever known, " says one of the guests to his wife, as they walk the few steps they must take, "I think David Lockwin isthe most blessed. All that money could do was dedicated to hiseducation. He is a brilliant man naturally. He has married EstherWandrell. He is sure to be elected to-morrow, and I heard a veryprominent man say the other day that he wouldn't be surprised ifLockwin should some day be President of the United States. They callhim the people's idol. I don't know but he is. "

"I don't believe he appreciates his good fortune, " says the wife. "Perhaps he has had too much. "

CHAPTER X

ELECTED

Yes, this is distinctly happy--this night at home, in the chamber afterthe music, with Davy to sleep over here, too. 

"There, Davy, " urges Esther, "you have romped and romped. You have notslept a wink to-day. It is far too late for children to be up, David. I only took down the stove to-day, for fear we might need it. "

But it is difficult to moderate the spirits of the boy. He is playingall sorts of pranks with his father. The little lungs come near theman's ear. There is a whistling sound. 

The north wind has blown for two weeks. It is howling now outside thewindows. 

"Pshaw!" the man laughs, "it is that cut-throat wind!"

For orators dislike the north wind. 

"Pshaw! Esther!" he repeats, "I mistook the moaning of the wind in thechimney. " But he is pale at the thought. 

"I hardly think you did, David. I can hear him wheeze over here. "

"You can! Come here, Davy. " But the child must be caught. His eyesflash. He is all spirit. His laugh grows hoarse. 

"How stupid I am, " thinks the man. He seizes the arch boy and claspshim in his arms. 

Then Lockwin takes that white and tiny wrist. He pulls his watch. Infive seconds he has fifteen beats. Impossible! Wait a few minutes. 

"Sit still for papa. Please, Davy. "

The indefinable message is transmitted from the man's heart to thechild's. The child is still. The animation is gone. 

Now, again. The watch goes so slowly. Is it going at all? Let us seeabout that. 

The watch is put to ear. Yes, it is going fast enough now. Of courseit is going. Is it not a Jurgensen of the costliest brand? Well, then, we will count a full minute. 

"Hold still, Davy, pet. "

What is Congress and President now, as the wheeze settles on thischild, and the north wind batters at the windows?

The man looks for help to Esther. "Esther, " he says, "I have counted140 pulsations. "

"Is that bad for a child, David? I guess not. "

"I am probably mistaken. I will try again. "

The child lays the curly head against Lockwin's breast. The fullvibration of the struggling lungs resounds through the man's frame. 

"The pulse is even above 140. Oh! Esther, will he have to go throughthat again?"

"No, David, no. See, he's asleep. Put him here. You look like aghost. Go right to bed. To-morrow will be a trying day. Davy istired out. To be sure, he must be worse when he is tired. "

"Does the doctor come at all in the night?"

"Why, no, of course not. It is a chronic case now, he says. Itrequires the same treatment. "

The voice is soft consoling and sympathetic. The man is as tired asDavy. 

"We ought not to have had the folks here, " he says. 

"No, " says Esther. 

"I wish the stove were up, " he thinks. 

"I wish David were not in politics, " the woman thinks. 

There is in and about that chamber, then, the sleep of a tired man, thewhistling of a cold and hostile wind, such as few cities know, thehalf-sleeping vigil of a troubled woman, and the increasing shrillnessof Davy's breathing. 

"It sounds like croup to me, " she whispers to herself. "It has alwayssounded like croup to me. I wonder if it could be diphtheria? Iwonder what I ought to do? But David needs sleep so badly! I'm sorryI had the company. I told David I was afraid of the child's health. But David needed the music. Music rested him, he said. "

The milk-wagons are rattling along the street once more. Will theynever cease? The man awakes with a start. 

"What is that?" he demands. He has just dreamed how he treated 150people to cigars and drinks on the day Dr. Floddin brought Davythrough. He has been walking with Davy among the animals in LincolnPark. "There's Santa Claus' horses, " said Davy, of the elks. 

There is a loud noise in the room. 

"What on earth is it?" he asks. He is only partly awake. 

"It is poor little Davy, " Esther answers. "Oh, David!" The woman issobbing. She herself has awakened her husband. 

The man is out of bed in an instant. The room is cold. There is nostove. There is no stramonium. There is no flaxseed. There is no hotwater. 

It is not the lack of these appliances that drives Lockwin into hispanic. He may keep his courage by storming about these misadventures. 

But in his heart--in his logic--there is NO HOPE. 

He hastens to the drug store. He has alarmed the household. 

"Davy is dying!" he has said, brutally. 

The drug clerk is a sound sleeper. "Let them rattle a little while, "he soliloquizes with professional tranquillity. 

"Child down again?" he inquires later on, in a conciliatory voice. "Wouldn't give him any more of that emetic if it was my child. I'vere-filled that bottle three times now. "

The stove must be gotten up. The pipe enters the mantel. There, thatwill insure a hot poultice. But why does the thing throw out gas? Whydidn't it do that before?

"It is astonishing how much time can be lost in a crisis, " the manobserves. He must carry his Davy into another room, couch and all, forhe will not suffer the little body to be chilled any further. "If thiscup may be kept from my lips, " he prays, "I will be a better man. "

The sun is high before the child is swathed with hot flaxseed. The mansprays the stramonium. The child has periods of extreme difficulty. He is nauseated in every fiber. 

"God forgive me!" prays Lockwin. 

"Mamma, will I have to play with the swear boys?"

"No, my darling. "

"And will my curls be cut off before you get a picture?"

The man remembers that Davy has been sick much of late. They have nolikeness of him since he grew beautiful. 

"And may I go to Sunday-school if I don't play with the swear boys?For the teacher said--"

The canal tightens in the throat. The old battle begins. 

The man sprays furiously. The child lisps: "Please don't, papa. "

The man is hurt to think he has mistaken the child's needs. 

The air gets dry again. The child signals with its hand. 

"More spray, Davy? Ah! that helps you!"

The man is eased. 

"Esther, where is that doctor?"

They had forgotten him. The case is chronic. All the household aredoctors. So now by his coming there is only to be one more to the lotof vomiters and poulticers. 

Yet it dismays all hands to think they have forgotten the famous saviorof Davy. They telephoned for him hours ago. "Ah me!" each says. 

The child's feet grow cold. "Hot bottles! Hot bottles!" is the cry. The first lot without corks. And at last Lockwin goes to the closetand gets the rubber bags made for such uses. 

At one o'clock the doctor arrives. Lockwin has gone to the drug storeto get more flaxseed If he get it himself it will be done. If heorder it some fatal hour might pass. The cold air revives him. Hesees a crowd of men down the street. It is a polling-booth. 

He strives to gather the fact that it is election day. Corkey isrunning as an independent democrat, because the democratic conventiondid not indorse him after he bolted from the Lockwin convention. 

But for that strange fillip of politics Lockwin must have been beatenbefore he began the campaign. Well, what is the election now? Davydying all the week, and not a soul suspecting it!

"Girls wanted!" The sign is on the basement windows. Yes, thataccounts for the strange disorganization of the household. That, insome way, explains the cold furnaces and lack of the most needfulthings. 

Never mind the girls. Plenty of them to be had. That doctor--what canhe say for himself?

The man starts as he enters the house. What was it Davy said lastnight? That "the doctor's both horses were sick!" It is adisagreeable recollection, therefore banish it, David Lockwin. Go upand see the doctor. 

The door is reached. Perhaps the child is already easier. The door isopened. The smell of flaxseed reproduces every horror of Davy's firstattack. After the man has grown used to the flaxseed he begins todetect the odor of stramonium. The pan is dry. Carry it back to thestove and put some hot water in it. But look at Davy first. 

"Esther, how is he?"

"I think he is growing better, David. "

"The room here is not warm enough. Let us carry him back where thestove is. "

The cook is on the stairs and beholds the little cortege. "Lord!Lord!" she wails, and the housekeeper silences the cry. "They carrythem like that at the hospital, " the frightened woman explains. "Butthey are always dead!"

In the kitchen sits a woman, visiting the cook. Her face is the verypicture of trouble. She rocks her body as she talks. 

"I buried seven, " she says. 

"Seven children?"

"Yes, and every one with membrainyous croup. They may call it whatthey please. Ah! I know; I know!"

She rocks her body, and laughs almost a silly laugh. 

"Every one of them had a terrible attack, and then was well for a week. Two of 'em dropped dead at play. They seems so full of life justbefore they go. When my husband broke his leg I lost one. When Icaught the small-pox they let one die. Oh, my! Oh, my!"

The woman rocks her body and laughs. 

Lockwin wants more boiling water. It gives him something to do to getit. He enters the kitchen. 

"Davy has the asthma, " he says to the desolate mother as he passes. 

"Davy has the membrainyous croup, " she replies: "I saw that a week ago. Makes no difference what the doctors say; they can't help no child. "

"Where is that doctor, Esther?" the man says. 

"He was here while you were gone. He said he would return soon. Hesaid it was a relapse, but he thought there was no danger. "

"It is lucky, " the man inwardly comments, "that we are all doctors. "

"He should have stayed here and attended to his business, " the manobserves audibly, as he makes a new poultice. 

"Mamma!" It is Davy. 

"Yes, mamma is here. "

"Why don't the doctor come?"

"Are you suffering, precious?"

"I don't know. "

"There, let us warm your feet. Don't take them away, pet. See, youbreathe easily now. "

"Thank God!" says the man "that we are all doctors. "

The afternoon wanes. 

"Georgie Day, mamma. "

"Yes, lamby. "

"I want him to have my sleeve-buttons. He can play base-ball, nottwo-old-cat. He can play real base-ball. "

"Yes, Georgie shall come to see you to-morrow. "

Lockwin goes to the speaking tube. 

"Go and get Dr. Floddin at once. Tell him to come and stay with us. Tell him we have difficulty in keeping the child warm. "

The sun has poured into the window and gone on to other sick chambers. The flaxseed and stramonium seem like reminders of the past stage ofthe trouble. Richard Tarbelle, never before in a room where the tideof life was low, looks down on Davy. 

"Mr. Lockwin, I'm not rich, but I'd give a thousand dollars--a thousanddollars!"

"My God, doctor! why have you been so slow getting here?"

"My horses have been taken sick as fast as I got them. "

The doctor advances to the child. The child is smiling on RichardTarbelle. 

"What ails you?"

It is Lockwin, looking in scorn on his doctor, who now, pale as aghost, throws his hands up and down silly as the crone downstairs bythe kitchen-range. 

"Nothing can be done! Nothing can be done!"

"They say it hasn't been asthma at all, " sobs Esther. "I suppose it'sdiphtheria. "

"The man who can't tell when a child is sick, can't tell when he'sdying, " sneers Lockwin. "Doctor, when were you here yesterday?"

"I haven't been here since to-morrow week. My horses have been sickand the child was well. "

Davy is white as marble. His breath comes hard. But why he should bedying, and why this fifty-cent doctor should know that much, puzzlesand dumfounds the father. Davy may die next week, perhaps. Not dyingnow!

"It's a lie. It's not so, " the father says. 

"Mr. Lockwin, I don't want to say it, but it is so. " It is the kindvoice of Richard Tarbelle. 

"Very well, then. It is diphtheria. " It is the one goblin that foryears has appalled Lockwin. Well it might, when it steals on a manlike this. "To think I never gave him a drop of whisky. Oh! God! Getus a surgeon. "

A medical college is not far away. The surgeon comes quickly, althoughLockwin has gone half-way to meet him. The two men arrive. Dr. Floddin continues to throw his hands up and down. He loved Davy. Perhaps Dr. Floddin is a brave man to stay now. Perhaps he would bebrave to go. 

"Well, Mr. Surgeon, look at that child. "

"Your boy is dying, " says the surgeon, as the men retire to a back room. 

"What is to be done?" asks the father, resolutely. 

"We can insert a tube in his throat. "

"Will that save his life?"

"It will prolong his life if the shock do not result fatally. "

"If it were your own child would you do this operation?"

"Yes, I think so. "

"Would you do it, certainly?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Let us go in. "

"Esther, we shall have to give him air through his throat. "

"No, no!" shrieks the woman. "No, no!"

The child's eyes, almost filmy before, are lifted in beautiful appealto the mother. "No, Davy. It shall not be!"

"It must be, " says Lockwin. 

"I have not brought my instruments, " says the surgeon. "It is now verylate in the case, anyway. "

"Thank God!" is the thought of the father. 

The child smiles upon his mother. He smiles upon Richard Tarbelle. 

"How can he smile on papa, when papa was to cut that white and narrowthroat?" It is David Lockwin putting his unhappy cheek beside thelittle face. 

Now, if all these flaxseed rags and this stramonium sprayer and pancould be cleared out! If it were only daylight, so we could see Davyplainer!

Then comes a low cry from the kitchen. It is the forlorn mother, detailing the treacherous siege of membraneous croup. 

David Lockwin can only think of the hours last night, while Davy was inGethsemane. The cradle song was the death song. The doctors sit inthe back room. Esther holds the little hands and talks to the earsthat have gone past hearing. "There is a sublime patience in women, "thinks Lockwin, for he cannot wait. 

"Inconceivable! Inconceivable! Davy never at the window again! Takeaway my miserable life, oh, just nature! Just God!"

The white lips are moving:

"Books, papa! J-o-s-e-p--"

"Yes, Davy. Josephus. Papa knows. Thank you, Davy. I can't saygood-bye, Davy, for I hope I can go with you!"

The man's head is in the pillow. "Oh, to take a little child likethis, and send him out ahead of us--ahead of the strong man. Is it nothard, Richard Tarbelle?"

"Mr. Lockwin, as I said, I am not a rich man, but I would give athousand dollars--a thousand dollars--I guess you had better look athim, Mr. Lockwin. "

Davy is dead. 

Never yet has that father showered on the child such a wealth of loveas lies in that father's heart. It would spoil the boy, and Lockwin, himself almost a spoiled son, has had an especial horror of parentalover-indulgence. 

So, therefore, he is now free to take that little form in his arms. The women will rid it of the nightgown and put on a cleaner garment. And while they do this act, the man will kiss that form, beginning atthe soles of the feet. 

 --Those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed For our advantage on the bitter cross. --

Why do these lines course through the man's brain? Curses on thatflaxseed and that vile drug which made these fields so hard for theselittle feet. Any way, the man may gather this clay in his arms. Noone else shall touch it! It is a long way down these stairs! Never atthe window again, Davy. "I would give a thousand dollars. " Well, Godbless Richard Tarbelle. If it were a longer distance to carry thisload, it would be far better! Light up the back parlor! Let us havethat ironing-board! Fix the chairs thus! He must have a good book. It shall be Josephus. Oh, God! "Josephus, papa. " Yes, yes, Davy. Put curly-head on Josephus. 

The man is crooning. He is happy with his dead. 

He talks to the nearest person and to Davy. 

There is a great noise at the head of the street. There is an inflowof the people. The shrill flageolet, the brass horns, the bass drums, the crash of the general brass and the triangle--these sounds fill theair. 

Where is the people's idol, elected to Congress by to-night's count, already conceded at Opposition head-quarters?

The orator stands over his dead. What is that? Elected to Congress?A speech?

"It will be better, " says Richard Tarbelle. "Come up on the balcony, Mr. Lockwin. It will be better. "

This noise relieves the father's brain. How fortunate it has come. The orator goes up by a rear stairway. He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that may be heard all over the South Side. 

"He looks haggard, " says the first citizen. 

"You'd look tired if you opened your barrel the way he did, " vouchsafesthe second citizen. 

The orator lifts his voice. It is the proudest moment of his life, heassures them. In this eventful day's work the nation has been offereda guarantee of its welfare. The sanctity of our institutions has beenvindicated. 

Here the tin-horns, the cat-calls, the drunken congratulations--thewhole Babel--rises above the charm of oratory. But the people's idoldoes not stop. The words roll from his mouth. The form sways, thefinger points. 

"He's the boy!" "Notice his giblets!" "He will be President--if hisbarrel lasts. " Thus the first, second and third saloon-keepersdetermine. 

There is a revulsion in the crowd. What is the matter at the basementgate?

It is the cook and the housekeeper in contention. 

"I tell ye's I'm goin' to fasten it on the door! Such doings as this Inever heard of. Oh, Davy, my darlint! Oh! Davy, my darlint!"

The crowd is withdrawing to the opposite curb, But the crush istremendous. There are ten thousand people in the street. Only thosenear by know what is happening. 

The cook escapes from the housekeeper. She climbs the steps of theportico. She flaunts the white crape. "Begone, ye blasphemouswretches!" she cries. 

"What the devil is that?" asks the first citizen. 

The cook is fastening the white gauze and the white satin ribbon on thebell knob. 

"Do ye see that, ye graveyard robbers? Will ye blow yer brass bandsand yer tin pipes now, ye murtherin' wretches?"

The host has seen the signal of death, as it flaunts under theflickering light of the gas lamp. There is an insensible yet rapiddeparture. There were ten thousand hearers. There are, perhaps, tenhundred whose eyes are as yet fixed upward on the orator. 

"Our republic will forever remain splendid among nations, " comes therich voice from the balcony. One may see a form swaying, an armreaching forth in the dim light. 

The ten hundred are diminishing. It is like the banners of the aurorallight. The ten hundred were there a moment ago. Now it is but amemory. No one is there. The street is so empty that a belateddelivery wagon may rattle along, stopping at wrong houses to fix thenumber. 

The orator speaks on. He weeps and he thunders. 

Hasten out on that balcony, Richard Tarbelle, and stop this scandal!Lead that demented orator in! Pluck him by the sleeve! Pluck harder!

"The voice of the people, my fellow-citizens, " cries the people's idol, "is the voice--is the voice of God. "

"God, and Holy Mary, and the sweet angels!" comes a low, keening cryfrom the kitchen. 

CHAPTER XI

LYNCH-LAW FOR CORKEY

It is a month after the election. Lockwin has been out of bed for aweek. 

"You astound me!" cries Dr. Tarpion. 

The doctor is just back from his mine in Mexico. The doctor hasclimbed the volcano of Popocatapetl. His six-story hotel in Chicago isleased on a bond for five years. He has a nugget of gold from hismine. His health is capital. He is at the mental and physicalantipodes of his friend. Talk of Mexican summer resorts and Chicagoreal estate is to the doctor's taste. He is not prepared for Lockwin'srecital. 

"Your Davy, my poor fellow, had no constitution. Mind you, I do notsay he would have died had I remained at my office. I do not say that. Of course, it was highly important that his stomach should bepreserved. You fell in the hands of a Dr. Flod--let me see our list. Why, by heavens! his name is not down at all!"

Dr. Floddin's name is not in the medical peerage. Dr. Floddin, therefore, does not exist. 

"Well, David, let us speak of it no more. You were entrapped. Howabout this Congress? I tell you that you must go. You must do exactlyas our leader directs. "

Lockwin is elected, and he is not. He received the most votes, butgreat frauds were openly perpetrated. Without the false votes Corkeywould have been elected. There is to be a contest in the lower House. The majority of the party in the House is only three, with tworepublicans on sick beds in close districts. 

Interest in the Chicago affair is overshadowing. The President'sprivate secretary has commissioned the Chicago political boss to fix itup. 

Corkey is an unknown factor. The boss assures the administration thatthe district would be lost if Corkey should win. 

What does Corkey want?

"I was elected, " says Corkey. 

"You don't carry the papers, " answers the boss. 

"I just made you fellers screw your nut for 2, 000 crooked votes, " saysCorkey. 

"None of your sailors had the right to vote, " says the boss. "Now, here, Corkey, you are going to lose that certificate. It doesn'tbelong to you, and we've got the House. Here's a telegram from a highsource: 'Lockwin must get the election at all hazards. See Corkey. 'I'll tell you what you do. You and Lockwin go on and see thePresident. "

"That will never do, " says Corkey. "But I'll tell you what I will do. "

"Go on. "

"Do you know I've a notion that Lockwin ain't goin' to serve. If heresigns, I want it. If he catches on, all right. I want him or you toget me collector of the port. You hear me? Collector of the port. His nobs, this collector we have now--he must get out, I don't carehow. But he must sherry. I can't fool with these sailors. If theysee me trading with Lockwin they will swear I sell out. See? Well, Iwant to see Lockwin, just the same. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do:You Send Lockwin to Washington to explain the situation. Get inwriting what is to be done. Don't let there be any foolin' on thatpoint. Tell Lockwin to return by the way of Canada, and get to OwenSound. I know a way home that will leave us alone for two days ormore. In that time I can tell what I'll do. "

"All right; Lockwin shall go. "

"I'll give it out that I've gone to Duluth for the newspaper. But I'veno use for newspapers no more. It's collector or Congress, sure. Don't attempt no smart plays. Tell that to the jam-jorum atWashington. If they want me to take down my contest and cover up thehole you ballot-box-stuffers is in here at home, let 'em fix _me_. "

"All right. "

"It's all right if Lockwin meets me at Owen Sound. I've got the_papes_ to send a lot of you duffers to the pen if you don't come totime. "

Corkey therefore sails for Duluth. It increases his standing with thesailors to make these trips late in the year. 

Lockwin is to go to Washington. It is evident, say his friends, thathe is greatly exhausted with the efforts of the campaign. Dr. Tarpionhas hinted that Lockwin is not the ambitious man that he has seemed tobe. Dr. Tarpion has hinted that it was only through strong personalinfluence that Lockwin has been held faithful to the heavy party dutythat now lies upon him. 

Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin did not want the office if it didnot belong to him. 

But Lockwin has had brain fever for nearly a month. What could youexpect of a man who made so many speeches at so many wigwams?

"Besides, " says the political boss, "he had sickness in his family. "

"Some one died, didn't they?" asks a rounder where these reports arebandied. 

"Yes, a little boy. Good-looking little fellow, too. I saw him withLockwin. "

"When I was a young man, " said the boss, "old Sol Wynkoop got in theheat of the canvass, just like Lockwin. Old Sol was just about as gooda speaker. He would talk right on, making 'em howl every so often. Well, his wife and his daughter they both died and was buried, and OldSol he didn't miss his three dates a day. He didn't come home at all. I had a notion to tell Lockwin that. Oh, he ain't no timber forPresident, or even for senator. I did tell Lockwin how my wife died. I got to the funeral, of course, for this is a city, and Old Sol wasforty miles away, with muddy roads. But, boys, when I get tired I justhave to go up to the lake and catch bass. I tell you, politics ishard. I must find Lockwin right away. Good-bye, boys. Charge thosedrinks to me. "

It is Sunday. David Lockwin is walking toward the little church whereDavy went to Sunday-school. He passes a group at a gate near thechurch. "Every week, just at this time, there goes by the mostbeautiful child. Stay and see him. See how he smiles up at ourwindow. "

"He is dead and buried, " says Lockwin in their ear. They are youngwomen. They are startled, and run in the cottage. 

Lockwin walks as in a dream. To-morrow he goes to Washington. "Politics is hard, " he says, but he does not feel it. He feelsnothing. He feels at rest. Nothing is hard. He is weak from anillness, of which he knows little. He has never been in thisinfant-room. Many a time he has left Davy at the door. 

The pastor's wife is the shepherdess. She has a long, white crook. Before her sit seven rows of wee faces and bodies. It is sweeter thana garden of flowers. They are too small to read books, but they learnat the fastest pace. The shepherdess gets Lockwin a chair. There aretears in her eyes. The audience is quick to feel. Tears come in theeyes of little faces nearly as beautiful as Davy's. Roses are sweetestwhen the dew sparkles on them. 

"Oh, my dear sir, no. None of them are as pretty as he was. " Such isthe opinion of the shepherdess. "We see only one like him in alifetime, " she testifies. A wee, blue chair is vacant in the first rowat the end--clearly the place of honor. A withered wreath lies on thechair. The man's eyes are fastened on that spot. Here is a world ofwhich he knew nothing. Here he follows in the very footsteps. 

"Listen, listen, " says the motherly teacher. "This is Davy's father. "

Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. Strange powerof human pity!

[Illustration: Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. ]

"Little Davy is with Jesus, " says the shepherdess. "Now all you whowant to be with Jesus, raise your hands. "

Every right hand is up. Their faith is implicit, but many a left handis pulling a neighboring curl. Busy is that long shepherd crook, todefeat those wicked left hands. 

A head obtrudes in the door. "Excuse me, " says the political boss. "Mr. Lockwin, can you spare a moment? Hello, Jessie! no, papa will notbe home to-night. Tell mamma, will you?"

A curly head is saddened. Lockwin thanks the shepherdess, and followshis boss. 

"The train goes East at 4:45. Don't lose a moment. Lucky I found you. "

The newspaper press is in possession of a sensation. On Monday morningwe quote: "A plot has been revealed which might have resulted in theloss of the First district, and possibly of Congress, just at themoment the re-apportionment bill was to be passed. Notice of contesthas been served on Congressman Lockwin as a blind for subsequentoperations, and yesterday the newly elected member left hurriedly forWashington to consult with the attorney general. It is evident thatthe federal authorities will inquire into the high-handed outrageswhich swelled the votes of Corkey and the other unsuccessful candidateson election day. 

"The time is coming, " concludes the article, "when lynch law will bedealt out to the repeaters who haunt the tough precincts at eachelection day. "

The prominent citizens say among themselves: "We ought to do somethingpretty soon, or these ward politicians will be governing the nation!"

CHAPTER XII

IN GEORGIAN BAY

Corkey is at Owen Sound. The political bee is buzzing in his bonnet. Collector of the port--this office seems small to a man who reallypolled more votes than Lockwin. The notion has taken hold of Corkeythat, by some hook or crook, Lockwin will get out and Corkey will getin. 

When he thinks of this, Corkey rises and walks about his chair, sittingdown again. 

This is a gambler's habit. 

There follows this incantation an incident which flatters his ambition. Having changed his tobacco from the right to the left side of hismouth, he strangles badly. It takes him just five minutes to get afree breath. This is always a good sign. Thereupon the darkest ofnegro lads, with six fingers, a lick, left-handed and cross-eyed, enters the barroom of the hotel. 

"Here!" cries Corkey. "What's your name?" The boy stammers in hisspeech. 

"N-n-n-noah!" he replies. 

"Why not?" inquires Corkey. "You bet your sweet life you tell me whatyour name is!"

"N-n-n-noah!"

"Why not? Tell me that!"

"M-m-my name is N-n-noah!" exclaims the boy. 

"Ho! ho!" laughs Corkey. "Let's see them fingers! Got any more inyour pockets?"

"N-n-n-noah, " answers the boy. 

"Got six toes, too?"

"Y-y-yes, sah!"

"A dead mascot!" says Corkey. It is an auspice of the most eminentfortune. Corkey from this moment rejects the collectorship, and stakesall on going to Congress. Thoughts of murdering Lockwin out here inthis wilderness come into the man's mind. 

"I wouldn't do that, nohow. Oh, I'll never be worked off--none of thatfor me!"

In Corkey's tongue, to be worked off is to be hanged. 

"Nixy. I'll never be worked off. But it would be easy to throw himfrom the deck to-night. Some of the boys would do it, too, if theyknew him. "

The man grows murderous. 

"Easy enough. Somebody slap his jaw and get him in a fight. Oh, he'llfight quick enough. Then three or four of 'em tip him into the lake. Why, it ain't even the lake out here. It's Georgian Bay. It's out ofthe world, too. My father was in Congress. My grandfather was in. Wonder how they got there? Wonder if they did any dirt?"

Corkey's face is hard and black. He rises. He feels ill. He swearsat the mascot. "I _thought_ he had too many points when I see him. "

The train is late. The propeller, Africa, lies at the dock ready tostart. 

"Well, if I come to such a place as this I must expect a jacklegrailroad. They say they've got an old tub there at the dock. Goodstiff fall breeze, too. "

The thought of danger resuscitates Corkey. He finds some sailors, tells them how he was elected to Congress, slaps them on the back, tries to split the bar with his fist, a feat which has often won votes, and tightens his heart with raw Canadian whisky. 

"Going to be rough, Corkey. "

"'Spose so, " nods Corkey. "Is she pretty good?"

"The Africa?"

"Um-huh!"

"Oh, well, she's toted me often enough. She's like the little nig theycarry. "

"Does that mascot sail with her?"

"To be sure. "

"That settles it. Landlord, give us that sour mash. "

"Train's coming!"

The drinks are hurriedly swallowed and paid for, and the men are offfor the depot near by. 

"How are ye, Lockwin?" "How-dy-do, Corkey. Where have you got me?Going to murder me and get to Congress in my place?"

"No, but I expect you're going to resign and let me in. "

"Where's your boat? I hear they're waiting. I suppose we can getsupper on board. Why did you choose such a place as this?"

"Well, cap, I had a long slate to fix up when I came here. If I was tobe collector, of course I want to make my pile out of it, and I musttake care of the boys. But I didn't start out to be collector, andI've about failed to make any slate at all. Yet, if I'm to sell out toyou folks, I reckon I couldn't do it on any boat in the open lakes. I'm not sure but Georgian Bay is purty prominent. Captain Grant, thisis Mr. Lockwin, of Chicago. This is the captain of the Africa. Mr. Bodine, Mr. Lockwin, of Chicago. Mr. Bodine is station-keeper here. Mr. Troy, Mr. Lockwin. Mr. Troy keeps the hotel. Mr. Flood, Mr. Lockwin. Mr. Flood runs the bank and keeps the postoffice and generalstore. "

The group nears the hotel. 

Corkey is seized with a paroxysm of tobacco strangling, ending with asneeze that is a public event. He is again black in the face, but hehas been polite. 

The uninitiated express their astonishment at a sneeze so mighty, andenter the inn. The women of the dining-room come peeping into thebar-room, But the captain explains:

"That sneeze carried Corkey to Congress. I've heern tell how he'd bein the middle of a speech and some smart Aleck would do something toraise the laugh on the gentleman. Corkey would get to strangling andthen would end with a sneeze that would carry the house. It's great!"

"That's what it is!" says Mr. Bodine. 

"Gentlemen, my father had it. It's no laughing matter. God sakes, howthat does shake a man!"

But Corkey has not only done the polite act. He has relieved his mind. He is no longer in danger of being worked off. 

"I wouldn't be likely to do up my man if I introduced him to everybody. "

Yet the opportunity to murder Lockwin, as a theoretical proposition, dwells with Corkey, now that he is clearly innocent. 

"I might have given him a false name. He'd a had to stand it, becausehe don't like this business nohow. Everything was favorable. Have wetime for a drink, cap'n?" The last sentence aloud. 

The captain looks at the hotel-keeper. The captain also sells thestuff aboard. But will the captain throw a stone into Mr. Troy's bar?

"I guess we have time, " nods the captain. 

The party drinks. The gale rises. One hundred wood-choppers, boundfor Thunder Bay, go aboard. The craft rubs her fenders and strains thewavering pier. It is a dark night and cold. 

"No sailor likes a north wind, " says Corkey. 

"I have no reason to like it, " says Lockwin. 

"I'll bet he couldn't be done up so very easy after all, " thinks Corkeywith a quick, loud guttural bark, due to his tobacco. "I wonder why helooks so blue? It can't be they won't trade at Washington. "

The thought of no office at all frightens the marine reporter. He askshimself why he did not put the main question at the depot before theother folks met Lockwin. The paroxysm has made a coward of Corkey. Hegets mental satisfaction by thoughts of the weather. The mate of theAfrica is muttering that they ought to tie up for the night. 

"What ye going to do?" asks Corkey of Captain Grant. 

"The captain is well sprung with sour mash, " says Corkey to himself. 

"We're going to take these choppers to Thunder Bay to-night, " says thecaptain with an oath. 

Supper is set in the after-cabin. It is nine o'clock before the enginemoves. There are few at table. After supper Corkey and Lockwin enterthe forward cabin and take a sofa that sits across the little room. The sea is rough, but the motion of the boat is least felt at thisplace. 

Lockwin has the appearance of a man who is utterly unwilling to behappy. Corkey has regarded this demeanor as a political wile. 

"I'll fetch this feller!" Corkey has observed to himself. 

But on broaching the question of politics, the commodore has found thatLockwin is scarcely able to speak. He sinks in profound meditation, and is slowly recalled to the most obvious matters. 

The genial Corkey is puzzled. "He's going to resign, sure. He beatsme--this feller does. "

The boat lunges and groans. It lurches sidewise three or four times, and there are sudden moans of the sick on all sides beyond thin woodenpartitions. 

"I bet he gits sick, " says Corkey. "Pard, are ye sick now? Excuse me, Mr. Lockwin, but are ye sick any?"

"No, " says Lockwin, and he is not sick. He wishes he were. 

"Well, let's git to business, then. You must excuse me, but--"

Corkey is seized with a paroxysm. He gives a screeching sneeze, andthe cries of the sick grow furious. 

"Who _is_ that?" asks the mate, peering out of his room and then goingon deck. 

David Lockwin is at the end of his forces. This is life. This ispolitics. This is expediency. This is the way men become illustrious. He straightens his legs, sinks his chin and pushes his hands far in hispockets. 

"Before I begin, " says Corkey, "let me tell ye, that if you're sick I'dkeep off the decks. You have a gold watch. Some one might nail ye. "

"Is that so?" asks Lockwin, his thoughts far away. 

"He beats _me_!" comments the contestant. "Well, pard, if you're notsick, I'd like to say a good many things. I suppose them ducks atWashington weakened. If they give me collector, here's my slate. "

Corkey produces a long list of names, written on copy-paper. 

"I bet she don't budge an inch, " he remarks, as he hears the north windand waves pounding at one end, and the engine pounding at the other. 

"Needn't be afraid, pard. Sometimes they go out in Georgian Bay andburn some coal. Then if they can't git anywhere, they come back. "

Corkey is pleased with his own remark. "Sometimes, " he adds, "theydon't come back. They are bluffed back by the wind. "

Lockwin sits in the same uncommunicative attitude. 

"Pardner, you didn't come out into Georgian Bay for nothing. I knowthat. So I will tell you what I am going to do with the collectorship. By the great jumping Jewhillikins, that's a wave in the stateroomwindows! I never see anything like that. "

The captain passes. 

"High sea, cap'n!" It is not in good form for Corkey to rise. He is apassenger, with a navigator's reputation to sustain. 

"High hell!" says the captain. 

"What a hullabaloo them choppers is a-making, " says Corkey to Lockwin. "I reckon they're about scared to death. Well, as I was a-saying, Iwant to know what the jam-jorum said. "

Corkey is terrified. He does not fear that he will go down in GeorgianBay. He dreads to hear the bursting of the bladders that aresupporting him in his sea of glory. 

Lockwin starts as from a waking dream:

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Corkey, but I could have told you at the startthat the administration, when it was confronted by the question whetheror not it would give you anything, said; 'No!' It will give younothing. The administration said it would not appoint you lightkeeperat Ozaukee. "

"There hain't no light at Ozaukee, " says Corkey. 

"That's what the administration said, too, " replies Lockwin. 

"Did you tell 'em I got you fine?" asks Corkey. 

"I told them I thought you had as good a case as I had. "

"Did you tell 'em I'd knock seventeen kinds of stuffin' out of theirwhole party? That I'd--"

Corkey is at his wits ends. His challenge has been accepted. At theoutset he had saved fifty twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his wages. He has spent fifteen already. The thought of a contest against themachine candidate carries with it the loss of the rest of the littlehoard. He has boasted that he will retain Emery Storrs, the eminentadvocate. Corkey grows black in the face. He hiccoughs. He strangles. 

He unburdens himself with a supreme sneeze. The mate enters the cabin. 

"I _knew_ that sneeze would wreck us!" he cries savagely. 

"Is your old tub sinking?" asks Corkey, in retort. 

"That's what she is!" replies the mate. 

Corkey looks like a man relieved. Politics is off his mind. He willnot be laughed at on the docks now. 

"Pardner, I'm sorry we're in this hole, " he says, as the twain rushthrough the door to the deck. It was dim under that swinging lamp. Itis dark out here. The wind is bitter. The second mate stands hard by. 

"How much water is in?" asks Corkey. 

"Plenty, " says the second mate. 

"What have ye done?" asks Corkey. 

"Captain's blind, stavin' drunk, and won't do nothin'. "

"Nice picnic!" says Corkey. 

"Nice picnic!" says the second mate, warming up. 

It is midnight in the middle of Georgian Bay. There is a fall galesuch as comes only once in four or five years. In the morning therewill be three hundred wrecks on the great lakes--the most inhospitablebodies of water in the world. 

And of all stormy places let the sailor keep out of Georgian Bay. 

CHAPTER XIII

OFF CAPE CROKER

Corkey has climbed to the upper deck and stands there alone in thedarkness and the gale. The engine stops. The steamer falls into thetrough of the sea. 

The Africa carries two yawls attached to her davits. Corkey is feelingabout one of these yawls. He suspects that the lines are old. Hesteps to the other side. He strains at a rope. He strives to unlooseit from its cleat. The line is stiff and almost frozen. 

"I'd be afraid to lower myself, anyhow, " he observes, for he has thenotion that everything about the Africa is insecure. 

The ship gives another lurch. Something must be done. Almost beforehe knows it, Corkey has cut loose the stern. The rope seems strong. 

Now he must unwind the bow line from its cleat, or he will lose hisboat. He kicks at the cleat. He loosens a loop. He raises the boatand then lowers it. The tackle works. 

The other yawl and its tackle roll and creak in the gale. Nobody elsecomes up the ladders. 

The man aloft pulls his line out and fastens it to the cleat which hetried to kick off. He seizes the stern of the yawl and hoists it farover the upper deck. The yawl falls outside the gunwale below, with agreat crash and splintering of oars. 

"She's there!" says Corkey, feeling the taut line. "She's there, andthe rope is good. The davit is good. "

The people below seem to know that a boat is being put out. But Corkeyis the only man on the ship who thinks the idea practicable. "Of whatuse to lower a small boat, " say the sailors, "in Georgian Bay?"

The man above must descend on that little line. He doesn't want to dothat. He goes to the other boat, and makes a feeble experiment ofhoisting and lowering, by means of both davits, the man to sit in theyawl. "I couldn't do it!" he vows, and recrosses. 

"What'll I do when I get down there?" he mutters. "How'll I get loose?"

He must make his descent knife in hand. 

"I can't do it!" he says, and gets out his knife. It is a largefur-handled hunting knife--like Corkey in its style. 

Corkey peers down on deck. The wood-choppers are fasteninglife-preservers about their bodies. Whether they be crying orshouting, cannot be told. 

He sees human forms hurrying past the cabin window, and there isreflected the yellow, wooden, ribby thing which he knows to be alife-preserver. 

It is a cheering thing in such a moment. "I wish I had one, " he says, but he holds to the rope of his boat. 

There is no crew, in the proper sense of the word. Not an officer orman on board feels a responsibility for the lives of the passengers. As at a country summer resort, each person must wait on himself. 

"Nobody is better'n we are, " says the captain. 

The Africa is rapidly foundering. 

"She must be as rotten as punk, " sneers Corkey. He thinks of hischeerful desk at the newspaper office. He thinks of his marineregister. He tries to recall the rating of this hulk of an Africa. 

"Anyhow, it is tough!" he laments. 

The wind is perhaps less boisterous since the engine slacked. The raysof light from the cabin lamps pierce and split the waves. Corkey neversaw so much foam before. 

"It's an easy good-bye for all of us, " he says, and falls ill. 

But shall he wait for the Africa to settle?

"She'll pull me down, sure!" he comments. 

Shall he wait much longer, then?

"All them roosters will be up here, and then we can't do nothing. YetI wish I had somebody with me. Oh, Lockwin! I say, hello! Old man!Lockwin! Come up this way!"

For a moment there is nothing to be heard but the furious whistling ofthe gale about the mast in front. There is nobody in the wheel-houseto the best of Corkey's eyesight. 

There are three or four booming sounds. Corkey is startled. They arerepeated. 

It is the yawl making its hollow sound. 

But there are no noises of human beings. "Oddest thing I ever see!"says Corkey. "I didn't know a shipwreck was like this. Everything isdifferent from what is printed--Lord save me!"

The Africa is rolling. 

"Here goes!" It is now or never. 

Corkey has short, tough fingers. He grasps that rope like a vise. Hewraps his left leg well in the coils. He kicks the steamer with hisright. The small boat does not touch the water when the steamer issitting straight in the sea. 

It is a horrible turmoil in which to enter. Perhaps he came down toosoon!

"I wish I had some one with me now. Mebbe the two of us would get anadvantage. "

The second mate looks over the gunwale from the prow of the steamer. He knows a land-lubber is handling a yawl. 

"D---- fool!" he mutters. 

In the Georgian Bay, if the ship go down, all hands are to drown. Onlysham sailors like Corkey are to make any effort, beyond fasteningpieces of wood about their waists. 

"I wonder if I'd come out here for this if I'd got onto it?" Then thegrim features relax. "I wonder if his nobs would?"

Corkey's feet rest on the prow of the small boat. He asks if hefastened that rope securely at the cleat. He has asked that all theway down. Perhaps the steamer is not going to sink. 

"Whoopy!"

Corkey is under the steamer's side, deep in the waves. He goes downsuddenly, cold, frightened, benumbed. He feels that some one is tryingto pull the rope out of his hands. It must be Lockwin. The drowningman clutches with a hundred forces. The tug increases. The strugglingman will lose the rope. Lockwin is striking Corkey with a bludgeon. That is unfair! There is a last pull, and Corkey comes up out of thewaves. 

What has happened? The Africa has rolled nearly over, but is righting. 

Corkey's wits return. "I've lost my knife!" he cries, in bitterdisappointment. But, lo! his knife is in his hands. He can withdifficulty unloose his fingers from the rope. 

The Africa is listing upon him again. He dreads that abyss of waters. He cuts the rope far above him and he falls in the sea, the entirescope of his life passing in a red fire before his eyes. 

Beside, there is a drowning thought that he has gone out to die beforethe rest. At the last, when he swung out as the Africa rolled towardhim he wanted to climb back. 

Now the red fire is gone and Corkey can think. He believes he isdrowning. "It's because I wasn't a real sailor, " he argues. "Thesailors knew better. "

Something pulls him. It is the rope which he holds. He knows now thathe has a yawl on the end of that line. He pulls and pulls--and comesup to the air, a choking, sneezing, exceedingly active human being. The yawl is riding the water. He rolls into the boat at the prow. Hefeels quickly for the oars and finds two that are in their locks. Water is deep in the bottom. There is nothing to bail with. 

But the joy of the little man is keen. "I'm saved! That's what I am!I'm saved!"

He thinks he hears a new noise--a great sough--the pouring of waters. He is moved sidewise in his boat. He wipes the mist from his eyes andpeers in all directions for the ship. 

"Where in God's name is she?" It is the most frightful thought Corkeyhas ever entertained. 

The Africa has gone down. It is as sure as that Corkey sits in theyawl, safe for the moment. The spirit of the man sinks with the ship, and then rides high again. 

"They're nothing to me!" he says. "I'm the only contestant, too!"

He is too brave. The thought seems sacrilegious. He grows faint withfear! All alone on Georgian Bay!

The boat leaps and settles, leaps and settles. The oars fly in hisface, and are jerked away. The boat falls on something solid. What isthat? It hits the boat again. An oar flies out of Corkey's hand. Hishand seizes the gunwale for security. A warmer hand is felt. Corkeypulls on the hand--a head--a kinky head--comes next. The thing isalive, and is welcome. Corkey pulls with both hands. A small formcomes over the gunwale just as a wave strikes the side of the yawl withthe only noise that can be heard. The yawl does not capsize. The boybegins bailing with his hands. 

It is the mascot. "Hooray!" cries the man. His confidence returns. He hears the boy paddling the water. The rebellious oars are seizedwith hope, but Corkey feels as if he were high on a fractious horse, "Bail, you moke!" he commands in tones that are heard for a hundredyards. 

"Bail, you cross-eyed, left-handed, two-thumbed, six-toed, stutteringmoke!"

The boy paddles with his hands. The man, by spasmodic efforts, holdsthe boat against the wind for a minute, and then loses his control. 

"Bail, you moke!" he screams, as the tide goes against him. 

The hands fly faster. 

The boat comes back against the wind and the great seas split on eachside of the prow. 

The swimmers hear Corkey. 

"Lordy!" he says. "I know I hit a man then with that right oar. Ifelt it smash him. There! we're on him now! Bail, you moke! Nostopping, or I throw you in! Stop that bailing and catch that duckthere! Got him? Hang on!"

It is a wood-chopper. 

This yawl is like a wild animal. It springs upward, it rolls, itflounders. It is like a wild bronco newly haltered. How can thesemany heads hope to get upon so spirited a steed? See it leap backwardand on end! Now up, now sidewise, now vertically!

But the swimmers are also the sport of the waves. They, too, arethrown far aloft. They, too, sink deeply. 

"There, I hit that man again, I know I did! Don't you feel him? Theymust be thick. Come this way, all you fellers! I can take ye!"

The boat is leaping high. These survivors are brave and good. 

The wood-chopper, with his wooden life-preserver, is clumsy getting in. He angers Corkey. 

"Bail, you moke! Let the other fellows fish for the floaters!"

It inspires Corkey, this frequent admonition of the boy. But the boatcavorts dizzily. 

"Bail, you moke! You black devil! Don't you forget it!" The oars gofast and furious, often in the air, and each time with a volley ofoaths. 

The wood-chopper has seized a man. It is another wood-chopper. Thereare now four souls in the boat. 

It leaps less like an athlete. 

It has been half an hour since the Africa went down. There still arecries. To all these, Corkey replies: "Come on! all you fellers thathas life-preservers!" But it is incredible that any more should get inthe yawl. 

Nevertheless, one, two, three, four, five, six wood-choppers arrive inthe next half-hour, and all are saved. Tugging for dear life, Corkeyholds his boat against the wind. 

"There!" cries the commander. "I strike him again!"

A wood-chopper this time grasps a floating man who can make littleeffort for himself. A half-dozen pair of hands bring him aboard. Hesinks on a seat. The boat is now full. It leaps less lightly. Thecommander is jubilant. He thinks himself safe. He returns to hisfavorite topic, the mascot. 

"You're from the Africa, ain't you? Bail, you moke! He-oh-he! Golly, that was a big one!"

"Yessah!"

"You're Noah. Good name! Fine name! Where's Ararat? He-oh-he!"

"Never seed a-a-airy-rat. "

"Bail, you moke! Don't you give me more o' your lip! Bail, you littledevil! Don't you see--he-oh--Godsakes! Lookout! Bail, all youfellers! Other side! Quick! It's no good! Hang on! All youfellers. "

The boat is turning. Hands grasp the gunwale. The gunwale sinks. Hands rise. The back of the boat rolls toward them. The handsscramble and pat the back of the boat. The gunwale comes over. Theboat is right side up. She still leaps. She still struggles to befree. Hand after hand lets go. Six hands remain. The boat rises andends about. Then the bow rises; next the stern. The yawl strivespersistently to shake free from the daring creatures who have so farescaped the Africa and the storm. The boy turns on the gunwale, as itwere a trapeze. He opens the locker. He finds a tin pie-plate. Hebails. 

Corkey gets in. 

"Lord of heavens!" he ejaculates, "that was a close call. Themwood-choppers! They was no earthly use. "

Two hands are yet on the gunwale. 

"Suppose we can git him in?"

"Yessah!" stammers the boy. 

The unknown man is evidently wounded, but is more active than when hewas first picked up. 

Every wood-chopper is gone. There are no sounds in Georgian Bay otherthan the noises of the boat, the wind and the great waves. There were117 souls on the Africa. Now 114 are drowned. They perished like ratsin a trap. 

What moment will the boat overturn again?

"Bail, my son!"

"Yessah!" stammers the boy. 

The boat is riding southward and backward at a fast rate. Three hourshave passed--three hours of increasing effort and nerve-strainingsuspense. 

The wounded survivor lies in the stern of the boat. The boy bailsincessantly. The water is thrown in at the stern in passing over theboat from the prow. 

"It's bad on that rooster!" says Corkey, as he hears the water dashingon the prostrate form. "Wonder if his head is out of the drink?"

"Yessah!" stammers the boy, feeling slowly in the stern. 

The work and the fear settle into a sodden, unbroken period of threehours more. Growing familiarity with the seas aids Corkey in holdingthe craft to the wind. But how long can he last? How long can he defythe wind?

"Bail, my son!" he begs. 

"Yessah, " stammers the boy. 

The gray light begins to touch the east. Corkey has lived an age sincehe saw that light. He is afraid of it now. 

A cloud moves by and the morning bursts on the group. 

Busy as he is, Corkey is eager to see the man in the stern. 

"Holy smoke!" says the oarsman. 

"Yessah!" stammers the obedient lad. 

The face on the stern seat startles Corkey. The nose is broken, thelips are cut, some of the front teeth are gone and the face has beenbloody. It is like a wound poulticed white. It has been wet and coldall night. 

"Lockwin, isn't it you?" asks Corkey, greatly moved at a sight soaffecting. 

"It is, " signals Lockwin. The voice is inaudible to Corkey. 

The head rises and Corkey strains his ear. 

"I'm dying, Corkey. God bless you. I wanted to thank you. "

"God bless you, Lockwin. We're all in the same boat. I'm glad wecaught you!"

The mascot moves toward the sinking man. 

The head falls again on the stern seat. The body is in ten inches ofwater. 

The boat is moving rapidly. 

"Want to send any word home, Lockwin?"

There is a pause. There is an effort to speak of money. There isanother effort. 

"He s-a-ays put a st-st-stone at Davy's-s-s-s-s grave, " interprets thestammerer. 

"Who's Davy?" asks the oarsman. "What else did he say?"

"H-h-h-he's dead!" says the lad. 

"Bail! bail!" answers the man. "Let's g-g-get 'im out!" suggests theboy in a half-hour. Corkey has been sobbing. 

"I thought a heap of Lockwin, " he answers. 

"I d-d-don't like a d-d-dead man in the boat!"

"Bail, you moke! I'll throw you in!"

But Corkey's voice is far from menacing. Corkey is weak. Now he seesthe boy's face in dreadful contortions. The lad is trying to speakquickly, and can make no noise at all. 

He rises and points. He is frantic. 

"He's crazy!" thinks Corkey, in alarm. 

"L-l-land!" screams the lad. 

"That is what it is, unless it's sucking us in. " Corkey has heard ofmirages in shipwreck. 

"It's land!" he says, a moment later, as he sees a tamarack scrub. 

It is, in reality, a long, narrow spit of sand that pushes out aboveColpoy's Bay. Beyond that point is the black and open Georgian Bay forthirty miles. 

The boat will ride by, and at least three hundred yards outside. Unless Corkey can get inside, what will become of him?

If he turn away from the wind he will capsize. 

On comes the point. It is the abyss of death beyond. 

"We never will get it!" cries the man. 

The boy's face is all contortions. He is trying to say something. 

"Bail, you moke!" commands the man. But his eyes look imploringly onthe peninsula of sand. 

The black face grows hideous. The eyes are white and protrude. Thepoint is off the stern of the yawl. 

"Not d-d-deep!" yells the mascot with an explosion. 

"Sure enough!"

"S-s-s-s-see the sand in the wa-wa-ter!"

"Sure enough!"

The idea saves Corkey and the boy. Over the side Corkey goes. Hetouches bottom and is swept off. 

The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. 

"Let her go, " is the command, and, boy in arms, Corkey stands on thebottom. The sea rages as if it were a thousand feet deep. 

If Corkey wore a life-preserver he would be lost. 

Now is he on a sand-bar? This is his last and most prostrating fear. Step by step he moves toward the point. The waves dash over his head, as they dash over the yawl. Step by step he learns that he is safe. 

The boat is gone forever. 

The water grows shallower. The great sea goes by. The bay beyond maylook black now Corkey has escaped its jaws. 

He puts down the lad. 

"Walk, you moke!" he commands. 

The twain labor hand in hand to the point. 

The man sinks like a drunkard upon the sands wet with the tempest. 

When Corkey regains his senses four men are lifting him in a wagon. The mascot sits on the front seat. 

Four newspaper reporters want his complete account. 

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE CONVENTIONAL DAYS

One congressman, a hundred wood-choppers and fourteen miscellaneouslives have been lost in Georgian Bay. 

It is the epoch of sensational news. A life is a life. The valiantnight editor places before his readers the loss of 115 congressmen, fora wood-chopper is as good as a congressman. 

And while the theory that 115 congressmen have gone down astounds andhorrifies the subscriber, it might be different if that manycongressmen of the opposite party should really be sent to the bottom. 

The conditions for conventional news are, therefore, perfect. Upon thelength of the report depends the reputation of the newspaper. Thenewspaper with the widest circulation must have the longest string oftype and the blackest letters in its headings. 

Corkey works for that paper. 

"Give us your full story, " demand his four saviors. 

The mascot stammers so that communication with him is restricted to hisanswers of yes and no. 

It is therefore Corkey's duty to the nation to tell all he haswitnessed. He conceals nothing. 

"It ain't much I know about it, " he says; "she was rotten and she godown. "

"Yes, but begin with the thrilling scenes. "

"There wa'n't no scenes. I never see anything like it. "

"Of course you didn't. "

"Well, dry up. The cap'n he came in and went out. The first mate--hewa'n't no good on earth--well--he--"

The remembrance of the first mate's indignities throws Corkey into along fit of strangling, ending with a monstrous sneeze. 

"That's what wrecked her, " observes the witty reporter. 

"Exactly. I was trying to give you what this Aleck of a first mate wasa-saying. After that we start out on deck, and I go up on thehurricane, and stand there in the dark. "

"What did you see up there?"

Corkey gazes scornfully at his inquisitors. 

"As I was a-saying, I let down the yawl, and it was no good--it wasgood enough--it saved us. When I get in the wet, I screw my nut andthe blooming old tub was gone down, I reckon!"

When Corkey screws his nut he turns his head. He can use no otherphrase. 

The interviewers are busy catching his exact words. 

"Then I pick up the mascot, and he bail. Then we catch themwood-choppers, and they are no earthly good. But I'm mighty sorry for'em. Then I reckon we take up Lockwin, and he ain't no congressman, neither. I'm the congressman. Don't you forget that. He die off thepoint in the boat. We see the point, and we sherry out of that yawl. Hey, there, you moke--ain't that about so?"

"Yessah!" stammers the mascot. 

"He come from the Africa, and his name is Noah--good name for so muchdrink, I reckon. "

"Yes, " say the eager interviewers, "go on. "

"Go on! Go on yourselves. That's all. "

There is no profit in catechising Corkey. He has spoken. There isIndian blood in him. He saw nothing. It was dark. 

"It wasn't no shipwreck, I tell you: not like a real shipwreck. Shejust drap. She's where she belongs now. But that first mate, he was abird, and I guess the second mate wasn't no better. The cap'n--I don'tlike to mention it of him, for I stood up to the bar with his crowd--hewas too full of budge to sail any ship at all. But don't say that, boys. It'd only make his old woman feel bad. "

The Africa is lost. Ask Corkey over and over. He will bring up out ofthe sea of his memory that same short, matter-of-fact recital. 

The rural interviewers, unused to the needs of the cityservice--faithful to the sources of their news--finish the concisetale. It covers a quarter of a column. 

That will never do for Corkey's paper. He knows it well. 

He reaches Wiarton. He hurries to the telegraph office. He buys ahalf-dozen tales of the sea. He finds a shipwreck to suit his needs. He describes in a column the happy scenes in the cabin before thecalamity is feared. He depicts the stern face of the commander as hestands, pistols in hand, to keep the passengers from the boats. Thefull moon rises. The wind abates. A raft is constructed at a cost ofone column and a half of out and out plagiarism. Corkey, Lockwin andforty wood-choppers are saved on the raft. The captain goes down onhis ship, refusing to live longer. 

"You bet!" comments the laboring, perspiring Corkey. Corkey is a shortman, short in speech. This "full account" is a grievousresponsibility, for marine reporters are taught to "boil it down. "

The raft goes to pieces in mid-sea, and the survivors take to the yawl. 

Then Corkey returns and interpolates a column death scene on the raft. 

"Too bad there wasn't no starving, " he laments. "I was hungry enoughto starve. "

The boat comes ashore in the breakers, and as the result of anall-night's struggle with the muse of conventionality Corkey has sevencolumns of double-leaded copy. 

Meantime the telegraph operator at Wiarton at Corkey's order has beensending the Covode Investigation from an antique copy of the"Congressional Globe. " There is an office rule that dispatches musttake their turn on the file. The four interviewers have filed theiraccounts and their accounts will be sent after the CovodeInvestigation. When Corkey's dispatch is ready he joins it to a sheetof the Covode Investigation, and therefore the operator has been busyon one dispatch all the time. 

The night editor of Corkey's paper begins getting the CovodeInvestigation from Wiarton. He enjoins the foreman to start moretype-setters. Reprint copy is freely set all night, and at dawn thereal stuff begins to arrive. 

"Appalling Calamity. Loss of 115 Lives on Georgian Bay. Only TwoSaved. Graphic and Exciting Account of Our Special Survivor. Unparalleled Feat in Journalism. "

Such are some of the many headings. They fill a column. 

The night editor, the telegraph editors, the proof-readers, thetype-setters, the ring-men, the make-ups, the press-men, are thrilledto the marrow. The printers can scarcely set their portions, they areso desirous to read the other takes. 

"I didn't know Corkey had it in him, " says Slug 75. 

"You'd have it in you, " answers Slug 10, "if you went through the wetlike he did. How do you end? What's your last word?"

The victorious newspaper is out and on the streets--the greatestchronicle of any age--the most devout function of the most conventionalepoch of civilization. 

The night editors of all other city newspapers look with livid faces onthat front page. They scan the true and succinct account of Corkey'sinterview, which reaches them an hour later. They indignantly throw itin the waste-basket, cut off the correspondents by telegraph, andproceed hurriedly to re-write the front page of their exemplar. 

The able editor comes down the next day and writes a leader on thegreat shipwrecks of past times, the raft scene and the heroism ofCorkey. 

Corkey and his mascot are still at Wiarton. Corkey is superintendingthe search for the yawl and Lockwin's body. 

Superintending the search is but a phrase. Corkey is exhibiting hismascot, pounding on the hotel bar and accepting the congratulations ofall who will take a drink. 

The four correspondents fall back on the Special Survivor and hope forsympathy. 

"We have been discharged by our papers, " they cry in bitter anger anddeep chagrin. 

"Can't you get us re-instated?" they implore, in eager hope. 

"The man, " says Corkey, judicially, "who don't know no better than tosend that shipwreck as it was--well, excuse me, gentlemen, but he oughtto get fired, I suppose. " Corkey stands sidewise to the bar, his handon the glass. He looks with affection on the mascot and ruminates. Then he brings his adamantine fist down on the bar to the peril of allglassware. 

"Yes, sir! Now I was out on that old tub. I was right there when shedrapped in the drink. If anybody might make it just as it was, Imight--mightn't I?"

"You might, " they answer in admiration of a great man. 

"Well, I didn't do no such foolish thing as you fellows, did I?"

"But why didn't you tell us, Mr. Corkey?"

"That isn't what my paper hired me to do. Is it, you cow-licked, cross-eyed, two-thumbed, six-toed stuttering moke?"

There is a terrifying report of knuckles on the counter. There aresigns of strangling and a sneeze. 

"N--n--n--noah, " stammers the faithful son of swart Afric. 

BOOK II

ESTHER LOCKWIN

CHAPTER I

EXTRA! EXTRA!

Esther Lockwin, the bride of a few months, has been hungrily happy. 

She has been the wife of David Lockwin, the people's idol. She haspassed out of a single state which had become wearisome. She hasremoved from a vast mansion to a less conspicuous home. 

Of all the women in Chicago she would consider herself most fortunate. 

People call her cold. It is certain that she is best pleased with ahusband like Lockwin. It is his business to be famous. 

"Go to Congress, " she says. "Outlive your enemies. I think, David, that men are not the equals of women in defending themselves againstthe shafts of enmity. Outlive your enemies, David. "

That Lockwin has the nature she required was to be seen in the death ofDavy. An event which would have beclouded the life of common bridescame to Esther as an important communication. She saw Lockwin's heart. She saw him kissing the soles of Davy's feet. There is somethingdespotic in her nature which was satisfied in his act. There is also adevotion in her nature which might be as profound. 

She would kiss the soles of David Lockwin's feet, were he dead. Shecould kiss his feet were he despised and rejected among men. 

Yet she is counted the haughtiest woman that goes by. 

"Mrs. Lockwin is a double-decker, " the grocer declares to his headclerk. "She rides mighty high out of the water. "

The grocer used to haul lumber from Muskegon. His metaphors smell ofthe deep. 

For ten years young men of all temperaments had besieged this lady. The fame of her money had entranced them. Suitors who were afraid ofher distinguished person still paid court, smitten by the love of money. 

She was so proud that she must marry a proud man. She must marry a manconspicuous, tall, large, slow. She must banish from her mind thathateful fear of the man who might want her for her financialexpectations. 

Sometimes when she surveyed the matrimonial field she noted that theeligible suitors were few. 

Men with blonde mustaches of extreme length would recite lovers' poems. Men with jet-black hair, eyes and beard would be equally foolish. Thelady would listen politely to both. 

"It is the Manitoba cold wave!" the lovers would lament as they lefther. 

To see Esther Wandrell pass by--beautiful, heroic, composed--was tofeel she was the most magnetic of women. To recite verses to her--tolay siege to her heart--was to learn that her personal magnetism wasfrom a repellant pole. The air grew heavy. There was a lack of ozone. The presumptuous beleaguerer withdrew and was glad to come off withoutcapture. 

There had been one man, and toward the last, two men, who did not meetthese mystic difficulties. Esther Wandrell was pleased to be in thesociety of either David Lockwin or George Harpwood. 

David Lockwin she knew. He was socially her equal. He had lived inChicago as long as she. He was essentially the man she might love, forthere was an element of unrest in his nature that corresponded with theturmoil underneath her calm exterior. 

She knew nothing of George Harpwood other than that he was anacquaintance with whom she liked to pass an hour. He did not degradeher pride. He walked erectly, he scorned the common people, hepresented an appearance sufficiently striking to enable her toaccompany him without making a bad picture on the street or in theparlor. 

All other men bored her, and she could not conceal the fact. 

To promenade with Harpwood and notice that Lockwin was interested--thiswas indeed a tonic. The world of tuberoses and _portes cocheres_--theworld of soft carpets and waltzes heard in the distance--this aromatic, conventional and dreary world became a paradise. 

When David Lockwin declared his love, life became dramatic. 

When David Lockwin won the primaries and carried the election, lifebecame useful. 

When David Lockwin held the little feet of the dead foundling lifebecame noble. She, too, would bring from out the recesses of thatman's better nature the treasures of love which lay there. She had notbefore known that she hungered and thirsted for love. 

It might be the affection of a lioness. She might lick her cubs withthe tongue of a tiger, but her temperament, stirring beneath her, waspleased. 

She has a husband worthy of her worship. She who had not known thatshe wanted lover's verses, wants them from David Lockwin. 

She who had never been jealous of Davy, grows jealous of politics. Yet, fearing her husband may guess her secret and despise her, sheappears more Spartan. 

She nursed the man sick of brain fever and buried little Davy. Shebrought her patient to his senses after nearly a month of alienation. 

"Is Davy dead, Esther?" he had asked. 

This was his first rational utterance. 

"You are elected to Congress, David, " she said. "Are you not glad?"

"Yes, " he answered, and looked like death itself. 

She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happyshe was that he was restored. Her heart beat rebelliously that she didnot declare to him the consuming passion of love which she felt. 

Oh, let him resign his honors! Let him travel with her alone! Let herlove him--love him as he loved Davy--as he must love her!

But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still. Hadnot David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as hereally loved that child?

"I think I can do my duty, " he said, wearily. 

"I am so glad you were elected!" she said. 

"Yes, " he answered, and became whiter. 

She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy. Ought she to have told himall? Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion? Why was he sosad? Surely they could mourn for Davy together! Tears had come in hereyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy's soul went away. 

The man had been comforted. "Were you remembering Davy?" he asked. 

"Yes, dear, " she said. 

He had put his weak hand in hers. She was the happiest she had everbeen. 

She had debated if she might deplore politics. She hated politics now. But she had not dared to be frank. In five minutes more the bridgeswere burned. The man and the woman were apart again, each in anguish, and neither able to aid the other. 

That Lockwin needed a trip to Washington could not be denied. ThatEsther feared to speak of Davy was becoming very noticeable. 

Yet no sooner is the husband gone than the woman laments the folly ofletting him leave her. 

"Go, David, " she had commanded, when she was eager with a desire tokeep him or to go with him. 

"Shall I accompany you?" she asked, smiling and trembling. 

"I must return by a lake steamer, and must see Corkey alone, " thehusband had replied. 

"A lake steamer!" In October! The affair alarmed the wife. She mustnot let that fear be known. 

"Live down your enemies, David!" she had said, as she kissed him. 

The words were insincere. They had a false sound, or an unconvincingsound. They had jarred on David Lockwin. 

"I can outlive my friends easily enough, it seems, " he thought, as herecited the lines of holy fields over whose acres walked those blessedfeet. "I can outlive poor Davy. I ought to be happy in politics. Itcost me enough!"

And the man had wept. 

At home the wife had also wept. She was afraid she had erred. She hadnot been frank. She accused herself, she defended herself, she notedthat it was not yet too late to bid David good-bye, or beg him not togo until he should be stronger. She called a cab from the livery. Itwas Sunday. There was a long delay. She entered the vehicle anddirected that haste should be made to the Canal street depot. Sheapproached the bridge. She feared she had made a mistake. David wouldthink she was silly. It was entirely unlike the cold Esther Lockwin tobe acting in this manner. 

The bridge bell had rung. The bridge swung. She had looked at herwatch. The train would leave at five o'clock. It was 4:50. Could notthe driver go round by the Washington street tunnel?

"It is closed for repairs, " the driver had said--a falsehood. 

When Esther reached the station the train had left. She had returnedto her home to wait in dire anxiety until her husband should reachWashington. She had written a long letter unfolding her heart to him. 

"Come back to me, my darling, " she said in that letter, "and see howhappy we shall be! Let the politics go; that killed Davy and makes usall so unhappy. You were made for something nobler. Let us go toEurope once more. Let us seek out the places where you and I have metin the past. "

It had seemed too cold. 

"I love you, I love you. I shall die without you! Come home to me andsave me! I love you, I love you!"

So she had written for a page, and was satisfied. 

If she might telegraph it! No! only advertisers and divorced peopledid that. She must wait. 

He would not reply. He would come. 

The newspaper announces the arrival of the congressman-elect at theWhite House. He had left almost immediately for the West. 

Then he will not get the letter!

He may arrive in Chicago this night, but how and where? A gale isrising. The wife is terrified with waiting and with love. If she hadsome little clue of his route homeward. She is a woman, and does notknow how to proceed. She goes to her father. 

"Oh, fudge, puss! You mustn't let him go again. Ha! ha! you're justlike your mother. She pretty near had a fit when I went away the firsttime. He went a little soon for his health, but our leading men tellus he was needed in Washington. They wanted to see him and get somepledges from him. He'll be home by some lake boat in the morning. They get in about daylight, but it's like a needle in a haystack. Why, the last time I came from Mackinaw they landed me on a pile of softcoal--blest if they didn't! Stay all night, puss. Or go home, if youwant to be there. "

"Wind blows like sixty!" says the old Chicagoan, after Esther has gone. 

The mother harkens. She goes to the window. 

"Is that the lake?" she asks. 

"Yes; it's too late in the year for David to be on any boat. "

The wife of David Lockwin cannot sleep. She cannot even write anotherletter. "How happy are lovers who may write to each other!" she says. The gale rises and she waits. It is midnight and David is not home. Now, if he should arrive, he would probably keep his state-room untilmorning. 

She awakes at daylight. She dons a wrapper and creeps to the frontdoor. There are the morning papers. She scans every paragraph. Ah!here is David!

"NIAGARA FALLS, Oct. 16. --Congressman Lockwin left here to-day for OwenSound, on Georgian Bay. "

Georgian Bay! Where is that? She seeks the library. She finds a map. Georgian Bay! Perhaps David has some lumber interest there. 

The paper is scanned again. Owen Sound, Owen Sound. She is readingthe marine intelligence. Yes, here is Owen Sound. 

"OWEN SOUND, Oct. 16. --Cleared--Propeller Africa, merchandise, forThunder Bay. Gale blowing, with snow. "

Thunder Bay! It is still more incomprehensible. 

There is a cry in the streets, hoarse and loud--a triumphantproclamation:

"Extra! Full account o' de shipwreck o' de Africa! Full account o' debig shipwreck!"

A white arm reaches from a front door. A dime is paid for two papers. The door must be held open for light to read. 

"Appalling calamity! Unparalleled feat of journalism!"

Hideous it seems to Esther Lockwin. She clings to the newell-post. 

"Death, off Cape Croker, of Congressman Lockwin!"

There may be two congressmen of that name. 

There may be two! It is a dying hope. Can the eyes cling to thecolumn long enough to read that paragraph?

"Congressman David Lockwin, of the First Illinois, died of his woundsabout daylight in a yawl off Cape Croker. His body is lost with theyawl!"

There is a shriek that awakens the household. There is a white formlying in the hall near an open front door. 

The servants rush up-stairs. There is a hubbub and a giving of orders. 

The voices of the street come into the hall-way as winds into a cave:

"Extra! Extra! 'Palling calamity! Hundred and fifteen congressmendrowned! Extra! Extra!"

CHAPTER II

CORKEY'S FEAR OF A WIDOW'S GRIEF

Corkey and Noah are nearing the residence of Esther Lockwin. 

"You bet your sweet life I don't want to see her nibs. It just breaksme all up to hear 'em take on, rip and snort and beller. Now, seehere, you moke, when we git in you stand behind where I stand, anddon't you begin to beller, too. If you do I'll shake you--I'll giveyou the clean lake breeze. If you walk up to the mark I'll get youinto the league nine. You'll be their man to hoodoo the other ballclubs. "

"Yessah!"

"You can't say nothing nohow, so all you've got to do is to see me facethe music. "

"Yessah!"

"There's the house now. They say he thought a powerful lot of her. Isthere a saloon anywhere near?"

The twain look in vain for a beer sign, and resume their journey. Theyascend the steps. 

"There ain't no yawl up here! This is worse than the Africa. Ibelieve I ain't so solid with myself as I was before she founder. Openthat valve!"

Noah pulls the bell. There is no retreat now. Faces are peering fromevery window. Museum managers are on guard at the ends of the street. The story of Corkey and his mascot is on every tongue in Chicago. 

Esther Lockwin opens the door. Corkey had hoped he might have a momentof grace. At best there is a hindrance in his voice. Now he isspeechless. 

"Step in, " she says. 

He rolls a huge quid of tobacco to the other side of his face, and thenfalls in a second panic. He introduces his first finger in his mouthas if it were a grappling iron and extracts the black tobacco. Hetrots down a step or two and heaves the tobacco into the street, resisting, at the last moment, a temptation to hit a mark. He returnsup the steps, a bunchy figure, in an enormously heavy, chinchilla, short coat, with blue pantaloons, "Step in, " says the voice pleasantly. 

The action has begun as Corkey has not wished. He is both angry andcontused. A spasm seizes his throat. He strangles. He coughs. Hesneezes. 

There is an opening of street doors on this alarming report, and Corkeypushes Noah before him into Esther Lockwin's parlors. The man'sjet-black hair is wet with perspiration. The boy strives to standbehind, but Corkey feels more secure if the companion be held in front. 

"Let me take your hats, " she says calmly. She goes to the hall-treewith the hats. She shuts the door as she re-enters. 

"Take those seats, " she says. 

But Corkey must pull himself together. This affair is compromising thegreat Corkey himself. He does not sit. He must begin. 

"Me and this coon, madam, we suppose you want to hear how Mr. Lockwincashed in--how he--"

"You, of course, are Mr. Corkey, my husband's political opponent?"

"That's what I am, or was, madam; and you ain't no sorrier for thatthan me. "

"The boy and you escaped?"

"I guess so. "

"Now, Mr. Corkey, tell me why Mr. Lockwin went to Owen Sound?"

"I can't do that, nohow; and the less said about it the better. Itwould let a big political cat out of the bag. "

"Politics! Was that the reason?"

"That's what it _was_, your honor, madam. "

"Can you tell me something about my poor husband?"

It is a figure that by its mere presence over-awes Corkey. Of allwomen, he admires the heroic mold. The garb is black beyond the man'sconception of mourning. The face is chastened with days of mentaltorture. There is an intoxication of grief in the aspect of the womanthat hangs the house in woe. 

The mascot slips away from Corkey. The Special Survivor is driftinginto an open sea of sentiment. He feels he shall drown. 

Yet the beautiful face seems to take pity on him--seems to read theheart which beats under that burry, bristly form--seems to reach fortha hand. 

"Exactly as we catched onto Lockwin, " thinks the grateful Corkey. 

"It comes mighty hard for me, Mrs. Lockwin, for I never expected to behis friend, nohow. He was an aristocratic duck, and I will say that Ithought it was his bar'l that beat me. "

The widow is striving so hard to understand that the man speaks moreslowly. 

"But I meet him at Owen Sound. Between you and me he was to fixme--see?"

The woman does not see. 

"You mustn't say it to nobody, but I went to Georgian Bay to show himmy slate. "

"Is it politics?"

"That's what it is, and it's mighty dirty work. But I don't think yourhusband was no politician. "

It is a compliment, and the woman so receives it. 

"He was late, and the old tub was rubbing the pier away when thejackleg train arrive. "

"The st-st-steamer was wa-wa-waiting, " explained the boy. 

"Ah! yes, " nods the listener. 

"You see, the coon can't talk, " says Corkey, "but he's got any numberof points. Well, we wet our whistles, and it's raw stuff they sellover there--but you don't know nothing about that. I introduce him tothe outfit, and we go aboard. We eat, but he don't eat nothing. Inotice that. We take the lounge in the fore-cabin. You know wherethat would be?"

A nod, and Corkey is well pleased. 

"We sit there all the time. I want to tell you just how he did. Hesit back, out straight, like this, his hands deep in his pockets, hislegs crossed onto each other, his hat down, and his chin way down--see?"

Corkey is regaining his presence of mind. 

The widow attests the correctness of Corkey's illustration. 

"You bet your sweet life, nobody could get nothing out of him, then. What ailded him I don't know, and I ain't calling the turn, but nobodycould get nothing out of him, I know that. I talk and talk. I slaphim on the shoulder, and pull his leg and sing to him--"

"S-s-say it over, " suggests the mascot. 

The widow cannot understand. 

"Why, don't you know, I was expecting him to fix me?"

"Is it politics?"

"That's what it _is_. So I guess I sing to him an hour--two hours--Ican't tell--when he comes to. 'Mr. Corkey, ' says that feller--says Mr. Lockwin--'you don't get nothing; You don't get the light at Ozaukee. '

"'There ain't no lamp at Ozaukee, ' says I. 

"'That's what the First High said, ' says he. So you see I waswhipsawed. I get nothing. "

"P-p-politics!" interprets the mascot. "

"Perhaps I understand, " says the widow. Withal, she can see DavidLockwin sitting his last hours on that lounge. How unhappy he was!Ah! could he only have read her letter!

"I don't just remember what I did after I found I wasn't fixed. Itflabbergasted me, don't you forget it! I know I sneezed--and you mustexcuse me out there a while ago--and a big first mate he tried to putthe hoodoo on me. No, that's not politics, but life is too short. Wego out on deck. "

"To make the raft?"

"Oh, that's all poppycock! Don't you believe no newspaper yarn. Youjust listen to me. I'm giving it to you straight. We go out on deck, and then I don't see Lockwin till we git the wood-choppers. How manyof them wood-choppers, Noey?"

"Ei-ei-eight!"

"Mrs. Lockwin, them wood-choppers was no earthly use. It didn't pay topull 'em in. I know it was me who hurt Lockwin with the oars. Ididn't know for hours that he was aboard. He showed up at daybreak, you see. I tell you he was awfully hurt. "

The face of Esther is again miserably expectant. There will be nomystery of politics in it now. "I wouldn't know him, either by face orvoice, Mrs. Lockwin. He lie in the stern and Noey try to help him, butthe sea was fearful. I couldn't hear him speak. Noey--the coonhere--hear him speak. 

"'Are you a-dying, old man?' I asks. 

"Noey says he answer that he was. "

"Yessah, h-h-he done spoke that he w-w-was. "

"'Want to send some word home, old man?' says I, to cheer him up; fordon't you see, I allowed we was all in the drink--just tumble to whatan old tub she was--117 of us at the start, and we all croak but me andthe moke--the coon, I should say. "

The woman is afraid to interrupt. 

Suddenly the eye of Corkey moistens. He has escaped a great error. "Ididn't hear his last words, nohow. "

"He said to p-p-put a st-st-stone over D-Davy's grave, " says the lad

The man turns on the boy. The brows beetle. The mouth gives asquaring movement, significant beyond words. 

The listener still waits. 

"And then, " says Corkey, "he whisper his good-bye to you. 'Tell hergood-bye for me. ' _That's_ what he said, you moke!"

"Yessah. "

Esther Lockwin grasps those short hands. She thanks the commodore forsaving her husband, for living to tell her his last words. She canherself live to find her husband's body. 

But it is far too much for the navigator. 

His sobs resound through the room. The woman cannot weep. Her eyesare dry, "I had such feelings as no decent man ever gits, " he explains, "butI'll never forgive myself that it was me who steered him agin it. "

"You have a better heart than most men, Mr. Corkey. "

"I'd give seven hundred cases in bar gelt if he was in Congress to-day, Mrs. Lockwin. "

"I know you would, you poor man. God bless you for it!"

Corkey is feeling in all his pockets. 

"Take this handkerchief, Mr. Corkey, if it will help you. God blessyou always! God bless you always! Come and see me often. I shallnever get tired of hearing how my husband died. He must have beenbrave to cling to the boat. "

"You bet he _was_, and if ever you need money, you come to me, for I'mthe boy that's got it in the yellow!"

Corkey bows himself down the steps. There two managers of museumsimplore a few moments' conversation. They tender their cards. 

"Naw!" says Corkey, "we don't want no museum. "

The managers persist. 

"No use o' your chinning us! Go on, now!"

The heroes escape from their persecutors. The mind of Corkey revertsto the parlors of Esther Lockwin. 

"Great Caesar!" he exclaims. 

"Yessah!"

"Steer me to a bar!"

A few moments later Corkey leans sidewise against a whisky counter, hisleft foot on the iron rail, his hand on the glass. A mouthful oftobacco is gnawed from the biggest and blackest of plugs. The mascotstands by the stove. 

The bartender is proud to serve the only Corkey, the most famous man onthe whole "Levee. " While the bartender burns incense, the square mouthgrows scornful, laconic, boastful. Corkey is himself again. Thebarkeeper goes to the oil-room for a small bottle. 

The handsome eyes of the navigator rest on his protege. The head setsup a vibration something like the movement of a rattlesnake before itstrikes. The little tongue plays about the black tobacco. The speechcomes forth. 

"It's a great act I play on the widow about the 'last words'. Hedidn't say nothing of the kind. I come near putting my foot right intoit. "

"Yessah!"

Corkey's right hand is in his side pocket. He ruminates. He feels anunfamiliar thing in his pocket. He draws out a dainty white-and-blackhandkerchief. There is a painful reaction in his mind. 

"I'll burn that female wipe right now!" he says. 

"Yessah. "

The stove is for soft coal and stands open. Corkey advances to tossthe handkerchief in the fire. 

His eyes meet the crooked and quizzical orbs of the mascot. 

"You mourning-colored moke!"

There is a huge threat in the deliverance. 

The hook-like finger tears the black tobacco out of the choking mouth. The great quid is thrown in the fire. The proposed motion is made, andthe handkerchief is not burned. Down it goes in the hip pocket besideCorkey's revolver, out of harm's way. 

Corkey started to throw something in the fire, and has kept to hispurpose. 

"Yessah!" says the mascot, sagaciously. 

"Bet your black life!" vows Corkey, as if great things hung by it. 

He looks with renewed affection on his protege. "I git you into theleague nine, sure, Noey!"

"Yessah!"

It is plain that the mascot will preserve an admirable reticence. 

CHAPTER III

THE CENOTAPH

"TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD. --This sum of money will be paid for therecovery of the body of the Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Baythe morning of Oct. 17. When last seen the body was afloat in the yawlof the propeller Africa, off Cape Croker. For full particulars andsuggestions, address H. M. H. Wandrell, Chicago, Ill. "

This advertisement may be seen everywhere. It increases the publicexcitement attending the death of the people's idol. There is aferment of the whole body politic. 

Of all the popular pastors who turn the catastrophe to their accountthe famous preacher at Esther Lockwin's church makes the most of it. To a vast gathering of the devout and the curious he dwells upon theuncertainties of life. Here, indeed, was a Chicagoan who but yesterdaywas almost certain to be President of the United States. 

"Now his beloved body, my dear brethren and fellow-citizens, liesburied in the sands of an unfrequented sea. "

There is suppressed emotion. 

"And as for man, " chants the harmonious choir, "his days are as grass. "

"As a flower of the field, " sounds the bass. 

"So he flourisheth, " answers the soft alto. 

"For the wind passeth over it, " sings the tenor. 

"And it is gone, " proclaims the treble. 

"And the place thereof shall know it no more, " breathes the full choir, preparing to shout that the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting toeverlasting upon them that fear Him. 

It is found that Lockwin had hosts of friends. There is so muchinquiry on account of that strange journey to Owen Sound that thepolitical boss is grievously disturbed. 

Corkey is not blind to this general uneasiness. He reads the postersand the advertisements. He whistles. It is a sum of money worthy ofdeep consideration. 

"You offered to l-le-end to her, " observes the mascot. 

"Well, if she had needed the stuff she'd a been after it soon enough, wouldn't she? I don't offer it to everybody. But that ain't thepoint. I'm going after that roll--ten thousand dollars! You want tocome? If I win, you git $500. I reckon that's enough for a kid. "

It is a project which is well conceived, for Corkey may easily arrangefor a salary from his great newspaper. To find Lockwin's body would bea clever feat of journalism, inasmuch as the search has been abandonedby the other papers. 

A delegation of dock-frequenters waits on Corkey to demand that heshall stand for Congress in the second special election, made necessaryby the death of Lockwin. 

"Gentlemen, I'm off on business. I beg to de--de--re--re--drop out!Please excuse me, and take something. "

The touching committees cannot touch Corkey. 

"The plant has been sprung, " they comment, "His barrel is empty. "

Corkey had once been rich when he did not know the value of wealth. Hehad been reduced to poverty. On becoming a reporter, he hadlaboriously saved $1, 000 in gold coins. In a few weeks $300 of thisstore had been dissipated. 

"And all the good work didn't cost nothing, either, " thinks Corkey. 

Would it not be wise now to keep the $700 that remain? When the visionof a contest, with Emery Storrs as advocate, had crossed poor Corkey'smind on the Africa, the Contestant could see that his gold was to belost. He could not retreat without disgrace. Now he need not advance. 

"You bet I _won't_!" thinks Corkey, as he expresses his regrets thatenforced absence from Chicago will prevent his candidacy. 

"You'd be elected!" chime the touching committees. 

"You bet I _would_, " says Corkey. 

"Corkey is too smart, " say the touching committees. "Wait till he getsinto politics from the inside. Won't he wolf the candidates!"

Corkey is at last on the shores of Georgian Bay. The weather sooninterferes with the search. But there are no signs of either body oryawl. 

The wreck of the Africa, followed by daily conventional catastrophes, soon fades from public recollection. The will of David Lockwin isbrought into court. The estate is surprisingly small. 

It had been supposed that Lockwin was worth half a million. Wise mensaid Lockwin was probably good for $200, 000. The probate shows thatbarely $75, 000 have been left to the wife, and the estate thusbequeathed is in equities on mortgaged property. Mills that had alwaysbeen clear of incumbrances are found to have been used for purposes ofmoney-raising at the time of the election, or shortly thereafter. 

The public conclusion is quick and unfavorable. 

Lockwin ruined himself in carrying the primaries! The oppositionpapers, while professing the deepest pity for the dead, dip deep intothe scandals of the election. "It is well the briber is out of thereach of further temptation, " say they. 

This tide of opprobrium would go higher but for the brave efforts of asingle woman. She visits the political boss. 

"You killed my husband!" she says deliberately. 

The leader protests. 

"Now you let these hyenas bark every day at his grave. And he has nograve!"

The woman grows white. The leader expostulates, The woman regains heranger. 

"He has no grave, and yet your hyenas are barking, and barking. Do youthink I do not read it? Do you think I intend to endure it?"

The leader makes his peace. 

As a result there is a return to the question in the party press. Longeulogies of Lockwin appear. There is a movement for a monument. Thememory of the dead man's oratory stirs the community. Severalprominent citizens subscribe--when they learn that their subscriptions, however meager, will be made noteworthy from a source where money isnot highly valued. The poor on every side touch the widow's heart withtheir sincere and generous offerings. 

The philosophic discuss the character of Esther Lockwin. 

"Her troubles have brought her out. These cold women are slow tostrike fire, but I admire them, " says the first philosopher. 

"Don't you think our American widows make too much ado?" asks thesecond philosopher. 

"They at least do not ascend the burning pyre of their dead husbands. "

"To be sure. That's so. I don't know but I like Esther Lockwin thebetter. I never knew a man to lose so much as Lockwin did by dying. "

"She declares his death was due to the little boy's death. "

"Odd thing, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but he was a beautiful child. What was his name, now?"

"It was Lockwin's name--let me see--David. "

"Oh, yes, Davy, they called him. "

"Well, she has erected the prettiest sarcophagus in the whole cemeteryfor Davy. I tell you Esther Lockwin is a magnificent woman. "

"She would have more critics, though, if she were not Wandrell's onlydaughter. "

"Wandrell's only daughter! You don't tell me so! Ah, yes, yes! Thataccounts for it. "

So, while the philosophers account for it, Esther Lockwin goes on withthe black business of life. Every week she waits impatiently for newsfrom Corkey. Every week he gives notice that he has found nothing. 

"When spring comes, I'll find that yawl, " he promises. He knows he cando that much with time. 

How often has Esther Lockwin thrown herself on a couch, weeping andmoaning as if her body would not hold her rebellious heart--as whenCorkey left her in those black and earliest days of the great tempestof woe!

"It is marvelous that it is held to be dishonorable to die, andhonorable to live, " she cries. 

"Oh, David, David, come back! come back! so noble, so good, so great!You who loved little Davy so! You who kissed his blessed little feet!Oh, my own! my husband!"

A fond old mother, knocking on the door, comes always in time to stopthese brain-destroying paroxysms. 

"And to think, mother, that they shall asperse his name! The people'sidol! Faugh! The people! Oh, mother, mother!"

The mother deplores these months of persistent brooding. It is wrong. 

"So they always say, who have not suffered, mother. How fortunate youare. "

But the daughter must recollect that to-day is the dedication. A bandhas marched past. Kind friends have carried the subscription toundoubted success. Emery Storrs will deliver the oration. The papersare full of the programme, the line of march, the panegyric. There aremany delicate references to the faithful widow, who has devoted herhusband's estate and as much more to the erection of a vast fire-proofannex at a leading hospital. 

The public ear is well pleased. The names of the men who have led inthe memorial of to-day are rolled on everybody's tongue. 

There appears at the scene of dedication a handsome woman. Her smile, though wofully sad, is sweet and sympathetic. She humbly andgraciously thanks all the prominent citizens, who receive herassurances as so much accustomed tribute. The trowel rings. Thesoprano sings. The orator is at his best. Band after band takes upits air. The march begins again. Chicago is gratified. The great dayends with a banquet to the prominent citizens by the political leader. 

The slander that republics and communities are ungrateful is hurled inthe faces of the base caitiffs who have given it currency. 

Behind all the gratulations of conventionality--in the unprinted, unreported, unconventional world--the devotion of Esther Lockwin isuniversally remarked upon. 

Learned editors, noting this phase of the matter, discuss themausoleums of Asia erected by loving relicts and score a point injournalism. 

"The widow of the late Hon. David Lockwin, M. C. , will soon sail forEurope, " says the society paper. 

But she will do no such thing. She will spend her nights and morningslamenting her widowhood. She will be present every day to see that thework goes forward on the monument. 

"I might die, " she says, moodily. 

There will be no cessation of labor at the ascending column. It is notin the order of things here that a committee should go to Springfieldto urge an unwilling public conclusion of a grateful private beginning. Money pours like water. The memorial rises. It becomes a city lion. It is worth going to see. 

Society waits with becoming patience. "Inasmuch as the prominentcitizens saw fit to render Esther's sorrow conspicuous, " says Mrs. Grundy, "it is perfectly decent that she should remain in completeretirement. "

Nevertheless notice is secretly served on the entire matrimonial world. 

Esther Lockwin will soon be worth not a penny less than five milliondollars!

CHAPTER IV

A KNOLLING BELL

It seems to Esther Lockwin that her night of sorrow grows heavier. Thebooks open to her a new world of emotions. Ere her bridal veil wasdyed black she had read of life and creation as inexpressibly joyous. The lesson was always that she should look upon the glories of natureand give thanks. 

Now the title of each chapter is "Sorrow. " The omniscient Shakespearepreaches of sorrow. The tender and beautiful Richter teaches of thenightingale. Tennyson, Longfellow, Carlyle, Beecher, Bovee, the greatancient stoics, the Bible itself, becomes a discourse on that tragicphenomenon of the soul, where peace goes out, where longing takes theplace of action, where the will sets itself against the universe. 

"Sorrow, " she reads, "like a heavy hanging bell, once set on ringing, with his own weight goes. "

"How true! How true!" she weeps. She turns to "Hamlet. " She readsthat drama of sorrow. She accepts that eulogium of the dead assomething worthy of her lost husband. 

She gloomily reviews the mistakes of her earlier life. She had beenrestricted in nature to the attentions of a few men. She had found herlord and master. The sublime selfishness of human pride had driven heron the rocks of destruction. This she can now charge to herself. Hadshe sufficiently valued David Lockwin; had she counseled him to livefor himself, to study those inclinations which she secretly understoodand never encouraged--had she begged him to turn student rather than tocourt politics and popularity--then she might yet have had him with her. 

The heavy bell of sorrow clangs loudly upon this article of her pride, ambition and lack of address to the true interests of her dead lord. 

"Davy would not have died if politics had not been in the way. Andthen that dreadful fever! That month of vigil! How strangely he spokein his delirium! How lonesome he was! How he begged for a companionto share his grief! Oh, David! David! David! Come back! Come back!Let me lay my head on your true heart and tell you how I love you. Letme tell you how I honor you above all men! You who had so much lovefor a foundling--oh, God bless you! Keep you in heaven for me!Forgive the hard heart of a foolish woman whose love was so slow!Come, holy spirit, heavenly dove, with all thy quickening power! OurFather, which art in heaven, which art in heaven!"

The knolling of the heavy bell grows softer. The paroxysm passes. Religion, the early refuge of the sex--the early refuge, too, of thehigher types of the masculine sex--this solace has lit the taper ofhope, the taper of hope that emits the brighter ray. 

Esther Lockwin will meet her lord again. She will dwell with him wherethe clouds of pride and ambition do not obscure the path of duty. 

She who a half hour ago could not live on must now live at all cost. She has other labors. She must visit the portrait painter's to-day. She would that the gifted orator might be portrayed as standing beforethe immense audiences which used to greet his voice, but it cannot bedone. She must be contented with the posthumous portraits whichforever gratify and disturb the lovers of the dead. 

It is a day's labor done. The portrait will be praised on all hands, but it has not come without previous failures and despairs. 

To return to the house out of which the light has gone--how EstherLockwin dreads that nightly torment! Shall she linger at the parentalhome? Is it not the bitterer to feel that here the selfish life grewto the full? Is it not worse than sorrow to discover in this abode thesame influences of estrangement? What is David Lockwin in the old home?

A dead man, to be forgotten as soon as possible!

No! no! Better to enter the door where the white arm reached out forthe message of blackness. Better to go up and down the stairssearching for David, listening for Davy's organ--better to fling one'sself on the couch, abandoning all to the tempest of regret anddisappointment; to cry out to David; to apostrophize the unseen; tofall into the hideous abyss of hopelessness; to see once again thenorth star of religion; to call upon God for help; to doze; to awakento the abominations of the reality; to remember the escape fromperdition; to hasten to the duties of the day!

So goes the night. So comes the morning. She who would not live theevening before is terrified now for fear of death ere her last greatlabor shall be done. 

She calls her carriage. She rides but a few squares. Every block inthat noble structure represents a pang in her heart. Some of thosegreat stones below must have been heavier than these sobs she nowfeels. "Oh, David! David! Every iron beam; every copestone, everycoigne of vantage, every oriel window in this honorable edifice is foryou! Every element has cost an agony in her who weeps for you. "

The widow gazes far aloft. It has been promised for this date, and itis done. Something of the old look of pride comes to the calm andbeautiful face which the architect and the workmen have always seen. 

The vari-colored slate shingles are going on the roof. 

Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black granite lettersover the portal. She reads:

 THE DAVID LOCKWIN ANNEX

[Illustration: Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering blackgranite letters over the portal. ]

"A magnificent hospital, " says an approving press, "the very dream ofan intelligent philanthropy. "

BOOK III

ROBERT CHALMERS

CHAPTER I

A DIFFICULT PROBLEM

David Lockwin is not dead. 

Look into his heart and see what was there while he sat beside Corkeyon the lounge in the forecabin of the Africa. 

The time has come for momentous action. It is settled that at theother end of this journey David Lockwin shall cease to exist. Now, howto do it. 

He may commit suicide. 

He may disappear. 

In furtherance of the latter plan there awaits the draft of RobertChalmers, who bears letters from David Lockwin, the sum of $75, 000. This deposit is in the Coal and Oil Trust Company's institution at NewYork. The amount is half of Lockwin's estate. Esther shall have therest. 

Serious matters are these, for a man to consider, who sits stretchedout on a seat, one ankle over the other, his hands deep in pocket, hischin far down on his chest; and Corkey appealing in his dumb, yeteloquent way, for a share of the spoils of office. 

This life of David Lockwin, the people's idol, is an unendurable fiasco. 

David Lockwin is disconsolate. Davy is no more. 

David Lockwin is sick and weak. Whether he be sane or daft, hescarcely knows, and he cares not at all. 

He recoils from politics. 

He loathes the reputation of a rich man with ambition--a rich man witha barrel. 

He does not believe himself to be a true orator. 

He is urged forward by unknown interests over which he has no control. He is morally and publicly responsible for the turpitude of the partyleaders and the party hacks. 

He is married to a cold and unsympathetic woman. Did he not wed her asa part of the political bargain?

Is life sweet? No. Then let Davy's path be followed. Now, therefore, let this affair of suicide be discussed. 

Can David Lockwin, the people's idol, commit suicide? Does he desireto pay the full earthly penalty of that act? He is of first-classfamily. There has never been a suicide in the records. 

His self-slaughter will be the first scandal in his strain. 

He is happily married, so far as this world knows. If he be bored withthe presence of Esther he alone possesses that secret. She does not. He is the husband of a lady to whom there will some day come an addedfortune which will make her the richest woman in the West. 

He is the reliance of the party. He is the one orator who remainsunanswered in joint debate. Quackery as it is, no opponent dares tocross the path of David Lockwin. It is a common saying that to give anopponent a date with Lockwin is to foretell the serious illness of theopponent. It is a sham--this oratory--but it befools the city. 

Can the fashionable church to which Esther belongs sustain the shock ofLockwin's suicide? Behold the funeral of such a wight, once theparticular credit of the congregation, now the particular disgrace!

That forthcoming contest with Corkey!

Is it not uncomfortable? What is it Corkey is saying? Oh! yes, Corkey, to be sure! "Mr. Corkey, I should have told you they will donothing. You must contest. "

Here, therefore, are two men who are plunged into the deepest seethingsof mental action. The one has missed greatness by the distance of amere hand's grasp; the other is half crazed to find himself so fatallyconspicuous in society. 

Let the rich, respectable, beloved, ambitious and eloquent Lockwinhurry back to that problem: What to do when he shall arrive in Chicago?

Can the community be deceived? Let us see how it fared with Lockwin'sfriend Orthwaite, who found life to be insupportable. Therespectability which so beclogs Lockwin had been secretly lost byOrthwaite. 

His shame would soon be exposed. Orthwaite returned to his home on thelast suburban train. He purposely appeared gay before histrain-acquaintances. He left the train in high spirits. He pursued alonely path toward home. He reached a stream. He set to work makingmany marks of a desperate struggle. He placed a revolver at his heartand fired. Then with unusual fortitude he threw the weapon in thestream. 

But the ruse was ineffectual. The keen eyes of the detectives and thekeener ear of scandal had the whole truth in a week's time. It wassuicide, said the press--bald, cowardly, pitiful. 

How difficult! How difficult! Now let us set at that device ofmysterious disappearance. How far is that fair to a young wife? Whyshould she wait and search and hope, although Esther would not disturbherself much! She is too cold for that. 

How difficult! How difficult! But why do the eyes of Corkey bulgewith excitement? Oh, yes, the ship is foundering because Corkey is inthe way of this great business. Corkey should be flung in the sea andwell rid of him. As the ship is foundering we will go on deck, butwhen a man is so conspicuous as David Lockwin, how can he commitsuicide--how can he disappear?

There are words, indistinctly heard. It is Corkey crying to Lockwin toclimb up the steps to the hurricane deck. Indeed it is a cleverriddance of that uncomfortable man. Ouf! that brutal sneeze, thatjargon, that tobacco, that quaking of head and hesitancy of expression!It distracts one's thoughts from an insoluble problem; How to shuffleoff this coil--not of life, but of respectability, conspicuity, environment!

But what is this? This is not a wave. If David Lockwin hold longer tothis stanchion, he will go to the bottom of the sea. This must be whatexcited Corkey. Something has happened. 

The red fire of drowning sets up its conflagration. 

Lockwin has time for one regret. His estate has lost $75, 000. Heenters the holocaust and passes into nothingness, feeling heavy blows. 

He awakes to find himself still with Corkey. His brain is dizzy and herelapses into lethargy. In the faint light of the dawn, totallybenumbed by the night's exposure, he is again passing into nothingness. 

Corkey questions the sinking man, and Lockwin tries to tell of themoney--the deposit of $75, 000 to the order of a fictitious person. Hecannot do it. 

"Put a stone over Davy's grave, " he says, and goes into a region whichseems still more cold, more desolate, more terrible. 

There is a knocking, knocking, knocking. He hears it long before hereplies to it. Let them knock! Let a man sleep a little longer! Itis probably the chambermaid at the hotel in Washington. 

But it is a persistent chambermaid. Ah, now the bed is lifted up anddown. This must be seen to. We will open our eyes. 

What a world of light and shimmer! The couch is the yawl of theAfrica. The persistent chambermaid is the Georgian Bay. 

The gale has subsided. The sun shines. Blackbirds are singing. Theyawl is dancing on the waves near the shore. 

David Lockwin sits up. How warm and pleasant to be alive!

Alive! Oh, yes! Chicago! The Africa! Is it not better?

Has he any face left? His nose seems flat. He must be desperatelywounded. His eyes grow dim. He must be dying again. 

He sleeps and is once more gently awakened by the sea--so fond now, soterrible last night. 

He sits upright in the yawl, wet, sore, and yet whole in limb. Hegathers his scattered faculties. He finds a handkerchief and ties uphis face. He muses. 

"I am the sole survivor! I, Robert Chalmers, of New York City, am thesole survivor, and nobody shall know even that. Corkey--let mesee--Corkey and a boy--they must be at the bottom of Georgian Bay!"

He muses again. His face hurts him once more. He sees a cabin at adistance. He finds he has money in plenty. To heal his wounds will beeasy. He must be greatly changed if his feelings may be credited. Twoof his teeth are broken, and harass his curious tongue. 

What plotter, cunning in exploits, could so well plan an honorabledischarge from the bitterness of life in Chicago?

"Sing on, you birds! Fly off to Cuba! I am as free!"

The man is startled by his own voice. It sounds as if some one elsewere talking. Yet this surprise only increases his joy. 

"Free! Free! Free!" The word has a complete charm. It is like theshimmer of the waters. All this expanse of hammered silver is free!

"I am as free!" exclaims Robert Chalmers, of New York City. 

And again starting at the sound of his own voice, he seeks the cabin ofa hospitable trapper, where his wounds healing without surgicalattention, may disguise him all the better. 

CHAPTER II

A COMPLETE DISGUISE

David Lockwin has undertaken that Robert Chalmers shall have notrouble. It was David Lockwin, in theory, who suffered all the ills oflife. In this theory David Lockwin has seriously erred. RobertChalmers must bear burdens. 

The first burden is a broken nose and a facial appearance strangelyinferior to the look of David Lockwin, the orator. Robert Chalmersneed not disguise himself. He will never be identified. That brokennose is a distortion that no detective could fathom. Those scarletfimbrications under the skin proclaim the toper. Those missing teethcomplete a picture which men do not admire. 

David Lockwin was courted. Robert Chalmers is shunned. It wounds apersonal vanity that in David Lockwin's philosophy had not existed. Itis the ideal of disguises, but it does not make Robert Chambers happy. 

Why, too, should Robert Chalmers desire so many appurtenances of lifethat were in David Lockwin's quarters? If we find Chalmers housed incomfortable apartments at Gramercy Square, is it not inconsistent thathe should gradually supply himself with cough medicine, turpentine, alcohol, ammonia, niter, mentholine, camphor spirits, cholagogue, cholera mixture, whisky, oil, acid, salves and all the aids to healthand cleanliness by which David Lockwin flourished? How slight anannoyance is the lack of that old-time prescription of Dr. Tarpion, which alone will relieve the melancholia!

For Robert Chalmers finds that the weather still gives him a turn. Ifthe lost prescription will alone lift the oppression, is not theannoyance considerable, providing Dr. Tarpion cannot be seen?

Robert Chalmers had planned a life at Florence. But now he is a manwithout a body. It is enough. He will not also be a man without acountry. He will stay in New York. 

In fact, a fortune of $75, 000 is not so much! It will be well tohusband it. The books must be bought. Day after day the search mustgo forward for copies like those in Chicago. Josephus! What othercopy will satisfy Robert Chalmers? Here is a handsome Josephus--asfine as the one in Chicago. But did Davy's head ever lie on it?

Well, bear up then, Robert Chalmers. You are free at least. You neednot lie and cheat at elections. You need not live with a woman whoseheart is as cold as ice and whose pride is like the pride of anEgyptian Pharaoh. You sunk that yawl well in the sands of GeorgianBay! You filled it with stones!

You thought you were the sole survivor, yet how admirably the rescue ofCorkey and the boy abetted your escape, Robert Chalmers. They sawDavid Lockwin die. They took his dying wishes. Fortunate that hecould not mention the deposit at New York!

But why is David Lockwin so dear? Why not forget him?

Did he play a part that credits him? Why stop at Washington and takethe mail that awaited in that long-advertised list? Truly, RobertChalmers was strong enough to lay those letters aside without reading. That, at least, was prudent. 

Let us read these newspaper accounts. There is intense excitement atChicago. Lockwin is libeled. The election briberies are exposed. David Lockwin had spent nearly $200, 000 to go to Congress, it is stated. 

"Infamous!" cries Robert Chalmers, and vows he is glad he is out of aworld so base. He puts forth for books. 

Search as he may, he cannot find the editions that have grown dear toDavid Lockwin. He cannot abstain from more purchases of Chicagopapers. They are familiar--like the books in David Lockwin's libraryat Chicago. 

This is a dreary life, without a friend. He dares not to seekacquaintances. Not a soul, not even a restaurant keeper, has venturedto be familiar. The man with a broken nose and missing teeth--the manwith a grotesque voice--is scarcely desired as a customer at selectplaces on the avenues and Broadway. Let him find better accommodationsamong the Frenchmen and Italians on Sixth avenue. 

"Probably, " they say, "he has fallen in a duel. "

But there are fits of melancholia. Return, Robert Chalmers, to yourhandsome apartments. Draw down your folding-bed, turn on the heat, study those Chicago papers. Live once again! What is this? Areaction at Chicago. Why, here is a page of panegyric. Here is alarge portrait of the late Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay!

The man whisks off his bed, and runs it up to the wall, whereupon hemay confront a handsome mirror. He compares the two faces. 

"A change. A change, indeed!" he exclaims sadly. It is not alone inthe features. The new man is growing meager. He is an inconsequentialperson. He is a character to be kept waiting in an ante-room whilestrutting personages walk into the desired presence. 

He pulls the bed down. He cannot lie on it now. He takes a chair andgreedily reads the apotheosis of David Lockwin. 

As he reads he is seized with a surprising feeling. In all thiseulogium he sees the hand of Esther Lockwin. Without her aid thisgreat biography could not have been collated. 

The sweat stands on his brow. He studies the type, to learn thoseconfessions that the publishers make, one to another, but not to theworld. 

"It is paid for, " he groans. He is wounded and unhappy. 

"It is her cursed pride, " he says. "I'm glad I'm out of it all. "

He sits, week after week, hands deep in pockets, his legs stretchedout, one ankle over the other, his chin far down on his chest. 

"Funny man in the east parlor!" says the chambermaid. 

"Isn't he ugly!" says her fellow-chambermaid. 

But after this long discontent, Robert Chalmers finds that Chicagomourns for him. He is flattered. "I earned it!" he cries, and goes insearch of the books that once eased him--the identical copies. 

The movement for a cenotaph makes him smile. On the whole, he is gladmen are so sentimental about monuments. He is glad, however, that nomonument will be erected. 

It is undoubtedly embarrassing. 

He is thinking too much of Chicago. He must begin this second life ona new principle. He must forget David Lockwin. It grows apparent tothe man that his brain will not bear the load which now rests upon it. He must rather dwell upon the miseries that he has escaped He mustcanvass the good fortune of a single and irresponsible citizen, RobertChalmers, who has no less than $74, 500 in bank. He must put his mindon business. 

No!

One reason for quitting the old life was the desire to pass a studiouslife. 

Well, then, he must wait patiently for that period when his mind willbe quiet. A certain thought at last reanimates him. 

Would it not be well to act as a clerk until the weariness of servitudeshould make freedom pleasing? This is both philosophical and thrifty. 

Robert Chalmers therefore advertises for a situation as book-keeper. This occupation will support him in his determination to neglect theChicago newspapers. 

"Greatest man I ever saw to sit stretched out, his hands deep in hispockets, his feet crossed, his head far down on his shirt bosom, " saysthe chambermaid at Gramercy Square. "He must be an inventor. Hethinks, and thinks, and thinks. Dear sakes, but he is homely. "

An advertisement secures to Robert Chalmers a book-keeper's place in adry-goods agency on Walker street. The move is a wise one. The laboroccupies his time, improves his spirits and emancipates him from theunpleasant conclusions that were forcing themselves on him. He is notliked by the other clerks because he is not social, but he is able toconsider, once more, the humiliations which he escaped by avoiding acontested election, and by a successful evasion of a wedding compactwhich was a part of his foolish political ambition. 

Several months pass away. If Chalmers is to be anything better than abook-keeper at nine hours' work each day he must move, but he who sowillingly took the great step is now afraid to resign hisbook-keepership. He dreads life away from his tall desk. This problemis engaging his daily attention. This afternoon the clerks are arguingabout Chicago. He cannot avoid hearing. He is the only party notengaged in the debate. They desire his arbitration. Does Clark streetrun both north and south of the river in Chicago? Here, for instance, is the route of a procession. Is it not clear that Clark street mustrun north if the procession shall follow this route?

They lay a Chicago Sunday paper on his desk. The portrait of DavidLockwin confronts Robert Chalmers. There is a page of matterconcerning the dedication of a monument on the following Saturday. 

The arbiter stammers so wretchedly that the losing side withdraw theiroffer of arbitration. 

"Chalmers doesn't know, " they declare, and take away the paper whileChalmers strives to read to the last syllable. 

He is sick. He cannot conclude his day's work. His evident distresssecures a leave for the day. 

"Get somebody in my place if I am not here tomorrow, " he says, thoughtfully, for they have been his only friends, little as theysuspect it. "Chicago in mourning for David Lockwin!" he cries inastonishment, as he purchases great files of old Chicago papers. "Chicago dedicating a monument to David Lockwin! It is beyondconception! And so soon! The monument of Douglas waited for twentyyears. "

The air and the ride revive the man. He even enters a restaurant andtries to eat a _table d'hote_ dinner with a bottle of Jersey wine, allfor 50 cents, To do a perfunctory act seems to resuscitate him. Hetakes up his heavy load of newspapers and finds a boy to carry them. He remembers that he is a book-keeper on a small salary, and dischargesthe boy at half-way. 

He reaches his apartments and prepares for the long perusal of hisfiles of Chicago news. Each item seems to feed his self-love. He isnot Robert Chalmers. He is David Lockwin. 

Hour by hour the reader goes on. Paper after paper falls aside, to befollowed by the succeeding issue. At last the tale is complete. DavidLockwin, dead, is the idol of the day at Chicago. 

The man stretches his legs, puts one ankle over the other, sinks hishands deep in his pockets, a newspaper entering with the left arm, andlowers his head far down on his chest. The clock strikes and recallshim to action. 

"I can reach Chicago in time for that dedication, " he says. "I guess, after all, that I am David Lockwin's chief mourner. "

Ah, yes! Why has not this second life brought more joy? The manponders and questions himself. 

"I am Davy's chief mourner, too!" he says, and sobs. "By heaven, it isDavy that has made me unhappy! I thought it was Chicago. I thought itwas politics. I thought it was Esther. It must have been Davy!"

"If it were Davy, " he says, an hour later, "I have made a mistake. "

Down he looks into his heart, whither he has not dared to searchbefore. He is homesick. Nobody loves Robert Chalmers. Nobodyrespects Robert Chalmers. David Lockwin dead is great and good. Howabout David Lockwin living?

His hands go deeper in his pockets at this. The motion rustles thenewspaper. He strives to shake free of the sheet. His eye rests onthe railway timetables. 

He falls into profound meditation again. He considers himselfmiserable. He is, in fact, happy, if absence of dreadful pain andturmoil be a human blessing. At last his eye lights up, and the heavyface grows cheerful. 

"I will go to Chicago!" he says. 

CHAPTER III

BEFORE THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE

Robert Chalmers is in Chicago this morning of the dedication, and hasslept well. He tossed in his bed at New York. He snores at theWestern inn. 

He asks himself why this is so, and his logic tells him that naturehopes to re-establish him as David Lockwin. There is a programme insuch a course. At New York there was neither chart nor compass. Itwas like the Africa in mid-sea, foundering. 

Now Robert Chalmers is nearing land. And the land is David Lockwin. The welcoming shore is the old life of respectability. Banish thedifficulties! They will evaporate. Listen to the bands, and themarching of troops!

He goes to the window. The intent of these ceremonies smites him andhe falls on the bed. But nature restores him. Bad as it is, here isChicago. David Lockwin is not dead. That is certain. He is notpursued by the law, for another congressman has been chosen. DavidLockwin has tried to kill himself, but he has not committed murder. 

Is it not bravado to return and court discovery? But is not RobertChalmers in the mood to be discovered? "What disguise is so real asmine?" he asks, as friend after friend passes him by. 

True, he wears a heavy watch-chain and a fashionable collar. His garbwas once that of a professional man. Now his face is entirely altered. Gouts of carmine are spotted over his cheeks; wounds are visible on hisforehead. His nose is crooked and his teeth are misshapen. His voiceis husky. 

He enters a street-car for the north. It startles him somewhat to haveCorkey take a seat beside him. 

"Will this car take me to the dedication?" Chalmers makes bold to askthe conductor. 

"That's what it will!" answered Corkey. "Going there? I'm going upmyself. I reckon it will be a big thing. Takes a big thing to git meout of bed this time of day. I'm a great friend of Mrs. Lockwin's!"

"You are?"

"That's what I am. I was on the old tub when she go down. May beyou've heard of me. My name is Corkey. "

"Clad to meet you. My name is Chalmers. I have read the account. "

"Yes, I've got tired of telling it. But it's a singular thing, aboutLockwin's yawl. Next week I go out again. I'll find that boat, youhear me? I'll find it. I tell the dame that, the other day. "

"Mrs. Lockwin?"

"I tell her the other day that I find the yawl. I'll never forget thatboat. Lord! how unsteady she was! I'm sorry for the dame. Womendon't generally feel so bad as she does. It's a great act, thismonument--all her--every bit! These prominent citizens--say, they makeme weary! You've heard about the hospital--the memorial hospital. Sheblow hundred and fifty thousand straight cases against thathospital--the David Lockwin Annex. Oh, it's a cooler. It's all ironand stone and terra cotta. She's spent a fortune already. She doesn'tcry much--none, I reckon. But no one can bluff her out. "

Robert Chalmers is pleased in a thousand ways. He is so glad that hescarcely notes the facts about the annex. Since he was cast away noother person has talked freely with him. The open Western mannerrejoices his very blood. 

"Lockwin was a pretty fair-sized man, like you. I guess you remind meof him a trifle. They was a fine pair. I never was stuck on him, forI was in politics against him; but somehow or other I've hearn the damepraise him so much, and he die in the yawl, and so on, until I feellike a brother to him. Just cut across with me, " as they leave thecar. "Want a seat with the reporters? Oh, that will be all right outhere. Say you're from the outside--where is it? Eau Claire? Say EauClaire. Here is some copy paper. Sit side of me. Screw your nut outof my place, young feller, " to a mere sight-seer. "Bet your life. Don't take that seat neither! Go on, now!"

David Lockwin is to report the dedication of his own monument. Hetrembles and grows thankful that Corkey has ceased to talk. Theaudience gathers slowly. David Lockwin wonders it he be a madman thusto expose himself. A memorial hospital! Did not Corkey speak of that?The David Lockwin Annex!

This is awful! Lockwin has not read a word of it. Ay, but theapartments are still at Gramercy Square. Why did he come? What fateled him away? What devil has lured him back? Hold! Hold! There isEsther! Lift her veil! Give her air! Esther, the beautiful!

The reporter for the Eau Claire paper groans with the people. Hisheart falls to the bottom of the sea. She loves him! God bless her!She loves him! Why did he not believe it at home? God bless her! Isshe not noble?

"She's a great dame, " Corkey whispers loudly. "Special friend of mine. You bet your sweet life I'd do anything for her. I'll find that yawl, too!"

"The late honorable David Lockwin, " begins the pastor of thefashionable church. 

"The late honorable David Lockwin, " write the reporters. 

"The late honorable David Lockwin, " writes David Lockwin. 

He grows ill and dizzy once more. The exercises proceed. He will fallif he do not look at Esther's face. 

"I know, " cries the shrill soprano, "that my--Redeemer liveth. "

There comes upon the widow's face an ecstatic look of hope. She willmeet her husband in heaven, and he will praise her love and fidelity. 

"God bless her!" writes the Eau Claire reporter, and hastily scratchesthe sentence as he reads it. 

A messenger approaches the reporters. A note is passed along. 

"I got to go!" whispers Corkey, "you can stay. They sent for me at theoffice. I guess something's up. "

David Lockwin is only too glad to escape. He dreads to leave Esther, yet what is Esther to him? He will hurry away to New York before hefalls into the abyss that opens before him. 

"Do you suppose she loved her husband as much as it seems?" he asks. 

"I wish she'd love me a quarter as much, though I'm a married man. Love him! Well, I should say!"

Corkey tries to be loquacious. But his dark face grows darker. 

"Oh! it's bad business. I'm sorry for her, and it knocks me out, Iain't my old self. I got up feeling beautiful, and it just knocks me. I don't think she ought to build no monument, nor no hospital, for itkeeps her hoping. What's the use of hoping? I'll find that yawl. Curious about that yawl. Wouldn't it be great stuff if he should showup? Wonder what he'd think of his monument and his hospital? Ahospital, now, ain't so bad. You could take his name off it. They'lldo that some day, anyhow, I reckon. I've seen the name changed on agood many signs in Chicago. But what's a monument good for after theduck has showed up? Old man, wouldn't it be a sensation? Sevencolumns!"

Corkey slaps his leg. He quakes his head. The little tongue playsabout the black tobacco. He sneezes. The passengers are generallyupset. 

A substantial woman of fifty, out collecting her rents, expostulates ina sharp voice. 

A girl of seventeen laughs in a manner foreboding hysteria. 

The conductor flies to the scene. 

"None o' that in here!" he cries, frowning majestically on Corkey. 

"Don't you be so gay, or I'll get you fired off the road, " answers thecause of all the commotion. 

"Randolph street!" yells the conductor in a great voice. 

The irate and insulted Corkey debarks with Lockwin. 

"Pardner, I wouldn't like to see him come back, though. I'd be sorryfor him. Think of the racket he'd have to take!"

"What time does the train start for New York?" asks Lockwin. 

"Panic! Panic! Panic!" is the deafening cry of the newsboys. 

The two men join a crowd in front of a telegraph office. Bulletins areon a board and in the windows. Men are rushing about. The scene is instrange contrast with the sylvan drama which is closing far to thenorth, where the choir is singing "Asleep in Jesus. "

There is a financial crash on the New York Stock Exchange. Bank afterbank is failing. "The New State's Fund Closes, " is the latest bulletin. 

"I got pretty near a thousand cases, " says Corkey, "but you bet yoursweet life she ain't in no bank. I put my money in the vaults. "

"Banks are better, " says Lockwin. He has a bank-book somewhere in hispockets. He pulls forth a mass of letters gray with wear. The visibleletter reads:

 "HON. DAVID LOCKWIN, Washington, D. C. "

His thought is that he should destroy these telltale documents. Thenhe wonders what may be in these envelopes. There flashes over him anew feeling--a sharp, lightning-like stroke passes across hisshoulder-blade and down his arm. 

It is Esther's handwriting, faded but familiar. The envelope is stillsealed. It is a letter he got at Washington. 

The man trembles violently. 

"'Fraid you're stuck?" asks Corkey. 

The man hurriedly separates his bank-book from the letters. Hedisplays the fresh and legible name of Robert Chalmers on the bank-book. 

"I have a little in a New York bank, " he says. 

Corkey looks on the book. "The Coal and Oil Trust Company'sInstitution, " he reads, "in account with Robert Chalmers. Well, moneyis a good thing. Glad you're fixed. Glad to know you. I'm fixedmyself. "

Corkey examines the list of failures. "I'm glad you're heeled, " hesays. 

A boy is fastening a new bulletin on the window. 

"_There_ you be, now!" says Corkey. 

"The Coal and Oil Trust Company's Institution Goes Down, " is on thebulletin. 

"I'll lend you money enough to git home, " says Corkey. 

"Panic! Panic! Panic!!" bawls a large boy, who beats his small rivalsruthlessly aside and makes his way to Lockwin. 

The man is still trembling. He is trying to put away his worthlessbank-book and cannot gain the entrance of the pocket. 

"'Ere's your panic! Buy of me, mister. Say, mister, won't you buy ofme? Ah! git out, you great big coward!"

It is the sympathetic Corkey, smartly cuffing the invader. 

"Strike somebody of your size, you great big coward! Ah! git out, yougreat big coward!"

CHAPTER IV

"A SOUND OF REVELRY BY NIGHT"

"Poverty, " says Ben Franklin, "often deprives a man of all spirit andvirtue. It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright. "

David Lockwin has but one familiar acquaintance in the world and thatis Corkey. Corkey will now start in search of the body of DavidLockwin!

David Lockwin has but a few hundred dollars in cash. His fortune is ina ruined bank. He hopes to get something out of it. His experiencetells him he may expect several thousand dollars. 

Is it wise to return to New York? Yes. A situation awaits him there. He can protect his rights as a depositor. He can enjoy the pleasantapartments at Gramercy Park. 

But the expense! Ah! yes, he must take cheaper quarters. It is thefirst act of despotism which poverty has ever ventured to impose onDavid Lockwin. 

It makes New York seem inhospitable. It makes Chicago seem like home. Still, as David Lockwin seeks his hotel, noting always the completesolitude in which he dwells among the vast crowds that once knew himfamiliarly or by sight, it chills him to the marrow. 

He enters the hotel dining-room. The head waiter seats his guest at atable where three men are eating. Every one of them is a businessacquaintance of Lockwin. 

The excitement of the moment drives away the brain terrors which wereentering the man's head. The men regard the newcomer with that lookwhich is given to an uninvited banqueter whose appearance is notimposing. The best-natured of the group, however, breaks the silence. He speaks to the diner on his left. 

"Where did you get the stone for that sarcophagus you put up yesterday?"

"In Vermont. "

"Who ordered the job--Lockwin or the widow?"

"She did. "

"Well, it's a pretty thing. I wish I were rich. I lost a little boytoo. "

The monument-maker at this begins a discourse on the economies of hisbusiness and shows that he can meet the requirements of any income orpurse. 

"Did you see Lockwin's portrait at the institute?" asks the third party, "No. Is it good?"

"I hardly think so. I don't remember that he ever looked just like it. Everybody knew Lockwin, yet I doubt if he had more than one closeacquaintance and that was Tarpion--Doc. Tarpion. "

"Does the doctor act as her adviser in all these affairs? Did you readabout the dedication? Did you know about the hospital? She had betterkeep her money. She'll need it. "

"She? Not much. She had a big estate from Judge Wandell's sister whodied. The judge himself has no other heir. I shouldn't wonder if headvised the erection of the hospital to give her the credit of what heintended to do for himself. "

"Well, I never knew a town to be so full of one man as this town is ofLockwin. You'd think he was Douglas or Lincoln. "

"Worse than that! Douglas and Lincoln are way behind. Take this cityto-day and it's all Lockwin. Going to the banquet to-night?"

David Lockwin has finished his meal. He rises. 

"Coming back, " says the monument-maker confidentially to his inquirer, "I can fix you a beautiful memorial for much less money and it willanswer every purpose. "

"I'll see you again, " says the customer, cooling rapidly away from thebusiness. "I must go to the North Side and get back here by 9 o'clock. "

Why shall not David Lockwin take the night train and leave this livingtomb in which the world has put him?

"In which I put myself!" he corrects. 

It all hurts him yet it delights him. "She loved me after I was dead, "he vows and forgets the sting of poverty. 

Now about this going to New York to-night. He would like to beprevented from that journey. What shall do that for David Lockwin?

"Davy's sarcophagus!"

The thought seizes him with violence. Of course he cannot go. Heseeks his room. He throws himself on his bed and gives way to all hisgrief. It takes the form of love for Davy. David Lockwin weeps forgolden-head. He weeps for the past. He is living. He ought to bedead. He is poor. He is misshapen in feature. He is hungry for humansympathy. The world is giving him a stone. Oh, Davy! Davy!

The outside electric lights make a thousand monuments, hospitals, sarcophagi, portraits and panics on the chamber walls. The hours gopast. There is a bustle in the hotel. There is a sound of merrimentin the banqueting hall, directly below. The satisfaction of havingdealt tenderly by the beloved dead is expressing itself in choicelibations and eloquent addresses. 

The man listens for these noises. There is a loud clapping of hands. An address has concluded. 

The glasses tinkle. Doors open and shut. Waiters and servants runthrough the hall giving orders and carrying on those quarrels whichpertain to the unseen parts of public festivities. 

"Why did I not go?" David Lockwin asks. "Ah! yes. Davy! Davy's tomb. I will see it, if it shall kill me to live until then. But how shall Ipass this night? What shall I do? What shall I do?"

The glasses tinkle. The laughter bursts forth unrestrainedly. Thebanquet is moving to the inn-keeper's taste. 

The electric lights swing on long wires. The glass in the windows isfull of imperfections and sooty. The phantasmagoria on the walldistracts the suffering man. Why not have a light? He rises and turnson the gas. Perhaps there will be a paper or a book in the room. Thatwill help. 

Poverty of hotel life! There is only the card of rules hung on thedoor. Lockwin reads the rules and is thankful. He studies the lockhistory of the door, as represented in the marks of old locks andstaples. Here a burglar has bored. Here a chisel has penetrated topush back the bolt. Yes, it was a burglar, for there is now a brasssheath to prevent another entry. Most of these breakages, however, have been made by the hotel people, as can be seen by the transom locks. 

That brings up suicides. David Lockwin has committed suicide once. The subject is odious. 

The laughter below resounds. The man above will read from the liningof some bureau drawer. 

He goes to that piece of furniture. The dressing-case is completelyempty excepting a laundry bill on pink paper. 

He clutches that. He examines the printer's mark. He strives torecall the particular printing-office. 

He has not the courage to go forth into the street. He does not wantto read, except as it shall ease him from the cruel torment which hefeels. 

The glasses jingle and chime. The stores across the street close theirdoors and darken their show windows. Why not go below and buy thelatest novel?

The suggestion fairly sickens the man. He did not know he was sonervous. To read ror pastime while a great city is filled with hisobsequies--he cannot do it!

There is but one course--to read the rules, to study the history of thedoor until it reaches the stage of suicide--ah! to feel in one'spockets! That is it! That is it!

David Lockwin cons his bank-book. He opens his worn letters---lettersto the Hon. David Lockwin. He grows timid as he descends into the valeof despair. 

Why did he do it? These details of the electoral campaign seem trivialnow. Easy difficulties!

He reaches the last letter of the packet. Marvelous that he shouldwait to unseal it until an hour so fraught with need!

It is Esther's letter--probably some cold missive such as she wroteduring their courtship and engagement. 

David Lockwin is beginning to love his wife as a dog worships itsmaster. He looks to her for safety. He wants to think of her as sheis now--a sincere mourner for a dead friend, husband and protector; asuperior being, capable of pity for David Lockwin. 

"Is it wise to read it?" he asks in a dread. "But why should I not begenerous? Why should I not love her--as I do love her? God forgiveme! I do love her! I love her though she smite me now--cold, coldEsther!"

The man is crying. He cannot hear the banqueters. He has at lastescaped from their world. His hands shake and he unseals the letter, careful to the last that no part of the envelope be torn. 

He will read the cold letter. Cold, cold Esther! He kisses theenvelope again and again. The sheets are drawn from the inclosure. She never wrote at such length before. He scans the first page. Hisface grows cold with the old look of disappointment. He wishes he hadnot read. He turns to the next page. The text changes in tone. Theresucceeds a warmth that heats the heart aglow. 

David Lockwin passes his hands across his eyes. He is dazed. He readson:

"Come back to me, my darling, and see how happy we shall be! Let thepolitics go--that killed Davy and makes us all so unhappy. You werecreated for something nobler. Let us go to Europe once more. Let'sseek the places where we have met in the past. "

How much more of this can David Lockwin endure?

His temples rise and grow blood-red. The gas seems to give no light. He reads like a man of short sight. His eyes kiss the sacred sheet. 

"I love you! I love you! I shall die without you! Come home to me, and save me! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love--!"

David Lockwin has fainted. 

The glasses chink, and heavy feet tramp on soft carpets, making amuffled sound. 

"'Scuse me!" says a thick-voiced banqueter in the hall. "I thought itwas my hat! Hooray! 'Scuse me! I know it's pretty late. Whoop!'Scuse me!"

The waiters bicker hotly; the counting-room bell rings afar off. Thereis a smothered cry of "Front!"

"All trains for the East--" comes a monotonous announcement in thecorridors. 

"Sixty-six! Number sixty-six!" screeches the carriage-crier. 

A drunken refrain floats on the air from Wabash avenue:

 "We won't go home till morn-i-n-g, T-i-l-l daylight doth appear. "

CHAPTER V

LETTERS OF CONSOLATION

On the Africa David Lockwin loved but one person, and that was DavidLockwin. 

On this morning after the banquet David Lockwin hates but one person, andthat is David Lockwin. 

He had lately hungered for somebody more charitable to himself than hehimself could be. He had experienced a mean, spiritless happiness innoting the honors which the widow was heaping on his memory. Now he isfuriously in love with that widow. He sallies from the hotel in haste toher residence. 

Three blocks away from his goal, with the old home in sight, he awakensto his danger. A moment more and the whole shameful truth had been known!

"No, base as I am, I cannot do that, " he shudders. 

Besides, he is a true lover, and what one ever dared to take the greatrisk?

Here she lives! And between her and her lover, her husband, yawns thechasm of death! Was it not a black act that could so enrobe a woman? Herecalls her garb as she appeared at the dedication yesterday--solemn, solemn!

It is unsafe to stay in this neighborhood, yet let this man creep nearerand gaze on the house where Davy died. 

The balcony--it seems to him, dimly, that he made a speech from thatbalcony. But Davy's death is not now the calamity it was yesterday. Itseems more like a pleasant memory--a small memory. The gigantic thoughtis Esther, Esther--Esther the beautiful, the noble, the generous, thefaithful. She shall be the wife of Ulysses, waiting for his return, andhe shall return!

The husband again starts for Esther's door. There are two men withinhim--one is David Lockwin dead, the other is David Lockwin living. Oncemore the eminent man who is dead seizes the maddened lover who is livingand prevents a disaster. 

Love this house as he may, therefore, David Lockwin must avoid it untilhe can control himself. It is true his books are in there, hismanuscripts, his chronicles, "Josephus, " and a thousand things withoutwhich he cannot lay hold on the true dignity of life. It is true he isslipping down the declivity that invites the easy descent of the obscureand powerless citizen. If he have true hope--and what lover has itnot--he must hurry away. He is not safe in Chicago just at present, because the abstraction of a lover, joined with the self-forgetfulness ofa man in the second life, will assuredly lead him to ruin. 

His eyes leave that house with utter regret. He makes the long ride toDavy's tomb and finds it covered with fresh flowers. The tenderest ofcare is visible. The lawn is perfect--not a leaf of plantain, not aspear of dandelion. Money will not produce such stewardship of thesepulcher. It is Esther's own devotion. 

He goes to the site of the cenotaph. Is it not a difficulty for a lover?Yet love sustains him. His invention suggests method after method bywhich he may undo the past. 

He visits the foundations of the David Lockwin Annex. He notes thecharacter of the materials that are strewn over three streets. His lovefor Esther only increases. 

Thence to the Art Institute he hastens. They said it was a poor likenessof Lockwin. He vows it is good. It is good because Esther has done it!

He has seen all--all but Esther. He starts blindly for Esther's houseonce more. As he walks rapidly southward, his own team comes up theavenue. It is Esther within the carriage. She looks at a man in graybusiness dress, with colored nose and a drunkard's complexion. She notesthe large watch-chain. She finds him no different from all other livingmen. She is looking for David. "Come back, my noble husband, " she sobs, "come back from the grave, or let me join you. "

A moment afterward she fears she may die before her work shall be done. That was a sharp sting at her heart just then. 

David Lockwin is frozen with that cold look. The carriage is past. Hewas on his way to Esther's to tell her all. If he had not risen out ofhis abstraction ere it should be too late, he would have confronted thiscold lady--this mature builder of cenotaph and hospital. 

He is terrified--a lover's panic. She does not love him, or she wouldhave called to him as they passed. 

So thinks David Lockwin, for he cannot see himself except as he once was. People call him Chalmers when they address him, which is not more thanonce a day, but it is like the salutation to Judge Wandrell. He does notcall himself "Judge" nor sign himself "Judge. " "My dear judge, " writes afriend. "Your friend, H. M. H. Wandrell, " answers the same man. 

It is easy for David Lockwin to answer to the name of Robert Chalmers. He has found it totally impossible to become Robert Chalmers in fact. Heis David Lockwin, disinherited--a picture of the prodigal son---but DavidLockwin in every bone and muscle--no one else. 

Esther Lockwin has refused to know David Lockwin. 

Sharp as may be his hurt at this event, he is, nevertheless, once morerecalled to the expediencies. If he shall be in hope of Esther, it wouldbe well to escape from a situation so dangerous. 

"And I am poor! Why did I not think of that? It was easy to marry her, because I was wealthy. I am a poor man now. " He repeats it over andover. 

It would be well to hurry to New York and attend to that matter of theCoal and Oil Trust Company institution. He could not go but for thelover's hope of preparing something for the reunion. 

Between Chicago and New York one may fall into a wide abyss of despair. The late Honorable David Lockwin has tarried in Chicago, has assisted atthe public dedication of his own cenotaph, has visited the David LockwinAnnex, has looked his own widow in the face. His pride is torn out bythe roots. A man once exalted is now humbled. And, added to the horrorsof his situation, every fiber of his body, every aspiration of hisspirit, proclaims his love of the woman who once wearied him. 

His dilemma is dreadful without this catastrophe of love. He thanks thefates that he is in love. It gives him business. He will not sell hisclaim against the ruined bank. He will work as book-keeper. He willwait and collect all. Patience shall be his motto. He will communicatewith Esther through a spiritual medium. He will--better yet--write toher anonymously. Every day a type-written missive shall be sent to her. He will have her! It is all possible!

"It is all easy!" David Lockwin says, and goes resolutely at work to savethe remnants of his fortune. 

For a year he turns the inertia of his love into his daily business. Esther is building at Chicago, David will build at New York--a fabric oflove, airy, it may be, but graceful and beautiful. 

Each night he indites in type-writer and addresses to Esther Lockwin anessay on the value of hope in great afflictions. The tone growsfamiliar, as the weeks pass by. "My dear madam" becomes "my dear Mrs. Lockwin, " and at last "my dear friend. " To-night, far into the smallhours, he pours out his advice and comfort:

"Be brave, my dear friend, " he proceeds. "Undreamed-of happiness maystill be yours, if you can but come to place confidence in your faithfulcorrespondent. There are things more strange than anything which thebooks give us. As a matter of fact, dear friend, the writers do not dareto make life as it is, for fear of outrunning the bounds of fiction. Letme give you comfort, and at the proper time I shall be able, not toreveal myself, perhaps, but to offer you opportunity to give me a signalthat my services are valuable to you. 

"Preserve your health. This admonition has been iterated in the hundredsof different treatises I have placed before you. My diligence andpatience must recommend themselves. My hope must reinspire your droopingenergies. Until to-morrow at eventide, adieu!"

The time is ripe to learn the effect of these courteous ministrations. David Lockwin dares not intrust his secret to a chance acquaintance likeCorkey, who is completely devoted to Mrs. Lockwin. What man can now befound who will support a possible relation of mutual friend in thissingular case?

The thought of Dr. Tarpion comes again and again. 

Clearly a lover cannot wait forever. And he must know whether or notEsther reads the letters. But, of course, she reads them!

"And they comfort her, God bless her!" cries the happy lover. But hemust not wait too long. She needs him. She must be rescued from Chicago. 

Why not write to Dr. Tarpion? He is a dear old friend. 

He seems very dear, now that Lockwin needs him. The doctor is theadministrator of the estate, if we come to recollect. Certainly!

Now, therefore, let David undertake an interrogatory, and tremblinglymail it to Dr. Tarpion. To be sure, this is better. Suppose DavidLockwin the unknown monitor, had invited Esther to advertise in anewspaper, and the advertisement had been left out! Or, suppose he hadsuggested a certain signal at her house, or in New York--anywhere! Itwould be a chance too great to take. No lover should leave anything tofortune. Dr. Tarpion will give the information. He shall be the mutualfriend--the go-between to unravel this tangled web of deception. 

If David Lockwin shall in future discover himself to Esther, he must havethe aid of a discreet and loving friend. Dr. Tarpion is the man. Thisletter will open the way for further disclosures. It is as follows:

PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. 

DEAR SIR:--For about a year I have seen fit to offer to Mrs. Lockwin suchconsolation as I thought might lessen her grief. Will you kindly informme if my suggestions have at any time mitigated her sorrow? I shall behappy to know that an earnest and faithful labor has done some littlegood. You may inclose a letter to the care of Robert Chalmers, New YorkCity, who will deliver it to me. 

The reply is prompt:

CHICAGO, May 1. --I am in receipt of a type-written communication from anunknown party, and am not unwilling to inform the writer that Mrs. Lockwin's mail all comes to me. I have for a year burned every one ofthe consolatory letters alluded to, in common with thousands of otherscreeds, which I have considered as so many assaults on the charity of anunhappy lady. 

The series of letters from New York have, however, been the mostpersistent of these demonstrations. I have expected that at the propertime we should have a claimant, like the Tichborne estate. Someexperience in administrative affairs, together with the timelysuggestions of a friend, lead me to note the opportunity for a claimantin our case. David Lockwin's body was not found. I have, therefore, kept a sharp eye out for claimants, and will say to the writer of the"consolatory letters" that our proofs of Lockwin's death are ample. Twopersons saw him die. Mrs. Lockwin is a sagacious woman, keenly aware ofthe covetousness aroused by the public mention of her great wealth. 

The writer will therefore, if wise, abandon his attentions andintentions. If I receive any more of his "consolatory letters" I shalllook up Robert Chalmers with detectives. Respectfully, IRENAEUS TARPION, M. D. 

CHAPTER VI

THE YAWL

It is about 10 o'clock at night in the office of the great newspaper. The night editor sits at his desk reading the latest exchanges. Thetelegraph editor labors under a bright yellow light, secured by the useof a vast expanse of yellow paper. 

The assistant telegraph editor is groaning over a fraudulent dispatchfrom a correspondent whose repute is the worst. 

A place is still vacant at the tables. The marine dispatches arepiling high. 

"Where is the sea-dog?" asks the night editor, who is in command of thepaper. 

"Good evening, Corkey, " says the telegraph editor. "I trust we arespared for another day of usefulness, " says the night editor, with anunction which is famous in the office. 

"How is the ooze of the salt deep, commodore?" asks the night editor. 

"How is the coral and green amber?" asks the telegraph editor. 

"Green nothing!" mutters Corkey. He feels weary. 

"How did you leave great Neptune?" asks the assistant telegraph editor. 

These questions are wholly perfunctory. The telegraph editor hasdedicated five minutes to the history and diary of the triple alliance. 

When Corkey is happy this inquisition flatters him. When he is blackin the face there is an inclination to deal harshly with these wits. Athousand clever things flash into his black eyes but escape his tongue. 

He struggles to say something that will put the laugh on the telegrapheditor, and begins choking. The head vibrates, the little tongue playsabout the black tobacco, the mouth grows square. 

"Run for your lives, gentlemen, " cries the assistant telegraph editor, making believe to hold down his shears. There is an explosion. It isaccompanied with many distinguishable noises--the hissing of steam, therouting of hogs from their wallow, the screech of tug whistles and theyell of Indians. 

The door stands open to the great composing-room, where eightytypesetters--eighty cynics--eighty nervous, high-strung, well-paidworkmen--stand at their intellectual toil. They are all in a hurry, but each rasps his iron type-stick across a thin partition of his typecase. It is a small horse-fiddle. The combined effect is impressive, chaotic. 

The night foreman rages internally. He stalks about with baleful eye. "Buck in, you fellows, " he says. "The paper is behind. "

"I wish it would kill him, " the night foreman says of Corkey. 

There is silence in the telegraph-room. The tinkle of the horse-carscomes up audibly from the street. The night editor knows what hashappened, to the slightest detail. He mentally sees the night foremanstanding in the shadows of the parlor (wash-place) laughing to kill. The night editor grows still more unctuous. 

"From earthquakes, hailstorms and early frosts, " he prays, "good Lord, deliver us. "

"Good Lord, deliver us!" comes the solemn antiphone of the telegrapheditor, the assistant telegraph editor, Corkey and the copy boy. 

The chinchilla coat is off. This is manifestly a hard way to earn aliving for a candidate for Congress, a dark horse for the legislatureand a marine editor who has run his legs off all day. 

"He's been moving, " the boy whispers to the night editor. 

The night editor scans the dark face. It is serious enough. It is thenight editor's method to rule his people by the moderation of hisspeech. In this way they do all the work and thank him for keeping hisnose out of affairs. 

"We hear, commodore, that you have moved your household gods. "

"Yes, " grunts Corkey. To the jam-jorum Corkey must be civil, as hewill tell you. 

"Where to?"

"Top flat, across the alley from the Grand Pacific. "

"That's a five-story building, isn't it?"

"That's what it is. "

Corkey is busy fixing his telegrams for the printer. He is trying tolearn what the current date is, and is unwilling to ask. 

The night editor is thinking of Mrs. Corkey, a handsome little woman, for whom the "boys in the office" have a pleasant regard. 

"Is there an elevator?"

"I didn't see no elevator when I was carrying the kitchen stove in. "

"How will Mrs. Corkey get up?"

This is too much. Corkey has made a hundred trips to the new abode, each time laden with some heavy piece of furniture or package of goods. How will Mrs. Corkey get there, when Corkey has been up and down thedocks from the north pier to the lumber district on Ashland avenue, andall since supper?

The marine editor sits back rigidly in his chair. The head quakes, thetongue plays, he looks defiantly at the night editor. 

"She's coming, " says the assistant telegraph editor, holding down hisshears and paste-pot. 

The head quakes, but it is not a sneeze. It is a deliverance, _excathedra_. The night editor wants to hear it. 

"You bet your sweet life, Mrs. Corkey, " says the commodore, "screw hernut up four flight of stairs. That's what Mrs. Corkey do!"

The compliments of the evening are over. It is a straining of everynerve now to get a good first edition for the fast train. 

"Gale to-night, Corkey, " says the telegraph editor. "We've taken mostof your stuff for the front page. The display head isn't long enough. Write me another line for it. "

"Hain't got nothing to write, " Corkey doesn't like to have his reporttaken out of its customary place. When there are blood-curdling wreckshe wants the news in small type along with his port list. 

"Hain't got nothing to write, " he repeats sullenly. He gapes andstretches. He knows he must obey the telegraph editor. 

"Hurry! Give it to me. Give me the idea. " Corkey's eye brightens. He is a man of ideas, not of words. He has an idea. His head quakes. The tongue begins its whirring like the fan-wheel before the clockstrikes. 

"You can say that the life-saving service display a great act, " saysthe marine editor, relieved of a grievous duty. 

His pile of telegrams grows smaller. The dreaded work will soon beover. 

"How's your rich widow?"

Corkey has not failed to plume himself on his aristocratic and familiaracquaintance. His associates are themselves flattered. Corkey is totake the telegraph editor to call on Mrs. Lockwin. The night editor isjealously regarded as too smooth with the ladies. He will be left tohis own devices. 

"How's your rich widow?" is repeated. But Corkey cannot hear. He isreading a telegram that astonishes, electrifies and confuses him. 

"COLLINGWOOD, 14. --After wading ten miles along shore found yawl Africasunk in three feet water, filled with sand and hundreds stone. Cantake you to spot. What reward? What shall we do?"

Corkey seizes the dispatch, puts on his coat, and rides downstairs. Onthe street he finds it is midnight. He looks for a carriage. He setshis watch by a jeweler's chronometer, over which a feeble gas flameburns all night. 

He changes his mind and rides back upstairs. He enters the telegraphoperators' room, where five men are at work receiving specialintelligence. 

"Get Collingwood, boys. "

"That drops off at Detroit. Collingwood's a day job. "

The instrument is clicking. The operator takes each word as thelaborious Corkey, with short pencil, presses it into the buff-coloredpaper. 

CHICAGO, 14. --Let it be! Will be at Collingwood to-morrow. CORKEY. 

CHAPTER VII

A RASH ACT

David Lockwin reads the letter of Dr. Tarpion with horror. 

"Heavens and earth!" he cries, and pulls at his hair, rubs his eyes andstamps on the floor. "Heavens and earth!" This, an edifice built withthe patience and cunning of a lover, must fall to nothing. 

He is as dead to Esther as on the day the yawl danced on the shiningsands of Georgian Bay. 

He is terrified to know his loss. To believe that he was in dailycommunication with Esther, and that she must ache to know him, hassustained David Lockwin in his penance. 

The crime he committed, he feels, has been atoned in this year oflover's agony. That agony was necessary--in order that Esther might begradually prepared for the revelation. 

She has not been prepared. The labor must begin again, and on newlines. 

The receiver of the Coal and Oil Trust Company's Institution this daydeclares a dividend of 10 per cent. The lover may draw over $7, 000--amagnificent estate. It seems greater to him than the wealth of theIndies or the Peruvians seemed to the early navigators. 

He sells his belongings to a second-hand dealer. He hastens hisdeparture. The folks at Walker street can get another book-keeper. Robert Chalmers is going to San Francisco. Easy to lie now after thepractice of nearly two years. 

But to think that Esther has not read a word of all he has written!David Lockwin hisses the name of Dr. Tarpion. Many is the time theyhave tented together. But how did the doctor know? He had only atype-written anonymous communication. 

Nevertheless this lover curses the administrator as the cause of thefiasco. 

"But for him my path would be easy. "

David Lockwin thinks of Tarpion's threat about a claimant. It growsclear to him that there is a Chicagoan alive who can view his owncenotaph, his own memorial hospital, his own home--who can proclaimhimself to be the husband, and yet there will be men like Tarpion whowill deny all. 

Lockwin's face annoys him. "Why was I such a fool to go without theproper treatment in that outlandish region! Why was I so anxious to bedisguised?"

Oh, it is all on account of the letters. That busybody of anadministrator and censor has undone all! Better he had never beenborn. Why should a doctor neglect his patients to separate husband andwife? The wise way will be to march to the house at Chicago and takepossession. 

"That I will do!" the man at last declares. He is maddened. He caresnothing for reputation. He cannot bear the thought that Dr. Tarpion, an old friend, should day by day burn the epistles that evinced so muchscholarship, charity and sympathy. The lover is not poor. No man with$7, 000 in his pocket is poor. He is not driven back to Esther by want, as it was before. That stings the man to recall it. No, he has means. But if he were poor, he would work for the dear lady who loved him sosecretly. He gloats over the letter of Esther. It is worn in piecesnow, like so many cards. The train from New York enters the city ofChicago. 

"That is the new David Lockwin Hospital, " says a passenger. 

"Why did I blunder in on this road?" the lover asks. He had notthought his situation so terrible as it seemed just now. 

"I am doubtless the sorriest knave that ever lived here, " he mourns, but it only increases his determination to go directly to Esther. 

"I guess Dr. Tarpion will not throw _me_ in the waste-basket! Seventhousand dollars!"

David Lockwin feels as rich as Corkey. 

It is a mad thing he is doing, this pulling of the door-bell at the oldhome. The balcony is overhead. Never mind little Davy! We can livewithout him, but we cannot live without Esther. Ah that Tarpion! thatbase Tarpion! Probably he intends to marry her! It is none too soonto pull this bell. Now David Lockwin will enter, never to be drivenforth. He will enter among his books. Never mind his books. It isshe, SHE, SHE! Till death part them SHE is his. It is the seventhousand dollars that gives him this lion-like courage. Esther needshim. He has come. 

The door opens. A pleasant-faced lady appears. 

"Call Mrs. Lockwin, please. "

"Mrs. Lockwin? Oh, yes. I believe she did live here. I do not knowwhere she lives now, but it is on Prairie avenue. After her fatherdied she went home to live. "

Is Judge Wandrell dead? The caller is adding together the mills, pineries, elevators, hotels, steamers, steel mills, quarries andrailroads that Judge Wandrell owned on the great lakes. 

The pleasant-faced lady thinks her caller ought to go. 

He is angry at her. He shows it. He blames her as much as he doesTarpion. He retreats reluctantly. A stranger is in possession of thehome of David Lockwin. 

He was foolhardy a moment before. He is timid now. 

He was rich. He has seven thousand. Esther is rich. She has fivemillions. 

CHAPTER VIII

A GOOD SCHEME

The absence of love ruined David Lockwin. Love built Chicago. Loveerected the David Lockwin Hospital. Love supports David Lockwin. Heis a man to be pitied from the depths of the heart. Love makes himhappy. 

He reads the revised scriptures. To love's empire has been added thewhole realm of charity. "Love, " says the sacred word, "covereth amultitude of sins. "

"Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. "

Love has become prudent. Love has whispered in David Lockwin's earthat while it might be brave to knock at the door of one's own home, itwould be rash to present one's self to Esther Lockwin, on Prairieavenue--Esther Lockwin, worth five millions!

Yet this lover, in order to bear, to believe, to hope and to endure, must enter the charmed circle of her daily life. He haunts thevicinity, he grows fertile in his plans. He discovers an admirablemethod of coming in correspondence with the Prairie avenue mansion. 

Dr. Floddin has recently died, and a new proprietor is in possession ofthe drug store. It is a matter of a week's time to install DavidLockwin. It could have been done in a minute, but a week's time seemedmore in order and pleased the seller. You look in and you see a squarestove. Rising behind it you see a white prescription counter, withbottles of blue copper water at each corner. Rising still higherbehind is a partition. Peer to the right and you may see a curtain, drawn aside. A little room contains a bed, an Argand lamp, a tablewith a small clock, druggist's books and the revised New Testament. 

You may see David Lockwin, almost any day, sitting near and under thatcurtain; his clothes are strangely of the color of the drapery; hislegs are stretched out one ankle over the other; his hands are deep inpockets; his head is far down on his breast. Or you may see himwashing his windows. He keeps the cleanest windows on lower Statestreet. 

In this coigne of vantage it turns out that David Lockwin eventuallycomes to know the family life at the mansion. The servants at theWandrell home have long stood behind the prescription counter whiletheir orders were in course of serving. 

The confinement of the business--the eternal hours of vigil--thesematters feed the hungry love of the husband. 

"Without this I should have died, " he vows. The months go by withoutevent. 

Corkey has been the earliest caller. "Saw your sign, " he says;"recollected the name. Been in New York all the time? I say, old man, want a pardner? I got a clean thousand cases in gold to put in. "

The druggist has difficulty in withstanding Corkey's offers of capital. Corkey is struck with the idea of business. He has taken a strongfancy to Chalmers. Day by day the two men grow more intimate. 

"Thought I'd never see you again, old man. I suppose I ought to starta saloon, but somehow I hate to do it, now I know some good people. Bet your life I'm solid over there!"

He points with his thumb toward Prairie avenue. 

"I'm a good friend of the richest woman, I guess, there is in theworld!" His tongue pops like a champagne cork. "I don't like to keepno saloon. "

"I shall sell as little liquor as possible, " the druggist says, conceiving the drift of Corkey's ideas. 

"Pardner, you must have been a hard drinker yourself. How did yourvoice get so husky?"

"It was so always. "

"It was so the first day I met you. Remember the dedication?"

"Yes; do you remember the bank?"

"Yep. Don't you know I tell you I was going to find that yawl?"

"I do. "

"Well, I find it. "

Does David Lockwin color? Or are those features forever crimson?

"You do look like a man as has been a red-hot sport in his day. Everdo anything in the ring? Let me try that red liquor of yours. Let'ssee if it tears. Oh, yes, about the yawl. I just go to the widow theother day and ask her for three hundred cases on the search. Well, shegive me the three hundred and want me to take more, and I go right toCollingwood. The duck he show me the boat, and you bet your sweet lifeI hid her where she never will be seen. What's the use of tearing upthe widow's feelings again?"

"You did right!" says the husky voice, the lover all the time wishingthe discovery had been published. He feels like a claimant. He is notsure the world would believe David Lockwin to be alive if he couldprove it. 

"Chalmers, I'm going to tell you something that I haven't said tonobody. I hid that boat, and I threw away big money--I know I did. But I could get all the money I wanted of her--a free graft. Give meanother slug of that budge. "

The druggist is filling a small graduate with whisky for Corkey. Whatis Corkey about to say?

"They're having high old times in Russia. That was a great bomb theygit in on his nobs last winter. "

"The czar? Yes. "

"I reckon they're going to git the feller they've got on top there now, too, don't you? They say he put on ten crowns yesterday. What do theycall it? The coronation, yes. What's the name of the place? Moscow, yes. "

The druggist is less confused. 

"Wouldn't it be funny if the czar wasn't dead. But say, pardner, whatwould you say if I went over there and told my widow I didn't believeher old man was dead at all? Would she give me the gaff? Would shegit mad?"

The druggist is busy finding a cork for a bottle. At last he comes tothe light to try the cork. He is behind a show-case. Corkey is infront of the, case holding a newspaper in hand, out of which he hasbeen reading of the coronation. His black eyes seem to pierce DavidLockwin's face. David Lockwin looks back--in hope, if any feeling canshow itself in that veiled countenance. 

"He ain't dead! Not much! Can't tell me! I don't bury boats fornothing. I tell you I think a heap of her, and she slung herself so onthat hospital and on that other thing there, out north, that I'd hateto give her away. What was that yawl buried for? Nobody see it and itwas worth money, too. What was it buried for? Now I never tell youthe story of the night on the old tub. He sit just so. "

Corkey takes a seat behind the stove and imitates David Lockwin. 

The druggist gazes as in a stupor. He steps to his little room andremoves the chair. He must not sit and cogitate. 

"Something ail him. I guess he was crazy. "

"He must have been, " says the druggist, "if he wasn't killed. "

"Oh, he wasn't killed. Can't tell me. Now, suppose he want to comeback to Chicago--ain't he in a sweet box? And his wife over therecrying her eyes out--with more money--with more money--well--"

Corkey's head vibrates, his tongue whirs, he sneezes. Children, romping on the sidewalk, troop to the door of the druggist to learnwhat has happened. 

Corkey looks at the prescription booth. He notes the blue copper waterat each corner. His eyes rise to the white partition which separatesthe rear room from the store. 

"Sleep in there?"

"Yes, " says the druggist, huskily. 

"Get out of here!" cries Corkey to the last of the merry throng. "Iused to play just that same way right here in this street. Cozy placein there. Well, I ain't so smart, but I've had a scheme on ever sinceI found that yawl. She's crying her eyes out over there--you can'ttell me, for I know. Mebbe his nobs would like to come back. I'mgoing to sound her, and if she's favorable I'm going to advertise--see?"

"Do you see her often?"

"Yes, oftener than I want to. You see she makes me go over that lastnight on the old tub and on the yawl. Now I'm getting tired of tellinghow he died. He ain't dead. But she seems to harp on that. You justought to hear her cap him up. He's the greatest and goodest man youever see. Well, now. I'm going to change the play a little. Oh, she's no use. She even wants me to bring the coon, and I let theball-players take him. He can't be going down there. I don't want himalong nohow. I tell you I'm going to change the box. I'm going tobring her round to the idea that he's alive. "

Corkey is earnest. His eyes are sparkling. He is chewing hard on histobacco. His head is quaking. 

"He's alive, and so he's a--well, he's a no-gooder. "

"Yes, " says the druggist huskily. 

"But I hate to see her pining away, and I'm going to steer her againstthe idea that she can get him if she wants him. She's so rich she cando anything she wants to. I guess if she wants him she can clear outwith him and live in--where is it?--in Moscow. That's about the placefor ducks like him. "

"Yes, " says the druggist. 

Corkey takes the glass graduate in hand. He turns sideways and putshis arm heavily on the frail show-case. He lifts his foot to place iton the customary iron railing of a whisky shop. He ruminates. 

"The David Lockwin Annex--that means a wing, doesn't it? Yes, Ithought so. Well, the wing is bigger than the--than the--than the--thewing is bigger than the bird. "

It is an observation that Corkey believes would be applauded among thesharp blades of the telegraph room. He drinks in a well-pleased mood. 

"The David Lockwin Annex! The monument! They've given that a stiffname, too. I've seen some gay things in this town, but that beats me. It takes a woman to make a fool of herself. And there she is overthere crying for her great hero. Fill this jim-crack with the budgeagain. Let her draw as much water as she will--put it to the topnotch!"

The druggist trembles as he fills the graduate. 

"Won't you have a bigger one?" he suggests. 

"No, I ain't drinking much between campaigns. Did you know I was goingto run for the Illinois house? Yes, that's nearer to my size than awhole congressional district. I'm in for it. But that's not now. Mymind is over there, on the avenue. Say, old man, is the scheme anygood? He dassen't come back. Do you think she'd pull out and go tohim, wherever he is?"

The druggist carries the empty graduate to the water sink. He rinsesit. His heart beats with the greatest joy it has ever known. Hereturns the graduate to the prescription counter. 

"It is a good scheme, Corkey. "

[Illustration: "It is a good scheme, Corkey. "]

"You bet it _is_. Chalmers, just fill that thimble-rig once more. Itdon't hold three fingers, nohow. Hurry, for I got to go to the northpier right off. That's your little clock striking 6 in there now, ain't it?"

CHAPTER IX

A HEROIC ACT

David Lockwin is losing ground. He daily grows less likely to attractthe favorable notice of Esther Lockwin, or any other woman ofconsequence. His face has not only lost comeliness, but character. Itwould seem that the carmen fimbrications just under the skin of hischeeks flame forth with renewed anger. The difficulty in his throatincreases. He relies nowadays entirely on Corkey. 

"And Corkey does not know how rapidly this anxiety is killing me!"

The druggist plans every day to confess all to Corkey. Every day, too, there is a plan to meet Esther. But as David Lockwin grows small, Esther grows grand. Talking with the servants of her mother's home hasdegraded, declassed, the husband. He has hungered to meet her, yetmonths intervene without that bitter joy. 

It is a bitter joy. Yesterday, when Lockwin carried a prescription tothe house of a very sick widow, he suddenly came face to face withEsther. It had been long apparent to the man that the woman wasrepelled by his face. This, yesterday, she did not conceal. 

The husband trembled with a thousand pleasures as the sacred formpassed by. He struggled with ten thousand despairs as he was robbed ofher company and left to bemoan her disdain. 

He worshiped her the more. He read last night, more eagerly, how loveendureth all things. It must fast come to this, that David Lockwinshall love her at a distance, and that she shall be true to the memoryof the great and good David Lockwin. 

Or, he must approach Corkey on the subject of his scheme of reunion. 

This morning, washing the windows of the drug-store, the proprietorrevolves the problems of his existence. 

"Time is passing, " he groans; "too much time. "

The gossip of the store deals often with Dr. Tarpion. Dr. Tarpion isgradually arousing the jealousy of the husband. The burning of theconsolatory letters was a dreadful repulse of the lover's siege. 

The druggist has scrubbed the windows with the brush. He is dryingthem with the rubber wiper. He stamps the pole on the sidewalk. Hedoes not want to be jealous, but time is going by--time is going by. That Tarpion! It would be hard! It would be hard!

A new thought comes. The disfigured face grows malicious. 

"It would be bigamy! Ha!"

David Lockwin has fallen upon a low place. But he would perish ifjealousy must be added. 

"Corkey's plan is a good one, but why does he not push it faster? AndCorkey has not spoken of the matter for three weeks. One night he saidhe would soon be 'where he could talk. '"

The prescription clerk is very busy. A customer wants a cigar. Thedruggist goes in to make a profit of three and a half cents. Hereturns to his window, wets it once more, begins the wiping, and isfrightened by the thought of five millions of money. 

"Davy's tonsils swelled, and Tarpion was to cut them off. I wonder ifit is my tonsils. I wonder if my nose could be straightened. I haveno doubt my skin could be cleared. "

Once more the supporting forces of nature have come to the rescue ofDavid Lockwin. It is clear that he must be rejuvenated. He mustexercise and regain an appetite. He must recover twenty-five pounds offlesh that have left him since that cursed night of the Africa. 

"Strange fate!" he ejaculates, remembering the almost comatosecondition in which he walked on deck, and was saved. 

His eyes grow sightless. The dull, little, trivial street has palledupon his view. He sees a crowd gathering at a corner and makingdemonstrations in a cross street. 

The next moment his own horses dash around the corner into Statestreet, driverless and running away. 

A lady's head protrudes from the window. Yes, it is Esther!

The druggist grasps his long pole lightly. He takes the middle of thestreet. He holds his pole like a fence before the team. 

"Whoa, Pete! Whoa, Coley!" he cries. 

The horses believe they must turn. They lose momentum. They shy. Theman is at their bits. 

They drag him along the curb. One horse slips down. The pole cracksin two. A hundred men are on hand now. 

David Lockwin flies to the carriage. He unlocks the door. He gathershis wife in his arms. Oh! happy day! He carries her into his drugstore. He applies restoratives to the fainting woman. She slowlyrevives. 

"Please take me home and send for Dr. Tarpion, " she says, relapsinginto lethargy. 

Men seize David Lockwin, for he is bleeding profusely. 

"He terrifies her!" they exclaim. They wash his forehead. He has along cut over the brow. 

Work fast as he may with court-plaster Esther is carried forth beforethe druggist can be in front to aid. People are full of praise for theheroic man. 

"But he won't be no prettier for it, " say the gossips of theneighborhood. 

CHAPTER X

ESTHER AS A LIBERAL PATRON

Esther Lockwin has been confined to her room for a month by Dr. Tarpion's orders. The servants say she will not enter a carriage again. 

David Lockwin has hired an extra clerk, and is daily under a surgeon'shands. After six months of suffering he is promised a removal of thered fimbrications; his nose shall be re-erected; his throat shall bereasonably cleared. 

He lies on his cot, and Corkey is a frequent visitor. 

"You wa'n't no prize beauty, that's a fact, " says the candid Corkey. "I think you're wise, but I'd never a did it. You've got as much gritas a tattooed man. Them fellers, the doctors, picks you with electricneedles, don't they? Yes, I thought so. Well, I suppose that'snothing side of setting up your nose. But she sets up there like ahired man--you've got a good nob now! Yes, I'm deep in politics again. I'm a fool--I know it, but I don't spend more'n five hundred cases, andI go to the legislature sure. If I get there some of thesecorporations that knocked me out afore will squeal--you hear me! No, you don't spend no money on me. I wish you could git out and hustle, though. But you ain't no hustler, nohow. Want any drug laws passed?"

Corkey must do the greater part of the talking. He sits beside the bedcarrying an atmosphere of sympathy that the feverish lover needs. Gradually the thoughts of the sympathizer fix on the glass graduate. It tickles his membranes. His head quakes, his tongue whirs, he jarsthe great bottles outside with his sneeze. 

The tears start from his eyes, his throat rebels at its misusage, hisbig red handkerchief comes out. It makes a sharp contrast with his jetblack hair and mustache. 

"Old man, " he said, "do you suppose your bone-sawers could cut that outof me? It makes me forgit things sometimes. Oh, yes, yes! That putsme in mind! I came to tell you this morning that Mrs. Lockwin wascoming over to thank you!"

"It's time, " whispers the lover, bravely. 

"I told her to come on. She needn't be afraid of you. I tell you shewas mighty glad when I tell her you was a friend of mine. "

There is a click at the door-latch. The patient starts. Corkey looksout into the store. 

"Here she is!" whispers Corkey, smoothing the coverlet. "How d'ye do, Mrs. Lockwin? Just step in here. Mr. Chalmers is not able to sit up. "

"I heard he was hurt, " says Esther. "Poor man! I owe him so much!"

It is perhaps well that David Lockwin has had no warning of thissupreme event. It seems to him like the last day. It is the SecondComing. A hundred little wounds set up their stings, for which thehusband is ever thankful. He can hear her out there in the store. Hecan feel her presence. She appears at his door! She stands at thefoot of his couch! She, the ineffable!

"Oh!" she exclaims, not expecting to see a man so badly wounded, sohighly bandaged. 

"Nothing at all serious, Mrs. Lockwin, " explains Corkey. 

"Oh, I am so very sorry, " says the lady. "Mr. Chalmers, you find meunable to express my feelings. I cannot tell you how many things Ishould like to explain, and how seriously I am embarrassed by the evilsI have brought on you. I dare say only that I am a person of largemeans, and am sensible that I cannot repay you. I owe my life to yournoble act. If I can ever be of service to you, please to command me. I shall certainly testify my regard for you in some proper way, but itafflicts me to feel that you are so much worse hurt than I was by therunaway. I lost a noble husband. If he had been alive you would nothave been left unthanked and unserved for so long a time. "

It distresses Corkey. 

"That's what he was--a white man!"

David Lockwin is dumb. But he thinks he is saying: "I am DavidLockwin! I am David Lockwin!"

"It is a sweet remembrance, now. " Her voice grows clearer. "They tellme I did wrong to mourn so bitterly. I suppose I did. Mr. Chalmers, Ishould like to entertain you on your recovery. How singular! This isour old family drug store! Didn't Dr. Floddin keep here? Poor Dr. Floddin! Oh! David! David! Good-bye, Mr. Chalmers. "

"He's not badly hurt at all, " says Corkey, "you mustn't worry overthat. "

"I'm so glad, Mr. Corkey. "

It is the autumn of a great misery. The woman is righting herself. She is trying to listen to the advice of society. Lockwin, by dying, committed a crime against the first circles. "A failure to live is agigantic failure, " says Mrs. Grundy. 

David Lockwin listens to every movement. The widow tarries. 

"Send me a dozen large bottles of that extract, " she says, choosing avariety of odors. She orders a munificent bill of fancy goods. Theclerk moves with astonishing celerity. 

The patient suppresses his groans. 

"Oh! Chalmers is well off, " says Corkey. 

"I'm glad, " says Esther, "poor man! Good-bye, Mr. Corkey. You areneglecting me lately. I hope you will be elected. I wish I couldvote. Oh, yes, I guess the clerk may give me a stock of whitenotepaper. Do you believe it, Mr. Corkey, I haven't a scrap about thehouse that isn't mourning paper! Yes, that will do. Send plenty. Good-bye. Come over and tell me about politics. Tell me somethingthat will make life seem pleasant. I'm tired of my troubles. I thinkI'm forgetting David. Good-bye. "

BOOK IV

GEORGE HARPWOOD

CHAPTER I

CORKEY'S GOOD SCHEME

The courtly and affable George Harpwood has fought the good fight andis finishing the course. It is he who has labored with the prominentcitizens. It is he who has moved the great editors to place DavidLockwin in the western pantheon--to pay him the honors due to Lincolnand Douglas. It is Harpwood who has carried the banquet to success. It is he who, in the midnight of Esther Lockwin's grief, prepared forher confidential reading those long and scholarly essays of consolationwhich she studied so gratefully. Mr. Harpwood did not put hislucubrations in the care of Dr. Tarpion. Each and every one waswritten for no other eye but Esther's. 

While Dr. Tarpion was holding the husband at bay, Dr. Tarpion wasrapidly overcoming a prejudice against Harpwood. 

"Really, the man has been invaluable to me, " the administrator nowvows. "No one could deliberately and selfishly enter the grief-life ofsuch a widow. "

For Harpwood, smarting with a double defeat, in the loss of Esther andthe election of Lockwin, has at once devoted himself to the saddestoffices. He has been diligent in all kinds of weather. He hasdiscreetly avoided the outer appearance of personal service. But hehas filled the place of spiritual comforter to Esther Lockwin, and hasfilled it well. 

If you ask what friends Mrs. Lockwin has, the servants will speak ofDr. Tarpion first, of the architects, and of Corkey. Harpwood they donot mention. He may have called--so have a thousand other gentlemen. They have rarely seen Mrs. Lockwin, for she has been at the cenotaph, the hospital, and the grave of little Davy. 

So long as Harpwood's suit has flourished by letter, why should theless cautious method of speech be interposed? To-day, Esther could notsustain the intermission of the usual consolatory epistle. 

George Harpwood is one of those characters who have many friends andare friends to few. Others need him--not he them. He can please if heattempt the task, and if the task be exceedingly difficult, he willbecome infatuated with it. He will then grow sincere. At least hebelieves he is sincere. Thus his patience is superb. 

His manners are widely praised. If he have served Esther Lockwin withrare personal devotion, it cannot be denied that it has piqued manyother beautiful, eligible and desirable women. 

He can well support the air of a disinterested friend. The ladiesgenerally bewail his absence from their society. Esther Lockwin mustsoon be warm in the praise of a gentleman who, divining the needs of awidow, has so chivalrously taken up her woes as his own. Tenderly--like a mother--he has touched upon her projects. Gladly hehas accepted the mission she has given to him. At last when he bringsDr. Tarpion to the special censorship of Esther's mail, and to the fearof claimants, George Harpwood is in command of the situation. 

When a man cultured in all the arts that please, gives himself to thefascinating of a particular person, male or female, that man does notoften fail. Where the prize is five millions he ought to play hishighest trumps. 

This is what George Harpwood has done. Sometimes he has paused toadmire his own unselfishness. Sometimes, after a drenching on accountof the David Lockwin Annex--a costly fabric--Mr. Harpwood marvels thatmen should be created so for the solace of widows! The other ladiesshow their discontent. Fortunes are on every hand, and Esther is likeNiobe, all tears. Why does Harpwood turn all tears, weeping forLockwin? This causes Harpwood to be himself astonished. 

It is only genius that can adapt itself to an environment solugubrious. It is only genius that can unhorse suspicion itself, leaving even the would-be detractor to admit that Mr. Harpwood is akind man--as he certainly is. 

"Who would not be kind for five millions?" he asks, yet he the nextmoment may deny that he wants the five millions. 

It is a fine fortitude that George Harpwood can show upon occasion. Itwas he who, lost in the opium habit, went to his room for two weeks, and kept the pieces of opium and bottles of morphine within sight onhis mantel, touching none of the drug--curing himself. 

He could serve Esther as long as Jacob served Laban. He could end bythe conquest of himself. While he shall be doubtful of his ownselfishness, all others must be glad that Esther is given into hands sogentle and intelligent. 

Mrs. Grundy knows little about this. Esther Lockwin has offended Mrs. Grundy by a long absence from the world. 

If Esther now feel a warm glow in her heart; if she pass a dreary daywhile Mr. Harpwood is necessarily absent, nobody suspects it--exceptMr. Harpwood. 

It has not displeased the disinterested friend of Esther Lockwin tonote the upward drift of his political opportunities. It is silentlytaken for granted that he is a coming man. Whenever he shall cease hisdisinterested attentions to the widow it is clear he will be a paragon. And the critics who might aver as much, did they know the case, wouldbe scandalized if he so mistreated the lady who has come to lean on him. 

"In doing good to others, " says George Harpwood, "we do the greatestgood to ourselves. "

Yet one must not devote himself to a rich lady beyond a period ofreasonable length. One's own business must be rescued from neglect. If this doctrine be taught skillfully Esther Lockwin will learn thatshe must show her gratitude in a substantial manner. 

Five millions, for instance. 

After that crisis secrecy may be, less sternly imposed. If the lady, in her illness--ah! that was a shock to Harpwood, that runaway--if thelady, in her illness, demand personal calls, which must certainly letloose the gossips--after all, it is her matter. If Esther Lockwindesire to see George Harpwood in the day-time, in the evening--all thetime--so be it. 

Is it the bright face of Esther Lockwin that spurs Corkey to his grandenterprise? What has kept the short man so many months in silence?Why is it he has never gotten beyond the matter of the lounge in thefore-cabin of the Africa? This afternoon he will speak. It is a goodscheme. It can be fixed--especially by a woman. 

"She can stand it if he can, " says Corkey, who reckons on theresurrection of David Lockwin. 

So the face that was dark at State street becomes self-satisfied atPrairie avenue. Corkey is picturesque as he raps his cane on themarble stairs. 

"Bet your sweet life none of this don't scare me!" he soliloquizes, touching the stateliness of the premises. 

He enters. He comes forth later, meeting another caller in thevestibule. It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedsideof David Lockwin, around on State street. 

Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he will not talk, but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case. 

"How slow you git on, old man. "

"Not at all. I am getting well, " is the cheerful reply. Corkey is introuble. It is, therefore, time for Lockwin to give him sympathy. "Corkey is a good fellow, " thinks Lockwin, gazing contentedly on hiscaller. 

"I'm afraid it ain't no use, " says Corkey, half to himself. "I ain'thad no luck since I let the mascot go to the league nine, " he says, more audibly. 

"I am quite happy, " Lockwin says. "It will be a sufficient reward tolook like other folks. Only a few weeks of this. But it is a trial. "

"It's more of a trial, old man, than I like to see you undertake. "

"Yet I am happy. It will be a success. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"Pretty wonderful!" Yet Corkey does not look it. 

The man in the bandages thinks upon what he has suffered with his face. He blesses the day he was permitted by Providence to stop that runaway. All is coming about in good order. It needed the patience of love--oflove, the impatient. He is so sanguine to-day that he must push Corkeya little regarding that scheme. 

"Yes, it is wonderful!" says Corkey with affected animation, recoveringhis presence of mind. 

"Have you been over at our friend's lately?" The question comes withthe deepest excitement. The countenance of Corkey falls instantly. 

"Yes, just come from there. "

"Are things all smiling over there?"

"Yes. They're too smiling. "

"Did you see Dr. Tarpion?"

"Oh, I never see him! Things are too smiling! You'll never catch methere again. "

Lockwin starts. 

"She can't play none of her high games onto me. Bet your sweet life!If she don't want to listen to reason, it's none of my funeral. I sayto her--and I ought to say it afore--I say to her how would she like tosee her old man. "

The patient turns away from Corkey. The oldest wounds sting like ahive of hornets. 

"Well, you ought to see the office she give me! She rip and stave andtear! She talk of political slander, and libel, and disgrace, and allthat. She rise up big right afore me, and come nigh swearing she wouldkill such a David Lockwin on sight. There wasn't no such a DavidLockwin at all. Her husband was a nobleman. She wished I was fit toblack his boots--do you mind?--and you bet your sweet life I wasgitting pretty hot myself!"

The thought of it sets Corkey coughing. A thousand wounds are piercingDavid Lockwin, yet he does not lose a word. 

"Then she cool off a considerable, and ask me for to excuse her. 'Oh, it is all right, ' says I, a little tart. 'That will be all right. '

"Then she fall right on her knees, and pray to David Lockwin to forgiveher for even thinking he isn't dead. 

"Now it was only Wednesday that a duck in this town knocked me out atthe primaries--played the identical West Side car-barn game on me!Yes, sir, fetched over 500 street-sweepers to my primaries--machinecandidate and all that--oh! he's a jim-dandy!"

"I'm sorry for you, Corkey, " the wretched husband says, and thusescapes for a moment from his own terror. 

"Yes, it was bad medicine. So I wasn't taking much off anybody. Igets up pretty stiff--this way, and says: 'Good day, Mrs. Lockwin. Iguess I can't be no more use to you, nohow. ' And just as I was pullingmy hat off the peg there comes the very duck that knocked me out--rightthere! And she chipper to him as sweet as if David Lockwin had beendead twenty years. And he as sweet on her, and right before me! Ugh!"

"Weren't you mistaken, Corkey!" feebly asks the man in the bandages. 

"Wasn't I mistaken? Oh, yes! I suppose I can't tell a pair that wantsto bite each other! She that was a giving me the limit a minute beforewas as cunning as a kitten to that rooster. Ugh! it makes me ill!"

"Who is he?" asks David Lockwin. 

"He's Mister George Harpwood, " cries Corkey bitterly, "and if he aintno snooker, then you needn't tell me I ever see one!"

CHAPTER II

HAPPINESS AND PEACE

Esther Lockwin looks upon George Harpwood as her savior. 

"I wanted to be happy, " she smiles. "I did not believe I could existin that desolate state. You came to me! You came to me!"

"Emerson declares that all men honor love because it looks up, notdown; aspires, not despairs, " says Harpwood. The friend of Esther'swidowhood has quoted to her nearly every consolatory remark of thephilosophers. 

"Shall we live here?" she asks, willing to go to Sahara. 

"Certainly. Here I have the best future. You are a helpful soul, Esther. I shall rely upon you. "

"We are too sad to be true lovers, " she sighs. "Yet I could wish tohave you all to myself. "

The man is flattered. He, too, is in love. "I will go with you if youwould be happier amid other scenes, " he suggests. 

"I have nothing to be ashamed of, have I?" she asks proudly, thinkingof her noble David and his fragrant memory. 

"If I am to have a widow I should like such a widow, " the man replies. 

"I pray God you shall never have one, " she vows. 

Both are exquisitely happy. Neither can say aught that displeases orhurts the other. For Esther it is the dawn--the glorious sun risingout of a winter night. She never had a lover before. 

With George Harpwood it is the crowning of an edifice built withinfinitely more pains than the David Lockwin Annex. 

The noise of all this is abroad. "The wedding will be private, " saysMrs. Grundy with sorrow. "But the Mrs. Harpwood that is to be willthis winter entertain on a lavish scale. She is devoted to Harpwood'spolitical aspirations. "

"That man Harpwood, if he gets to Congress this winter, will begin agreat career. I wouldn't be surprised to see him President, " says onebank cashier to another. 

"Well, he's marrying the woman who can help him most. The labor peopleare all on her side. "

"When shall the day be, Esther?" the friend of her sorrows asks. 

"Let it be the last Thursday of next month at 6 o'clock, " she replies, and is far more peaceful than when David Lockwin asked her to marry himfar on in the long ago, for on that night she cried. 

"I suppose the number of guests should be small, " he notes. 

"Only our nearest friends. A Thursday, dear, at 6 o'clock. "

The neighborhood is agog. The servants outdo each other in gossip. There are household arrangements which are to turn a gloomy abode intoa merry dwelling-place. 

The decorators must work night and day. The mansion is as brilliantwith gas as on the evening Esther Wandrell put her hands in DavidLockwin's and listened rapturously to his praise of the beautiful child. 

Is that a shadow skulking about this corner! Probably it is some nightpoliceman employed by the widow. 

Certainly it is a faithful watch the figure keeps on the great housewhere the decorators toil. 

"I'm glad I'm not rich, " says one pedestrian to his companion. 

"They're awfully afraid of burglary, " says the companion. 

CHAPTER III

AT 3 IN THE MORNING

"Where is Chalmers?" asks Corkey. 

"Mr. Chalmers is not in, " answers the clerk. 

"I want to see him, " says Corkey, authoritatively. 

"He is not in, " retorts the clerk with spirit. 

"Has he sold out?"

"No. "

"When will he be in?"

"I can't tell you. Excuse me. " A customer waits. 

"Yes, yes, yes!" growls Corkey. But he never was busier. He is tryingto do his work at the office and to get through election week. 

"Where is Chalmers?" Again Corkey is at the drug store. "See here, myfriend, I don't take no street-car way down here to have you do nocunning act. Is Chalmers in town?"

"I do not know. "

The clerk is telling the truth, and is in turn offended. "I do notknow, " he says, resolutely. 

Corkey is convinced. "I'll bet it's true, " he says, suddenly summingup the situation. 

He hurries away. The weather is wet and cold. 

Corkey is drenched, and of all things he dreads a drenching. For thathe wears the thickest of clothes. 

Three hours later he is known to be badly beaten at the polls. He isdenounced as a sore-head, a bolter, and a fool. 

Corkey goes to his home. On the night of the fourth day he appears inthe yellow light of the telegraph-room. 

"Commodore, we're sorry for you. Take it easy, and get back to work. No man can live, doing as you've done. You were up all the time, weren't you?"

Corkey's light is burning because the other editors need it. He sitswith his coat on, his face on his hands, his elbows on the table. 

"I was up the last six days, " he explains. "I just got out of bed now. "

"Do you good to sleep, " says the night editor. 

"What day is it?"

"Saturday. "

"Well, I go to sleep some time Wednesday. I sleep ever since. "

There is a chorus of astonishment. "It will save your life, Corkey. We thought the election would kill you. "

"I'm sleepy yet. "

"Go back and sleep more. "

"Good-bye, boys. I'm much obliged to you all. I'm out of politics. They got all my stuff. I'm worried over a friend, too. "

"Too bad, Corkey, too bad. "

These editors, whose very food is the human drama, have not lost sightof the terrible chapter of Corkey's activity, anxiety and inevitabledisappointment. 

"Too bad, isn't it!" the telegraph editor says. "Had any fires?"

"It makes me almost cry, " answers the assistant telegraph editor. "Fires? Yes, I've enough for a display head. "

"We must go and look after Corkey if he isn't here to-morrow night, "observes the night editor. "He's bad off. "

A little after midnight there is a loud rattle at the door of the drugstore. 

The prescription clerk at last opens the door. 

"Is Chalmers home yet?"

The clerk is angry. "You have no right to call me up for that!" heavers. "I need my sleep. "

"You don't need sleep no worse than I do, young feller. "

The door is shut, and Corkey must go home. 

When the comrades next see Corkey he is down with pneumonia. His feverrages. Sores break out about his mouth. "I have a friend I want tofind awful bad, " he says, fretting and rolling. "Chalmers! He runs adrug store at 803 State street, down beyond Eighteenth. But I'm afraidhe ain't to be found. I'm afraid he's disappeared. I couldn't findhim last week, nor last night, but it was pretty late when I git downthere. "

The doctor is grave. "He must not worry. Find this Chalmers. Tellhim he must come at once if he wishes to make his friend easier. "

"I must see Chalmers. I'm sicker than they think. I'm tired out. Ican't stand such a fever. That pillow's wet. That's better. It'scold, though. I guess my fever's going. Now I'm getting hot again. Ido want to see Chalmers. "

The patient tosses and fumes. The comrades hurry to Chalmers' drugstore, as others have done. 

"The proprietor is out of the city, " the clerk answers to allinquirers. "He left no address. "

"If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey's. Mr. Corkey isfatally ill with pneumonia. He must see Mr. Chalmers. "

Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better--moaning and asking forChalmers. All other affairs are as nothing. 

Chalmers does not come. 

Twenty-four hours more go by. The doctor now allows none of thecomrades to see the sick man. 

He does not roll and toss so much. But he inquires feebly andconstantly for Chalmers. 

At midnight he calls his wife. "You've heard me speak of Chalmers, sissy, " he says. 

There is a ring on the door of the flat. 

"That's him now. "

But it is a neighbor, come to stay the night out. 

"Lock the door. Open that drawer, sissy. Get out that big letter. "

The trembling little woman obeys. 

"Sissy, did you know we was broke?"

"Our gold?"

"Yes, it's all gone; every nickel. But I wouldn't bother you with thatif Chalmers would come. Now, don't cry, and listen, for I'm awfulsick. This letter here is to Mrs. Lockwin, and it will fix _you_. And I want to see Chalmers, to see that he stands by her. See?"

The wife listens. She knows there is a letter to Mrs. Lockwin. 

"Now I'm going to give something away. When I see Chalmers in his drugstore, he sits on his chair so I know it's a dead ringer on Lockwin. Chalmers is Lockwin, sissy. Don't you blow it. I've never told a soultill you. I've schemed and schemed to fix it up, but I never see a manin such a hole. He don't know I'm onto him. But I've no use for thisHarpwood, that did me up when he had no need to. I wasn't in his way. A week from Thursday night Harpwood is to marry Mrs. Lockwin. It isn'tno good. I want you to see Lockwin, and tell him for me that if hisstory gets out it wasn't me, and I want you to tell him for me that hemustn't let that poor widow commit no bigamy. It's an awful hole, that's what it is! It is tough on him!"

He has worked on the problem for years. 

The man groans. There is a rap on the door. "Hold up a minute. Iwouldn't mix in it, but I've done a good deal for the two of 'em, andI've lost a good deal by Harpwood's play on me. I expect Harpwood willset her against you, and I want her to do for you, pretty. So you tellLockwin he must act quick, and mustn't let her commit no bigamy. She'stoo good a woman, and you need money bad, sissy. All my twenty-pieces!All my twenty-pieces! My yellow stuff! Will you see Chalmers, sissy?Call him Chalmers. He's Lockwin, just the same, but call him Chalmers. "

The wife kisses her husband, and puts the letter back in the drawer. 

"Sissy. "

"Yes. "

"I forgot one thing. Git a little mourning handkerchief out of myhip-pocket. There ain't no gun there. You needn't be afraid. "

The woman at last secures a handkerchief which looks the worse forCorkey's long, though reverent, custody. 

"Wash it, sissy, and show it up to Mrs. Lockwin. I reckon it willsteer her back to the day when she felt pretty good toward me. Becareful of that Harpwood. He ain't no use. I know it. She give methat wipe her own self--yes, she did! God bless her. "

The woman once more kisses the sick man. 

"The gold, sissy!"

"Never mind it, " she says. 

"You think it's some good--this letter--don't you, sissy?"

"Of course I do. "

"I'm much obliged to you, sissy. Let in those people, now. "

The doctor enters. Corkey is at ease. He sinks into the wet pillow. He closes his eyes. 

"Did Chalmers come?" asks the physician. 

"Never mind him, " says Corkey faintly. 

The night goes on. The yellow lights still color the telegraph-room. At 3 o'clock the copy boy enters hurriedly. 

"Corkey just died, " he says, electrifying the comrades. "He just gaveone of his most awful sneezes, and it killed him right off. The doctorsays he burst a vein. "

Eighty lights are burning in the composing-room. Eightycompositors--cross old dogs, most of them--are ending a long and wearyday's toil. There are bunches of heads rising over the cases in eagerinquiry. 

"Corkey's sneeze killed him!" says Slug I. 

"Glad of it, " growls one cross dog. 

"Glad of it, " growls another cross dog

"Glad of it, " goes from alley to alley about the broad floor. 

"Who's got 48 X?" inquires the man with the last piece of copy. It isthe end of Corkey's obituary. 

"This will be a scoop, " says the copy-cutter. 

The father of the chapel has written some handsome resolutions to makethe article longer. 

"Come up here, all you fellows! Chapel meeting!"

The resolutions are passed with a mighty "Aye!" They are already intype. A long subscription paper for the widow finds ready signers. Noone stands back. 

The men wash their hands, standing like cattle at a manger. 

"It's tough!" says Slug 1. 

"You bet it's tough!" says Slug 10, the crossest old dog of the pack. 

"They say he went broke at election, " says Slug 50. 

"If his widow could learn to distribute type she could do mighty wellover here. I'd give her 4, 000 to throw in every day, " says Slug 10. "Oh, let go of that towel!"

The men return to their cases, put on their coats and wrap their whitethroats. This pneumonia is a bad thing, anyhow. 

Tramp, tramp, the small army goes down the long, iron stairways. 

"Did you hear about Corkey?" they ask as they go. "Corkey had a heartin him like an ox. "

"Bet he had, " echoes up from the nethermost iron stairway. 

CHAPTER IV

THE BRIDEGROOM

Esther Lockwin's wedding day is at hand. Her mansion is this afternoona suite of odorous bowers. Happy the man who may be secure in heraffection!

Such a man is George Harpwood. Let the November mists roll in fromLake Michigan. "It is no bed out there for me, " thinks the bridegroom, whose other days have often been gloomy enough in November. 

Let the smoke of the tall chimneys tumble into the streets andpirouette backward and forward in black eddies, giving to the city anaspect forbidding to even the manner-born. George Harpwood feels nomist. He sees no smoke. It is the tide of industry. It is theearnest of Esther's five millions. 

"My God, what a prize!" he exclaims. The marriage license is procured. The minister is well and cannot fail. There is a bank-bill in the vestpocket, convenient for the wedding fee. 

It is wise to visit the hotel once more and inspect one's attire. Thiscity is undeniably sooty. A groom with a sooty shirt bosom would notreflect credit on Esther Lockwin. 

"Magnificent woman!" he cries, as he changes his linen once more. Hethinks he would marry her if she were poor. 

It is getting well toward the event. Would it be correct to go early?Where would he stay? Would he annoy the bride? What time is it? Letus see. Four-thirty! Yes, now to keep this linen white. How would itdo to put a silk handkerchief over it--this way? Where are those silkhandkerchiefs? Must have one! Must have one! Not a one! Where isthat bell?

He touches the bell. He awaits the boy, who comes, and goes for ahandkerchief. 

He sits upon the side of the bed and listens to the bickerings of thewaiters in the hall of the dining-room below. Dinner is now to beserved. 

He studies the lock-history of the door. 

"Lots of people have broken in here, " he muses. 

He passes over the rules--well he knows them!

The electric lights on the street throw dim shadows on the gas-litwall--factories, depots, vessels, docks, saw-mills. The phantasmagoriapleases Mr. Harpwood. 

"At 6 o'clock, " he smiles, "I shall be the most powerful man in theseparts. I shall have the employment of nearly 15, 000 men. I shall bethe husband of the woman who built the David Lockwin Annex--"

The man pauses. 

"The David Lockwin Annex, " he sneers, "No! No! No! It was a splendidpile. It was a splendid pile. "

The man grows sordid. 

"But it cost a splendid pile. Pshaw, George Harpwood, will anythingever satisfy you? How about that hospital? Didn't it give you youropportunity?"

The boy returns. The man sits on his bed and muses:

"How differently things go in this world! See how easily Lockwin fellinto all this luck! See how I have hewn the wood and drawn the water!"

Something of disquiet takes possession of the bride-groom. 

"I'm awfully tired of consolatory epistles. I must keep Esther frombeing a hen. She's dreadfully in earnest. "

As the goal is neared, this swift runner grows weary. The DavidLockwin Annex never seemed so unpleasant before. 

It has taken longer to rearrange his linen and secure a faultlessappearance than he would have believed. He hastens to don hisovercoat. He smiles as he closes the door of his little bedroom at thehotel. He goes to take the vast Wandrell mansion. 

Why is his coachman so careless? After 5 o'clock already. Thebridegroom is late! He must bargain with a street jehu. But, pshaw!where can he find a clean vehicle? He hurries along the pavement. 

His own driver, approaches. "I went to the stables to put the lasttouches on her. Come around to Wabash avenue and see how she shines. "

It is not too late after all, and the groom will turn out of afaultless equipage at the very moment. Ladies of experience, like Mrs. Lockwin, notice all such things. 

"In fact, " says George Harpwood, "there is no other man in town whomshe could marry, even if she loved him. Might as well expect her tomarry Corkey. Poor dead Corkey!"

It is pleasant, this riding down Prairie avenue to one's wedding. 

"Splendid! Splendid!" cries the ardent soldier of fortune, as theblaze of the Wandrell mansion flashes through the plate-glass windows, of his carriage. It is the largest private residence in the city. "Splendid!" he repeats, and leaps out on the curb. A messenger ishurrying away. 

"Is that Esther on the portico? What an impulsive woman. "

His back is towards the carriage to close the silver-mounted door. Heturns. 

It must be a mistake! Is he blind? The mansion, which was a momentbefore ablaze, is now all dark! But the bride still stands under thelamp on the portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea. The statue graspsa paper. Like Galatea, she speaks:

"Is that you, George?"

[Illustration: But the bride still stands under the lamp on theportico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea. ]

"I have come, my love. What has happened?"

"Listen!" she commands, and reads by the portico light:

 Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30. 

ESTHER, MY WIFE AND WIDOW:

It is absolutely necessary that you should come at once to the drugstore formerly kept by Dr. Floddin, at 803 State street. 

Bring an escort. 

This step must be taken in your own interest--certainly not in theinterest of your husband. 

 DAVID LOCKWIN. 

"Come!" she says, taking her lover by the hand as a teacher might takea child. 

But George Harpwood is not at his wits' end. 

"Get into my carriage, Esther, " he suggests softly. 

"No, " she says sternly. "We will walk thither. "

The pair go round the corner into a mist made azure by a vast buildingwhich is lighted at every window to the seventh story. It rises threeblocks away like a storm-cloud over the lake. 

It is the David Lockwin Annex. The bride hurries faster than thebridegroom would have her walk. He seizes her arm. 

"My dear, " he whispers in those accents which seem to have lost theirmagic power, "it is merely a claimant. I was expecting it, and I'llput him in the penitentiary for it. Do not be alarmed by forgers. Itis only a forgery. "

CHAPTER V

AT SIX O'CLOCK

Through the mist and the smoke a red and a green light shine out onState street. 

The door of the little store is locked. The bride's hand has rattledthe latch. 

A silver star can be seen in the store. It is an officer in charge ofthe premises. He hurries to the door. 

"Are you Mrs. Lockwin?"

"I am. Let him in, too. " The officer has willed to exclude thebridegroom. 

"Hadn't he better wait outside?"

"Let him in!"

"Here is a packet addressed to you. " The officer hands to the bride athick letter. "Take this chair, madam. "

The bride sits down, her back toward the lights in the window. Thebridegroom stands close behind her. 

"Be firm, Esther. I'll put him in the penitentiary. I'll put him inthe penitentiary!"

The bride opens the packet. Many folded documents fall to her lap. She is quick to spread out the chief letter. 

The bridegroom pulls the silk handkerchief off his white shirt-frontand wipes his perspiring forehead again and again. He leans over hershoulder to read. The writing is large and distinct:

 Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30. 

MY DEARLY BELOVED WIFE AND WIDOW:

It may be barely possible that I have lived these years of shame anddegradation to some good purpose, and for the following reasons: Theman whom you now love so well--the man whom you are about tomarry--George Harpwood--is an adventurer and a criminal. 

I inclose documents which show that on Monday, the 4th of August, 1873, this George Harpwood, described and photographed, married Mary Berners, who now lives at Crescentville, a suburb of Philadelphia. She bearsthe name of Mrs. Mary Harpwood, and has not been divorced to herknowledge. Beside deserting her, Harpwood robbed her and reduced herto penury. 

I inclose documents showing that five years earlier, or on Wednesday, the 8th of January, 1868, George Harpwood eloped with a child wife, Eleanor Hastings, and basely deserted her within four weeks. She nowresides with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Moses Hastings, on Ox-Bow Prairie, a few miles south of Sturgis, Michigan. 

It is my request that the little store and its belongings, includingthe bank account of Robert Chalmers, so-called, be given to the widowof the late Walter B. Corkey. 

The bitterness of life is yours. But the bitterness of death is mine. 

Your husband, who loves you, DAVID LOCKWIN. 

There is a click at the door. The bride hears it not. The documentsfall to the floor. There are photographs of George Harpwood; there aregreen seals; there are many attestations. 

The bride must raise her eyes now. She sees the star of the officer. She reads the number--803. Is that from David, too?

Ah, yes, she must turn her head. The bridegroom is gone!

A man enters, in hot haste and intense excitement. Is it thebridegroom returning?

It is Dr. Tarpion. He seizes her by the hand. 

"My dear friend!" he cries. "My dear friend!" he repeats, "I have justnow learned that your husband is still living. "

But she does not hear it. She can only look gratefully toward theadministrator, clinging to his hand. 

She gazes in a dazed way on the white prescription-booth beyond thesquare stove; on the bottles of blue copper-water on each corner. Higher, the partition rises into view. 

She meets the eyes of the officer. 

A patrol wagon clangs and clamors down State street. It will stopbefore the door. 

Officers enter from the patrol wagon. "Where is that suicide?" theyask in a low voice, seeing a bride. 

The officer in charge steps to the side of the bride. He speakstenderly--the tenderness of a rough man with a kind heart. "Madam, " hesays, "you can go behind the partition and see the body. No one willcome in for a few moments. "

The bride rises. She hurries toward the little room where RobertChalmers suffered and died. 

"Oh, David!" she cries. "Oh, David! Oh, God!"

"I guess we will not need the wagon, " the officers say amongthemselves, and step out on the sidewalk. 

The little clock behind the partition strikes 6. 

A dozen factory whistles set up their dismal concert out in the bluemist. 

THE END.