Half A Rogue

By

Harold MacGrath

To The Memory Of My Mother

Half A Rogue

Chapter I

It was Warrington's invariable habit--when no business or socialengagement pressed him to go elsewhere--to drop into a certain quaintlittle restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners. It was out of theway; the throb and rattle of the great commercial artery became likethe far-off murmur of the sea, restful rather than annoying. He alwaysmade it a point to dine alone, undisturbed. The proprietor nor hissilent-footed waiters had the slightest idea who Warrington was. Tothem he was simply a profitable customer who signified that he dinedthere in order to be alone. His table was up stairs. Below, there wasalways the usual dinner crowd till theater time; and the music had thefaculty of luring his thoughts astray, being, as he was, fonder ofmusic than of work. As a matter of fact, it was in this littlerestaurant that he winnowed the day's ideas, revamped scenes, trimmedthe rough edges of his climaxes, revised this epigram or rejected thisor that line; all on the backs of envelopes and on the margins ofnewspapers. In his den at his bachelor apartments, he worked; but herehe dreamed, usually behind the soothing, opalescent veil of MadameNicotine. 

What a marvelous thing a good after-dinner cigar is! In the smoke ofit the poor man sees his ships come in, the poet sees his musebeckoning with hands full of largess, the millionaire reverts to hisearly struggles, and the lover sees his divinity in a thousandgraceful poses. 

To-night, however, Warrington's cigar was without magic. He was out ofsorts. Things had gone wrong at the rehearsal that morning. The starhad demanded the removal of certain lines which gave the leading manan opportunity to shine in the climax of the third act. He had laboreda whole month over this climax, and he revolted at the thought ofchanging it to suit the whim of a capricious woman. 

Everybody had agreed that this climax was the best the young dramatisthad yet constructed. A critic who had been invited to a reading haddeclared that it lacked little of being great. And at this late hourthe star wanted it changed in order to bring her alone in thelime-light! It was preposterous. As Warrington was on the first waveof popularity, the business manager and the stage manager both agreedto leave the matter wholly in the dramatist's hands. He resolutelydeclined to make a single alteration in the scene. There was a finestorm. The star declared that if the change was not made at once shewould leave the company. In making this declaration she knew herstrength. Her husband was rich; a contract was nothing to her. Therewas not another actress of her ability to be found; the season was toolate. There was not another woman available, nor would any othermanager lend one. As the opening performance was but two weeks hence, you will realize why Warrington's mood this night was anything butamiable. 

He scowled at his cigar. There was always something, some sacrifice tomake, and seldom for art's sake. It is all very well to witness a playfrom the other side of the footlights; everything appears to work outso smoothly, easily and without effort. To this phenomenon is due theamateur dramatist--because it looks simple. A play is not written; itis built, like a house. In most cases the dramatist is simply thearchitect. The novelist has comparatively an easy road to travel. Thedramatist is beset from all sides, now the business manager--that isto say, the box-office--now the stage manager, now the star, now theleading man or woman. Jealousy's green eyes peer from behind everyscene. The dramatist's ideal, when finally presented to the public, resembles those mutilated marbles that decorate the museums of Romeand Naples. Only there is this difference: the public can easilyimagine what the sculptor was about, but seldom the dramatist. 

Warrington was a young man, tolerably good-looking, noticeably wellset up. When they have good features, a cleft chin and a generousnose, clean-shaven men are good to look at. He had fine eyes, in thecorners of which always lurked mirth and mischief; for he possessedabove all things an inexhaustible fund of dry humor. His lines seldomprovoked rough laughter; rather, silent chuckles. 

Warrington's scowl abated none. In business, women were generallynuisances; they were always taking impossible stands. He would findsome way out; he was determined not to submit to the imperious fanciesof an actress, however famous she might be. 

"Sir, will you aid a lady in distress?" The voice was tremulous, butas rich in tone as the diapason of an organ. 

Warrington looked up from his cigar to behold a handsome young womanstanding at the side of his table. Her round, smooth cheeks wereflushed, and on the lower lids of her splendid dark eyes tears ofshame trembled and threatened to fall. Behind her stood a waiter, ofimpassive countenance, who was adding up the figures on a check, hismovement full of suggestion. 

The dramatist understood the situation at once. The young lady hadordered dinner, and, having eaten it, found that she could not pay forit. It was, to say the least, a trite situation. But what can a man dowhen a pretty woman approaches him and pleads for assistance? SoWarrington rose. 

"What may the trouble be?" he asked coldly, for all that he instantlyrecognized her to be a person of breeding and refinement. 

"I--I have lost my purse, and I have no money to pay the waiter. " Shemade this confession bravely and frankly. 

He looked about. They were alone. She interpreted his glance rathershrewdly. 

"There were no women to appeal to. The waiter refused to accept myword, and I really can't blame him. I had not even the money to send amessenger home. "

One of the trembling tears escaped and rolled down the blooming cheek. Warrington surrendered. He saw that this was an exceptional case. Thegirl was truly in distress. He knew his New York thoroughly; a man orwoman without funds is treated with the finished cruelty with whichthe jovial Romans amused themselves with the Christians. Lack of moneyin one person creates incredulity in another. A penniless person isinvariably a liar and a thief. Only one sort of person is pitied inNew York: the person who has more money than she or he can possiblyspend. 

The girl fumbled in her hand-bag and produced a card, which she gaveto Warrington--"Katherine Challoner. " He looked from the card to thegirl and then back to the card. Somehow, the name was not whollyunfamiliar, but at that moment he could not place it. 

"Waiter, let me see the check, " he said. It amounted to two dollarsand ten cents. Warrington smiled. "Scarcely large enough to cause allthis trouble, " he added reassuringly. "I will attend to it. "

The waiter bowed and withdrew. So long as the check was paid he didnot care who paid it. 

"Oh, it is so horribly embarrassing! What must you think of me?" Shetwisted her gloves with a nervous strength which threatened to rendthem. 

"May I give you a bit of friendly advice?" he asked. 

She nodded, hiding the fall of the second tear. 

"Well, never dine alone in public; at any rate, in the evening. It isnot wise for a woman to do so. She subjects herself to any number ofembarrassments. "

She did not reply, and for a moment he believed that she was about tobreak down completely. He aimlessly brushed the cigar ashes from thetablecloth. He hated a scene in public. In the theater it wasdifferent; it was a part of the petty round of business to have theleading lady burst into tears when things didn't suit her. What foolswomen are in general! But the girl surprised him by holding updeterminedly, and sinking her white teeth into her lips to smother thesob which rose in her throat. 

"Be seated, " he said, drawing out the opposite chair. 

A wave of alarm spread over her face. She clasped her hands. 

"Sir, if you are a gentleman--"

Warrington interrupted her by giving her his card, which wasaddressed. She glanced at it through a blur of tears, then sat down. He shrugged his shoulders slightly; his vanity was touched. There was, then, a young woman in New York who had not heard of RichardWarrington. 

"In asking you to be seated, " he explained, "it was in order that youmight wait in comfort while I despatched a messenger to your home. Doubtless you have a brother, a father, or some male relative, whowill come at once to your assistance. " Which proved that Warringtonwas prudent. 

But instead of brightening as he expected she would, she straightenedin her chair, while her eyes widened with horror, as if she sawsomething frightful in perspective. 

What the deuce could be the matter now? he wondered, as he witnessedthis inexplicable change. 

"No, no! You must not send a messenger!" she protested. 

"But--"

"No, no!" tears welling into her beautiful eyes again. They werebeautiful, he was forced to admit. 

"But, " he persisted, "you wished the waiter to do so. I do notunderstand. " His tone became formal again. 

"I have reasons. Oh, heavens! I am the most miserable woman in all theworld!" She suddenly bowed her head upon her hands and her shouldersrose and fell with silent sobs. 

Warrington stared at her, dumfounded. NOW what? He glanced cautiouslyaround as if in search of some avenue of escape. The waiter, everwatchful, assumed that he was wanted, and made as though to approachthe table; but Warrington warned him off. All distrust in the girlvanished. Decidedly she was in great trouble of some sort, and itwasn't because she could not pay a restaurant check. Women--andespecially New York women--do not shed tears when a stranger offers tosettle for their dinner checks. 

"If you will kindly explain to me what the trouble is, " visiblyembarrassed, "perhaps I can help you. Have you run away from home?"he asked. 

A negative nod. 

"Are you married?"

Another negative nod. 

Warrington scratched his chin. "Have you done anything wrong?"

A decided negative shake of the head. At any other time thegesticulation of the ostrich plume, so close to his face, would haveamused him; but there was something eminently pathetic in the diapasmwhich drifted toward him from the feather. 

"Come, come; you may trust me thoroughly. If you are afraid to returnhome alone--"

He was interrupted by an affirmative nod this time. Possibly, heconjectured, the girl had started out to elope and had fortunatelypaused at the brink. 

"Will it help you at all if I go home with you?" he asked. 

His ear caught a muffled "Yes. "

Warrington beckoned to the waiter. 

"Order a cab at once, " he said. 

The waiter hurried away, with visions of handsome tips. 

Presently the girl raised her head and sat up. Her eyes, dark asshadows in still waters, glistened. 

"Be perfectly frank with me; and if I can be of service to you, do nothesitate to command me. " He eyed her thoughtfully. Everything attachedto her person suggested elegance. Her skin was as fine as vellum; herhair had a dash of golden bronze in it; her hands were white andshapely, and the horn on the tips of the fingers shone rosily. Now, what in the world was there to trouble a young woman who possessedthese favors, who wore jewels on her fingers and sable on hershoulders? "Talk to me just as you would to a brother, " he addedpresently. 

"You will take this ring, " she said irrelevantly. She slipped a finesapphire from one of her fingers and pushed it across the table. 

"And for what reason?" he cried. 

"Security for my dinner. I can not accept charity, " with a hint ofhauteur which did not in the least displease him. 

"But, my dear young woman, I can not accept this ring. You have myaddress. You may send the sum whenever you please. I see no reasonwhy, as soon as you arrive home, you can not refund the small sum oftwo dollars and ten cents. It appears to me very simple. "

"There will be no one at home, not even the servants, " wearily. 

Warrington's brows came together. Was the girl fooling him, after all?But for what reason?

"You have me confused, " he admitted. "I can do nothing blindly. Tellme what the trouble is. "

"How can I tell you, an absolute stranger? It is all so frightful, andI am so young!"

Frightful? Young? He picked up his half-finished cigar, butimmediately let it fall. He stole a look at his watch; it was seven. 

"Oh, I know what you must think of me, " despairingly. "Nobody believesin another's real misfortune in this horrid city. There are so manyfraudulent methods used to obtain people's sympathies that every onehas lost trust. I had no money when I entered here; but outside it wasso dark. Whenever I stopped, wondering where I should go, men turnedand stared at me. Once a policeman peered into my face suspiciously. And I dared not return home, I dared not! No, no; I promise not toembarrass you with any more tears. " She brushed her eyes with a rapidmovement. 

Warrington's success as a dramatist was due largely to his interest inall things that passed under his notice. Nothing was too trivial toobserve. The tragic threads of human life, which escaped the eyes ofthe passing many or were ignored by them, always aroused his interestand attention; and more than once he had picked up one of thesethreads and followed it to the end. Out of these seeminglyinsignificant things he often built one of those breathless, nerve-gripping climaxes which had, in a few years' time, made himfamous. In the present case he believed that he had stumbled uponsomething worthy his investigation. This handsome young woman, richlydressed, who dared not go home, who had jewels but no money--therewas some mystery surrounding her, and he determined to find out whatit was. And then, besides, for all that he was worldly, he was youngand still believed in his Keats. 

"If, as you say, there is no one at your home, why do you fear to gothere?" he asked, with some remnant of caution. 

"It is the horror of the place, " shuddering; "the horror!" And indeed, at that moment, her face expressed horror. 

"Is it some one dead?" lowering his voice. 

"Dead?" with a flash of cold anger in her eyes. "Yes--to me, to truth, to honor; dead to everything that should make life worth the living. Oh, it is impossible to say more in this place, to tell you here whathas happened this day to rob me of all my tender illusions. Thismorning I awoke happy, my heart was light; now, nothing but shame andmisery!" She hid her eyes for a space behind the back of her hand. 

"I will take you home, " he said simply. 

"You trust me?"

"Why not? I am a man, and can take care of myself. "

"Thank you!"

What a voice! It possessed a marvelous quality, low and penetrating, like the voices of great singers and actresses. Any woman with such avoice . .. 

Here the waiter returned to announce that a cab awaited them in thestreet below. Warrington paid the two checks, dropped a liberal tip, rose and got into his coat. The girl also rose, picked up his card, glanced carelessly at it, and put it into her hand-bag--a littlegold-link affair worth many dinners. It was the voice and theseevidences of wealth, more than anything else, that determinedWarrington. Frauds were always perpetrated for money, and thisexquisite creature had a small fortune on her fingers. 

Silently they left the restaurant, entered the cab, and went rollingout into Broadway. Warrington, repressing his curiosity, leaned backagainst the cushions. The girl looked dully ahead. 

What manner of tragedy was about to unfold itself to his gaze?

The house was situated in Central Park, West. It was of modernarchitecture, a residence such as only rich men can afford to build. It was in utter gloom; not a single light could be seen at any window. It looked, indeed, as if tragedy sat enthroned within. Warrington'sspine wrinkled a bit as he got out of the cab and offered his hand tothe girl. 

Mute and mysterious as a sphinx, the girl walked to the steps, noteven looking around to see if he was coming after her. Perhaps sheknew the power of curiosity. Without hesitance she mounted the steps;he followed, a step behind. At the door, however, she paused. He couldhear her breath coming in quick gasps. Oddly enough, the recollectionof some detective stories flashed through his mind. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Nothing, nothing; only I am afraid. "

She stooped; there was a grating sound, a click, and the door opened. Warrington was a man of courage, but he afterward confessed that ittook all his nerve force to move his foot across the threshold. 

"Do not be frightened, " she said calmly; "there is nothing but ghostshere to frighten any one. "

"Ghosts?"

"Yes. "

"Have you brought me here to tell me a ghost story?" with an effort atlightness. What misery the girl's tones conveyed to his ears!

"The ghosts of things that ought to, and should, have been; are notthose the most melancholy?" She pressed a button and flooded thehallway with light. 

His keen eyes roving met nothing but signs of luxury. She led him intothe library and turned on the lights. Not a servant anywhere in sight;the great house seemed absolutely empty. Not even the usual cat or dogcame romping inquisitively into the room. The shelves of books stirredhis sense of envy; what a den for a literary man to wander in! Therewere beautiful marbles, splendid paintings, taste and refinementvisible everywhere. 

Warrington stood silently watching the girl as she took off her hatand carelessly tossed it on the reading-table. The Russian sables weretreated with like indifference. The natural abundance of her hairamazed him; and what a figure, so elegant, rounded, and mature! Thegirl, without noticing him, walked the length of the room and backseveral times. Once or twice she made a gesture. It was not addressedto him, but to some conflict going on in her mind. 

He sat down on the edge of a chair and fell to twirling his hat, asign that he was not perfectly at his ease. 

"I am wondering where I shall begin, " she said. 

Warrington turned down his coat-collar, and the action seemed torelieve him of the sense of awkwardness. 

"Luxury!" she began, with a sweep of her hand which was full ofmajesty and despair. "Why have I chosen you out of all the thousands?Why should I believe that my story would interest you? Well, little asI have seen of the world, I have learned that woman does not go towoman in cases such as mine is. " And then pathetically: "I know nowoman to whom I might go. Women are like daws; their sympathy comesbut to peck. Do you know what it is to be alone in a city? The desertis not loneliness; it is only solitude. True loneliness is to be foundonly in great communities. To be without a single friend or confidant, when thousand of beings move about you; to pour your sorrows intocold, unfeeling ears; to seek sympathy in blind eyes--that isloneliness. That is the loneliness that causes the heart to break. "

Warrington's eyes never left hers; he was fascinated. 

"Luxury!" she repeated bitterly. "Surrounding me with all a womanmight desire--paintings that charm the eye, books that charm the mind, music that charms the ear. Money!"

"Philosophy in a girl!" thought Warrington. His hat became motionless. 

"It is all a lie, a lie!" The girl struck her hands together, impotentin her wrath. 

It was done so naturally that Warrington, always the dramatist, made amental note of the gesture. 

"I was educated in Paris and Berlin; my musical education wascompleted in Dresden. Like all young girls with music-loving souls, Iwas something of a poet. I saw the beautiful in everything; sometimesthe beauty existed only in my imagination. I dreamed; I was happy. Iwas told that I possessed a voice such as is given to few. I sangbefore the Emperor of Austria at a private musicale. He complimentedme. The future was bright indeed. Think of it; at twenty I retainedall my illusions! I am now twenty-three, and not a single illusion isleft. I saw but little of my father and mother, which is not unusualwith children of wealthy parents. The first shock that came to myknowledge was the news that my mother had ceased to live with myfather. I was recalled. There were no explanations. My father met meat the boat. He greeted my effusive caresses--caresses that I hadsaved for years!--with careless indifference. This was the secondshock. What did it all mean? Where was my mother? My father did notreply. When I reached home I found that all the servants I had knownin my childhood days were gone. From the new ones I knew that I shouldlearn nothing of the mystery which, like a pall, had suddenly settleddown upon me. "

She paused, her arms hanging listless at her sides, her gaze rivetedupon a pattern in the rug at her feet. Warrington sat like a man ofstone; her voice had cast a spell upon him. 

"I do not know why I tell you these things. It may weary you. I do notcare. Madness lay in silence. I had to tell some one. This morning Ifound out all. My mother left my father because he was . .. A thief!"

"A thief!" fell mechanically from Warrington's lips. 

"A thief, bold, unscrupulous; not the petty burglar, no. A man who hasstolen funds intrusted to him for years; a man who has plundered theorphan and the widow, the most despicable of all men. My mother diedof shame, and I knew nothing. My father left last night for SouthAmerica, taking with him all the available funds, leaving me a curtnote of explanation. I have neither money, friends, nor home. Thenewspapers as yet know nothing; but to-morrow, to-morrow! The bankshave seized everything. "

She continued her story. Sometimes she was superb in her wrath; atothers, abject in her misery. She seemed to pass through the wholegamut of the passions. 

And all this while it ran through Warrington's head--"What a theme fora play! What a voice!"

He pitied the girl from the bottom of his heart; but what could he dofor her other than offer her cold sympathy? He was ill at ease in theface of this peculiar tragedy. 

All at once the girl stopped and faced him, There was a smile on herlips, a smile that might be likened to a flash of sunlight on a wintryday. Directly the smile melted into a laugh, mellow, mischievous, reverberating. 

Warrington sat up stiffly in his chair. 

"I beg your pardon!" he said. 

The girl sat down before a small writing-table. She reached among somepapers and finally found what she sought. 

"Mr. Warrington, all this has been in very bad taste; I franklyconfess it. There are two things you may do: leave the house in anger, or remain to forgive me this imposition. "

"I fail to understand. " He was not only angered, but bewildered. 

"I have deceived you. "

"You mean that you have lured me here by trick? That you have playedupon my sympathies to gratify . .. "

"Wait a moment, " she interrupted proudly, her cheeks darkening richly. "A trick, it is true; but there are extenuating circumstances. What Ihave told you HAS happened, only it was not to-day nor yesterday. Please remain seated till I have done. I AM poor; I WAS educated inthe cities I have named; I have to earn my living. "

She rose and came over to his chair. She gave him a letter. 

"Read this; you will fully understand. "

Warrington experienced a mild chill as he saw a letter addressed tohim, and his rude scribble at the bottom of it. 

Miss Challoner--I beg to state that I have neither the time nor theinclination to bother with amateur actresses. Richard Warrington. 

"It was scarcely polite, was it?" she asked, with a tinge of irony. "It was scarcely diplomatic, either, you will admit. I simply askedyou for work. Surely, an honest effort to obtain employment ought notto be met with insolence. "

He stared dumbly at the evidence in his hand. He recalled distinctlythe rage that was in his heart when he penned this note. The stagemanager had lost some valuable manuscript that had to be rewrittenfrom memory, the notes having been destroyed. 

"For weeks, " said the girl, "I have tried to get a hearing. Managerafter manager I sought; all refused to see me. I have suffered ahundred affronts, all in silence. Your manager I saw, but he referredme to you, knowing that probably I should never find you. But I wasdetermined. So I wrote; that was your answer. I confess that at thetime I was terribly angry, for courtesy is a simple thing and withinreach of every one. "

To receive a lesson in manners from a young woman, when that youngwoman is handsome and talented, is not a very pleasant experience. ButWarrington was, a thorough gentleman, and he submitted with grace. 

"I know that you are a busy man, that you are besieged withapplications. You ought, at least, to have formal slips, such aseditors have. I have confidence in my ability to act, the confidencewhich talent gives to all persons. After receiving your letter I wasmore than ever determined to see you. So I resorted to thissubterfuge. It was all very distasteful to me; but I possess a vein ofwilfulness. This is not my home. It is the home of a friend who waskind enough to turn it over to me this night, relying upon my wit tobring about this meeting. "

"It was neatly done, " was Warrington's comment. He was not angry nowat all. In fact, the girl interested him tremendously. "I am rathercurious to learn how you went about it. "

"You are not angry?"

"I was. "

This seemed to satisfy her. 

"Well, first I learned where you were in the habit of dining. All daylong a messenger has been following you. A telephone brought me to therestaurant. The rest you know. It was simple. "

"Very simple, " laconically. 

"You listened and believed. I have been watching you. You believedeverything I have told you. You have even been calculating how thisscene might go in a play. Have I convinced you that I have the abilityto act?"

Warrington folded the letter and balanced it on his palm. 

"You have fooled me completely; that ought to be sufficientrecommendation. "

"Thank you. " But her eyes were eager with anxiety. 

"Miss Challoner, I apologize for this letter. I do more than that. Ipromise not to leave this house till you agree to call at the theaterat ten to-morrow morning. " He was smiling, and Warrington had apleasant smile. He had an idea besides. "Good fortune put it into myhead to follow you here. I see it all now, quite plainly. I am in apeculiar difficulty, and I honestly believe that you can help me outof it. How long would it take you to learn a leading part? In fact, the principal part?"

"A week. "

"Have you had any experience?"

"A short season out west in a stock company. "

"Good!"

"And I love work. "

"Do not build any great hopes, " he warned, "for your chance dependsupon the whim of another woman. But you have my word and my goodoffices that something shall be put in your way. You will come atten?" drawing on his gloves. 

"Promptly. "

"I believe that we both have been wise to-night; though it is truethat a man dislikes being a fool and having it made manifest. "

"And how about the woman scorned?" with an enchanting smile. 

"It is kismet, " he acknowledged. 

Chapter II

Warrington laid down his pen, brushed his smarting eyes, lighted hispipe, and tilted back his chair. With his hands clasped behind hishead, he fell into a waking dream, that familiar pastime of thecreative mind. It was half after nine, and he had been writingsteadily since seven. The scenario was done; the villain had lightedhis last cigarette, the hero had put his arms protectingly around theheroine, and the irascible rich uncle had been brought to terms. Allthis, of course, figuratively speaking; for no one ever knew what theplot of that particular play was, insomuch as Warrington neversubmitted the scenario to his manager, an act which caused almost aserious rupture between them. But to-night his puppets were movinghither and thither across the stage, pulsing with life; they weremaking entrances and exits; developing this climax and that; with witand satire, humor and pathos. It was all very real to the dreamer. 

The manuscript lay scattered about the top of his broad flat desk, andthe floor beside the waste-basket was flaked with the remains ofvarious futile lines and epigrams. The ash-pan was littered with burntmatches, ends of cigars and pipe tobacco, while the ash-crumbsspeckled all dark objects, not excepting the green rug under his feet. Warrington smoked incessantly while at work, now a cigarette, now acigar, now a pipe. Specialists declare with cold authoritativepositiveness that the use of tobacco blunts the thought, dulls theedge of invention; but Warrington knew better. Many a night he hadthrown his coat over his smoking-jacket and dashed down the street tothe corner drug-store for a fresh supply of tobacco. He simply couldnot work without it. I do not know that he saw his heroes and heroinesany plainer for the smoke; but I do know that when their creator helda cigar between his teeth, they frowned less, and the spirit of maliceand irony, of which he was master, became subdued. 

Warrington was thirty-five now. The grey hair at the temples and thefreshness of his complexion gave him a singularly youthful appearance. His mouth was even-lipped and rather pleasure-loving, which, withoutthe balance of a strong nose, would have appealed to you aseffeminate. Warrington's was what the wise phrenologists call thefighting nose; not pugnacious, but the nose of a man who will fightfor what he believes to be right, fight bitterly and fearlessly. To-day he was famous, but only yesterday he had been fighting, retreating, throwing up this redoubt, digging this trench; fighting, fighting. Poverty, ignorance and contempt he fought; foughtdishonesty, and vice, and treachery, and discouragement. 

Presently he leaned toward the desk and picked up a letter. He read itthoughtfully, and his brows drew together. A smile, whimsically sad, stirred his lips, and was gone. It was written by a girl or a veryyoung woman. There was no signature, no address, no veiled request foran autograph. It was one of those letters which bring to the novelistor dramatist, or any man of talent, a real and singular pleasure. Itis precious because honest and devoid of the tawdry gilt of flattery. 

Richard Warrington--You will smile, I know, when you read this letter, doubtless so many like it are mailed to you day by day. You will tossit into the waste-basket, too, as it deserves to be. But it had to bewritten. However, I feel that I am not writing to a mere stranger, butto a friend whom I know well. Three times you have entered into mylife, and on each occasion you have come by a different avenue. I wasill at school when you first appeared to me. It was a poem in amagazine. It was so full of the spirit of joyousness, so full ofkindliness, so rich in faith and hope, that I cried over it, cut itout and treasured it, and re-read it often in the lonely hours whenthings discouraged me, --things which mean so little to women but somuch to girls. Two years went by, and then came that brave book! Itwas like coming across a half-forgotten friend. I actually ran homewith it, and sat up all night to complete it. It was splendid. It wasthe poem matured, broadened, rounded. And finally your first play! HowI listened to every word, watched every move! I wrote you a letterthat night, but tore it up, not having the courage to send it to you. How versatile you must be: a poem, a book, a play! I have seen allyour plays these five years, plays merry and gay, sad and grave. Howmany times you have mysteriously told me to be brave! I envy andadmire you. What an exquisite thing it must be to hear one's thoughtsspoken across the footlights! Please do not laugh. It would hurt me toknow that you could laugh at my honest admiration. You won't laugh, will you? I am sure you will value this letter for its honesty ratherthan for its literary quality. I have often wondered what you werelike. But after all, that can not matter, since you are good and kindand wise; for you can not be else, and write the lofty things you do. 

Warrington put the letter away, placed it carefully among the fewthings he held of value. It would not be true to say that it left himunaffected. There was an innocent barb in this girlish admiration, andit pierced the quick of all that was good in him. 

"Good and kind and wise, " he mused. "If only the child knew! Heigh-ho!I am kind, sometimes I've been good, and often wise. Well, I can'tdisillusion the child, happily; she has given me no address. "

He rose, wheeled his chair to a window facing the street, and openedit. The cool fresh April air rushed in, clearing the room of itsopalescent clouds, cleansing his brain of the fever that beset it. Heleaned with his elbows on the sill and, breathed noisily, gratefully. Above, heaven had decked her broad bosom with her flickering stars, and from the million lamps of the great city rose and floated atarnished yellow haze. So many sounds go forth to make the voices ofthe night: somewhere a child was crying fretfully, across the way thefaint tinkle of a piano, the far-off rattle of the elevated, a muffledlaugh from a window, above, the rat-tat of a cab-horse, the breeze inthe ivy clinging to the walls of the church next door, the quarrelsomechirp of the sleepy sparrows; and then, recurrence. Only the poet orthe man in pain opens his ears to these sounds. 

Over on Broadway a child of his fertile brain was holding the raptattention of several hundred men and women; and across the broad landthat night four other dramas were being successfully acted. Peoplewere discussing his theories, denouncing or approving his conceptionof life. The struggle was past, his royalties were making him rich. And here he was this night, drinking the cup of bitterness, ofunhappiness, the astringent draft of things that might and should havebeen. The coveted grape was sour, the desired apple was withered. Those who traverse the road with Folly as boon companion find onlyemptiness. 

And so it was with Warrington. He had once been good, wholly good andkind and wise, lofty as a rural poet who has seen nothing of life savenature's pure and visible face. In the heat of battle he had beenstrong, but success had subtly eaten into the fibers and loosed hishold, and had swept him onward into that whirlpool out of which no manemerges wholly undefiled. It takes a great and strong man to withstandsuccess, and Warrington was only a genius. It was not from lack ofwill power; rather it was because he was easy-going and loved pleasurefor its own sake. He had fought and starved, and now for the jingle ofthe guinea in his pocket and the junkets of the gay! The prodigalityof these creative beings is not fully understood by the laity, elsethey would forgive more readily the transgressions. Besides, theharbor of family ties is a man's moral bulwark; and Warrington driftedhither and thither with no harbor in view at all. 

He had been an orphan since his birth; a mother meant simply a giverof life, and a father meant, even less. Until he had read the reverseand obverse sides of life, his sense of morality had lain dormant anduntilled. Such was his misfortune. The solitary relative he laid claimto was an aged aunt, his father's sister. For her he had purchased abeautiful place in the town of his birth, vaguely intending to liveout his old age there. 

There had been a fight for all he possessed. Good had not come easily, as it does to some particularly favored mortals. There was no family, aristocracy to back him up, no melancholy recollections of pastgrandeur to add the interest of romance to his endeavors. His fatherhad been a poor man of the people, a farmer. And yet Warrington was byno means plebeian. Somewhere there was a fine strain. It had been afierce struggle to complete a college education. In the summer-time hehad turned his hand to all sorts of things to pay his winter'stuition. He had worked as clerk in summer hotels, as a surveyor'sassistant in laying street-railways, he had played at privatesecretary, he had hawked vegetables about the streets at dawn. Happily, he had no false pride. Chance moves quite as mysteriously asthe tides. On leaving college he had secured a minor position on oneof the daily newspapers, and had doggedly worked his way up to thecoveted position of star-reporter. Here the latent power of thestory-teller, the poet and the dramatist was awakened; in any otherpursuit the talent would have quietly died, as it has died in thebreasts of thousands who, singularly enough, have not stood in thepath of Chance. 

Socially, Warrington was one of the many nobodies; and if he everattended dinners and banquets and balls, it was in the capacity ofreporter. But his cynical humor, which was manifest even in his youth, saved him the rancor and envy which is the portion of the outsider. 

At length the great city called him, and the lure was strong. Heanswered, and the long battle was on. Sometimes he dined, sometimes heslept; for there's an old Italian saying that he who sleeps dines. Hedrifted from one paper to another, lived in prosperity one week and inpoverty the next; haggled with pawnbrokers and landladies, andborrowed money and lent it. He never saved anything; the dreamer neverdoes. Then one day the end came to the long lane, as it always does tothose who keep on. A book was accepted and published; and thenfollowed the first play. 

By and by, when his name began to figure in the dramatic news items, and home visitors in New York returned to boast about the Warrington"first nights, " the up-state city woke and began to recollectthings--what promise Warrington had shown in his youth, how clever hewas, and all that. Nothing succeeds like success, and nobody is sointeresting as the prophet who has shaken the dust of his own countryand found honor in another. Human nature can't help itself: the womentalked of his plays in the reading-clubs, the men speculated on thebacks of envelopes what his royalties were, and the newspaper that hadgiven him a bread-and-butter pittance for a man's work proudly took itupon itself to say that its columns had fostered the genius in thegrowing. This was not because the editors were really proud of theirtownsman's success; rather it was because it made a neat littleadvertisement of their own particular foresight, such as it was. Infact, in his own town (because he had refused to live in it!)Warrington was a lion of no small dimensions. 

Warrington's novel (the only one he ever wrote) was known to few. Totell the truth, the very critics that were now praising the dramatisthad slashed the novelist cruelly. And thereby hangs a tale. A New Yorktheatrical manager sent for Warrington one day and told him that hehad read the book, and if the author would attempt a dramatic version, the manager would give it a fair chance. Warrington, the bitterness offailure in his soul, undertook the work, and succeeded. Praise wouldhave made an indifferent novelist of him, for he was a born dramatist. 

Regularly each year he visited his birthplace for a day or so, to payin person his taxes. For all that he labored in New York, he stillretained his right to vote in his native town. 

A sudden desire seized him to-night to return to his home, to become acitizen in fact and deed. It was now the time of year when the springtorrents flood the lowlands, when the melting snows trickle down thebleak hillsides, when the dead hand of winter lies upon the bosom ofawakening spring, and the seed is in travail. Heigh-ho! the world wentvery well in the springs of old; care was in bondage, and all the manygateways to the heart were bastioned and sentineled. 

"Sir, a lady wishes to see you. "

Warrington turned. His valet stood respectfully in the doorway. 

"The name?" Warrington rose impatiently. Nobody likes to have hisdreams disturbed. 

"Miss Challoner, sir. "

"Challoner!" in surprise; "and this time of night?" He stroked hischin. A moment passed. Not that he hesitated to admit her; rather hewished to make a final analysis of his heart before his eyes fell downto worship her beauty. "Admit her at once. " He brushed the ashes fromhis jacket and smoothed his hair. The valet disappeared. "If I onlyloved the woman, loved her honestly, boldly, fearlessly, what adifference it would make! I don't love her, and I realize that I neverdid. She never touched my heart, only my eye and mind. I may beincapable of loving any one; perhaps that's it. But what can havepossessed her to leave the theater this time of night?"

A swish of petticoats, a rush of cool air with which mingled anindefinable perfume, and, like a bird taking momentary rest in thepassage, she stood poised on the threshold. A beautiful woman is atangible enchantment; and fame and fortune had made KatherineChalloner beautiful, roguishly, daringly, puzzlingly beautiful. Hereyes sparkled like stars on ruffled waters, the flame of health andlife burned in her cheeks, and the moist red mobile mouth expressedemotions so rapidly and irregularly as to bewilder the man whoattempted to follow them. Ah, but she could act; comedy or tragedy, itmattered not; she was always superb. 

There was a tableau of short duration. Her expression was one ofgentle inquiry, his was one of interest not unmixed with fascination. He felt a quick touch of compassion, of embarrassment. There had beentimes when yonder woman had seemed to show him the preference that isgiven only to men who are loved. Even as the thought came to him, heprayed that it was only his man's vanity that imagined it. As hestared at her, there came the old thrill: beauty is a powertremendous. 

"Dick, you do not say you are glad to see me. "

"Beauty striketh the sage dumb, " he laughed. "What good fortune bringsyou here to-night? What has happened? How could you find time betweenthe acts to run over?"

"I am not acting to-night. "

"What?"

"No. Nor shall I be to-morrow night, nor the thousand nights thatshall follow. "

"Why, girl!" he cried, pushing out a chair. He had not seen her fortwo weeks. He had known nothing of her movements, save that hersplendid talents had saved a play from utter ruin. Her declaration waslike a thunderbolt. "Explain!"

"Well, I am tired, Dick; I am tired. " She sat down, and her gaze rovedabout the familiar room with a veiled affection for everything shesaw. "The world is empty. I have begun to hate the fools who applaudme. I hate the evil smells which hang about the theater. I hate theoverture and the man with the drums, " whimsically. 

"What's he done to you?"

"Nothing, only he makes more noise than the others. I'm tired. It isnot a definite reason; but a woman is never obliged to be definite. "

"No; I never could understand you, even when you took the trouble toexplain things. "

"Yes, I know. " She drew off her gloves and rubbed her fingers, whichwere damp and cold. 

"But, surely, this is only a whim. You can't seriously mean to give upthe stage when the whole world is watching you!"

She did not answer him, but continued to rub her fingers. She woreseveral rings, among which was a brilliant of unusual luster. Warrington, however, had eyes for nothing but her face. For the pastsix months he had noted a subtle change in her, a growing reserve, athoughtfulness that was slowly veiling or subduing her natural gaiety. She now evaded him when he suggested one of their old romps in queerlittle restaurants; she professed illness when he sent for her to joinhim in some harmless junketing. She was slowly slipping away from him;no, drifting, since he made no real effort to hold her. And why had hemade no real effort? Sometimes he thought he could answer thisquestion, and then again he knew that he could not. Ah, if he onlyloved her! What a helpmeet: cheerful, resourceful, full of good humorand practical philosophy, a brilliant wit, with all the finishedgraces of a goddess. Ah, if indeed he only loved her! This thoughtkept running through his mind persistently; it had done so for days;but it had always led him back to the starting point. Love is notalways reasoning with itself. Perhaps--and the thought filled him withregret--perhaps he was indeed incapable of loving any one as hispoet's fancy believed he ought to love. And this may account for thetruth of the statement that genius is rarely successful in love; theideal is so high that it is out of the reach of life as we, genius orclod, live it. 

"Isn't this determination rather sudden?" he asked, when the pausegrew insupportable. 

"I have been thinking of it for some time, " she replied, smiling. Awoman always finds herself at ease during such crises. "Only, I hadn'texactly made up my mind. You were at work?" glancing at the desk. 

"Yes, but I'm through for the night. It's only a scenario, and I amnot entirely satisfied with it. "

She walked over to the desk and picked up a sheet at random. She was aprivileged person in these rooms. Warrington never had any nervousdread when she touched his manuscript. 

"How is it going to end?" she asked. 

"Oh, they are going to marry and be happy ever after, " he answered, smiling. 

"Ah; then they are never going to have any children?" she said, with aflash of her old-time mischief. 

"Will you have a cigarette?" lighting one and offering her the box. 

"No; I have a horror of cigarettes since that last play. To smoke inpublic every night, perforce, took away the charm. I hated that part. An adventuress! It was altogether too close to the quick; for I amnothing more or less than an adventuress who has been successful. Why, the very method I used to make your acquaintance years and years ago, wasn't it?--proved the spirit. 'We hate two kinds of people, '" sheread, taking up another page of manuscript; "'the people we wrong andthe people who wrong us. Only, the hate for those we have wronged ismost enduring. ' That isn't half bad, Dick. How do you think of allthese things?"

She crossed over to the window to cool her hot face. She, too, heardthe voices of the night; not as the poet hears them, but as one inpain. "He never loved me!" she murmured, so softly that even thesparrows in the vine heard her not. And bitter indeed was the pain. But of what use to struggle, or to sigh, or vainly to regret? Asthings are written, so must they be read. She readily held himguiltless; what she regretted most deeply was the lack of power tohave him and to hold him. Long before, she had realized thehopelessness of it all. Knowing that he drank from the cup ofdissipation, she had even sought to hold him in contempt; but to herhe had never ceased to be a gentleman, tender, manly and kind. It iscontempt that casts the first spadeful in the grave of love. 

"Come, girl, " he said, going to her side; "you have something to tellme. What is it?"

She turned to find his hand outstretched and a friendly look in hiseyes. Impulsively she gave him both her hands. He bowed over them withthe grave air of the days of powdered wigs. There was not a particleof irony in the movement; rather it was a quiet acknowledgment that herecollected the good influence she had at times worked upon him insome dark days. As he brushed her fingers with his lips, he saw. Hishead came up quickly. 

"Ah!"

"Yes. " Her voice was steady and her eyes were brave. 

He drew her to the lamp and studied the ring. The ruddy lights dartledas he slowly turned the jewel around. 

"It is a beauty. No one but a rich man could have given a ring likethat. And on your finger it means but one thing. "

"I am to be married in June. "

"Do you love him?"

"I respect him; he is noble and good and kind. "

Warrington did not press the question. He still retained the hand, though he no longer gazed at the ring. 

"I have always wanted a home. The stage never really fascinated me; itwas bread and butter. "

"Is it necessary to marry in order to have a home?" he asked quietly, letting the hand gently slide from his. "You are wealthy, after afashion; could you not build a home of your own?"

"Always to be identified as the actress? To be looked at curiously, tobe annoyed by those who are not my equals, and only tolerated by thosewho are? No! I want a man who will protect me from all these things, who will help me to forget some needless follies and the memory that ahundred different men have made play-love to me on the other side ofthe footlights. "

"Some men marry actresses to gratify their vanity; does this man loveyou?"

"Yes; and he will make me what Heaven intended I should be--a woman. Oh, I have uttered no deceit. This man will take me for what I am. "

"And you have come here to-night to ask me to forget, too?" There wasno bitterness in his tone, but there was a strong leaven of regret. "Well, I promise to forget. "

"It was not necessary to ask you that, " generously. "But I thought Iwould come to you and tell you everything. I did not wish you tomisjudge me. For the world will say that I am marrying this good manfor his money; whereas, if he was a man of the most moderatecircumstances, I should still marry him. "

"And who might this lucky man be? To win a woman, such as I know youto be, this man must have some extraordinary attributes. " And all atonce a sense of infinite relief entered into his heart: if she wereindeed married, there would no longer be that tantalizing doubt on hispart, that peculiar attraction which at one time resembled love and atanother time was simply fascination. She would pass out of his lifedefinitely. He perfectly recognized the fact that he admired her aboveall other women he knew; but it was also apparent that to see her dayby day, year by year, his partner in the commonplaces as well as inthe heights, romance would become threadbare quickly enough. "Who ishe?" he repeated. 

"That I prefer not to disclose to you just yet. What are you going tocall your new play?" with a wave of her hand toward the manuscript. 

"I had intended to call it Love and Money, but the very name presagesfailure. "

"Yes, it needs the cement of compatibility to keep the two together. "

"Well, from my heart I wish you all the best luck in the world, " hesaid, the absence of any mental reservation in his eyes. "You wouldmake any man a good wife. If I weren't a born fool--"

She leaned toward him, her face suddenly tense and eager. 

"--if I weren't a born fool, " with a smile that was whimsical, "I'dhave married you myself, long ago. But fate has cut me out for abachelor. " He knocked the ash from a cold pipe, filled and lighted it. "By the way, " he said, "I received a curious letter to-day. " Itsproduction would relieve the awkwardness of the moment. "Would youlike to see it?" opening the drawer and handing the letter to her. "It's one of the few letters of the sort I'm going to keep. "

She accepted the letter, but without any spirit of interest. For amoment a thought had all but swept her off her feet; yet she realizedinstantly that this thought was futile. Warrington did not love her;and there was nothing to do but to follow out the course she hadplanned. She had come to him that night with a single purpose in mind:to plumb the very heart of this man who was an enigma to every womanhe met. She had plumbed it. Warrington loved nobody but Warrington andpleasure. Oh, he was capable of the grand passion, she very well knew, but the woman to arouse it had not yet crossed his path. 

"What do you think of it?" he asked. 

She came closer to the lamp. It was only pretense, but Warrington wasnot aware of it. She had stared at the sheet, reading only hermiserable thoughts. Presently she smiled; the girlish exuberanceamused her. 

"She has put you quite out of reach. What a fine thing it must be tohave such faith in any man!"

"And I'm not worth in her esteem an ounce to the pound. " He was quitefrank with himself. "I would to Heaven I were!"

"And this is the kind of woman that you will fall violently in lovewith, some day, Dick. It will be your punishment. " She had fullyrecovered by now, and the old-time raillery was in the ascendant. "Oh, she has read you fairly well. You are good and kind and wise, butthese virtues are not of equal weight. Your goodness and wisdom willnever catch up with your abundant kindness. I've a good deal to thankyou for, Dick; a good deal. "

"Nonsense! The shoe is on the other foot. You have made half my playswhat they are to-day. " He rang and ordered some coffee. 

She dropped into his desk-chair and propped her chin in her palms, viewing him through half-closed, speculative eyes. 

"We've had some jolly larks together, " he said. "I shall miss you; howmuch I shall know only when you are gone. Is he good-looking?"

"Very. He is tall and straight, with a manly face, fine eyes, and agood nose. You know that I'm always particular about a man's nose. "

"And young, of course?" not without some feeling of jealousy. 

"And young. "

"Tell me all about him, " drawing up a chair and facing her. 

"He is a lucky chap, " he summed up when she had done. 

"That remains to be seen, " lightly. "I may prove the worst wifepossible. Perhaps, when I have burned my bridges, I shall be mad forthe very publicity I'm trying to escape. Women are like extinctvolcanos; they are most to be dreaded when written perfectlyharmless. "

Warrington shook his head and laughed. Here the coffee came in. Hedismissed his man, and poured the nectar himself. 

"You are the one man I know who never asks to sweeten my coffee, " sheobserved. 

"And yet I had to learn. You haven't taught this other fellow yet, Isee. Is he warranted house-broken, or will he have to be chained?"

"He will not have to be chained; and a man who is a recluse seldom hasto be broken in. "

"A recluse? What's his hobby: butterflies, stones, stamps, orcoins?--No, girl; I don't mean that. I'm a little heavy to-night. Doyou recollect the night you donned a suit of mine, bundled your hairunder a felt hat, and visited the studios? What a romp! Not a soulever found out who you were; and if I hadn't been in the secret, Ishouldn't have known, either. I shall never forget how funny Dolmanlooked when he started a certain popular story of his and you shut himup. 'Gentlemen, ' you said, 'neither listen to, nor repeat that kind ofstory in the presence of ladies. ' 'Ladies?' cried Dolman. 'I see noladies. ' 'But there are gentlemen, ' you added quickly. Later, Dolmanadvised me not to bring any more of my Sunday-school friends to HISstudio. "

The woman smiled, but the smile was only on the lips. All those happyfrolics were to be no more. Heigh-ho! Over the mantel there wereseveral photographs of herself. Like all celebrities of her kind, thecamera was a constant source of amusement. It was not necessarilyvanity. The rose is not vain, yet it repeats its singular beauty asoften as the seasons permit it. Across these pictures she had scrawlednumerous signatures, "Kate" and "Kit" and "Kitty" and "KatherineChalloner, " with here and there a phrase in French and Italian. 

"You wouldn't return those under any circumstances?"

"No, indeed! That's all I'll have. And besides, you wouldn't ask me togive them up?"

Her answer remained unspoken. The valet appeared deferentially. 

"Well?" said Warrington. 

"A gentleman to see you, sir. He said he wouldn't need any card. Mr. John Bennington, sir. 

"John Bennington!" Warrington sprang from his chair, his face joyous. "Old John here to-night! Finest chap on earth, Kate; my roommate atcollege, and the only chap in my town who was my friend when I was anobody. Old John . .. "

"Richard, you must hide me quickly. I mustn't be seen here. There isno way of passing him the hall. "

"Good Lord!" He did not notice her pallor. "The butler's pantry, " hesaid hastily. 

She slipped out of sight noiselessly. Presently she heard sounds, men's voices, a hearty greeting and for a moment the world seemedgliding from under her feet. Her gloves! She had forgotten her gloves!

Chapter III

Men have a way of greeting which is all their own. It is unlike thekiss and flutter of women, which may signify frankness or deceit, generosity or selfishness, some favor to gain, some treachery toforestall. Men's likes and dislikes are generally visible. The dogwags his tail, or he warns you away with a growl; there is nomistaking his attitude. On the other hand, the cat purrs and rubsagainst your leg, and when you reach down to smooth her, as likely asnot she gives you a dig for your pains. True, there are alwaysexceptions to this rule. 

With their hands on each other's shoulders, at arm's length theystood, a likely pair to look at, smiling frankly and joyfully intoeach other's eyes. When it is without self-interest, friendshipbetween man and man is a fine and noble thing. It is known best in thestress of storms, in the hour of sorrow and adversity. Friendship, tobe perfect, must be without any sense of obligation; for obligationimplies that one or the other is in debt, and the debtor is alwayswondering when he will have to pay. Between these two men only theslightest favors had been exchanged. They had grown up together, onethe son of a rich steel-mill owner, the other the son of a poorfarmer. The one had entered college to the sounding of golden cymbals, the other had marched in with nothing but courage in his pocket. It isimpossible to describe how these great friendships come about;generally they begin with some insignificant trifle, soon forgotten. Warrington had licked Bennington in the boyhood days; why, I doubtthat the Recording Angel himself remembers. So the friendship beganwith secret admiration on one side and good-natured toleration on theother. One day Warrington broke a colt for Bennington, and laterBennington found a passably good market for Warrington's vegetables. Friendship, like constancy, finds strange niches. The Benningtonfamily were not very cordial to the young vegetable grower. On themother's side there was a long line of military ancestors. It isimpossible that a cabbage and a uniform should cohere. Warrington'sgreat-grandsires had won honors in the Revolution, but as this factdid not make cabbages grow any faster he kept the faded glory tohimself. 

In college the two lads were as inseparable as La Mole and Coconnas;they played on the same teams, rowed on the same crews and danced withthe same girls. The only material difference in their respectivetalents lay in one thing: Bennington could not write a respectablerhyme, and I'm not sure that he wasn't proud of it. It distinguishedhim from the other members of his class. As for Warrington, therewasn't a pretty girl in the whole college town who couldn't boast ofone or more of his impassioned stanzas. And you may be sure that whenWarrington became talked about these self-same halting verses were dugup from the garret and hung in sundry parlors. 

Bennington was handsome, and, but for his father's blood, the idlenessof his forebears would have marked him with effeminateness. His head, his face, the shape of his hands and feet, these proclaimed thearistocrat. It was only in the eyes and the broad shoulders that yourecognized the iron-monger's breed. His eyes were as blue as his ownhammered steel; but, like the eyes of the eagle at peace, they weremild and dreamy and deceptive to casual inspection. In the shops themen knew all about those eyes and shoulders. They had been fooledonce, but only once. They had felt the iron in the velvet. 

"I'm mighty glad to see you, boy, " said Warrington, dropping his arms. "You haven't changed a bit. "

"Nor you, Dick; if anything you look younger. "

"How many years is it, John?"

"Six or seven; not very long. "

"Time never seems long to a man who never has to wait for anything. Ihave had to reckon time with hours full of suspense, and those hourshave aged me; perhaps not outwardly, but all the same, I'm an old man, John. "

"Nonsense!"

"When did you cross?"

"About a year ago, when father died. I had given up the English end ofthe concern two years before, and was just wandering about thecontinent. I was dreadfully disappointed when I learned that you hadvisited the shops in ninety-eight. That summer I was in Switzerland. I had no idea there was going to be war, and never saw a newspapertill it was nearly over. I should have enlisted. And another year wepassed within two days of each other. "

"No!" Bennington exclaimed. 

"Yes. It was in Italy, at Sorrento, that I learned of your nearness. You were off for Amalfi and I had just come from there. For three daysI ran across your name in the hotel registers. I tried to find yourpermanent address, but failed. Cook's nor the bankers in Naples knewanything about you. I tell you what, it was discouraging. "

"What luck! I was having all my mail sent direct to Mentone, where Ispent the winter. Say, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Won five thousand at Monte Carlo in one play. "

"Pounds?" exclaimed Bennington. 

"Lord, no!--dollars. "

"Ah! But of course you went back and lost it?" ironically. 

"On the contrary, I've never staked a dollar since. Gambling was nevera habit of mine, though I dare say the moral side of the subject wouldnot have held me back. Simply, I know that the gambler always loses, and the banker always wins, in the end. Common sense told me to quit, and I did. I brought my letter of credit home practically intact. "

"You used to play poker, " dubiously. 

"Poker isn't gambling. It's surreptitiously lending money to yourfriends. "

"You were always good at definitions, " sighed Bennington. 

"I understand you've sold your holdings in the English shops?"

"Yes. I was weary of the people and what they called theirconservatism, which is only a phase of stupidity. And then, besides, Iloved the old home up there. I've been living there about a year now. "

"It's a pity you couldn't have looked me up before this, " Warringtoncomplained. 

Bennington only laughed affectionately. 

"Take a look around the room while I get the whisky and soda. "

"Don't bother, Dick. "

"Boy, I licked you once, and I'll do it again if you don't sit down. Alittle extra attention won't hurt; and I'll guarantee the whisky. "Waving his arms toward all the desirable things in the room, hevanished beyond the curtain. 

Bennington looked about leisurely. It was just the kind of room he hadalways imagined; it was like the man who occupied it. Simplicity andtaste abounded; the artist and the collector, the poet and themusician, were everywhere in evidence. He strolled over to the manteland took down one of the pictures signed "Kate. " He smiled. It was notan indulgent smile, nor the smile of a man who has stumbled uponanother man's secret. The smile was rather exultant. He leaned againstthe mantel and studied the face in its varied expressions. He noddedapprovingly. It was a lovely face; it was more than lovely, --it wastender and strong. Presently he returned to his chair and sat down, the photograph still in his hand. And in this position Warringtonfound him. 

"Ah, you sly dog!" he hailed, setting down the glasses and pouring outa liberal bumper. "So I've caught you? Well, you're not the only manwho has been conquered by that very photograph. " He had half a notionto go in and bring her out; but then, women are such finicky beings!

Bennington laid aside the photograph, a certain reverence in hisaction that in ordinary times would not have escaped Warrington'snotice. 

"What's this to be?" asked Bennington, lifting his glass and stirringthe ice. 

"Immer und immer, as the German has it, " Warrington replied. 

"For ever and ever, then!"

And the two lightly touched glasses, with that peculiar gravity whichalways accompanies such occasions. 

"When a man drinks your health in bad whisky, look out for him; butthis whisky is very good, Dick. " Bennington set down his glass andwiped his lips. "It is very good, indeed. "

"Well, how are things up in Herculaneum?" asked Warrington. "You know, or ought to know, that I get up there only once a year. "

"Things are not very well. There's the devil to pay in politics, andsome day I may have a jolly long strike on my hands, " grimly. "But Ishall know exactly what to do. That man McQuade owns about all thetown now. He controls congressmen, state senators and assemblymen, andthe majority of the Common Council is his, body and soul. Onlyrecently he gave the traction company a new right of way. Not a pennywent into the city's purse. And you know these street-railways; theynever pay their taxes. A franchise for ninety-nine years; think ofit!"

"Why don't you men wake up and oust McQuade? I'll tell you right here, Jack, you have no one to blame but yourself. Scoundrels like McQuadeare always in the minority; but they remain in power simply becausemen like you think politics a dirty business and something for anhonest man to keep out of. Run for mayor yourself, if you want cleanpolitics. Rouse up an independent party. "

"Do you know what they call me up there?" Bennington laughed. 

"I confess to ignorance. "

"Well, the newspapers say covertly that I'm all but a naturalizedEnglishman, a snob, when I'm only a recluse, a man who dresses everynight for dinner, who dines instead of eats. There are some things itis impossible to understand, and one is the interest the newspaperstake in the private affairs of men. If they jumped on me as amill-owner, there might be some excuse, but they are always digging meon the private-citizen side. Every man, in his own house, ought to beallowed to do as he pleases. They never bothered the governor any, when he was alive. I believe they were afraid of him. "

"I can explain all that, my boy. Buy your clothes of the localtailors; get rid of your valet; forget that you have lived in England. They'll come around to you, then. You may talk as much as you likeabout the friendliness between the Englishman and the American. It issimply a case of two masters who are determined that their dogs shallbe friendly. Let the masters drop out of sight for a moment, and youwill find the dogs at each other's throat. And the masters? The dollaron this side and the sovereign on the other. There is a good deal offriendship these days that is based upon three and a half per cent. Get into politics, my boy. "

"Bah! I'd look nice running for mayor, wouldn't I? The newspaperswould howl calamity, and the demagogues would preach that I would soonimpose English wages in the shops, and all that tommyrot. No, thankyou; I'll take trouble as it comes, but I'm not looking for it. "

"I see that I shall have to go back there and start the ball myself, "said Warrington, jesting. 

"Why don't you? You are not a rank outsider. The people are proud ofyou. "

"And always will be, so long as I have sense enough to remain here inNew York, " dryly. "But if I lived there . .. !"

"You are not always going to live in New York?"

"Not always. "

"You've a beautiful old home up there. "

"I bought that just to show the people I had the money, " laughing. "They may never forget my cabbages, but they'll forgive them. "

"Nevertheless, you ought to return. "

"Listen, " said Warrington, lifting his hand. They became silent, andpresently the voice of the city came into the room. "I'm afraid Icould not live away from that. How many times have I stopped work tolisten to it! How many inspirations have I drawn from it! It is thesiren's music, I know, but I am no longer afraid of the reefs. PerhapsI have become enamored with noise; it is quite possible. "

"I have lived in London. I thought it was going to be hard to breakaway, but it wasn't. "

They lighted cigars, and Bennington took up the photograph again. 

"A lovely face, " was his comment. 

"With a heart and a mind even more lovely, " supplemented Warrington. "She is one of the most brilliant women I have ever met, and what ismore, humorous and good-humored. My word for it, she may have equals, but she has no superiors on this side of the ocean. "

Bennington looked up sharply. 

"Nothing serious?" he asked gently. 

"Serious? No. We are capital friends, but nothing more. There's beentoo much comradeship to admit anything like sentimentality. Ah, boy, you should see her act!"

"I have. I saw her in London last season. She was playing your War ofWomen. She appeared to me enchanting. But about these actresses . .. "

"I know, I know, " interrupted Warrington. "Some of them are bad, butsome of them are the noblest creatures God ever put on earth; andyonder is one of them. I remember. Often we were both in debt; playswent wrong; sometimes I helped her out, sometimes she returned thefavor. We were more like two men. Without her help I shouldn't bewhere I am to-day. I always read the scenario of a play to her first;and often we've worked together half a night on one scene. I shallmiss her. "

"What! Is she going away?"

"After a fashion. She has retired from the stage. "

"Do you believe she means it?" asked Bennington. "You know howchangeable actresses' moods are. "

"I think Miss Challoner will never act again. She has always been anenigma to the majority of the show people. Never any trumpets, jewelry, petty squabbles, lime-lights, and silks; she never readcriticisms, save those I sent her. Managers had to knock on herdressing-room door. Oh, I do not say that she is an absolute paragon, but I do say that she is a good woman, of high ideals, loyal, generous, frank, and honest. And I have often wondered why the devil Icouldn't fall in love with her myself, " moodily. 

Bennington was silent for a moment. Finally he said: "How does it feelto be famous, to have plays produced simultaneously in New York andLondon?"

"After the first success there is never anything but hard work. Afailure once in a while acts like a tonic. And sometimes we get ananonymous letter that refreshes us--a real admirer, who writes fromthe heart and doesn't fish for a letter or an autograph in return. Ireceived one of these only a few days ago, and I want you to read it. "Warrington produced the missive and tossed it into Bennington's hands. "Read that. It's worth while to get a letter like that one. "

Bennington took up the letter, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. Asingle glance at the graceful script, however, changed his expression. He sat back and stared at Warrington. 

"What's the matter?"

Bennington did not answer, but settled down to his task, readingcarefully and slowly. He did not look for any signature, for he knewthere would be none. He returned the letter, his face sober, but hiseyes dancing. 

"Now, what the deuce do you see that is so amusing?"

"Oh, nothing. "

"Don't tell me there isn't any romance in the world. But, hang it, Jack, I'm not worth a letter like that, " earnestly. 

"Of course not. "

"I'm not jesting. I've sown wild oats, and God knows what the harvestwill be. There's a law that exacts payment. Retribution is the onlycertain thing in this world. "

"Oh, you're no worse than the average man. But the average man isjolly bad, " Bennington added gravely. "But you, Dick; I'm not worryingabout you. Perhaps the writer of that letter sees good in you that youcan't see yourself; good that is in you but of which you areunconscious. One thing, you have never besmirched the talents God gaveyou. Everything you have done has been clean and wholesome--likeyourself. "

"I wish I could believe that! But I've had no ties, Jack, none. Youcan't keep to a course without a compass. The real good in life, thegood that makes life worth while, is the toil for those you love. Ilove nobody, not even myself. But this girl rather woke me up. I beganto look inward, as they say. So far I've not discovered much good. I'dgive a good deal to meet this writer. "

"Doubtless you will find her charming. "

Suddenly Warrington turned upon his friend. "But what I want to knowis, what brought you around here this time o' night? I never knew youto do anything without a definite purpose. "

"That's precisely what I've been waiting for you to lead up to. Thetruth is--" Bennington hesitated. His hand, idly trailing over thedesk, came into contact with something smooth and soft. It was a pairof white kid gloves, a woman's. Absently he drew them through hishand. He was only half conscious of his action, and he did not observeWarrington's sudden agitation. "The truth is, I've gone and done it. I'm going to be married in June, and I want you to be my best man. "

Warrington's hand went out impulsively. 

"Oh, I felt it in my bones when your card came in, " he said, rearranging the glasses. "Lucky woman! Long life to you, Jack, andlong happiness!"

"Thank you, Dick. " (Ceremonial recurrence of drinking a health. )

"Now, out with it. Who is she, and all about her?"

"Dick, I'm genuinely sorry, but I'm still under bond of silence. "

"More mysteries!" cried Warrington, with evident discontent. 

"Only for a week, when, if you say, we'll have breakfast here in thesevery rooms. 

"Done. Only I must say you're a bit hard on me to-night. 

"I'm sorry. "

"Let me see; I'll describe her for you. Beautiful. "

"Yes. "

"Accomplished. "

"Very. "

"A woman who will be both wife and comrade. "

"Exactly. "

"An American. "

"In all things. "

"You make me envious. "

"Why don't you get married yourself?"

"Bah!" Warrington went to the window and looked down upon the street. 

Bennington eyed his broad shoulders sympathetically. He looked down atthe limp, smooth skins in his hand, and sat up stiffly. From thegloves to Warrington and back again to the gloves, his gaze traveled. With an impulse rather mechanical he raised the gloves to his nose. Quickly he dropped them on the desk, took up the photograph, rose andreplaced it on the mantel. Hearing him, Warrington turned. 

"No, Jack, I doubt if I shall ever be lucky enough to find the onewoman. I've been so busy that I've never had time to hunt forhappiness. And those who hunt for it never find it, and those who waitfor it can not see it standing at their side. "

Bennington wandered about, from object to object. Here he picked up adagger, there a turquoise in the matrix, and again some inlaid woodfrom Sorrento. From these his interest traveled to and lingered oversome celebrated autographs. 

"Happiness is a peculiar thing, " went on the dramatist. "It is farless distinctive than fame or fortune. They sometimes knock at yourdoor, but happiness steals in without warning, and often leaves asmysteriously as it comes. "

Bennington paused to examine a jade cigarette case, which he openedand closed aimlessly. And there were queer little Japanese ash-traysthat arrested his attention. 

"Men like you and me, Jack, never marry unless we love. It is never abusiness transaction. "

"It is love or nothing, " said Bennington, turning his face towardWarrington. The smile he gave was kindly. "Yes, true happiness can besought only in those we love. There is happiness even in loving someone who does not love you. " Bennington repressed a sigh. "But, Dick, you'll be the best man?"

"Depend upon me. What do you say to this day week for breakfast here?"

"That will be wholly agreeable to me. "

Bennington's cigar had gone out. He leaned upon the desk and took hislight from the chimney. Men who have traveled widely never wastematches. 

"Can't you bunk here for the night? There's plenty of room, " saidWarrington. 

"Impossible, Dick. I leave at midnight for home. I must be thereto-morrow morning. I'm afraid of trouble in the shops. The unions aredetermined to push me to the limit of my patience. "

"Why the deuce don't you get rid of the shops?"

"They're the handiwork of my father, and I'm proud to follow hissteps. " Bennington's eyes were no longer at peace; they sparkled withdefiance. "Half-past ten!" suddenly. "I must be going. My luggage isstill at the hotel. God bless you, Dick!"

Their hands met once again. 

"You know, jack, that I love you best of all men. "

"You are sure there is no woman?"

Warrington laughed easily. "Ah, if there was a woman! I expect to belonely some day. "

Bennington put on his hat and gloves, and Warrington followed him intothe hall. Once the prospective bridegroom paused, as if he had leftsomething unsaid; but he seemed to think the better of silence, andwent on. 

"Tuesday morning, then?"

"Tuesday morning. Good night. "

"Good night, and luck attend you. "

The door closed, and Warrington went slowly back to his desk, his mindfilled with pleasant recollections of youth. He re-read the letter, studied it thoroughly, in hopes that there might be an anagram. Therewas nothing he could see, and he put it away, rather annoyed. Hearranged the sheets and notes of the scenario, marshaled the scatteredpencils, and was putting the glasses on the tray, when a sound in thedoorway caused him to lift his head. One of the glasses tumbled overand rolled across the desk, leaving a trail of water which found itslevel among the ash-trays. 

"It is quite evident that you forgot me, " said the woman, a faintmirthless smile stirring her lips. "It was very close in there, and Icould hear nothing. " She placed a hand on her forehead, swayed, andclosed her eyes for a second. 

"You are faint!" he cried, springing toward her. 

"It is nothing, " she replied, with a repelling gesture. "JohnBennington, was it not?"

"Yes. " His eyes grew round with wonder. 

"I was going to keep it secret as long as I could, but I see it isuseless. He is the man I have promised to marry. " Her voice had asingular quietness. 

Warrington retreated to his desk, leaning heavily against it. 

"Bennington? You are going to marry John Bennington?" dully. 

"Yes. "

He sat down abruptly and stared at her with the expression of one whois suddenly confronted by some Medusa's head, as if in the stragglingwisps of hair that escaped from beneath her hat he saw the writhingserpents. She was going to marry John Bennington!

She stepped quickly up to the desk and began to scatter things about. Her hands shook, she breathed rapidly, her delicate nostrils dilatingthe while. 

"Look out!" he warned, at her side the same instant. "Your hat isburning!" He smothered the incipient flame between his palms. 

"Never mind the hat. My gloves, Dick, my gloves! I left them here onthe desk. "

"Your gloves?" Then immediately he recollected that he had seen themin Bennington's hands, but he was positive that the gloves meantnothing to Bennington. He had picked them up just as he would havepicked up a paper-cutter, a pencil, a match-box, if any of these hadbeen within reach of his nervous fingers. Most men who are at timesmentally embarrassed find relief in touching small inanimate objects. So he said reassuringly: "Don't let a pair of gloves worry you, girl. "

"He bought them for me this morning, " a break in her voice. "I MUSTfind them!"

The situation assumed altogether a different angle. There was a hintof tragedy in her eyes. More trivial things than a forgotten pair ofgloves have brought about death and division. Together they renewedthe search. They sifted the manuscripts, the books, the magazines, burrowed into the drawers; and sometimes their hands touched, but theyneither noticed nor felt the contact. Warrington even dropped to hisknees and hunted under the desk, all the while "Jack Bennington, JackBennington!" drumming in his ears. The search was useless. The gloveswere nowhere to be found. He stood up irresolute, dismayed andanxious, keenly alive to her misery and to the inferences his bestfriend might draw. The desk stood between them, but their faces werewithin two spans of the hand. 

"I can't find them. "

"They are gone!" she whispered. 

Chapter IV

When the pathfinders came into the territory which is now called theEmpire State, they carried muskets and tripods under one arm and Greekdictionaries under the other. They surveyed all day and scanned allnight, skirmishing intermittently with prowling redskins. They knewsomething about elementary geometry, too, and you will find evidencesof it everywhere, even in the Dutch settlements. The Dutchman alwaysmade the beauty of geometry impossible. Thus, nowadays, one can notmove forward nor backward fifty miles in any direction without havingthe classic memory jarred into activity. Behold Athens, Rome, Ithaca, Troy; Homer, Virgil, Cicero; Pompey and Hannibal; cities and poets andheroes! It was, in those early days, a liberal education to be born inany one of these towns. Let us take Troy, for instance. When the youngmind learned to spell it, the young mind yearned to know what Troysignified. Then came Homer, with his heroic fairy-story of gods, demigods and mortals. Of one thing you may be reasonably sure: Helenwas kept religiously in the background. You will find no city namedafter her; nor Sappho, nor Aspasia. The explorer and the geographerhave never given woman any recognition; it was left to the poets tosing her praise. Even Columbus, fine old gentleman that he was, absolutely ignored Isabella as a geographical name. 

The city of Herculaneum (so called in honor of one Hercules) was verywell named. To become immortal it had the same number of tasks toperform as had old Hercules. The Augean Stables were in the City Hall;and had Hercules lived in Herculaneum, he never would have sat withthe gods. The city lay in a pleasant valley, embraced by imposingwooded hills. There was plenty of water about, a lake, a river, acreek; none of these, however, was navigable for commercial purposes. But this in nowise hindered the city's progress. On the tranquil bosomof the Erie Canal rode the graceful barges of commerce straight andslowly through the very heart of the town. Like its historic namesake, the city lived under the eternal shadow of smoke, barring Sundays; butits origin was not volcanic, only bituminous. True, year in and yearout the streets were torn up, presenting an aspect not unlike thelava-beds of Vesuvius; but as this phase always implies, notdestruction, but construction, murmurs were only local and few. It wasa prosperous and busy city. It grew, it grows, and will grow. Longlife to it! Every year the city directory points with pride to itsgrowing bulk. A hundred thousand people; and, as Max O'Rell said--"Allalive and kicking!" Herculaneum held its neighbors in hearty contempt, like the youth who has suddenly found his man's strength, and paradesround with a chip on his shoulder. 

Three railroad lines ran through the business section, bisecting theprincipal thoroughfares. The passenger trains went along swiftlyenough, but often freights of almost interminable length drawledthrough the squares. I say drawled advisedly. Surely the whuff-whuffof the engine seems to me a kind of mechanical speech; and to this wasoften added the sad lowing of cattle. From time to time some earnestbut misdirected young man would join the aldermanic body, andimmediately lift up his voice in protest. It was outrageous, and soforth; the railroads must be brought to their senses, and so forth. Presently a meeting would come and go without his voice being heard, another, and yet another. By and by he would silently cast his votefor the various businesses under hand, and go home. The old-timerswould smile. They understood. They rode on annuals themselves. 

All the same, Herculaneum was a beautiful city in parts. Great leafymaples and elms arched the streets in the residential quarters, andthe streets themselves were broad and straight. There were severaldignified buildings of ten and twelve stories, many handsome banks, several clubs, and two or three passable monuments. There were at thattime five enterprising newspapers, four frankly partizan and oneindependent. Personalities entered freely into the editorials, whichoften abounded in wit and scholarship. There were three theaters, andmany churches of many denominations; religion and amusement, tothrive, must have variety. There were great steel shops, machine-shops, factories and breweries. And there were a few peoplewho got in touch with one another, and invented society. 

Herculaneum has its counterpart in every state; each city is acomposite of all the others. A fashion in New York is immediatelyreproduced in every other city on the continent. Conservatism, day byday, becomes more and more retiring; presently it will exist only inWebster, side by side with the word prehistoric. 

It was Sunday in Herculaneum, a June Sunday, radiant with sunshine. The broad green leaves of the maples shivered, lacing the streets withamber and jade, and from a thousand emerald gardens rose the subtle, fragrant incense of flowers. How still and beautiful this day seems tous who have hurried hither and thither for six long days, sometimes inanger, sometimes in exultation, failure or success! It breathes apeace and quiet that is tonic. Upon this day there is truce between usand the enemy. 

In Herculaneum they still went to church on a Sunday morning. Perhapsit was merely habit, perhaps it was simply formality, perhaps it wasonly to parade new clothes; anyhow, they went to church. At ten-thirtythe procession started; gentlemen in their tiles, ladies in theirfurbelows, children stiffly starched. Some rode to church, but themajority walked. There were many store-windows to preen before, as ina mirror. Vanity has something to her credit, after all; it is due toher that most of us make an effort to keep spruce and clean. 

Comment passed like the fall of dominoes. Some woman, ultra-fashionable, would start the chatter. She NEVER saw anythinglike the gowns Mrs. Jones wore; Mrs. Jones touched upon the impossiblefeathers of Mrs. Smith's hat, and Mrs. Smith in turn questioned theexquisite complexion of Mrs. Green, who thought Mrs. White's childrenthe homeliest in the city. (Can't you hear the dominoes going down?)

The men nodded here and there, briefly. Saturday night in a provincialtown holds many recollections. 

The high church was a stately pile of granite, with lofty spire andfine memorial windows. Doves fluttered about the eaves. Upon thisparticular Sunday morning there seemed to be something in the air thatwas not a component part of any of the elements. It was simply a bitof news which the church-goers had read in the papers that morning. Tomany a bud and belle it was a thunder-clap, a bolt from a cloudlessheaven. They whispered about it, lifted their eyebrows, and shruggedtheir shoulders. But their mamas gave no sign. If the fox ofdisappointment ate into their vitals, they determined, Spartan-like, that none should know it. An actress! Men might marry actresses inEngland, but Herculaneum still clung to the belief that actresses werenot eligible. 

Some of the men had seen Katherine Challoner act, and they sighed, retrospectively and introspectively. 

"I feel for Mrs. Bennington and her daughter. It must be a great blowto their pride. " Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene sat down in her pew-seat andarranged her silk petticoats. Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds sat downbeside her. "You know I never meddle with scandal. "

Mrs. Fairchilds nodded brightly. 

"Never. I never repeat anything I hear. The Archibald affair wasenacted right under my very nose; but did I circulate what I saw? Ithink not! That woman!--but there! I pray for her every night. "

"Was it really true, then?" asked Mrs. Fairchilds, breathless. Sheknew something about the Archibald affair, but not enough. 

"I saw it all with these eyes, " flatly. "But, as I said, I keep myhands clean of scandal. " Her hands were white and flabby. "I considerit not only wicked to start a scandal, but positively bad taste. Thelightest word sometimes ruins a reputation. "

"Mrs. Archibald--" began Mrs. Fairchilds. 

"Not another word, my dear. I've said nothing at all; I haven't eventold you what I saw. But an actress is different. Think of it, mydear! She will live among us and we shall have to meet her. Think ofthe actors who have kissed her in their make-believe love affairs! Itis so horribly common. I have heard a good many things about her. Shehas romped in studios in male attire and smokes cigarettes. I shouldnot want any son of mine to be seen with her. I'm not saying a singleword against her, mind you; not a single word. You know as well as Ido what a wild fellow Warrington is. Well, she has been going aroundwith him. "

"But they took him up in London, " said Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds. 

"London! London society, indeed! It's the greatest jumble in theworld: nobility hobnobs with jockeys, piano-players, writers andactors. "

Mrs. Fairchilds shook her head sadly. She had always believed Londonsociety quite the proper thing, and she had followed the serials of"The Duchess" with reverent awe. But Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene ought toknow; she had traveled in Europe several seasons. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldenewas one of the prominent social leaders, and Mrs. Fairchildshad ambitions. The ready listener gets along very well in this oldworld of ours. 

"I always knew that some time or other the plebeian Bennington bloodwould crop out, " went on Mrs. Haldene. "But we must not criticize thedead, " benignly. 

"We shall have to receive her. "

"After a fashion, " replied Mrs. Haldene, opening her prayer-book. Hertone implied that things would not go very smoothly for theinterloper. "All this comes from assimilating English ideas, " sheadded. 

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of those fortunate persons who alwayshave their names in the society columns of the Sunday newspapers. Either she was among those present, or she gave a luncheon, or sheassisted at a reception, or was going out of town, or coming back. Those who ran their husbands in debt to get into society always lookedto see what Mrs. Haldene had been doing the past week. The societyreporters, very often smug young women of aristocratic butimpoverished families, called her up by telephone every day in theweek. Mrs. Haldene pretended to demur, but the reporters found her aninexhaustible mine of tittle-tattle. Sometimes they omitted some newswhich she considered important; and, as the saying goes, the hairflew. She found many contestants for the leadership; but her rivalsnever lasted more than a month. She was president of hospitalsocieties, orphan asylums, and the auxiliary Republican Club, andspoke at a bimonthly club on the servant question. Everybody was alittle afraid of her, with one exception. 

The society columns of the Sunday newspapers have become permanentlyestablished. In every city and hamlet from New York to San Francisco, you will find the society column. It is all tommyrot to the outsider;but the proprietor is generally a shrewd business man and makes vanitypay tribute to his exchequer. The column especially in early summer, begins something like this:

June will be a busy month for brides, and King Cupid and his galacourt will hold sway. The bridal processions will begin to move thisweek in homes and churches. On Wednesday, at high noon, the marriageof Miss Katherine Challoner, the well-known actress, and Mr. JohnBennington, of this city, will be solemnized in New York. Only theimmediate relatives will be present. Richard Warrington, our owncelebrated townsman, will act as best man. The announcement comes as agreat surprise to society, as Mr. Bennington was looked upon as aconfirmed bachelor. 

And again you will find something of this sort:

April 22--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene leaves next week for Washington, whereshe will be the guest of Senator Soandso's wife. 

April 29--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left yesterday for Washington. 

May 6--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who is visiting in Washington, willreturn next week. 

May 13--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene has returned home from a delightfulvisit in Washington. 

Sometimes, when there was no escape from it, Mr. Franklyn-Haldene'sname also appeared. 

From mundane things to the spiritual!

"Yes, I feel for Mrs. Bennington, " continued Mrs. Haldene. "We have tosubmit to our boys' running around with actresses; but to marry them!"

"And married life, I understand, seldom agrees with them. Theyinvariably return to the stage. I wonder if this woman has ever beenmarried before?"

"I shouldn't be surprised. For my part, I'm very glad the ceremonywill not be performed in the church. Hush!" with a warning glance overher shoulder. 

There was a sudden craning of necks, an agitation among the hats andbonnets. Down the aisle came a handsome, dignified woman in widow'sweeds, a woman who was easily fifty-six, but who looked as if she hadjust crossed the threshold of the forties. Her face was serene, thehalf-smile on her lips was gentle and sweet her warm brown eyes viewedthe world peacefully. Ah, how well she knew that to-day this temple ofworship was but a den of jackals, ready to rend her if she so much ashesitated, so much as faltered in look or speech! Never should theyfeed themselves upon her sorrow. She went on, smiling here and there. The low hum, the pallid lights, the murmur from the organ, all seemedcruelly accented. Her pew was third from the chancel; she was buthalf-way through the gantlet of curious eyes. 

Following her was a young girl of twenty. She was youth in all itsbeauty and charm and fragrance. Many a young masculine heart throbbedviolently as she passed, and straightway determined to win fame andfortune, if for no other purpose than to cast them at her feet. Thiswas Patty Bennington. 

The two reached their pew without mishap, and immediately rested theirheads reverently upon the rail in prayer. Presently the music ceased, the rector mounted the pulpit, and the day's service began. I doubt ifmany could tell you what the sermon was about that day. 

No other place offers to the speculative eye of the philosopher somany varied phases of humanity as the church. In the open, during theweek-days, there is little pretense, one way or the other; but inchurch, on Sunday, everybody, or nearly everybody, seems to havedonned a mask, a transparent mask, a smug mask, the mask of the knownhypocrite. The man who is a brute to his wife goes meekly to his seat;the miser, who has six days pinched his tenants or evicted them, passes the collection plate, his face benevolent; the woman whosetongue is that of the liar and the gossip, who has done her best tosmirch the reputation of her nearest neighbor, lifts her eyesheavenward and follows every word of a sermon she can not comprehend;and the man or woman who has stepped aside actually believes that hisor her presence in church hoodwinks every one. Heigh-ho! and envy withher brooding yellow eyes and hypocrisy with her eternal smirk sit sideby side in church. 

Oh, there are some good and kindly people in this ragged world ofours, and they go to church with prayer in their hearts and goodnesson their lips and forgiveness in their hands. They wear no masks;their hearts and minds go in and out of church unchanged. These arethe salt of the earth, and do not often have their names in the Sundaypapers, unless it is in the matter of their wills and codicils. Thenonly do the worldly know that charity had walked among them and theyknew her not. 

Of such was Miss Anna Warrington, spinster-aunt of Richard. Sheoccupied the other half of the Bennington pew. Until half a dozenyears ago, when her boy had come into his own, she had known butlittle save poverty and disillusion; and the good she always dreamedof doing she was now doing in fact. Very quietly her withered old handstole over the low partition and pressed Mrs. Bennington's hand. Theclasp spoke mutely of courage and good-will. She knew nothing of awe, kindly soul; the great and the small were all the same to her. Sheremembered without rancor the time when Mrs. Bennington scarcelynoticed her; but sorrow had visited Mrs. Bennington and widened hervision and broadened her heart; and the two met each other on a commonbasis, the loss of dear ones. 

The clock is invariably hung in the rear of the church. The man whooriginally selected this position was evidently a bit of a cynic. Perhaps he wanted to impress the preacher with the fact that theremust be a limitation to all things, even good sermons; or perhaps hewanted to test the patience and sincerity of the congregation. Thesermon was rather tedious this Sunday; shiny, well-worn platitudes arealways tedious. And many twisted in their seats to get a glimpse ofthe clock. 

Whenever Patty looked around (for youth sits impatiently in church), always she met eyes, eyes, eyes. But she was a brave lass, and morethan once she beat aside the curious gaze. How she hated them! Sheknew what they were whispering, whispering. Her brother was going tomarry an actress. She was proud of her brother's choice. He was goingto marry a woman who was as brilliant as she was handsome, who countedamong her friends the great men and women of the time, who dwelt in aworld where mediocrity is unknown and likewise unwelcome. Mediocrity'steeth are sharp only for those who fear them. 

Patty was nervous on her mother's account, not her own. It had been ablow to the mother, who had always hoped to have her boy to herself aslong as she lived. He had never worried her with flirtations; therehad been no youthful affairs. The mother of the boy who is alwaysfalling in love can meet the final blow half-way. Mrs. Bennington hadmade an idol of the boy, but at the same time she had made a man ofhim. From the time he could talk till he had entered man's estate, shehad been constant at his side, now with wisdom and learning, now withlaughter and wit, always and always with boundless and brooding love. The first lesson had been on the horror of cruelty; the second, on thepower of truth; the third, on the good that comes from firmness. It isvery easy to make an idol and a fool of a boy; but Mrs. Benningtonalways had the future in mind. It was hard, it was bitter, thatanother should step in and claim the perfected man. She had beenlulled into the belief that now she would have him all her own tillthe end of her days. But it was not to be. Her sense of justice wasevenly balanced; her son had the same right that his father had; itwas natural that he should desire a mate and a home of his own; but, nevertheless, it was bitter. That his choice had been an actresscaused her no alarm. Her son was a gentleman; he would never marrybeneath him; it was love, not infatuation; and love is never loveunless it can find something noble and good to rest upon. It was notthe actress, no; the one great reiterating question was: did thisbrilliant woman love her son? Was it the man or his money? She hadgone to New York to meet Miss Challoner. She had steeled her heartagainst all those subtle advances, such as an actress knows how tomake. She had gone to conquer, but had been conquered. For when KateChalloner determined to charm she was not to be resisted. She had goneup to the mother and daughter and put her arms around them. "I knewthat I should love you both. How could I help it? And please be kindto me: God has been in giving me your son. " Ah, if she had only said:"I shall love you because I love him!" But there was doubt, hauntingdoubt. If the glamour of married life wore out, and the craving forpublicity returned, this woman might easily wreck her son's life andthe lives of those who loved him. 

She was very glad when the service came to an end and the stir andrustle announced the departure of the congregation. 

At the door she found Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She rather expected tofind her. They were enemies of old. 

"Shall I congratulate you?" asked the formidable person. 

Many of the congregation stopped. They hadn't the courage of Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, but they lacked none of her curiosity. 

"You may, indeed, " returned Mrs. Bennington serenely. She understoodperfectly well; but she was an old hand at woman's war. "My son isvery fortunate. I shall love my new daughter dearly, for she loves myson. "

"She is just splendid!" said Patty, with sparkling eyes. How shelonged to scratch the powder from Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's beak-likenose! Busybody, meddler! "I never suspected John had such good sense. "

"You are very fortunate, " said Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She smiled, nodded, and passed on into the street. A truce!

Mr. Franklyn-Haldene, as he entered the carriage after his wife, savagely bit off the end of a cigar. 

"What the devil's the matter with you women, anyhow?" he demanded. 

"Franklyn!"

"Why couldn't you leave her alone? You're all a pack of buzzards, waiting for some heart to peck at. Church!--bah!"

It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Franklyn-Haldene voiced hissentiments. On these occasions Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rarely spoke. There was a man in her husband she had no desire to rouse. Mr. Haldenewas the exception referred to; he was not afraid of his wife. 

They rode homeward in silence. As they passed the Warrington place, Mr. Haldene again spoke. 

"Warrington is home over Sunday. Saw him on horseback this morning. "

"There's one thing I'm thankful for: the wedding will not be inHerculaneum. "

"Humph!"

"It's disgusting; and we shall have to receive her. But I do not envyher her lot. "

"Neither do I, " said Haldene. "You women have already mapped out anice little hell for her. Why should you be so vindictive simplybecause she is an actress? If she is good and honest, what the deuce?"

"There's no use arguing with you. "

"I'm glad you've found that out. You'd find out lots of other thingsif you stayed home long enough. I shall treat the woman decently. "

"I dare say all you men will. "

"And you, Madam, shall be among the first to call on her. Mind that!"

She looked at the man pityingly. Men never understood. Call on her? Ofcourse, she would call on her. For how could she make the womanunhappy if she did not call on her?

Chapter V

Every city has its Fifth Avenue. That which we can not have as our ownwe strive to imitate. Animal and vegetable life simply reproducesitself; humanity does more than that, it imitates. Williams Street wasthe Fifth Avenue of Herculaneum. It was broad, handsome, and climbed ahill of easy incline. It was a street of which any city might bejustly proud. Only two or three houses jarred the artistic sense. These were built by men who grew rich so suddenly and unexpectedlythat their sense of the grotesque became abnormal. It is aninteresting fact to note that the children of this class becomeimmediately seized with a species of insanity, an insanity which urgesthem on the one hand to buy newspapers with dollar-bills, and on theother to treat their parents with scant respect. Sudden riches have, it would seem, but two generations: the parent who accumulates and theson who spends. 

The Warrington home (manor was applied to but few houses in town)stood back from the street two hundred feet or more, on a beautifulnatural terrace. The lawn was wide and crisp and green, and the oaktrees were the envy of many. The house itself had been built by one ofthe early settlers, and Warrington had admired it since boyhood. Itwas of wood, white, with green blinds and wide verandas, pillaredafter the colonial style. Warrington had purchased it on a bankforeclosure, and rather cheaply, considering the location. Theinterior was simple but rich. The great fireplace was made of oldRoman bricks; there were exquisite paintings and marbles and rugs andchina, and books and books. Very few persons in Herculaneum had beeninside, but these few circulated the report that the old house had thehandsomest interior in town. Straightway Warrington's income becamefour times as large as it really was. 

The old aunt and the "girl" kept the house scrupulously clean, forthere was no knowing when Richard might take it into his head to comehome. The "girl's" husband took care of the stables and exercised thehorses. And all went very well. 

Warrington seldom went to church. It was not because he was withoutbelief; there was a strong leaven of faith underlying his cynicism. Frankly, sermons bored him. It was so easy for his imaginative mind toreach out and take the thought from the preacher's mouth almost beforehe uttered it. Thus, there was never any suspense, and suspense insermons, as in books and plays, is the only thing that holds captiveour interest. 

So he stayed at home and read the Sunday papers. That part not devotedto society and foreign news was given up wholly to local politics. Both the Democratic and Republican parties were in bad odor. In theCommon Council they were giving away street-railway franchises;gambling-dens flourished undisturbed, and saloons closed only whensome member of the saloon-keeper's family died. The anti-gamblingleague had succeeded in suppressing the slot machines for a fortnight;this was the only triumph virtue could mark down for herself. Therewere reformers in plenty, but their inordinate love of publicityruined the effectiveness of their work. A brass band will not move thecriminal half so quickly as a sudden pull at the scruff of his neck. So the evil-doer lay low, or borrowed the most convenient halo andposed as a deeply-wronged man. Warrington, as he read, smiled incontempt. They had only one real man in town, scoundrel though he was. There are certain phases of villainy that compel our admiration, andthe villainy of McQuade was of this order. The newspapers wereevidently subsidized, for their clamor was half-hearted andhypocritical. Once or twice Warrington felt a sudden longing to takeoff his coat and get into the fight; but the impulse was transitory. He realized that he loved ease and comfort too well. 

Finally he tossed aside the sheets and signaled to the dog. It was abull terrier, old and scarred, and unchanging in his affections. Heloved this master of his, even if he saw him but once a year. Theyunderstood each other perfectly. He was a peace-loving animal, but hewas a fighter at times--like his master. He had a beautiful head, broad punishing jaws, and, for all his age, he had not run to fat, which is the ignominious end of all athletes, men or dogs. 

"Old boy, this is a jolly bad world. "

Jove wagged his stump of a tail. 

"We should all be thieves if it were not for publicity and jail. "

Jove coughed deprecatingly. Perhaps he recollected purloined haunchesof aforetime. 

"Sometimes I've half a mind to pack up and light out to the woods, andnever look at a human being again. "

Jove thought this would be fine; his tail said so. 

"But I'm like a man at a good play; I've simply got to stay and seehow it ends, for the great Dramatist has me guessing. "

Warrington stared into the kind brown eyes and pulled the ragged ears. There was a kind of guilt in the old dog's eyes, for dogs haveconsciences. If only he dared tell his master! There was somebody elsenow. True, this somebody else would never take the master's place; butwhat was a poor dog to do when he was lonesome and never laid eyes onhis master for months and months? Nobody paid much attention to him inthis house when the master was away. He respected aunty (who had thespinster's foolish aversion for dogs and the incomprehensibleaffection for cats!) and for this reason never molested hersupercilious Angora cat. Could he be blamed if he sought (and found)elsewhere affection and confidence? Why, these morning rides were asgood as a bone. She talked to him, told him her secrets (secrets heswore on a dog's bible never to reveal!) and desires, and fed himchicken, and cuddled him. There were times when he realized that oldage was upon him; some of these canters left him breathless andgroggy. 

"I've been thinking, boy, " the master's voice went on. "New York isn'tso much, after all. I wasn't city born, and there are times when theflowing gold of the fields and the cool woods call. Bah! There'snothing now to hold me anywhere. I hope she'll make him happy; she cando it if she tries. Heigh-ho! the ride this morning has made mesleepy. To your rug, boy, to your rug. "

Warrington stretched himself on the lounge and fell asleep. And thusthe aunt found him on her return from church. She hated to wake himbut she simply could not hold back the news till luncheon. She touchedhis arm, and he woke with the same smile that had dimpled his cheekswhen he was a babe in her arms. Those of us who have retained the gooddisposition of youth never scowl upon being awakened. 

"Aha, " he cried, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 

"Richard, I wish you had gone to church this morning. "

"And watched the gossips and scandal-mongers twist their barbs in Mrs. Bennington's heart? Hardly. "

She gazed at him, nonplussed. There was surely something uncanny inthis boy, who always seemed to know what people were doing, had doneor were going to do. 

"I wouldn't have believed it of my congregation, " she said. 

"Oh, Mrs. Bennington is a woman of the world; she understands how tomake barbs harmless. But that's why I never go to church. It doesn'tsoothe me as it ought to; I fall too easily into the habit of pullingmy neighbor's mind into pieces. Gossip and weddings and funerals; yourreputation in shreds, your best girl married, your best friend dead. Ifind myself nearer Heaven when I'm alone in the fields. But I've beenthinking, Aunty. "

"About what?"

"About coming home to stay. "

"Oh, Richard, if you only would!" sitting beside him and folding himin her arms. "I'm so lonely. There's only you and I; all the othersI've loved are asleep on the hill. Do come home, Richard; you're all Ihave. "

"I'm thinking it over. "

Here the Angora came in cautiously. She saw Jove and the dog saw her;fur and hair bristled. Jove looked at his master beseechingly--"Saythe word, Dick, say the word, and I'll give you an entertainment. " Butthe word did not come. 

"There's your church-goers, Aunty; always ready to fly at each other. In order to study humanity thoroughly, one must first learn the waysof the beast. "

"I'm afraid your dog's a traitor. "

"A traitor?"

"Yes. Half the time he runs over to the Benningtons' and stays allnight. I don't see why he should. "

"Maybe they pet him over there. Perhaps he wants a hand sometimes, just like human beings when they're lonely. If you petted him once ina while, one pat for every ten you give the cat, the old boy would betickled to death. "

"But I'm kind to him, Richard; he has the best meat I can buy. I'd pethim, too, but I'm afraid of him. I'm always afraid of dogs. Besides, his feet are always muddy and his hair falls out and sticks toeverything. "

"Who is his latest love?"

"Patty Bennington. They go out riding together. I can always tell, forhis stomach is invariably caked with dried mud. "

"Patty Bennington? The old dog shows good taste. And I had forgottenall about Bennington's having a sister. I was thunderstruck when I mether the other week in New York. I had really forgotten her. She ischarming. "

"She is a dear young girl. Ah, Richard, if only you would find someone like her. "

"Marriages are made in Heaven, Aunt, and I'm going to wait till I getthere. But I'll think it over about coming home to stay. "

"I'll be so happy!" the old lady cried. "I'm going right out into thekitchen myself and make one of those cherry pies you used to raveover. "

She disappeared; and Warrington laughed, rose and stretched the sleepfrom his arms and legs, and went up stairs to dress. Yes, he wouldthink it over. There was nothing to hold him in New York, nothing butthe craving for noise and late hours. Why not settle down here? Therewould be plenty to do. Besides, if he lived in Herculaneum he couldrun over to the Bennington home at any time of day. His cheeks flushedof a sudden. 

"Hang it, am I lying to myself about that girl? Is it the knowledgethat she'll be my neighbor that inclines me to live here? I know Ishall miss her if I stay in New York; I'm honest enough to admit that. God knows I've nothing but honor in my heart for her. Why, I wouldn'teven kiss her hand without old Jack's consent. Well, well; the scenein the church Wednesday will solve all doubts--if I have any. "

The Sunday luncheon passed uneventfully. The aunt said nothing moreabout his coming home to stay. She knew her boy; urging would do moreharm than good; so she left him to decide freely. 

"Is the pie good, Richard?" she asked. 

"Fine! Can you spare me another piece?"

"I'm glad you'll never be too proud to eat pie, " she returned. 

"Not even when it's humble, " laughed Warrington. 

"There are some folks roundabout who do not think pie is proper, "seriously. 

"Not proper? Tommyrot! Pie is an institution; it is as unassailable asthe Constitution of the country. I do not speak of the humanconstitution. There are some folks so purse-proud that they call piestarts. "

She looked askance at him. There were times when she wasn't quite sureof this boy of hers. He might be serious, and then again he might bequietly laughing. But she saw with satisfaction that the piedisappeared. 

"The world, Richard, isn't what it was in my time. "

"I dare say it isn't, Aunty; yet cherries are just as good as ever andJune as beautiful. It isn't the world, Aunt o' mine; it's the plaguypeople. Those who stay away from church ought to go, and those who goought to stay away. I'm going down to the club this afternoon. I shalldine there, and later look up the Benningtons. So don't keep dinnerwaiting for me. "

"Cheer her up, Richard; she needs cheering. It's been a blow to her tolose her boy. If you'd only get married, too, Richard, I could diecontent. What in the world shall you do when I am gone?"

"Heaven knows!" The thought of losing this dear old soul gave aserious tone to his voice. He kissed her on the cheek and went outinto the hall. Jove came waltzing after him. "Humph! What do you want, sir? Want to go out with me, eh? Very well; but you must promise tobehave yourself. I'll have you talking to no poor-dog trash, mind. "Jove promised unutterable things. "Come on, then. "

He walked slowly down town, his cane behind his back, his chin in hiscollar, deep in meditation. He knew instinctively that Mrs. Benningtonwanted to talk to him about the coming marriage. He determined to tellher the truth, truth that would set her mother's heart at peace. 

Jove ran hither and thither importantly. It was good to be out withthe master. He ran into this yard and that, scared a cat up a tree, chased the sparrows, and grumbled at the other dogs he saw. All atonce he paused, stiffened, each muscle tense. Warrington, catching thepose, looked up. A handsome trotter was coming along at a walk. In thelight road-wagon sat a man and a white bulldog. It was easy forWarrington to recognize McQuade, who in turn knew that thisgood-looking young man must be the dramatist. The two glanced at eachother casually. They were unacquainted. Not so the dogs. They had met. The white bull teetered on the seat. Jove bared his strong teeth. Howhe hated that sleek white brute up there! He would have given his lifefor one good hold on that broad throat. The white dog was thinking, too. Some day, when the time came, he would clean the slate. Once hehad almost had the tan for his own. And he hated the girl who hadbeaten him off with her heavy riding-crop. 

McQuade drove on, and Warrington resumed his interrupted study of thesidewalk. McQuade thought nothing more about the fellow who wroteplays, and the dramatist had no place in his mind for the pettyaffairs of the politician. Fate, however, moves quite as certainly andmysteriously as the cosmic law. The bitter feud between these two menbegan with their dogs. 

At the club Warrington found a few lonely bachelors, who welcomed himto the long table in the grill-room; but he was in no mood for gossipand whisky. He ordered a lithia, drank it quickly, and escaped to thereading-room to write some letters. 

Down in the grill-room they talked him over. 

"I don't know whether he boozes now, but he used to be tanked quiteregularly, " said one. 

"Yes, and they say he writes best when half-seas over. "

"Evidently, " said a third, "he doesn't drink unless he wants to; andthat's more than most of us can say. "

"Pshaw! Sunday's clearing-up day; nobody drinks much on Sunday. Iwonder that Warrington didn't marry Challoner himself. He went aroundwith her a lot. "

Everybody shrugged. You can shrug away a reputation a deal more safelythan you can talk it. 

"Oh, Bennington's no ass. She's a woman of brains, anyhow. It'ssomething better than marrying a little fool of a pretty chorus girl. She'll probably make things lively for one iron-monger. If the hairdoesn't fly, the money will. He's a good sort of chap, but he wants asnaffle and a curb on his high-stepper. "

Then the topic changed to poker and the marvelous hands held the nightbefore. 

Warrington finished his correspondence, dined alone, and atseven-thirty started up the street to the Benningtons'. Jove, with theassurance of one who knows he will be welcomed, approached theinviting veranda at a gallop. His master, however, followed with asense of diffidence. He noted that there was a party of young peopleon the veranda. He knew the severe and critical eye of youth, and hewas a bit afraid of himself. Evidently Miss Patty had no lack ofbeaux. Miss Patty in person appeared at the top of the steps, andsmiled. 

"I was half expecting you, " she said, offering a slim cool hand. 

Warrington clasped it in his own and gave it a friendly pressure. 

"Thank you, " he replied. "Please don't disturb yourselves, " heremonstrated, as the young men rose reluctantly from their chairs. "IsMrs. Bennington at home?"

"You will find her in the library. " Then Patty introduced him. Therewas some constraint on the part of the young men. They agreed that, should the celebrity remain, he would become the center of attractionat once, and all the bright things they had brought for the dazzlementof Patty would have to pass unsaid. 

To youth, every new-corner is a possible rival; he wouldn't be humanif he didn't believe that each man who comes along is simply bound tofall in love with the very girl HE has his eyes on. 

On the other hand, the young girls regretted that the great dramatistwasn't going to sit beside them. There is a strange glamour aboutthese men and women who talk or write to us from over the footlights. As Warrington disappeared into the hallway, the murmur and frequentlaughter was resumed. 

Mrs. Bennington was very glad to see him. She laid aside her book andmade room for him on the divan. They talked about the weather, thechanges that had taken place since the fall, a scrap of foreign travelof mutual interest, each hoping that the other would be first tobroach the subject most vital to both. Finally, Mrs. Benningtonrealized that she could fence no longer. 

"It was very good of you to come. I have so many things to ask you. "

"Yes. "

"My boy's determination to marry has been very sudden. I knew nothingtill a month ago. I love him so, and my whole heart hungers for onething--the assurance that he will be happy with the woman of hischoice. "

"My dear Mrs. Bennington, Jack will marry a woman who is as loyal andhonest as she is brilliant and beautiful. Miss Challoner is a womanany family might be proud to claim. She numbers among her friends manyof the brilliant minds of the age; she compels their respect andadmiration by her intellect and her generosity. Oh, Jack is to beenvied. I can readily understand the deep-rooted antagonism theactress still finds among the laity. It is a foolish prejudice. I canpoint out many cases where the layman has married an actress and hasbeen happy and contented with his lot. "

"But on the obverse side?" with a smile that was sad and dubious. 

"Happiness is always in the minority of cases, in all walks of life. Happiness depends wholly upon ourselves; environment has nothing to dowith it. Most of these theatrical marriages you have read about weremere business contracts. John is in love. "

"But is he loved?"

"Miss Challoner has a very comfortable fortune of her own. She would, in my opinion, be the last person in the world to marry for money orsocial position, the latter of which she already has. "

But she saw through his diplomacy. 

"Perhaps she may desire a home?"

"That is probable; but it is quite evident to me that she wants Johnwith it. "

"There are persons in town who will do their best to make herunhappy. "

"You will always find those persons; but I am confident Miss Challonerwill prove a match for any of them. There is no other woman in theworld who knows better than she the value of well-applied flattery. "

"She is certainly a charming woman; it is impossible not to admit thatfrankly. But you, who are familiar with the stage, know how unstablepeople of that sort are. Suppose she tires of John? It would break myheart. "

"Ah, all that will depend upon Jack. Doubtless he knows the meaning of'to have and to hold. ' To hold any woman's love, a man must makehimself indispensable; he must be her partner in all things: hercomrade and husband when need be, her lover always. There can be nogoing back to old haunts, so attractive to men; club life must becomemerely an incident. Again, he must not be under her feet all the time. Too much or too little will not do; it must be the happy between. "

"You are a very wise young man. "

Warrington laughed embarrassedly. "I have had to figure out all thesethings. "

"But if she does not love him!"

"How in the world can she help it?"

She caught up his hand in a motherly clasp. 

"We mothers are vain in our love. We make our sons paragons; we blindourselves to their faults; we overlook their follies, and condonetheir sins. And we build so many castles that one day tumble downabout our ears. Why is it a mother always wishes her boy to marry thewoman of her choice? What right has a mother to interfere with herson's heart-desires? It may be that we fear the stranger will standbetween us. A mother holds, and always will hold, that no woman onearth is good enough for her son. Now, as I recollect, I did not thinkMr. Bennington too good for me. " She smiled drolly. 

Lucky Jack! If only he had had a mother like this! Warrington thought. 

"I dare say he thought that, too, " he said. "Myself, I never knew amother's love. No doubt I should have been a better man. Yet, I'veoften observed that a boy with a loving mother takes her love as amatter of course, and never realizes his riches till he has lost them. My aunt is the only mother I have known. "

"And a dear, kind, loving soul she is, " said Mrs. Bennington. "Sheloves you, if not with mother-love, at least with mother-instinct. When we two get together, we have a time of it; I, lauding my boy;she, praising hers. But I go round and round in a circle: my boy. Sonsnever grow up, they are always our babies; they come to us with theirheartaches, at three or at thirty; there is ever one door open in thestorm, the mother's heart. If she loves my boy, nothing shall be toogood for her. "

"I feel reasonably sure that she does. " Did she? he wondered. Did shelove Jack as he (Warrington) wanted some day to be loved?

"As you say, " the mother went on, "how can she help loving him? He isa handsome boy; and this alone is enough to attract women. But he isso kind and gentle, Richard; so manly and strong. He has his faults;he is human, like his mother. John is terribly strong-willed, and thiswould worry me, were I not sure that his sense of justice is equallystrong. He is like me in gentleness; but the man in him is the sameman I loved in my girlhood days. When John maps out a course to actupon, if he believes he is right, nothing can swerve him--nothing. Andsometimes he has been innocently wrong. I told Miss Challoner all hisgood qualities and his bad. She told me that she, too, has her faults. She added that there was only one other man who could in any mannercompare with John, and that man is you. "

"I?" his face growing warm. 

"Yes. But she had no right to compare anybody with my boy, " laughing. 

"There isn't any comparison whatever, " admitted Warrington, laughingtoo. "But it was very kind of Miss Challoner to say a good word forme. " And then upon impulse he related how, and under whatcircumstances, he had first met the actress. 

"It reads like a story, --a versatile woman. This talk has done me muchgood. I know the affection that exists between you and John, and I amconfident that you would not misrepresent anything. I shall sleepeasier to-night. "

The portieres rattled, and Patty stood in the doorway. 

"Everybody's gone; may I come in?"

Warrington rose. "I really should be very glad to make youracquaintance, " gallantly. "It's so long a time since I've met youngpeople--"

"Young people!" indignantly. "I am not young people; I am twenty, going on twenty-one. "

"I apologize. " Warrington sat down. 

Thereupon Miss Patty, who was a good sailor, laid her course close tothe wind, and with few tacks made her goal; which was the completesubjugation of this brilliant man. She was gay, sad, witty and wise;and there were moments when her mother looked at her in puzzledsurprise. As for Warrington, he went from one laugh into another. 

Oh, dazzling twenty; blissful, ignorant, confident twenty! Who amongyou would not be twenty, when trouble passes like cloud-shadows inApril; when the door of the world first opens? Ay, who would not tradethe meager pittance, wrested from the grinding years, for one fleet, smiling dream of twenty?

"It is all over town, the reply you made to Mrs. Winthrop and thatlittle, sawed-off, witty daughter of hers. "

"Patty!"

"Well, she is sawed-off and witty. "

"What did I say?" asked Warrington, blushing. He had forgotten theincident. 

"Mrs. Winthrop asked you to make her daughter an epigram, and youreplied that Heaven had already done that. "

"By the way, " said Warrington, when the laughter subsided, "Iunderstand that my old dog has been running away from home lately. Ihope he doesn't bother you. "

"Bother, indeed! I just love him, " cried Patty. "He's such a lovableanimal. We have such good times on our morning rides. We had troublelast week, though. A white bulldog sprang at him. Jove was so tiredthat he would have been whipped had I not dismounted and beaten thewhite dog off. Oh, Jove was perfectly willing to contest the right ofway. And when it was all over, who should come along but Mr. McQuade, the politician. It was his dog. And he hadn't even the grace to makean apology for his dog's ill manners. "

"May I not ride with you to-morrow morning?" he asked. He had intendedto leave Herculaneum at noon; but there were many later trains. 

"That will be delightful! I know so many beautiful roads; and we canlunch at the Country Club. And Jove can go along, too. "

"Where is the traitor?"

"He is sound asleep on the veranda rugs. "

"Well, it's long past his bedtime. I must be going. "

"Some time I hope you will come just to call on me. "

"I shall not need any urging. "

They followed him to the door, and good nights were said. 

"Oh, Patty, he has lifted so much doubt!" said the mother, as the tworeturned to the library. "He has nothing but praise for MissChalloner. It is quite possible that John will be happy. "

"It is not only possible, mother darling, but probable. For my part, Ithink her the most charming, most fascinating woman I ever met. Andshe told me she rides. What jolly times we'll have together, when Johnsettles down in the new house!"

"The new house!" repeated the mother, biting her lips. "How the wordhurts! Patty, why could they not come here? We'll be so lonely. Yet, it is the law of Heaven that a man and his wife must live by and forthemselves. "

Warrington walked home, lightened in spirit. He swung his cane, gaveJove a dozen love-taps and whistled operatic airs. What a charmingyoung creature it was, to be sure! The brain of a woman and the heartof a child. And he had forgotten all about her. Now, of course, hisrecollection became clear. He remembered a mite of a girl in shortfrocks, wonder-eyes, and candy-smudged lips. How they grew, theseyoungsters!

He went into the house, still whistling. Jove ran out into the kitchento see if by some possible miracle there was another piece of steak inhis grub-pan. A dog's eyes are always close to his stomach. Warrington, finding that everybody had gone to bed, turned out thelights and went up stairs. He knocked on the door of his aunt'sbedroom. 

"Is that you, Richard?"

"Yes. May I come in?"

"Certainly. "

He entered quietly. The moonlight, pouring in through the window, layblue-white on the counterpane and the beloved old face. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her hands. 

"Aunty, old lady, I'm through thinking. I'm going to come home just assoon as I can fix up things in New York. "

"Richard, my boy!" Her arms pulled him downward. "I knew it when youcame in. I've prayed so long for this. God has answered my prayers. I'm so happy. Don't you remember how you used to tell me all yourplans, the plots of your stories, the funny things that had come toyou during the day? You used to come home late, but that didn'tmatter; you'd always find some pie and cheese and a glass of milk onthe kitchen table--the old kitchen table. I'm so glad!"

"It may be a month or so; for I'll have to sell some of the things. But I'm coming home, I'm coming home. " He bent swiftly and kissed her. "Good night. "

Chapter VI

Warrington was up and about at six the next morning. He had neverreally outgrown the natural habit of waking at dawn, but he had fallenupon the evil way of turning over and sleeping till half after nine. He ate a light breakfast and went out to the stables and moved amongthe stalls, talking affectionate nonsense to the horses. A man can nottalk baby-talk, that is the undisputed prerogative of the woman; buthe has a fashion of his own which serves. "Aha, old boy! handsomebeggar!" or--"How's the little lady this morning, eh?" or yetagain--"Rascal! you've been rubbing the hair off your tail!" In theboxstall Warrington's thoroughbred Irish hunter nozzled his palm forloaf-sugar, and whinnied with pleasure when he found it. One of thefirst things Warrington had done, upon drawing his first big royaltycheck, was to buy a horse. As a boy on the farm he had hungered forthe possession of one of those sleek, handsome animals which men callthoroughbreds. Then for a while he bought, sold and traded horses, forthe mere pleasure it gave him to be near them. Finally he came toHerculaneum with two such saddle-horses as made every millionaire intown (and there were several in Herculaneum) offer fabulous sumswhenever they ran across the owner. Next, he added two carriage-horses, in their way quite equal to the hunters. Men offered to buy these, too, but Warrington was a property owner now, and he wanted the horsesfor his own. In New York one of his wealthy friends had given him freeuse of his stables: so Warrington rode, at home and abroad. Hisincome, ranging from twenty to thirty thousand the year, gave him thatfinancial independence which neither the clerk nor the millionaireknew or understood. In the phraseology of the day, he carried hisbusiness under his hat: in other words, he had no business cares orresponsibilities whatever. 

Warrington made it a rule to saddle and bridle his own horses; groomsbecome careless. One or two men of his acquaintance had gone to theirdeath for the want of care and a firm buckle. Besides, he enjoyed thework, and it accustomed the horses to his touch. He saddled hisfavorite hunter and led the eager animal into the open. He mounted andwhistled for the dog; but Jove for once did not respond; doubtless hewas out of hearing. Thereupon Warrington started for the Benningtons'and found Patty already in the saddle. It was not that the dramatistwas blase, but he had come into contact with so many beautiful womenthat his pulse rarely stirred out of its healthy, measured beat. Butthis morning he was conscious of a slight thrill. The girl was reallybeautiful; more than that, she was fresh with youth and gaiety, gaietywhich older women find necessary to repress. She was dressed in a darkgrey riding-habit and wore a beaver cocked-hat. 

"Good morning, " he said, touching his cap with his crop. "I hope Ihaven't kept you waiting. "

"Only a moment. " The truth is, she wanted to prove to him that therewas one woman who did not keep men waiting. "Shall I pick the going?"

"I'm afraid I've lost track of the good country roads. "

"Follow me, then. "

They walked their horses to the city limits. You never saw either ofthem galloping over brick or asphalt, which quickly ruins thesurest-footed horse; neither did they permit any fox-trotting, which, whileit shows off a spirited horse, decreases his value in the ring. All ofwhich is to say, these two, like their mounts, were thoroughbreds. 

"Where is Jove?" she asked presently. 

"The rogue is missing. I dare say he is gallivanting around someneighbor's back yard. I haven't laid eyes on him this morning. Ibelieve he realizes that he will see me frequently hereafter, and hasnot bothered his head to look me up. "

"Frequently?" She turned her head. 

"Yes. I am coming home to live. Of course, this is my place ofresidence; my voter's bed, as the politicians say, is here inHerculaneum. But I mean to live here now in deed as well as inthought. "

"I am sure we shall be delighted to have you with us. " This was saidgravely. A thought, which she would have repelled gladly, sprang intobeing. "I know John will be glad. He's always talking about you andyour exploits at college. "

"Our exploits, " he corrected, laughing. "Shall we give them a littleexercise now?" he asked, with a gesture toward the long brown road. 

She nodded, and they started off at a sharp trot, and presently brokeinto a canter. So he was coming home to live? She felt a hot wave ofsudden anger sweep over her, and her hands tightened on the reins. Itwas true, then? She loved her brother. What right had this man at herside to threaten her brother's happiness? Had Katherine Challonersignified her desire not to leave New York, would Warrington havedecided to return to Herculaneum? Her hands relaxed. What a sillylittle fool she was! She, who despised and contemned gossip, wasgiving it ready ear. Had she ever found gossip other than an errant, cowardly liar? Gossip, gossip! Ah, if gossip, when she had made herround, would not leave suspicion behind her; suspicion, hydra-headed!What signified it that Warrington intended to come home to live? Whatsignified it that her brother's wife would live across the way? Shewas ashamed of her evil thought; presently she would be no better thanMrs. Franklyn-Haldene, or any of those women who get together to tearsomebody apart. As if Warrington could compare with her big, handsome, manly brother! It was all impossible. She would punish herself foreven entertaining such a thought as had been hers but a moment gone. 

She stole a glance at Warrington. He was riding easily, his feet lightin the stirrups, his head thrown back, his eyes half closed, and wasbreathing deeply of the cool air, which was heavy with the smell ofsweet clover and dew-wet earth. It was a good, clean, honest face. Indeed, it was all impossible. Dissipation writes plainly upon thehuman countenance, and it had left no visible sign on Warrington'sface. It may be that dissipation sometimes whimsically neglects towrite at all. 

They thundered over a wooden bridge. The spirit of the morning was inthe horses; they began to race. An unexpected curve in the roaddiscovered a road-builder and his gang of Italians. A low barrier ranacross the road. It was not exactly needed, as they were not digging, but laying crushed stone. The obstruction was simply for theconvenience of the boss, who desired to work unhampered. 

"Shall we?" cried Warrington, mischief in his eyes. 

"Yes. " There was no fear in this girl. 

On they went, in a cloud of dust. The Italians made for the ditches, but the boss stood in the road and waved his arms in warning. Presently he, too, ducked. 

Hep! and over the pair went, landing clean and sound on the other sideof the barrier. Before the surprised boss could express himself, theywere far down the road. A curse was hurled after them, but they heardit not. They hadn't hurt the road at all, but the authority of theboss had suffered. He knew the girl, little snob! He would find outwho the man was, soon enough. And if he had any influence in the CityHall, as he believed he had, he would make it tolerably warm foryonder vanishing parties. 

He had put up that barrier to signify that the road was closed; verywell, they'd see. Dirt under their feet, huh? All right. How he hatedthem all, with their horses and carriages and dances and dinners andclubs! Bah! He took a flask from his pocket and drank. Then he cursedthe laggard Italians, and mourned that a year and a half must passbefore he could sell their votes again. Bolles contracted for Italianlabor and controlled something more than eight hundred votes. McQuadesublet various small contracts to him, and in return used the Italiansduring elections. 

That jump, harmless enough in itself, was to prove a bad inspirationon Warrington's part. But it is always these seemingly inconsequentthings that bear the heaviest reckoning. 

Half a mile onward they drew down to a walk, flushed and breathless. 

"Perhaps we oughtn't to have done that, " she said doubtfully, workingthe numbness from her fingers. "No thoroughfare" had hitherto beenreligiously respected by her; this was her first transgression, andshe wasn't entirely satisfied with herself. 

"Pshaw! There's no harm done. There was no earthly reason why weshould have turned back to the fork and added two miles to our ride. Don't let anything like that worry you; we went by too fast to berecognized. Look! here's a big clover patch. I never pass cloverwithout wanting to get down and hunt for four-leaves. Shall we?"

She was out of the saddle before the query had left his lips. 

"I believe it would be a good idea to arm ourselves against bad luck, "she replied, gently moving aside the clover heads with her crop. 

"You believe in four-leaf clover, then?"

She nodded. 

"I do. I also am very careful, " he added, "to catch the money-patcheson my coffee. "

She laughed. After all, there was something old-fashioned about thisman. "And I never think of plucking a five-leaf. That's bad luck. "

"The worst kind of bad luck. I remember, when I was a kid, I neverplayed hooky without first hunting up my four-leaved amulet. If I gota licking when I returned home, why, I consoled myself with thethought, that it might have been ten times worse but for thefour-leaf. "

They moved about, looking here and there, while the horses buriedtheir noses in the wet grass and threatened never to return to theroad again. After a diligent search Patty found a beautiful four-leafclover. She exhibited it in triumph. 

"You've better luck than I, " said Warrington. "We shall have to go onwithout my finding one. "

"You may have this one, " she replied; "and I hope it will bring youall sorts of good luck. "

He took out his card-case and made room for the little amulet. 

"It is impossible not to be fortunate now, " he said, with a gravitythat was not assumed. 

She looked at him dubiously. No, there was no laughter in his eyes; hewas perfectly serious. 

They walked the horses over a small hill, then mounted. It was a verypleasant morning for Warrington. It had been years since he had talkedto a young woman who was witty and unworldly. He had to readjusthimself. He had written down that all witty women were worldly, butthat all worldly women were not witty. But to be witty andunsophisticated was altogether out of his calculations. 

At the Country Club they stabled the horses and wandered about thegolf links. Luncheon was served on the veranda; and presentlyWarrington found himself confiding in this young girl as if he hadknown her intimately all his life. The girl felt a thrill ofexultation. It flattered her young vanity to hear this celebritytelling her about his ambitions. 

"Everything becomes monotonous after a while, " he said. "And I havejust begun to grow weary of living alone. Day after day, the samefaces, the same places, the same arguments, the same work. I've growntired. I want to live like other human beings. Monotony leads veryquickly into folly, and I confess to many acts of folly. And no follyis absolutely harmless. " He stirred his tea and stared into the cup. 

"Why, I should think you ought to be the most contented of men, " shecried. "You are famous, wealthy, courted. And when you return toHerculaneum, every girl in town will set her cap for you. I warn youof this, because I've taken a friendly interest in you. "

"It is very good of you. Come, " he said, draining his cup; "surely youtell fortunes in tea-cups; tell mine. "

"Four-leaf clovers and tea-grounds, " she mused. "You strike me asbeing a very superstitious young man. "

"I am. "

She passed the cup back to him. "Pour a little fresh tea in, spill itgently, turn the cup against the saucer and twirl it three times. That's the incantation. "

He followed the directions carefully, and she extended her hand forthe cup. 

"There is always a woman in a man's tea-cup, " she began. "There aretwo in this one. "

"Good gracious!"

"Yes. Do you see that?" pointing to a cluster of leaves. 

"Looks like a camel. Am I going to be thirsty?"

"That always indicates scandal, " she declared soberly. 

"Scandal?" He smiled skeptically. 

"Scandal and disappointment. But happily these do not appear as havingpermanency. "

"Thanks, " piously. "Disappointment? I can readily believe that. Disappointment has always been my portion. But scandal has neverlifted her ugly head. "

"We are all far-sighted when scandal is in our immediate vicinity. This cup says scandal. There is plenty of money about you. See that?That means an enemy, strong, implacable. Disappointment and scandalare in his zone, which means he will probably be the cause of all yourtrouble. Have you an enemy?"

"None that I know of, save myself. But don't you think something isthe matter with the tea? It seems impossible that those harmlessgrounds . .. Why, I shan't sleep o' nights after this. "

"You are laughing. Yet, this man is there. And here is a lie, too. It's a very bad cup, Mr. Warrington. I'm sorry. "

"So am I, " gaily. "By the way, when do you and your mother start forNew York?"

"We leave to-night. "

"Good. Do you mind if I take the same train down?"

"Mother and I'll be glad to have you with us. "

The servant cleared the table, and Warrington lighted a cigar. Atrolley-car rolled up in front of the club, and several golfenthusiasts alighted. They knew Patty, and bowed; they weren't quitecertain who her escort was. 

At two o'clock they began the journey home. There wasn't muchloitering by the way. Patty had a tea; she must have time to rest anddress. All told, it was an enjoyable day for Warrington. More thanever he set his face against the great city and looked withsatisfaction on the hills of his childhood. It would be a pleasantpastime to sit on Patty's veranda and talk, become, and act like oneof the young people. He was growing old; his youth must be renewedsoon, or he would lose it utterly. This young man had been surfeitedwith noise and light, with the sham and glitter of hotels, clubs andrestaurants. He was not to the manner born; thus he could easily seehow palpably false life is in a great city. To those who have lived inthe abnormal glamour of city life, absolute quiet is a kind of newexcitement. 

Warrington found that he was a bit stiff from the long ride. 

Patty, however, rode nearly every day; so she was but slightlyfatigued. Nevertheless, she was conscious of not wanting to dress forthe tea. But there was a very good reason why she must attend thefunction (as applied by the society reporter); they would naturallydiscuss her brother's coming marriage, but if she was present, thediscussion would not rise above whispers. She wanted to meet the oldbusybodies in the open; she wasn't afraid. As she dressed, she caughtherself doing aimless things, such as approaching the window andwatching the clouds, or thoughtfully studying her face in the mirror, or patting the rug impatiently, or sighing. She shook herselfvehemently, and went resolutely about the intricate business known astoilet. 

"I simply can't believe it. I know he isn't that kind of man. Thiscan't be such a wicked world. But if she dares to make John unhappy, Ishall hate her. Why must we hear these things that make us doubt andponder and hesitate?"

At the tea the ladies greeted her sympathetically. Sympathy!Hypocrites! Heads came together; she could see them from the corner ofher eyes. She saw Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, like a vast ship of the line, manoeuvering toward her. There were several escapes, but Patty stoodher ground. 

"You are looking charming, my dear, " said Mrs. Haldene. 

"Thank you. "

"You go to the wedding, of course. "

"Yes; mother and I leave to-night for New York. I am so excited overit. To think of John's being married to a celebrity!"

Patty was excited, but this excitement did not find its origin inanything exultant. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to mind her own business. There was somethingprimitive in Patty. Her second thoughts were due to cultivation, andnot from any inherent caution. 

Mrs. Haldene smiled and went on. It was a wonderful smile; it neverchanged; it served for all emotions, anger, hate, love, envy andmalice. Mrs. Haldene never flew into passions or ecstasies. She wasindeed preserved; and from the puckering taste she left in her wake, it might be suspected that she was pickled. 

Before Patty arrived, two things had been fully discussed: theBennington wedding and the report that Warrington was coming home tolive. Shrugs, knowing glances, hypocritical resignation. Too bad, toobad! Warrington was coming home to live; young Mrs. Bennington wouldlive across the street. When two and two make four, what more need besaid?

But Patty had her friends, and they stood by her loyally. 

New York. Clamor, clamor; noise, noise; the calling of cabmen, theclanging of street-cars, the rumbling of the elevated, the roaring ofthe drays, the rattling of the carts; shouting, pushing, hurrying, rushing, digging, streaming, pell-mell; the smell of coal-gas, of foodcooking, of good and bad tobacco, of wet pavements, of plaster; richesand poverty jostling; romance and reality at war; monoliths of stoneand iron; shops, shops; signs, signs; hotels; the tower of Babel; allthe nations of the world shouldering one another; Jews and Gentiles, Christians and Turks; jumble, jumble. This is New York. There isnothing American about it; there is nothing English, French, German, Latin or Oriental about it. It is cosmopolitan; that is to say, itrepresents everything and nothing. 

Warrington, Patty and her mother alighted from the train in thegloomy, smoky cavern called the Grand Central Station and walkedtoward the gates. There was sunshine outside, but it was scarcelynoticeable through the blackened canopy overhead. 

"There's John!" cried Patty, seizing her mother's arm. "And MissChalloner, too!"

A moment later the son was holding his mother in a fond embrace. Mrs. Bennington gave the actress her hand, who ignored it, put her armsaround the mother and kissed her. There was not the slightestaffectation in the act; it was done naturally and sweetly. Mrs. Bennington was well pleased. But Patty, Miss Challoner hugged Pattyand whispered: "My sister!" If Patty had any doubts, they disappearedlike summer mists in sunshine. 

"I'm a rank outsider, " Warrington grumbled. 

"Surely you did not expect to be kissed!" Patty retorted. 

"A man never gives up hoping. Well, Benedick, " to John, "I supposeyou've a nice breakfast waiting for us somewhere. "

"That I have!" John thwacked Warrington on the shoulder. "It was goodof you to come down with the folks. "

"No trouble at all. "

They all followed John, who announced that he had a carriage waiting, large enough to carry them all comfortably. As they crossed over tothe street exit Warrington covertly glanced at Miss Challoner. She wasradiant; there was color on her cheeks and lips; she was happy. Heigh-ho! Warrington sighed. She was gone, as completely as though shehad died. He grew angry at the heaviness of his heart. Was he alwaysto love no one but Warrington? It is fine to be a bachelor when one isyoung; but when the years multiply, when there are no new junkets andold ones grow stale, when scenes change, when friends drop out one byone, when a younger generation usurps the primrose path of dalliance, ah! the world becomes a dreary place. The old bachelor is theloneliest and most pathetic of men. 

Once inside the carriage, the women began a light, friendly chatter;smiles and laughter; little jests about Benedicks, about the servantquestion, about coming home late o' nights; antenuptial persiflage. There was little that was spontaneous; each jest was an effort; but itsufficed to relieve what might have been awkward silence. 

"It's up to you, now, Dick, " said John. "Think of the good times wefour could have together!"

"And who'd marry an old man like me?" asked Warrington plaintively. 

"Bosh!" said John. 

"Nonsense!" said Patty. 

"You are a young man, " said the mother. 

"There are plenty setting their caps for you, if you but knew it, "said Miss Challoner. 

"Aha! I smell a conspiracy!" laughed Warrington. "You are putting yourheads together to get me off your hands. "

The breakfast awaited them at Bennington's hotel. This passed offsmoothly. Then Warrington excused himself. He had a businessengagement down town. It was arranged, however, that they were to behis guests that evening at dinner and a box-party at the summer opera. On Wednesday, at ten, they were to breakfast in his apartment. Fromhis rooms they would go straight to the parson's, the "Little ChurchAround the Corner. "

When Warrington had gone, John turned to his sister. 

"Isn't he the finest chap?"

"He isn't to be compared with you, " Patty answered. 

"Nobody is, " said Miss Challoner. 

John colored with pleasure. 

"Mr. Warrington is a thorough gentleman, and I like him very much, "said Mrs. Bennington. "I have heard things about him; I can see thatthere has been some exaggeration. I shall be very glad to have him fora neighbor. "

"A neighbor?" said Miss Challoner. 

"Yes. He is coming back to Herculaneum to live. "

"That is news to me. " The actress stirred her coffee and smiled atPatty. "I understand you've been riding together. He is really asplendid horseman. "

"He has the dearest old dog, " replied Patty. 

The day passed quickly for all concerned: the dinner and box-partyleft nothing to be desired. 

The wedding-breakfast would have provoked envy in the heart ofLucullus; for Warrington was a man of the world, thoroughly polished;there was nothing Stoic about him (though, in the early days he hadbeen a disciple of this cult perforce); he was a thoroughgoing epicure. 

Patty was delighted. Warrington guided her about the rooms on a tourof inspection. He pointed out all the curios and told the history ofeach. But the desk was the article which interested her most. 

"And this is where you write? Upon this desk plays have grown up?Won't you give me a single sheet of manuscript to take home with me?"

"I certainly shall. "

He pulled out a drawer and found some old manuscript. He selected asheet, signed it, and gave it to her. 

"I am rich!" the girl exclaimed. "Signed manuscript from a real liveauthor! I suppose that you receive tons of letters, some praising, some arguing, some from mere autograph fiends. "

"It's a part of the day's work. " His face brightened. He searched hispockets. "Here is one out of the ordinary. It is unsigned, so I feelno qualms of conscience in letting you read it. "

Patty took the envelope with suppressed eagerness. She drew out theletter and read it slowly. 

"Do you receive many like that?" she asked, folding the letter andreturning it. 

"Very few; that's why I treasure it. I should like to meet the writer;but that's impossible. I have read and re-read it fifty times. "

"Evidently it was written in good faith. " Patty was not veryenthusiastic. 

"There's not the least doubt of that. I am glad of one thing: I can'tdisillusion her. "

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, this young woman thinks I must be a paragon of virtues. I'm not;I'm a miserable impostor. She takes it for granted that I am good andkind and wise. "

"Aren't you?" asked Patty gravely. 

"As men go. I always try to be kind; sometimes I am good, andsometimes I am wise. "

"I'm afraid you are one of those young men who try to be bad andcan't. They are hopeless. "

Warrington laughed. 

"But I am superstitious about that letter. I've carried it in mypocket for weeks. It's a kind of mentor. Whenever some fool thingcomes into my head, I stop and think of the letter. "

"That is good. The writer hasn't wasted her time. "

"I love you!" whispered John. 

Miss Challoner smiled into his eyes. The smile encouraged him, and heraised her hand to his lips. 

Ah, if it were not for those gloves! Why did he not say something? Shewas positive that he had them. To smile and laugh and talk; to facethe altar, knowing that he possessed those hateful gloves! To pretendto deceive when she knew that he was not deceived! It was maddening. It was not possible that Warrington had the gloves; he would neverhave kept them all this while. What meant this man at her side? Whatwas he going to do? She recollected a play in which there was a pairof gloves. The man had thrown them at the woman's feet, and, at thevery altar, turned and left her. But she knew that men did not do suchthings in life. She was innocent of any wrong; this knowledgesustained her. 

"A honeymoon in Switzerland: it has been the dream of my life. " Thistime he drew her arm through his and crossed the room to his mother'sside. "Mother mine, we shall be gone only three months; then we shallcome home to stay. "

"I shall miss you so; you have been away so much that I am hardlyacquainted with you. "

The woman who was to become her daughter suddenly dropped on her kneesbeside the chair. 

"Please love me, too. I have been so lonely all my life. "

"My daughter!" Mrs. Bennington laid her hand on the splendid head. 

"I shall never marry, " said Patty decidedly. 

"What? Young lady, don't let any one hear you make such a remark. Oneof these fine days somebody will swoop you up and run off with you. Idon't know but that I could play the part fairly well. " Warringtonlaughed. 

"Indeed! You'd have a time of it. "

"I dare say. But there's the breakfast waiting. "

Toasts and good wishes, how easy they are to give!

At the church the women cried a little. Women cry when they are happy, they cry when they are not; their tears keep a man guessing year inand year out. But this is no place for a dissertation on tears. There's time enough for that. 

The bride and groom left immediately for Boston, from which city theywere to sail for Europe the following day. In the carriage John drewhis bride close to his heart. 

"Mine!" he said, kissing her. "God grant that I may make you happy, girl. "

"John, you are the finest gentleman in the world!"

His hand stole into his coat pocket and gently dropped something intoher lap. She looked down and saw through her tears a crumpled pair ofwhite kid gloves. Then she knew what manner of man was this at herside. 

"It was not because I doubted you, " he said softly: "it was becausethey were yours. "

Chapter VII

Spring came round again in Herculaneum. People began to go to thetailor and the dress-maker and the hatter. There were wittyeditorials in the newspapers on house-cleaning and about the man whohad the courage to wear the first straw hat. The season (referring tothe winter festivities) had been unusually lively. There had been twocharity balls by rival hospital boards, receptions, amateur dramatics, dinners and dances, not to omit the announcement of severalengagements. 

The new Bennington mansion had its house-warming in November. Thereception, followed by a dinner-dance in the evening, was, accordingto the society columns, "one of the social events of the season. Thehandsomest house in town was a bower of smilax and hothouse roses. "Everybody went to the reception, for everybody was more or lesscurious to meet the former celebrated actress. The society reporters, waiting for their cues, were rather non-committal in their descriptionof the mistress. There was reason. They did not care, at this earlystage of the game, to offend the leader by too much praise of anewcomer who had yet to establish herself. Besides, they realized howlittle their paragraphs would mean to a woman whose portrait hadappeared in nearly all the illustrated magazines in the world. Thus, the half-heartedness of the newspapers was equally due toself-consciousness. Society itself, however, was greatly pleased withthe beautiful Mrs. Bennington, for she entered with zest into allsociety's plans. In fact, she threatened to become very popular. Theyounger element began to call her Mrs. Jack. 

Kate was in her element, for to live after this fashion was the oneambition that had survived all seasons. She was like a child with somewonderful new French doll. There was always a crowd of young marriedpeople about her, which is a healthy sign. She and Patty becameinseparable comrades. They shopped together, went to the matinees, anddrove and rode together. 

Everything went along smoothly, too smoothly. Fate never permitsanything like this to prosper long. 

For the first time in her career Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw herposition menaced. The younger set no longer consulted her as formerly. When, like Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, a woman has nothing more serious tolive for than to organize social affairs, the slightest defection fromher ranks is viewed in the light of a catastrophe. She had called onMrs. Bennington the second, armed with all those subtle crueltieswhich women of her caliber know so well how to handle. And behold! shemet a fencer who quietly buttoned the foils before the bout began. Shehad finally departed with smiles on her lips and rage in her heart. This actress, whom she had thought to awe with the majesty of herposition in Herculaneum, was not awed at all. It was disconcerting; itwas humiliating. She had condescended to tolerate and was tolerated inturn. Katherine adored Patty, and Patty had told her that she hatedMrs. Franklyn-Haldene. Naturally Katherine assumed the defensivewhenever she met the common enemy. 

But Mrs. Haldene could wait. She had waited before this. She had madecertain prophecies, and it embittered her to learn that so far none ofthese prophecies had come true. She could wait. Something was destinedto happen, sooner or later. She knew human nature too well not to beexpectant. To Mrs. Haldene the most gratifying phrase in the languagewas: "I told you so!" Warrington had disappointed her, too. He behavedhimself. He did not run after young Mrs. Bennington; he never calledthere alone; he was seen more frequently at the old Bennington place. The truth is, Patty was busy reforming the wayward dramatist, andWarrington was busy watching the result. There were those who noddedand looked wise whenever they saw the two together. 

Oh, Herculaneum was a city to be desired, socially. Everybody was onhis or her best behavior. It was only from among the poor that scandalgleaned her items for the newspapers. The shooting of such a man bysuch a woman's husband aroused only the mildest comment. But thatclass of people, don't you know, is so primeval. To kill a man fromjealousy! It was ridiculous. Why did they not go to court, likecivilized human beings?

Of course there is always scandal in politics; everybody understandsthat this is unavoidable. Another franchise had slipped out of theCommon Council into the transit company's pocket, and even thepartizan papers mildly belabored the aldermanic body. The EveningCall, however slashed the ward representatives vigorously. It wound upits editorial with the query: "How much longer will the public standthis sort of thing?" The Call was the only independent sheet in town, and did about as it pleased. 

Warrington found himself taking more than normal interest in thesituation. Occasionally, on Monday nights, he wandered into the CityHall and listened to the impassioned speeches of the aldermen. Many atempestuous scene passed under his notice. Ordinances were passed orblocked, pavement deals were rushed through or sidetracked. And once, when the gas company was menaced with dollar-gas, the city pay-rollwas held up for two months by the lighting company's cohorts. OnlyHeaven knows how much longer it might have been held back, had not anassemblyman come to the mayor's help by rushing up to the capital andrailroading through a law that required only a two-thirds vote. 

The Democrats had remained in power for six years, and Herculaneum wasessentially a Republican city. On the Democratic side was McQuade, onthe Republican side was ex-Senator Henderson. These men were bosses ofno ordinary type. The first was from the mass, the second from theclass; and both were millionaires. The political arena was a pastimefor these two men; it was a huge complex game of chess in whichrecently the senator had been worsted. The public paid, as itinvariably does, to watch this game on the checkerboard of wards. Thesenator had been unfortunate in his candidates. He had tried young menand old, lawyers and merchants; but he had failed to nominate a manwho was popular with class and mass. 

The present mayor was a shrewd Democrat who understood the diplomacyof petty politics. He shook the grimy hand of toil in preference tothe gloved hand of idleness. He was thoroughly a politician. He neverdisregarded public opinion openly. He never sailed close to the wind, but spent his time in safe tacks to whatever harbor he desired. He wasMcQuade's man just so long as McQuade made the business worth while. He had opened up many new streets, abolished needless nuisances, andthese concessions gave him a strong hold on the independent voter. Hewas a king over frogs which had changed much since Aesop's time, fornow they let well enough alone. 

Nevertheless, things were going from bad to worse. Three terms arelikely to cause a man to grow careless or indifferent, and Donnellywas making frequent bad breaks. The senator, ever watchful, believedhe saw a chance to sweep McQuade off the board. 

McQuade had an able lieutenant in Alderman Martin, whom the sportingfraternity followed loyally. Martin owned and ran the mostdisreputable hotel in the city. It occupied a position of unusualprominence on one of the principal business streets. There was asaloon and a cheap restaurant on the ground floor. On the second floorwere wine-rooms and a notorious gambling-den. Above this was thehotel. The guests stole in at midnight and stole out at dawn. 

This gambling-den was frequently the bone of contention betweenenergetic ministers of the gospel and the police department. Regularlythe police swore that gambling did not exist in town, and regularlythe ministers went on a still hunt for proofs. Singularly enough, theynever found any. A hint from headquarters, and the den would close uptill after the excitement was over. All the newspapers understood thatthe police lied; but the editors were either afraid or indifferent;and the farce was played over yearly for the benefit of theministerial association. 

The place was run honestly enough. When the stakes are small, theprofessional gambler does not have to be dishonest. All the same, thiskind of gambler is the most despicable of men. He lures the wage ofthe poor; clerks, bookkeepers, traveling salesmen, laborers, collegeboys, men who drink too much of a Saturday night, all these come tothe net. Nobody ever wins anything; and if perchance one does make asmall winning, it goes quickly over the bar. Women wait and wonder athome; it is their common lot. The spirit of the gambler is in us all, and we might as well confess it here and now. It is in the corpuscles:something for nothing, something for nothing!

Martin was a power in the Common Council. He could block or putthrough any measure. He always carried a roll of gold-bills in hispockets--for what purpose no one had the temerity to inquire. Hisfollowing was large and turbulent; it came from the shops and thefactories and the streets. In his ward no candidate had ever defeatedhim. "Nice people" had very little to do with Mr. Martin; the laborerwho was honest had little to do with him, either. He was a pariah, buta very formidable one. Yet, no one, though many accused him, caughthim in a dishonest deal. 

On the other hand, Senator Henderson's party had the cloak ofrespectability on its shoulders. His lieutenants were prominentbusiness men who went into politics as a light diversion, young men ofaristocratic families who were ambitious to go to Albany orWashington, and lawyers. The senator was a shrewd politician, with anunreadable face, clean-shaven but for a stubby mustache, and keen blueeyes that saw everything. He was loyal to his party and abovedishonesty. 

This was the political situation in Herculaneum. 

One May evening the senator called up Warrington. He was told that Mr. Warrington was at the club. The senator drove to the club forthwith. He found the dramatist in the reading-room, and greeted himpleasantly. 

"My boy, I want half an hour of your time. "

"You are welcome to an hour of it, Senator, " replied Warrington, curious to know what the senator had to say to him. 

"Come into a private dining-room, then. " Once seated at the table, thesenator reached over and touched Warrington mysteriously on the arm. "Young man, I heard you speak the other night at the Chamber ofCommerce banquet. You're a born orator, and what is better than that, you've common sense and humor. How would you like to be mayor ofHerculaneum next fall?"

"Mayor?" gasped Warrington. 

"Yes. "

"I'd make a fine mayor, " with forced laughter, but thinking rapidly. "Aren't you jollying me, Senator?"

"I'm dead in earnest, Warrington. There is not another available manin sight. By available I mean a man who can pull the party out of thebog. There are a hundred I could nominate, but the nomination would beas far as they could go. We want a man who is fresh and new to thepeople, so far as politics goes; a man who can not be influenced bymoney or political emoluments. There are thousands of voters who arediscontented, but they'd prefer to vote for Donnelly again rather thanto vote for some one they know would be no better. You are known theworld over. A good many people would never have known there was such aplace as Herculaneum but for you. It is the home of the distinguishedplaywright. "

"But I know practically nothing about political machinery, " Warringtonprotested. 

"You can leave the machinery to me, " said the senator wisely. "I'llset the wheels going. It will be as easy as sliding down hill. I'llgive you my word, if you land in the City Hall, to send you toWashington with the next Congress. Will you accept the nomination, incase I swing it around to you in September? It's a big thing. All youliterary boys are breaking into politics. This is your chance. "

"I'll take the night to think it over, " said Warrington. He was vastlyflattered, but he was none the less cautious and non-committal. 

"Take a week, my boy; take a week. Another thing. You are intimatewith young Bennington. He's a hard-headed chap and doesn't countenancepolitics in his shops. The two of you ought to bring the hands totheir senses. If we can line up the Bennington steel-mills, otherswill fall in. Bennington owns the shops, but our friend McQuade ownsthe men who work there. Take a week to think it over; I can rely onyour absolute secrecy. "

"I shall be silent for half a dozen reasons, " Warrington replied. "ButI shan't keep you waiting a week. Call me up by 'phone to-morrow atany time between five and six. I shall say yes or no, direct. "

"I like to hear a man talk like that. "

"I can't get the idea into my head yet. I never expected to meddlewith politics in this town. "

"We'll do the meddling for you. Even if you accept, we shall requiresilence till the convention. It will be a bomb in the enemy's camp. You'll come around to the idea. Between five and six, then?"

"I shall have your answer ready. Good night. "

The senator took himself off, while Warrington ordered a bottle ofbeer and drank it thoughtfully. Mayor! It would be a huge joke indeedto come back to Herculaneum to rule it. He chuckled all the way homethat night; but when his head struck the pillow he saw the seriousside of the affair. He recalled the old days when they sneered at himfor selling vegetables; and here they were, coming to him with themayoralty. It was mighty gratifying. And there was the promise ofWashington. But he knew the world: political promises and pie-crusts. What would the aunt say? What would Patty say? Somehow, he was alwaysthinking of Patty. He had not thought as yet to make any analysis ofhis regard for Patty. He held her in the light of an agreeablecomrade, nothing more than that. Would she be pleased to see him mayorof Herculaneum? Bah! He couldn't sleep. He got out of bed, found apipe and lighted it, and sat in the rocker by the window. Jove, hearing him moving about the room, woke up and came trotting in toinquire. 

"Ha, old boy, what do you think?"

Jove laid his head on his master's knees. 

"They want to make a mayor out of me. "

Jove signified his approval. 

"They have forgiven us our daily vegetables. But shall I? Will it beworth while? Well, we'll take a ride into the hills in the morning, and we'll think it all out. Mayor of Herculaneum; sounds good, doesn'tit? Nothing like success, Jove. "

Warrington smoked till the fire in his pipe died. He turned in, andthis time he won sleep. 

Early the next morning he was off on his horse, and he did not returntill noon. But he had his answer. 

At three that afternoon he had callers. Patty and Kate had just runover to see how the new play was getting on. Warrington confessed thathe was doing only desultory work, but promised to read the scenario tothem when it was done. 

"You are becoming lazy, " said Kate rebukingly. 

"No; only a country gentleman. "

"Patty, did you hear that? He calls Herculaneum a country village. "

"Nothing of the sort. One may live in a city and be a countrymanstill. "

"Mr. Warrington probably misses New York, " said Patty. 

"Not the veriest particle, " promptly. Certainly Patty was growing morecharming every day. 

The Angora cat, with feline caution, peeped into the room. Patty, wholoved cats, made a dash for the fluffy animal, which turned tail andbolted for the kitchen, Patty a close second. 

For the first time since the marriage Kate and Warrington were alonetogether. He gazed at her, mildly speculative. 

"Well, what do you see?" she asked. 

"You are certainly one of the most beautiful women in the world, " hedeclared, sighing. 

"You say 'one of'?" frowning. "There was a time when it was notgeneral; you used the definite article. "

"I know it. "

"Then there must be somebody else, " quickly. 

"I'm not a marrying man, " he said evasively. 

"Is it Patty, Dick? Oh, if it were only Patty!"

"I'm not good enough for Patty, Kate. The Lord knows, though, that Iwish I were. She embarrasses me at times with her implicit faith in mygoodness. "

"Ah, Richard, what a terrible past yours was!" mockingly. "Nonsense!"briskly. "You are guilty of nothing but innocuous villainies. If therewere fairies I should ask one to make you fall violently in love withPatty. "

"No fairies need apply, " ambiguously. "But you; you seem to be happy. "

"There can not be a happier woman in the world. Let me confess. Theconfession may hurt your vanity. I love my husband better than Idreamed I could love. He is so just, so tender and strong. And isn'the handsome? I am madly jealous of every woman that comes near him. And once upon a time I believed that I was in love with Mr. Richard. "There was no coquetry in this frank statement. 

"Any one can see that you are happy. "

"I want every one to see it. I want to tell everybody, too. You haveno idea how strong he is, Dick. Yesterday I was in the shops with him. A rail was in the way; the men about did not see it; or refused to seeit. John stooped, picked it up with his bare hands, and dropped it toone side. There are but two men in the shops who can do that. But Ihave a horror of those great bars of twisting white iron. They terrifyme. I do not understand, but the men are always sullen when I amthere. John says it's my imagination. "

"It probably is. Perhaps the begrimed faces have something to do withit. "

"I can read the human countenance too well, " she said. "Is it becauseI have been on the stage? Have these men a base opinion of me?"

"Impossible!"

"And they seem to dislike John, too. "

"John can take care of himself. He'll wait a long while, but when hemoves forward nothing can stop him. Don't you ever miss the glare ofthe lights?" he asked, his endeavor being to interest her in somethingforeign to the shops. 

"Dick, I have almost forgotten that I ever acted. You will rememberthat I refused to assist in the amateur theatricals last winter. Act?I hate the word. It suggests the puppet, the living in other people'sworlds, parrot-wise, in imitation. "

"Come, come, Kate; it's the greatest gift of all and you know it. Think! The power to make people laugh and cry, to make eitherhappiness or misery perfectly real!"

"Oh, there was pleasure in it at times, " she admitted reluctantly. "Doyou remember my gloves, Dick? John had them. "

"He knew you were in my rooms that night?"

"Yes. I told him the simple truth, and he believed me. How could Ihelp loving a man as loyal as that?"

"It is fine. But Jack was always a thorough man. I don't blame you forloving him. I call him all sorts of names to Patty, and it is fun towatch her eyes flash. "

Kate gave him a curious smile. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. "

"You smiled. "

"I had a happy thought. "

"Probably about that house-broken John of yours. "

"Who's calling John house-broken?" Patty stood in the doorway, theAngora struggling under her arm. 

"Well, isn't he house-broken?" asked Warrington with gentle malice. "Gentle and warranted to stand?"

Patty, for reasons of her own, permitted him to believe that hesucceeded in teasing her. 

"Kate, let us be going. I can not listen to Mr. Warrington's remarksregarding my brother. He treats John as if he were a horse. "

"Just as you say, dear. We shall punish Mr. Warrington by not makinginformal calls in the future. "

"Wait till I get my hat, " cried Warrington, "and I'll walk over to thehouse with you. "

"If you do that, " said Patty, "we shall be compelled to ask you toremain to dinner. "

"Oh, I should refuse. I've a telephone engagement between five andsix. "

"But we never serve dinner till seven, " replied Patty, buttoning hercoat austerely. 

Kate laughed merrily. 

"If you will ask me over to dinner, " said Warrington, "I'll tell you asecret, a real dark political secret, one that I've promised not totell to a soul. "

The two women stopped abruptly. The cast was irresistible, and theyhad to rise to it. 

Yet Patty murmured: "How like a woman he is!"

"It simply shows what high regard I have for your discretion. It is asecret some men would pay a comfortable fortune to learn. "

"Will you please come and dine with us this evening?" asked Patty. 

"I shall be very happy. "

"And now, the secret, " said Mrs. Jack. 

"Between five and six I expect a call on the phone from SenatorHenderson. "

"Senator Henderson!" exclaimed the women in unison. 

"I shall say but a single word. It will be yes. "

"But the secret! Mercy alive, you are keeping us waiting!"

Warrington glanced around with mock caution. He went mysteriously tothe portieres and peered into the hall; he repeated this performanceat the dining-room door, then turned, a finger upon his lips. 

"Senator Henderson is looking for a candidate for mayor this fall. Mind, not a word to a soul, not even to John, " this warning addressedprincipally to Mrs. Jack. 

"The Honorable Richard Warrington, " said Patty, musing. She rolled thewords on her tongue as if testing the sound of them. 

"That's it, " laughed Warrington. "The Honorable RichardWarrington!--sounds like Lord Mayor of London!"

Every Eden has its serpent, sooner or later. Thus, having futilelytried the usual gates by which he enters Eden to destroy it, thisparticular serpent found a breach in the gate of politics. 

Chapter VIII

McQuade and Martin entered a cafe popular for its noon lunches. It washot weather in July, and both were mopping their bald foreheads, theirfaces and necks. The white bulldog trotted along behind, his tonguelolling out of his mouth and his eyes heavy. The two men sat down in acorner under an electric fan; the dog crawled under the table, grateful for the cold stone tiling. 

"What do you know about this fellow Warrington?" asked McQuade, tossing his hat on one of the unoccupied chairs. 

"The fellow who writes plays?"

"Yes. What do you know about him?"

"Why, he used to peddle vegetables and now he owns a swell place onWilliams Street. "

"Gamble?"

"Not that I know of. I never go into Pete's myself. It wouldn't begood business. But they tell me Warrington used to drop in once in awhile, when he was a reporter, and choke his salary to death over theroulette table. "

"Doesn't gamble now?"

"Not in any of the joints around town. "

"Drink?"

"Oh, I guess he boozes a little; but he's hard-headed and knows howto handle the stuff. "

"Women?--Roast beef, boiled potatoes and musty ale for two. "

"Actresses. --Say, make mine a beer. --A gay buck in New York, Iunderstand. Used to chase around after the Challoner woman who marriedBennington. "

"Nothing here in town?"

"Haven't paid any attention to him. I guess he's straight enough thesedays. "

"Tip Pete off to-day. The police will make a raid Saturday night. Theministers have been shouting again, and two or three losers havewhined. "

"All right. But what's all this about Warrington?" asked Martin, whosecuriosity was aroused. 

"I'll tell you later. " The waiter returned with the platters of food, and McQuade ate without further comment or question. 

Martin ate his meat in silence also, but he was busy wondering. Warrington? What had interested the boss in that swell? Humph!

These men ate quickly and digested slowly. McQuade took out two fatblack cigars and passed one to Martin, who tore off the end with histeeth. 

"I want to find out all there is to know about Warrington. I can'texplain why just now; too many around. "

"Set Bolles after him. Bolles used to be with a private detectivebureau. If there's anything to learn, he'll learn it. There he is now. Hey, waiter, ask that gentleman looking for a vacant table to comeover. Hello, Bolles!"

"How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade. "

"Sit down, " said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward theremaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?"

"Bring me a little whisky--no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail. That'll be about right. "

"Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertakeit. "

"I've got some time on my hands just now, " replied Bolles. "Contractwork?"

"After a fashion, " said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll goup stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here. "

"All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand inNovember. "

"I shall want you to go to New York, " said McQuade. 

"New York or San Francisco, so long as some one foots the bills. "

"I'll foot 'em, " agreed McQuade. "Hustle your dinner. We'll wait foryou at the bar. "

Bolles ordered. A job for McQuade that took him to New York meantmoney, money and a good time. There were no more contracts tillSeptember, so the junket to New York wouldn't interfere with hisregular work. He had sublet his Italians. He was free. A few minuteslater he joined McQuade, and the trio went up stairs in a cloud oftobacco smoke. McQuade nodded to the typewriter, who rose and left theprivate office. The three men sat down, in what might be described asa one-two-three attitude: domination, tacit acceptance of thisdomination, and servility. 

"Do you know Richard Warrington, the playwriter?"

"That snob? Yes, I know who he is, and I'd like to punch his head forhim, too. "

McQuade smiled. This manifest rancor on Bolles' part would make thingseasier than he thought. 

"Well, listen. I've just been tipped that big things are going tohappen this fall. That fool Donnelly has queered himself, and ismaking a muddle of everything he touches. Senator Henderson is ashrewd man, but he wasn't shrewd enough this time. He should haveconducted his little conspiracy in his own home and not at a clubwhere servants often find profit in selling what they hear. Hendersonis going to put Warrington up for mayor. "

"The hell he is!" said Bolles. 

Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirtbosom. 

"It's no joke, " went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. Thepeople are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the CityHall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what thatmeans. Warrington must never get a chance to accept. "

Bolles looked at Martin. McQuade saw the look, and, interpreting it, laughed. 

"These are no dime-novel days. We don't kill men to get 'em out of theway. We take a look into their past and use it as a club. "

"I begin to see, " said Martin. "Warrington must be side-tracked beforethe convention. Good. That'll be simple. "

"Not very, " McQuade admitted. "It's going to be a devilish hard job. You, Bolles, pack up and go to New York. I want some informationregarding this young fellow's past in New York. It's up to you to getit. No faking, mind you; good substantial evidence that can be backedup by affidavits. Get the idea? Five hundred and expenses, if yousucceed; your expenses anyhow. Five hundred is a lot of money thesedays. But if you go on a bat, I'll drop you like a hot brick, for goodand all. Think it over. Pack up to-night, if you want to. Here's ahundred to start with. Remember this, now, there must be a woman. "

"A woman?"

"Yes. A man has no past, if there isn't a woman in it. "

"I can land that five hundred, " Bolles declared confidently. "I canfind the woman. I'll write you every other day. "

"Well, then, that's all. Good luck. No boozing while you're on the jobAfterward I don't care what you do. By-by. "

Bolles took his dismissal smilingly. Five hundred. It was easy. 

"If it's possible, he'll do it, " said Martin. "But what's yourcampaign?"

"Donnelly must remain another term. After that, oblivion. There'll bebids this fall. If Henderson's man wins, there'll be new aldermen. These bids of mine must go through and gas must be kept at adollar-fifty. I'm a rich man, but at present I'm up to my neck insouthern contracts that aren't paying ten cents on the dollar. Herculaneum's got to foot the bill. "

"How'd you find out about Henderson's coup?"

"One of the waiters at his club said he had some information. I gavehim ten dollars for something I'd have given ten hundred for just asquickly. If Henderson had sprung Warrington in September, we'd havebeen swamped. Now we have a good chance to hang on. "

"Force him to back down and withdraw?"

McQuade nodded. 

"It's simply got to be done. I didn't give Henderson credit for soclever a move as this. A new man, famous and wealthy, under noobligations to his party; the voters would follow him just for thenovelty of the thing. Besides, there are other reasons, but I'mkeeping them to myself. How about that pavement deal in John Street?"

John Street possessed but three or four houses. The paving would be aten-thousand-dollar job. As a witty political speaker once said, theypaved Herculaneum in the concrete and in the abstract. 

"It will go through Monday night, smooth as butter. "

"Canvassed the boys?"

"More than three-fourths vote. Sure. "

"I'm depending upon you. "

"Will you turn down Donnelly at the convention?"

"I tell you he's got to run again. I'll bring him to order, after alittle heart-to-heart talk. He's the only man in sight. "

"Why not play the same game as Henderson?"

"I've thought it all out. There's no one but Donnelly. Pick upanything you can about Warrington. "

"All right. By the way, the boys want to know if you think we can pulloff those ten-round bouts this winter. "

"I'm going down to the capital to see. "

Martin telephoned for his team, and twenty minutes later he wasdriving countryward. McQuade dictated a few letters, one of which hedirected to be sent by messenger. Then he left the office and calledupon the editor of the Times. This conference lasted an hour. McQuadewas chief owner of the Times. 

Warrington was greatly surprised when, at three-thirty, a message wasbrought to him requesting him briefly and politely to do Mr. McQuadethe honor to call on him between four and five that afternoon. He hadmet McQuade at the Chamber of Commerce dinner. The introduction hadbeen most formal. What the deuce did McQuade wish to see him about?Should he go? A natural aversion to the man said no; but policy urgedhim as well as curiosity. He went to the telephone and called upMcQuade's office. Mr. McQuade was not in, but would return at four. Ah! It was the typewriter who spoke. Would she kindly notify Mr. McQuade on his return that Mr. Warrington would be at his office atfour-thirty? She would. Thanks. 

Warrington smoked uneasily. He had no desire to meet McQuade. Theirways were widely separated and reached nothing in common. But hereadily recognized the fact that McQuade was not a man such as onemight heedlessly antagonize. What could the politician want of theliterary man? McQuade dabbled in racing horses; perhaps he had a horseto sell. In that event, they would meet on common ground. But hisbelief in this possibility was only half-hearted. He filled hispockets with cigars, whistled for the dog, and departed. Both of theBennington houses were closed; the two families were up north in thewoods. 

Promptly at four-thirty Warrington and his dog entered the elevator ofthe McQuade Building and were dislodged on the third floor. They wentalong the dim corridor, scrutinizing doors, each hunting for one ofhis kind. Jove couldn't read, but he could smell. Finally Warringtoncame to a stand. Upon the glass panel of the door he read:

Daniel McQuade & Co. 

General Contractors

He did not knock. He opened the door and walked in. It is a sign ofweakness for a man to knock on the door of a business office, unlessit is marked private, Nevertheless, the dingy glass had known theknock of many knuckles. A girl was hammering on the typewritingmachine. She ceased only when she completed the page. She looked up. Her expression, on seeing who the visitor was, changed instantly. Itwas not often that a man like this one entered the office of DanielMcQuade and Company, General Contractors. 

"I have an appointment with Mr. McQuade, " said Warrington pleasantly;"would you mind announcing me?"

"Just a moment, " answered the girl, rising and entering the privateoffice. She returned at once. "Mr. McQuade will see you. "

Warrington walked quietly into the lion's den. 

"Glad to see you, Mr. Warrington, " said McQuade, pointing toward achair. He did not offer his hand; something told him not to make thatmistake. 

From under the desk McQuade's dog emerged, stiff and bristling. On hisside, Jove stood squarely on his legs, head on, as they say, his lipswrithing and quivering with rage. Warrington touched the chair thathad been offered him. Jove begged. But the master was obdurate. Jovejumped up, but turned quickly. The white dog stopped. He recognizedthat he was at a complete disadvantage. 

McQuade watched these proceedings with an amused twinkle. It was aclever manoeuver. So far as he was concerned, a good dog fight wouldnot have been to his distaste. 

"It doesn't hurt the brutes to light once in a while. But, of course, "he added, "your dog is old. "

"Nothing is old till it is useless. "

"An epigram from one of your plays?"

"No; but it sounds good enough to use. Jove has strong teeth, however, and he comes from a fighting family. But for my part, I had muchrather see two men pummel each other. "

"So would I, for that matter. " McQuade pushed the match-box towardWarrington, but Warrington drew out his own and struck a light. McQuade shrugged. 

"Mr. McQuade, I am interested to learn what is back of your note. Horses?"

"No; not horses. "

McQuade viewed the young man through half-closed eyes. The contractorwas a big hulk of a man, physically as strong as a bull, with reddishhair, small twinkling eyes, a puffy nose mottled with veins, thin lipsshaded by a bristling red mustache, and a heavy jaw. The red fell ofhair on his hands reminded Warrington of a sow's back. Everythingabout McQuade suggested strength and tensity of purpose. He had begunwork on a canal-boat. He had carried shovel and pick. From boss on arailway section job he had become a brakeman. He took a turn atlumbering, bought a tract of chestnuts and made a good penny inrailroad ties. He saved every dollar above his expenses. He bought asmall interest in a contracting firm, and presently he became itshead. There was ebb and tide to his fortunes but he hung on. Alighting contract made him a rich man. Then he drifted into politics;and now, at the age of fifty, he was a power in the state. The onephase of sentiment in the man was the longing to possess all thoseobstacles that had beset his path in the days of his struggles. Hebought the canal-boat and converted it into a house-boat; he broke theman who had refused him a job at the start; he bought the block, thesidewalk of which he had swept; every man who stood in his way heremoved this way or that. He was dishonest, but his dishonesty was ofa Napoleonic order. He was uneducated, but he possessed that exactknowledge of mankind that makes leaders; and his shrewdness was theresult of caution and suspicion. But like all men of his breed, hehated with peculiar venom the well-born; he loved to grapple withthem, to wrest their idleness from them, to compel them to work for aliving, to humiliate them. The fiber in McQuade was coarse; hepossessed neither generosity nor magnanimity; the very men who fearedhim held him in secret contempt. 

"No, Mr. Warrington, I haven't any horses for sale to-day, " he began. "Not very long ago you met Senator Henderson at your club. He offeredyou the nomination for mayor this fall, and you accepted it. "

Warrington could not repress a start of surprise. He had not quiteexpected this. He was annoyed. 

"That is true. What mystifies me, " he supplemented, "is how thisknowledge came to your ears. "

"I generally hear what's going on. My object in asking you to call isto talk over the matter on a friendly basis. "

"I can not see what good that will do. Politically we have nothing incommon. "

"Politically or socially. But the point is this. What have you donethat you should merit this honor? I'll talk frankly. What have youdone toward the building up of your city? What have you done towardits progress in manufacturing and building? You have done nothing butbuy a house on the fashionable street and pay the taxes. "

"You might add that I once peddled vegetables, " said Warrington. 

It was McQuade's turn to be surprised. From what he had observed offashionable people, especially the new-rich, they endeavored tosubmerge altogether the evidences of past manual and menial labor. 

"Then you are not ashamed of the fact that you sold vegetables?"

"In truth, I'm rather proud of it. It was the first step in the fight. And I tell you honestly, Mr. McQuade, that I have fought every inch ofthe way. And I shall continue to fight, when there's anything worthfighting for. I'm not a manufacturer or a builder, but I am none theless eligible for public office. What little money I have was madehonestly, every penny of it. It was not built on political robbery andthe failures of others. But let us come to the point. You havesomething to say. "

"Yes. I have. And it is this: I don't propose to have you meddle withthe politics of this city. I hope we can come to a peacefulunderstanding. I don't want to war against you. "

"Mr. McQuade, you talk like a man out of his senses. Who's going toprevent me from accepting the nomination?"

"I am, " answered McQuade, bringing a fist down on his desk. 

The dogs growled. They seemed to realize that war of some kind was inthe air. 

"How?" asked Warrington. The man was a fool!

"You will go to Senator Henderson and tell him that you havereconsidered. "

Warrington laughed. "I believed I knew all phases, but this onesurpasses any I ever heard of. You have the nerve to ask me, of theopposition party, to refuse the nomination for mayor?"

"I have. "

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Not of you, my lad, " McQuade answered sardonically, spreading out hisgreat hands. "Do I look like a man afraid of anything? But the thoughtof a stranger becoming mayor of Herculaneum rather frightens me. Letus have peace, Mr. Warrington. "

"I ask nothing better. "

"Withdraw. "

"I never withdraw. I am not afraid of anything. I even promise to begood-natured enough to look upon this meeting as a colossal joke. "Warrington's cigar had gone out. He relighted it coolly. "If thenomination is offered me, I shall accept it; and once having acceptedit, I'll fight, but honorably and in the open. Look here, McQuade, don't be a fool. You've something against me personally. What is it?If I recollect, I ran across you once or twice when I was a newspaperman. "

McQuade's eyes narrowed again. 

"Personally, you are nothing to me, " he replied; "politically, you area meddler, and you are in my way. "

"Oh, I am in your way? That is to say, if I am elected, there'll betoo much honesty in the City Hall to suit your plans? I can readilybelieve that. If you can convince me that I ought not to run formayor, do so. I can accept any reasonable argument. But bluster willdo no good. For a man of your accredited ability, you are making apoor move, even a fatal one. "

"Will you withdraw?"

"Emphatically no!"

"All right. Whatever comes your way after this, don't blame me. I havegiven you a fair warning. "

"You have threatened. "

"I can act also. And you can put this in your pipe, Mr. Warrington, that before October comes round, when the Republican convention meets, you will withdraw your name quickly enough. This is not a threat. It'sa warning. That's all. I'm sorry you can't see the matter from mystandpoint. "

"Come, boy, " said Warrington to his dog. "You had better keep youranimal under the table. "

McQuade did not move or answer. So Warrington grasped Jove by thecollar and led him out of the private office. McQuade heard thedramatist whistle on the way to the elevator. 

"So he'll fight, eh?" growled McQuade. "Well, I'll break him, or myname's not McQuade. The damned meddling upstart, with his plays andfine women! You're a hell of a dog, you are! Why the devil didn't youkill his pup for him?"

McQuade sent a kick at the dog, who dodged it successfully, trottedout to the typewriter and crawled under the girl's skirts. 

Warrington went home, thoroughly angry with himself. To have bandiedwords and threats with a man like McQuade! He had lowered himself tothe man's level. But there were times when he could not control histongue. Education and time had not tamed him any. Withdraw? It wouldhave to be something more tangible than threats. 

"Richard, you are not eating anything, " said his aunt at dinner thatevening. 

"I'm not hungry, Aunty. It's been one of those days when a man gets upwrong. "

"I'm sorry. Doesn't the play go along smoothly?"

"Not as smoothly as I should like. "

"There was a long-distance call for you this afternoon. TheBenningtons want you to come up at once instead of next week. "

Warrington brightened perceptibly. He went to work, but his heartwasn't in it. The interview with McQuade insisted upon recurring. Whyhadn't he walked out without any comment whatever? Silence would havecrushed McQuade. He knew that McQuade could not back up this threat;it was only a threat. Bah! Once more he flung himself into his work. 

Half an hour later the door-bell rang. 

Chapter IX

Character is a word from which have descended two meaningsdiametrically opposed to each other. We say a man has a character, orwe say he is one; The first signifies respect; the second, a tolerantcontempt. There exists in all small communities, such as villages, towns, and cities of the third class, what is known as a character. Inthe cities he is found loafing in hotel lobbies or in the corridors ofthe City Hall; in the hamlet he is usually the orator of thepost-office or the corner grocery. Invariably his wife takes inwashing, and once in a while he secures for her an extra order. If hehas any children, they live in the streets. He wears a collar, butseldom adds a tie. He prides himself on being the friend of thelaboring man, and a necktie implies the worship of the golden calf. Henever denies himself a social glass. He never buys, but he alwaysmanages to be introduced in time. After the first drink he calls hisnew friend by his surname; after the second drink it is "Arthur" or"John" or "Henry, " as the case may be; then it dwindles into "Art" or"Jack" or "Hank. " No one ever objects to this progressive familiarity. The stranger finds the character rather amusing. The character isusually a harmless parasite, and his one ambition is to get apolitical job such as entails no work. He is always pulling wires, asthey say; but those at the other end are not sensitive to the touch. On dull days he loiters around the police court and looks mysterious. Cub reporters at first glance believe him to be a detective indisguise. 

Herculaneum had its character. He was a pompous little man to whom theinelegant applied the term of runt. He never could have passed thearmy examination, for he had no instep. He walked like a duck, flat-footed, minus the waddle. He was pop-eyed, and the fumes ofstrong drink had loosened the tear-ducts so that his eyes swam in aperennial mist of tears. His wife still called him William, but downtown he was Bill. He knew everybody in town, and everybody in townknew him. There was a time when he had been on intimate terms with sodistinguished a person as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. He will tell you tothis day how he was wont to dandle her on his knee. Bill was one ofthose individuals of whom it is said: "He means well. " In other words, he was a do-nothing, a ne'er-do-well. He had been comparatively richonce, but he had meant well with his money. One grand splurge, and itwas all over. Herculaneum still recollects that splurge. When in hiscups, Bill was always referring to those gorgeous days. Afterward, Bill and his family lived from hand to mouth. Occasionally, atChristmas, some of his old friends who felt sorry for him sent him apurse. Did Bill purchase turkey and coal and potatoes? No, indeed. Hebought useless French toys for the children, who went hungry. Anothertime, when heartless winter returned and the price of coal went up, achurch social was arranged for Bill's benefit. It netted him nearly ahundred dollars. But Bill didn't pay his landlord and grocer; not he!He came down town the following day with a shiny plug-hat and agold-headed cane. 

Bill was a first-class genealogist. He could tell you the history ofevery leading family in town. It took Bill to expose the new-rich; hedid it handsomely. The way these breakfast millionaires lorded andlandaued it highly amused him. Who were they, anyhow? Coal-heavers, hod-carriers, stock-speculators, riffraff, who possessed an ounce ofbrains and a pound of luck. Why, they didn't even know how to spendtheir money when they got it. But what could be expected of people whoput iron dogs and wooden deers on their front lawns? But theBenningtons, the Haldenes, and the Winterflelds, and the Parkers, --theyhad something to brag about. They were Bunker Hillers, theywere; they had always had money and social position. As for theMillens, and the Deckers, and the McQuades--pah!

Bill had a wonderful memory; he never forgot those who laughed at himand those who nodded kindly. He was shiftless and lazy, but he had acode of honor. Bill could have blackmailed many a careless man ofprominence, had he been so minded. But a man who had once dined agovernor of the state could do no wrong. His main fault was that hehad neglected to wean his former greatness; he still nursed it. Thus, it was beneath his dignity to accept a position as a clerk in a storeor shop. The fact that his pristine glory was somewhat dimmed to theeyes of his fellow citizens in no wise disturbed Bill. Sometimes, whenhe was inclined to let loose the flood-gates of memory, his friendswould slip a quarter into his palm and bid him get a drink, this beingthe easiest method of getting rid of him. 

Bill marched into the Warrington place jauntily. He wore a tie. Joveran out and sniffed the frayed hems of his trousers. But like all menof his ilk, he possessed the gift of making friends with dogs. Hepatted Jove's broad head, spoke to him, and the dog wagged what therewas left of his tail. Bill proceeded to the front door and resolutelyrang the bell. The door opened presently. 

"Is Richard in?" Bill asked. He had had only two drinks that evening. 

"Mr. Warrington is in, " answered the valet, with chilling dignity. "What is your business?"

"Mine!" thundered Bill, who had a democratic contempt for agentleman's gentleman. "I have important business to transact withyour master. Take this card in to him. He'll see me. "

The valet looked at the greasy card. The name was written in ink; thecard was of the kind one finds in hotels for the convenience of theguests. 

"I will take the card to Mr. Warrington, " the valet promisedreluctantly. There was, however, a barely perceptible grin strugglingat the corners of his mouth. He was not wholly devoid of the sense ofhumor, as a gentleman's gentleman should at all times be. 

"William Osborne? What the deuce does he want here?" asked Warringtonimpatiently. 

"He said his business was important, sir. If it is half as importantas he acts--"

"No comments, please. Show Mr. Osborne in. "

Warrington turned all his mail face-downward. He knew Bill ofaforetime, in the old newspaper days. Bill had marvelously keen eyes, for all that they were watery. The valet ushered him into the study. He wore his usual blase expression. He sat down and drew up his chairto the desk. 

"Well, Mr. Osborne, what's on your mind to-night?" Warrington leanedback. 

"The truth is, Richard, " began William, "I found this letter on thepavement this afternoon. Guess you'd been down to the hotel thisafternoon, and dropped it. I found it out in front. There was noenvelope, so I couldn't help reading it. "

Warrington seized the letter eagerly. It was the only letter of itskind in the world. It was enchanted. 

"Mr. Osborne, you've done me a real service. I would not take a smallfortune for this letter. I don't recollect how I came to lose it. Musthave taken it out and dropped it accidentally. Thanks. "

"Don't mention it, my boy. " Very few called him Mr. Osborne. 

"It is worth a good deal to me. Would you be offended if I gave youten as a reward?"

"I'd feel hurt, Richard, but not offended, " a twinkle in the wateryeyes. 

Warrington laughed, drew out his wallet and handed William a crisp, crackly bank-note. It went, neatly creased, into William's saggingvest-pocket. 

"Have a cigarette?" asked Warrington. 

"Richard, there's one thing I never did, and that's smoke one of thosecoffin-nails. Whisky and tobacco are all right, but I draw the line atcigarettes. "

Warrington passed him a cigar. William bit off the end and lighted it. He sniffed with evident relish. 

"Seems impossible, Richard, that only a few years ago you were areporter at the police station. But I always said that you'd get theresome day. You saw the dramatic side of the simplest case. I knew yourfather. He was one of the best farmers in the county. But he didn'tknow how to invest his savings. He ought to have left you rich. "

"But he didn't. After all, it's a fine thing to make for the goodthings in life and win them yourself. "

"That's true. You're a different breed from some of these people whoare your neighbors. We're all mighty proud of you, here inHerculaneum. What you want to do is to get into politics. " Here Billwinked mysteriously. "You've money and influence, and that's whatcounts. "

"I'm seriously thinking the thing over, " returned Warrington, notquite understanding the wink. 

"Everything's on the bum in town; it wants a clean bill. McQuade mustgo. The man never keeps a promise. Told me in the presence ofwitnesses, last election, that he'd give me a job on the new policeboard; and yet after election he put in one of those whipper-snapperswho know nothing. Of course, you've been in town long enough to knowthat Donnelly is simply McQuade's creature. I never had any luck. "

"Oh, it may change by and by. " Warrington, at that moment, feltgenuinely sorry for the outcast. 

Bill twirled his hat. "You've never laughed at me, Richard; you'vealways treated me like a gentleman, which I was once. I didn't mailthat letter because I wanted to see if you had changed any. If you hadbecome a snob, why, you could fight your blamed battles yourself; nohelp from me. But you're just the same. I've brought something that'llbe of more use to you than that letter, and don't you forget it. "

"What?" asked Warrington skeptically. 

Suddenly Bill leaned forward, shading his voice with his hand. "I wasin Hanley's for a glass of beer this noon. I sat in a dark place. Thetable next to me was occupied by Martin, McQuade, and a fellow namedBolles. "

"Bolles?"

"You've been away so long you haven't heard of him. He handles thedagos during election. Well, McQuade was asking all sorts of questionsabout you. Asked if you gambled, or drank, or ran around after women. "

Warrington no longer leaned back in his chair. His body assumed analert angle. 

"They all went up to McQuade's office. The typewriter is a niece ofmine. McQuade has heard that the senator is going to spring your nameat the caucus. But that's a small matter. McQuade is going to do yousome way or other. "

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determinedthat he won't let you. "

Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. "Goon, " he said. 

"Nobody knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles toNew York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York tolook up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing. McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to getreal facts. "

This time Warrington's laughter was genuine. 

"He's welcome to all he can find. "

"But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow thewhole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out. They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They thinkthe public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what thepublic needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died lastweek, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. Thismeans that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper intown. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers, Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss. "

Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out ofthe ordinary. And he had defied him. 

"I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word ofhonor, I'll do something for you. "

"You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously. 

"My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'llgive this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles willhave his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my pastwill be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed. "

"McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'mglad you aren't afraid of him. "

"I can't thank you enough. "

"I wander about town a good deal; nobody pays much attention to me; solots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear. You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or nosurprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these pavingdeals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work. " Bill rose. 

"Help yourself to these cigars, " said Warrington gratefully, passingthe box. 

Bill took three. 

"Good night, Richard. "

"Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor ofHerculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night. "

"That's all that's necessary for me;" and Bill bowed himself out. Helayed his course for his familiar haunts. 

Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just receiveddisturbed all connected thought, so he put the manuscript away. So thefirst gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past inNew York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he couldnot recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man istotally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but hehad stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not betallied against him with effect. And, thank God, there had been nowomen. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let themhunt; much good it would do them. 

He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. Hewas often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would nevermeet the writer, and yet not a day passed that he did not strive toconjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. Thecreases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held ittoward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped hisnotice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheethad not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as iftorn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs ofmucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. Thepost-office mark had been made in New York. To trace a letter in NewYork would be as impracticable as subtracting gold from sea-water. Itwas a tantalizing mystery, and it bothered him more than he liked toconfess. He put the letter in his wallet, and went into thesewing-room, where his aunt was knitting. The dear old lady smiled athim. 

"Aunty, I've got a secret to tell you. "

"What is it, Richard?"

"I'm going to run for mayor. "

The old lady dropped her work and held up her hands in horror. 

"You are fooling, Richard!"

"I am very serious, Aunty. "

"But politicians are such scamps, Richard. "

"Somebody's got to reform them. "

"But they'll reform you into one of their kind. You don't mean it!"

"Yes, I do. I've promised, and I can't back down now. "

"No good will come of it, " said the old lady prophetically, reachingdown for her work. "But if you are determined, I suppose it's no usefor me to talk. What will the Benningtons say?"

"They rather approve of the idea. I'm going up there early to-morrow. I'll be up before you're down. Good night. " He lightly kissed thewrinkled face. 

"Have a good time, Richard; and God bless my boy. "

He paused on the threshold and came back. Why, he did not know. Buthaving come back, he kissed her once again, his hands on her cheeks. There were tears in her eyes. 

"You're so kind and good to an old woman, Richard. "

"Pshaw! there's nobody your equal in all the world. Good night;" andhe stepped out into the hall. 

The next morning he left town for the Benningtons' bungalow in theAdirondacks. He carried his fishing-rods, for Patty had told him thattheir lake was alive with black bass. Warrington was an ardent angler. Rain might deluge him, the sun scorch, but he would sit in a boat allday for a possible strike. He arrived at two in the afternoon, andfound John, Kate and Patty at the village station. A buckboard tookthem into the heart of the forest, and the penetrating, resinousperfumes tingled Warrington's nostrils. He had been in the woods inyears gone by; not a tree or a shrub that he did not know. It wasnearly a two hours' drive to the lake, which was circled by lordlymountains. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" asked Patty, with a kind of proprietary pride. 

"It is as fine as anything in the Alps, " Warrington admitted. "Shallwe go a-fishing in the morning?"

"If you can get up early enough. "

"Trust me!" enthusiastically. 

"I netted one this morning that weighed three pounds. "

"Fish grow more rapidly out of water than in, " railingly. 

"John, didn't that bass weigh three pounds?" Patty appealed. 

"It weighed three and a half. "

"I apologize, " said Warrington humbly. 

"How's the politician?" whispered Kate, eagerly. 

"About to find himself in the heart of a great scandal. The enemy haslocated us, and this afternoon the Times is to come out with abroadside. I haven't the least idea what it will say, nor care. "

"That's the proper way to talk, " replied Kate approvingly. "We climbedthat bald mountain yesterday. Patty took some beautiful photographs. "

"The tip of your nose is beginning to peel, " said Warringtonirrelevantly. 

"It's horrid of you to mention it. I'm not used to the sun, but I loveit. Patty is teaching me how to bait a hook. "

"I'd like to see a photograph of that, " Warrington cried. "Say, John, is there any way of getting to-night's newspapers up here?"

"Nothing till to-morrow morning. The boat leaves the mail at night. But what's this talk about politics?" John demanded. 

Warrington looked at Patty and Kate in honest amazement. 

"Do you two mean to tell me, " he asked, "that you have really kept thenews from John?"

"You told us not to tell, " said Kate reproachfully. 

"Well, I see that I shall never get any nearer the truth about women. I thought sure they'd tell you, Jack, that I'm going to run for mayorthis fall. "

"No!"

"Truth. And it's going to be the fight of my life. I accepted in thespirit of fun, but I am dead in earnest now. Whichever way it goes, itwill be a good fight. And you may lay to that, my lad, as our friendLong John Silver used to say. "

He said nothing, however, of his interview with McQuade. That was oneof the things he thought best to keep to himself. 

"I'll harangue the boys in the shops, " volunteered John, "thoughthere's a spirit of unrest I don't like. I've no doubt that beforelong I shall have a fight on my hands. But I shall know exactly whatto do, " grimly. "But hang business! These two weeks are going to betotally outside the circle of business. I hope you'll win, Dick. We'llburn all the stray barrels for you on election night. "

"There'll be plenty of them burning. But I shall be nervous till I seethe Times. "

"You'll have it in the morning. "

Warrington sighed. Half an hour later the bungalow came into view. 

The elder Bennington knew the value of hygienic living. He kept hischildren out of doors, summer and winter. He taught them how to ride, to hunt, to fish; he was their partner in all out-of-door games; hemade sport interesting and imparted to them his own zest and vitality. So they grew up strong and healthy. He left their mental instructionto the mother, knowing full well that she would do as much on her sideas he had done on his. Only one law did he lay down: the childrenshould go to public schools till the time for higher educationarrived. Then they might choose whatever seat of learning theydesired. He had the sound belief that children sent to private schoolsrarely become useful citizens. 

The rosal glow of dawn tipped the mountains, and a russet haze lay onthe still bosom of the lake. Warrington made a successful cast not farfrom the lily-pods. Zing! went the reel. But by the pressure of histhumb he brought the runaway to a sudden halt. The tip of the rodthreatened to break! Hooked! Patty swung round the canoe, which actiongave the angler freer play. Ah, wasn't that beautiful! Two feet out ofthe water! Here he comes, but not more swiftly than the reel can takehim. Off he goes again--take care for the unexpected slack. Anotherleap, like a bronze flame, and then a dash for the shallow bottom. Hefought gallantly for his life and freedom. Patty reached for the net. Inch by inch Warrington drew him in. Twice he leaped over the net, butPatty was an old hand. The third effort landed him. 

"Two pounds, " said Patty. "Plenty for breakfast now. "

"Tell you what, this is sport. How many have we?"

"Seven in half an hour. " Patty began using her paddle. 

"Finest sport in the world!" Warrington settled down on the cushionand leisurely watched the brown arms of his guide. 

"You're a good fisherman. And I like to see a good fisherman getexcited. John is like a statue when he gets a strike; he reels them inlike a machine. He becomes angry if any one talks. But it's fun towatch Kate. She nearly falls out of the boat, and screams when thebass leaps. Isn't it beautiful?"

"It is a kind of Eden. But I'm so restless. I have to be wanderingfrom place to place. If I owned your bungalow, I should sell it thesecond year. All the charm would go the first season. God has made somany beautiful places in this world for man that man is the onlyungrateful creature in it. What's that smoke in the distance?"

"That's the mail-boat, with your newspaper. It will be two hours yetbefore it reaches our dock. It has to zigzag to and fro across thelake. I'm hungry. "

"So am I. Let me take the paddle. "

The exchange was made, and he sent the canoe over the water rapidly. Patty eyed him with frank admiration. 

"Is there anything you can't do well?"

"A good many things, " he acknowledged. 

"I should like to know what they are. "

Neither spoke again till the canoe glided around the dock and alanding was made. Warrington strung the fish, and together he andPatty went toward the kitchen. At seven-thirty the family sat down toa breakfast of fried bass, and Patty told how the catch had been made. 

"He's a better fisherman than you, John. "

"Just as you say, Patty. I care not who catches bass, so long as I mayeat them, " in humorous paraphrase. 

There was no little excitement over the arrival of the mail-boat. Theywere all eager to see what the Times had to say. There was a column ormore on the first page, subheaded. Warrington's career was ratheraccurately portrayed, but there were some pungent references tocabbages. In the leader, on the editorial page, was the master-hand. 

"In brief, this young man is to be the Republican candidate for mayor. Grown desperate these half-dozen years of ineffectual striving forpolitical pap, Senator Henderson resorts to such an expedient. But thecoup falls flat; there will be no surprise at the convention; thesenator loses the point he seeks to score. Personally, we have nothingto say against the character of Mr. Warrington. After a fashion he isa credit to his native town. But we reaffirm, he is not a citizen, heis not eligible to the high office. If he accepts, after thisarraignment, he becomes nothing more than an impertinent meddler. Whathas he done for the people of Herculaneum? Nothing. Who knows anythingabout his character, his honor, his worth? Nobody. To hold one'sfranchise as a citizen does not make that person a citizen in thehonest sense of the word. Let Mr. Warrington live among us half adozen years, and then we shall see. The senator, who is not withoutsome wisdom and experience, will doubtless withdraw this abortivecandidate. It's the only logical thing he can do. We dare say that thedramatist accepted the honor with but one end in view: to find somematerial for a new play. But Herculaneum declines to be so honored. Heis legally, but not morally, a citizen. He is a meddler, andHerculaneum is already too well supplied with meddlers. Do the wisething, Mr. Warrington; withdraw. Otherwise your profit will belaughter and ridicule; for the Republican party can never hope to winunder such equivocal leadership. That's all we have to say. "

Warrington, who had been reading the articles aloud, grinned andthrust the paper into his pocket. 

"What shall you do?" asked John curiously. 

"Do? Go into the fight tooth and nail. They dub me a meddler; I'llmake the word good. "

"Hurrah!" cried Kate, clapping her hands. She caught Patty in herarms, and the two waltzed around the dock. 

The two men shook hands, and presently all four were reading theirprivate letters. Warrington received but one. It was a brief note fromthe senator. "Pay no attention to Times' story. Are you game for afight? Write me at once, and I'll start the campaign on the receipt ofyour letter. "

"Patty, where do you write letters?" he asked. He called her Pattyquite naturally. Patty was in no wise offended. 

"In the reading-room you will find a desk with paper and pens and ink. Shall I go with you?"

"Not at all. I've only a note to scribble to Senator Henderson. "

Warrington found the desk. Upon it lay a tablet. He wrote hurriedly:

"Start your campaign; I am in it now to the last ditch. "

As he re-read it, he observed a blur in the grain of the paper. Oncloser inspection he saw that it was a water-mark. He had seen onesimilar, but where? His heart began thumping his ribs. He produced theinevitable letter. The water-mark was identical. He even laid theletter unfolded on the tablet. It fitted exactly. 

"Patty!" he murmured in a whisper. 

Patty had never written him a single line; whenever she hadcommunicated to him her commands, it had been by telephone. PattyBennington! The window was at his elbow. He looked out and followedthe sky-line of the hills as they rolled away to the south. Patty! Itwas a very beautiful world, and this was a day of days. It all came tohim in that moment of discovery. He had drifted along toward it quiteunconsciously, as a river might idle toward the sea. Patty! The lightof this knowledge was blinding for a space. So Warrington came intohis own romance. It was not the grand passion, which is alwaysmeteoric; it was rather like a new star, radiant, peaceful, eternal. 

"Patty!" He smiled. 

Chapter X

It was only when the whistle of the returning boat sounded close bythat he realized he had been sitting there for nearly an hour. Heroused himself, sealed and addressed his letter to the senator, andhurried down to the dock. Patty was alone, mending some tackle. 

"It must be a long letter, " she remarked, standing up and shaking herskirts. 

"Why, this is only the beginning of it, " he replied ambiguously. "Itis never going to end. "

"Mercy! It must be a postscript. "

He had no retort handy, so he contented himself with watching theapproach of the boat. 

"Some men are never satisfied, " she said owlishly. "If I were asuccessful dramatist, such as you are, a public office would lookrather tawdry. "

"But it's real, Patty; it's life and not mummery. "

"I don't know, " doubtfully; "from what I have read, there are morepuppets in and about a City Hall than ever dangled in the puppetbooth. Did I give you permission to call me Patty?" demurely. 

"Not that I recollect. " The boat came sweeping up to the dock, and hetossed the senator's letter to the boy. The boat went on with amusical gurgle. "But when I especially like anything, I usuallyappropriate it. "

"I can see that you will make a good politician. "

He laughed happily. 

"Evidently you like the name. You have applied it to me three timesthis morning. "

"Like it? Why, I think it is the most charming name I ever heard. Itsmells of primroses, garden-walls, soldiers in ragged regimentals, ofthe time when they built houses with big-columned porches. "

"My!"

"May I not call you Patty?"

"Oh, if you ask my permission, you may. "

"I do. "

"That is better. "

"Patty?"

"Well. "

"Do you ever look in your mirror?"

"The idea! Of course I do. I look in it every morning and every night. And as often as I find the time. Why?"

"Nothing; only, I do not blame you. "

"What's all this leading to?" frowning. 

"Heaven knows! But I feel sentimental this morning. There is so muchbeauty surrounding me that I feel impelled to voice my appreciation ofit. "

"There is no remedy, I suppose. "

"None, save the agony of extemporization. "

"I have never heard you talk like this before. What IS the matter?"

"Perhaps it is the exhilaration I feel for the coming fight. Would youlike to see me mayor?"

"Indeed I should. Think of the circus tickets you'd have to give awayeach year! You know they always give the mayor a handful for hispersonal use. No, Mr. Warrington, I shall be very proud of you whenyou are mayor. "

"What's the matter with your calling me Richard or Dick?"

"We must not advance too suddenly. "

"Is there anything the matter with the name?"

"Oh, no; Richard is quite musical in its way. But I am always thinkingof the humpbacked king. If I called you anything it would be Dick. "

"Richard was not humpbacked. Moreover, he was a valiant king, greatlymaligned by Mr. Shakespeare. "

"I see that I shall not dare argue with you on the subject; but we cannot banish on so short a notice the early impressions of childhood. Richard Third has always been a bugaboo to my mind. Some day, perhaps, I'll get over it. "

"Make it Dick, as a compromise. "

"Some day, when I have known you a little longer. Has John ever toldyou about Mr. McQuade?"

"McQuade?" Warrington realized that he had been floating on a pleasantsea. He came upon the hidden shore rather soundly. "McQuade?" herepeated. 

"Yes. He had the audacity to propose to mother shortly after father'sdeath. Think of it! John wrote to him very definitely that hispresence in the house would no longer be welcomed or tolerated. Fatherhad some slight business transactions with Mr. McQuade, and he came upto the house frequently. He continued these visits after father'sdeath. We treated him decently, but we simply could not make him feelwelcome. The third time he called he proposed. 

"Mother left the room without even replying. He understood. A fewminutes afterward we heard the door slam. John wrote him the nextmorning. Did you ever hear of anything to equal the cold-bloodednessof it?"

Warrington looked at her in absolute amazement. 

"Well, of all the nerve! Why the deuce didn't John punch his head?"savagely. 

"Mr. McQuade is not a gentleman; John is, " simply. "But Mr. McQuadehasn't forgotten; not he. He pays no attention to any of us; but thatis no sign that he does not think a good deal. However, we do notworry. There is no possible chance for him to retaliate; at least Johndeclares there isn't. But sometimes I grow afraid when I think it allover. To his mind I can see that he considers himself badly affronted;and from what I know of his history, he never lets an affront passwithout striking back in some manner. "

"Don't you worry your head about McQuade. What do you think? He is soanxious to get me out of the political arena that he has sent a mandown to New York to look into my past. Isn't that droll?"

Patty stooped again to the fishing-tackle. 

"Such men as McQuade can invent. I should be very careful, if I wereyou. Your own conscience may prove you guiltless of scandal, but thereare certain people who would rather believe bad than good--scandalthan truth; and these are always in the majority. Don't laugh, butwatch. That's my advice to you, Mr. Meddler. " She smiled brightly athim as she threaded the line through the guides of the rod. 

"I may not have lived as cleanly as I might have, " he said soberly. "Ihave been knocked about so much. There were times when I grew tired offighting. But I have never done anything that will not stand daylight. There was a time, Patty, when I came near making a fool of myself. " Hesat down, his legs swinging over the water. "I drank more than wasgood for me. " He stared into the brown water and watched the minnows asthey darted hither and thither. "I was alone; things went wrong, and Iwas cowardly enough to fall into the habit. But it was onlyperiodically. You remember that letter I showed you?"

"Yes. " Patty's voice was low. 

"I believe I have read it a thousand times. It has caused me a greatmany regrets. I should like, some day, to meet the writer anddisillusion her. One thing she may be sure of: I have never belittledthe talent God has given me. I have striven for the ideal; I have evenfought for it. That part of my life holds no stain. "

"But the habit?" hesitant. 

"It is gone, where all fool-habits go, when a man has will power torid himself of them. Pride has something to do with it; and I have myshare of pride. I shall never go back. "

His head was turned away, but she could see the muscles in the jawsharden. 

"You will never go back, I am sure, Richard. "

That she had at last pronounced his given name did not stir him; infact, it passed over his head and hearing. Like a dragon-brood, he sawin fancy his past follies springing up about him. Not yet could hetell this clean-minded, gentle-bred girl that he loved her. He mustprove himself still further before he might utter what so thoroughlyfilled his heart and mind. 

"Your brother's wife brought me to my senses. What I am to-day she inpart has made. That is why I think so much of her; that is why I amhappy to see that she is happy and has realized her heart's desire. Heigh-ho! I believe I am making you my confessor. " He turned his facetoward her now, and his smile was rather sad. "When I recall the worryI have given my poor old aunt, who loves me so, I feel like acontemptible scoundrel. How many countless sacrifices has she made forme, in the days when we had nothing! But she shall have all thecomforts now, and all the love and kindness I am capable of givingher. I shall never leave her again. "

There were tears in Patty's eyes. "It is never too late to mend; andwhen a man is penitent, truly and honestly penitent, much shall beforgiven him. It is only those who are by nature coarse who do noteventually surmount temptation. What you have told me I have knownthis long while. "

"You have known?" he cried with sinking heart. 

"Yes. We live in a city where gossip travels quickly and thoroughly. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was telling mother one afternoon that you drank. I suppose she felt it her duty. "

"To be sure, " bitterly. "Was it while I have been living at home?"

"No; when the rumor came that you were coming. "

He shrugged expressively. "I ought to have known. "

"But come; you are up here to be cheered, not lectured. Let us playbilliards. I can hear John and Kate playing now. We'll play sides; andif we win against those two, I promise to call you Richard once a daywhile you are up here. Or, would you rather I played and sang?"

"Much rather, " brightening up a bit. "There is always time to playbilliards. But first, I want you to come with me into thereading-room. I have something to show you; I had almost forgotten. "

"The reading-room?" puzzled. 

"Yes. Will you come?"

She nodded her assent, and the two entered the house. Warrington, having arrived at the writing-desk, bade her sit down. He had an idea. Patty sat down. 

"I want you to write something for me, " he said, pushing the pen andtablet toward her. 

"What's the matter with your hand?" she demanded. 

"Nothing. "

"Then why do you want me to write?"

"I have never seen your handwriting. I'm something of an expert inthat line. I'll read your future. "

"But I don't want my future read, " rebelliously. 

"Well, then, your past. "

"Much less my past. Come; you are only beating about the bush. What isit you want?"

"I want to know, " he said quietly, "why you have kept me in ignoranceall this while. " He laid the letter on the desk, and placed a fingeron the water-mark. "It wasn't fair to let me compose panegyrics overit all the while you were laughing in your sleeve. Ah, I've caughtyou. You can't get away this time, Patty. "

"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about. " But shelooked at the letter and not at him. 

"Do you see those water-marks?" he demanded. 

"Yes. You will find them in a thousand tablets like this. I bought adozen of them in New York; cheap and handy. "

Warrington's confidence in his discovery began to shake. He bracedhimself and took a bold course. 

"Patty, you wrote that letter; you know you did. You wrote it in NewYork, the day you bought the tablets. "

"I?"

"Yes. Confess. "

"My dear Mr. Warrington, you must prove it, " lightly. "It would not beproper for me to admit that I had been so foolish as to write a letterlike that. "

"But you've praised it!"

"Simply because praising it would please you; for no other reason. "

"Did you, or did you not write it?"

"Find out. You must prove that I wrote it. Certainly I have nothing toconfess. "

"You will not answer me one way or the other?"

"No. "

"If you had not written it you would. "

"I don't believe I shall sing this morning, " rising. 

"And I have wondered a thousand times who could have written it. Andall the time it was you. "

"Nor play billiards, " went on Patty. 

"If only I were all you hitherto believed me to be!"

"Nor fish to-morrow morning. "

"This letter has been like an anchor. Immediately upon receiving it Ibegan to try to live better. "

"Nor fish the day after to-morrow. "

"And I had forgotten all about Jack's having a sister!"

"Something I shall neither forget nor forgive. And if you persist inaccusing me of writing that letter, I promise not to fish again whileyou are here. " She walked toward the door, her chin held high. 

"You wrote it. Come and sing. I'll say nothing more about it. There'snothing more to be said. " He carelessly picked up a book and looked atthe fly-leaf. "From Sister Patty to Brother John, " he read. There wasno mistake now. He laughed. Patty turned. "The writing is the same. "

"Is it?"

"Will you sing?"

No answer. 

"Please. "

Patty stood between the door that led to the veranda and the door thatled to the music-room--between Charybdis and Scylla, as it were, forshe knew he would follow her whichever way she went. She turned intothe music-room. 

"Thanks, " he said. 

The days passed all too quickly for Warrington. He walked in thegolden glow of his first romance, that romance which never leaves ustill life itself departs. He spoke no word of his love, but at timesthere was something in his voice that thrilled Patty and subdued herelfish gaiety. Some girls would have understood at once, but Patty wasdifferent. She was happy one moment, and troubled the next, notknowing the reason. She was not analytical; there was no sophistry inher young heart. She did not dream that this man loved her; she wasnot vain enough for that. 

John and Kate watched them approvingly. They knew the worth of theman; they were not at all worried over what was past. They saw theirown romance tenderly reflected. Mrs. Bennington was utterly oblivious. Mothers never realize that their daughters and sons must some dayleave them; they refuse to accept this natural law; they lament overit to-day as they lamented in the days of the Old Testament. The truthis, children are always children to the parents; paternal and maternalauthority believes its right indefinite. 

By this time all the newspapers, save the Telegraph, had made readablecopy out of Warrington's candidacy. Why the Telegraph remained mutewas rather mystifying. Warrington saw the hand of McQuade in this. Theparty papers had to defend the senator, but their defense was not sostrong as it might have been. Not a single sheet came out frankly forWarrington. The young candidate smoked his pipe and said nothing, butmentally he was rolling up his sleeves a little each day. He had notyet pulled through the convention. Strong as the senator was, theremight yet be a hitch in the final adjustment. So far nothing had comeof Bolles' trip to New York. Occasionally newspapers from the nearbytowns fell into Warrington's hands. These spoke of his candidacy inthe highest terms, and belabored the editors of Herculaneum for notaccepting such a good chance of ridding itself of McQuadeism. 

Meantime, there was fishing, long trips into the heart of the forests, dancing at the hotel at the head of the lake, billiards and music. Warrington was already deeply tanned, and Patty's nose was liberallysprinkled with golden freckles. 

One evening Kate and John sat on the veranda from where they couldeasily watch Warrington and Patty in the music-room. 

"What do you think of it, John?"

"There's not a finer chap in the world. But I don't think Pattyrealizes yet. "

"Dear Patty!" Kate reached over and took his hand in hers, laying itagainst her cold cheek. "What is it, John? You have been worried allday. "

"Nothing; nothing to bother you with. "

"The shops? It worries me when you don't confide in me in everything. "

"Well, dear, the trouble I've been expecting for months is about tocome. You know that young Chittenden, the English inventor, has beenexperimenting with a machine that will do the work of five men. Theyhave been trying to force him to join the union, but he has refused, having had too many examples of unionism in his own country to riskhis independence here. Well, I received a letter from the generalmanager this morning. Either Chittenden must join or go; otherwise themen will go out September first. "

"What shall you do?"

"I shall keep Chittenden. I am master there, " striking the arm of hischair; "master in everything. If they go out in September, it will befor good. I shall tear down the shops and build model tenements. "

"John!"

"I am sick and tired, dear. I have raised the wages all over thedistrict; my men work less than any other hands in town. I have builta gymnasium for them, given them books, pool-tables, and games, to saynothing of the swimming-tank. I have arranged the annual outings. Ihave established a pension-list. But all this seems to have done nogood. I am at the end of the rope. Oh, the poor devils who work areall right; it's the men outside who are raising all this trouble; it'sthe union, not the men. There's no denying the power these men canwield, for wrong or right. Ignorance can not resist the temptation touse it at all times and for all purposes. But I am master at theBennington shops; injustice shall not dictate to me. They'll use itpolitically, too. After all, I'm glad I've told you. "

"But, John, I'm afraid for you. They may hurt you. "

John answered with a sound that was more of a growl than a laugh. 

"Don't you worry about me, honey; I'm no weakling. I wish Dick couldbe with me when the fight comes, but he will have his hands full, andthe strike will not help him any. Don't you worry. Father always feltthat there would be trouble some day. He held a large bundle ofbank-stock and railroad bonds, and the income from these alone willtake care of us very comfortably. There's a good deal of real estate, too, that may be reckoned on. If the crash does come, we'll pack up, take the mother, and go abroad for a year or so. But before I'm doneI'll teach local unionism a lesson it will not forget soon. Don't youworry, " he repeated again; "you just leave it to me. "

She did not speak, but kissed his hand. She knew that no pleadingcould move him; and besides, he was in the right. 

"I don't understand the lukewarmness of the party papers, " he said. "They ought to hurrah over Dick. But perhaps the secret machinery isbeing set to work, and they've been told that there will be trouble atthe convention. The senator never backs down, and I've never seenanybody that could frighten Dick. There'll be some interesting eventsthis fall. Herculaneum will figure in the newspapers from Maine toCalifornia, for everybody is familiar with Warrington's name and work. It's a month yet before the delegates get together; either Warringtonwill run or he won't. Calling him a meddler is good. If the Timesisn't a meddler, I never saw one and have misunderstood the meaning ofthe word. "

In the music-room Patty was playing Grieg and MacDowell, andWarrington was turning the pages. The chords, weird and melancholy, seemed to permeate his whole being; sad, haunting music, that spoke oftoil, tears, death and division, failure and defeat, hapless love andloveless happiness. After a polonaise, Patty stopped. 

"If music were only lasting, like a painting, a statue, a book, " shesaid; "but it isn't. Why these things haunt me every day, but I canrecollect nothing; I have to come back to the piano. It is elusive. "

"And the most powerful of all the arts that arouse the emotions. Hangit! when I hear a great singer, a great violinist, half the time Ifind an invisible hand clutching me by the throat . .. Patty, honestlynow, didn't you write that letter?"

"Yes, " looking him courageously in the eyes. "And I hope you were notlaughing when you said all those kind things about it. "

"Laughing? No, " gravely, "I was not laughing. Play something lively;Chaminade; I am blue to-night. "

So Patty played the light, enchanting sketches. In the midst of one ofthem she stopped suddenly. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"I thought I heard the boat's whistle. Listen. Yes, there it is. Itmust be a telegram. They never come up to the head of the lake atnight for anything less. There goes John with a lantern. "

"Never mind the telegram, " he said; "play. "

A quarter of an hour later John and Kate came in. 

"A telegram for you, Dick, " John announced, sending the yellowenvelope skimming through the air. 

Warrington caught it deftly. He balanced it in his hand speculatively. 

"It is probably a hurry-call from the senator. I may have to go backto town to-morrow. I have always hated telegrams. "

He opened it carelessly and read it. He read it again, slowly; andPatty, who was nearest to him, saw his face turn gray under the tanand his lips tremble. He looked from one to the other dumbly, thenback at the sheet in his hand. 

"Richard!" said Kate, with that quick intuition which leaps acrosschasms of doubt and arrives definitely. 

"My aunt died this afternoon, " he said, his voice breaking, for he hadnot the power to control it. 

Nobody moved; a kind of paralysis touched them all. 

"She died this afternoon, and I wasn't there. " There is somethingterribly pathetic in a strong man's grief. 

"Dick!" John rushed to his side. "Dick, old man, there must be somemistake. "

He seized the telegram from Warrington's nerveless fingers. There wasno mistake. The telegram was signed by the family physician. Then Johndid the kindliest thing in his power. 

"Do you wish to be alone, Dick?"

Warrington nodded. John laid the telegram on the table, and the threeof them passed out of the room. A gust of wind, coming down from themountains, carried the telegram gently to the floor. Warrington, leaning against the table, stared down at it. 

What frightful things these missives are! Charged with success orfailure, riches or poverty, victory or defeat, births or deaths, theyfly to and fro around the great world hourly, on ominous and sinisterwings. A letter often fails to reach us, but a telegram, never. It isthe messenger of fate, whose emissaries never fail to arrive. 

Death had never before looked into Warrington's life; he had viewed itwith equanimity, with a tolerant pity for those who succumbed to it, for those whose hearts it ravaged with loneliness and longing. He hadused it frequently in his business as a property by which to arousethe emotions of his audiences. That it should some day stand at hisside, looking into his eyes, never occurred to him. He tried to think, to beguile himself into the belief that he should presently awake tofind it a dream. Futile expedient! She was dead; that dear, kind, loving heart was dead. Ah! and she had died alone! A great sob chokedhim. He sank into a chair and buried his face in his arms. The pastrushed over him like a vast wave. How many times had he carelesslywounded that heart which had beat solely for him! How many times hadhe given his word, only to break it! He was alone, alone; death hadsevered the single tie; he was alone. Death is kind to the dead, butharsh to the living. Presently his sighs became less regular, and atlength they ceased entirely. 

The portiere rustled slightly, and Patty's face became visible. Hereyes were wet. She had tried to keep away, but something drew herirresistibly. Her heart swelled. If only she might touch his bowedhead, aye, kiss the touches of grey at the temples; if only she mightconsole him in this hour of darkness and grief. Poor boy, poor boy!She knew not how long she watched him; it might have been minutes orhours; she was without recollection of time. A hand touched her gentlyon the arm. Kate stood by her side. 

"Come, " she whispered; "come, Patty. "

Patty turned without question or remonstrance and followed her upstairs. 

"Kate, dear Kate!"

"What is it, darling?"

"He is all alone!"

At midnight John tiptoed into the music-room. Warrington had notmoved. John tapped him on the shoulder. 

"You mustn't stay here, old man. Come to bed. "

Warrington stood up. 

"Would you like a drop of brandy?"

Warrington shook his head. 

"It is terribly hard, " said John, throwing his arm across the other'sshoulders. "I know; I understand. You are recalling all the mistakes, all the broken promises, all the disappointments. That is but natural. But in a few days all the little acts of kindness will return to yourmemory; all the good times you two have had together, the thousandlittle benefits that made her last days pleasant. These will softenthe blow, Dick. "

"I wasn't there, " Warrington murmured dully. His mind could accept butone fact: his aunt had died alone, without his being at the bedside. 

It rained in Herculaneum that night. The pavement in Williams Streetglistened sharply, for a wind was swinging the arc-lamps. The trees onthe Warrington lawn sighed incessantly; and drip, drip, drip, went therain on the leaves. Not a light shone anywhere in the house; totaldarkness brooded over it. In one of the rooms a dog lay with his noseagainst the threshold of the door. From time to time he whinedmournfully. In another room an Angora cat stalked restlessly back andforth, sometimes leaping upon a chair, sometimes trotting round andround, and again, wild-eyed and furtive, it stood motionless, as iflistening. Death had entered the house; and death, to the beast, isnot understandable. 

Chapter XI

Everybody had gone down the winding road to the granite entrance ofthe cemetery; the minister, the choir, the friends and those who hadcome because they reveled in morbid scenes. These were curious to seehow Warrington was affected, if he showed his grief or contained it, so that they might have something to talk about till some one elsedied. There are some people in this merry world of ours who, when theytake up the evening paper, turn first to the day's death notices; whosee no sermons in the bright flowers, the birds and butterflies, themisty blue hills, the sunshine, who read no lesson in beauty, whorecognize no message in the moon and the stars, in cheerfulness andgood humor. On the contrary, they seem to abhor the sunshine; theykeep their parlors for ever in musty darkness, a kind of tomb wherethey place funeral wreaths under glass globes and enter but half adozen times a year. Well, even these had finally dragged themselvesaway from the grave, and left Warrington standing alone beside thebrown roll of damp fresh earth. No carriage awaited him, for he hadsignified his intention of walking home. 

All about him the great elms and maples and oaks showed crisp againstthe pale summer sky. Occasionally a leaf fell. A red squirrelchattered above him, and an oriole sang shrilly and joyously near by. The sun was reddening in the west, and below, almost at his feet, thevalley swam in a haze of delicate amethyst. The curving streamglittered. From where he stood he could see them bundling up thesheaves of wheat. All these things told him mutely that the world wasgoing on the same as ever; nothing had changed. In the city men andwomen were going about their affairs as usual; the smoke rolled upfrom the great chimneys. When all is said, our griefs and joys arewholly our own; the outsider does not participate. 

Yes, the world went on just the same. Death makes a vacancy, but theGreat Accountant easily fills it; and the summing up of balances goeson. Let us thank God for the buoyancy of the human spirit, which, however sorely tried, presently rises and assumes its normal interestin life. 

Warrington looked dreamily at the grave, and the philosopher in himspeculated upon the mystery of it. Either the grave is Heaven or it isnothing; one can proceed no farther. If there was a Heaven (and in thesecret corner of his heart he believed there was), a new star shone inthe sky at night, a gentle, peaceful star. Just now the pain came inthe knowledge that she was gone; later the actual absence would befelt. For a month or so it would seem that she had gone on a journey;he would find himself waiting and watching; but as the weeks andmonths went by, and he heard not her step nor her voice, then wouldcome the real anguish. They tell us that these wounds heal; well, maybe; but they open and reopen and open again till that day weourselves cease to take interest in worldly affairs. 

He stooped and picked up one of the roses which she had held in herhand. Reverently he pressed his lips to it and put it away in hiswallet. Then he turned and went slowly down the hill. He had neverreally known her till these last few months; not till now did herealize how closely knit together had been their lives and affections. He lighted a cigar, and with his hands behind his back and his chin inhis collar, he continued to the gates. The old care-taker opened andclosed the gates phlegmatically. Day by day they came, and one by onethey never went out again. To him there was neither joy nor grief; ifthe grass grew thick and the trees leaved abundantly, that was all hedesired. 

It was a long walk to Williams Street, and he was tired when heentered the house. Jove leaped upon him gladly. Warrington held thedog's head in his hands and gazed into the brown eyes. Here was onethat loved him, wholly and without question. You will always find somegood in the man who retains the affection of his dog. In good times orbad, they are stanch friends; and they are without self-interest, which is more than human. In the living-room he found the Angoracurled up on a sofa-cushion. He smoothed her, and she stretched herlithe body luxuriously and yawned. There is no other animal which socompletely interprets the word indifference. Warrington wondered whathe should do with her, for he was not very fond of cats. But his aunthad loved her, so he passed on to the dining-room without decidingwhat to do. 

It was a lonely supper. He kept his eyes on his plate as well as hecould; for whenever he saw the back of her chair, his food choked him. He wondered why he did not take the decanter of whisky down from thesideboard; a generous tumblerful. . .. No. This was the first time inmonths that the desire to drink deeply came to him. No; he would leaveit there. Supper done, he went to his den and took down a book. Couldhe live here now? He doubted it, for it was a house of empty doors. Hesettled himself in a chair and turned the pages of the book to a placehe loved well. It was where D'Artagnan, representing Planchet andCompany, returns to the grocer with the bags of English gold which, for several good reasons, Charles Second has given him for GeneralMonk's sword. He was well along toward the fainting of the honestPlanchet on the money-bags, when the telephone rang. He took up thereceiver. 

"Well?"

"Mama wants you to come over and spend the night with us. John andKate will be here, too. "

He recognized Patty's voice. 

"I shall be very glad to, " he replied. "Good-by. " He rang for Mary, who came in, her eyes red and swollen; Poor soul, she had also losther best friend. "I am going over to the Benningtons' to spend thenight, Mary. 

"Very well, sir; just as you think best. "

The Benningtons were very kind to him. They engaged his interest themoment he entered the house. They talked of a thousand and one thingsdiverting: the foreign news, the political outlook, the Septemberhorse-show at which Patty would ride and jump, what was contemplatedin society for the fall and winter, the ice-carnival, and theengagements. 

"Why don't you enter your Irish hunter?" asked John, when the talkveered around to horses again. 

"I ride for the mere pleasure of it, " replied Warrington; "or, if youwill, I'm too lazy to learn the judges' catechism. "

Presently they had him telling how he had written his first play, andhow completely Mrs. Jack had fooled him on their first meeting. 

"No, I have not the slightest desire to return to the stage, " saidMrs. Jack, in answer to a casual inquiry made by Warrington. 

"Not while I'm around, " supplemented John. 

"Why, nothing could lure me back to it, " Mrs. Jack declaredemphatically. "I am happy. I am very happy. I have nothing to wishfor, save that my happiness may endure. "

Mrs. Bennington, who had long since grown to love her daughter-in-law, smiled benignly. 

"You will always be happy, my dear; you were born to be. It is thejust reward for making those around you happy. "

"Patty, " said Warrington, "would you like the Angora?"

"I should love it dearly. "

"Then I'll send it over to you in the morning. "

And that was as near as they approached the subject they were tacitlyavoiding. 

At a quarter of nine, to the consternation of every one, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was announced. 

"Take me up stairs to the billiard-room, " said Warrington; "I am notin the mood to meet that woman to-night. "

"Come on, then, " cried John, willing enough. "There's the servants'stairs. I'll give you a handicap of twenty in a hundred points. "

"I'll beat you at those odds. "

"That remains to be seen. "

And the two hurried up the stairs just as the hall-door closed. Thebilliard-room was situated at the head of the front stairs. Warringtonwon the bank, and he ran a score of ten. While he was chalking his cuehe heard voices. 

"It is very sad. " It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene talking. "We shall missher in church work. It is a severe blow to Mr. Warrington. "

"That was a good draw, John. Three cushions this time. Good. You'replaying strong to-night. "

"Did you think to bring over your pajamas?" John asked irrelevantly. 

Warrington smiled in spite of himself. 

"I forgot all about them, " he admitted. 

"Thought you would, so I brought over two sets. We're about the samesize. Pshaw! that was an easy one, too. "

Warrington missed his shot; He heard voices again. 

"And I want you to help me. " It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene again. "Weshall reorganize the Woman's Auxiliary Republican Club, and we shallneed you. It is principally for that that I came over. "

"I take very little interest in anything outside my home, " repliedMrs. Bennington. 

"Did you get that?" whispered John, as he drew back for a carom. 

"But this is very important for the city's welfare, " pursued Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. 

"I doubt it. So long as we do not vote--"

"That's just it. We can't vote, but we can get together and controlthe male vote in the family. That's something. "

John grinned at Warrington, who replied with a shrug. 

"And they all call me the meddler!" he said. 

"What's the matter with your staying on here a few days, Dick?"

"I should be nothing but a bother to you. "

"Rot! You can't stay alone over there. "

"I'll have to; I can't leave those poor old souls alone. They arebroken-hearted. I sent her two hundred every month regularly, just forpin-money; and what do you think she did with it? Hoarded it up andwilled something like two thousand to Mary and her husband. I'm allin, Dick. But go on; I'll finish the game. "

"All right. But whenever you feel lonesome, come here or over to myhouse. There'll always be a spare room for you in either house. "

"It's mighty kind of you, John. My shot?" Warrington ran four andmissed. 

Voices again. 

"I never believe what I hear, and only half of what I see. " That wasMrs. Jack speaking. 

Murmurs. The billiard-balls clicked sharply as John played forposition. 

"The stage doesn't appeal to you any more, then?" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. 

"Not in the least. It never did appeal to me. I am so far away from itnow that I am losing the desire to witness plays. "

"And for whom will Mr. Warrington write his plays now?"

"The vacancy I made has long ago been filled. I was but one in athousand to interpret his characters. There is always a lack of plays, but never of actors. "

"Excuse me for a moment. " It was Patty this time. 

"Certainly, my dear. "

Warrington heard nothing more for several minutes. 

"Is it true what I hear about Patty and that rich young Mr. Whiteland, of New York?"

"What is it that you have heard?"

"Why, that their engagement is about to be announced. "

Warrington stood perfectly still. Whiteland had been a guest at theAdirondack bungalow earlier in the summer. He waited for the answer, and it seemed to him that it would never come. 

"I am not engaged to any one, Mrs. Haldene, and I hope you will do methe favor to deny the report whenever you come across it. " Patty hadreturned. "It seems incredible that a young man may not call upon ayoung woman without their names becoming coupled matrimonially. "

"Nevertheless, he is regarded as extremely eligible. "

"I have often wondered over Haldene's regular Saturday night jag atthe club, " said John, stringing his count, "but I wonder no longer. They say she never goes out Saturdays. "

Warrington heard the words, but the sense of them passed by. He couldrealize only one thing, and that was, he loved Patty better than allthe world. He could accept his own defeat with philosophy, but anotherman's success!--could he accept that? How strangely everything hadchanged in the last few days! He had never known real mental anguish;heartaches in others had always afforded him mild amusement andcontempt. It was one thing, he reflected, to write about humanemotions; it was entirely another thing to live and act them. He sawthat his past had been full of egotism and selfishness, but he alsosaw that his selfishness was of the kind that has its foundation inindifference and not in calculation. The voices went on down stairs, but he ceased to pay any attention to them. 

"John, there's been something in my mind for many months. "

"What is it?"

"Do you recollect the night you came into my rooms in New York?"

"I shall never forget it, " quietly. 

"Your wife was there. "

"I know it. I found her gloves. " He made a difficult masse. "She toldme all about it. At the time, however, I had a pretty bad case ofheart-trouble. But I understand. She was in the habit of dropping inon you. Why not? Your cooperation made you both famous. A man in lovefinds all sorts of excuses for jealousy. But I'm glad you've spoken. Ican readily understand how you felt when you found the gloves gone. 

"You're a good man, John, " said Warrington. 

"Kate loves me; it ought to make any man good to have a wife who loveshim. I have no use for a man who sees evil in everything and good innothing. Say no more about it, boy. "

"I hadn't seen you in so long that I was confused. If I had reflected. .. But you see, I didn't know that you were engaged, or even that youknew her. I never understood, until you were gone, why she wanted tohide herself. I'm glad I've relieved my mind. " Warrington sighed. 

"It's all right. There! I told you that I'd win even at those odds. "

Presently they heard a stir down stairs. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene wasgoing. The door closed. The family came up to the billiard-room. Warrington looked at Patty, whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyesflashed. 

"Why, what's the matter, Pat?" John asked. 

"Nothing. "

"Mrs. Haldene has been making herself useful as usual, " said Mrs. Jack, slipping her arm around Patty's waist. 

Patty was in a rage about something; nobody seemed to know what itwas. 

"You are not going to join the Auxiliary, are you, mother?" Johninquired, putting the cues in the rack. 

"Indeed I am not. The men in my family always used their own judgmentin politics. They have always been Whigs or Republicans. "

"Did you ever meet a woman, Dick, who was a Democrat?" laughed John. 

"Perhaps, " was the reply, "but it has escaped my recollection. "

But he was thinking: after all, he had a right to win Patty if hecould. It was not what he had done in the past, it was what he wascapable of doing from now on that counted. 

"You're going to have a stiff fight at the convention, " said John. 

"I know it. But a fight of any kind will keep my mind occupied. Thesenator has assured me that I shall get the nomination. "

On the way home Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw the flutter of a white dresson the Wilmington-Fairchilds' veranda. She couldn't resist, so shecrossed the lawn and mounted the veranda steps. She did not observeher husband in the corner, smoking with the master of the house. 

"I've been over to the Benningtons', " she began, rather breathless. 

"What's the news?"

"There is no truth in the report of Patty's engagement to youngWhiteland. "

"There isn't? Well, there ought to be, after the way they went aroundtogether last winter. "

"She told me so herself, " Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene declared emphatically. "Do you know what I believe?"

"No, " truthfully. 

"I've an idea that Patty is inclined toward that fellow Warrington. "

"You don't mean it!"

"He's always around there. He must have thought a great deal of hisaunt. She was buried to-day, and there he is, playing billiards withJohn Bennington. If that isn't heartlessness!"

"What do you want a man to do?" growled her husband from behind hiscigar. "Sit in a dark room and wring his hands all day, like a woman?Men have other things to do in life than mourn the departed. "

"Franklyn? I didn't see you. "

"You seldom do. "

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene at once plunged into a discussion of fashion, the one thing that left her husband high and dry, so far as his nativeirony was concerned. 

That same night McQuade concluded some interesting business. Hepossessed large interests in the local breweries. Breweries on theaverage do not pay very good dividends on stock, so the brewer oftenestablishes a dozen saloons about town to help the business along. McQuade owned a dozen or more of these saloons, some in the heart ofthe city, some in the outlying wards of the town. He conducted thebusiness with his usual shrewdness. The saloons were all well managedby Germans, who, as a drinking people, are the most orderly in theworld. It was not generally known that McQuade was interested in thesale of liquors. His name was never mentioned in connection with thesaloons. 

One of these saloons was on a side street. The back door of it facedthe towpath. It did not have a very good reputation; and though, fortwo years, no disturbances had occurred there, the police still keptan eye on the place. It was on the boundary line of the two mostturbulent wards in the city. To the north was the Italian colony, tothe south was the Irish colony. Both were orderly and self-respectingas a rule, though squalor and poverty abounded. But these two racesare at once the simplest and most quick-tempered, and whenever anIrishman or an Italian crossed the boundary line there was usually ahurry call for the patrol wagon, and some one was always more or lessbattered up. 

Over this saloon was a series of small rooms which were called "winerooms, " though nobody opened wine there. Beer was ten cents a glass upstairs, and whisky twenty. Women were not infrequently seen climbingthe stairs to these rooms. But, as already stated, everybody behaved. Schmuck, who managed the saloon, was a giant of a man, a Turnvereiner, who could hold his own with any man in town. It will be understoodthat the orderliness was therefore due to a respect for Schmuck'sstrength, and not to any inclination to be orderly. 

On this night, then, at nine o'clock, a man entered and approached thebar. He was sharp-eyed, lean-faced, with a heavy blue beard closelyshaven, saving the mustache, which was black and hung over the man'slips. He wore good clothes. There was a large diamond on one of hisfingers and another in the bosom of his shirt, in which a white tiewas tucked carefully. They were yellow diamonds. But those among whomthis man moved did not know the difference between yellow stones andwhite. Morrissy was accounted very well-to-do. 

"Hello, Schmuck!" he hailed. "Got the room up stairs in order?"

"Yes. " Schmuck wiped the bar. "Der poss iss coming to-night, I see. Huh?"

"Yes. He ought to be along now, " replied Morrissy, glancing at hiswatch, which was as conspicuous as his yellow diamonds. 

"How you getting along mit der poys?"

"Oh, we're coming along fine, all right. "

"Going to call 'em out uf der mills? Huh?"

"Perhaps. When the boss comes, tell him I'm up stairs. "

Morrissy lighted a cigar, took the evening papers from the end of thebar, and disappeared. Schmuck could hear him moving the chairs about. Ten minutes later McQuade appeared. Schmuck nodded toward the stairs, and without a word McQuade went up. 

"Good evening, Morrissy. I missed a car, or I'd have been hereearlier. "

"That's all right, Mr. McQuade; glad to wait for you. " Morrissy threwaside his papers and drew his chair to the table. 

McQuade closed the door and sat down. 

"You got my letter?" he began, wiping his forehead. 

Morrissy nodded. 

"Well?"

"Well, the boys will go out Monday morning. A committee will wait onBennington in the morning. He won't back down and discharge theEnglish inventor, so it's a sure thing they'll walk out, everymother's son of them. "

"On the morning they go out, I'll send you my check for five hundred. "

"For the union?"

"I'll send it to you, and you can use it as you see fit. On Mondaymorning, then. "

"Sure thing. "

They smoked for a while. Suddenly McQuade laid a bulky envelope on thetable, got up and went out. Morrissy weighed the envelope carefully, thrust it into his pocket, and also departed. 

"Five hundred now, and five hundred on Monday. I can see him sending acheck. It will be bills. Bah! I should have called out the boysanyhow. "

McQuade hurried home. He had another appointment, vastly moreimportant than the one he had just kept. Bolles had returned from NewYork. It was easy enough to buy a labor union, but it was a differentmatter to ruin a man of Warrington's note. Bolles had telegraphed thathe would be in Herculaneum that night. That meant that he had foundsomething worth while. Each time the car stopped to let passengers onor off, McQuade stirred restlessly. He jumped from the car when itreached his corner, and walked hurriedly down the street to his house, a big pile of red granite and an architectural nightmare. He rushed upthe steps impatiently, applied his latch-key and pushed in the door. He slammed it and went directly to his study. Bolles was asleep in achair. McQuade shook him roughly. Bolles opened his eyes. 

"You've been on a drunk, " said McQuade, quickly noting the puffed eyesand haggard cheeks. 

"But I've got what I went after, all the same, " replied Bollestruculently. 

"What have you got? If you've done any faking, I'll break every bonein your body. "

"Now, look here, Mr. McQuade; don't talk to me like that. "

"What have you got, then?"

"Well, I've got something that's worth five hundred; that's what. Iworked like a nigger for a month; pumped everybody that ever knew him. Not a blame thing, till night before last I ran into the janitor ofthe apartments where Warrington lived. "

"Go on. "

"He'd been fired, and I got him drunk. I asked him if any women hadever gone up to Warrington's rooms. One. He was sitting in thebasement. It was a hot night, and he was sitting up because he couldnot sleep. At midnight a coupe drove up, and Warrington and a womanalighted. From the looks of things she was drunk, but he found outafterward that she was very sick. The woman remained in Warrington'sapartments till the following morning. "

"When was all this?"

"About four years ago. She left very early. "

"Hell!" roared McQuade, doubling his fists. "And I've been sending youmoney every week for such news as this! I want something big, youfool! What earthly use is this information to me? I couldn't frightenWarrington with it. "

"I haven't told you the woman's name yet, " said Bolles, leering. 

"The woman's name? What's that got to do with it?"

"A whole lot. It was Katherine Challoner, the actress, Bennington'swife; that's who it was!"

McQuade sat very still. So still, that he could hear the clock tickingin the parlor. Bennington's wife!

Chapter XII

The death of his aunt gave Warrington a longing for action--swiftmental and physical action. To sit in that dark, empty house, to reador to write, was utterly impossible; nor had he any desire to takelong rides into the country. His mind was never clearer than when herode alone, and what he wanted was confusion, noise, excitement, struggle. So he made an appointment with Senator Henderson the nextmorning. He left the Benningtons with the promise that he would returnthat evening and dine with them. Warrington had become the senator'shobby; he was going to do great things with this young man's future. He would some day make an ambassador of him; it would be a pleasantsouvenir of his old age. Warrington was brilliant, a fine linguist, was a born diplomat, had a good voice, and a fund of wit and repartee;nothing more was required. He would give the name Warrington a highplace in the diplomatic history of the United States. Some of the mostcapable diplomats this country had produced had been poets. Warrington's being a playwright would add luster to the office. Thesenator was going over these things, when a clerk announced that Mr. Warrington was waiting to see him. 

"Send him right in. "

Immediately Warrington entered. He was simply dressed in a businesssuit of dark blue. He wore a straw hat and a black tie. There was nobroad band of crape on his hat or his sleeve. He had the poet's horrorof parading grief, simply because it was considered fashionable to doso. He sincerely believed that outward mourning was obsolete, a customof the Middle Ages. 

"Ha!" ejaculated the senator. 

"Good morning. How goes the fight?"

"Fine, my boy; I'll land you there next week; you see if I don't. Themain obstacle is the curious attitude of the press. You and I know thereason well enough. McQuade is back of this influence. But the voterdoesn't know this, and will accept the surface indications only. Nowyou know the newspaper fellows. Why not drop around to the offices andfind out something definite?"

"It's a good idea, Senator. I'll do it this very morning. "

"Has McQuade any personal grudge against you?"

"Not to my knowledge. "

"He's a bad enemy, and often a downright unscrupulous one. If it'sonly politics, I'll have a chat with him myself. You pump thenewspapers. You leave it to me to swing the boys into line at theconvention. "

Then they proceeded to go over the ground thoroughly. Something mustbe done with the newspapers. The delegates and minor bosses werealready grumbling. Had nothing appeared in the newspapers, Warrington's nomination would have gone through without even minoropposition. But the Republican machine was in sore straits. IfDonnelly won this time, it would mean years of Democratic rule in anessentially Republican town. McQuade must be broken, his strongbarricades toppled; and now that there would be no surprise for thepublic, the majority of the delegates began to look doubtfully uponwhat they called the senator's coup. They wanted the City Hall, andthey did not care how they got there. Warrington was a fine chap, andall that, but his acquaintanceship was limited. He could not go aboutshaking hands like Donnelly, who knew everybody, high and low. Thelaboring man knew nothing about Warrington, save that he was famousfor writing plays they had not seen, nor would have understood if theyhad. Warrington was a "swell"; he had nothing in common with the manwho carried the dinner-pail. 

"And there the matter stands, my boy, " concluded the senator, shiftinghis cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "If I can swingthe convention the rest will be plain sailing, once you startspeech-making. Oh, McQuade is clever. He knew that by exposing my handhe would lessen your chances. But you tackle the newspapers and seewhat can be done. And good luck to you. "

McQuade came down early that morning. The first thing he did was tocall on the editor of the Times. 

"Here's something, " he said, tossing a few typewritten pages on theeditor's desk. "This'll settle Warrington's hash, Walford. "

"What is it?" asked Walford. 

"Read it and see for yourself. " McQuade sat down and picked up theearly New York papers. 

Walford read slowly. When he reached the last paragraph he returned tothe first and read the article through again. He laid it down andfaced his employer. 

"Mr. McQuade, the Call and the Times are the only papers in town thatpay dividends. The Times as it stands to-day is a good, legitimatebusiness investment. Do you want the circulation to drop ten thousandand the big advertisers to cancel their contracts?"

"What's the matter with the story? Isn't it all right?"

"Frankly, it isn't. "

"It's true, " said McQuade, his fist thudding on the desk; "it's true, I tell you, every damned word of it. "

"The truth of it isn't the question. It's the advisability ofpublishing it. I say to you that if you insist on this story'spublication, you'll kill the Times deader than a door-nail. I'll callthe business manager in. " Walford whistled through a tube, and shortlyafter the business manager appeared. "Read this, " said Walfordbriefly, "and give Mr. McQuade your honest opinion regarding itspublication. Mr. McQuade thinks it ought to run as local news. "

The business manager read it. 

"It makes good reading, Mr. McQuade, but if you want to kill theTimes, run it. There are some stories that can only be rumored, notprinted, and this is one of them. If this appears, you have my wordthat every decent advertiser will cancel his contract forthwith. "

Walford looked at his employer in frank triumph. McQuade had greatconfidence in these two men. He ripped the manuscript into squares andfiltered them through his fingers into the waste-basket. 

"You boys are probably right, " he said reluctantly. "I have no desireto see the paper lose its sound footing. But this would have killedthe man socially and politically, so far as this town is concerned. "

"Admitted, " replied Walford, straightening out some proofs. "But we'lltopple him over in a legitimate way. "

"Go ahead, then. I'm not particular how it's done so long as you doit. Perhaps, after all, it's just as well. I've got another idea. Ican see that I've made a mistake. "

McQuade started down the stairs to the street and met Warringtoncoming up. The two men paused for a moment, then went on. Once on thesidewalk, McQuade turned and hesitated. No, he had nothing to say toMr. Warrington. He strode down the street toward his own offices. 

It will be seen that Warrington had gone directly into the enemy'scamp. He knew Walford of old; they were tolerably good friends. Hegave his card to the boy. Walford, on reading it, stuffed severalnewspapers into the waste-basket and pressed his foot on them. He wasa bit shaken. 

"Send him in. Hello, Dick, " he said. "How are you? You're the last manI expected to see this morning. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell your political reporter and your editorial man to let upon me for a week, " said Warrington directly. "What the devil have Idone to you chaps that you should light into me after this fashion?"

"You have become rich and famous, Dick, and mediocrity can standanything but that. " But there was a twinkle in Walford's eyes. 

"Come, Wally, you know that isn't the truth. "

"Well, if you want the truth I'll give it to you. Answer me franklyand honestly, do you consider that you have any moral right to accepta nomination for the mayoralty of Herculaneum?"

"Moral right. I'll pick up that phrase and carry it to your camp. Ihave as much moral right as Donnelly, who, if he hasn't been caught, is none the less culpable for breaking his oath of loyalty. You knowthis as well as I do. "

Walford eyed the waste-basket thoughtfully. 

"Now, we'll turn to the legal side, " continued Warrington. "I was bornhere; I cast my first vote here; for several years I've been aproperty owner and have paid my taxes without lying to thetax-assessor. It is notorious that Donnelly is worth half a million, and yet he is assessed upon a house worth about seven thousand. Youhave called me a meddler; you apply the term every day. Now draw thedistinction, as to eligibility, between Donnelly and myself. "

Walford got up from his chair and closed the door. He returned and satdown again. 

"Dick, politics is politics, and its ways are dark and mysterious, like the heathen Chinee. If I had your talent--if I had your abilityto earn money, I'd walk out of this office this moment. But I am onlya poor devil of a newspaper man. I've a family. When I was twenty, eighteen years ago, I was earning twelve a week; to-day it is forty;when I am sixty it will return to twelve. You know the business; youknow the value they set on a man's brains in this city. And there'salways somebody waiting for your shoes. Now, listen. In the firstplace I must live, and as honorably as environment permits me. Byconviction I am a Democrat; I believe in the Democratic principles. Thus, I consider it my duty to thwart, if possible, any and all movesthe Republican party makes. I recognize your strength, and I shall dowhat I can from my side of the barricade to defeat your nomination atthe Republican convention; for I believe you able, if once nominated, to lead your party to success and victory. But I shall fight youhonestly, Dick. In all I have said so far, there has been no innuendo;I've stood out in the open. I did you a good turn this morning, butyou will never be any the wiser. Personally, I like you; I have alwaysliked you, and I am glad to see one man of the craft rise above thegrubs and earn a splendid competence. It hasn't been easy, Dick;you've had to fight for it, and that's what I admire. You're a good, clean fighter. If I should rebel against continuing this attackagainst you, the attack would go on, but I shouldn't. That would doneither of us any good. McQuade might find a man with less scruplesthan I have. And that's how the matter stands, Dick. "

"Well, you're frank and honest about it, and I know you will at leastgive me a square deal, in the event of my nomination. "

"You may reckon on that. Good luck to you and bad luck to your cause. "

They talked about the old days for a while, and then Warringtondeparted and directed his steps to the office of the Journal, thepaper in which he had begun his career. Oh, here they were willing todo anything in their power from now on. If he was really determined toaccept the nomination, they would aid him editorially. That eveningthe editor made good his word, frankly indorsing Warrington as thebest possible choice for Republican nominee. The editor explained hisformer attitude by setting forth his belief that Mr. Warrington'scandidacy was not serious. At the office of the Telegraph they treatedhim cordially enough. They never meddled with politics till the fightwas on. Then they picked the candidate whose views most coincided withtheir own. If Mr. Warrington was nominated, doubtless they wouldsupport his ticket. The general manager had been a classmate ofWarrington's. He called on him and explained his errand. The managersimply wrote on a pad: "McQuade owns fifty-five per cent. Of theshares, " held it under Warrington's nose and then tore it up. 

"That's where our independence stands at this moment. "

"I had heard of this, but didn't quite believe it, " Warrington said. Bill Osborne evidently knew what was going on, then. "I'm sorry tohave troubled you. "

"None at all. "

On the street Warrington was stopped by Ben Jordan, the Telegraph'sstar reporter, who had worked with Warrington on the Journal. 

"Say, Dick, I am glad to see you. I was going up to your house onpurpose to see you. Come over to Martin's a minute. I've got some newsthat might interest you. "

"I don't like Martin's place, " said Warrington. "Let's compromise onHanley's. "

"All right, my boy. "

They walked down to Hanley's, talking animatedly. 

"What will you have, Ben?"

"Musty ale. "

"Two musty ales, " Warrington ordered. "Well, Ben?"

Ben took a deep swallow of ale. He was the best all-round reporter inthe city; he knew more people than Osborne knew. Murders, strikes, fires, they were all the same to Ben. He knew where to start and whereto end. The city editor never sent Ben out on a hunt for scandal; heknew better than to do that. Nine times out of ten, the other papersgot the scandal and Ben's behavior became one. The labor unions wereBen's great stand-by. On dull days he could always get a story fromthe unions. He attended their meetings religiously. They trusted himimplicitly, for Ben never broke his word to any one but his landlady. He was short and wiry, with a head so large as to be almost adeformity. On top of this head was a shock of brick-colored hair thatresembled a street-cleaner's broom. And Ben's heart was as big as hishead. His generosity was always getting him into financial trouble. 

"Dick, you're a friend of Bennington's. You can quietly tip him thathis men will go out Monday morning. There's only one thing that willavert a strike, and that's the discharge of the Englishman. "

"Bennington will never discharge him. "

"So I understand. He'll have a long strike on his hands. "

"Do you know the inside?"

"Enough to say that the men will go out. They're a lot of sheep. They've an idea they've been wronged. But you can't reason with them. "

"Ben, you go up to the shops yourself and tell Bennington what youknow. "

"I don't know him. How'll he take it?"

"Tell him I sent you. "

"I'll do it, Dick. But if he kicks me out, the drinks will be on you. What countermove will he make?"

"Better ask him yourself. But if you have any influence among theunions, tell them to go slow. They haven't sized up Bennington. Wait amoment. I'll give you a note to him. " He called for paper andenvelopes, and wrote:

Dear John:

This will introduce to you Mr. Jordan, a reporter in whom I have thegreatest confidence. Whatever you may tell him you may rest assuredthat he will never repeat. I am sending him to you in hopes he maysuggest some plan by which to ward off the impending strike. There maybe a little self-interest on my side. A strike just now will raise thedevil in politics. You may trust Jordan fully. 

Warrington. 

He pushed it across the table. "There, that will smooth the way. "

"Many thanks, my son. Where's he eat his lunch?"

"Usually in the office. "

"Well, I'm off!"

Ben always had his eye on the story of to-morrow, and he would faceall or any difficulties in pursuit of the end. If he could stop thestrike at the Bennington shops it would be a great thing for theTelegraph and a great thing for Ben. So he hailed a car, serenelyunconscious that he was taking a position absolutely opposed to thatof his employer. He arrived at the shops some time before the noonhour. His letter opened all doors. Bennington was in his privateoffice. He read the letter and offered Ben a chair. 

"I have never been interviewed, " he said. 

"I am not here for an interview, " said Ben. "Your men will go outMonday. "

"Monday? How did you learn that?"

"My business takes me among the unions. What shall you do in the eventof the strike?"

"And I have no desire to be interviewed. "

"You read Mr. Warrington's letter. Perhaps, if I knew what stand youwill take, I could talk to the men myself. I have averted three orfour strikes in my time, simply because the boys know that I alwaysspeak the truth, the plain truth. In this case I feel that you havethe right on your side. You haven't said anything yet. The union ispractically trying to bluff you into coming to its terms: thedischarge of the inventor, or a strike. "

"Are you representing the union?"

"I am representing nobody but myself. "

"I may tell you, then, that I shall not discharge the inventor. Norwill I, if the men go out, take a single one of them back. "

"The men will not believe that. They never do. They've been sosuccessful in Pennsylvania that they are attempting to repeat thatsuccess all over the Country. They have grown pig-headed. I feel sorryfor the poor devils, who never realize when they are well off. "

"I feel sorry, too, Mr. Jordan, " said Bennington. He played a tattooon his strong white teeth with his pencil. "Mr. Warrington seems toknow you well. "

"We began on the Journal together. You will not tell me what your planis, then?"

"I'd rather not, for honestly, I can not see how it would better thecase. "

"It might be worth while to give me a chance. "

Bennington re-read Warrington's note. Then he studied the frank blueeyes of the reporter. 

"Miss Ward, you may go, " he said to the stenographer. "Now, "--when thegirl had gone, --"you will give me your word?"

"It's all I have. "

"How can you convince the men without telling them?"

"Oh, I meant that whatever you tell me shall not see light in thepapers till I have your permission. There's a weekly meeting to-night. They will decide finally at this meeting. To-morrow will be too late. "

Bennington was an accurate judge of men. He felt that he could trustthis shock-headed journalist. If without any loss of self-respect, ifwithout receding a single step from his position, he could avert thecrash, he would gladly do so. He had reached one determination, andnothing on earth would swerve him. So he told Ben just exactly whatwould happen if the men went out. Ben did not doubt him for a moment. He, too, was something of a judge of men. This man would never backdown. 

"I give you this to show them, if your arguments do not prevail, "concluded Bennington, producing a folded paper. "They will hardlydoubt this. "

Ben opened it. It was a permit from the municipal government to teardown a brick structure within the city limits. Ben stowed the permitin his pocket. He looked with admiration at the man who could plan, coolly and quietly, the destruction of a fortune that had taken aquarter of a century to build. He was grave. There was a bigresponsibility pressing on his shoulders. 

"Much obliged. You will never regret the confidence you repose in me. Now I'll tell you something on my side. It is not the inventor, thoughthe men believe it is. The inventor is a pretext of Morrissy, theunion leader. "

"A pretext?"

"I can't prove what I say, that's the trouble; but McQuade has hishand in this. I wish to Heaven I could find solid proofs. "

"McQuade?" Bennington scowled. He could readily understand now. McQuade! This was McQuade's revenge. He could wait patiently all thiswhile!

"I'll do what I can, Mr. Bennington; I'll do what I can. "

Bennington ate no lunch that noon. Instead, he wandered about thegreat smoky shops, sweeping his glance over the blast-furnaces, thegutters into which the molten ore was poured, the giant trip-hammers, the ponderous rolling-machines, the gas-furnaces for tempering finesteel. The men moved aside. Only here and there a man, grown old inthe shops, touched his grimy cap. . .. To tear it down! It would belike rending a limb, for he loved every brick and stone and girder, ashis father before him had loved them. He squared his shoulders, andhis jaws hardened. No man, without justice on his side, should dictateto him; no man should order him to hire this man or discharge thatone. He alone had that right; he alone was master. Bennington was nota coward; he would not sell to another; he would not shirk the tasklaid out for his hand. Unionism, such as it stood, must receive aviolent lesson. And McQuade?

"Damn him!" he muttered, his fingers knotting. 

Education subdues or obliterates the best of fighting in the cowardonly. The brave man is always masculine in these crises, and he willfight with his bare hands when reason and intelligence fail. A greatlonging rose up in Bennington's heart to have it out physically withMcQuade. To feel that gross bulk under his knees, to sink his fingersinto that brawny throat!--The men, eying him covertly, saw his arms gooutward and his hands open and shut convulsively. More than ever theyavoided his path. Once before they had witnessed a similarabstraction. They had seen him fling to the ground a huge puddler whohad struck his apprentice without cause. The puddler, one of thestrongest men in the shops, struggled to his feet and rushed at hisassailant. Bennington had knocked him down again, and this time thepuddler remained on the ground, insensible. Bennington had gone backto his office, shutting and opening his fists. Ay, they had long sinceceased calling him the dude. The man of brawn has a hearty respect forspectacular exhibitions of strength. 

One o'clock. The trip-hammers began their intermittent thunder, therolling-machines shrieked, and the hot ore sputtered and crackled. Bennington returned to his office and re-read the letter his fatherhad written to him on his death-bed. He would obey it to the finalline. 

That particular branch of the local unions which was represented inthe Bennington steel-mills met in the loft of one of the brickbuildings off the main street. The room was spacious, but illventilated. That, night it was crowded. The men were noisy, and a hazeof rank tobacco-smoke drifted aimlessly about, vainly seeking egress. Morrissy called the meeting to order at eight-thirty. He spoke brieflyof the injustice of the employers, locally and elsewhere, of theburdens the laboring man had always borne and would always bear, solong as he declined to demand his rights. The men cheered him. Manyhad been drinking freely. Morrissy stated the case against Bennington. He used his words adroitly and spoke with the air of a man who regretsexceedingly a disagreeable duty. 

From his seat in the rear Jordan watched him, following each wordclosely. He saw that Morrissy knew his business thoroughly. 

"We'll get what we want, men; we always do. It isn't a matter ofmoney; it's principle. If we back down, we are lost; if we surrenderthis time, we'll have to surrender one thing at a time till we're awayback where we started from, slaves to enrich the oppressor. We've gotto fight for our rights. Here's an inventor who, if we permit him toremain, will succeed in throwing two hundred men out of work. Bennington is making enough money as things are now. There's no needof improvement, such as will take bread and butter out of our mouths, out of the mouths of our wives and children. We've got to strike. That'll bring him to his senses. "

At the conclusion he was loudly applauded. 

Jordan stood up and waited till the noise had fully subsided. Everybody knew him. They had seen him stand up before, and he alwayssaid something worth listening to. 

"You all know me, boys, " he began. 

"You bet!"

"You're all right!"

"Speech! Go ahead!"

Jordan caught Morrissy's eye. Morrissy nodded with bad grace. Jordanspoke for half an hour. He repeated word for word what Bennington hadtold him. In the end he was greeted with laughter. 

"Very well, boys, " he said, shrugging. "It's none of my business. You've never caught me lying yet. You don't know this man Bennington. I believe I do. He'll make good his threat. Wait and see. "

"How much were you paid to attend this meeting?" demanded Morrissy, sneering. 

"A good deal less than you were, Mr. Morrissy. " There was a dangerousflush on Ben's cheeks, but the smoke was so dense that Morrissy failedto observe it. The men laughed again, accepting Ben's retort as apiece of banter. Ben went on doggedly: "I have in my pocket a permitto tear down the shops. Bennington gave it to me to produce. Look atit, if you doubt my word. There it is. "

The men passed it along the aisles. It came back presently, much theworse for the wear. Some of the older men looked exceedingly grave, but they were in the minority. 

"Anybody can get a permit to tear down his property, " said Morrissyscornfully. "It's a big bluff, men. What! tear down the golden goose?Not in a thousand years! It's a plain bluff. And I'm sorry to see adecent man like our newspaper friend on the enemy's side. "

"If I am on the enemy's side, Mr. Morrissy, it's because I'm a friendof every man here, save one, " significantly. "You men will vote astrike. I can see that. But you'll regret it to your last day. I'venothing more to say. I helped you once when old man Bennington wasalive, but I guess you've forgotten it. " Ben sat down in silence. 

"We'll proceed with the voting, " said Morrissy. 

Half an hour later there was a cheer. The men would go out Monday, ifthe demands of the committee were not acceded to. The meeting brokeup, and many of the men flocked into the near-by saloons. Morrissyapproached Ben, who had waited for him. No one was within earshot. 

"What the hell do you mean by saying you were paid less than I was?"he said, his jaw protruding at an ugly angle. 

"I mean, Morrissy, " answered Ben fearlessly, "that you had better movecarefully in the future. If I were you, I wouldn't accept anyunstamped envelopes in Herculaneum It would be a good plan to go tosome other town for that. "

"Why, damn you!" Morrissy raised his fist. 

"Stay where you are, " warned Ben, seizing a camp-chair "or I'll breakyour head. Listen to me. I'm starting out from this night on to breakyou, and, by God, I'll do it before the year is over. This is yourlast strike, so make the most of it. You were at Schmuck's the othernight, you and McQuade. There was a friend of mine on the other sideof the partition. Unfortunately this friend was alone. I haven't gotany proofs, but I'll get them. "

Morrissy became yellower than his diamonds. Ben flung aside his chairand left the hall. He went straight to Martin's saloon. He found BillOsborne alone at a table. 

"Will they strike, Ben?" he asked in a rough whisper. 

"Yes. I thought I might influence them, Bill, but I've only made anass of myself. Two whiskies, " he ordered, "and make one of them stiff. I told Morrissy. "

"You didn't mention my name, Ben? Don't say you told him that I was onthe other side of the partition!" Bill's eyes nearly stood out of hishead. 

"I told him nothing. How'd you happen to land in Schmuck's saloon, anyhow? Why didn't you telephone me when you heard Morrissy come in?"

"Oh. Ben, I was drunk! If I hadn't been so drunk!" Bill's eyesoverflowed remorsefully. 

Ben swore. 

"And say, Ben, that fellow Bolles is back in town. He was in here afew minutes ago, drunk as a lord. He flashed a roll of bills thatwould have choked an ox. "

"Where is he now?"

"Up stairs playing the wheel. "

Ben shook his head. He had his salary in his pocket, and he vividlyremembered what roulette had done to it a fortnight gone. 

"If Bolles is drunk, it wouldn't do any good to talk to him. " Bensighed and drank his liquor neat. He was tired. 

Chapter XIII

Regularly once a week Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene visited a hair-dresser. This distinguished social leader employed a French maid who was veryadept at dressing hair, but the two never got along very wellverbally; Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene insisted on speaking in broken Frenchwhile the maid persisted in broken English. Such conversation isnaturally disjointed and leads nowhere. The particular hair-dresserwho received Mrs. Haldene's patronage possessed a lively imaginationtogether with an endless chain of gossip. Mrs. Haldene was superior togossiping with servants, but a hair-dresser is a little closer inrelation to life. Many visited her in the course of a week, and somehad the happy faculty of relieving their minds of what they saw andheard regardless of the social status of the listener. Mrs. Haldenenever came away from the hair-dresser's empty-handed; in fact, shecarried away with her food for thought that took fully a week todigest. 

Like most places of its kind, the establishment was located in theboarding-house district; but this did not prevent fashionablecarriages from stopping at the door, nor the neighboring boarders fromsitting on their front steps and speculating as to whom this or thatcarriage belonged. There was always a maid on guard in the hall; shewas very haughty and proportionately homely. It did not occur to theproprietress that this maid was a living advertisement of herincompetence to perform those wonders stated in the neat littlepamphlets piled on the card-table; nor did it impress the patrons, whotook it for granted that the maid, naturally enough, could not affordto have the operation of beauty performed. 

A woman with wrinkles is always hopeful. 

A strange medley of persons visited this house, each seeking in herown peculiar way the elixir of life, which is beauty, or the potion oflove, which is beauty's handmaiden. There were remedies plus remedies;the same skin-food was warranted to create double-chins or destroythem; the same tonic killed superfluous hair or made it grow on baldspots. A freckle to eradicate, a wrinkle to remove, a moth-patch tobleach, a grey hair to dye; nothing was impossible here, not evencredulity. It was but meet that the mistress should steal past theservant, that the servant should dodge the mistress. Every womancraves beauty, but she does not want the public to know that herbeauty is of the kind in which nature has no hand. No man is a hero tohis valet; no woman is a beauty to her maid. In and out, to and fro;the social leader, the shop-girl, the maid, the woman of the town, theactress, the thin old spinster and the fat matron, here might they befound. 

At rare intervals a man was seen to ring the bell, but he was either abill-collector or a husband in search of his wife. 

The proprietress knew everybody intimately--by sight. She was squat, dyed, rouged and penciled, badly, too. She was written down in thecity directory as Madame de Chevreuse, but she was emphatically not ofFrench extraction. In her alphabet there were generally buttwenty-five letters; there were frequent times when she had no ideathat there existed such a letter as "g. " How she came to appropriateso distinguished a name as De Chevreuse was a puzzle. Her husband--forshe had a husband--was always reading French history in English, and doubtless this name appealed to his imagination and romance. Nobody knew what Madame's real name was, nor that of her husband, forhe was always called "Monseer. "

The reception-room was decorated after the prevailing fashion. Therewas gilt and pretense. There were numerous glass cases, filled withlotions and skin-foods and other articles of toilet; there werefaceless heads adorned with all shades of hair, scalps, pompadours, and wigs. A few false-faces grinned or scowled or smirked from framesor corners where they were piled. There were tawdry masqueradecostumes, too, and theatrical make-up. Curtains divided the severalshampooing booths, and a screen cut off the general view of theoperation of beauty. However, there were chinks large enough for theinquisitive, and everybody was inquisitive who patronized Madame deChevreuse, pronounced Chevroose. 

And always and ever there prevailed without regeneration the odor ofcheap perfumes and scented soaps. 

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left her carriage at the door, perfectly willingthat the neighborhood should see her alight. She climbed the steps, stately and imposing. She was one of the few women who could overawethe homely girl in the hallway. 

"Is Madame at liberty?"

"She will be shortly, Mrs. Haldene. "

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene passed into the reception-room and sat down bythe manicure table. The screen was in position. Some one was beingbeautified. From time to time she heard voices. 

"The make-up is taking splendidly to-day. "

"Well, it didn't last week. I sweat pink beads all over my newmuslin. "

"It does peel in hot weather. I understand that Mrs. Welford is goingto Dakota. "

"He ought to have the first chance there, if what I've heard about heris true. These society women make me tired. "

"They haven't much to occupy their time. "

"Oh, I don't know. They occupy their time in running around after theother women's husbands. "

"And the husbands?"

"The other men's wives. "

"You aren't very charitable. "

"Nobody's ever given me any charity, I'm sure. "

From one of the shampooing booths:

"But you would look very well in the natural grey, ma'am. "

"My husband doesn't think so. "

"But his hair is grey. "

"That doesn't lessen his regard for brunettes. "

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shrugged her majestic shoulders and gazed againinto the street. She always regretted that Madame could not be inducedto make private visits. 

A white poodle, recently shampooed, dashed through the rooms. There isalways a watery-eyed, red-lidded poodle in an establishment of thisorder. The masculine contempt for the pug has died. It took twentyyears to accomplish these obsequies. But the poodle, the poor poodle!Call a man a thief, a wretch, a villain, and he will defend himself;but call him a poodle, and he slinks out of sight. It is impossible toexplain definitely the cause of this supreme contempt for the poodle, nor why it should be considered the epitome of opprobrium to be calledone. 

"Maime?"

"Yes, Madame!" replied the girl in the hall. 

"Take Beauty into the kitchen and close the door. He's just beenwashed, and I don't want him all speckled up with hair-dye. "

The girl drove the poodle out of the reception-room and caught him inthe hall. Presently the kitchen door slammed and the odor of onions insoup no longer fought against the perfumes and soaps for supremacy. 

"There, " said Madame behind the screen, "you have no rival in town nowfor beauty. "

"I'll be here again next Tuesday. "

"Same time?"

"Yes, in the morning. "

A woman emerged from behind the screen. She possessed a bold beauty, the sort that appeals to men without intellect. She was dressedextravagantly: too many furbelows, too many jewels, too many flowers. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene recognized her instantly and turned her headtoward the window. She heard the woman pass by her, enter the hall andleave the house. She saw her walk quickly away, stop suddenly as ifshe had forgotten something, open her large purse, turn its contentsinside out, replace them, and proceed. But a letter lay on thesidewalk unnoticed. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene secretly hoped that it wouldremain there till she made her departure. 

"Handsome woman, isn't she?" said Madame. "I don't know what it is, but they are always good-looking. "

"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who knew very well who thewoman was. 

"She is one of Mr. McQuade's lady friends. "

"Indeed?"

"Yes. " Madame was shrewd. She saw that it wouldn't do to tell Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene anything about a woman who could in no way be of useto her. "Have you heard of the Sybil?"

"The Sybil?" repeated Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. 

"Yes. A new fortune-teller, and everybody says she's a wonder. Ihaven't been to her yet, but I'm goin' just as soon as I get time. "

"Do you believe they know what they are talking about?" incredulously. 

"Know! I should say I did. Old Mother Danforth has told me lots ofthings that have come true. She was the one who predicted the Spanishwar and the president's assassination. It is marvelous, but she doneit. "

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shuddered. With all her faults, she loved theEnglish language. 

"How do you want your hair fixed?" Madame inquired, seeing that herpatron's interest in mediums was not strong. 

"The same as usual. Last week you left a streak, and I am sureeverybody noticed it at the Gordon tea. Be careful to-day. "

Thereupon Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene constituted herself a martyr to thecause. She was nervous and fidgety in the chair, for the picture ofthat letter on the sidewalk kept recurring. In the meantime Madametold her all that had happened and all that hadn't, which is equallyvaluable. The toilet lasted an hour; and when Mrs. Franklyn-Haldenerose from the chair, Madame was as dry as a brook in August. Herpatron hurried to the street. The letter was still on the sidewalk. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene picked it up and quickly sought her carriage. Pah! how the thing smelt of sachet-powder. Her aristocratic nosewrinkled in disdain. But her curiosity surmounted her naturalrepugnance. The address was written in a coarse masculine hand. Thecarriage had gone two blocks before she found the necessary courage toopen the letter. The envelope had already been opened, so in readingit her conscience suggested nothing criminal. 

Gossip began on the day Eve entered the Garden of Eden. To be sure, there was little to gossip about, but that little Eve managed withoutdifficulty to collect. It is but human to take a harmless interest inwhat our next-door neighbor is doing, has done, or may do. Primarilygossip was harmless; to-day it is still harmless in some quarters. Thegossip of the present time is like the prude, always looking for theworst and finding it. The real trouble with the gossip lies in thefact that she has little else to do; her own affairs are souninteresting that she is perforce obliged to look into the affairs ofher neighbors. Then, to prove that she is well informed, she feelscompelled to repeat what she has seen or heard, more or lessaccurately. From gossiping to meddling is but a trifling step. To backup a bit of gossip, one often meddles. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene wasnaturally a daughter of Eve; she was more than a gossip, she was aprophetess. She foretold scandal. She would move Heaven and earth, sothe saying goes, to prove her gossip infallible. And when someprophecy of hers went wrong, she did everything in her power to rightit. To have acquired the reputation of prophesying is one thing, always to fulfil these prophecies is another. It never occurred to herthat she was destroying other people's peace of mind, that she wasconstituting herself a Fate, that she was meddling with lives which inno wise crossed or interfered with her own. She had no real enmityeither for Warrington or Mrs. Jack; simply, she had prophesied thatWarrington had taken up his residence in Herculaneum in order to benear Katherine Challoner, John Bennington's wife. Here was a yearnearly gone, and the smoke of the prophecy had evaporated, showingthat there had been no fire below. 

Neither Warrington nor Mrs. Jack was in her thoughts when she openedthe letter, which was signed by McQuade's familiar appellation. 

Dear Girl--I've got them all this trip. I'll put Bennington on therack and wring Warrington's political neck, the snob, swelling itaround among decent people! What do you think? Why, Warrington used torun after the Challoner woman before she was married; and I have proofthat she went to Warrington's room one night and never left tillmorning. How's that sound? They stick up their noses at you, do they?Wait! They won't look so swell when I'm through with them. IfWarrington's name is even mentioned at the Republican convention, I'vemissed my guess. I got your bills this morning. You'd better go lighttill I've settled with these meddlers. Then we'll pack up our duds andtake that trip to Paris I promised you. 

Mac. 

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shivered. How horribly vulgar! She felt pollutedfor a moment, and half wished she had let the missive lie where it hadfallen. But this sense of disgust wore off directly. She had beenright, then; there was something wrong; it was her duty, her duty tosociety, to see that this thing went no further. And that flirtationbetween Patty and the dramatist must be brought to a sudden halt. How?Ah, she would now find the means. He was merely hoodwinking Patty; itwas a trick to be near Mrs. Jack. She had ignored her, had she? Shehad always scorned to listen to the truth about people, had she? Andwell she might! Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips tightened. Those friendsof hers who had doubted would presently doubt no more. She hadn't theslightest idea how McQuade would use his information; she didn't evencare, so long as he used it. She grew indignant. The idea of thatwoman's posing as she did! The idea of her dreaming to holdpermanently the footing she had gained in society! It was nothingshort of monstrous. The ever-small voice of conscience spoke, but sherefused to listen. She did not ask herself if what McQuade had in hispossession was absolute truth. Humanity believes most what it mostdesires to believe. And aside from all this, it was a triumph, avindication of her foresight. 

"To the Western Union, " she called to the groom. When the carriagedrew up before the telegraph office, she gave the letter to the groom. "I found this on the sidewalk. Have them return it to the owner bymessenger. " This was done. "Now, home, " she ordered. 

That afternoon she attended a large reception. Her bland smile was asbland as ever, but her eyes shone with suppressed excitement. TheBenningtons were there, but there was only a frigid nod when sheencountered Mrs. Jack and Patty. She wondered that she nodded at all. She took her friend, Mrs. Fairchilds, into a corner. She simply had totell some one of her discovery, or at least a hint of it. 

"Do you recollect what I told you?"

"About--?" Mrs. Fairchilds glanced quickly at Mrs. Jack. 

"Yes. Every word was true, and there will be a great upheaval shortly. But not a word to a soul. I never gossip, but in this instance I feelit my duty to warn you. How and where I learned the truth isimmaterial. I have learned it, and that is sufficient. It isfrightful; it makes my blood boil when I think of it. And she goeseverywhere, as if she had a perfect right. "

"What have you found?" Mrs. Fairchilds could scarcely breathe, sogreat was her curiosity. 

"You will learn soon enough without my telling you. " And that was allMrs. Franklyn-Haldene would say. 

But it was enough, enough for her purpose. Within an hour's time allthe old doubt had been stirred into life again, and the meddlersgathered about for the feast. It is all so simple and easy. 

Mrs. Jack moved here and there, serenely beautiful, serenely happy, serenely unconscious of the blow that was soon to strike at the veryheart of her life. Once in a while her brows would draw togetherabstractedly. She was thinking of John, and of the heartaches he washaving over the action of the men at the shops. 

Patty was not gay. She seemed to be impatient to leave. Three or fourtimes she asked Mrs. Jack if she were ready to go; she was tired, thepeople bored her, she wanted to go home. Finally Mrs. Jacksurrendered. 

That night at dinner John was very quiet and absent-minded. The shops, the shops, he was thinking of them continuously. In his heart ofhearts he had no faith in the reporter's influence. The strike maniahad seized the men, and nothing now could hold them back. He knew theywould doubt his threat to tear down the buildings. Not till he sentthe builder's wrecking crew would they understand. Not a hair'sbreadth, not the fraction of an inch; if they struck, it would be theend. He gazed at his wife, the melting lights of love in his handsomeeyes. Hey-dey! She would always be with him, and together they wouldgo about the great world and forget the injustice and ingratitude ofmen. But it was going to be hard. Strong men must have something tolay their hands to. He knew that he could not remain idle very long;he must be doing something. But out of the shops he felt that he wouldbe like a ship without steering apparatus--lost, aimless, purposeless. 

"John?"

He woke from his dream, and forced a smile to his lips. 

"You haven't eaten anything. "

"I'm not hungry, dear. "

"You haven't spoken half a dozen words since you came home. "

"Haven't I? I must have been thinking. "

"About the shops?" laying her hand on his and pressing it strongly. 

"Yes. I'm afraid, heart o' mine, that it's all over. If they do notstrike now, they will later on; if not on this pretext, on someother. "

"Why not let him go, John?"

"No. " His jaws hardened. "It isn't a question of his going or staying;it is simply a question of who is master, the employed or theemployer. The men say it's the principle of the thing; it shall befought out on those grounds. I'm going down to the club to-night withDick. I feel the need of getting out and breathing. Dick's not thebest company just now, but he'll understand what I need. Poor devil!he's got his hands full, too. "

She understood his mood, and offered no objection. She raised his handand brushed it with her lips. 

"I love you, John. "

He smiled gratefully. 

"You go over to mother's for the evening, and I'll drop in on the wayhome and pick you up. "

Patty was in the music-room, so Mrs. Jack did not disturb her, butstarted at her basket-work. Mrs. Bennington read till eight, andretired. Patty played all the melancholy music she could think of. When love first makes its entrance into the human heart, there isneither joy nor gladness nor gaiety. On the contrary, there is a vastshadow of melancholy, a painful sadness, doubt and cross-purpose, boldness at one moment and timidity at the next, a longing forsolitude. Music and painting and poetry, these arts that onlyattracted, now engage. 

So Patty played. 

Sometimes Mrs. Jack looked up from her work, wondering. She had neverheard Patty play so many haunting, dismal compositions. At nine thetelephone rang, and she dropped her work instantly, thinking the callmight be from John. Ah, if the men would only listen to reason!

"Hello!"

"Is Mrs. Bennington at home?" asked a voice, unfamiliar to her ears. 

"There are two. Which one do you wish?"

"Mrs. John Bennington. "

"This is Mrs. John Bennington speaking. What is it?"

There was a pause. 

"I have something very important to communicate to you. In the firstplace, you must use your influence in making Mr. Warrington withdrawhis name as a candidate for nomination. "

"Who is this speaking?" she asked sharply. 

"Mr. McQuade. "

The receiver nearly fell from her hand. McQuade? What in the world--

"Did you get the name?"

"Yes. But I fail to understand what you are talking about. I warn youthat I shall ring off immediately. "

"One moment, please. If you hang up the receiver, you will regret it. I wish you no ill, Mrs. Bennington. If it were possible I should liketo talk with you personally, for this matter deeply concerns yourfuture happiness. I can not call; I have been ordered out of yourhusband's house. It lies in your power to influence Warrington to drophis political ambition. Information has come to my hand that would notlook very well in the newspapers. It is in my power to stop it, but Ipromise not to lift a hand if you refuse. "

"I not only refuse, but I promise to repeat your conversation to myhusband this very night. " With that Mrs. Jack hung up the receiver. She rose, pale and terribly incensed. The low fellow! How dared he, how dared he! "Patty!" The call brooked no dallying. 

The music ceased. Patty came out, blinking. 

"You called me, Kate?"

"Patty, McQuade has been calling me up on the telephone. "

"Who?"

"McQuade, McQuade! He says that if I do not influence Mr. Warringtonto withdraw his name--Did you ever hear of such a thing? I amfurious! What can it mean? He says he has heard something about mewhich he can suppress but will not if I--Why, Patty, what shall I do?What shall I do?" She crushed her hands together wildly. 

"Tell John, " said Patty sensibly. 

"John? He would thresh McQuade within an inch of his life. "

"Tell Warrington, then. "

"He would do the same as John. But what can the wretch have found? Godknows, Patty, I have always been a good, true woman. . .. Think of thatman's telephoning me!"

Patty ran to her side and flung her arms about her brother's wife. Patty loved her. 

"Don't you bother your head, darling. It can't be anything but apolitical dodge; it can't be anything serious. McQuade is low enoughto frighten women, but don't let him frighten you. I know he lies, "said the loyal Patty. "And now that I think it over, it would be bestto say nothing to John or Richard. Fisticuffs would get into thepapers, and it's my opinion that's just what this man McQuade wants. He could swear to a thousand lies, if the matter became public. Butoh!" clenching her hands fiercely, "I'd give a year of my life to seeJohn thresh him. But you say nothing; let us wait and see. "

Wise Patty!

At that very moment McQuade sat swinging in his swivel-chair. Therewas a smile of satisfaction on his face. 

"That'll bring 'em, " he said aloud, though he was alone. "That'llbring 'em both up here, roaring like lions. They'll muss up thefurniture, and then I can tell the reporters all about it. EvenWalford can't object this time. "

He rubbed his hands together like Shylock at the thought of his poundof flesh. He had waited a long time. They had ordered him, McQuade. Who held the city in his hand--they had ordered him out of the house. Not a grain of mercy, not half a grain. Two birds with one stone. Hewas shrewd for all his illiteracy. He knew women passably well. Thisone would tell her husband, who would seek for immediate vengeance. 

But sometimes chance overthrows the best-laid plans of cleverness andforesight. And this remarkable plan of McQuade's was deranged by achance guess by Patty. 

Meantime at Martin's it was growing lively. The bar was crowded, therestaurant was being liberally patronized, and persons went up thestairs that did not return. Jordan paid the check, and he and Osbornewent out. 

"When'll they go out, Ben?"

"Monday. "

"Too bad. I wish I'd been sober. "

"I'll break Morrissy's head one of these fine days. Let's go over toJohnny's; there's music over there. "

"All right, Ben. "

"And no more booze, mind. "

"Just as you say. "

Up stairs the gambling-den was doing a good business. The annualtrotting meet had brought many sporting men to town. They werestanding around the faro table; the two roulette wheels were going, and the Klondike machine spun ceaselessly. There were a dozen stacksof chips in front of Bolles. He was smiling, flushed with triumph andwhisky. 

"Three hundred to the good, old boy!" he said to the man who spun theivory ball. "I'll break you fellows to-night. "

"Bring Mr. Bolles another whisky, " said the proprietor. 

"I'll take all you can bring. "

"You're a tank, sure. "

"You bet!" Bolles grinned. 

So did the banker, covertly. He had seen the comedy played a thousandtimes. Few men ever took away their winnings, once they started in todrink, and Bolles was already drunk. He lost his next bet. He doubledand lost again. Then he stacked his favorite number. The ball rolledinto it, but jumped the compartment, wizard-wise, and dropped intosingle-o. Bolles cursed the luck. Another whisky was placed at hiselbow. He drank it at a gulp. 

"Make the limit five, " he cried. 

The banker nodded to the man at the wheel. 

Bolles made six bets. He lost them. A quarter of an hour later hisentire winnings had passed over the table. He swore, and drew out aroll of bills. He threw a fifty on the black. Red won. He doubled onblack. Red won. He plunged. He could not win a single bet. He triednumbers, odd and even, the dozens, splits, squares, column. Fortunehad withdrawn her favor. 

"Hell!"

He played his last ten on black, and lost. 

"Let me have a hundred. "

The banker shook his head and pointed to the signs on the wall:"Checks for money, money for checks, no mouth-bets. "

Bolles felt in his pockets and repeated the futile search. 

"Not a damned cent!" he shouted. "Cleaned out!"

"Give Mr. Bolles a ten-spot, " said the banker. "But you can't play ithere, Bolles, " was the warning. 

Bolles stuffed the note in his pocket and rose. He was very drunk; hehimself did not realize how drunk he was till he started for the door. He staggered and lurched against the sideboard. His hat rolled fromhis head. An attendant quickly recovered it, and Bolles slapped it onhis head. 

"Get out o' the way! It's a snide game, anyhow. You've got wires onthe machine. You've got seven hundred o' my money, and you give meten! Hell!"

They opened the door for him and he stumbled out into the dark, unlighted hallway. He leaned against the wall, trying to think it out, searching his pockets again and again. Why in hell hadn't he left someof the money with the bartender? Broke, clean, flat broke! And he hadpushed his winnings up to three hundred! He became ugly, now that hefully realized what had happened. He ground his teeth and cursedloudly; he even kicked the door savagely. Then he swung rather thanwalked down the stairs. He turned into the bar and bought three morewhiskies, and was then primed for any deviltry. He was very drunk, butit was a wide-awake drunkenness, cruel and revengeful. He turned intothe alley and tried to think of some plan by which he could borrowenough to make a new attempt at fickle fortune. To-morrow he couldstrike McQuade again, but to-night McQuade wouldn't listen to him. Every once in a while he would renew the searching of his pockets, butthere was only the remainder of the ten the banker had given him. 

John and Warrington had played an uninteresting game of billiards atthe club, then finally sought the night and tramped idly about thestreets. With Warrington it was sometimes his aunt, sometimes the newlife that beat in his heart when he saw Patty, sometimes this game hewas playing which had begun in jest and had turned to earnest. WithJohn it was the shops, the shops, always and ever the shops. When theyspoke it was in monosyllables. Nevertheless it was restful to each ofthem to be so well understood that verbal expression was notnecessary. They had started toward Martin's on the way home, whenWarrington discovered that he was out of cigars. He ran back three orfour doors while John proceeded slowly. Just as he was about to crossthe alley-way a man suddenly lurched out into the light. He wasdrunk, but not the maudlin, helpless intoxication that seeks andinvites sociability. He was murderously drunk, strong, nervous, excited. He barred Bennington's way. 

"I thought it was you!" he said venomously. 

Bennington drew back and started to pass around the man. He did notrecognize him. He saw in the action only a man disorderly drunk. Buthe hadn't taken two steps before the other's words stopped himabruptly. 

"You're a millionaire, eh? Well, I'll soon fix you and your actressand her lover. Take that as a starter!"

He struck Bennington savagely on the cheek-bone. Bennington stumbledback, but managed to save himself from falling. Instantly all the warthat was in his soul saw an outlet. He came back, swift as a pantherand as powerful. In an instant his assailant was on his back on thepavement, the strong fingers tightening about the wretch's throat;Bolles was a powerful man, but he had not the slightest chance. Not asound from either man. There were one or two pedestrians on theopposite side of the street, but either these did not see or wouldnot. 

Warrington had made a hurried purchase. As he left the cigar store, hesaw the two men fall. He ran up quickly, wondering what the troublewas. He had no idea that John was one of the men, but as he saw thelight grey suit, and the Panama lying on the ground, he knew. 

"For God's sake, John, what are you doing?" he cried. 

With a superhuman effort he dragged the enraged man from the prostrateform in the road. It no longer struggled, but lay inert and withoutmotion. 

"Was I killing him, Dick?" said John, in a quavering voice. "He struckme and--Am I mad, or has the world turned upside down in a minute?"

"What did he say?" asked Warrington. He was badly frightened. He kneltat the side of Bolles and felt of his heart. It still beat. 

"What did he say? Nothing, nothing!--Where's my hat? I'm going home--Have I--?"

"No, he's alive; but I came just in time. "

At this moment Bolles turned over and slowly struggled to a sittingposture. His hands went feebly toward his throat. 

"He's all right, " said Warrington. "We'd better light out. Now whatthe devil--"

"He struck me. He was drunk. I've been in a fighting mood all day. Call that carriage. "

When Mrs. Jack saw him she screamed. 

"John!"

"The asphalt was wet, girl, and I took a bad fall. " But John lied withill grace. 

Chapter XIV

The Bennington mills, or shops, were situated just inside the citylimits. Beyond was a beautiful undulating country of pastures andwheat-fields, dotted frequently with fine country homes. The millswere somewhat isolated from the general manufacturing settlement, buthad spurs of track that for practical purposes were much nearer themain line of freight traffic than any of those manufacturing concernswhich posed as its rivals. It was a great quadrangle of brick, partlysurrounded by a prison-like wall. Within this wall was a court, usually piled high with coke and coal and useless molds. The buildingwas, by turns, called foundry, mills and shops. The men who toiledthere called it the shops. Day and night, night and day, there wasclangor and rumbling and roaring and flashes of intense light. In thedaytime great volumes of smoke poured from the towering chimneys, andat night flames shot up to the very walls of heaven, burnishing theclouds. 

The elder Bennington was one of those men who, with a firm standing onthe present, lay admirable plans for the future. He had been in nogreat hurry to get rich. He went leisurely about it, tantalizingfortune, it might be said. His first venture had shown foresight. Atthe beginning of the Civil War he had secured an option on manythousand tons of coal. Without taking an actual penny from hispockets, he had netted a comfortable fortune. Again, his foresightrecognized that the day would come when the whole continent would girditself in steel. With his ready money he bought ground and built asmall mill. This prospered. He borrowed from the banks, and went onbuilding. Ten years passed. The property was unencumbered; he had paidboth interest and principal. He did not believe in stock-holders. Hesold no stock. Every nail, bolt and screw was his; every brick, stoneand beam. There were no directors to meddle with his plans, no fool'shand to block his progress, to thwart his vast projects. Slowly hebecame rich, for every piece of steel that went out to the purchaserswas honest steel. Sagacity and loyalty overcame all obstacles. Many atime he might have sold at a handsome profit. But selling wasn't hisidea; he had a son. Besides, this was his life-work, and he detestedthe idle rich, which at that time were just coming into evidence. 

He never speculated; but he bought government bonds, railroad bonds, municipal bonds, for he had great faith in his country. He had thesame faith in his native city, too, for he secured all the bank stockthat came his way. Out of every ten dollars he earned he investedfive, saved three, and spent two. He lived well, but notostentatiously. He never gave directly to charities, but he gave workto hundreds, and made men self-reliant and independent, which is a farnobler charity. He never denied himself a vacation; he believed thatno man should live and die at his desk. There was plenty of time forwork and plenty for play; but neither interfered with the other. Hewas an ardent fisherman, a keen hunter, and a lover of horses. 

More than all these things, he was one of those rare individuals oneseldom meets--the born father. He made a man of his son and a woman ofhis daughter. When he sent the boy to England, he knew that the boymight change his clothes, but neither his character nor hispatriotism. He voted independently; he was never a party man; thus, public office was never thrust in his way. Perhaps he was too franklyhonest. He never worried when his son reached the mating age. "Whoevermy boy marries will be the woman he loves, and he is too much hisfather's son not to love among his equals. " He was a college-bred manbesides, but few knew this. He had an eye for paintings, an ear formusic, and a heart for a good book. It is this kind of man whom natureallows to be reproduced in his children. 

He was gruff, but this gruffness was simply a mask to keep at arm'slength those persons whom he did not desire for friends. 

When he died he left a will that was a model of its kind. There werenot a hundred lines in the document. He divided his fortune into threeparts, but he turned the shops over to his son John, withoutstipulations, wholly and absolutely, to do with them as he pleased. But he had written a letter in which he had set forth his desires. Itmay be understood at once that these desires readily coincided withthose of the son. 

John had not begun in the office. On the contrary, during schoolvacations he worked as a puddler's apprentice, as a molder'sapprentice, in the rail-shop, in the sheet-and wire-shops. He workedwith his hands, too, and drew his envelope on Saturday nights like therest of them. There was never any talk about John's joining the union;the men looked upon his efforts good-naturedly and as a joke. Thefather, with wisdom always at his elbow, never let the fishing tripsgo by. John had his play. At the age of twenty he knew as much aboutthe manufacture of steel as the next one. He loved the night shifts, when the whole place seethed and glowed like an inferno. This manualeducation had done something else, too. It had broadened hisshoulders, deepened his chest, and flattened his back. Many a time theold man used to steal out and watch the young Hercules, stripped tothe waist, drag rails to the cooling-room. When John entered collegeathletics he was not closely confined to the training-tables. 

Under the guidance of such a father, then, there could not be as aresult anything less than a thorough man. 

On the following Monday morning succeeding the encounter with Bolles, John boarded a car and went out to the shops as usual. He foundnothing changed. The clerks in the office were busy with huge ledgers, though it is true that many a hand was less firm than on ordinarydays. Rumors were flying about, from clerk to clerk, but none knewwhat the boss intended to do. From the shops themselves came theroaring and hammering that had gone on these thirty years or more. Bennington opened his mail and read each letter carefully. There wereorders for rails, wire rope and sheets for boilers. The business ofthe concern always passed through his hands first. Even when he wasout of town, duplicates of all orders were sent to him. He laid eachletter in the flat basket; but this morning there was no "O. K. --J. B. " scrawled across the tops. There would be time enough for thatlater. He rose and went to the window and looked down into the court. His heart beat heavily. There was something besides the possibility ofa strike on his mind. But he flung this thought aside and returned tothe strike. Was it right or was it wrong? Should he follow out hisfather's request, letter for letter? To punish two or three who wereguilty, would it be right to punish several hundred who were not? Andthose clerks and assistants yonder, upon whom families depended, whohad nothing to do with unionism, one way or the other, what aboutthem? Fate strikes blindly; the innocent fall with the guilty. Theanalysis of his own desires was quick enough. Surrender? Not much! Notan inch, not a tenth part of an inch, would he move. If men permittedthemselves to be sheep in the hands of an unscrupulous man, so muchthe worse. He promised himself this much: all those who appealed tohim honestly, for these he would find employment elsewhere. There wereother mills and shops in town that would be glad enough to employ aBennington man, which signified capability. 

"Mr. Bennington?"

John turned. Chittenden, the young English inventor, stoodrespectfully just within the door. 

"Good morning, Mr. Chittenden. How's the invention going? Did you getthat special pulley from Pittsburgh yet?"

"The invention is going very well, sir. But it is not of that I wishto speak. "

"Have you joined the union, then?" asked Bennington, with a shade ofirony which did not escape the keen-eyed Englishman. 

"No!" This was not spoken; it was more like a shout. "I have joined nounion, and my brain may rot before I do. The truth is, sir, I hearthat if the men go out you'll tear down the shops. " He hesitated. 

"Go on. "

"Well, I do not want this to happen on my account. I am young; I canwait; I'll take my tinkering elsewhere. You've been very good to mesir, and I should hate to see you troubled. "

"Chittenden, you can't leave me now. If you do, I shall never forgiveyou. You are a valuable piece of property just now. You are to be mytest case, as the lawyers say. If you go now the men will think Iweakened and forced you out. You gave me your word that you would stayhere till _I_ told you to go. "

"There's nothing more to be said, sir. You may depend upon me. "

"Thanks. The day you perfect your machine, on that day I shall findthe capital to promote it. Good morning. "

"The committee was coming up after me, sir, " was the reply. 

"Ah!" Bennington's eyes flashed. "Then remain to hear what I have tosay to them. "

All this while the girl at the typewriter never paused. Clickity-click! clickity-click! Suddenly all noises ceased, all butthe noise of the typewriter. The two men looked at each other quicklyand comprehensively. There was a tramping of feet on the stairs, andpresently a knock on the door. Clickity-click!

"You may go, " said Bennington to the girl. 

The girl gathered up her notes and passed into the main office. 

Again came the knock, more aggressive this time. 

"Come in. "

The committee, headed by Morrissy, entered with shuffling feet. Morrissy saw the Englishman and scowled. 

"Well, gentlemen?" said Bennington, sitting on his desk and resting afoot on his chair. 

"We have come to learn what you intend to do about this Britisher, "began Morrissy. 

"I don't recollect your face, " replied Bennington thoughtfully. "Howlong have you been in the shops?"

"I'm not in your shops, " returned Morrissy blusteringly. 

"In that case, " said Bennington mildly, "there's the door. I do notsee how this matter concerns you. "

"Well, it does concern me, as you'll find soon, " cried Morrissy, choking with sudden rage. 

"I'll give you one minute to make the foot of the stairs. If you'renot there at the end of that time, I'll take you by the collar andhelp you. " Bennington drew out his watch. 

"He's the head of our union, Mr. Bennington, " interposed one of themen, shifting his feet uneasily. 

"Oh! Then he's the man who is really making all this trouble?"Bennington nodded as if he had just arrived at a solution. 

"I'm here to see that my men have their rights. " Morrissy failed tounderstand this mild young man. "And it'll take a bigger man than youto throw me out of here. This Britisher either joins the union or hegoes. "

"If he joins the union he'll be permitted to continue the perfectingof his invention?"

"His invention is not necessary at present. The output as it is meetsthe demand. "

"Look here, Mr. Morrissy, I'll make you a proposition. "

"What?"

"You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with ourfists. If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the menreturn to work. "

"This isn't no kid's play, Mr. Bennington. You've got a big strikelooking you in the face. "

Bennington laughed. "I'm afraid you're a coward. So Mr. Chittendenmust join the union or go. It isn't a question of wage scale or hours;it simply revolves around Mr. Chittenden. Supposing he joins theunion, what will you give him to do?" Bennington's voice was that of aman who wishes to know all sides of the question. 

"Well, he'll have to learn where they all started from. "

"Mr. Chittenden is an expert machinist. "

"Let him join the union, then, and there won't be any trouble here. Iwant justice. This shop is union, and no non-union man can work here. I want justice, that's all. "

"You'll get that all in good time, Mr. --ah--?"

"Morrissy. "

"Mr. Morrissy. Mr. Chittenden, are you willing to join the union?"Bennington smiled as he plied this question. 

"Not I! My word, I'd as lief starve as become a union man, and undersuch a master. I prize my manhood and independence above all things. Ihave already refused to join. I never take back what I say. "

"Neither do I, Mr. Chittenden. " Bennington stood up. 

"Then out he goes, " said Morrissy, recovering his truculence. 

"On what authority?" Bennington's voice was growing milder and milder. "On what authority?" he repeated. 

"On mine!" cried Morrissy. 

"You are mistaken. I am master here. Mr. Chittenden will remain on thepay-roll. "

"Then in ten minutes the men will walk out on my orders. You're makinga big mistake, Mr. Bennington. "

"That is for me to judge. "

"Ten minutes to make up your mind. " Morrissy made a gesture toward hiswatch. 

"Don't bother about the time, Mr. Morrissy. We'll spend the tenminutes in the molding-room. "

Morrissy turned pale. 

"Oh, we shan't come to fisticuffs, Mr. Morrissy. I am a gentleman, andyou are not. Not a word!" as Morrissy clenched his fists. "Mr. Shipley, " said Bennington to one of the committee, "will you get allthe men together? I have a few words to say to them before this tenminutes is up. I want to give the men a fair show. "

"You can have twenty minutes, my English-bred gentleman, " snarledMorrissy. At that moment he would have given a thousand dollars forthe strength to whip the man whose ruin he believed he was planning. "I'm kind of anxious myself to hear what you've got to say. 

"In fact, I hope you will listen carefully to every word I say, "replied Bennington, with a nod toward the door. 

The committee went out solemnly. Morrissy was next to the last to godown the stairs. Bennington followed closely behind him. 

"Some day I'll get a good chance at you, Mr. Morrissy, and the deviltake care of you when I do. I shall see to it that the law will befound to fit your case. "

Morrissy shifted over to the balustrade, looking over his shoulder atthe speaker. 

"Look here, you can't talk to me that way, Bennington. "

"Can't I? I'll proceed. In the first place, you're a damn scoundrel. You've brought about this trouble simply to show that you have powerto injure me. Well, you can't injure me, Mr. Morrissy, but you will doirreparable injury to these poor men who put their trust in you andyour kind. Chittenden? That's a pretty poor excuse. You've alwaysharbored a grudge against my father, and this seems to be your chance. You've the idea that you can intimidate me. You can't intimidate meany more than you could my father. More than all this, McQuade is backof this move; and if I can prove that you accepted a bribe from him, I'll have you both in court for conspiracy. "

"You're talking big. It won't do you any good. "

"Wait. I should be willing to wait ten years to call you a thief and ablackguard in public. But I say to you now, privately, you are both athief and a blackguard. "

Morrissy stepped back, red in the face. But he recognized thedisadvantage of his position. He was one step lower than his accuser. 

"Go on, " said Bennington, his voice now hard and metallic; "go ondown. There'll be no rough and tumble here. I won't give you thatsatisfaction. "

"Well, you mark my words, I'll get satisfaction out of you shortly, and then you'll talk on the other side of your mouth. This is businessnow. When that's done, why, I'll make you eat every one of thosewords. "

Bennington laughed sinisterly. He could crush the life out of thisflabby ruffian with one arm, easily. 

Nothing more was said, and the way to the great molding-room wastraversed silently. Shipley sent out orders, and in a few minutes themen congregated to hear what the boss had to say. It was, to say theleast, an unusual proceeding, this of an employer delivering a speechto his men after they had practically declared a strike. Morrissy nowregretted that he had given Bennington any grace at all, for it wasnot to be doubted that there was only a small majority of the men whohad voted for a strike. And these were the young men; youth is alwaysso hot-headed and cock-sure of itself. The older men, the men who haddrawn their pay in the shops for twenty years or more, they were notso confident. 

Bennington mounted a pile of molds and raised his hand. The murmur ofvoices dwindled away into silence. The sun came in through thespreading skylights, and Bennington stood in the center of theradiance. He was a man, every inch of him, and not a man among themcould deny it. There are many things that are recognizable even tocrass minds, and one of these is a man. Genius they look upon withcontempt, but not strength and resolution; they can not comprehendwhat is not visible to the eye. 

"Fire away, boss!" said a voice from the crowd. 

Many of the men smiled, but there was no answering smile on the faceof the man on the molds. 

"I have but few words to say to you men, and I trust for the sake ofyour families that you will weigh carefully every word I utter. "Bennington took his father's letter from his pocket and unfolded it. "You are about to take a step such as you all will live to regret. Myfather never threatened; he acted. I shall follow his example. You areon the verge of striking. I shall recognize the strike only at themoment you decide to leave the shops. You will strike without cause, without justice, simply because you are commanded to do so by yourleader. "

"Hold on, Mr. Bennington!" cried one of those nearest him. "We havethe right to vote, and we voted against your policy in hiring anon-union man. "

"Put it that way if it pleases you, " replied Bennington. "I say thatyou strike simply to show how strong your power is. It is a fine thingto have power, but it is finer by far to use it only when justicemakes a cause. But power is a terrible weapon in the hands of thosewho can not direct it wisely. Let me come to facts. Your wages are thehighest in the city, five per cent. Above the union scale; your hoursare the shortest; there is no Sunday-night shift; you have at yourpleasure a gymnasium and a swimming-pool; you are each of you given aweek's vacation in the summer on full pay, a thing no other concern ofthe kind in the state does; all the machinery is flawless, minimizingyour chances of danger; in fact, you draw pay fifty-two weeks in theyear in the squarest shop in the world. If any man wishes to denythese things, let him stand forth. "

But there was neither sound nor movement from the men. 

Bennington continued. "Men, you have no grievance. This manChittenden, the alleged cause of your striking, takes no food or payfrom your mouths or your pockets; he interferes with you in no mannerwhatever. The contrivance he is trying to complete will not limit theoutput, but will triple it, necessitating the employment of more men. But your leader says that the present output is wholly sufficient, andyou are taking his word for it. Mr. Chittenden represents progress, but you have taken it into your heads that you will have none of it. He refuses to join the union, and I refuse to discharge him on thatground. I do not say that this shall not be a union shop; I say that Ishall employ whom I will for any purpose I see fit. It is your say, sosay it; yours is the power; use it. . .. Patience, just a littlelonger. I have shown much of it during the past year. "

The men swayed restlessly, and then became still again when they sawthat he was going to read something. 

"I have here the last letter my father ever wrote me. As I received itafter his death, I might say that it is a voice from the grave. I willread that part which affects the shops. 

"'And so, my son, I leave you this last request. Day after day, yearafter year, I have toiled honestly, with the will and the foresightGod gave me. I die prosperous and contented, having acquired my richeswithout ill to any and without obligation. I have never wronged anyman, though often the power to do so has been in my hands. But reasonalways cools hot blood, and I have always kept a strong curb on all myangry impulses. Some day the men will strike again, what about I knownot; but this I do know: it will be without justice. I have bent tothem nine out of ten times. Nine of their demands were not whollyunreasonable, but the tenth was. And this demand was that I shouldhave no non-union men in the shops. This strike lasted four months. You will recall it. I do not know how long it might have gone on, hadnot the poor devil, who was the cause of it, died. I and the men cametogether again. We patched up our differences, covertly, so to speak. The men appeared at the gates one morning, and I let them in withoutreferring by a single word to what had taken place. The principle ofunionism is a noble thing, but ignoble men, like rust in girders, gnawrapidly into principles and quickly and treacherously nullify theirgood. 

"'The destroyer is everywhere. The apple has its worm, the rose itscanker, the steel its rust. It is the ignorant and envious man whomisuses power that, rightly directed, moves toward the emancipation ofthe human race. There are cruel and grasping and dishonest employers, who grind the heart and soul out of men. The banding together of thelaboring men was done in self-defense; it was a case of survive orperish. The man who inaugurated unionism was a great philanthropist. The unions began well; that is because their leaders were honest, andbecause there was no wolf in the fold to recognize the extent ofpower. It was an ignorant man who first discovered it, and for themost part ignorance still wears the crown and holds the scepter. Themen who put themselves under the guidance of a dishonest labor leaderare much to be pitied. The individual laboring man always had my righthand, but I have never had any particular reason to admire the unionleader. 

"'There were two hundred and twelve strikes last year, of which onlysix had cause. The others were brought about by politicians and greedyunions. Dishonesty finds the line of least resistance in greed. Now, Ihave studied the strike problem from beginning to end. There can be nostrike at the Bennington shops for a just cause. Had I lived longenough, the shops would have been open-shop. My son, never surrenderonce to injustice, for if you do you will establish a precedent, andyou will go on surrendering to the end of time. I leave the shops toyou. There is but one thing I demand, and that is that you shall neversell the shops; Bennington or nothing. If you have difficulties withthe men, weigh them on the smallest scales. You will be masterthere--you alone. It is a big responsibility, but I have the greatestconfidence in you. When the time comes, show that you are master, evento the tearing down of every brick and stone that took me so long toerect. I shall be where such disasters will not worry me in theleast. '"

Bennington refolded the letter slowly. The men stood absolutelymotionless, waiting. 

"Men, if you go out this day, not one of you will ever find employmenthere again. My sense of justice is large, and nothing but that shalldictate to me. I shall employ and discharge whom I will; no man ororganization of men shall say to me that this or that shall be donehere. I am master, but perhaps you will understand this too late. Stayor go; that is as you please. If you stay, nothing more will be saidon my part; if you go . .. Well, I shall tear down these walls and sellthe machinery for scrap-iron!"

For the first time he showed emotion. He brought his hands stronglytogether, as a man puts the final blow to the nail, then buttoned uphis coat and stood erect, his chin aggressive and his mouth stern. 

"Well, which is it to be?" he demanded. 

"You are determined to keep Chittenden?"

"Positively determined. "

"We'll go out, Mr. Bennington, " said Shipley. 

"And what's more, " added Morrissy, "we'll see that nobody else comesin. "

He lighted a cigar, shoved his hands into his trousers pockets andwalked insolently toward the exit. The majority of the men weregrinning. Tear down this place? Kill the goose that laid the goldenegg? It was preposterous. Why, no man had ever done a thing like that. It was to cut off one's nose to spite one's face. It was a case ofbluff, pure and simple. Winter was nearly three months off. By thattime this smart young man would be brought to his senses. So theybegan filing out in twos and threes, their blouses and dinner-pailstucked under their arms. Many were whistling lightly, many weresmoking their pipes, but there were some who passed forth silent andgrave. If this young man was a chip of the old block, they had beststart out at once in search of a new job. 

Bennington jumped down from his impromptu platform and closed theponderous doors. Then he hurried to the main office, where he notifiedthe clerks what had happened. He returned to his private office. Hearranged his papers methodically, closed the desk, and sat down. Hisgaze wandered to the blue hills and rolling pastures, and his eyessparkled; but he forced back what had caused it, and presently hiseyes became dry and hard. 

"'You and your actress and her lover', " he murmured softly. "My God, Iam very unhappy!"

Chapter XV

The anonymous letter is still being written. This is the weapon of thecowardly and envious heart, so filled with venom and malice that ithas the courage or brazenness to go about piously proclaiming the wordduty. Beware of the woman who has ink-stains on her fingers and a dutyto perform; beware of her also who never complains of the lack oftime, but who is always harking on duty, duty. Some people live closeto the blinds. Oft on a stilly night one hears the blinds rattle neverso slightly. Is anything going on next door? Does a carriage stopacross the way at two o'clock of a morning? Trust the woman behind theblinds to answer. Coming or going, little or nothing escapes thisvigilant eye that has a retina not unlike that of a horse, since itmagnifies the diameter of everything nine times. To hope for the worstand to find it, that is the golden text of the busybody. The busybodyis always a prude; and prude signifies an evil-minded person who isvirtuous bodily. They are never without ink or soft lead-pencils. Inkhas accomplished more wonderful things than man can enumerate; thoughjust now a dissertation on ink in ink is ill-timed. 

To return again to the anonymous letter. Add and multiply the lives ithas wrecked, the wars brought about. Menelaus, King of the Greeks, doubtless received one regarding Helen's fancy for that simpering sonof Priam, Paris. The anonymous letter was in force even in that remoteperiod, the age of myths. It is consistent, for nearly all anonymousletters are myths. A wife stays out late; her actions may be quiteharmless, only indiscreet. There is, alack! always some intimatefriend who sees, who dabbles her pen in the ink-well and labors over abackhand stroke. It is her bounden duty to inform the husbandforthwith. The letter may wreck two lives, but what is this besidestern, implacable duty? When man writes an anonymous letter he is inwant of money; when woman writes one she is in want of a sensation. Itis easy to reject a demand for money, but we accept the lie and wrapit to our bosoms, so quick are we to believe ill of those we love. This is an aspect of human nature that eludes analysis, as quicksilvereludes the pressure of the finger. The anonymous letter breedssuspicion; suspicion begets tragedy. The greatest tragedy is not thatwhich kills, but that which prolongs mental agony. Honest men andwomen, so we are told, pay no attention to anonymous letters. Theytoss them into the waste-basket . .. And brood over them in silence. 

Now, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was always considering her duty; her dutyto the church, to society, to charity, and, upon occasions, to herlord and master. 

"Bennington's men have gone out, the fools!" said Haldene from overthe top of his paper. 

"Have they?" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene nibbled the tip of her pen. Shesighed, tore up what she had written and filtered it through herfingers into the waste-basket. 

"Yes, they've gone out. I don't know what the business world is comingto. Why, the brick-layer gets--I don't say earns--more than theaverage clerk. And Bennington's men go out simply because he refusesto discharge that young English inventor. . .. What are you writing andtearing up so often?" he asked, his curiosity suddenly aroused. 

"A letter. "

"Thoughts clogged?"

"It is a difficult letter to write. "

"Then there can't be any gossip in it. "

"I never concern myself with gossip, Franklyn. I wish I could make youunderstand that. "

"I wish you could, too. " He laid his paper down. "Well, I'm off to theclub, unless you are particularly in need of me. "

"You are always going to the club. "

"Or coming back. "

"Some husbands--"

"Yes, I know. But the men I play poker with are too much interested inthe draw to talk about other men's wives. "

"It's the talk of the town the way you men play cards. "

"Better the purse than the reputation. "

"I haven't any doubt that you are doing your best to deplete both, "coldly. 

Then she sighed profoundly. This man was a great disappointment toher. He did not understand her at all. The truth was, if she but knewit, he understood her only too well. She had married the handsomestman in town because all the other belles had been after him; he hadmarried money, after a fashion. Such mistakes are frequent rather thansingular these days. The two had nothing in common. It is strange thatpersons never find this out till after the honeymoon. Truly, marriageis a voyage of discovery for which there are no relief expeditions. 

So Haldene went to the club, while his wife squared another sheet ofwriting-paper and began again. Half an hour went by before shecompleted her work with any degree of satisfaction. Even then she hadsome doubts. She then took a pair of shears and snipped the crest fromthe sheet and sealed it in a government envelope. Next she threw alight wrap over her shoulders and stole down to the first letter-box, where she deposited the trifle. The falling of the lid broke sharplyon the still night. She returned to the house, feeling that a greatresponsibility had been shifted from hers to another's shoulders. Indeed, she would have gone to any lengths to save Patty a life ofmisery. And to think of that woman! To think of her assuming aquasi-leadership in society, as if she were to the manner born! Theimpudence of it all! Poor Mrs. Bennington, with her grey hairs; itwould break her heart when she found out (as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldenedetermined she should) the sort of woman her son had married. Shestraightened her shoulders and pressed her lips firmly andcontemplated a duty, painfully but rigorously performed. She cast thescraps of paper into the grate and applied a match. It is not alwayswell that duty should leave any circumstantial evidence behind. 

The evening papers devoted a good deal of space to the strike at theBennington shops. They frankly upheld Bennington. They admitted thatemployers had some individual rights. They berated the men forquarreling over a matter so trivial as the employment of a singlenon-union man, who was, to say the most, merely an experimenter. However, they treated lightly Bennington's threat to demolish theshops. No man in his right mind would commit so childish an act. Itwould be revenge of a reactive order, fool matching fools, whereasBennington ought to be more magnanimous. The labor unions calledspecial meetings, and with one or two exceptions voted to stand by theaction of the men. 

There was positively no politics behind this strike; everybodyunderstood that; at least, everybody thought he understood. But therewere some who smiled mysteriously and wagged their heads. One thingwas certain; Bennington's friend, Warrington would lose many hundredvotes in November. For everybody knew which way the Republicanconvention would go; there was nobody in sight but Warrington. 

Bennington and Mrs. Jack dined at the old home that evening. There wasplenty of gloom and forced gaiety around the board. John pretendedthat he was well out of a bad job; he was not a dreamer nor asocialist, not he; Utopia was not for the iron age. He told stories, joked and laughed, and smoked frequently. No one but the mother hadthe courage to ask if he really meant to tear down the mills. She camearound the table, smoothed his hair as she had done since he was aboy, and leaned over his chair. 

"John?"

"Well, mother mine?"

"Shall you really do it?"

"Do what?"

"Tear it down. "

He did not answer at once, and she waited, trembling. 

"You would not have me take back my words to the men, would you, mother?" quietly. 

"Your father loved the place. "

"And do I not?" a note of strong passion in his voice. "I shall tearit down, if I live. Do not ask me anything more about it. Has Dickbeen over to-day?"

"He telephoned that he would be over after dinner. He wants you to goto the speech-making to-night. " Patty rose from her seat at the table. 

"Patty, " said John, rather surprised at his discovery, "you are almosta woman!"

"You men never see anything quickly, " said Mrs. Jack. "Patty has beena beautiful woman for several months. "

Patty started, restrained the impulse to speak, and searched Mrs. Jack's face. But Mrs. Jack had eyes for no one but John. Her thoughtwas far removed from her words. That telephone message rang in herears every hour of the day. One moment she was on the verge of tellingJohn, the next she dared not. What had that wretch found out? Whatcould he have found out? A lie; it could be nothing more nor less thana lie; but the suspense and the waiting were killing her. Every beatof her heart, every drop of her blood belonged to this man at herside, and she would rather die than that doubt should mingle with hislove. She was miserable, miserable; she dared not confide in any one;Patty was too young, for all her womanhood, to understand fully. Nightafter night she forced her recollection through the dim past, but shecould find nothing but harmless, innocent follies. Alas, thekaleidoscope of life has so many variant angles that no two eyes seealike. What to her appeared perfectly innocent might appear evil inthe neighbors' eyes; what to her was sunshine, to another might beshadow. 

"Think of it!" said John. "Patty will be marrying before long. "

Mrs. Bennington looked at Patty and sighed. To rear up children and tolose them, that was the mother's lot. To accept these aches withresignation, to pass the days in reconciling what might be with whatshall be, that was the mother's portion. Yes, Patty must some daymarry. 

"When Patty marries, mother, " said John, "you shall come and live withKate and me. "

"You are moving me around like a piece of useless furniture, " repliedPatty, with some resentment. "I doubt if I shall ever marry. "

"Bosh!" laughed John. "There'll come some bold Lochinvar for you, oneof these days; and then off you'll go. There's the bell. That must beDick. "

Patty and Mrs. Jack crossed glances quickly. John went to the doorhimself and brought Warrington back with him. 

"Won't you have a cup of tea, Mr. Warrington?" asked the mother. 

"Thank you, I will. " Warrington stirred the tea, gazing pleasantlyfrom face to face. 

The lines in his face seemed deeper than usual; the under lids of theeyes were dark, and the squareness of the jaw was more prominent. Johnsaw no change, but the three women did. Warrington looked careworn. 

"Well, John, I see that you have done it. "

"Yes. "

"I'm terribly sorry, but you couldn't back down now and live in town. "

"You see, mother?" John smiled sadly. 

"Yes, my son. You will do what you think best and manliest. "

"How's the cat?" asked Warrington. 

"It still wanders about, inconsolable, " answered Patty. How carewornhe looked!

"Poor beast! It is lucky to have fallen in such good hands. "

"When you are mayor, " said Patty, "you must give me a permit to rescuestray cats from the pound. "

"I'll do more than that; I'll build a house of shelter for them. "

"What time does your speaker begin?" inquired John, lighting a freshcigar. 

"John, you are smoking too much, " remonstrated Mrs. Jack. 

"I know it, honey. "

"Rudolph begins at nine; if we go then that will be soon enough. You'll be amused. Have you been riding lately?" Warrington directedthis question to Patty. 

"Yes, regularly every morning. " Patty dallied with the crumbs at theside of her plate. 

"I don't know what's the matter with me, but I find it wearies me toclimb on to a horse's back. I haven't got back to normal conditionsyet. "

"I was wondering where you were. "

"And how is Jove?" asked Mrs. Jack. 

"He's snoozing out on the veranda. I take him everywhere now. "

Presently they moved into the living-room. Warrington longed to sitbeside Patty, but of a sudden he had grown diffident. It amused him tocome into the knowledge that all his address and worldliness would notstand him in good stead in the presence of Patty. Words were no longerat his command; he was no longer at his ease. He was afraid of Patty;and he was very, very lonely. That empty house over the way was nolonger home. There were moments when he regretted his plunge intopolitics. He was not free to pack his luggage and speed away to landsthat urged his fancy. He had given his word, and he was too much of aman to withdraw it. He must remain here and fight two battles. 

Mrs. Jack had taken the seat next to him, and was asking him about theprogress of the play. It was going on so indifferently that he was ofhalf a mind to destroy it, which he did later. His glance always cameback to Patty. She was bent over her basket-work. She was calling himMr. Warrington again. Had he offended her in any manner? The lightfrom the lamp sparkled in her hair. She was as fresh and beautiful asa July rose. But Mrs. Jack was an artist. She knew how to draw himout; and shortly he was talking animatedly. It was now that Patty'seyes began to rove. 

John, his fingers meeting in an arch, one leg thrown restlessly acrossthe other, thoughtfully eyed his wife and his friend. . .. It was alie; there was nothing in all the world so honest as Warrington'shand, so truthful as his wife's eyes. Cursed be the doubt that hadwedged between these two he loved!

Time passes quickly or slowly, according to the state of mind. To Johnthe time was long; to Patty and Warrington it was too short; to Mrs. Jack it was neither long nor short, but suspended. 

"Time for us to go, John. You are not particular about a chair, areyou?" Warrington asked. 

"Not I. I prefer to stand up in the rear of the hall. If I am bored Ican easily escape. "

"Oh, the night will not be without some amusement. "

"Take good care of John, " whispered Mrs. Jack in Warrington's ear; asthe two men were about to depart. 

"Trust me!" Warrington smiled. 

Patty and John observed this brief intercourse. The eyes of love aresharp. Patty was not jealous, neither was John; but something hadentered into their lives that gave to all trivial things a ponderousoutline. 

"Don't let any reporters talk to John, Mr. Warrington, " requested themother. 

"I'll surround him. "

"Shall we walk?" asked John. 

"We can see better on foot. "

"We'll walk, then. "

So the two men went down town on foot, and Jove galloped back andforth joyously. At any and all times he was happy with his master. Theone bane of his existence was gone, the cat. He was monarch of thehouse; he could sleep on sofa-pillows and roll on the rugs, andnobody stole his bones. 

"Good dog, " observed John. 

"Money couldn't buy him. I saw that fellow Bolles to-day, "tentatively. 

"Bolles?" John did not recollect the name. 

"The fellow you nearly throttled the other night, " explainedWarrington. "He looked pretty well battered up. I never saw you loseyour temper so quickly before. "

"He struck me without provocation, at the wrong moment. Who is goingto speak to-night?"

"Donnelly and Rudolph. "

"What do you think? Donnelly called me up by 'phone this afternoon. Wants to know if I really intend to tear down the shops. I told him Ihad nothing to say on the subject. "

"Tear them down. I should. You're a rich man. "

"Money isn't the question. The thing is, what shall I do? I'm notfitted for anything else. "

"Tear down the shops and then build them up again, after a few years. It will be a good lesson to these union leaders. And you could havethe fun of fighting to build up the trade your father left. You weretalking once of rebuilding entirely. "

"Not a bad idea, Dick. Only, I feel sorry for the men. "

"Why? Are they free men or are they not? It rested with them just asmuch as it did with you. I am far removed from the principles ofunionism, as they stand to-day. I have no patience or sympathy withmen who can not, or will not, appreciate a liberal, honest employer. "

"Let's change the subject, Dick. "

For a block or so they proceeded in silence. 

"John, you're the head of the family. I love Patty better thananything else on God's earth. Do you mind?" Warrington uttered thesewords swiftly, before his courage, which he had suddenly urged to itshighest, dropped back. 

John swung round abruptly and brought his hands down heavily onWarrington's shoulders. 

"Is that true, Dick?"

"As I stand here. Oh, I know; I'm not good enough for Patty. I haven'tlived as decently as I might. I haven't gone through life ascircumspectly as you have. I drank; success made me dizzy. But I lovePatty--God bless her!--as I never hoped or dreamed of loving anywoman. You're a man, John; you will understand. I've been alone all mylife; buffeted here and there, living haphazard, without anyparticular restraint on my desires. The dear old aunt was the onlytie, and that was delicate till I came home and found how good andkind she was. I miss her; months from now I shall miss her ahundredfold. I'm very lonely. You've all been so good to me. To bealone, and to think of living alone for the rest of my days, is atorture. My nature craves companionship, and this craving has led meinto plenty of mischief. I love Patty. What do you say, John?"

"Say? Why, you are good enough for any woman alive. I am very glad, Dick. Patty married to you! You old farmer, " affectionately, "I'vealways been mentally pairing off you two! Come on; let's hear what thepolitical windmill has to say. They're burning red fire in front ofthe hall. "

But a moment gone their feet had dragged with each step; now there wasa lightness that was dancing. John knew that it was all a lie; and hisheart was as light as his feet. Kate, dear Kate! He was a wretch! Heslapped Warrington on the shoulder. 

"To think of your marrying Patty, the little sister!"

"Don't go too fast, John, " said Warrington with less enthusiasm. "Ihaven't said a word to Patty yet; and if she's a sensible young woman, she'll give me my conge first-off. "

"By George, women are strange creatures. It's the truth, Dick; youcan't tell which way they'll go. But Patty's no fool. " John hadn'tfelt so good in many hours. 

"But I love her, and God knows I shall try to be worthy of her, evenif I lose her. . .. Sky-rockets!" with an upward glance. "That's thesignal for Rudolph's arrival at the hall. "

"Come on, then!"

Rudolph was the great Jeffersonian Democrat, not by excellence, ratherby newspaper courtesy, and that, to be specific, by his own newspaper. He had come up from New York that day to deliver his already famousspeech. He was one of the many possibilities in the political arenafor the governorship. And as he was a multimillionaire, he was sure ofa great crowd. As an Englishman loves a lord, so does the Americanlove a millionaire. Rudolph's newspaper was the only one in themetropolis that patted him on the back regularly each morning. He wasthe laboring man's friend; he was the arch enemy of the monopolies(not yet called trusts); and so forth and so on. For all that somelaughed at him, he was an able politician, and was perfectly honest inall his political transactions, which is something of a paradox. So hecame up to Herculaneum to convert the doubting. The laboring partygreeted him en masse, and stormed the hall for choice seats. 

The hall was a low, rambling structure, bad for the voice, but capableof seating a few thousands. The curbs glared with green and red fire, and a band blared out the songs of freedom. The crowds surged back andforth, grumbling and laughing and shouting. And the near-by saloonsdid a land-office business. It was a great night for the man who hadnothing to do. All at once there was loud hurrahing. An open hackdrove up to the entrance, and the great Jeffersonian stood up, bowing, bowing. The green light on one side and the red on the other gave tohis face a Gargantuan aspect rather than that of a Quixote, to whom hewas more often likened than to any other character in fiction. Thepolice cleared a pathway for the great man, and he hurried up thesteps. Another cheer, and another blast from the band. Great ispopularity, whose handmaiden is oblivion. 

"They'll be doing all this to you some day, " John declared, as he andWarrington elbowed through the crowd, the dog between their legs. 

"That's him!" cried a voice. 

"Who?"

"The fellow that writes; Henderson's man. "

"Salt licks for him!" came in derision. 

"He'll give Donnelly a run for the money. "

"Not in a thousand years!"

All this amused Warrington. 

"How d' y' do, Mr. Warrington?"

A hand touched the prospective candidate on the arm. Warrington sawOsborne's rubicund nose. 

"So you're out, too, Mr. Osborne?"

"I never let meetings go by, Richard. Good evening, Mr. Bennington. Aman with ten millions doesn't look any different from ordinarymortals, does he? But he is different, or he wouldn't have thatbarrel. A million is like a light-house; it attracts all sorts ofbirds. "

Warrington laughed and went on. Once or twice he lost the dog, butJove managed to turn up each time. 

"We'll stand at the left, " said John; "it's nearer the exits. "

"Just as you say. I wish I'd left the dog at home. He's a nuisance ina crowd like this. "

They presently stood with their backs to the wall and looked towardthe stage. Donnelly was already speaking about the great man who wasthat night to address them. 

"And, " concluded the mayor, "Mr. Rudolph will lead us to a victorysuch as the party in this state has not yet known. " And half a hundredmore final words. Man approaches nearest woman's postscript when hesays: "And, gentlemen, just one word more!"

Meantime Warrington's gaze wandered here and there. He saw manyfamiliar faces, --politicians, prominent merchants of both parties, andthe usual exuberant hundreds drawn thither only by curiosity. Thesewere willing to applaud anything and anybody, without knowing orcaring what about. Quiet one moment, roaring the next; murmur, murmur, like angry waters on shingle. These make and unmake public men; theyhave nothing, but they can give everything. Strong tobacco smokerolled ceilingward, and those on the stage became blurred andnebulous. Once Warrington caught a glimpse of a battered face, but itdisappeared quickly. However, he said nothing to Bennington. Again, hesaw McQuade moving about, within fifty feet. From time to time McQuadestooped, and Warrington knew that the white dog was present. 

"Gentlemen, " concluded Donnelly, with a flourish, "William HenryRudolph, of New York, our next governor. "

And, to quote the sympathetic reporters, "tremendous applause shookthe rafters. " Mr. Rudolph rose majestically, and smiled and bowed. Heigh-ho! man accepts applause so easily; the noise, not the heartbehind it; the uproar, not the thought. Man usually fools himself whenhe opens his ears to these sounds, often more empty than brass. But soporous is man's vanity that it readily absorbs any kind of noisearranged for its benefit. 

He began calmly. The orator always reserves his telling apostrophestill that time when it is necessary to smite palm with fist. He spokeof Jefferson, the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose, the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political speakers generallyforget who emulate their historic political forebears, that progressrearranges principles and constitutions, that what passed as goodstatesmanship in Jefferson's time is out of order in the present. Mr. Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor. There was a suddencommotion in the rear of the hall. Men were surging to and fro. 

"Stand back!" cried a firm, resonant voice, full of anger. 

The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs craned their necks. Some stood up to learn what the matter might be. Others mounted theirseats. A thousand absurd conjectures passed from mouth to mouth. 

"Somebody's dropped dead!"

"Sit down in front! Sit down!"

"What's the matter?"

"Where are the police?"

"Put him out!"

"A fight!"

Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly. Mr. Rudolphstill paused and moistened his lips impatiently. Men can give and takeaway popularity in the same breath, but a dog fight is arranged byoccult forces, and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes. Weare educated to accept oratory, but we need no education in the matterof a dog fight. This red corpuscle was transmitted to us from theStone Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment. 

Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting desperately, near the exits. In between human legs, under chairs, this way andthat, snarling, snapping, dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried touse canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches. The dogs wereimpervious. Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So manyinterfered that there was no interference. 

It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to theorator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of hismaster's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the dropof an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended thesituation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men andcommanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had noobjections to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloodyconflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was pasthearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded inparting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separationcomplete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhumanefforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came toan end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for thebroad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttledthen and there. 

McQuade lost his temper and his discretion. He kicked Jove cruelly inthe side, at the very moment when Warrington had succeeded in breakingthe grip. Bennington thrust McQuade back violently, and he would havefallen but for the dense pack bolstering him up. 

"I'll remember that kick, Mr. McQuade, " said Warrington, white in theface. 

"I don't think you'll be mayor of Herculaneum, Mr. Warrington, "replied McQuade, glaring venomously at the man who had brushed himaside so easily. 

"Perhaps not, Mr. McQuade, " said Warrington; "but at any rate there'llbe a reckoning for that kick. You've been trying for months to bringthese dogs together. You have finally succeeded, and your dog has beenlicked soundly. You ought to be satisfied. "

Warrington took Jove under his arm and pressed toward the door, followed by Bennington, who was also in a fine rage. The dog, bloodyand excited, still struggled, though the brutal kick had winded him. 

McQuade was no fool. He saw that if Warrington left this way theimpression would not be favorable to the boss contractor. So he madehaste to approach Warrington. 

"Hold on there, Warrington. I apologize for kicking your dog. I admitI was excited; and my dog was getting licked. I am sorry. "

"All right, Mr. McQuade, " said Warrington, who would have preferredleaving, minus any apology. He understood perfectly well McQuade'sreason for bending. 

"By George!" whispered Bennington, "I'd give a thousand for one goodpunch at that ruffian's head. Brute, double-dealing brute! Look outfor him after this, Dick. "

"I can take care of myself. Officer, will you kindly get a carriagefor me?"

"Sure, Mr. Warrington, " said the policeman. 

The two managed to get out. In fact, everybody was moving toward theexits. They had forgotten Mr. Rudolph, who completed his effort beforea two-thirds empty hall. They say that he went back to his hotel thatnight disgusted with humanity and, mayhap, with the fact that thefight had not occurred nearer the stage. Orators are human also. 

As Warrington followed Bennington into the carriage the door closedand a head was thrust inside the open window. 

"Don't forget me when you're mayor, Mr. Warrington, " said BillOsborne. 

"Well?" Warrington was in no mood for banalities. 

Bill glanced hastily from side to side, then said, in a stage whisperthat sent Bennington into a roar of laughter:

"I sick'd 'em!"

Chapter XVI

The Republican caucus or convention was uneventful. Warrington wasnominated for mayor of Herculaneum, with little or no opposition. Everybody expected it. It was, in the phraseology of the day, cut anddried. There was no surprise on the part of the public. Still, SenatorHenderson was jubilant; he had nominated his man. 

The young candidate's speech, accepting the nomination, was reproducedin full in all the newspapers, whose editorial writers franklyadmitted that the speech was one of the best heard in Herculaneum inyears. Reporters raked up anecdotes and old photographs; they enlargedupon the history of his early struggles and his ultimate success; andlong despatches flashed over the wires. The whole continent was moreor less interested in the sudden political ambition of one of itsfavorite dramatic writers. 

It was true that Warrington's vanity was touched. It always touchesour vanity to be given something for which we have made no strugglewhatever. It was something to be followed by curious newsboys, to bespoken to respectfully by Tom, Dick and Harry, who erstwhile hadn'tknown of his existence. Warrington was human, and he laughed at hisvanity even as it was being gratified. 

On the other side the Democrats perfunctorily nominated Donnelly. Itwas the best they could do, and Donnelly had nothing to learn. And sothe fight was on. Donnelly went everywhere; so did Warrington. IfDonnelly spoke in the German district, Warrington spoke to theItalians and in their native tongue. Warrington soon learned how toshake hands in the manner of a candidate, --to take the whole hand andsqueeze it soundly. The coal-heaver whose hand the dramatist graspedthereupon returned to his friends with the report that the candidatehad a good grip, that there was nothing namby-pamby about him, for allhis dude clothes. It is the gift of Heaven to win friends and keepthem, and Warrington possessed this gift. His good-humored smile, hisready persiflage, his ease in all environments, and his commonsense--these were his bucklers. He spoke in dingy halls, on saloonbars, everywhere and anywhere and at all times. It was a great sightto see him lightly mount a bar and expound his politics, his nostrilsassailed by cheap tobacco and kerosene lamps. If Donnelly opened a kegof beer, Warrington opened two; if Donnelly gave a picnic, Warringtongave two. And once he presented free matinee tickets to a thousandwomen. This was a fine stroke of policy. When a man wins a woman tohis cause, he wins a valiant champion. Here, then, were a thousandtongues in his service. 

His work put enthusiasm into the rank and file of the party, and soonall half-heartedness disappeared and dissensions vanished. Hefurnished foot-ball suits for the newsboys, torch-light regimentalsfor the young men's Republican clubs; he spent his own money freelybut judiciously; and all the while Donnelly was not far behind. Forthe first time in the history of local politics the two parties wentto work with solid ranks. It promised to be a great campaign. Warrington's influence soon broke the local confines; and themetropolitan newspapers began to prophesy that as Herculaneum went, sowould go the state. 

Warrington's theatrical manager came up from New York and said hewanted that play at once. The dramatist declared that there would beno play that season. The manager threatened a lawsuit; Warringtonremained unmoved. His first duty was to his party; after the firstTuesday in November he would see. This argument found its way toreportorial ears, with the result that it merely added to the youngcandidate's growing popularity. 

It was only occasionally that he saw the Benningtons. His nights weredevoted to speech-making or conferences. Sometimes, however, on hisway home late at night, he would walk up as far as the old house andlook up at the windows; and if he saw a light in Patty's room he wouldpause for a few minutes, then turn about, Jove limping at his heels. Patty Bennington! The one idyl in his noisy life, the one upliftinginfluence! He knew that he was not making this fight for cleanpolitics because his heart was in it, but because Patty's was. It isthus that women make the world better, indirectly. Once or twice hehad seen Patty in the gallery at mass meetings; but, hurry as hemight, he never could get around to the entrance in time to speak toher. 

As for McQuade, he knew that between him and that gentleman the warhad only begun. He was constantly wondering how McQuade would act; butso far as he could see, McQuade had absolutely nothing to stand on. McQuade would have to tunnel; he could not carry on the war aboveground. McQuade would never forgive the result of the dog fight. Therehad been so much raillery in the newspapers that McQuade becamefurious whenever it was mentioned. His dog was a professional fighterand had made three kills, and here a "pet" had given him his firstlicking. It rankled, and none of McQuade's friends dared refer to it. So Warrington remained alert and watchful; it was all he could do. 

In more ways than one Herculaneum became widely known. Other citiesrealized that there was a peculiar strike in progress, upon theoutcome of which depended the principles of unionism. Here was anemployer who was making preparations to destroy his shops, regardlessof financial loss, regardless of public opinion, regardless ofeverything but his right to employ and discharge whom he willed. Everygreat employer in the country focused his eye upon Herculaneum; everyunion leader did likewise. The outcome would mean a kind ofrevolution. 

At the shops the men had placed the usual sentinels around the limits, ready to repel the expected army of non-union workmen. But a daypassed, two, three, four; a week, then ten days; a month. Not a singlestrange man approached the gates. Not one man among them had anyinformation whatever as to the movements of their whilom employer. Scab labor never showed its head above the horizon. The men began towonder; they began to grow restless. But Morrissy always pacified themwith the word "wait. "

"Vigilance, boys; that's the word, " said the leader. "The moment we goto sleep he'll have his men inside. "

So the men relaxed none of their watching, night and day. It wasrather pathetic to see the children bringing scanty meals to theguarding men. They were being misled, that was all, but they had tofind that out themselves. The city's bill-boards were covered with"Boycott" and "Unfair" paper. The men were careful. They made noeffort to injure anything; they made no attempt to enter the shops;they had had a brush with the militia once, and they were wise. Theycould beat the new men and maim them, but so long as they did nottouch property there would be no call for the militia. They waited. Mean-time Morrissy wore a new diamond. 

One day a cry went up. 

"Here's the scabs! Here they come!"

Word was sent immediately to the union's headquarters. 

A body of twenty-odd men, carrying shovels and pickaxes anddinner-pails, moved toward the gates. At their head was Benningtonhimself. He placed the great key in the lock and swung the gatesinward. The men passed in quickly. Bennington was last. He turned fora moment and gazed calmly at the threatening faces of the strikers. Animpulse came to him. 

"Men, " he said, "up to one o'clock this noon these gates will be opento you. Each of you can take up your work where you left it, at thesame wages, at the same hours. This is the last chance. Later you willlearn that you have been betrayed. "

"How about Chittenden?"

"Chittenden will return at the same time you do. "

"The hell he will! Let him show his British face here, and we'llchange it so his mother won't know it. "

Bennington went inside and shut the gates. There was nothing more tobe done. He did not slam the gates insolently, as some men would havedone; he simply shut them. 

This event was also reported at headquarters. That afternoon all thestrikers were out in force. They congregated in groups and talkedangrily. Two policemen patrolled up and down. Bennington had had somedifficulty in securing even these. The men waited for the first signof smoke from the chimneys, but none came. No one was lighting thefurnaces; there was nothing but silence inside the shops. There was nopossible excuse as yet for deeds of violence, though many of the moreturbulent element urged riot at once. What was the use of waiting? Inthe afternoon there appeared some fifty more strange men. Thesecarried tool-bags. They were challenged. They ignored the challengeand pushed on resolutely. For the first time blows were struck. Theleader whirled around. 

"Look here, men, you're making a big mistake. Your fists won't helpyou. We are going inside, and if we can't go in peaceably, why, we'llbreak some heads to get in. We have all been sworn in legally asdeputy police, and if we start in to break heads we promise to do itthoroughly. "

"What are you going to do in there?" demanded Morrissy. 

"None of your business, for one thing, " answered the burly spokesmanof the interlopers. "I'll add this much, if it will ease your minds:nobody's going to step into your jobs; when you went out you left yourjobs behind. "

"So you fellows are what they call strike-breakers, are you?" askedMorrissy wrathfully. 

"Oh, we aren't going to break your strike, my friend. You can callthis a strike as long as you please, so far as we're concerned. We'vegot work to do here, though, and we are going to do it. "

"Are you union men?"

"Not so you'd notice it, " was the cool reply. 

"All right. You fellows won't be here long. "

"Stop us if you can. Now, stand aside!" commanded the strangermenacingly. 

"Let 'em by, men, " cried Morrissy. "Don't touch 'em yet. You justleave it to me. I know a way and a good one, too. You just leave it tome. "

The angry strikers divided ranks and the strangers entered the shops. 

Morrissy directed his steps to McQuade's office, and together theypaid a visit to the mayor. 

"Look here, Donnelly, did you permit Bennington to swear in deputypolice?" asked McQuade. 

"Deputy police? Bennington has no deputy police from this place, "answered Donnelly hotly. 

"Well, all we know is that he has them, " snapped Morrissy. 

"Then he has gone directly to the governor. "

"The governor?"

McQuade and Morrissy looked at each other blankly. 

"He has that prerogative, " said Donnelly. 

"But he wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, yes, he would. It's his last term; he is without furtherpolitical ambition; he can act as he pleases, in the face of publiccondemnation. There's one thing left, though. "

"What?"

"Injunction, " said Donnelly tersely. 

"With Republican judges on the benches?" replied McQuade ironically. 

"And you can't enjoin private property, " added Morrissy. 

"I'll send for Bennington, " Donnelly volunteered. "Perhaps I can talkhim into reason. "

"It's up to you to block this move somehow, " said McQuade. "It meansthe labor vote. And we've got to have that. "

"I'll do the best I can. I can stop his permit to tear down thebuilding, if he really intends to do that. "

"It will be a good day's work for you. "

"I'll act this very afternoon. "

Once outside the mayor's office, McQuade turned to Morrissy. 

"Where's that receipt you promised on oath?"

"Haven't you got it?" asked Morrissy, feigning surprise. 

"No, and I doubt you sent it. But I want it at once, and no moremonkeying. "

"Well, I sent it. I mailed it to your office. You've overlooked it. "

"Come over to my office now and make it out, " McQuade insisted. 

"You've got plenty of grips on me without that, " protested Morrissyreproachfully. 

"But I want this one, and I'm going to have it. "

"I'll go to your office. Will Donnelly be game?"

"He will if he knows which side his bread is buttered on, "contemptuously. 

The two went up to McQuade's office. It was deserted. 

"The girl's gone this afternoon, " said McQuade, "but I can handle thetypewriter myself. "

"All I've got to say is that I mailed you a receipt. What do you wantit for?" with a final protest. 

"I've got an idea in my head, Morrissy. I want that receipt. Some dayyou may take it into your head to testify that I offered you athousand to bring on the strike at Bennington's. That would put me inand let you out, because I can't prove that I gave the cash to you. Business is business. "

"Hell! Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I had threatened tobetray. "

"Every man to his own skin, " replied McQuade philosophically. He thensat down before the typewriter. There were two blank sheets in theroller, with a carbon between. The girl had left her machine all readyfor the morrow's work. McQuade picked out his sentence laboriously. 

"There, sign that. "

The paper read:

"I, James Morrissy, the undersigned, do hereby declare that I havereceived $1, 000, in two sums of $500 each, from Daniel McQuade, thesesums being payment agreed upon for my bringing about the strike at theBennington shops. "

Morrissy looked at the boss incredulously. 

"I say, Mac, have you gone crazy?" he cried. "Do you want evidencelike this lying around in your safe? It's the penitentiary for both ofus if any one finds that. "

"I know what I am doing, " McQuade responded quietly, as indeed he did. 

"But look; you've got the strike and I've got the cash; that makes usquits. "

"Sign it, " was all McQuade replied to this argument. 

"All right. What's bad for me is bad for you, " and without further adoMorrissy affixed his fist to the sheet. 

"Here's the duplicate for you. "

Morrissy lighted a match and set fire to the sheet; he stamped on theashes with grim satisfaction. 

"Not for mine, " with a laugh. "You're welcome to yours. "

McQuade folded his deliberately and put it away in the safe. The sheetof carbon paper he crumpled into a ball and tossed into the waste-basket. We all commit blunders at one time or another, and McQuade hadjust committed his. 

"That's all, Morrissy. I think I can trust you fully. I mean no harm, boy; 'tis only self-preservation. "

"Oh, so long as your name's on it there's no kick coming from me; onlyI never saw you do such a fool thing before. Anything else to-day?"

"No. You might keep tab on that fool Bolles. He's been drunk eversince he came back from New York. And he doesn't know how to keep hismouth shut. "

"I'll keep an eye on him. "

"He's the only man we have who can handle the dagos. I'll see you upat Dutch Hall to-night. Donnelly is making a speech there, and we'llopen a few kegs of beer for the boys. "

When Morrissy was gone McQuade laughed softly and went to the safeagain. He proceeded to do to his receipt exactly what Morrissy haddone to his--burn it. So long as Morrissy believed that McQuade heldhis signature, so long might Morrissy be trusted. It was only an idea, but it proved that the boss knew his lieutenants tolerably well. 

"The blackleg would sell the tomb off his father's grave, " he mused, brushing the ashes from his clothes. 

Let Bennington rip up his shops; all the better for Donnelly's chancesof reelection. The laboring party would be sure to desert Warrington'sstandard, since he was a personal and intimate friend of Benningtonthe oppressor. He laughed again sinisterly. Presently he would havethem all by the throats. He would watch them squirm, too. This youngfool Warrington; he was the first real obstacle he (McQuade) hadencountered in his checkered career. Threats could not move him. Hehad believed at the start that he could scare him away from theconvention; but the fool wouldn't be scared. And his damned dog!

"He'll never reach the City Hall, not while I live, damn hisimpudence! That woman, though, is no fool. She's kept her mouth shut. They don't always do that. Well, I can write more than receipts on themachine. I'll ruin them both if I can. Ordered me out of the house, and I honestly liked the woman! But I'll square accounts presently. "

Meanwhile Donnelly set the wires humming. He finally got Bennington atthe shops. 

"This is Mr. Bennington. Who is it and what is wanted?"

"This is the mayor talking. "

"Oh! Well, what is it, Mr. Donnelly?"

"I must see you at once in my office. This is an urgent request. Ican't explain the matter over the wire. But you'll do yourself and mea great favor if you'll come into town at once. "

"Very important?"

"Extremely so. "

"I shall be there at five o'clock. "

"Thanks. I shall await you. " Donnelly hung up the receiver, very wellsatisfied. 

Bennington understood. Politics was going to take a hand in the game. After all, it was best to take the bull by the horns at once and haveit over with. He knew how well he had fortified himself against anypolitical machinery. So, promptly at a quarter to five, he departed, leaving explicit orders with his subordinates. The strikers movedaside for him, muttering and grumbling, but they made no effort toimpede his progress. There were groans and catcalls, but that was all. He looked neither to the right nor to the left, but presented his backto them fearlessly. Chittenden, upon Bennington's advice, had gone toNew York. The strikers would have used him roughly, could they havelaid hands on him. 

Arriving in town, Bennington went at once to the City Hall andstraight to the mayor's private office. 

"Well, Mr. Donnelly?" he began, his hat on his handsome head and hiscane behind his back, neither offensive nor defensive. 

Donnelly closed the door leading to the clerk's office and came backto his desk. He waved his hand toward a chair. If he could bend thisyoung hot-head, it would be a victory worth while, politically. 

"In the first place, Mr. Bennington, aren't you going a little toohard on the men?"

"That was their lookout; they had every chance to think the matterover, to examine all sides of the question. "

"You went personally to the governor for deputy police. Why didn't youcome to me?"

"The governor is a personal friend of mine. "

"I don't believe that I have been found lacking in justice, " saidDonnelly thoughtfully. 

"I can't say that you have. But I was in a hurry, and could not waitfor the local machinery to move. "

"You have placed armed men in your shops without a justifiable cause. "

"The men are mechanics, sworn in for their own self-protection. "

Donnelly saw that he was making no impression. 

"These men, then, are to tear down your shops?" not withoutadmiration. 

"Well, they are there to dismantle it. "

"That building must not go down, Mr. Bennington. "

"'Must not'? Do I understand you to say 'must not'?"

"Those words exactly. "

"It is private property, Mr. Donnelly; it was not organized undercorporation laws. "

"You can not destroy even private property, in a city, without a legalpermit. "

"I have that. "

"And I shall call a special meeting of the Common Council to rescindyour permit. "

"Do so. I shall tear it down, nevertheless. I shall do what I pleasewith what is my own. " Bennington balanced on his heels. 

"The law is there. "

"I shall break it, if need says must, " urbanely. 

Donnelly surveyed the end of his dead cigar. 

"The men will become violent. "

"Their violence will in no wise hinder me, so long as they confine itto the shops. Even then I shall call upon you for police protection. "

"And if I should not give it?"

"Just now I am sure you will. For the mayor of Herculaneum to refuseme my rights would be a nice morsel for the Republican party. "

Donnelly passed over this. 

"I wish to protect the rights of the workman, just as you wish toprotect yours. "

"What are the workman's rights?"

Donnelly did not reply. 

"Well, I'll reply for you, then. His right is to sell his labor to thehighest bidder; his right is to work where he pleases; for what hourshe desires; his right is to reject abusive employers and to find thosecongenial; his right is to produce as little or as much as he thinksbest; his right is to think for himself, to act for himself, to livefor himself. "

"You admit all this, then?" asked Donnelly in astonishment. 

"I have never so much as denied a single right that belongs to theworkman. "

"Then what the devil is all this row about?"

"If the workman has his rights, shall not the employer have his?"

Donnelly mused. He would not be able to do anything with thisplain-spoken man. 

"But the workman steps beyond. He has no right to dictate to hisemployer as to what HIS rights shall be. Where there is no amitybetween capital and labor there is never any justice; one or the otherbecomes a despot. The workman has his rights, but these end where theother man's rights begin. He shall not say that another man shall notseek work, shall not sell his labor for what he can get; he has noright to forbid another man's choosing freedom; he has no right to saythat a manufacturer shall produce only so much. "

"Well, I've only to say, " said Donnelly, hedging before this clearargument, "I've only to say, if the men become violent, look out foryourself. "

"I shall appeal to you for civic or military protection; if you refuseit, to the governor; if politics there interferes, I shall appeal toWashington, where neither your arm nor McQuade's can reach. Iunderstand the causes back of this strike; they are personal, and I'mman enough to look out for myself. But if politics starts to work, there will be a trouble to settle in the courts. You may not know thetrue cause of this strike, Mr. Donnelly, but I do. The poor deludedmen believe it to be the English inventor, but he is only a blind. Hadyou really wished to do me a favor, you would have spoken to the menbefore they went out on this silly strike. But I am master of what ismine, and I shall tear down that building. I shall tolerate nointerference from any man. The workman has his rights; this is one ofmy rights, and I intend to use it. "

"It's your business. If you are fool enough to kill a golden goose, it's no affair of mine. But I shall rescind your permit, however. Ibelieve it to be my duty. "

"Call your Council together, Mr. Donnelly. You can not get a quorumtogether earlier than to-morrow night; and by that time I shall havethe work done. You say you will not afford me protection. Very well;if the men become violent and burn the shops, I shall be relieved ofthe expense of tearing them down. Good afternoon. "

Donnelly sat in his chair for a quarter of an hour, silent andthoughtful. Suddenly he slapped his thigh. 

"I don't know what McQuade has against that man, but, by the Lord! heIS a man!"

That night the strikers received several bottles of whisky and a kegof beer. The source of these gifts was unknown. Some of the morethoughtful were for smashing the stuff, but the turbulent majorityoverruled them. They began to drink and jest. They did so withimpunity. For some reason the police had been withdrawn. The hammeringinside the shops puzzled them, but they still clung to the idea thatall this clamor was only a ruse to frighten them into surrendering. From the interior the pounding gradually approached as far as thewalls of the courtyard. At midnight one of these walls went thunderingto the ground. A few minutes later another fell. The strikers groupedtogether, dismayed. 

"By God, boys, " one of them yelled, "he's tearing it down!"

In that moment, and only then, did they realize that they had beendealing with a man whose will and word were immutable. They saw alltheir dreams of triumph vanish in the dust that rose from thecrumbling brick and plaster. And dismay gave way to insensate rage. Itwould only be helping Bennington to riot and burn the shops, so now tomaim and kill the men who, at hire, were tearing down these walls. 

"Come on, boys! We'll help the scabs finish the work! Come on!"

There was now a great breach in the wall. Men moving to and fro couldbe seen. The strikers snatched up bricks and clubs and dashed towardthis. But ere they had set foot on the rubbish they stopped. Half adozen resolute men faced them. They were armed. 

"That's far enough, boys, " warned a powerful voice. "I told you wehave all been sworn in as deputy police, with all the laws of thestate back of us. The first man that steps across that pile of brickswill go to the hospital, the second man to the undertaker. "

Chapter XVII

Ah, the vanity of Dawn! Like a Venus she rises from her bath ofopalescent mists and dons a gown of pearl. But this does not pleasethe coquette. Her fancy turns from pearl to green, to amber, to pink, to blue and gold and rose, an inexhaustible wardrobe. She blushes, shefrowns, she hesitates; she is like a woman in love. She casts abroadher dewy jewels on the leaves, the blades of grass, the tangled lacesof the spiders, the drab cold stones. She ruffles the clouds on theface of the sleeping waters; she sweeps through the forests with a lowwhispering sound, taking a tithe of the resinous perfumes. Always andalways she decks herself for the coming of Phoebus, but, woman-like, at first sight of him turns and flies. 

Dawn is the most beautiful of all the atmospheric changes, but thevision is a rarity to the majority of us. 

Warrington was up and away on his hunter before Phoebus sent hiswarning flashing over the hills. He took the now familiar road, andurged his animal vigorously. Fine! Not a bit of dust rose from theroad, dew-wet and brown. The rime of the slight frost shone from thefences and grasses and stacked corn, like old age that strikes in asingle night. Here and there a farmer could be seen pottering aboutthe yards, or there was a pale curl of smoke rising from the chimney. The horse, loving these chill, exhilarating October mornings, wentdrumming along the road. Occasionally Warrington would rise in thestirrups and gaze forward over this elevation or that, and sometimesbehind him. No. For three mornings he had ridden out this old familiarway, but alone. The hunger in his eyes remained unsatisfied. 

For the first time in years he turned into a certain familiar fork inthe road, and all his youth came back to him as vividly as though ithad been but yesterday. Half a mile up this fork was the rambling oldfarm-house. It was unchanged. The clapboards were still stained withrust, the barns were still a dingy red, the stone and rail fencesneeded the same repairs. Nothing had changed there but the masters. And under that roof he had made his first feeble protest against life;he had dreamed those valiant dreams of youth that never come true, nomatter how successful one may become in after life. Every waking meansan illusion gone, another twig pruned from the tree of ardent fancy;and when one is old there is neither shade nor shelter. 

Warrington stopped his horse. He had no desire to ride closer; hecould see everything well enough from where he sat. Rosy applestwinkled in the orchard on the hill, and golden pumpkins glistenedafield, for by now Phoebus had come to his own. How many dawns had heseen from yonder windows, in summer and winter, in autumn and spring?How many times had he gone dreaming to the markets over this road? Itwas beyond counting. Had any of those particular dreams come true? Notthat he could recollect, for he had never dreamed of being asuccessful dramatist; that good fortune had been thrust upon him. Hetried to picture his father walking toward the fields; it was tooremote. His mother? Of her he could recollect positively nothing. Butthe aunt, he saw her everywhere, --in the garden, in the doorway, inthe window, by the old well. Now she was culling hollyhocks along thestone wall, now she was coming down the hill with an apron filled withapples, now she was canning preserves and chili sauce in the hotkitchen, or the steel-rimmed spectacles were shining over the wornpages of the New Testament at night. 

What was the use? To-day is alien to yesterday; an hour separates asdefinitely as eternity. There was nothing there for him; so he wheeledand rode back toward the city, conning over a speech he was to makethat night. Since Patty had not ridden this way, the zest of themorning's ride was gone. Which road did she take now? To the west, tothe south, to the north round the lake? Twice the night before he hadstarted for the telephone to inquire, but had not taken down thereceiver. Was he afraid? He could not say. And afraid of what? Stillless could he tell. Three months ago he had called her Patty, hadjested and laughed with her; and now he hesitated to call her up bytelephone. No, he was not afraid of Patty; he was simply afraid ofhimself. For he realized this--that in the moment he spoke to heralone his love would spring from his lips like a torrent; nothingcould stop it; and he was not of that supreme courage at present thatspurs the lover to put it to the touch to win or lose it all. 

So, then, he rode back to the city, hugging his doubt and his love, with frequent lucid intervals that were devoted to his forthcomingspeech. When the battle was over, when he had won or lost, then hewould go to her and drink the cup, bitter or sweet. 

Patty had not spent the night in comfort; her head had rolled from onepillow to another, and the cases were not always dry. Indeed, it hadbeen some time since she had pressed her cheek tranquilly upon apillow. Night is either sweetest or most wretched; one spends itrecounting one's joys or one's sorrows. Patty was unhappy; and leaveit to youth to gain the full meed of misery. Youth has not thephilosophy of matured age to cast into the balance. Satisfaction inthis workaday world is only momentary. One is never wholly satisfied;there is always some hidden barb. The child wears the mother's skirtsenviously while the mother mourns her youth. Expectation leads us tothe dividing line of life, and from there retrospection carries us tothe end. Experience teaches us that fire burns and that waterquenches; beyond this we have learned but little. 

This morning Patty was up with the dawn. She did not trouble to wakethe groom, but saddled and bridled the horse herself. She mounted androde quietly into the street. She did not glance at Warrington's housewhile approaching or passing it, but once she had left it in the rearshe turned quickly, flushing as if she had caught herself in someweakness. She directed the horse toward the west, crossing the citybefore she reached the open country. Here the west wind, young andcrisp, blew away the last vestige of heaviness from her eyes. Sheurged the horse into a canter and maintained this gait for a mile ormore. Then she reined in to a walk. 

Three weeks! And all this time she had not even breathed a word of it, but had hugged the viper to her heart in silence. She dropped thereins on the neck of the horse and took a letter from the pocket ofher riding-coat. How many times had she read it? How many times hadfury and rage and despair flashed from her eyes as she read it? Shehated him; she hated her. There was neither honesty nor goodness inthe world; those who preached it lied. Yes, yes! There was one. John, dear, noble John, he at any rate was honest. But it was all acting onher part, acting, acting. She had married John as a convenience; shehad made use of his honest love as a cloak. The despicable creature!And yet, when in her presence, so great was her charm and magnetism, Patty doubted. After all, it was an anonymous letter, and nothing ismore vile. But who can say to this viper Doubt--"Vanish!" It goes, itgoes again and again; which is to say it always returns. Long ago shewould have confronted her brother's wife with this letter, had notJohn been in the heart of his battle at the shops. For the present hehad enough trouble. And yet, to see that woman with John, an angelmight be deceived. To see her weep and laugh over him, to see hertouch him with her hands, to caress him with her eyes, to be tenderand strong at his side. . .. Could anybody be so wicked? True, hertransgression had been made, according to this letter, before John hadmarried her; but this lessened the enormity of it none in Patty'seyes. 

"Oh, I was so happy, and now I am so miserable!" murmured the girl, pressing her hand to her throat, which seemed to stifle her. 

She read the letter again, through blurred vision. It was horrible. 

One who takes a deep interest in your future welfare finds it a dutyto warn you against Richard Warrington, for whom it is being said youhave developed a strong sentiment. It is well known that he drankdeeply at one time and lived the life of a debauchee. Beware of thewoman, also, whom you call sister. The writer does not offer anythingdetrimental to her married life, but it is known that she waspractically Warrington's mistress before she married your splendidbrother. She was seen frequently to enter his apartments at night, andthe writer can furnish abundant proof that she was seen to leave hisapartments one morning. This is not penned with malice. It is simplythat the writer knows and admires you and can not stand passively byand see you humiliated by the attentions of a man who is unworthy tolace your shoes. As for your sister-in-law, I have no desire tomeddle. Confront both her and Warrington, if the truth of the abovestatement is doubted by you. 

Upon these last words depended Patty's attitude. It must be true. Whoever had written this abominable letter could write plain English, despite the disguised hand. Patty recognized that it was disguised. The capitals differed, so did the tails of the y's and f's; thebackhand slant was not always slanting, but frequently leaned towardthe opposite angle. She had but to confront them! It seemed simple;but to bring herself to act upon it! She reviewed all the meetingsbetween Kate and Warrington. Never had her eyes discerned evidence ofanything other than frank good fellowship. She searched painfully;there was not a single glance, a single smile upon which she couldbuild a guilty alliance. And yet this writer affirmed . .. Oh, it wasmonstrous! Those rumors she had heard months ago! The telephone callfrom McQuade! Ah, that telephone call! Had Kate been guilty would shehave confided to her, Patty? She seemed to be pulled, now forward, nowbackward. McQuade knew something, the wretch! but what? This letterhad never been written by him. A man would have used a pronoun, thirdperson, masculine; he would have shown some venom back of theduplicity that affirmed an interest in her welfare. 

The tears dried quickly; the heat of her renewed rage burned them up. She set about to do something she had not thought of doingbefore--investigating. She held the note-paper to the sun. Thewater-mark of a fashionable paper manufacturer was easily observable. Men did not write on that brand. So much gained. Then she recalled aFrench play in which a perfume had convicted a person of theft. Sheheld the envelope to her nose; nothing, not even tobacco. She triedthe letter itself. Ah, here was something tangible: heliotrope, vague, but perceptible. Who among her friends used heliotrope on herkerchief? She could not remember; in fact, any or all of them mighthave worn it, so far as she could recall. She would go over herinvitations and visitors' cards; she would play detective; she wouldferret out as a spy who took this amiable interest in her future. Thisdetermination brightened her considerably. And woe to the meddler ifPatty found her! If it was a baseless lie (and she hoped against hopein her loyal little heart!) she would make a pariah of the writer ofthis particular anonymous letter. True or not, what was it to her?What right had she to interfere? She was cowardly; of that Patty wascertain. True friends are the last in the world to inflict sorrow uponus. Kith and kin may stab us, but never the loyal friend. Now that shethought it all over, she was glad that she had repeatedly fought theimpulse to lay the matter before her sister. She would trace thisletter home first; she would find out upon what authority it waswritten; there would be time enough after that to confront Kate, orWarrington, or John. Ah, if she had stepped forward in the dark, towreck her brother's life needlessly. . .. Heliotrope! She would neverforget that particular odor, never. She had a good idea of justice, and she recognized the fact that any act on her part, against eitherKate or Warrington, before she found the writer of the letter, wouldbe rank injustice. Persons can not defend themselves against anonymousletters; they can only ignore them. 

She touched her horse again. She was now in feverish haste to gethome. She took the turn of the road which presently brought her in thevicinity of the shops. It was practically in ruins. The courtyardwalls were all down, the building itself was totally empty of ore ormachinery. Bennington had disposed of these to Pennsylvanian concerns. Patty rode up in time to see half a dozen urchins throwing stones atthe few window-panes that were still unbroken. She dispersed themangrily, and they gathered at the side of the road, open-mouthed andwide-eyed at the picture of this avenging angel. 

"How dare you throw stones at those windows? How dare you?" she criedpassionately. 

After a while one of the lads found his voice. 

"Why, nobody's in it. The man what owns it tored the insides outen it. 'Tain't no harm what we're doin'. Hey, fellers?"

"Naw. The cops don't say nothin'. An' my old man used to work there. "

She saw that they were no more than ordinary boys to whom the panes ofglass in a deserted building were legitimate prey. 

"So your father was one of the strikers?" said Patty, her lipsthinning. "Why did he strike?"

"I don't know; 'cause the others struck, I guess. They was an Englishlobster workin' without bein' in my old man's union. Mebbe that wasit. Anyhow, we don't care; the old man's got another job. "

With this the boys climbed the fence and moved across the field, mutely rebellious, like puppies baffled in their pursuit of a cat. 

Patty's eyes, moist and shining of a sudden, roved over the grimruins. Sparrows were chattering on the window ledges and swallows werediving into the black mouths of the towering chimneys. The memory ofher father swelled her heart near to bursting. She could see hisiron-grey head bending over the desk; she could hear his rough butkindly voice. Why, whenever he entered the house his splendid physicalenergy seemed to radiate health and cheerfulness, infecting all thoseabout him. She could see the men, too, moving in the glow of ruddylight; she could see again the brilliant sparks flying from under thethundering trip-hammers, the cyclopean eyes that glared up at heavenat night, the great rumbling drays, the freight moving to and from thespur. Now there was no sound; nothing but silence, with the suggestionof a tomb. 

The end of the strike had been a nine days' wonder, for it proved thatthere had actually been no strike at all, since the owner had simplyclosed down the shops, torn down a few walls, sold the machinery andore, and canceled all his business obligations. No sensation, howevervital, lasts very long these days; and after these nine days it turnedits attention to other things, this mutable public. Employers, however, and union leaders, all over the continent, went about theiraffairs thoughtfully. If one man could do this unheard-of thing, somight others, now that an example had been set before them. Thedispersed men harbored no ill feeling toward Morrissy; he, as theysupposed, had acted in good faith for the welfare of the union. Butfor the man who had had the courage to make good his threats, for himthey had nothing but bitterness and hate. 

Patty would always remember that final night of the strike when Johnhad come in early in the morning, his clothes torn, his hands bloody, his hair matted to his forehead, and hatless. He had been last toleave the shops, and he had, unarmed, run the gantlet of the maddenedstrikers who had been held at bay for six long hours. Only his greatstrength and physical endurance had pulled him out of the arms ofviolent death. There had been no shot fired from the shops. Thestrikers saw the utter futility of forcing armed men, so they had hungabout with gibe and ribald jeer, waiting for some one careless enoughto pass them alone. This Bennington did. His men had forgotten him. Bennington's injuries had been rather trivial; it had been hispersonal appearance that had terrified the women. He had fallen asleephalf an hour after reaching home, and he had slept till nine thatevening. Upon awakening he had begun at once to plan a trip to Europe, to wander from capital to capital for a year or so. No one hadinterrupted him; not even the mother, grown old in the past month, haddemurred at his plans. He would have none near him but Kate, and shehad hovered about him, ministering to his wants as a mother over asick child. . .. Kate! It all came back with a rush. Kate! Oh, what wasshe, Patty, to believe? That night she had loved Kate almost toidolatry. She shuddered, turned away from the ruins, and set off at agallop till she came upon brick pavement. She rarely trotted uponpavement, but this morning she had no thought for the horse; sheburned to be at work. She trotted rapidly into town, across theprincipal thoroughfares, this way being the short cut. By this timemen were on the way to work. Many of them turned their heads to stareat her. There was only one woman in town who sat a horse like thisone, and it could be no less a person than Patty Bennington. All themen recognized her instantly. She had their good wishes, for all thather brother had taken away the bread and butter of some of them. Manytouched their hats from mere force of habit. 

There was one man, however, who glared evilly at her from the curb. She recognized him in spite of his discolored face, the result of along, uninterrupted debauch. It was Bolles. As he caught her eye hesmiled evilly and leered at her. 

"Wait, my beauty; wait. I'll kill that brother of yours one of thesefine days, damn him!" Bolles gave one more look at the swiftly-movingfigure on the horse, and shuffled away toward McQuade's office, toawait the arrival of that gentleman. Bolles needed money, and he knewwhere to get it. 

As she reached the foot of Williams Street Patty glanced up the hill. A horseman had just entered Warrington's. She recognized both man andhorse. It was Warrington. She knew at once that he had ridden out herfavorite route, perhaps in the hope of seeing her. Her heart tightenedstrangely as she walked her horse up the hill, and she would havepassed home but for the intelligence of her animal, which turned intoward the house quite naturally. Her mother was on the side veranda. 

"Patty, you have worried us all. The stableman, when he found yourhorse gone, came in with the cry of thieves. I was frightened, too, till I went to your room and found you gone. You mustn't go withoutnotifying the stableman or the groom. "

"It was an impulse of the moment, mother. I couldn't sleep, and I sawno need of waking up the boys in the stables. "

Patty ran up stairs for a bath and a change of clothes for breakfast. She ate little, however; the ride had not put the usual edge on herappetite. 

"Mr. Warrington made a fine speech last night, " said the mother, handing the morning paper to Patty. 

Patty accepted it mechanically. She had determined not to read thepaper. But she knew now, if she unfolded it, she would turnimmediately to the local pages and search for Warrington's speech. Sheread it, and she hated herself for admiring it. The self-lie was notamong Patty's failings. There was no denying that Warrington's speechwas a good oratorical effort; every line of it rang sound and true;but that might be a trick of the trade. He could make thieves andvillains on the stage speak glibly and plausibly; certainly he coulddo as much for himself. One thing she could not deny him, and that wasfrankness. He had confessed to her last summer that he was not, or hadnot been, a good man in the strict sense of the word. She laid downthe paper and finished her coffee. She was glad that she did not haveto face Kate at each meal. She felt that she couldn't have trustedherself; there were times when she spoke the first thought, and alwaysregretted it. Poor John, poor John!

From the table she went directly to the Indian basket that held allthe cards and invitations. The mother, concerned with her householdduties, left her to herself. Patty would have found some difficulty atthat moment in answering any curious questions. One by one she drewout the envelopes and cards. There was a permanent scent of sweetgrass. She discovered nothing; she realized that her discoveringanything depended solely upon hazard. Excitement ebbed, leavingnothing but hopelessness. She threw the cards and invitations into thebasket. She might have known that visiting-cards and printedinvitations are generally odorless. She sought the garden. The Angorawas prowling around, watching the bees and butterflies hovering overwind-fallen fruit. Patty called to her, but the cat ignored the call. From the garden Patty went to the stables, from the stables shereturned to the house. She was at peace nowhere. Later her motherfound her dreaming in the window-seat. 

"Patty, Mrs. Haldene left her shopping-bag here yesterday afternoon. Ihad forgotten it. Would you mind taking it over to her, or shall Ihave the maid do it?"

"I have nothing to do, mother. I can take it over just as well asnot, " said Patty listlessly. 

She slipped her arm through the handles of the bag and proceeded intothe hall for a hat. As she lifted the hat to her head the bag slippedalong her arm close to her nose. Instantly her figure became tense andrigid, her face grim and colorless. 

Heliotrope!

Chapter XVIII

There could be no doubt at all. The perfume on the letter and that onthe shopping-bag were identical. Indeed, she would take the bag overto Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene; she would be very glad to do her thattrifling service. Oh! Patty's rage choked her. During the past threeweeks Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene had called at least a dozen times, doubtless to observe the effect of her interest in Patty's welfare. She might have known! Well, this very morning she would ascertain fromMrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips where she had secured her information. She would do more than that; she would make her prove every word ofit. 

So Patty marched toward the Haldene place, marched, because that verbsuggests something warlike, something belligerent. And there was wara-plenty in Patty's heart. Each step she took sang out a sharp"Meddler-gossip! meddler-gossip!" A delivery horse went past, drummingan irritating "Busybody! busybody! busybody!" What had she or hersever done to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene that she should stoop to so base ameans of attack? An anonymous letter! War raged in Patty's heart; butthere was something warmer and clearer coursing through herveins--hope!

She went on. Not a particle of her courage deserted her as she mountedthe steps and pushed the bell. When Patty was genuinely roused inanger she was afraid of little or nothing, animate or inanimate. Amaid answered the bell. As she recognized the caller she swung backthe door and nodded. 

"Is Mrs. Haldene at home?" Patty inquired. 

"Yes, Miss Patty. "

The maid led Patty into the library, where Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene wasbusily engaged in making up an invitation list. 

"Why, Patty, I am glad to see you, " she cried, dropping her pen andrising. But her curiosity rose at the same time. Patty here?

"You left your shopping-bag when you called yesterday, " said Patty, ominously calm. "I have brought it to you. "

"It was very careless of me to forget it. "

"Yes, it was, " Patty assented, her heart beginning to throb violently. 

"Thank you. And I have been looking for it high and low. "

Patty passed the bag to her enemy. How to begin, how to begin!

"Mrs. Haldene!" Patty's voice was high-pitched and quavering. 

"Why, Patty!"

"Why did you write this base letter to me!"--exhibiting the letterresolutely. "Do not deny that you wrote it. It smells ofheliotrope--your favorite perfume. "

"Patty Bennington, are you mad?" cried Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. "Whatletter? What do you mean?" She knew very well, but she had notpractised the control of her nerves all these years for nothing. "Aletter? I demand to see it. "

But Patty reconsidered and withdrew her hand, concluding that Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene could destroy the letter as easily as she had writtenit; more easily, had Patty but known it. 

"I prefer to read it to you. " And Patty read, her tones sharp andpenetrating, finely tempered by anger. 

"I write such a thing as that? You accuse me of writing an anonymousletter of that caliber? You are mad, distinctly mad, and if I did whatwas right I should ask you to leave this house instantly. " Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rose to her full height, after the manner ofindignant persons on the stage. 

Patty was not overcome in the least. An idea, bold, unconventional, and not over-scrupulous, shot into her head. With her eyes holdingMrs. Franklyn-Haldene's, she stepped toward the desk; then, in aflash, she seized one of the sheets of note-paper that lay scatteredabout. Mrs. Franklyn Haldene made a desperate effort to interceptPatty; but Patty was young, slender and agile. She ran quickly to thenearest window and compared the written sheet with the blank. Thepaper and grain were the same, only one showed that the top had beencut off. There was no shadow of doubt. 

"You are a horrible woman, " said Patty. 

"Leave this house instantly!" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was nowthoroughly alarmed. 

"Not till you have proved the truth of this letter, " Patty declared. 

"I refuse to submit to such gross insults in my own house!" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's voice rose a key. She swept majestically toward thedoor. 

Patty stepped bravely in front of her. 

"Have you no breeding?" the storm in Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's voicegathering. 

"Who told you that my brother's wife was formerly--"

"Stand aside!"

"I shall not leave this house or your presence till you haveanswered, " replied the little paladin. "You wrote this letter to me, trusting it would make me miserable. It has. But I have not done whatyou expected, --shown it. Who told you this base lie?"

"I refuse to answer your impudent questions. Will you stand aside?"

"There is a way to force you. I will know, Mrs. Haldene, I will know. If you refuse, I shall turn these two sheets over to my brother'slawyers. "

"A lawyer?" with an hysterical laugh. "You would scarcely take a thinglike that to a lawyer, of all persons. "

"I declare to you that that is exactly what I shall do. You wrote thisletter; I can prove that you wrote it. Afraid of publicity? You do notknow me. What I demand to know is, who gave you this information? ThatI will know. "

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw that Patty would do what she promised; soshe took her stand boldly. 

"Well, then, since you will have it. Yes, I wrote that letter, for Icould no longer stand the humiliation of meeting your sister-in-law indecent houses, and that double hypocrite who pretends to be yourbrother's friend and your admirer. Proof? I was at my hair-dresser'sone morning, when a woman who is an intimate of McQuade, thepolitician, came in. She dropped a letter. McQuade had written it. Ittold definitely the information you have in your hand. "

"You have that letter?" Patty was conscious of a strange numbnessstealing over her. 

"No, I haven't. I read it, and sent it to its owner. I consider myselfvery fortunate. I always had my suspicions, and it was a relief tofind that they were not without foundation. You will now relieve me ofyour unwelcome presence in this house. " This time Mrs. Franklyn-Haldeneleveled her arm toward the door; the right was with her. 

"In a moment, " said a third voice, masculine. 

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's arm dropped. Patty turned with a low cry. Shehad forgotten that there might be some one else in the house. 

Haldene entered through the door to the dining-room. His face washard and his eyes cold. 

"I must ask your pardon, both of you, but I could not help overhearingyour voices. They ran somewhat high. " He bowed to Patty deferentially;he merely glanced at his wife. 

"Franklyn!" This phase of the situation was altogether too unexpectedand embarrassing for Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to accept it readily. 

"I have heard words about an anonymous letter; I have heardnames, --McQuade, your brother, his wife, Warrington, and my wife. Ishould like to know--"

"Franklyn!" his wife appealed. To be humiliated before this impudentchit of a girl!

"Patience, my dear. " Haldene held up his hand. "Well, Patty?"

"Mrs. Haldene has taken the trouble to meddle with my affairs bywriting me an anonymous letter concerning the conduct of my brother'swife and his friend. I have traced the letter to Mrs. Haldene, and shehas confessed that she wrote it, also stating her reasons and thesource of her information. " Patty spoke bravely, for she hadn't theleast idea whose side Mr. Haldene would take. She was not aware that, for all his idle habits and failings, he had that quality of justicewhich, upon occasions, makes a terrible judge of a just man. 

"Will you let me see that letter?" he asked. 

Patty gave it to him without conditions. He read it slowly, butneither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man's face. He studied it carefully. He even compared the false hand with thetrue. Then he addressed his wife. 

"Did you write this?"

"Yes, I did. And if you have been listening, as you had the courage tosay you had, you already know my reasons for writing it. " Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was recovering. 

"You must apologize, " he said. 

"Apologize? I think not. On my part there is nothing more to be said. "

"I see that I shall have to apologize for you. Patty, I am very sorrythat this has happened, and I can promise you that it shall end here. Will you accept my apology?"

After some hesitance, Patty nodded. She could not very well refuse. She had always liked Mr. Haldene. As hitherto remarked, Patty's was animpulsive heart. Suddenly she stretched out her hands toward the wife. 

"What have I or mine ever done to you that you should seek to injureus so cruelly? Have we wronged you in thought or deed? What is it thathas made you my enemy?"

"I am not your enemy, Patty, " said the elder woman, melting ever soslightly. "I have told you that I did not wish to see your life madewretched by marrying a man of Warrington's loose habits, and that Icould not tolerate the woman who is your brother's wife. "

Patty held out her hand for the letter. She had no desire to remainany longer. She wanted nothing but the privilege of being alone, thatshe might weep the bitter, galling tears that were brimming her eyes. .. . She had no recollection of gaining the street. It was true, it wastrue! She did not even remember how she reached her room; but as herblurred eyes saw the bed, she fell upon it in a stupor that for a longwhile did not give any outlet to her tears. 

In the meantime Haldene faced his wife. 

"I am going down town presently, " he said. "I shall send you up bymessenger several cabin-plans. "

"Cabin-plans?" amazed at this odd turn in affairs. 

"Yes. You will spend the winter either in Egypt or Italy, as itpleases you. "

"Europe? But my social obligations demand my presence here!" sheexpostulated. 

"You will cancel them. You will go to Europe. Anonymous letters!" Hestruck the desk violently. It was the first touch of this kind he hadever exhibited in her presence, and it terrified her. "When I marriedyou, people said I married your money. As God is above us, I lovedyou. Yes, I loved you. But how long was it permitted that this loveshould live? Six slender months! You, you of all women, you writeanonymous letters?" He laughed, but it was laughter that had nothinghuman in it. "Madam, when I die my deposit box at the bank will beturned over to you. In it you will find six anonymous letters. Theyhave lain there sixteen years. I took the advice of one and followedyou. So I let them believe that I had married you for your money. Imeant to have my revenge after I was dead. Madam, you will go toEurope. I shall not be home to lunch, but you may expect me at dinner. I am curious to learn whether it will be in Egypt and the Holy Land, or Italy, the land of the fig-tree and the vine. Good morning. "

When he was gone, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene realized, for the first timein sixteen years, that she had married a man. Suddenly her knees gavefrom under her, and she sank into her chair, staring at the floor withunseeing eyes. For sixteen years!

That afternoon Warrington had a visit. His visitors were Jordan, thereporter, and Osborne. They appeared to be in high spirits. 

"We've got him, Dick!" exclaimed Jordan, swinging his hat. 

"Got whom?"

"Morrissy--Morrissy and McQuade, " said Osborne, in hiswhisky-roughened voice. "We've got 'em all right, Dick. Look at this, "tossing a wrinkled sheet of carbon-paper on Warrington's desk. 

Warrington spread it out. It took him but a minute to find out therichness of his possession. 

"Where did you come across this?" he asked eagerly. 

"My niece found it in her waste-basket. I've sent her into the countryto visit relatives, " said Osborne. "But if you use it, Dick, you'llhave to find the girl another job in some other town. "

"You leave that to me. This is worth a thousand to me and a thousandmore to John Bennington. Now, both of you go down to any restaurant intown and order what you like, and as long as you like, and you havethem call me up if there's any question. "

The reporter and the semi-outcast smiled at each other. They saw theirappetites appeased to satiety. 

"Does a bottle go with the order, Dick?" asked Jordan. 

"Half a dozen!" laughed Warrington. 

"I've put you in the City Hall, Dick, " said Osborne. "And don't forgetme when you're there. "

"Will there be a story for me?" Jordan asked. 

"You'll have a page, Ben. "

"That's enough. Well, come on, Bill; we'll show the new mayor that wecan order like gentlemen. "

"I remember--" But Osborne never completed his reminiscence. Jordanwas already propelling him toward the door. 

Once the door had closed upon them, Warrington capered around the roomlike a school-boy. The publication of this confederacy betweenMorrissy and McQuade would swing the doubting element over to his sideand split the ranks of the labor party. 

Patty, Patty Bennington! He must see her. It was impossible to waitanother day. When was it he had seen her last? Patty, dark-eyed, elfish, winsome, merry! Oh, yes, he must see her at once, this veryafternoon. He could no longer repress the tide of his love, whichsurged at the flood-gates of his heart with mighty pressure. Patty!Patty!

"Patty is not feeling well, " said Mrs. Bennington, as she welcomedWarrington at the door, an hour later. "I will call her. I am sure shewill be glad to see you. "

Warrington went into the music-room, placed his hat on the piano, andidled about impatiently. That morning he had not possessed thecourage; now he was willing to face lions and tigers, anything ratherthan permit another day to pass without telling Patty that he lovedher. When she finally appeared she was pale, her eyes were red, buther head was erect and her lips firm. 

"Patty, are you ill?" hastening toward her. 

"I have a very bad headache, " coldly. "You wished to see me?"

Where were all the tender words he had planned to speak? Patty hadbeen weeping!

"You have been crying. What has happened?" anxiously. 

"It can not interest you, " wearily. Men! She would have a horror ofthem for the rest of her days. 

"Not interest me? Don't you know, haven't you seen by this time, thatyou interest me more than any other living being or any angel inHeaven?"

Patty caught at the portiere to steady herself. She had not expecteddeclarations of this kind. 

"Don't you know, " he hurried on, his voice gaining in passion andtenderness, "don't you know that a pain to you means triple pain tome? Don't you know that I love you? Patty, what is the trouble? Youare not a woman to weep over headaches. "

"Do you wish to know, then?" bitterly. She hated him! How could hestand there telling her that he loved her? "Read this, " presenting theletter. "I despise you!"

"Despise me? What in God's name is the matter?"

"Read, read!" vehemently. 

Once the letter was in his hand, her arms dropped to her sides, tense. It was best so, to have it over with at once. To crush the thought ofhim out of her heart for ever, such a remedy was necessary. Shewatched him. His hand fell slowly. It would have been difficult to saywhich of the two was the whiter. 

"You speak of love to me?"

He stood there, stunned. His silence spoke eloquently to her. He wasguilty. She leaped to this conclusion at once, not realizing that noman can immediately defend himself when accused so abruptly. 

"You speak of love!" Her wrath seemed to scorch her lips. "My poorbrother!"

Warrington straightened. "Do you believe this?" He threw the letteraside, as if the touch contaminated him, caring not where it fell. 

"Is it true?"

"An anonymous letter?" he replied, contemptuously. 

"I know who wrote it. "

"You know who wrote it? Who?" There was terrible anger in his voicenow. 

"I decline to answer. "

"So you give me not even the benefit of a doubt! You believe it!"

Patty was less observant than usual. "Will you please go now? I do notthink there is anything more to be said. "

"No. I will go. " He spoke quietly, but like a man who has received hisdeath-stroke. "One question more. Did McQuade write that letter?"

"No. "

He picked up his hat. "So much for my dreams! Deny it? Deny calumny ofthe anonymous order? No! Defend myself against such a lie? No!"

He walked from the room, his head erect. He did not turn to look ather again. The hall door closed. He was gone. 

Chapter XIX

Tragedy was abroad that day, crossing and recrossing Williams Street. Tragedy has the same prerogative as love and death--the right to enterthe palace or the hovel, into the heart of youth or age. It was not akilling to-day, only a breaking of hearts, that is to say, the firststep. Tragedy never starts out on her rounds roughly; she seeks hercause first; she seeks her anonymous letter, her idle hands, her lyingtongue; then she is ready. Tragedy does nothing hastily; she graduatesher victim. 

Warrington stumbled rather than walked home. When he reached theopposite curb he slipped and fell, bruising his hands. . .. Deny it?Deny it when convicted without trial? There are never any proofs torefute a letter written by an unknown enemy. There is never any guardagainst the stab in the back. . .. He and Kate! It was monstrous. AndJohn? Did John know? Did John see that letter? No, Patty surely hadnot shown it to John. He knew John (or he believed he did); not allthe proofs or explanations Heaven or earth could give would convinceJohn, if that letter fell into his hands. . .. And he was to speak at amass meeting that night! God! He stumbled up the steps to the door. Hewas like a drunken man. . .. Patty believed it; Patty, just andmerciful, believed it. If she believed, what would John, the jealoushusband, believe? There were so many trifling things that now inJohn's eyes would assume immense proportions. . .. In less than half anhour the world had stopped, turned about, and gone another way. Heopened the door. As he did so a woman rushed into the hall. 

"Richard, Richard, I thought you would never come!"

"You, and in this house alone?" His shoulders drooped. 

Mrs. Jack did not observe how white he was, how dull his eye, howabject his whole attitude. She caught him by the sleeve and draggedhim into the living-room. 

"Richard, I am dying!" she cried. She loosened the collaret at herthroat. "What shall I do, what shall I do?"

He realized then that he was not alone in misery. 

"What is it, girl?" stirring himself. 

"Listen, Dick!" She dropped into the old name unconsciously. She hadbut one clear thought; this man could save her. "Some time ago--thenight you and John went down town together--I received a telephonecall from that vile wretch, McQuade. "

"McQuade?" Warrington's interest was thoroughly aroused by that name;nothing else could have aroused it. 

"He said that if I did not persuade you to withdraw your name beforethe convention met he would not oppose the publication of a certainstory concerning my past and yours. Horrible! What could I do? Iremained silent; it was Patty's advice. We were afraid that John wouldkill McQuade if we told him. " She let go of his arm and paced theroom, beating her hands together. "Think of the terror I have lived inall these weeks! Half dead every evening when John came home; notdaring to read the papers; afraid of calling on my few friends! I havenever, in all my life, done an evil action, either in thought or deed. What terrible gift is this that God gives to some people to make truthhalf a truth and half a truth a lie? Read this!"

It was a half-sheet of ordinary office paper, written on a typewriter. Its purport was similar to the one he had read but a few minutessince. Only it was bolder; there were no protestations about anybody'swelfare. It was addressed to John Bennington. 

"Great God! another anonymous letter! Do you know who sent this?"

"I can think of no one but McQuade; no one!" frantically. "Save me, Richard! I love him better than God, and this is my punishment. IfJohn sees this, I shall die; if he doesn't kill me I shall killmyself! I opened it by mistake. I am so miserable. What has happened?What have I done that this curse should fall on me? When I came tothis city I expected to find rest in the house of the man I loved. . .. Patty does not come over. . .. What have I not suffered in silence andwith smiles? I have seen them whispering; I have seen covert smiles, and nods, and shrugs. I knew. I was an actress. It seems that nothingtoo bad or vile can be thought of her who honestly throws her soulinto the greatest gift given to woman. An actress! They speak of herin the same tone they would use regarding a creature of the streets. Well, because I loved my husband I have said nothing; I have let thepoison eat into my heart in silence. But this goes too far. I shall gomad if this thing can not be settled here and now. It is both my loveand my honor. And you must do it, Richard; you must do it. "

"You say McQuade called you up by telephone?"

"Yes. "

He struck his forehead. The carbon sheet! He ran to his desk, pulledout all the drawers, tumbling the papers about till he found what hesought. From the letter to the faint imprint on the carbon sheet andback to the letter his eyes moved, searching, scrutinizing. 

"Look!" with a cry of triumph. 

"What is it?"

"Do you see that mutilated letter T?" He indicated with his finger onthe dim carbon sheet. 

"Yes, yes!"

"Compare it with the letter T in this note. "

She did so, her hands shaking pitifully. "I can't see, Richard. "

"That carbon sheet came from McQuade's office; so did that letter toJohn. And now, by the Lord! now to pull out Mr. McQuade's fangs, andslowly, too. " He pocketed the two sheets. "Come!" His hat was still onhis head. 

"Where, Richard?"

"To John. "

"No, no! John?"

"To him. We can not settle this matter underground. We must fight inthe open, in the light. John must know. You must be brave, girl. Thisis no time for timidity and tears. You know and I know that right andtruth are on our side. We'll risk it in a single throw. " Upondetermining to act thus, he was acting as only a man acts who has awide and definite knowledge of men and affairs. "Come; the sooner itis over the better. John may flare up a little, but he is a just man. Let us go to John. "

She put forth many arguments, but to each he shook his head. Thethought of losing a particle of John's love terrified her, who wasordinarily a courageous woman. 

"We are losing time, " said Warrington. "When John reads these twodocuments he will understand. He knows McQuade is base enough to seekrevenge this way. He will recognize it for its worth. But if Johnfinds out that we have left him out of our confidence, he will havesome good reason to doubt. Come. "

So she followed him, her heart like lead, no thought coherent, herwill without energy. This was to be the end of all her dreams. Theycrossed the street without speaking. He helped her down this curb andup that. All this excitement lessened his own pain temporarily. Butwho had written to Patty, if not McQuade? He could block any futuremove of McQuade's but this other anonymous writer, whom Patty declaredshe knew? He went on doggedly. One battle at a time. Together theyentered the house, together they passed from room to room in search ofJohn. They came upon him reading in the library. He rose to greetthem. There was no beating about the bush for Warrington. He wentstraight into the heart of things. 

"John, read this. "

John glanced at the sheet, and his face darkened. The look he shot hiswife was indescribable. She watched him, twisting and knotting anduntwisting her gloves. 

"When did this thing come?" asked John, a slight tremor in his tone. 

"This morning, " Mrs. Jack answered, her voice choking. 

"Why did you not bring it to me?" he asked. "Why did you take it toDick? You and he should not come to me; on the contrary, you and Ishould have gone to him. But never mind now. I have carried in mypocket a letter similar to this for several weeks, " simply. 

"Catch her, John!" cried Warrington. 

"No, no! I am not fainting. I am just dizzy. "

The poor woman groped her way to the lounge and lay down. Hershoulders were shaking with noiseless sobs. 

John crossed the room and put his hand on her head. The touch wastender. 

"Well, Dick?"

"It is easy to distort truth into a lie, John. "

"But it is very hard to reverse the order again. "

"Do you believe the lie?" Warrington looked his friend squarely in theeyes. 

A minute passed. The ticking of the clock was audible. 

"Believe it? I have had to struggle, I have had to fight hard and allalone. I do not say that I don't believe it. I say that I WILL not!"

A truly noble soul always overawes us. This generosity struckWarrington dumb. But the woman found life in the words. She flungherself before her husband and clasped his knees with a nervousstrength that provoked a sharp cry from his lips. 

"John, John!"

He stooped and unwound her arms, gently drawing her up, up, till herhead lay against his shoulder. Then she became a dead weight. She hadfainted. He lifted her up in his strong arms and started for thestairs. 

"Were she guilty of all the crimes chronicled in hell, I still shouldlove her. But between you and me, Dick, things must be explained. "

"I shall wait for you, John. "

John was not gone long. When he returned he found Warrington by thebow-window that looked out upon the lawn. 

"Now, Dick, the truth, and nothing but the truth. Don't be afraid ofme; I am master of myself. "

"I'm not afraid of you. There is half a truth in that letter, " beganWarrington, facing about. "Your wife did stay a night in myapartments. "

John made no sign. 

"It was the first week of a new play. I had to be at the theater everynight. There were many changes being made. Near midnight we startedout for a bite to eat. She had been suffering with attacks ofneuralgia of the heart. As we entered the carriage, one of theseattacks came on. We drove to her apartments. We could not get in. Hermaid was out, the janitor could not be found, and unfortunately shehad left her keys at the theater. In a moment like that I accepted thefirst thing that came into my head: my own apartments. She was notthere a quarter of an hour before a trained nurse and her ownphysician were at her side. I slept in a chair. At six the followingmorning she left for her own apartments. And that, John, is the truth, God's truth. I see now that I should have taken her to a hotel. Youknow that there was a time when I was somewhat dissipated. It was easyto take that incident and enlarge upon it. Now, let me tell you wherethis base slander originated. Compare the letter you have with the oneI gave you. "

John complied. He nodded. These two letters had come from the sametypewriter. 

"Next?"

"Here is another document. " It was the carbon sheet. 

John spread the sheet against the window-pane. The light behindbrought out the letters distinctly. He scarcely reached the final linewhen he spun round, his face mobile with eagerness. 

"Where did this come from?"

"Indirectly, out of McQuade's waste-basket. "

"Morrissy and McQuade; both of them! Oh, you have done me a service, Dick. "

"But it can not be used, John. That and the letters were written onMcQuade's typewriter. So much for my political dreams! With thatcarbon sheet I could pile up a big majority; without it I shall bedefeated. But don't let that bother you. "

"McQuade!" John slowly extended his arms and closed his fingers sotightly that his whole body trembled. An arm inside those fingerswould have snapped like a pipe-stem. "McQuade! Damn him!"

"Take care!" warned the other. "Don't injure those letters. When myname was suggested by Senator Henderson as a possible candidate, McQuade at once set about to see how he could injure my chances. Hewas afraid of me. An honest man, young, new in politics, and thereforeunattached, was a menace to the success of his party, that is to say, his hold on the city government. Among his henchmen was a man namedBolles. "

"Ah!" grimly. 

"He sent this man to New York to look up my past. In order to earn hismoney he brought back this lie, which is half a truth. Whether McQuadebelieves it or not is of no matter; it serves his purpose. Now, John!"

John made no reply. With his hands (one still clutching the letters)behind his back he walked the length of the room and returned. 

"Will you take my word, which you have always found loyal, or the wordof a man who has written himself down as a rascal, a briber, and ablackleg?"

John put out his empty hand and laid it on Warrington's shoulder. 

"You're a good man, Dick. Dissipation is sometimes a crucible thatseparates the gold from the baser metals. It has done that to you. Youare a good man, an honorable man. In coming to me like this you haveshown yourself to be courageous as well. There was a moment when thesight of you filled my heart with murder. It was the night after Ireceived that letter. I've been watching you, watching, watching. Well, I would stake my chance of eternity on your honesty. I take yourword; I should have taken it, had you nothing to prove your case. Thatnight I ran into Bolles. . .. Well, he uttered a vile insult, and I allbut throttled him. Here's my hand, Dick. "

The hand-grip that followed drew a gasp from Warrington. 

"Not every man would be so good about it, John. What shall we do aboutMcQuade?"

"I was about to say that I shall see McQuade within an hour, " in atone that did not promise well for McQuade. 

"Wait a day or two, John. If you meet him now, I believe you will dohim bodily harm, and he has caused enough trouble, God knows. "

"But not to meet him! Not to cram this paper down his vile throat! Ihad not considered that sacrifice. And I can not touch him by law, either. "

"But you can silence him effectually. This business will end righthere. "

"You are right, " said John with reluctance. "If I met him in thisrage. I should probably kill him. "

"Let us go and pay him a visit together, John, " Warrington suggested. "I can manage to keep in between you. "

"That's better. We'll go together. " And John went for his hat. Then heran up stairs quickly. There was a loving heart up there that ached, and he alone could soothe it. 

And then the two men left the house. As they strode down the street, side by side, step by step, their thoughts were as separate as the twopoles. To the one his wife was still his wife, in all the wordimplied; to the other there was only a long stretch of years that hemust pass through alone, alone, --not even the man at his side wouldever be quite the same to him, nor his wife. There was a shadow; itwould always walk between them. 

"Remember, Dick, Patty must never know anything of this. Nothing mustcome between her and my wife. "

"I shall say nothing to any one, John. " Who had written to Patty?

It took them a quarter of an hour to reach McQuade's office. Unfortunately for that gentleman, he was still in his office andalone. The new typewriter and the two clerks had gone. He was stillwondering why Osborne's niece had resigned so unexpectedly. Probablyshe was going to get married. They always did when they had saved apenny or two. He laughed. He had been careless now and then, butwhatever she might have picked up in the way of business or politicalsecrets could not profit her. Boss McQuade felt secure. Warrington wasas good as beaten. He had had his long-delayed revenge on the man whohad turned him out of doors. 

It was dark outside by this time, and he turned on the drop-light overhis desk. He heard the door open and shut, but this was not unusual;so he went on with his writing. 

"Well, what's wanted?" he called, folding his letter, but not yetturning his head. 

As no one answered, he sent his chair around with a push of his foot. He saw two men, but he did not recognize them at once. By and by hiseyes grew accustomed to the dark. Instantly he was on his feet, pressing the button connecting the wall-lights. There was no possibleexit save by that door, and these two men stood between. To do McQuadejustice, he was not a physical coward. His huge bulk and hardenedmuscles gave him a ready courage. He forced a smile to his lips. Afterall, he had expected one or the other of them sooner or later. 

"Well, gentlemen, I am highly honored. What can I do for you?" Therewas a pretense of amiability. 

"For the present, " said Warrington, "you may sit down. We propose todo so. " He drew out a chair from under the office table and placed itclose to the door. "You sit there, John. " For himself, he sat on thecorner of the table. 

McQuade did not hesitate, but reseated himself. His thoughts were notparticularly lucid, however. 

"McQuade, you're as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison, " saidWarrington. 

"I'll have to take your word for it, " was the reply. "But how is itthat I see you and Mr. Bennington together?" evilly. 

"We'll come to that presently. I had always given you credit for beingas astute as you were underhanded and treacherous. "

"Thanks. " McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around inhis vest for a match. 

"But, " Warrington added, "I am pained to reverse my opinion. You are afool as well as a blackleg. "

"How do you make that out?" coolly. 

"Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?"

"Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?"

"We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion, " dryly. 

Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. Ifthey wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two. He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar hauntsof his henchman. He located him at length in Martin's saloon. Therewas evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles. 

"Bolles, if you are not at my office inside of ten minutes, I'll breakyou, and you know what I mean. " McQuade hung up the receiver. "He'llbe right over. Now, what's all this mystery about?"

"It regards some literary compositions of yours to which I have takenexception. "

"Compositions?"

"Yes. Two anonymous letters. But before we discuss them we'll wait forour friend Bolles. "

McQuade signified that this was agreeable to him. All the same, heglanced uneasily at the man near the door. Bennington had not made theslightest sound after taking his chair. His arms were folded acrosshis breast, which rose and fell with deep intakes. His face, in theshadow, was no more readable than that of the miniature sphinxpaper-weight that rested on McQuade's desk. But Bolles was coming. Sothey waited. The end of McQuade's cigar waxed and waned according tohis inhalations. These inhalations were not quickly made, as by a manwhose heart is beating with excitement; they were slow and regular, itmight be said, contemplative. John's gaze never left the end of thatcigar. 

The lights in the tall building opposite began to twinkle from windowto window. Warrington slipped off the table and pulled down thecurtains. McQuade knocked the ashes from his cigar, contemplated thecoal, and returned it to the corner of his mouth. 

Ah! The three men heard steps in the hall. The door to the outeroffice opened and banged. But the man who squeezed past Bennington wasnot Bolles. 

"Morrissy?" cried Warrington. "Fine! Have a chair, Mr. Morrissy, havea chair. " Warrington was delighted. 

Morrissy's glance, somewhat bewildered, traveled from face to face. Onentering he had seen only McQuade's tranquil visage. He sat down, disturbed and mystified. 

"What's this?" Morrissy demanded to know. 

"Hanged if I know!" said McQuade. "These two gentlemen presentedthemselves a few moments ago and requested me to send for Bolles. Havea cigar. "

Morrissy took the proffered weed, but he did not light it. He turnedit round and round in his teeth and chewed it. Well, so long as theboss did not seem alarmed, the trouble could not be serious. Yet hewas not over-confident of Bennington's lowering face. 

"Been a fine day, " said Morrissy, at haphazard. 

"Yes, but there's going to be a storm to-night. " Warrington resumedhis position on the table. 

Conversation died. And then Bolles came in. At the sight of Benningtonhe recoiled. 

"Come in, come in!" said McQuade. "Mr. Warrington will offer you achair, " facetiously. 

"Yes, Bolles, sit down. "

"Well, gentlemen, here's a quorum;" and McQuade began to rock in hischair. Three against two; that would do very well. 

"I will go at once at the matter in hand. Those letters, John. "Warrington held out his hand. "I'll read one to you, McQuade. " He readslowly and distinctly. 

"What the hell is this?" said Morrissy. 

"It's up to Mr. Warrington to explain. " McQuade grinned. That grin, however, nearly cost him his life. 

"John, remember your promise!" cried Warrington. 

John sat down, seized with a species of vertigo. 

"McQuade, you wrote that. "

"Me? You're crazy!"

"Not at all. Let me advise you. The next time you put your hand toanonymous letters, examine the type of your machine. There may be somebad letter. "

"I don't know what you're driving at, " McQuade declared. 

"I see that I must read this, then, to convince you. " Warrington stoodup, his back toward Bennington. He unfolded the carbon sheet and beganto read. 

McQuade saw Medusa's head, little versed as he was in mythology. Helowered his cigar. The blood in his face gradually receded. 

"'In two sums of five hundred each, '" Warrington went on. 

Morrissy, who suddenly saw visions of bars and stripes, made a quick, desperate spring. Warrington struck him with full force on the side ofthe head. Morrissy reeled, stumbled to the floor and lay there. Theothers were on their feet instantly. 

"Stay where you are, John; I don't need any assistance. Now, McQuade, I've got you where I want you. " Warrington spoke with deadly calm now. "This carbon was found in your waste-basket and brought to me. Thegirl is where you can not find her. There are two courses open toyou. "

"What are they?" There was murder in McQuade's heart, but there wasreason in his head. He saw exactly where he stood. They had him. 

"One is state's prison; the other is a full retraction of this basecalumny. Take your choice. "

"Bolles?"

"It's true, every damn word of it, " said Bolles venomously. "Yourjanitor in New York told me the facts. You know they're true. "

"Bolles, I nearly killed you one night. So help me, if you do notwithdraw that, I'll kill you here and now!" It was the first timeBennington had spoken. 

"Bolles, " said McQuade, "did you sell a lie to me?"

Bolles eyed Bennington, who had pushed Warrington out of the way andwas moving toward him. He saw death on Bennington's face. Warringtonagain interposed, but John swept him aside with ease. 

"Well, there was a doctor and a nurse there all night with them. Butshe was in Warrington's rooms all night. That seemed enough for me. "Bolles put the table between him and Bennington. He was genuinelyafraid. 

Morrissy turned over and sat up, rubbing his head. Presently he pulledhimself to his feet. He was dazed. Recollection of what had happenedreturned to him. This dude had knocked him out. 

"You'll pay well for that, " he said. 

"Sit down. It's only a marker for what I'll do to you if you makeanother move. Now, McQuade, which is it?"

"Go ahead and write your letter, " McQuade snarled. 

Warrington proceeded. 

"Now sign it, " he said. "Here, John, take care of this carbon. Bolles, your signature. " Bolles scrawled a shaking hand. Warrington put thepaper in his pocket. "Bite, both of you now, if you dare. "

"I'll trouble you for that carbon, " said McQuade. 

"Hardly. But you have my word of honor that it shall not be usedagainst you unless you force me. It will repose in my deposit box atthe bank. But as for you, Morrissy, this climate doesn't suit yourabilities. The field is too small. Take my advice and clear out. Thatis all, gentlemen. Come, John. "

When they were gone Morrissy turned savagely upon McQuade. 

"I told you you were a damn fool!"

"Get out of here, both of you; and if you ever stick your heads inthis office again, I'll smash you. "

McQuade dropped into his chair, once more alone. He sat there for anhour, thinking, ruminating, planning; but all his thinking andruminating and planning had but one result: they had him licked. Morrissy was right; he was a fool. The girl! He would have liked herthroat in his fingers that moment, the sneaking, treacherous baggage!Licked! To go about hereafter with that always menacing him! But therewas one ray of consolation. He knew something about human nature. Bennington and Warrington would drift apart after this. Bennington hadcleared up the scandal, but he hadn't purged his heart of all doubt. There was some satisfaction in this knowledge. And Warrington wouldnever enter the City Hall as Herculaneum's mayor. 

Chapter XX

By November John and his wife were on the way to Italy. There isalways a second honeymoon for those who have just passed the firstmatrimonial Scylla and Charybdis; there is always a new courtship, deeper and more understanding. Neither of them had surrendered aparticle of their affection for Warrington, but they agreed that itwould be easier for all concerned if there came a separation ofseveral months. 

"You are all I have, " said Warrington, when they bade him good-by. "Ishall be very lonely without you. If I lose the election I shall go toJapan. "

"There's always Patty and the mother, " said John, smiling. 

"Yes, there's always Patty and her mother. Good-by, and God bless youboth. You deserve all the happiness I can wish for you. "

Warrington plunged into the campaign. It would keep him occupied. 

Mrs. Bennington and Patty lived as usual, to all outward appearance. But Patty was rarely seen in society. She took her long rides in theafternoon now, always alone, brooding. Her young friends wondered, questioned, then drifted away gradually. Poor little Patty! No one hadtold her; the viper had not been shaken from her nest. Day after dayshe waited for the blow to fall, for the tide of scandal to roll overher and obliterate her. She was worldly enough to know that Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was not the kind of woman to keep such a scandalunder lock and key; others must know, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene'sparticular friends. So she avoided the possibility of meeting thesefriends by declining all invitations of a formal character. Perhapsafter a time it would die of its own accord, to be recalled in afteryears by another generation, as such things generally are. Pattyderived no comfort from the paragraph in the Sunday papers announcingMrs. Franklyn-Haldene's departure for Egypt, to remain for thewinter. 

She kept in touch with all that Warrington did. The sense of shame shehad at first experienced in reading his speeches was gone. Her prideno longer urged her to cast aside the paper, to read it, to fling itinto the flames. Sometimes she saw him on the way home from hismorning rides. It seemed to her that he did not sit as erectly asformerly. Why should he? she asked herself bitterly. When the heart isheavy it needs a confidante, but Patty, brave and loyal, deniedherself the luxury of her mother's arms. Tell her this frightfulstory? Bow that proud, handsome head? No. 

"It is very strange, " mused her mother, one evening, "that Mr. Warrington calls no more. I rather miss his cheerfulness, and Johnthinks so much of him. "

Patty shivered. "He is very busy, mother. Election is only three daysoff, and doubtless he hasn't a minute to call his own. "

Nor had he. Pulled this way and that, speaking every night, from oneend of the city to the other, he went over the same ground again andagain, with the same noise, the same fumes of tobacco and whisky andkerosene, with his heart no longer behind his will. Yes, Warringtonwas very busy. He was very unhappy, too. What did he care about themaking up of the slate? What was it to him that this man or thatwanted this or that berth? What were all these things? But he hid hisdissatisfaction admirably. His speeches lacked nothing. 

Election day came round finally, and a rare and beautiful day it was. The ghost of summer had returned to view her past victories. A westwind had cleared the skies, the sun shone warm and grateful, thegolden leaves shivered and fluttered to the ground. Nature had lent ahand to bring voting humanity to the polls. Some men are such goodcitizens that they will vote in the rain. But warmth and sunshinebring out the lazy, the indifferent, and the uninterested. 

Warrington voted early in the morning, rode to the Country Club, madean attempt to play golf over the partly frozen course, lounged roundtill three in the afternoon, and then returned to town. There was nota flutter in his heart. There was this truth, however, staring him inthe eyes: if he lost, he would become an indifferent citizen; if hewon, an in different mayor. He was not a man to falsify his accountsfor the inspection of his conscience. 

The voting was heavy throughout the day. Crowds lingered round thepolls, which, in greater part, were in the rear of shops, in barns andsheds. There was a good deal of repeating in some of the districts, and a dozen arrests had been made. Neither party was free from thistaint of dishonest politics. But no one could prophesy what the finalresults of the day would be. 

Night came. It is the greatest spectacular night the American knows. The noisy, good-natured crowds in the streets, the jostling, snail-moving crowds; the illuminated canvas-sheets in front of thenewspaper offices; the blare of tin horns, the cries, the yells, thehoots and hurrahs; the petty street fights; the stalled surface cars;the swearing cabbies; the newsboys hawking their latest extras, mencarrying execrable posters of roosters. Hurrah! hurrah! A flash goesover the canvas. 

 In the 4th District Donnelly 608 Warrington. 302

A roar that rose and died suddenly, and a wailing of tin horns. 

 In Seven Districts Warrington 1, 262 Donnelly 1, 196

Roars. It was, going to be close. Between times local advertisers usedthe sheets, or there were pictures of presidents past and present, crowned heads (always greeted with jeers), funny pictures, or returnsfrom other states. 

 In Nine Districts Donnelly 1, 821 Warrington 1, 800

The crowds surged and billowed, and there was pandemonium. 

The newspaper offices were having a busy time. This period proves theman; he is a newspaper man or he is not. There was a continuous comingand going of messengers, bringing in returns. The reporters andeditors were in their shirt-sleeves, most of them collarless. Figures, figures, thousands of figures to sift and resift. A fire-bell rings. No one looks up save the fire reporter, and he is up and away at once. Filtering through the various noises is the maddening rattle of thetelegraph instruments. Great drifts of waste-paper litter the floors. A sandwich man serves coffee and cigars, and there is an occasionalbottle of beer. Everybody is writing, writing. 

McQuade and his cohorts haunted the city room of the Times. Things didnot look well at all. There were twelve more districts to hear from. Donnelly seemed to be the coolest man in that office. 

Warrington started home at nine. Up to this time he had beenindifferent, but it was impossible not to catch the spirit of thisnight. Win or lose, however, he wanted to be alone. So he went home, lighted the fire in his working-room, called his dog, and sat theredreaming. 

Down town the clamor was increasing. The great throngs round thebulletins were gathering in force. Bonfires were flaring on corners. 

 In 15 Districts Warrington 9, 782 Donnelly 9, 036

Close, terribly close. But those districts upon which the fight reallydepended had not yet turned up. The big labor vote had not beenaccounted for. 

The Call had notified its readers that when the returns were all inand the battle decided, it would blow a whistle. If Warrington waselected, five blasts; if Donnelly, ten. 

So Warrington waited, sunk in his chair, his legs sprawled, his chinon his breast, and his eyes drawing phantoms in the burning wood fire. . .. It was cruel that Patty could not know; and yet to leave John withthe belief that his sister knew nothing was a kindness, and only Johncould convince Patty; and it was even a greater kindness to leavePatty with the belief that John knew nothing. So there he stood;friendship on the one side and love on the other. He recalled all thecharming ways Patty had, the color of her hair, the light music of herlaughter, the dancing shadows in her eyes, the transparent skin, thespringy step, and the vigor and life that were hers. And he had losther, not through any direct fault, but because he was known to havebeen dissipated at one time; a shadow that would always be crossingand recrossing his path. So long as he lived he would carry thatletter of hers, with its frank, girlish admiration. 

So, he mused, those dissipations of his, which, after all, had touchedhim but lightly--these had, like chickens, come home to roost! And howthese chickens had multiplied and grown! On the way home it seemedthat everybody had striven to fatten them up a bit and addsurreptitiously a chicken or two of his own. Oh, these meddlers, theseidle tongues! None of them would set to work to wrong anybody, towreck anybody's life. They would shrink in horror from the thought, let alone the deed. Yet, they must talk, they must exchange the day'snews, they must have news that no one else had; and this competitionis the cause of half the misery on earth. What if they exaggerate alittle here and a little there? No harm is meant. Human nature, havingfound its speech, must have something to talk about; that which it hasneither seen nor heard, it invents. 

Who had written that letter to Patty? Some woman; man had not yetacquired such finished cruelty. He could not understand its purpose, well as he understood women. Who could possibly hate Patty, honest andloyal as the day is long? McQuade's letters had their existence inrevenge. Patty had wronged no one; McQuade had. 

"Well, Jove, old man, you and I may have to pack up on the morrow. Ifwe are licked, you and I'll go to Japan. That's a country we've alwaysbeen wanting to see. "

Jove lifted his head, somewhat scarred, and gazed up at his masterwith steadfast love in his red-brown eyes. A dog is better than ahorse, a horse is better than a cat, a cat is better than nothing. . .. Warrington sat up quickly, drawing in his legs. A whistle! He caughthis breath and counted. One--two--three--four--five--SIX! . .. Donnelly! He counted no more. Donnelly had won. 

His valet found him asleep in the chair the next morning, before adead fire. It was cold in the room. The valet touched him, butWarrington did not move. It was only when he was roughly shaken thathe opened his eyes. A single glance explained the situation. He jumpedto his feet, rubbing his eyes. 

"Will you have the morning papers, sir?"

"What's the use?" Warrington shrugged indifferently. 

"The majority was only six hundred and eighty-two, sir. "

"Then we had them mightily scared for a time. Odd that the 'phone didnot wake me up. "

"I took it off the hook, sir, at midnight. I knew it would disturbyou. "

"Go down town and bring me up the sailing-lists and a few cabin-plansfor ships bound for Japan. I intend to start for that country just assoon as I can dispose of the horses. "

"Shall you need me, sir?"

"I couldn't get along without you, James. "

"Thank you, sir. Breakfast is served, sir, if you wish it. "

The telephone rang. The valet raised his eyebrows inquiringly. 

"I'll answer it, " said Warrington. "Who is it? Jordan? Oh! You can saythat I put up the best fight I knew how. . .. No. Say nothing about theinfluence of the strike. Let it stand as it is. . .. My plans? You maysay that I shall sail in a few days for Japan. . .. Oh, yes! This is myhome. I shall return in the spring. Change of scene, that's all. Good-by. "

The defeated candidate ate a respectable breakfast, after which he puthis affairs in order. Trunks were brought down from the store-room, and cases and steamer-rolls. Warrington always traveled comfortably. He left the packing in charge of the valet. 

A ten-o'clock edition of the Telegraph was being hawked outside, butWarrington had seen all he wanted of newspapers. By noon he had founda purchaser for his stable. The old housekeeper and her husband wereto remain in care of the house. They were the only beings that lovedhim, now that the aunt was gone. Heigh-ho!

He declined lunch. He answered no more calls on the telephone. WhenSenator Henderson called the interview was pleasant but short. 

"We'll try you again, " said the senator genially. 

"I'll think it over, " replied Warrington. 

"You'll win next time; you'll be stronger two years hence. You made agreat fight. Bennington lost the fight for you. If he hadn't been yourfriend--"

"I had rather have John Bennington my friend than be president, "laughing. 

"There were six thousand-odd labor votes against you, and yetDonnelly's majority was only six hundred and eighty-two. Hope you'llenjoy your trip to Japan. But McQuade's back again!" discouraged. 

"Senator, if he acts nasty in any way, go to him personally and tellhim that upon application at the bank you will open my deposit box. He'll understand; he'll be as docile as a lamb. And thank all the boysfor their good work. I appreciate the honor that has been done me. Tohave been a candidate is something. "

By three o'clock Warrington found time to sit down at his desk towrite three letters. One was addressed to McQuade, another to John, Hotel de la Syrene, Sorrento, Italy. The third he began after somedeliberation:

Patty: Presently I shall be on the way to Japan. I was going without aword because I had given a promise to your brother John. But it is notwithin human nature, at least mine, to leave without telling you againthat I love you better than life, and that I am innocent of the wrongyou were so ready to believe. Some day ask John; tell him that I havebroken my word; he will tell you how truth was made a lie. I realizenow that I ought to have stood my ground. I ought to have nailed thelie then. But my proofs were not such as would do away with alldoubts. And besides, when I saw that you had believed without givingme the benefit of a doubt, I was angry. And so I left you, refusing tospeak one way or the other. John will tell you. And if my cause isstill in your thought and you care to write, mail your letter to mybankers. They will forward it. And if I should have the happiness tobe wanted, even if I am at the ends of the world, I shall come to you. 

He did not sign it, but he read it over carefully. There was nothingto cut, nothing to add. He folded it, then laid his head on hisextended arms. A door opened and closed, but his ear was dull. Theneverything became still. Scientists have not yet fully explained whatit is that discovers to us a presence in the room, a presence that wehave neither seen nor heard enter. So it was with Warrington. Therewas no train of collected thought in his mind, nothing but straysnatches of this day and of that the picture of a smile, a turn in theroad, the sound of a voice. And all at once he became conscious thatsomething was compelling him to raise his head. He did so slowly. 

A woman was standing within a dozen feet of the desk. 

"Patty!" he cried, leaping to his feet bewildered. 

Patty did not move. Alas, she had left all her great bravery at thethreshold. What would he think of her?

"Patty!" he repeated. "You are here?"

"Yes. " All the blood in her body seemed to congest in her throat. "Are--is it true that you are going to Japan?" If he came a stepnearer she was positive that she would fall. 

"Yes, Patty; it is as true as I love you. But let us not speak ofthat, " sadly. 

"Yes, yes! Let us speak of it!" a wild despair in her voice andgesture. "Let us speak of it, since I do nothing but think of it, think of it, think of it! Oh! I am utterly shameless, but I can notfight any longer. I have no longer any pride. I should despise you, but I do not. I should hate you, but I can not . .. No, no! Stay whereyou are. "

"Patty, do you love me?" There was a note in his voice as vibrant asthe second string of a cello. 

"Yes. "

"Do you still believe that I am a blackguard?"

"I care not what you are or what you have been; nothing, nothing. Itis only what you have been to me and what you still are. Something iswrong; something is terribly wrong; I know not what it is. Surely Godwould not let me love you as I do if you were not worthy. "

"No, " he replied gravely; "God would not do that. "

The tears rolled down Patty's cheeks, but there was no sound. 

"Here, Patty; read this letter which I was about to send you. "

She accepted it dumbly. Then, through her tears there came wonder andjoy and sunshine. When she had done, he held out his hand for theletter; but she smiled and shook her head. 

"No, Richard; this is my first love-letter. "

The End