SUNDRY ACCOUNTS

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BY IRVIN S. COBB

FICTION

SUNDRY ACCOUNTSJ. POINDEXTER, COLOREDBACK HOMEFROM PLACE TO PLACEOLD JUDGE PRIESTLOCAL COLORTHOSE TIMES AND THESETHE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM

WIT AND HUMOR

ONE THIRD OFFA PLEA FOR OLD CAP COLLIERTHE ABANDONED FARMERSTHE LIFE OF THE PARTYEATING IN TWO OR THREE LANGUAGES"OH, WELL, YOU KNOW HOW WOMEN ARE!"FIBBLE D. D. "SPEAKING OF OPERATIONS----"EUROPE REVISEDROUGHING IT DE LUXECOBB'S BILL OF FARECOBB'S ANATOMY

MISCELLANY

THE THUNDERS OF SILENCETHE GLORY OF THE COMINGPATHS OF GLORY"SPEAKING OF PRUSSIANS----"

NEW YORKGEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

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SUNDRY ACCOUNTS

by

IRVIN S. COBB

Author of "Back Home, " "Speaking of Operations--, ""Old Judge Priest, " Etc. 

[Illustration: Publisher's logo]

New YorkGeorge H. Doran Company

Copyright, 1922, by George H. Doran Company

[Illustration: Publisher's logo]

Printed in the United States of America

TO JOHN WILSON TOWNSEND, ESQUIRE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I DARKNESS 11

 II THE CATER-CORNERED SEX 57

 III A SHORT NATURAL HISTORY 104

 IV IT COULD HAPPEN AGAIN TO-MORROW 157

 V THE RAVELIN' WOLF 212

 VI "WORTH 10, 000" 246

 VII MR. LOBEL'S APOPLEXY 300

VIII ALAS, THE POOR WHIFFLETIT! 341

 IX PLENTIFUL VALLEY 392

 X A TALE OF WET DAYS 424

SUNDRY ACCOUNTS

CHAPTER I

DARKNESS

There was a house in this town where always by night lights burned. Inone of its rooms many lights burned; in each of the other rooms at leastone light. It stood on Clay Street, on a treeless plot among flowerbeds, a small dull-looking house; and when late on dark nights all theother houses on Clay Street were solid blockings lifting from the lesserblackness of their background, the lights in this house patterned itswindows with squares of brilliancy so that it suggested a grid set onedge before hot flames. Once a newcomer to the town, a transient guestat Mrs. Otterbuck's boarding house, spoke about it to old Squire Jonas, who lived next door to where the lights blazed of nights, and the answerhe got makes a fitting enough beginning for this account. 

This stranger came along Clay Street one morning, and Squire Jonas, whowas leaning over his gate contemplating the world as it passed inreview, nodded to him and remarked that it was a fine morning; and thestranger was emboldened to stop and pass the time of day, as the sayinggoes. 

"I'm here going over the books of the Bernheimer Distilling Company, " hesaid when they had spoken of this and that, "and, you know, when achartered accountant gets on a job he's supposed to keep right at ituntil he's done. Well, my work keeps me busy till pretty late. And thelast three nights, passing that place yonder adjoining yours, I'venoticed she was all lit up like as if for a wedding or a christening ora party or something. But I didn't see anybody going in or coming out, or hear anybody stirring in there, and it struck me as blamed curious. Last night--or this morning, rather, I should say--it must have beenclose on to half-past two o'clock when I passed by, and there she was, all as quiet as the tomb and still the lights going from top to bottom. So I got to wondering to myself. Tell me, sir, is there somebody sickover there next door?"

"Yes, suh, " stated the squire, "I figure you might say there is somebodysick there. He's been sick a powerful long time too. But it's not hisbody that's sick; it's his soul. "

"I don't know as I get you, sir, " said the other man in a puzzled sortof way. 

"Son, " stated the squire, "I reckin you've been hearin' 'em, haven'tyou, singin' this here new song that's goin' 'round about, 'I'm Afraidto Go Home in the Dark'? Well, probably the man who wrote that theresong never was down here in these parts in his life; probably he justmade the idea of it up out of his own head. But he might 'a' had thecase of my neighbor in his mind when he done so. Only his song is kindof comical and this case here is about the most uncomic one you'd belikely to run acrost. The man who lives here alongside of me is not onlyafraid to go home in the dark but he's actually feared to stay in thedark after he gets home. Once he killed a man and he come clear of thekillin' all right enough, but seems like he ain't never got over it; andthe sayin' in this town is that he's studied it out that ef ever he getsin the dark, either by himself or in company, he'll see the face of thatthere man he killed. So that's why, son, you've been seein' them lightsa-blazin'. I've been seein' 'em myself fur goin' on twenty year or more, I reckin 'tis by now, and I've got used to 'em. But I ain't never gotover wonderin' whut kind of thoughts he must have over there all aloneby himself at night with everything lit up bright as day around him, when by rights things should be dark. But I ain't ever asted him, andwhut's more, I never will. He ain't the kind you could go to him astin'him personal questions about his own private affairs. We-all here intown just accept him fur whut he is and sort of let him be. He's whutyou might call a town character. His name is Mr. Dudley Stackpole. "

In all respects save one, Squire Jonas, telling the inquiring strangerthe tale, had the rights of it. There were town characters aplenty hemight have described. A long-settled community with traditions behind itand a reasonable antiquity seems to breed curious types of men and womenas a musty closet breeds mice and moths. This town of ours had its townmysteries and its town eccentrics--its freaks, if one wished to put thematter bluntly; and it had its champion story-teller and its championliar and its champion guesser of the weight of livestock on the hoof. 

There was crazy Saul Vance, the butt of cruel small boys, who deportedhimself as any rational creature might so long as he walked a straightcourse; but so surely as he came to where the road forked or two streetscrossed he could not decide which turning to take and for hours angledback and forth and to and fro, now taking the short cut to regain thepath he just had quitted, now retracing his way over the long one, forall the world like a geometric spider spinning its web. There was oldDaddy Hannah, the black root-and-yarb doctor, who could throw spells andweave charms and invoke conjures. He wore a pair of shoes which had beenworn by a man who was hanged, and these shoes, as is well known, leaveno tracks which a dog will nose after or a witch follow, or a ha'nt. Small boys did not gibe at Daddy Hannah, you bet you! There was MajorBurnley, who lived for years and years in the same house with the wifewith whom he had quarreled and never spoke a word to her or she to him. But the list is overlong for calling. With us, in that day and time, town characters abounded freely. But Mr. Dudley Stackpole was more thana town character. He was that, it is true, but he was something elsebesides; something which tabbed him a mortal set apart from his fellowmortals. He was the town's chief figure of tragedy. 

If you had ever seen him once you could shut your eyes and see him overagain. Yet about him there was nothing impressive, nothing in his portor his manner to catch and to hold a stranger's gaze. With him, physically, it was quite the other way about. He was a short spare man, very gentle in his movements, a toneless sort of man of a palish graycast, who always wore sad-colored clothing. He would make you think of aman molded out of a fog; almost he was like a man made of smoke. Hismode of living might testify that a gnawing remorse abode ever with him, but his hair had not turned white in a single night, as the heads ofthose suddenly stricken by a great shock or a great grief or any greatlyupsetting and disordering emotion sometimes are reputed to turn. Neitherin his youth nor when age came to him was his hair white. But for sofar back as any now remembered it had been a dullish gray, suggesting ata distance dead lichens. 

The color of his skin was a color to match in with the rest of him. Itwas not pale, nor was it pasty. People with a taste for comparisons werehard put to it to describe just what it was the hue of his face didremind them of, until one day a man brought in from the woods theabandoned nest of a brood of black hornets, still clinging to thependent twig from which the insect artificers had swung it. Darkies usedto collect these nests in the fall of the year when the vicious swarmshad deserted them. Their shredded parchments made ideal wadding formuzzle-loading scatter-guns, and sufferers from asthma tore them down, too, and burned them slowly and stooped over the smoldering mass andinhaled the fumes and the smoke which arose, because the countrywiseacres preached that no boughten stuff out of a drug store gave suchrelief from asthma as this hornet's-nest treatment. But it remained forthis man to find a third use for such a thing. He brought it into theoffice of Gafford's wagon yard, where some other men were sitting aboutthe fire, and he held it up before them and he said:

"Who does this here hornet's nest put you fellers in mind of--this graycolor all over it, and all these here fine lines runnin' back and forthand every which-a-way like wrinkles? Think, now--it's somebody you allknow. "

And when they had given it up as a puzzle too hard for them to guess hesaid:

"Why, ain't it got percisely the same color and the same look about itas Mr. Dudley Stackpole's face? Why, it's a perfect imitation of him!That's whut I said to myself all in a flash when I first seen itbouncin' on the end of this here black birch limb out yonder in theflats. "

"By gum, if you ain't right!" exclaimed one of the audience. "Say, cometo think about it, I wonder if spendin' all his nights with brightlights burnin' round him is whut's give that old man that gray colorhe's got, the same as this wasp's nest has got it, and all them puckerylines round his eyes. Pore old devil, with the hags furever ridin' him!Well, they tell me he's toler'ble well fixed in this world's goods, butpoor as I am, and him well off, I wouldn't trade places with him fur anyamount of money. I've got my peace of mind if I ain't got anything elseto speak of. Say, you'd 'a' thought in all these years a man would getover broodin' over havin' killed another feller, and specially havin'killed him in fair fight. Let's see, now, whut was the name of thefeller he killed that time out there at Cache Creek Crossin's? Iactually disremember. I've heard it a thousand times, too, I reckin, ifI've heard it oncet. "

For a fact, the memory of the man slain so long before only enduredbecause the slayer walked abroad as a living reminder of the taking offof one who by all accounts had been of small value to mankind in his dayand generation. Save for the daily presence of the one, the veryidentity even of the other might before now have been forgotten. Forthis very reason, seeking to enlarge the merits of the controversy whichhad led to the death of one Jesse Tatum at the hands of DudleyStackpole, people sometimes referred to it as the Tatum-Stackpole feudand sought to liken it to the Faxon-Fleming feud. But that was a realfeud with fence-corner ambuscades and a sizable mortality list andnighttime assassinations and all; whereas this lesser thing, which nowbriefly is to be dealt with on its merits, had been no more than aneighborhood falling out, having but a solitary homicide for itsclimactic upshot. So far as that went, it really was not so much thedeath of the victim as the survival of his destroyer--and his fashion ofliving afterwards--which made warp and woof for the fabric of thetragedy. 

With the passage of time the actuating causes were somewhat blurred inperspective. The main facts stood forth clear enough, but the underlyingdetails were misty and uncertain, like some half-obliterated scribble ona badly rubbed slate upon which a more important sum has been overlaid. One rendition had it that the firm of Stackpole Brothers sued the twoTatums--Harve and Jess--for an account long overdue, and won judgment inthe courts, but won with it the murderous enmity of the defendant pair. Another account would have it that a dispute over a boundary fencemarching between the Tatum homestead on Cache Creek and one of theStackpole farm holdings ripened into a prime quarrel by reasons ofStackpole stubbornness on the one hand and Tatum malignity on the other. By yet a third account the lawsuit and the line-fence matter wereconfusingly twisted together to form a cause for disputation. 

Never mind that part though. The incontrovertible part was that thingscame to a decisive pass on a July day in the late 80's when the twoTatums sent word to the two Stackpoles that at or about six o'clock ofthat evening they would come down the side road from their place a mileaway to Stackpole Brothers' gristmill above the big riffle in CacheCreek prepared to fight it out man to man. The warning was explicitenough--the Tatums would shoot on sight. The message was meant for two, but only one brother heard it; for Jeffrey Stackpole, the senior memberof the firm, was sick abed with heart disease at the Stackpole house onClay Street in town, and Dudley, the junior, was running the businessand keeping bachelor's hall, as the phrase goes, in the living room ofthe mill; and it was Dudley who received notice. 

Now the younger Stackpole was known for a law-abiding and awell-disposed man, which reputation stood him in stead subsequently; butalso he was no coward. He might crave peace, but he would not flee fromtrouble moving toward him. He would not advance a step to meet it, neither would he give back a step to avoid it. If it occurred to him tohurry in to the county seat and have his enemies put under bonds to keepthe peace he pushed the thought from him. This, in those days, was notthe popular course for one threatened with violence by another; nor, generally speaking, was it regarded exactly as the manly one to follow. So he bided that day where he was. Moreover, it was not of record thathe told anyone at all of what impended. He knew little of the use offirearms, but there was a loaded pistol in the cash drawer of the milloffice. He put it in a pocket of his coat and through the afternoon hewaited, outwardly quiet and composed, for the appointed hour whensingle-handed he would defend his honor and his brother's against theunequal odds of a brace of bullies, both of them quick on the trigger, both smart and clever in the handling of weapons. 

But if Stackpole told no one, someone else told someone. Probably themessenger of the Tatums talked. He currently was reputed to have a leakytongue to go with his jimberjaws; a born trouble maker, doubtless, elsehe would not have loaned his service to such employment in the firstplace. Up and down the road ran the report that before night there wouldbe a clash at the Stackpole mill. Peg-Leg Foster, who ran the generalstore below the bridge and within sight of the big riffle, saw fit toshut up shop early and go to town for the evening. Perhaps he did notwant to be a witness, or possibly he desired to be out of the way ofstray lead flying about. So the only known witness to what happened, other than the parties engaged in it, was a negro woman. She, at least, was one who had not heard the rumor which since early forenoon had beenspreading through the sparsely settled neighborhood. When six o'clockcame she was grubbing out a sorghum patch in front of her cabin justnorth of where the creek cut under the Blandsville gravel pike. 

One gets a picture of the scene: The thin and deficient shadowsstretching themselves across the parched bottom lands as the sun sliddown behind the trees of Eden's swamp lot; the heat waves of ablistering hot day still dancing their devil's dance down the road likewriggling circumflexes to accent a false promise of coolness off therein the distance; the ominous emptiness of the landscape; the broodingquiet, cut through only by the frogs and the dry flies tuning up fortheir evening concert; the bandannaed negress wrangling at the weedswith her hoe blade inside the rail fence; and, half sheltered withinthe lintels of the office doorway of his mill, Dudley Stackpole, a slim, still figure, watching up the crossroad for the coming of hisadversaries. 

But the adversaries did not come from up the road as they had advertisedthey would. That declaration on their part had been a trick and device, cockered up in the hope of taking the foe by surprise and from the rear. In a canvas-covered wagon--moving wagons, we used to call them in RedGravel County--they left their house half an hour or so before the timeset by them for the meeting, and they cut through by a wood lane whichmet the pike south of Foster's store; and then very slowly they rode upthe pike toward the mill, being minded to attack from behind, with theadded advantage of unexpectedness on their side. 

Chance, though, spoiled their strategy and made these terms of primitivedueling more equal. Mark how: The woman in the sorghum patch saw ithappen. She saw the wagon pass her and saw it brought to a standstilljust beyond where she was; saw Jess Tatum slide stealthily down fromunder the overhanging hood of the wagon and, sheltered behind it, draw arevolver and cock it, all the while peeping out, searching the front andthe nearer side of the gristmill with his eager eyes. She saw HarveTatum, the elder brother, set the wheel chock and wrap the lines aboutthe sheathed whipstock, and then as he swung off the seat catch a bootheel on the rim of the wagon box and fall to the road with a jar whichknocked him cold, for he was a gross and heavy man and struck squarelyon his head. With popped eyes she saw Jess throw up his pistol and fireonce from his ambush behind the wagon, and then--the startled teamhaving snatched the wagon from before him--saw him advance into the opentoward the mill, shooting again as he advanced. 

All now in the same breath and in a jumble of shock and terror she sawDudley Stackpole emerge into full sight, and standing clear a pace fromhis doorway return the fire; saw the thudding frantic hoofs of the nighhorse spurn Harve Tatum's body aside--the kick broke his right leg, itturned out--saw Jess Tatum suddenly halt and stagger back as thoughjerked by an unseen hand; saw him drop his weapon and straighten again, and with both hands clutched to his throat run forward, head thrown backand feet drumming; heard him give one strange bubbling, strangledscream--it was the blood in his throat made this outcry sound thus--andsaw him fall on his face, twitching and heaving, not thirty feet fromwhere Dudley Stackpole stood, his pistol upraised and ready for morefiring. 

As to how many shots, all told, were fired the woman never could saywith certainty. There might have been four or five or six, or evenseven, she thought. After the opening shot they rang together in almosta continuous volley, she said. Three empty chambers in Tatum's gun andtwo in Stackpole's seemed conclusive evidence to the sheriff and thecoroner that night and to the coroner's jurors next day that five shotshad been fired. 

On one point, though, for all her fright, the woman was positive, and tothis she stuck in the face of questions and cross-questions. After Tatumstopped as though jolted to a standstill, and dropped his weapon, Stackpole flung the barrel of his revolver upward and did not againoffer to fire, either as his disarmed and stricken enemy advanced uponhim or after he had fallen. As she put it, he stood there like a manfrozen stiff. 

Having seen and heard this much, the witness, now all possible peril forher was passed, suddenly became mad with fear. She ran into her cabinand scrouged behind the headboard of a bed. When at length shetimorously withdrew from hiding and came trembling forth, alreadypersons out of the neighborhood, drawn by the sounds of the fusillade, were hurrying up. They seemed to spring, as it were, out of the ground. Into the mill these newcomers carried the two Tatums, Jess beingstone-dead and Harve still senseless, with a leg dangling where thebones were snapped below the knee, and a great cut in his scalp; andthey laid the two of them side by side on the floor in the gritty dustof the meal tailings and the flour grindings. This done, some ran toharness and hitch and to go to fetch doctors and law officers, spreadingthe news as they went; and some stayed on to work over Harve Tatum andto give such comfort as they might to Dudley Stackpole, he sitting dumbin his little, cluttered office awaiting the coming of constable orsheriff or deputy so that he might surrender himself into custody. 

While they waited and while they worked to bring Harve Tatum back to hissenses, the men marveled at two amazing things. The first wonder wasthat Jess Tatum, finished marksman as he was, and the main instigatorand central figure of sundry violent encounters in the past, should havefailed to hit the mark at which he fired with his first shot or with hissecond or with his third; and the second, a still greater wonder, wasthat Dudley Stackpole, who perhaps never in his life had had for atarget a living thing, should have sped a bullet so squarely into theheart of his victim at twenty yards or more. The first phenomenon mightperhaps be explained, they agreed, on the hypothesis that the mishap tohis brother coming at the very moment of the fight's beginning, unnervedJess and threw him out of stride, so to speak. But the second was not inanywise to be explained excepting on the theory of sheer chance. Thefact remained that it was so, and the fact remained that it was strange. 

By form of law Dudley Stackpole spent two days under arrest; but thiswas a form, a legal fiction only. Actually he was at liberty from thetime he reached the courthouse that night, riding in the sheriff's buggywith the sheriff and carrying poised on his knees a lighted lantern. Afterwards it was to be recalled that when, alongside the sheriff, hecame out of his mill technically a prisoner he carried in his hand thislantern, all trimmed of wick and burning, and that he held fast to itthrough the six-mile ride to town. Afterwards, too, the circumstance wasto be coupled with multiplying circumstances to establish a state offacts; but at the moment, in the excited state of mind of those present, it passed unremarked and almost unnoticed. And he still held it in hishand when, having been released under nominal bond and attended bycertain sympathizing friends, he walked across town from the countybuilding to his home on Clay Street. That fact, too, was subsequentlyremembered and added to other details to make a finished sum ofdeductive reasoning. 

Already it was a foregone conclusion that the finding at the coroner'sinquest, to be held the next day, would absolve him; foregone, also, that no prosecutor would press for his arraignment on charges and thatno grand jury would indict. So, soon all the evidence in hand wasconclusively on his side. He had been forced into a fight not of his ownchoosing; an effort, which had failed, had been made to take himunfairly from behind; he had fired in self-defense after having firstbeen fired upon; save for a quirk of fate operating in his favor, heshould have faced odds of two deadly antagonists instead of facing one. What else then than his prompt and honorable discharge? And to top all, the popular verdict was that the killing off of Jess Tatum was so muchgood riddance of so much sorry rubbish; a pity, though, Harve hadescaped his just deserts. 

Helpless for the time being, and in the estimation of his fellows evenmore thoroughly discredited than he had been before, Harve Tatum herevanishes out of our recital. So, too, does Jeffrey Stackpole, heretoforementioned once by name, for within a week he was dead of the same heartattack which had kept him out of the fight at Cache Creek. The rest ofthe narrative largely appertains to the one conspicuous survivor, thisDudley Stackpole already described. 

Tradition ever afterwards had it that on the night of the killing heslept--if he slept at all--in the full-lighted room of a house which wasall aglare with lights from cellar to roof line. From its every openingthe house blazed as for a celebration. At the first, so the tale of itran, people were of two different minds to account for this. This onerather thought Stackpole feared punitive reprisals under cover of nightby vengeful kinsmen of the Tatums, they being, root and branch, sproutand limb, a belligerent and an ill-conditioned breed. That one suggestedthat maybe he took this method of letting all and sundry know he felt noregret for having gunned the life out of a dangerous brawler; thatperhaps thereby he sought to advertise his satisfaction at the outcomeof that day's affair. But this latter theory was not to be credited. Forso sensitive and so well-disposed a man as Dudley Stackpole to joy inhis own deadly act, however justifiable in the sight of law and man thatact might have been--why, the bare notion of it was preposterous! Therepute and the prior conduct of the man robbed the suggestion of allplausibility. And then soon, when night after night the lights stillflared in his house, and when on top of this evidence accumulated toconfirm a belief already crystallizing in the public mind, the town cameto sense the truth, which was that Mr. Dudley Stackpole now feared thedark as a timid child might fear it. It was not authentically chronicledthat he confessed his fears to any living creature. But his fellowtownsmen knew the state of his mind as though he had shouted of it fromthe housetops. They had heard, most of them, of such cases before. Theyagreed among themselves that he shunned darkness because he feared thatout of that darkness might return the vision of his deed, bloodied andshocking and hideous. And they were right. He did so fear, and hefeared mightily, constantly and unendingly. 

That fear, along with the behavior which became from that nightthenceforward part and parcel of him, made Dudley Stackpole as one setover and put apart from his fellows. Neither by daytime nor by nighttimewas he thereafter to know darkness. Never again was he to see thetwilight fall or face the blackness which comes before the dawning ortake his rest in the cloaking, kindly void and nothingness of themidnight. Before the dusk of evening came, in midafternoon sometimes, ofstormy and briefened winter days, or in the full radiance of the sun'ssinking in the summertime, he was within doors lighting the lights whichwould keep the darkness beyond his portals and hold at bay a gatheringgloom into which from window or door he would not look and dared notlook. 

There were trees about his house, cottonwoods and sycamores and onenoble elm branching like a lyre. He chopped them all down and had theroots grubbed out. The vines which covered his porch were shorn away. Tothese things many were witnesses. What transformations he worked withinthe walls were largely known by hearsay through the medium of AuntKassie, the old negress who served him as cook and chambermaid and washis only house servant. To half-fearsome, half-fascinated audiences ofher own color, whose members in time communicated what she told totheir white employers, she related how with his own hands, bringing acrude carpentry into play, her master ripped out certain dark closetsand abolished a secluded and gloomy recess beneath a hall staircase, andhow privily he called in men who strung his ceilings with electriclights, although already the building was piped for gas; and how, forfinal touches, he placed in various parts of his bedroom tallow dips andoil lamps to be lit before twilight and to burn all night, so thatthough the gas sometime should fail and the electric bulbs blink out, there still would be abundant lighting about him. His became the housewhich harbored no single shadow save only the shadow of morbid dreadwhich lived within its owner's bosom. An orthodox haunted house shouldby rights be deserted and dark. This house, haunted if ever one was, differed from the orthodox conception. It was tenanted and it shone withlights. 

The man's abiding obsession--if we may call his besetment thus--changedin practically all essential regards the manners and the practices ofhis daily life. After the shooting he never returned to his mill. Hecould not bring himself to endure the ordeal of revisiting the scene ofthe killing. So the mill stood empty and silent, just as he left it thatnight when he rode to town with the sheriff, until after his brother'sdeath; and then with all possible dispatch he sold it, its fixtures, contents and goodwill, for what the property would fetch at quick sale, and he gave up business. He had sufficient to stay him in his needs. TheStackpoles had the name of being a canny and a provident family, livingquietly and saving of their substance. The homestead where he lived, which his father before him had built, was free of debt. He had funds inthe bank and money out at interest. He had not been one to make closefriends. Now those who had counted themselves his friends became ratherhis distant acquaintances, among whom he neither received nor bestowedconfidences. 

In the broader hours of daylight his ways were such as any man ofreserved and diffident ways, having no fixed employment, might follow ina smallish community. He sat upon his porch and read in books. He workedin his flower beds. With flowers he had a cunning touch, almost like awoman's. He loved them, and they responded to his love and bloomed andbore for him. He walked downtown to the business district, always alone, a shy and unimpressive figure, and sat brooding and aloof in one of thetilted-back cane chairs under the portico of the old Richland House, facing the river. He took long solitary walks on side streets andbyways; but it was noted that, reaching the farther outskirts, heinvariably turned back. In all those dragging years it is doubtful ifonce he set foot past the corporate limits into the open country. Dunhued, unobtrusive, withdrawn, he aged slowly, almost imperceptibly. Menand women of his own generation used to say that save for the wrinklesever multiplying in close cross-hatchings about his puckered eyes, andsave for the enhancing of that dead gray pallor--the wasp's-nestovercasting of his skin--he still looked to them exactly as he hadlooked when he was a much younger man. 

It was not so much the appearance or the customary demeanor of therecluse that made strangers turn about to stare at him as he passed, andthat made them remember how he looked when he was gone from their sight. The one was commonplace enough--I mean his appearance--and his conduct, unless one knew the underlying motives, was merely that of anunobtrusive, rather melancholy seeming gentleman of quiet tastes andhabits. It was the feeling and the sense of a dismal exhalation fromhim, an unhealthy and unnatural mental effluvium that served soindelibly to fix the bodily image of him in the brainpans of casual anduninformed passers-by. The brand of Cain was not on his brow. By everylocal standard of human morality it did not belong there. But built upof morbid elements within his own conscience, it looked out from hiseyes and breathed out from his person. 

So year by year, until the tally of the years rolled up to more thanthirty, he went his lone unhappy way. He was in the life of the town, to an extent, but not of it. Always, though, it was the daylit life ofthe town which knew him. Excepting once only. Of this exceptionalinstance a story was so often repeated that in time it becamepermanently embalmed in the unwritten history of the place. 

On a summer's afternoon, sultry and close, the heavens suddenly went allblack, and quick gusts smote the earth with threats of a greatwindstorm. The sun vanished magically; a close thick gloaming fell outof the clouds. It was as though nightfall had descended hours before itsordained time. At the city power house the city electrician turned onthe street lights. As the first great fat drops of rain fell, splashingin the dust like veritable clots, citizens scurrying indoors andcitizens seeing to flapping awnings and slamming window blinds haltedwhere they were to peer through the murk at the sight of Mr. DudleyStackpole fleeing to the shelter of home like a man hunted by a terriblepursuer. But with all his desperate need for haste he ran nostraightaway course. The manner of his flight was what gave addedstrangeness to the spectacle of him. He would dart headlong, on a sharpoblique from the right-hand corner of a street intersection to a pointmidway of the block--or square, to give it its local name--then goslanting back again to the right-hand corner of the next streetcrossing, so that his path was in the pattern of one acutely slantedzigzag after another. He was keeping, as well as he could, within thecircles of radiance thrown out by the municipal arc lights as he madefor his house, there in his bedchamber to fortify himself about, likeone beset and besieged, with the ample and protecting rays of all themethods of artificial illumination at his command--with incandescentbulbs thrown on by switches, with the flare of lighted gas jets, withthe tallow dip's slim digit of flame, and with the kerosene's wickthree-finger breadth of greasy brilliance. As he fumbled, in a verypanic and spasm of fear, with the latchets of his front gate SquireJonas' wife heard him screaming to Aunt Kassie, his servant, to turn onthe lights--all of them. 

That once was all, though--the only time he found the dark taking himunawares and threatening to envelop him in thirty years and more thanthirty. Then a time came when in a hospital in Oklahoma an elderly mannamed A. Hamilton Bledsoe lay on his deathbed and on the day before hedied told the physician who attended him and the clergyman who hadcalled to pray for him that he had a confession to make. He desired thatit be taken down by a stenographer just as he uttered it, andtranscribed; then he would sign it as his solemn dying declaration, andwhen he had died they were to send the signed copy back to the town fromwhence he had in the year 1889 moved West, and there it was to bepublished broadcast. All of which, in due course of time and inaccordance with the signatory's wishes, was done. 

With the beginning of the statement as it appeared in the _Daily EveningNews_, as with Editor Tompkins' introductory paragraphs preceding it, weneed have no interest. That which really matters began two-thirds of theway down the first column and ran as follows:

"How I came to know there was likely to be trouble that evening at thebig-riffle crossing was this way"--it is the dying Bledsoe, of course, who is being quoted. "The man they sent to the mill with the message dida lot of loose talking on his way back after he gave in the message, andin this roundabout way the word got to me at my house on the Eden'sSwamp road soon after dinnertime. Now I had always got along fine withboth of the Stackpoles, and had only friendly feelings toward them; butmaybe there's some people still alive back there in that county who canremember what the reason was why I should naturally hate and despiseboth the Tatums, and especially this Jess Tatum, him being if anythingthe more low-down one of the two, although the youngest. At this lateday I don't aim to drag the name of anyone else into this, especially awoman's name, and her now dead and gone and in her grave; but I willjust say that if ever a man had a just cause for craving to see JessTatum stretched out in his blood it was me. At the same time I willstate that it was not good judgment for a man who expected to go onliving to start out after one of the Tatums without he kept on till hehad cleaned up the both of them, and maybe some of their cousins aswell. I will not admit that I acted cowardly, but I will state that Iused my best judgment. 

"Therefore and accordingly, no sooner did I hear the news about the darewhich the Tatums had sent to the Stackpoles than I said to myself thatit looked like here was my fitting chance to even up my grudge with JessTatum and yet at the same time not run the prospect of being known to bemixed up in the matter and maybe getting arrested, or waylaid afterwardsby members of the Tatum family or things of such a nature. Likewise Ifigured that with a general amount of shooting going on, as seemedlikely to be the case, one shot more or less would not be noticed, especially as I aimed to keep out of sight at all times and do my workfrom under safe cover, which it all of it turned out practically exactlyas I had expected. So I took a rifle which I owned and which I was agood shot with and I privately went down through the bottoms and cameout on the creek bank in the deep cut right behind Stackpole Brothers'gristmill. I should say offhand this was then about three o'clock in theevening. I was ahead of time, but I wished to be there and geteverything fixed up the way I had mapped it out in my mind, withoutbeing hurried or rushed. 

"The back door of the mill was not locked, and I got in without beingseen, and I went upstairs to the loft over the mill and I went to awindow just above the front door, which was where they hoisted up grainwhen brought in wagons, and I propped the wooden shutter of the windowopen a little ways. But I only propped it open about two or threeinches; just enough for me to see out of it up the road good. And I mademe a kind of pallet out of meal sacks and I laid down there and Iwaited. I knew the mill had shut down for the week, and I didn't figureon any of the hands being round the mill or anybody finding out I was upthere. So I waited, not hearing anybody stirring about downstairs atall, until just about three minutes past six, when all of a sudden camethe first shot. 

"What threw me off was expecting the Tatums to come afoot from up theroad, but when they did come it was in a wagon from down the mainBlandsville pike clear round in the other direction. So at this firstshot I swung and peeped out and I seen Harve Tatum down in the dustseemingly right under the wheels of his wagon, and I seen Jess Tatumjump out from behind the wagon and shoot, and I seen Dudley Stackpolecome out of the mill door right directly under me and start shootingback at him. There was no sign of his brother Jeffrey. I did not knowthen that Jeffrey was home sick in bed. 

"Being thrown off the way I had been, it took me maybe one or twoseconds to draw myself around and get the barrel of my rifle swung roundto where I wanted it, and while I was doing this the shooting was goingon. All in a flash it had come to me that it would be fairer than everfor me to take part in this thing, because in the first place the Tatumswould be two against one if Harve should get back upon his feet and getinto the fight; and in the second place Dudley Stackpole didn't know thefirst thing about shooting a pistol. Why, all in that same second, whileI was righting myself and getting the bead onto Jess Tatum's breast, Iseen his first shot--Stackpole's, I mean--kick up the dust not twentyfeet in front of him and less than halfway to where Tatum was. I was ascool as I am now, and I seen this quite plain. 

"So with that, just as Stackpole fired wild again, I let Jess Tatum haveit right through the chest, and as I did so I knew from the way he actedthat he was done and through. He let loose of his pistol and acted likehe was going to fall, and then he sort of rallied up and did a strangething. He ran straight on ahead toward the mill, with his neck cranedback and him running on tiptoe; and he ran this way quite a little waysbefore he dropped flat, face down. Somebody else, seeing him do that, might have thought he had the idea to tear into Dudley Stackpole withhis bare hands, but I had done enough shooting at wild game in my timeto know that he was acting like a partridge sometimes does, or a wildduck when it is shot through the heart or in the head; only in such acase a bird flies straight up in the air. Towering is what you call itwhen done by a partridge. I do not know what you would call it when doneby a man. 

"So then I closed the window shutter and I waited for quite a littlewhile to make sure everything was all right for me, and then I hid myrifle under the meal sacks, where it stayed until I got it privately twodays later; and then I slipped downstairs and went out by the back doorand came round in front, running and breathing hard as though I had justheard the shooting whilst up in the swamp. By that time there wereseveral others had arrived, and there was also a negro woman cryinground and carrying on and saying she seen Jess Tatum fire the first shotand seen Dudley Stackpole shoot back and seen Tatum fall. But she couldnot say for sure how many shots there were fired in all. So I saw thateverything was all right so far as I was concerned, and that nobody, noteven Stackpole, suspicioned but that he himself had killed Jess Tatum;and as I knew he would have no trouble with the law to amount toanything on account of it, I felt that there was no need for me toworry, and I did not--not worry then nor later. But for some time past Ihad been figuring on moving out here on account of this new countryopening up. So I hurried up things, and inside of a week I had sold outmy place and had shipped my household plunder on ahead; and I moved outhere with my family, which they have all died off since, leaving onlyme. And now I am about to die, and so I wish to make this statementbefore I do so. 

"But if they had thought to cut into Jess Tatum's body after he wasdead, or to probe for the bullet in him, they would have known that itwas not Dudley Stackpole who really shot him, but somebody else; andthen I suppose suspicion might have fell upon me, although I doubt it. Because they would have found that the bullet which killed him was firedout of a forty-five-seventy shell, and Dudley Stackpole had done all ofthe shooting he done with a thirty-eight caliber pistol, which wouldthrow a different-sized bullet. But they never thought to do so. "

Question by the physician, Doctor Davis: "You mean to say that noautopsy was performed upon the body of the deceased?"

Answer by Bledsoe: "If you mean by performing an autopsy that theyprobed into him or cut in to find the bullet I will answer no, sir, theydid not. They did not seem to think to do so, because it seemed toeverybody such a plain open-and-shut case that Dudley Stackpole hadkilled him. "

Question by the Reverend Mr. Hewlitt: "I take it that you are makingthis confession of your own free will and in order to clear the name ofan innocent party from blame and to purge your own soul?"

Answer: "In reply to that I will say yes and no. If Dudley Stackpole isstill alive, which I doubt, he is by now getting to be an old man; butif alive yet I would like for him to know that he did not fire the shotwhich killed Jess Tatum on that occasion. He was not a bloodthirsty man, and doubtless the matter may have preyed upon his mind. So on the barechance of him being still alive is why I make this dying statement toyou gentlemen in the presence of witnesses. But I am not ashamed, andnever was, at having done what I did do. I killed Jess Tatum with my ownhands, and I have never regretted it. I would not regard killing him asa crime any more than you gentlemen here would regard it as a crimekilling a rattlesnake or a moccasin snake. Only, until now, I did notthink it advisable for me to admit it; which, on Dudley Stackpole'saccount solely, is the only reason why I am now making this statement. "

And so on and so forth for the better part of a second column, with abrief summary in Editor Tompkins' best style--which was a very dramaticand moving style indeed--of the circumstances, as recalled by oldresidents, of the ancient tragedy, and a short sketch of the deceasedBledsoe, the facts regarding him being drawn from the same veracioussources; and at the end of the article was a somewhat guarded butaltogether sympathetic reference to the distressful recollections bornefor so long and so patiently by an esteemed townsman, with a concludingparagraph to the effect that though the gentleman in question haddeclined to make a public statement touching on the remarkabledisclosures now added thus strangely as a final chapter to the annals ofan event long since occurred, the writer felt no hesitancy in sayingthat appreciating, as they must, the motives which prompted him tosilence, his fellow citizens would one and all join the editor of the_Daily Evening News_ in congratulating him upon the lifting of thiscloud from his life. 

"I only wish I had the language to express the way that old man lookedwhen I showed him the galley proofs of Bledsoe's confession, " saidEditor Tompkins to a little interested group gathered in his sanctumafter the paper was on the streets that evening. "If I had such a powerI'd have this Frenchman Balzac backed clear off the boards when it cameto describing things. Gentlemen, let me tell you--I've been in thisbusiness all my life, and I've seen lots of things, but I never sawanything that was the beat of this thing. 

"Just as soon as this statement came to me in the mails this morningfrom that place out in Oklahoma I rushed it into type, and I had a setof galley proofs pulled and I stuck 'em in my pocket and I put out forthe Stackpole place out on Clay Street. I didn't want to trust either ofthe reporters with this job. They're both good, smart, likely boys; but, at that, they're only boys, and I didn't know how they'd go at thisthing; and, anyway, it looked like it was my job. 

"He was sitting on his porch reading, just a little old gray shell of aman, all hunched up, and I walked up to him and I says: 'You'll pardonme, Mr. Stackpole, but I've come to ask you a question and then to showyou something. Did you, ' I says, 'ever know a man named A. HamiltonBledsoe?'

"He sort of winced. He got up and made as if to go into the housewithout answering me. I suppose it'd been so long since he had anybodycalling on him he hardly knew how to act. And then that question comingout of a clear sky, as you might say, and rousing up bittermemories--not probably that his bitter memories needed any rousing, being always with him, anyway--may have jolted him pretty hard. But ifhe aimed to go inside he changed his mind when he got to the door. Heturned round and came back. 

"'Yes, ' he says, as though the words were being dragged out of himagainst his will, 'I did once know a man of that name. He was commonlycalled Ham Bledsoe. He lived near where'--he checked himself up, here--'he lived, ' he says, 'in this county at one time. I knew himthen. '

"'That being so, ' I says, 'I judge the proper thing to do is to ask youto read these galley proofs, ' and I handed them over and he read themthrough without a word. Without a word, mind you, and yet if he'd spokena volume he couldn't have told me any clearer what was passing throughhis mind when he came to the main facts than the way he did tell me justby the look that came into his face. Gentlemen, when you sit and watch aman sixty-odd years old being born again; when you see hope and lifecome back to him all in a minute; when you see his soul being remade ina flash, you'll find you can't describe it afterwards, but you're nevergoing to forget it. And another thing you'll find is that there isnothing for you to say to him, nothing that you can say, nor nothingthat you want to say. 

"I did manage, when he was through, to ask him whether or not he wishedto make a statement. That was all from me, mind you, and yet I'd goneout there with the idea in my head of getting material for a long newsypiece out of him--what we call in this business heart-interest stuff. All he said, though, as he handed me back the slips was, 'No, sir; but Ithank you--from the bottom of my heart I thank you. ' And then he shookhands with me--shook hands with me like a man who'd forgotten almosthow 'twas done--and he walked in his house and shut the door behind him, and I came on away feeling exactly as though I had seen a funeral turnedinto a resurrection. "

Editor Tompkins thought he had that day written the final chapter, buthe hadn't. The final chapter he was to write the next day, followinghard upon a dénouement which to Mr. Tompkins, he with his own eyeshaving seen what he had seen, was so profound a puzzle that everthereafter he mentally catalogued it under one of his favoriteheadlining phrases: "Deplorable Affair Shrouded in Mystery. "

Let us go back a few hours. For a fact, Mr. Tompkins had been witness toa spirit's resurrection. It was as he had borne testimony--a life hadbeen reborn before his eyes. Even so, he, the sole spectator to andchronicler of the glory of it, could not know the depth and the sweepand the swing of the great heartening swell of joyous relief whichuplifted Dudley Stackpole at the reading of the dead Bledsoe's words. None save Dudley Stackpole himself was ever to have a true appreciationof the utter sweetness of that cleansing flood, nor he for long. 

As he closed his door upon the editor, plans, aspirations, ambitionsalready were flowing to his brain, borne there upon that ground swell ofsudden happiness. Into the back spaces of his mind long-buried desireswent riding like chips upon a torrent. The substance of his patientlyendured self-martyrdom was lifted all in a second, and with it theshadow of it. He would be thenceforth as other men, living as theylived, taking, as they did, an active share and hand in communal life. He was getting old. The good news had come late, but not too late. Thatday would mark the total disappearance of the morbid lonely recluse andthe rejuvenation of the normal-thinking, normal-habited citizen. Thatvery day he would make a beginning of the new order of things. 

And that very day he did; at least he tried. He put on his hat and hetook his cane in his hand and as he started down the street he sought toput smartness and springiness into his gait. If the attempt was a sorryfailure he, for one, did not appreciate the completeness of the failure. He meant, anyhow, that his step no longer should be purposeless andmechanical; that his walk should hereafter have intent in it. And as hecame down the porch steps he looked about him, not dully, with sick anduninforming eyes, but with a livened interest in all familiar homelythings. 

Coming to his gate he saw, near at hand, Squire Jonas, now a gnarled butstill sprightly octogenarian, leaning upon a fence post surveying theuniverse at large, as was the squire's daily custom. He called out agood morning and waved his stick in greeting toward the squire with agesture which he endeavored to make natural. His aging muscles, staledby thirty-odd years of lack of practice at such tricks, merely made itjerky and forced. Still, the friendly design was there, plainly to bedivined; and the neighborly tone of his voice. But the squire, ordinarily the most courteous of persons, and certainly one of the mosttalkative, did not return the salutation. Astonishment congealed hisfaculties, tied his tongue and paralyzed his biceps. He stared dumbly amoment, and then, having regained coherent powers, he jammed hisbrown-varnished straw hat firmly upon his ancient poll and wentscrambling up his gravel walk as fast as two rheumatic underpinningswould take him, and on into his house like a man bearing incredible andunbelievable tidings. 

Mr. Stackpole opened his gate and passed out and started down thesidewalk. Midway of the next square he overtook a man he knew--anelderly watchmaker, a Swiss by birth, who worked at Nagel's jewelrystore. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of times he had passed this man uponthe street. Always before he had passed him with averted eyes and astiff nod of recognition. Now, coming up behind the other, Mr. Stackpolebade him a cheerful good day. At the sound of the words the Swiss spunon his heel, then gulped audibly and backed away, flinching almost asthough a blow had been aimed at him. He muttered some meaninglesssomething, confusedly: he stared at Mr. Stackpole with widened eyes likeone who beholds an apparition in the broad of the day; he stepped on hisown feet and got in his own way as he shrank to the outer edge of thenarrow pavement. Mr. Stackpole was minded to fall into step alongsidethe Swiss, but the latter would not have it so. He stumbled along for afew yards, mute and plainly terribly embarrassed at finding himself inthis unexpected company, and then with a muttered sound which might beinterpreted as an apology or an explanation, or as a token of profoundsurprise on his part, or as combination of them all, he turned abruptlyoff into a grassed side lane which ran up into the old Enders orchardand ended nowhere at all in particular. Once his back was turned to Mr. Stackpole, he blessed himself fervently. On his face was the look of onewho would fend off what is evil and supernatural. 

Mr. Stackpole continued on his way. On a vacant lot at Franklin and ClayStreets four small boys were playing one-eyed-cat. Switching his cane atthe weed tops with strokes which he strove to make casual, he stopped towatch them, a half smile of approbation on his face. Pose and expressionshowed that he desired their approval for his approval of their skill. They stopped, too, when they saw him--stopped short. With one accordthey ceased their play, staring at him. Nervously the batsman withdrewto the farther side of the common, dragging his bat behind him. Thethree others followed, casting furtive looks backward over theirshoulders. Under a tree at the back of the lot they conferred together, all the while shooting quick diffident glances toward where he stood. Itwas plain something had put a blight upon their spirits; also, even atthis distance, they radiated a sort of inarticulate suspicion--asuspicion of which plainly he was the object. 

For long years Mr. Stackpole's faculties for observation of the motivesand actions of his fellows had been sheathed. Still, disuse had notaltogether dulled them. Constant introspection had not destroyed hisgift for speculation. It was rusted, but still workable. He had readaright Squire Jonas' stupefaction, the watchmaker's ludicrous alarm. Henow read aright the chill which the very sight of his alteredmien--cheerful and sprightly where they had expected grim aloofness--hadthrown upon the spirits of the ball players. Well, he could understandit all. The alteration in him, coming without prior warning, hadstartled them, frightened them, really. Well, that might have beenexpected. The way had not been paved properly for the transformation. Itwould be different when the _Daily Evening News_ came out. He would goback home--he would wait. When they had read what was in the paperpeople would not avoid him or flee from him. They would be coming intohis house to wish him well, to reëstablish old relations with him. Why, it would be almost like holding a reception. He would be to those of hisown age as a friend of their youth, returning after a long absence tohis people, with the dour stranger who had lived in his house while hewas away now driven out and gone forever. 

He turned about and he went back home and he waited. But for a whilenothing happened, except that in the middle of the afternoon Aunt Kassieunaccountably disappeared. She was gone when he left his seat on thefront porch and went back to the kitchen to give her some instructiontouching on supper. At dinnertime, entering his dining room, he had, without conscious intent whistled the bars of an old air, and at thatshe had dropped a plate of hot egg bread and vanished into the pantry, leaving the split fragments upon the floor. Nor had she returned. He hadmade his meal unattended. Now, while he looked for her, she was hurryingdown the alley, bound for the home of her preacher. She felt the need ofhis holy counsels and the reading of scriptural passages. She was usedto queerness in her master, but if he were going crazy all of a sudden, why that would be a different matter altogether. So, presently, she wasconfiding to her spiritual adviser. 

Mr. Stackpole returned to the porch and sat down again and waited forwhat was to be. Through the heat of the waning afternoon Clay Streetwas almost deserted; but toward sunset the thickening tides ofpedestrian travel began flowing by his house as men returned homewardfrom work. He had a bowing acquaintance with most of those who passed. 

Two or three elderly men and women among them he had known fairly wellin years past. But no single one of those who came along turned in athis gate to offer him the congratulation he so eagerly desired; nosingle one, at sight of him, all poised and expectant, paused to callout kindly words across the palings of his fence. Yet they must haveheard the news. He knew that they had heard it--all of them--knew it bythe stares they cast toward the house front as they went by. There wasmore, though, in the staring than a quickened interest or a sharpenedcuriosity. 

Was he wrong, or was there also a sort of subtle resentment in it? Wasthere a sense vaguely conveyed that even these old acquaintances of hisfelt almost personally aggrieved that a town character should haveceased thus abruptly to be a town character--that they somehow felt asubtle injustice had been done to public opinion, an affront offered tocivic tradition, through this unexpected sloughing off by him of therôle he for so long had worn?

He was not wrong. There was an essence of a floating, formlessresentment there. Over the invisible tendons of mental telepathy itcame to him, registering emphatically. 

As he shrank back in his chair he summoned his philosophy to give himbalm and consolation for his disappointment. It would take time, ofcourse, for people to grow accustomed to the change in him--that wasonly natural. In a few days, now, when the shock of the sensation hadworn off, things would be different. They would forgive him for breakinga sort of unuttered communal law, but one hallowed, as it were, by roteand custom. He vaguely comprehended that there might be such a law forhis case--a canon of procedure which, unnatural in itself, had come withthe passage of the passing years to be quite naturally accepted. 

Well, perhaps the man who broke such a law, even though it wereoriginally of his own fashioning, must abide the consequences. Even so, though, things must be different when the minds of people hadreadjusted. This he told himself over and over again, seeking in itssteady repetition salve for his hurt, overwrought feelings. 

And his nights--surely they would be different! Therein, after all, laythe roots of the peace and the surcease which henceforth would be hisportion. At thought of this prospect, now imminent, he uplifted his soulin a silent pæan of thanksgiving. 

Having no one in whom he ever had confided, it followed naturally thatno one else knew what torture he had suffered through all the nights ofall these years stretching behind him in so terribly long a perspective. No one else knew how he had craved for the darkness which all the timehe had both feared and shunned. No one else knew how miserable atravesty on sleep his sleep had been, he reading until a heavy physicalweariness came, then lying in his bed through the latter hours of thenight, fitfully dozing, often rousing, while from either side of hisbed, from the ceiling above, from the headboard behind him, and from thefootboard, strong lights played full and flary upon his twitching, aching eyelids; and finally, towards dawn, with every nerve behind hiseyes taut with pain and strain, awakening unrefreshed to consciousnessof that nimbus of unrelieved false glare which encircled him, and thestench of melted tallow and the stale reek of burned kerosene foul inhis nose. That, now, had been the hardest of all to endure. Enduredunceasingly, it had been because of his dread of a thing infinitelyworse--the agonized, twisted, dying face of Jess Tatum leaping at himout of shadows. But now, thank God, that ghost of his own conjuring, that wraith never seen but always feared, was laid to rest forever. Never again would conscience put him, soul and body, upon the rack. Thisnight he would sleep--sleep as little children do in the all-enveloping, friendly, comforting dark. 

Scarcely could he wait till a proper bedtime hour came. He forgot thathe had had no supper; forgot in that delectable anticipation thedisillusionizing experiences of the day. Mechanically he had, as duskcame on, turned on the lights throughout the house, and force of habitstill operating, he left them all on when at eleven o'clock he quittedthe brilliantly illuminated porch and went to his bedroom on the secondfloor. He undressed and he put on him his night wear, becoming agrotesque shrunken figure, what with his meager naked legs and his asheneager face and thin dust-colored throat rising above the collarlessneckband of the garment. He blew out the flame of the oil lamp whichburned on a reading stand at the left side of his bed and extinguishedthe two candles which stood on a table at the right side. 

Then he got in the bed and stretched out his arms, one aloft, the otherbehind him, finding with the fingers of this hand the turncock of thegas burner which swung low from the ceiling at the end of a gooseneckediron pipe, finding with the fingers of that hand the wall switch whichcontrolled the battery of electric lights roundabout, and with along-drawn sigh of happy deliverance he turned off both gas andelectricity simultaneously and sank his head toward the pillow. 

The pæaned sigh turned to a shriek of mortal terror. Quaking in everylimb, crying out in a continuous frenzy of fright, he was up again onhis knees seeking with quivering hands for the switch; pawing about thenfor matches with which to relight the gas. For the blackness--thatblackness to which he had been stranger for more than half his life--hadcome upon him as an enemy smothering him, muffling his head in itsterrible black folds, stopping his nostrils with its black fingers, gripping his windpipe with black cords, so that his breathing stopped. 

That blackness for which he had craved with an unappeasable hopelesscraving through thirty years and more was become a horror and a devil. He had driven it from him. When he bade it return it returned not as afriend and a comforter but as a mocking fiend. 

For months and years past he had realized that his optic nerves, punished and preyed upon by constant and unwholesome brilliancy, werenearing the point of collapse, and that all the other nerves in hisbody, frayed and fretted, too, were all askew and jangled. Cognizant ofthis he still could see no hope of relief, since his fears were greaterthan his reasoning powers or his strength of will. With the fear liftedand eternally dissipated in a breath, he had thought to find solace andsoothing and restoration in the darkness. But now the darkness, forwhich his soul in its longing and his body in its stress had cried outunceasingly and vainly, was denied him too. He could face neither theone thing nor the other. 

Squatted there in the huddle of the bed coverings, he reasoned it allout, and presently he found the answer. And the answer was this: Naturefor a while forgets and forgives offenses against her, but there comes atime when Nature ceases to forgive the mistreatment of the body and themind, and sends then her law of atonement, to be visited upon thetransgressor with interest compounded a hundredfold. The user ofnarcotics knows it; the drunkard knows it; and this poor self-crucifiedvictim of his own imagination--he knew it too. The hint of it had thatday been reflected in the attitude of his neighbors, for they merely hadobeyed, without conscious realization or analysis on their part, a lawof the natural scheme of things. The direct proof of it was, by thisnighttime thing, revealed and made yet plainer. He stood convicted, achronic violator of the immutable rule. And he knew, likewise, there wasbut one way out of the coil--and took it, there in his bedroom, vividlyringed about by the obscene and indecent circlet of his lights whichkept away the blessed, cursed darkness while the suicide's soul waspassing. 

CHAPTER II

THE CATER-CORNERED SEX

They had a saying down our way in the old days that Judge Priestadministered law inside his courthouse and justice outside of it. Perhaps they were right. Certainly he had a way of seeking short cutsthrough thickets of legal verbiage to the rights of things, the whichoften gave acute sorrow to the souls of those members of the bar whovenerated the very ink in which the statutory act had been printed andworshiped manfully before the graven images of precedent. But elsewise, generally speaking, it appeared to give satisfaction. Nobody ever beatthe judge in any of his races for reëlection, and after a while theyjust naturally quit trying. 

Nor did it seem to distress him deeply when the grave and learned lordsof the highest tribunal of the commonwealth saw fit, as they sometimesdid, to quarrel with a decision of his which, according to their lights, ran counter to the authorities and the traditions revered by theseaugust gentlemen. 

"Ah-hah!" he would say in his high penny-flute voice when such a thinghappened. "I see where the honorable court of appeals has disagreed withme agin. Well, they've still got quite a piece to go yit before theyketch up with the number of times I've disagreed with them. "

But he never said such a thing in open court. Such utterances hereserved for his cronies and confidants. Once he was under the dentedtin dome where he sat for so many years he became so firm a stickler forthe forms and the dignities that practically a sacerdotal air wasimparted to the proceedings. As you might say, he was almost high churchin his adherence to the ritualisms. Lawyers coming before him did notpractice the law in their shirt sleeves. They might do this whenappearing on certain neighbor circuits, but not here. They did not smokewhile court was in session, or sit reared back in their chairs withtheir feet up on the counsel tables and on the bar railings. Of coursewhen not actually engaged in addressing the court one might chew tobaccoin moderation, it being an indisputable fact that such was conducive tolubrication of the mental processes and a sedative for the nervesbesides; but the act of chewing must be discreetly and inaudibly carriedon, and he who in the heat of argument or under the stress ofcross-questioning a perverse witness failed to patronize the cuspidorswhich dotted the floor at suitable intervals stood in peril of a sternadmonishment for the first offense and a fine for the second. 

Off the bench our judge was the homeliest and simplest of men. On thebench he wore his baggy old alpaca coat as though it were a silken robe. And, as has been heretofore remarked, he had for his official and hisprivate lives two different modes of speech. As His Honor, presiding, his language was invariably grammatical and precise and as carefullyaccented as might be expected of a man whose people never had very muchuse anyway for the consonant "r. " As William Pitman Priest, Esq. , citizen, taxpayer, and Confederate veteran he mishandled the king'sEnglish as though he had but small personal regard for the king or hisEnglish either. 

Similarly he always showed respect, outwardly at least, for the writtenletter of the statute as written and cited. But when it seemed to himthat justice tempered with mercy stood in danger of being choked in alawyer's loop of red tape he sheared through the entanglements with apromptitude which appealed more strongly, perhaps, to the lay mind thanto the professional. And if, from the bench, he might not succor thedeserving litigant or the penitent offender without violation to thegiven principles of the law, which, aiming ever for the greater good tothe greater number, threatened present disaster for one deserving, hevery often privily would busy himself in the matter. This, then, was whythey had that saying about him. 

It largely was in a private capacity that Judge Priest figured in thevarious phases relating to the Millsap case, with which now we are aboutto deal. The beginning of this was the ending of Felix Millsap, but fromits start to its finish he alone held the secrets of all its aspects. The best people in town, those who made up the old families, knew thedaughter of this Felix Millsap; the people whose families were not soold perhaps, but by way of compensation more likely to be large ones, the common people, as the word goes, knew the father. The best peoplecommiserated decorously with the daughter when her father was abruptlytaken from this life; the others wondered what was going to become ofhis widow. For, you see, the daughter moved in very different circlesfrom the one in which her parents moved. Their lines did not touch. ButJudge Priest had the advantage on his side of moving at will in bothcircles. Indeed he moved in all circles without serious impairment tohis social position in the community at large. 

Briefly, the case of her who had been Eleanor Millsap was the case of achild who, diligently climbing out of the environment of her childhood, has attained to heights where her parents may never hope to come, acommon enough case here in flux and fluid America, and one which somewill applaud and some will deplore, depending on how they view suchmatters; a daughter proclaiming by her attitude that she is ashamed ofthe sources of her origin; a father and a mother visibly proud of theiroffspring's successful rise, yet uncomplainingly accepting the rôles towhich she has assigned them--there you have this small family tragedy inforty words or less. 

When the Millsaps moved to our town their baby was in her second summer. With the passage of years the father and the mother came, as suitablymated couples often do, to look rather like each other. But then, probably there never had been a time when they, either in temperament orport, had appeared greatly unlike, seeing that both the pair werecolorless, prosaic folk. So for Nature to mold them into a commonpattern was merely a detail of time and patience. But their littleEleanor betrayed no resemblance to either in figure or face orpersonality. It was in this instance as though hereditary traits hadbeen thwarted; as though two sober barnyard fowl had mated to bear agolden pheasant. They were secluded, shy, unimaginative; she was vividand sprightly, with dash to her, and audacity. 

They lived in one of those small gloomy houses whose shutters always areclosed and whose fronts always are blank; a house where the business ofliving seems to be carried on surreptitiously, almost by stealth. She, from the time she could walk alone, was actively abroad, a bright splashof color in the small oblong of shabby front yard. The father, FelixMillsap, was an odd-jobs woodworker. He made his living by undertakingstoo trivial for a contracting carpenter and joiner to bid on and toocomplicated for an amateur to attempt. The mother, Martha by name, tookin plain sewing to help out. She had about her the air of the needledrudge, with shoulders bowed in and the pricked, scored fingers of aseamstress, and a permanent pucker at one corner of her mouth fromholding pins there. The daughter showed trim, slender limbs and a bodilygrace and a piquant face which generations of breeding and wealth sovery often fail to fashion. 

When she graduated as the valedictorian of her class in the high schoolshe cut a far better figure in the frock her mother had made for herthan did any there on the stage at St. Clair Hall; she had a trick ofwearing simple garments which gave them distinction. Already she hadhalf a dozen sweethearts. Boys were drawn to her; girls she repelledrather. Girls found her too self-centered, too intent on attaining herown aims to give much heed to companionships. They called her selfish. Well, if selfishness is another name for a constant, bounding ambitionto get on and up in the world Eleanor Millsap was selfish. But for theboys she had a tremendous attraction. They admired her quick, cruel wit, her energy, her good looks. She met her sweethearts on the street, atthe soda fountain, in that trysting place for juvenile sweetheartings, the far corner of the post-office corridor. 

She never invited any of these youthful squires of hers to her house;they kept rendezvous with her at the corner below and they parted fromher at the gate. They somehow gathered, without being told it in so manywords, that she was ashamed of the poverty of her home, and, boylike, they felt a dumb sympathy for her that she should be denied what so manygirls had. But for all her sidewalk flirtations, she kept herself alooffrom any touch of scandal; the very openness of her gaddings protectedher from that. Besides, she seemed instinctively to know that if shemeant to make the best possible bargain for herself in life she mustkeep herself unblemished--must give of her charms but not give toofreely. Town gossips might call her a forward piece, as they did;jealousy among girls of her own age might have it that she was flip andfresh; but no one, with truth, might brand her as fast. 

Having graduated with honors, she learned stenography--learned itthoroughly and well, as was her way with whatever she undertook--andpresently found a place as secretary to Dallam Wybrant, the leadingmerchandise broker of the three in town. Now Dallam Wybrant was youngishand newly widowed--bereft but rallying fast from the grief of losing awife who had been his senior by several years. Knowing people--personswho could look through a grindstone as far as the next one, and maybefarther--smiled with meaning when they considered the prospect. Agood-looking, shrewd girl, always smart and trig and crisp, always withan eye open for the main chance, sitting hour by hour and day by day inthe same office with a lonely, impressionable, conceited man--well, there was but one answer to it. But one answer to it there was. Nobodywas very much surprised, although probably some mothers withmarriageable daughters on their hands were wrung by pangs of envy, whenDallam Wybrant and Eleanor Millsap slipped away one day to Memphis andthere were married. 

As Eleanor Millsap, self-reliant, self-sufficient and latterlyself-supporting, the girl through the years had steadily been growingout of the domestic orbit which bounded the lives of her parents. AsMrs. Dallam Wybrant, bride of an up-and-coming business man, with anassured social position and wealth--as our town measured wealth--in hisown name she was now to pass entirely beyond their humble horizon andvanish out of their narrowed social ken. True enough, they kept right onliving, all three of them, in the same town and indeed upon parallelingand adjacent streets; only the parents lived in their shabby littlesealed-up coffin box of a house down at the poorer end of Yazoo Street;the daughter, in her handsome new stucco house, as formal and slick as awedding cake, up at the aristocratic head of Chickasaw Drive. And yet toall intents and purposes they were as far apart, these two Millsaps andtheir only child, as though they abode in different countries. For she, mind you, had been taken up by the best people. But none of the bestpeople had the least intention of taking up her father and mother aswell. She probably was as far from expecting it or desiring it as anyother could be. In fact a tale ran about that she served notice upon herparents that thereafter their lives were to run in different grooves. They were not to seek to see her without her permission; she did notmean to see them except when and where she chose, or if she chose--andshe did not choose. 

One evening--it might have been about a year and a half after themarriage of his daughter--Felix Millsap was on his way home from work, amiddle-aged figure, moving with the clunking gait of a tired laborer whowears cheap, heavy shoes, his broad splayed hands dangling at the endsof his arms as though in either of them he carried an invisible weight. It had been a hot day, and where he had been toiling on a roof shedwhich required reshingling the sun had blazed down upon him until itsucked his strength out of him, leaving him limp and draggy. He walkedwith his head down, indifferent in his sweated weariness to things abouthim. All the same, the motorman on the Belt Line car swinging out ofYazoo Street into Commercial should have sounded his gong for theturning. Therein lay his contributory negligence. Also, disinterestedwitnesses subsequently agreed that he took the curve at high speed. Itwas one of these witnesses who saw what was about to happen and criedout a vain warning even as the motorman ground on his brakes in abelated effort to avoid the inevitable. Felix Millsap was dead when theygot him out from under the forward trucks. The doctors said he must havedied instantly; probably he never knew what hit him. 

In all the short and simple annals of the poor nothing, usually, isshorter and simpler than the funeral of one of them. For the puttingaway underground of the odd-jobs man perhaps thirty persons of his ownwalk in life assembled, attesting their sympathies by their presence. But the daughter of the deceased neither attended the brief services atthe place of his late residence nor rode to the cemetery to witness theburial. It was explained by the minister and by the undertaker to thosewho made inquiry that for good and sufficient reasons Mrs. Wybrant wasnot going anywhere at present. But she sent a great stiff set piece offlowers, an elaborate, inadequate thing with a wire back to it and atin-foil footing, which sat alongside the black box during the serviceand afterwards was propped upright in the rank grass at the head of thegrave. It was doubly conspicuous by reason of being the only example ofwhat greenhouse men call floral offerings that graced the occasion. Andshe had written her mother a nice letter; the clergyman made this pointplain to such as spoke to him regarding the absence of Mrs. Wybrant. Hehad seen the letter; that is to say, he had seen the envelope containingit. What the clergyman did not know was that to the letter the daughterhad added a paragraph, underscored, suggesting the name of a leadingfirm of lawyers as suitable and competent to defend their interests--hermother's and her own--in an action for damages against the street-carcompany. 

However, as it developed, there was no need for the pressing of suit. The street-railway company, tacitly confessing fault on the part of oneof its employees, preferred to compromise out of hand and so avoid thecosts of litigation and the vexations of a trial. The sum paid insettlement was by order of the circuit court lodged in the hands of aspecial administrator, as temporary custodian of the estate of the lateFelix Millsap, by him to be handed over to the heirs at law. So far asthe special administrator was concerned, this would end his duties inthe premises, seeing that other than this sum there was no property tobe divided. 

The little house at the foot of Yazoo Street belonged to the widow. Ithad been deeded to her at the time of its purchase years and yearsbefore, and she had been a copartner in the undertaking of paying offthe mortgage upon it by dribs and bitlets which represented hard workand the strictest economy. Naturally her husband had made no will. Probably it had never occurred to him that he would have any property tobequeath to anyone. But by virtue of his having died under a street carrather than in his bed he was worth more dead than ever, living, he haddreamed of being worth. He was worth eight thousand dollars in cash. So, as it turned out, he had left something other than a name for soberreliability and a reputation for paying his debts. And no doubt, in thatbourn to which his spirit had been translated out of a battered body, his spirit rejoiced that the manner of his taking off had been as itwas. 

But if the special administrator rested content in the thought that hisshare in the transaction practically would end with but few addeddetails, his superior, the chief judicial officer of the district, feltcalled upon to take certain steps on his own initiative solely, andwithout consulting any person regarding the advisability of his action. It was characteristic of Judge Priest that he should move promptly inthe matter. To a greater degree it also was characteristic of him that, setting out for a visit to one of no social account whatsoever, heshould garb himself with more care than he might have shown had he beengoing to see one of those mighty ones who sit in the high places. In asuit of rumply but spotless white linen, and carrying in one hand hisbest tape-edged palm-leaf fan, he rather suggested a plump old mandarinas, on that same evening of the day when the street-railway companyeffected settlement, he knocked at the front door of the cottage of theWidow Millsap. 

She was in and she was alone. She was one of those women who always arein and nearly always are alone. Immediately, then, they sat in her frontroom, which was her best room. Her sewing machine was there, and herbiggest oil lamp and her few small sticks of company furniture, her fewscraps of parlor ornamentation; a bad picture or two, gaudily framed;china vases on a mantel-shelf; two golden-oak rockers, wearing on theirslick and shiny frontlets the brand of an installment-house Cain whomurdered beauty and yet failed in his designings to achieve comfort. Itwas as hot as a Dutch oven, that little box of a room inclosed withinits thin-planked walls. It was not a place where one would care tolinger longer than one had to. Judge Priest came swiftly to the heart ofthe business which had sent him thither. 

"Ma'am, " he was saying, "this is a kind of a pussonal matter that'sbrought me down here this hot night, and with your consent I'll gitright to the point of it. Ordinarily I'm a poor hand at diggin' into thebusiness of other people. But seein' that I knowed your late lamentedhusband both ez a worthy citizen and ez an honest, hard-workin' man, andseein' that in my official capacity it has been incumbent upon me toissue certain orders in connection with your rights and claims arisin'out of his ontimely death, I have felt emboldened to interest myself, privately, in your case--and that's why I'm here now. 

"To-day at the cotehouse, when the settlement wuz formally agreed to bythe legal representatives of both sides, an idea come to me. And thatidea is this: Now there's eight thousand dollars due the heirs, youbein' one and your daughter, Mrs. Dallam Wybrant, bein' the other. Halfof eight thousand dollars wouldn't be so very much to help take keer ofa person, no matter how keerful they wuz; but eight thousand dollars, put out at interest, would provide a livin' in a way fur one who livedsimply, and more especially in the case of one who owned their own homeand had it free from debt, ez I understand is the situation withreguards to you. 

"On the other hand, your daughter is well fixed. Her husband is a richman, ez measured by the standards of our people. It's probable thatshe'll always be well and amply provided fur. Moreover, she's young, andyou, ma'am, will some day come to the time when you won't be able to goon workin' with your hands ez you now do. 

"So things bein' thus and so, it seems to me that ef the suggestion wasmade to your daughter, Mrs. Dallam Wybrant, that she should waive herclaim to her share of them eight thousand dollars and sign over herrights to you, thereby inshorin' you frum the fear of actual want inyour declinin' years; and her, ez I have jest been statin', not needin'the money--well, it seems to me that she would jest naturally jump atthe notion. So if you would go to her yourself with the suggestion, orgit somebody in whose good sense and judgment you've got due confidenceto go to her and her husband and lay the facts before them, I, fur one, knowin' a little somethin' of human nature, feel morally sure of theoutcome. Why, I expect she'd welcome the idea; maybe she's alreadythinkin' of the same thing and wonderin' how, legally, it kin be done. And that, ma'am, is what brings me here to your residence to-night. AndI trust you will appreciate the motive which has prompted me and furgiveme if I, who's almost a stranger to you, seem to have meddled in youraffairs without warrant or justification. "

He reared back in his chair, a plump hand upon either knee. 

Through this the widow had not spoken, or offered to speak. Now that hehad finished, she answered him from the half shadow in which she sat onthe farther side of the sewing machine upon which the lamp burned. Therewas no bitterness, he thought, in her words; merely a sense ofresignation to and acceptance of a state of things not of her owncontriving, and not, conceivably, to be of her own undoing. 

"Judge, " she said, "perhaps you know by hearsay at least that since mydaughter's marriage she has lived apart from us. Neither my husband norI ever set foot in the house where she lives. It was her wish"--shecaught herself here, and he, sensing that she was equivocating, nevertheless inwardly approved of the deceit--"I mean to say that it wasnot my wish to go among her friends, who are not my friends, or toembarrass her in any way. I am proud that in marrying she has done sowell for herself. In thinking of her happiness I shall always try tofind happiness for myself. 

"But, judge, you must know this too: She did not come to the--thefuneral. Well, there was a cause for that; she had a reason. But--butshe had not been here for months before that. She--oh, you might as wellhear it if you are to understand--she has never once been here since shemarried!

"And so, Judge Priest, I cannot go to her until I am sent for--not underany circumstances nor for any purpose. If she has her pride, I in mypoor small way have my pride, too, my self-respect. When she needsme--if ever she does--I'll go to her wherever she may be if I have tocrawl there on my hands and knees. What has gone before will all beforgotten. But don't you see, sir?--I can't go until she sends for me. And so, Judge Priest, while I thank you with all my heart for yourthoughtfulness and your kindness, and while I'd be glad, too, if Elliesaw fit or could be made to see that it would be a fine thing to give methis money in the way you have suggested, I say to you again that Icannot be the one to go to her. I will not even write to her on thesubject. That, with me, is final. "

"But, ma'am, " he said, "ef somebody else went--some friend of yours andof hers--how about it then?"

She shook her head. 

"Her friends--now--are not my friends. My friends are not hers any more;most of them never were her friends. Besides, the idea did not originatewith me. Either the proposition must come from her direct or it must bepresented to her by some third party. And I can think of no third partyof my choosing that she would care to hear. No, Judge Priest, I havenobody to send. "

"All right then, " he stated, "since I set this here ball in motion I'llkeep it rollin'. Ma'am, I'll take it on myself to speak to Mrs. DallamWybrant in your behalf. "

"But, Judge Priest, " she protested, "I couldn't ask you to do that forme--I couldn't!"

"Ma'am, you ain't asked me and you don't need to ask me. I'm askin'myself--I'm doin' this on my own hook, and ef you'll excuse me I'llstart at it right away. When there's a thing which needs to be done ezbad ez this thing needs to be done, there oughtn't to be no time lost. "He stood up and looked about him for his hat. "Ma'am, I confidentlyexpect to be back here inside of half an hour, or an hour at most, withsome good news fur you. "

To one who had traveled about more and seen the homes of wealthyfolk--to a professional decorator, say, or an expert in furnishingvalues--the drawing-room into which Judge Priest presently was beingushered might have seemed overdone, overly cluttered up with drapery andadornment. But to Judge Priest's eye the room was all that a rich man'sbest room should be. The thick stucco walls cut out the heat of thenight; an electric fan whirred upon him as he sat in a deep chair ofpuffed red damask. A mulatto girl in neat uniform--this uniform itselfan astonishing innovation--had answered his ring at the door and hadushered him into this wonderful parlor and had taken his name and hadgone up the broad stairs with the word that he desired to see the ladyof the house for a few minutes upon important business. He had askedfirst for Mr. And Mrs. Dallam Wybrant; but Mr. Wybrant, it seemed, wasout of town; Mrs. Wybrant, then, would do. The maid, having deliveredthe message, had returned to say her mistress would be down presentlyand the caller was to wait, please. Waiting, he had had opportunity tocontrast the present settings with those he had just quitted. Perhapsthe contrast between them appeared all the greater by reason of thefreshness of his recollection of the physical surroundings at the sceneof his first visit of that evening. 

She came down soon, wearing a loose, frilly, wrapperlike garment whichhid her figure. Approaching maternity had not softened her face, had notgiven to it the glorified Madonna look. Rather it had drawn her featuresto haggardness and put in her eyes a look of sharpened apprehension asthough dread of the nearing ordeal of suffering and danger overrode thehope which, along with the new life, was quick within her. She greetedJudge Priest with a matter-of-fact directness. Her expression plainlyenough told him she was at a loss to account for his coming. 

"I'm sorry, sir, " she said in her rather metallic fashion of speaking, "that Dallam isn't here. But he was called to St. Louis this morning onbusiness. I hope you will pardon my receiving you in negligée. I'm notseeing much company at present. The maid, though, said the business wasimperative. "

"Yes, ma'am, it is, " answered Judge Priest, rather ceremoniously forhim, "and I am grateful to you fur lettin' me see you and I don't aim todetain you very long. I kin tell you in a few words whut it is that hasbrought me. "

He was as good as his promise--he did tell her in a few words. Outlininghis suggestion, he used much the same language which he had used oncealready that night. He did not tell her, though, he had come to herdirect from her mother. He did not tell her he had been to her mother atall. It might have been inferred that his present hearer was the firstto hear that which now he set forth. 

"Well, ma'am, " he concluded, "that's the condition ez I view it. And ifyou likewise see your way clear to view it ez I do the whole thing kinbe accomplished with the scratch of a pen. And you'll have thesatisfaction of knowin' that through your act your mother will be wellprovided fur fur the rest of her life. " He added a final argument, beingmoved thereto perhaps by the fact that she had heard him without changeof expression and with no glance which might be interpreted as approvalfor his plan. "I take it, ma'am, that you do not need the moneyinvolved. You never will need it, the chances are. You are rich fur thistown--your husband is, anyway. "

She replied then, and to the old man, harkening, it seemed that herwords fell sharp and brittle like breaking icicles. One thing, though, might be said for her--she sought no roundabout course. She did notquibble or seek to enwrap the main issue in specious excuses orapologies for her position. 

"I decline to do it, " she said. "I do not feel that I have the right todo it. I understand the motives which may have actuated you to interestyourself in this affair, but I tell you very frankly that I have nointention of surrendering my legal rights in the slightest degree. Yousay I do not need the money, but in the very same breath you go on tosay the chances are that I shall never need it. So there you yourselfpractically admit there is a chance that some day I might need it. Besides, I do not rate my husband a rich man, though you may do so. Heis well-to-do, nothing more. And his business is uncertain--all businessis. He might lose every cent he has to-morrow in some bad investment orsome poor speculation. 

"There is still another reason I think of: I have nothing--absolutelynothing--in my own name. It irks me to ask my husband, generous thoughhe is, for every cent I use, to have to account to him for my personalexpenditures. Before I married him I earned my own living and I paid myown way and learned to love the feeling of independence, the feeling ofhaving a little money that was all my own. My share of this inheritancewill provide me with a private fund, a fund upon which I may draw atwill, or which I may put away for a possible rainy day, just as Ichoose. "

"But ma'am, " he blurted, knowing full well he was beaten, yet inspiredby a desperate, forlorn hope that some added plea from him might breakthrough the shell of this steel-surfaced selfishness--"but, ma'am, doyou stop to realize that it's your own mother who'd benefit by thissacrifice on your part? Do you stop to consider that if there's oneperson in all this world who's entitled--"

"Pardon me, sir, for interrupting you, " she said crisply, her tone icyand sharp, "but the one person who is entitled to most consideration atmy hands has not actually come into the world yet. It is of that personthat I must think. I had not meant to speak of this, but your insistenceforces me to it. As you may guess, Judge Priest, I am about to become amother myself. If my baby lives--and my baby is going to live--thatmoney will belong to my child should anything happen to me. I must thinkof what lies ahead of me, not of what has gone before. My mother ownsthe home where she lives; she will have her half of this sum of money;she is, I believe, in good health; she is amply able to go on, as shehas in the past, adding to her income with her needle. So much for mymother. As a mother myself it will be my duty, as I see it, to safeguardthe future of my own child, and I mean to do it, regardless ofeverything else. That is all I have to say about it--that is, if I havemade myself sufficiently plain to you, Judge Priest. "

"Madam, " said he, and for once at least he dropped his lifelongaffectation of ungrammatical speech and reverted to that more statelyand proper English which he reserved for his judgments from the bench, "you have indeed made your position so clear by what you have just saidthat I feel there is nothing whatsoever to be added by either one of us. Madam, I have the pleasure to bid you good night. "

He clamped his floppy straw hat firmly down upon his head--a thing theold judge in all his life never before had done in the presence of awoman of his race--and he turned the broad of his back upon her; and ifa man whose natural gait was a waddle could be said to stride, then beit stated that Judge Priest strode out of that room and out of thathouse. Had he looked back before he reached the door he would have seenthat she sat in her chair, huddled in her silken garments, on her face ahalf smile of tolerant contempt for his choler and in her eye a lightplaying like winter sunlight on frozen water; would have seen that abouther there was no suggestion whatsoever that she was ruffled or upset orin the least regretful of the course she had elected to follow. ButJudge Priest did not look back. He was too busy striding. 

Perhaps it was the heat or perhaps it was inability long to maintain agait so forced, but the volunteer emissary ceased to stride long beforehe had traversed the three-quarters of a mile--and yet, when one came tothink it over, a span as wide as a continent--which lay between therestricted, not to say exclusive, head of Chickasaw Drive and theshabby, not to say miscellaneous, foot of Yazoo Street. It was a verywilted, very lag-footed, very droopy old gentleman who, come anotherhalf hour or less, let himself drop with an audible thump into agolden-oak rocker alongside the Widow Millsap's sewing machine. 

"Ma'am, " he had confessed, without preamble, as he entered her house, she holding the door open for his passage, "I come back to you licked. Your daughter absolutely declines even to consider the proposition I putbefore her. As a plenipotentiary extraordinary I admit I'm a teetotalfailure. I return to you empty-handed--and licked. "

To this she had said nothing. She had waited until he was seated; thenas she seated herself in her former place, with the lamp between them, she asked quietly, almost listlessly, "My daughter saw you then?"

"She did, ma'am, she did. And she refused point-blank!"

"I am sorry, Judge Priest--sorry that you should have been put to somuch trouble needlessly, " she said, still holding her voice at thatemotionless level. "I am sorry, sir, for your sake; but it is no morethan I expected. I let you go to her against my better judgment. Ishould have known that your errand would be useless. Knowing Ellie, Ishould have known better than to send you. "

He snorted. 

"Ma'am, when a little while ago, settin' right here, I told you Ithought I knowed a little something about human nature I boasted toosoon. Sech a thing ez this thing which has happened to-night isbrand-new in my experience. You will excuse my sayin' so, but I kin notfathom the workin's of a mind that would--that would--" He flounderedfor words in his indignation. "It is not natural, this here thing I havejust seen and heard. How your own flesh and blood could--"

"Judge Priest, " she said steadily, "it is not my own flesh and bloodthat you accuse. That is my consolation now. For I know the stock thatis in me. I know the stock that was in my husband. My own flesh andblood could never treat me so. "

He stared at her, his forehead twisted in a perplexed frown. 

"I mean to say just this, " she went on: "Ellie is not my own child. Shehas not a drop of my blood or my husband's blood in her. Judge Priest, Iam about to tell you something which not another soul in this townexcepting me--now that my husband is gone--has ever known. We never hadany children, Felix and I. Always we wanted children, but none came tous. Nearly twenty-three years ago it is now, we had for a neighbor ayoung woman whose husband had deserted her--had run away with anotherwoman, leaving her without a cent, in failing health and with asix-month-old girl baby. That was less than two years before we came tothis town. We lived then in a little town called Calais, on the EasternShore of Maryland. 

"Three months after the husband ran away the wife died. I guess it wasshame and a broken heart more than anything else that killed her. Shehad not a soul in the world to whom she could turn for help when she wasdying. We two did what we could for her. We didn't have much--we neverhave had much all through our lives--but what we had we divided withher. We were literally the only friends she had in this world. At thelast we took turns nursing her, my husband and I did. When she was dyingshe put her baby in my arms and asked me to take her and to care forher. That was what I had been praying all along that she would do, and Iwas glad and I gave her my promise and she lay back on the pillow anddied. 

"Well, she was buried and we took the child and cared for her. We cameto love her as though she had been our own; we always loved her asthough she had been our own. Less than a year after the motherdied--that was when Ellie was about eighteen months old--we brought herwith us out here to this town. Her baptismal name was Eleanor, which hadbeen her mother's name--Eleanor Major. The father who ran away was namedRichard Major. We went on calling her Eleanor, but as our child shebecame Eleanor Millsap. She has never suspected--she has never for onemoment dreamed that she was not our own. After she grew up and showedindifference to us, and especially after she had married and began tobehave toward us in a way which has caused her, I expect, to becriticized by some people, we still nursed that secret and it gave uscomfort. For we knew, both of us, that it was the alien blood in herthat made her turn her back upon us. We knew the reason, if no one elsedid, for she was not our own flesh and blood. Our own could never haveserved us so. And to-night I know better than ever before, and itlessens my sense of disappointment and distress. 

"Judge Priest, perhaps you will not understand me, but the motherinstinct is a curious thing. Through these last few years of my life Ihave felt as though there were two women inside of me. One of thesewomen grieved because her child had denied her. The other of these womenwas reconciled because she could see reflected in the actions of thatchild the traits of a breed of strangers. And yet both these women canstill find it in them to forgive her for all that she has done and allthat she may ever do. That's motherhood, I suppose. "

"Yes, ma'am, " he said slowly, "I reckin you're right--that'smotherhood. " He tugged at his tab of white chin whisker, and hispuckered old eyes behind their glasses were shadowed with a deepcompassion. Then with a jerk he sat erect. 

"I take it that you adopted the child legally?" he said, seeking to makehis tone casual. 

"We took her just as I told you, " she answered. "We always treated heras though she had been ours. She never knew any difference. "

"Yes, ma'am, quite so. You've made that clear enough. But by law, beforeyou left Maryland, you gave her your name, I suppose? You went throughthe legal form of law of adoptin' her, didn't you?"

"No, sir, we didn't do that. It didn't seem necessary--it never occurredto us to do it. Her mother was dead and her father was gone nobody knewwhere. He had abandoned her, had shown he didn't care what might becomeof her. And her mother on her deathbed had given her to me. Wasn't thatsufficient?"

Apparently he had not heard her question. Instead of answering it he putone of his own:

"Do you reckin now, ma'am, by any chance that there are any people stilllivin' back there in that town of Calais--old neighbors of yours, orkinfolks maybe--who'd remember the circumstances in reguard to yourhavin' took this baby in the manner which you have described?"

"Yes, sir; two at least that I know of are still living. One is my halfsister. I haven't seen her in twenty-odd years, but I hear from herregularly. And another is a man who boarded with us at the time. He wasyoung then and very poor, but he has become well-to-do since. He livesin Baltimore now; is prominent there in politics. Occasionally I see hisname in the paper. He has been to Congress and he ran for senator once. And there may be still others if I could think of them. "

"Never mind the others; the two you've named will be sufficient. Whutdid you say their names were, ma'am?"

She told him. He repeated them after her as though striving to fix themin his memory. 

"Ah-hah, " he said. "Ma'am, have you got some writin' material handy? Anyblank paper will do--and a pen and ink?"

From a little stand in a corner she brought him what he required, andwonderingly but in silence watched him as he put down perhaps a dozenclose-written lines. She bided until he had concluded his task and readthrough the script, making a change here and there. Then all at oncesome confused sense of realization of his new purpose came to her. Shestood up and took a step forward and laid one apprehensive hand upon thepaper as though to stay him. 

"Judge Priest, " she said, "what have you written down here? And what doyou mean to do with what you have written?"

"Whut I have written here is a short statement--a memorandum, really, ofwhut you have been tellin' me, ma'am, " he explained. "I'll have itwritten out more fully in the form of an affidavit, and then to-morrow Iwant you to sign it either here or at my office in the presence ofwitnesses. "

"But is it necessary?" she demurred. "I'm ignorant of the law, and youspoke just now of my failure to adopt Ellie by law. But if at this latedate I must do it, can't it be done privately, in secret, so thatneither Ellie nor anyone else will ever know?"

"Ellie will have to know, I reckin, " he stated grimly, "and other folkswill know too. But this here paper has nothin' to do with any sechproceedin' ez you imagine. It's too late now fur you legally to adoptMrs. Dallam Wybrant, even though any person should suggest sech a thing, and I, fur my part, don't see how any right-thinkin' person could orwould do so. She's a free agent, of full age, and she's a married woman. No, ma'am, she has no legal claim on you and to my way of thinkin' shehas no moral claim on you neither. She's not your child, a fact whichI'm shore kin mighty easy be proved ef anyone should feel inclined todoubt your word. She ain't your legal heir. She ain't got a leg--excuseme, ma'am--she ain't got a prop to stand on. I thought Ellie had uslicked. Instid it would seem that we've got Ellie licked. "

He broke off, checked in his exultant flight by the look upon her face. Her fingers turned inward, the blunted nails scratching at the sheet ofpaper as though she would tear it from him. 

"No, no, no!" she cried. "I won't do that! I can't do that! You mustn'task me to do that, judge!"

"But, ma'am, don't you git my meanin' yit? Don't you realize that not apenny of this eight thousand dollars belongs to Mrs. Dallam Wybrant?That she has no claim upon any part of it? That it's all yours and thatyou're goin' to have it all for yourself--every last red cent ofit--jest ez soon ez the proof kin be filed and the order made by me incourt?"

"I'm not thinking of that, " she declared. "It's Ellie I think of. Herhappiness means more to me than a million dollars would. What I havetold you was in confidence, and, judge, you must treat it so. I beg you, I demand it of you. You must promise me not to go any further in this. You must promise me not to tell a living soul what I have told youto-night. I won't sign any affidavit. I won't sign anything. I won't doanything to humiliate her. Don't you see, Judge Priest--oh, don't yousee? She feels shame already because she thinks she was humbly born. She would be more deeply ashamed than ever if she knew how humbly shereally was born--knew that her father was a scoundrel and her motherdied a pauper and was buried in a potter's field; that the name she hasborne is not her own name; that she has eaten the bread of charitythrough the most of her life. No, Judge Priest, I tell you no, athousand times no. She doesn't know. Through me she shall never know. Iwould die to spare her suffering--die to spare her humiliation ordisgrace. Before God's eyes I am her mother, and it is her mother whotells you no, not that, not that!"

He got upon his feet too. He crumpled the paper into a ball and thrustit out of sight as though it had been a thing abominable and unclean. Hetook no note that in wadding the sheet he had overturned the inkwell anda stream from it was trickling down his trouser legs, marking them withlong black zebra streaks. He looked at her, she standing there, astooped and meager shape in her scant, ill-fitting gown of sleazy black, yet seeming to him an embodiment of all the beatitudes and all thebeauties of this mortal world. 

"Ma'am, " he said, "your wishes shall be respected. It shall be ez yousay. My lawyer's sense tells me that you are wrong--foolishly, blindlywrong. But my memory of my own mother tells me that you are right, andthat no mother's son has got the right to question you or try topersuade you to do anything different. Ma'am, I'd count it an honor tobe able to call myself your friend. "

Already, within the hour, Judge Priest had broken two constant rules ofhis daily conduct. Now, involuntarily, without forethought on his part, he was about to break another. This would seem to have been a night forthe smashing of habits by our circuit judge. For she put out to him herhand--a most unlovely hand, all wrinkled at the back where dimples mightonce have been and corded with big blue veins and stained and shriveledand needle scarred. And he took her hand in his fat, pudgy, awkward one, and then he did this thing which never before in all his days he haddone, this thing which never before he had dreamed of doing. Really, there is no accounting for it at all unless we figure that somewhere farback in Judge Priest's ancestry there were Celtic gallants, versed inthe small sweet tricks of gallantry. He bent his head and he kissed herhand with a grace for which a Tom Moore or a Raleigh might have enviedhim. 

Let us now for a briefened space cast up in a preliminary way the tallyon behalf of the whimsical devils of circumstance and the part they areto play in the culminating and concluding periods of this narrative. Onthe noon train of the day following the night when that occurred whichhas been set forth in the foregoing pages, Judge Priest, in the companyof Doctor Lake and Sergeant Jimmy Bagby, late of King's Hell Hounds, C. S. A. , departs for Reelfoot Lake upon his annual fishing trip. In theafternoon Jeff Poindexter, the judge's body servant, going through hismaster's wardrobe seeking articles suitable for his own adornment in themaster's absence, is pained to discern stripings of spilled ink down thelegs of a pair of otherwise unmarred white trousers, and, having nointention that garments which will one day come into his permanentpossession shall be thus disfigured and sullied, promptly bundles themup and bears them to the cleansing, pressing and repairing establishmentof one Hyman Pedaloski. The coat which matches the trousers goes alongtoo. Upon the underside of one of its sleeves there is a big ink blob. Include in the equation this _emigré_, Hyman Pedaloski, newly landedfrom Courland and knowing as yet but little of English, whether writtenor spoken, yet destined to advance by progressive stages until a daycomes when we proudly shall hail him as our most fashionable merchantprince--Hy Clay Pedaloski, the Square Deal Clothier, Also Hats, Caps &Leather Goods. Include as a factor Hyman by all means, for lacking himour chain of chancy coincidence would lack a most vital link. 

At Reelfoot Lake many black bass, bronze-backed and big-mouthed, meetthe happy fate which all true anglers wish for them; and the whiteperch do bite with a whole-souled enthusiasm only equaled by thewhole-souled enthusiasm with which also the mosquitoes bite. This bringsus to the end of the week and to the fifth day of the expedition, withJudge Priest at rest at the close of a satisfactory day's sports, exhaling scents of the oil of penny-royal. Sitting-there under a tentfly, all sun blistered and skeeter stung, all tired out but mostcontent, he picks up a two-day-old copy of the _Daily Evening News_which the darky boatman has just brought over to camp from the postoffice at Walnut Log, and he opens it at the department headed LocalLaconics, and halfway down the first column his eye falls upon aparagraph at sight of which he gives so deep a snort that Doctor Lakeswings about from where he is shaving before a hand mirror hung on atree limb and wants to know whether the judge has happened upondisagreeable tidings. What the judge has read is a small item in thiswise, namely:

 Born last evening to Mr. And Mrs. Dallam Wybrant, at their palatial mansion on Chickasaw Drive, in the new Beechmont Park Realty Development tract, an infant daughter, their first-born. Mother and child both doing well; the proud papa reported this morning as being practically out of danger and is expected to be entirely recovered shortly, as Dock Boyd, the attending medico, says he has brought three hundred babies into the world and never lost a father yet. Ye editor extends heartiest congrats. Dal, it looks like the cigars were on you!

The next chapter in the sequence of chapters leading to our climax isshort but essential. Returning home Sunday evening, Judge Priest isinformed that twice that day a strange young white lady has stopped atthe house urgently requesting that immediately upon his arrival he be sogood as to call on Mrs. Dallam Wybrant on a matter of pressing moment. Bidden to describe the messenger, Jeff Poindexter can only say that she'uz a powerful masterful-lookin' Yankee-talkin' lady, all dressed up lakshe mout belong to some kind of a new secret s'ciety lodge, which isJeff's way of summing up his impressions of the first professionaltrained nurse ever imported, capped, caped and white shod, to our town. 

It was this same professional, a cool and starchy vision, who led theway up the wide stairs of the Chickasaw Drive house, the old judge, muchmystified, following close behind her. She ushered him into a bedroom, bigger and more gorgeous than any bedroom he had ever seen, and leavinghim standing, hat in hand, at the bedside of her chief charge, she wentout and closed the door behind her. 

From the pillows there looked up at him a face that was paler than whenhe had last seen it, a face still drawn from pangs of agony recentlyendured, but a face transfigured and radiant. The Madonna look was in itnow. Outside, the dusk of an August evening was thickening; and inside, the curtains were half drawn and the electrics not yet turned on, buteven so, in that half light, the judge could mark the change hererevealed to him. He could sense, too, that the change was more spiritualthan physical, and he could feel his animosity for this woman softeninginto something distantly akin to sympathy. At her left side, harbored inthe crook of her elbow, lay a cuddling bundle; a tiny head, all red andbare, as though offering to Judge Priest's own bald, pinkish pate thesincere flattery of imitation, was exposed; and the tip of a very smallear, curled and crinkled like a sea shell. You take the combination of ayoung mother cradling her first-born within the hollow of her arm andyou have the combination which has tautened the heartstrings of mansince the first man child came from the womb. The old man made a silentobeisance of reverence; then waited for her to speak and expose thepurpose behind this totally unexpected summons. 

"Judge Priest, " she said, "I have been lying here all day hoping youwould come before night. I have been wishing for you to come ever sinceI came out from under the ether. Thank you for coming. "

"Ma'am, I started fur here ez soon ez I got your word, " he said. "Inwhut way kin I be of service to you? I'm at your command. "

She slid her free hand beneath the pillow on which her head rested andbrought forth a crinkled sheet of paper and held it out to him. 

"Didn't you write this?" she asked. 

He took it and looked at it, and a great astonishment and a greatchagrin screwed his eyes and slackened his lower jaw. 

"Yes, ma'am, " he admitted, "I wrote it. But it wuzn't meant fur you tosee. It wuzn't meant fur anybody a-tall to see--ever. And I'm wonderin', ma'am, and waitin' fur you to tell me how come it to reach you. "

"I'll tell you, " she answered. "But first, before we get to that, wouldyou mind telling me how you came to write it, and when, and all? I thinkI can guess. I think I have already pieced the thing together formyself. Women can't reason much, you know; but they have intuition. " Shesmiled a little at this conceit. "And I want to know if my deductionsand my conclusions are correct. "

"Well, ma'am, " he said, "ez I wuz sayin', no human eye wuz to have readthis here. But since you have read it, I feel it's my bounden duty, incommon justice to another, to tell you the straight of it, even thoughin doin' so I'm breakin' a solemn pledge. "

So he told her--the how and the why and the where and the when of it;details of which the reader is aware. 

"I thought I wasn't very far wrong, and I wasn't, " she said when he hadfinished his confession. She was quiet for a minute, her eyes fixed onthe farther wall. Then: "Judge Priest, unwittingly, it seems, you havebeen the god of the machine. I wonder if you'd be willing to continueto serve?"

"Ef it lies within my powers to do so--yessum, and gladly. "

"It does lie within your power. I want you to have the necessary papersdrawn up which will signalize my giving over to my mother my share ofthat money which the railway paid two weeks ago, and then if you willsend them to me I will sign them. I want this done at once, please--assoon as possible. "

"Ma'am, " he said, "it shall be as you desire; but ef it's all the sameto you I'd like to write out that there paper with my own hand. I kinthink of no act of mine, official or private, in my whole lifetime whichwould give me more honest pleasure. I'll do so before I leave thishouse. " He did not tell her that by the letter of the law she would begiving away what by law was not hers to give. He would do nothing tospoil for her the sweet savor of her surrender. Instead he put aquestion: "It would appear that you have changed your mind about thishere matter since I seen you last?"

"It was changed for me, " she said. "This paper helped to change it forme; and you, too, helped without your knowledge; and one other, and mostof all my baby here, helped to change it for me. Judge Priest, since mybaby came to me my whole view of life seems somehow to have beenaltered. I've been lying here to-day with her beside me, thinkingthings out. Suppose I should be taken from her, and suppose her fathershould be taken, too, and she should be left, as I was, to the mercy ofthe world and the charity of strangers. Suppose she should grow up, as Idid--although until I read that paper I didn't know it--beholden to thegoodness and the devotion and the love of one who was not her realmother. Wouldn't she owe to that other woman more than she could haveowed to me, her own mother, had I been spared to rear her? I thinkso--no, I know it is so. Every instinct of motherhood in me tells me itis so. "

"Lady, " he answered, "to a mere man woman always will be an everlastin'puzzle and a riddle; but even a man kin appreciate, in a poor, faintway, the depths of mother love. It's ez though he looked through a breakin the clouds and ketched a vision of the glories of heaven. But youain't told me yit how you come to be in possession of this here sheet ofnote paper. "

"Oh, that's right! I had forgotten, " she answered. "Try to think now, judge--when my mother refused to let you go farther with your plan thatnight at her house, what did you do with the paper?"

"I shoved it out of sight quick ez ever I could. I recall that muchanyway. "

"Did you by any chance put it in your pocket?"

"Well, by Nathan Bedford Forrest!" he exclaimed. "I believe that'spurzackly the very identical thing I did do. And bein' a careless oldfool, I left it there instid of tearin' it up or burnin' it, and then Iwent on home and plum' furgot it wuz still there--not that I now regrethavin' done so, seein' whut to-night's outcome is. "

"And did your servant, after you were gone, send the suit you had wornthat night downtown to be cleaned or repaired? Or do you know aboutthat?"

"I suspicion that he done that very thing, " he said, a light beginningto break in upon him. "Jeff is purty particular about keepin' my clothesin fust-rate order. He aims fur them to be in good condition when hedecides it's time to confiscate 'em away frum me and start in wearin''em himself. Yessum, my Jeff's mighty funny that way. And now, come tothink of it, I do seem to reckerlect that I spilt a lot of ink on 'emthat same night. "

"Well, then, the mystery is no mystery at all, " she said. "On that verysame day--the day your darky sent your clothes to the cleaner's--I hadtwo of Dallam's suits sent down to be pressed. That little man at thetailor shop--Pedaloski--found this paper crumpled up in your pocket andtook it out and then later forgot where he had found it. So, as Iunderstand, he tried to read it, seeking for a clue to its ownership. Hecan't read much English, you know, so probably he has had no idea thenor thereafter of the meaning of it; but he did know enough English tomake out the name of Wybrant. Look at it and you'll see my name occurstwice in it, but your name does not occur at all. So don't you see whathappened--what he did? Thinking the paper must have come from one of myhusband's pockets, he smoothed it out as well as he could and folded itup and pinned it to the sleeve of Dallam's blue serge and sent it here. My maid found it when she was undoing the bundle before hanging up theclothes in Dallam's closet, and she brought it to me, thinking, Isuppose, it was a bill from the cleaner's shop, and I read it. Simpleenough explanation, isn't it, when you know the facts?"

"Simple, " he agreed, "and yit at the same time sort of wonderful too. And whut did you do when you read it?"

"I was stunned at first. I tried at first not to believe it. But Icouldn't deceive myself. Something inside of me told me that it wastrue--every word of it. I suppose it was the woman in me that told me. And somehow I knew that you had written it, although really that partwas not so very hard a thing to figure out, considering everything. Andsomehow--I can't tell you why though--I was morally sure that after youhad written it some other person had forbidden your making use of it inany way, and instinctively--anyhow, I suppose you might say it was byinstinct--I knew that it had reached me, of all persons, by accident andnot by design. 

"I tried to reach you--you were gone away. But I did reach that funnylittle man Pedaloski by telephone, and found out from him why he hadpinned the paper on Dallam's coat. I did not tell my husband about it. He doesn't know yet. I don't think I shall ever tell him. For two days, judge, I wrestled with the problem of whether I should send for mymother and tell her that now I knew the thing which all her life she hadguarded from me. Finally I decided to wait and see you first, and try tofind out from you the exact circumstances under which the paper waswritten, and the reason why, after writing it, you crumpled it up andhid it away. 

"And then--and then my baby came, and since she came my scheme of lifeseems all made over. And oh, Judge Priest"--she reached forth a white, weak hand and caught at his--"I have you and my baby and--yes, thatlittle man to thank that my eyes have been opened and that my heart hasmelted in me and that my soul has been purged from a terrible selfishdeed of cruelty and ingratitude. And one thing more I want you to know:I'm not really sorry that I was born as I was. I'm glad, because--well, I'm just glad, that's all. And I suppose that, too, is the woman in me. "

One given to sonorous and orotund phrases would doubtless have coined amost splendid speech here. But all the old judge, gently patting herhand, said was:

"Well, now, ma'am, that's powerful fine--the way it's all turned out. And I'm glad I had a blunderin' hand in it to help bring it about. Ishorely am, ma'am. I'd like to keep on havin' a hand in it. I wonder nowef you wouldn't like fur me to be the one to go right now and fetch yourmother here to you?"

She shook her head, smiling. 

"Thank you, judge, that's not necessary. She's here now. She was herewhen the baby came. I sent for her. She's in her room right down thehall; it'll be her room always from now on. I expect she's sewing onthings for the baby; we can't make her stop it. She's terribly jealousof Miss McAlpin--that's the trained nurse Dallam brought back with himfrom St. Louis--but Miss McAlpin will be going soon, and then she'll bein sole charge. She doesn't know, Judge Priest, that what she told toyou I now know. She never shall know if I can prevent it, and I knowyou'll help me guard our secret from her. "

"I reckin you may safely count on me there, ma'am, " he promised. "I'vefrequently been told by disinterested parties that I snore purty loudsometimes, but I don't believe anybody yit caught me talkin' in mysleep. And now I expect you're sort of tired out. So ef you'll excuseme I'll jest slip downstairs, and before I go do that there little pieceof writin' we spoke about a while ago. "

"Wouldn't you like to see my baby before you go?" she asked. Her lefthand felt for the white folds which half swaddled the tiny sleeper. "Judge Priest, let me introduce you to little Miss Martha MillsapWybrant, named for her grandmammy. "

"Pleased to meet you, young lady, " said he, bowing low and elaborately. "At your early age, honey, it's easier fur a man, to understand you thanever it will be agin after you start growin' up. Pleased indeed to meetyou. "

If memory serves him aright, this chronicler of sundry small happeningsin the life and times of the Honorable William Pitman Priest has morethan once heretofore commented upon the fact that among our circuitjudge's idiosyncrasies was his trick, when deeply moved, of talking tohimself. This night as he went slowly homeward through the soft andvelvety cool of the summer darkness he freely indulged himself in thishabit. Oddly enough, he punctuated his periods, as it were, withlamp-posts. When he reached a street light he would speak musingly tohimself, then fall silent until he had trudged along to the next light. Something after this fashion:

Corner of Chickasaw Drive and Exall Boulevard:

"Well, sir, the older I git the more convinced I am that jest about thetime a man decides he knows a little something about human nature it's ashore sign he don't know nothin' a-tall about it, 'specially humannature ez it applies to the female of the species. Now, f'rinstance, youtake this here present instance: A woman turns aginst the woman shethinks is her own mother. Then she finds out the other woman ain't herown mother a-tall, and she swings right back round agin and--well, it'sgot me stumped. Now ef in her place it had 'a' been a man. But awoman--oh, shuckin's, whut's the use?"

Corner of Chickasaw Drive and Sycamore Avenue:

"Still, of course we've got to figger the baby as a prime factorenterin' into the case and helpin' to straighten things out. Spry littletrick fur three days old, goin' on four, wuzn't she? Ought to be purty, too, when she gits herself some hair and a few teeth and plumps out so'sshe taken up the slack of them million wrinkles, more or less, thatshe's got now. Babies, now--great institutions anyway you take 'em. "

Corner of Sycamore Avenue, turning into Clay Street:

"And still, dog-gone it, you'll find folks in this world so blind thatthey'll tell you destiny or fate, or whutever you want to call it, jestgoes along doin' things by haphazard without no workin' plans and nofixed designs. But me, I'm different--me. I regard the scheme ofcreation ez a hell of a success. Look at this affair fur a minute. I gomeddlin' along like an officious, absent-minded idiot, which I am, andjest when it looks like nothin' is goin' to result frum my interferencebut fresh heartaches fur one of the noblest souls that ever lived onthis here footstool, why the firm of Providence, Pedaloski andPoindexter steps in, and bang, there you are! It wouldn't happen aginprobably in a thousand years, but it shore happened this oncet, I'lltell the world. Let's see, now, how does that there line in the hymnbook run?--'moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform. ' Ain't itthe truth?"

Last street lamp on Clay Street before you come to Judge Priest's house:

"And they call 'em the opposite sex! I claim the feller that fust coinedthat there line wuz a powerful conservative pusson. Opposite? Huh!Listen here to me: They're so dad-gum opposite they're plum'cater-cornered!"

CHAPTER III

A SHORT NATURAL HISTORY

If ever a person might be said to have dedicated his being to thepursuit of leisure, that selfsame was Red Hoss Shackleford, of color, and highly so. He was one who specialized in the deft and fine high artof doing nothing at all. With him leisure was at once a calling to befollowed regularly and an ideal to be fostered. But also he loved toeat, and he had a fancy for wearing gladsome gearings, and thesecravings occasionally interfered with the practice of his favoritevocation. In order that he might enjoy long periods of manual inactivityit devolved upon him at intervals to devote his reluctant energies togainful labor. When driven to it by necessity, which is said to be themother of invention and which certainly is the full sister to appetite, Red Hoss worked. He just naturally had to--sometimes. 

You see, in the matter of being maintained vicariously he was lessfortunately circumstanced than so many of his fellows in our town were, and still are. He had no ministering parent doing cookery for the whitefolks, and by night, in accordance with a time-hallowed custom withwhich no sane housekeeper dared meddle, bringing home under a dolmancape loaded tin buckets and filled wicker baskets. Ginger Dismukes, now--to cite a conspicuous example--was one thus favored by theindulgent fates. 

Aunt Ca'line Dismukes, mother of the above, was as honest as the day waslong; but when the evening of that day came, such trifles, say, as partof a ham or a few left-over slices of cake fell to her as a legitimateif unadvertised salvage. Every time the quality in the big house hadwhite meat for their dinner, Ginger, down the alley, enjoyed drumsticksand warmed-up stuffing for his late supper. He might be like thetapeworm in that he rarely knew in advance what he would have to eat, but still, like the tapeworm, he gratefully absorbed what was put beforehim and asked no questions of the benefactor. Without prior effort onhis part he was fed even as the Prophet Elijah was fed by the ravens ofold. This simile would acquire added strength if you'd ever seen AuntCa'line, her complexion being a crow's-wing sable. 

Red Hoss had no dependable helpmate, such as Luther Maydew had, with aneatly lettered sign in her front window: GOING-OUT WASHING TAKEN INHERE. Luther's wife was Luther's only visible means of support, yetLuther waxed fat and shiny and larded the earth when he walked abroad. Neither had Red Hoss an indulgent and generous patron such as JudgePriest's Jeff--Jeff Poindexter--boasted in the person of his master. Neither was he gifted in the manipulation of the freckled bones as thelate Smooth Crumbaugh had been; nor yet possessed he the skill of shadowboxing as that semiprofessional pugilist, Con Lake, possessed it. Concould lick any shadow that ever lived, and the punching bag that couldstand up before his onslaughts was not manufactured yet; wherefore hefigured in exhibition bouts and boxing benefits, and between these livedsoft and easy. He enjoyed no such sinecure as fell to the lot of UncleZack Matthews, who waited on the white gentlemen's poker game at theRichland House, thereby harvesting many tips and whose otherwise nimblemind became a perfect blank twice a year when he was summoned before thegrand jury. 

Red Hoss did, indeed, have a sister, but the relations between them werestrained since the day when Red Hoss' funeral obsequies had beeninopportunely interrupted by the sudden advent among the mourners of thesupposedly deceased, returning drippingly from the river whichpresumably had engulfed him. His unexpected and embarrassingreappearance had practically spoiled the service for his chief relative. She never had forgiven Red Hoss for his failure to stay dead, and helong since had ceased to look for free pone bread and poke chops in thatquarter. 

So when he had need to eat, or when his wardrobe required replenishing, he worked at odd jobs; but not oftener. Ordinarily speaking, his heartwas not in it at all. But at the time when this narrative begins hisheart was in it. One speaks figuratively here in order likewise to speakliterally. A romantic enterprise carried on by Red Hoss Shacklefordthrough a period of months promised now a delectable climax. As betweenhim and one Melissa Grider an engagement to join themselves together inthe bonds of matrimony had been arranged. 

Before he fell under Melissa's spell Red Hoss had been regarded as oneof the confirmed bachelors of the Plunkett's Hill younger set. He hadnever noticeably favored marriage and giving in marriage--especiallygiving himself in marriage. It may have been--indeed the forked tongueof gossip so had it--that the fervor of Red Hoss' courting, when once hedid turn suitor, had been influenced by the fortuitous fact that Melissaran as chambermaid on the steamboat _Jessie B. _ The fact outstanding, though, was that Red Hoss, having ardently wooed, seemed now about towin. 

But Melissa, that comely and comfortable person, remained practical evenwhen most loving. The grandeur of Red Hoss' dress-up clothes may haveentranced her, and certainly his conversational brilliancy wasaltogether in his favor, but beyond the glamour of the present, Melissahad the vision to appraise the possibilities of the future. Beforefinally committing herself to the hymeneal venture she required it ofher swain that he produce and place in her capable hands forsafe-keeping, first, the money required to purchase the license; second, the amount of the fee for the officiating clergyman; and third, cashsufficient to pay the expenses of a joint wedding journey to St. Louisand return. It was specified that the traveling must be conducted on amutual basis, which would require round-trip tickets for both of them. Melissa, before now, had heard of these one-sided bridal tours. If RedHoss went anywhere to celebrate being married she meant to go along withhim. 

Altogether, under these headings, a computed aggregate of at leasteighty dollars was needed. With his eyes set then on this financialgoal, Red Hoss sought service in the marts of trade. Perhaps theunwonted eagerness he displayed in this regard may have been quickenedby the prospect that the irksomeness of employment before marriage wouldbe made up to him after the event in a vacation more prolonged than anyhis free spirit had ever known. Still, that part of it is none of ouraffair. For our purposes it is sufficient to record that the campaignfor funds had progressed to a point where practically fifty per cent ofthe total specified by his prudent inamorata already had been earned, collected and, in accordance with the compact, intrusted to thecustodianship of one who was at once fiancée and trustee. 

On a fine autumnal day Red Hoss made a beginning at the task of amassingthe remaining half of the prenuptial sinking fund by accepting anassignment to deliver a milch cow, newly purchased by Mr. Dick Bell, toMr. Bell's dairy farm three miles from town on the Blandsville Road. This was a form of toil all the more agreeable to Red Hoss--that is tosay, if any form of toil whatsoever could be deemed agreeable tohim--since cows when traveling from place to place are accustomed tomove languidly. By reason of this common sharing of an antipathy againstundue haste, it was late afternoon before the herder and the herdedreached the latter's future place of residence; and it was almost duskwhen Red Hoss, returning alone, came along past Lone Oak Cemetery. Justahead of him, from out of the weed tangle hedging a gap in the cemeteryfence, a half-grown rabbit hopped abroad. The cottontail rambled a fewyards down the road, then erected itself on its rear quarters and withadolescent foolhardiness contemplated the scenery. In his hand Red Hossstill carried the long hickory stick with which he had guided the stepsof Mr. Bell's new cow. He flung his staff at the inviting mark nowpresented to him. Whirling in its flight, it caught its target squarelyacross the neck, and the rabbit died so quickly it did not have time tosqueak, and barely time to kick. 

Now it is known of all men that luck of two widely different kindsresides in the left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit. There is bad luckin it for the rabbit itself, seeing that the circumstance of its havinga left hind foot, to begin with, renders life for that rabbit moreperilous even than is the life of a commonplace rabbit. But there isabiding good luck in it for the human who falls heir to the foot afterthe original possessor has passed away. To insure the maximum of fairfortune for the legatee, the rabbit while in the act of jumping over asunken grave in the dark of the moon should be killed with a crookedstick which a dead man has carried; but since there is no known recordof a colored person hanging round sunken graves in the dark of the moon, the left hind foot of an authentic graveyard rabbit slain under anycircumstances is a charm of rare preciousness. 

With murky twilight impending, it was not for Red Hoss Shackleford tolinger for long in the vicinity of a burying ground. Already, in thegloaming, the white fence palings gleamed spectrally and the shadowswere thickening in the honeysuckle jungles beyond them. Nor was it forhim to think of eating the flesh of a graveyard rabbit, even though itbe plump and youthful, as this one was. 

Graveyard rabbits, when indubitably known to be such, decorate noAfro-American skillet. Destiny has called them higher than frying pans. 

Almost before the victim of his aim had twitched its valedictory twitchhe was upon it. In his hand, ready for use, was his razor; not hisshaving razor, but the razor he carried for social purposes. He bentdown, and with the blade made swift slashes right and left at a limberankle joint, then rose again and was briskly upon his homeward way, leaving behind him the maimed carcass, a rumpled little heap, lying inthe dust. A dozen times before he reached his boarding house he fingeredthe furry talisman where it rested in the bottom of his hip pocket, andeach touching of it conveyed to him added confidences in propitiousauguries. 

Surely enough, on the very next day but one, events seemed organizingthemselves with a view to justifying his anticipations. As a consequenceof the illness of Tom Montjoy he was offered and accepted what promisedto be for the time being a lucrative position as Tom Montjoy'ssubstitute on the back end of one of Fowler & Givens' ice wagons. TheEighteenth Amendment was not as yet an accomplished fact, though thedread menace of it hung over that commonwealth which had within itsconfines the largest total number of distilleries and bonded warehousesto be found in any state of this union. Observing no hope of legislativerelief, sundry local saloon keepers had failed to renew their licensesas these expired. But for every saloon which closed its doors it seemedthere was a soda fountain set up to fizz and to spout; and the books ofFowler & Givens showed the name of a new customer to replace eachvanished old one. So trade ran its even course, and Red Hoss wasretained temporarily to understudy, as it were, the invalid Montjoy. 

In an afternoon lull following the earlier rush of deliveries Mr. HamGivens came out to where Tallow Dick Evans, Bill Tilghman and Red Hossreclined at ease in the lee of the ice factory's blank north wall andbade Red Hoss hook up one of the mules to the light single wagon andcarry three of the hundred-pound blocks out to Biederman's ex-cornersaloon, now Biederman's soft-drink and ice-cream emporium, at Ninth andWashington. 

"Better let him take Blue Wing, " said Mr. Givens, addressing BillTilghman, who by virtue of priority of service and a natural affinityfor draft stock was stable boss for the firm. 

It was Bill Tilghman who once had delivered himself of the sage remarkthat "A mule an' a nigger is 'zackly alike--'specially de mule. "

"Can't tek Blue Wing, Mist' Givens, " answered Bill. "She done went up toMist' Gallowayses' blacksmith shop to git herse'f some new shoes. "

This pluralization of a familiar name was evidence on Bill Tilghman'spart of the estimation in which he held our leading farrier, Mr. P. J. Galloway. 

"All right, take one of the other mules then. But get a hustle on, "ordered Mr. Givens as he reëntered his office. 

"Dat bein' de case, I reckin I'll tek dat white Frank mule, " said RedHoss. "'Tain't no use of him standin' in de stall eatin' his ole foolhaid off jes' 'cause Tom Montjoy is laid up. "

"Boy, " said Bill Tilghman, "lissen! You 'cept a word of frien'ship an'warnin' f'um somebody dat's been kicked by more mules 'en whut you everseen in yore whole life, an' you let dat Frank mule stay right whar heis. You kin have yore choice of de Maud mule or de Maggie mule or Fridayor January Thaw; but my edvice to you is, jes' leave dat Frank mule bean' don't pester him none. "

"How come?" demanded Red Hoss. "I reckin I got de strength to drive arymule dey is. "

"I ain't sayin' you ain't, " stated Bill Tilghman. "A born ijiot coulddrive dat mule, so I jedge you mout mek out to qualify. 'Tain't dedrivin' of him--hit's de hitchin' up of him which I speaks of. "

Tallow Dick put in, "Hit's dis way wid dat Frank: In his early chilehoodsomebody muster done somethin' painful to dat mule's haid, an' it seemlak it lef' one ondurin' scar in his mind. Anyway, f'um dat dayhencefor'ard he ain't let nobody a-tall, let alone hit's a plum'stranger to him lak you is, go prankin' round his haid. Ef you think amule's back end is his dangersome end you jes' try to walk up to oleFrank face to face, ez nigger to mule, an' try to hang de mule jewelryover his years. Da's all, jes' try it! Tom Montjoy is de onliest onewhich kin slip de bit in dat mule's mouf, an' de way he do it is to gointo de nex' stall an' keep speakin' soothin' words to him, an' put debridle on him f'um behinehand of his shoulder lak. But when Tom Montjoyain't wukkin', de Frank mule he ain't wukkin' neither any. Yessuh, TomMontjoy is de sole one which dat Frank mule gives his confidences to, sech as dey is. "

Red Hoss snorted his contempt for his warning. 

"Huh, de trouble wid dat mule is he's pampered! You niggers done pamperhim twell he think he owns dese whole ice-factory premises. Whut he needfur whut ails him is somebody which ain't skeered of him. Me, I aims togo 'crost to dat stable barn over yonder 'crost de street an' walk rightin de same stall wid dat Frank same ez whut I would wid ary other mule, an' ef he mek jes' one pass at me I'm gwine up wid my fistes an' givehim somethin' to brood over. "

Bill Tilghman looked at Tallow Dick, looking at him sorrowfully, asthough haunted by forebodings of an impending tragedy, and shook hishead slowly from side to side. Tallow Dick returned the glance in kind, and then both of them gazed steadfastly at the vainglorious new hand. 

"Son, boy, " inquired old Bill softly, "whut is de name of yore mos'favorite hymn?"

"Whut my favorite hymn got to do wid it?"

"Oh, nothin', only I wuz jes' studyin'. Settin' yere, I got to thinkin'dat mebbe dey wuz some purticular tune you might lak sung at de grave. "

"An' whilst you's tellin' Unc' Bill dat much, you mout also tell us whar'bouts in dis town you lives at?" added Tallow Dick. 

"You knows good an' well whar I lives at, " snapped Red Hoss. 

"I thought mebbe you mout 'a' moved, " said Tallow Dick mildly. "'Twouldn't never do fur me an' Bill yere to be totin' de remains to dewrong address. Been my experience dat nothin' ain't mo' onwelcome at astrange house 'en a daid nigger, especially one dat's about six feet twoinches long an' all mussed up wid fresh mule tracks. "

"Huh! You two ole fools is jes' talkin' to hear yo'se'fs talk, " quothRed Hoss. "All I axes you to do is jes' set quiet yere, an' in 'bout sixminutes f'um now you'll see me leadin' a tamed-down white mule wid debritchin' all on him outen through dem stable barn do's. "

"All right, honey, have it yo' own way. Ef you won't hearken an' youwon't heed, go ahaid!" stated Uncle Bill, with a wave of his hand. "Youain't too young to die, even ef you is too ole to learn. Only I trustan' prays dat you won't be blamin' nobody but yo'se'f 'bout this timeday after to-mor' evenin' w'en de sexton of Mount Zion Cullud Cemeterystarts pattin' you in de face wid a spade. "

"Unc' Bill, you said a moufful den, " added Tallow Dick. "De way I looksat it, dey ain't no use handin' out sense to a nigger ef he ain't got noplace to put it. 'Sides, dese things offen-times turns out fur de best;orphants leaves de fewest mourners. Good-by, Red Hoss, an' kindly givemy reguards to any frien's of mine dat you meets up wid on 'yother sideof Jordan. "

With another derisive grunt, Red Hoss rose from where he had beenresting, angled to the opposite side of the street and disappearedwithin the stable. For perhaps ninety seconds after he was gone theremaining two sat in an attitude of silent waiting. Their air was thatof a pair of black seers who likewise happen to be fatalists, and whohaving conscientiously discharged a duty of prophecy now await withcalmness the fulfillment of what had been foretold. Then they heard, over there where Red Hoss had vanished, a curious muffled outcry. Asthey subsequently described it, this sound was neither shriek nor moan, neither oath nor prayer. They united in the declaration that it was morein the nature of a strangled squeak, as though a very large rat hadsuddenly been trodden beneath an even larger foot. However, for all itsstrangeness, they rightfully interpreted it to be an appeal for succor. Together they rose and ran across Water Street and into the stable. 

The Frank mule had snapped his tether and, freed, was backing himselfout into the open. If a mule might be said to pick his teeth, here was amule doing that very thing. Crumpled under the manger of the stall hejust had quitted was a huddled shape. The rescuers drew it forth, and inthe clear upon the earthen stable floor they stretched it. It wasrecognizable as the form of Red Hoss Shackleford. 

Red Hoss seemed numbed rather than unconscious. Afterward Bill Tilghmanin recounting the affair claimed that Red Hoss, when discovered, waspractically nude clear down to his shoes, which being of the varietyknown as congress gaiters had elastic uppers to hug the ankles. Thissnugness of fit, he thought, undoubtedly explained why they had stayedon when all the rest of the victim's costume came off. In his version, Tallow Dick averred he took advantage of the circumstance of Red Hoss'being almost totally undressed to tally up bruise marks ascounter-distinguished from tooth marks, and found one of the former forevery two sets of the latter. From this disparity in the count, andlacking other evidence, he was bound to conclude that considerablebutting had been done before the biting started. 

However, these conclusions were to be arrived at later. For the momentthe older men busied themselves with fanning Red Hoss and with sluicinga bucket of water over him. His first intelligible words upon partiallyreviving seemed at the moment of their utterance to have no directbearing upon that which had just occurred. It was what he said nextwhich, in the minds of the hearers, established the proper connection. 

"White folks suttinly is curious. " Such was his opening remark, following the water application. "An' also, dey suttinly do git up somemouty curious laws. " He paused a moment as though in a still slightlydazed contemplation of the statutory idiosyncrasies of the Caucasian, and then added the key words: "F'rinstance, now, dey got a law dat yougot to keep lions an' tigers in a cage. Yassuh, da's de law. Can't nocircus go 'bout de country widout de lions an' de tigers an' dehighyenas is lock' up hard an' fas' in a cage. " Querulously his voicerose in a tone of wondering complaintfulness: "An' yit dey delibert'lylets a man-eatin' mule go ramblin' round loose, wid nothin' on him but arope halter. "

Across the prostrate form of the speaker Bill Tilghman eyed Tallow Dickin the reminiscent manner of one striving to recall the exact words of acertain quotation and murmured, "De trouble wid dat Frank mule is dathe's pampered. "

"Br'er Tilghman, " answered back Tallow Dick solemnly, "you done saidit--de mule is been pampered!"

The sufferer stirred and blinked and sat up dizzily. 

"Uh-huh, " he assented. "An' jes' ez soon ez I gits some of my strengthback ag'in, an' some mo' clothes on, I'm gwine tek de longes', sharpes'pitchfork dey is in dis yere stable an' I'm gwine pamper dat devilishmule wid it fur 'bout three-quarters of an hour stiddy. "

But he didn't. If he really cherished any such disciplinary designs heabandoned them next morning at sunup, when, limping slightly, he proppedopen the stable doors preparatory to invading its interior. The whitedemon, which appeared to have the facility of snapping his bondswhenever so inclined, came sliding out of the darkness toward him, amalignant and menacing apparition, with a glow of animosity in twodeep-set eyes and with a pair of prehensile lips curled back to displaymore teeth than by rights an alligator should have. It was immediatelyevident to Red Hoss that in the Frank mule's mind a deep-seated aversionfor him had been engendered. He had the feeling that potential illhealth lurked in that neighborhood; that death and destruction, ridingon a pale mule, might canter up at any moment. Personally, he decided tolet bygones be bygones. He dropped the grudge as he tumbled backwardthrough the stable doors and slammed them behind him. That same day hewent to Mr. Ham Givens and announced his intention of immediatelybreaking off his present associations with the firm. 

"Me, I is done quit foolin' wid ole ice waggins, " he announced airilyafter Mr. Givens had given him his time. "Hit seems lak my gift is furmachinery. "

"A pusson which wuz keerful wouldn't trust you wid a shoebuttoner--dat's how high I reguards yore gift fur machinery, " commentedBill Tilghman acidly. Red Hoss chose to ignore the slur. Anyhow, at themoment he could put his tongue to no appropriate sentence of counterrepartee. He continued as though there had been no interruption:

"Yassuh, de nex' time you two pore ole foot-an'-mouth teamsters sees meI'll come tearin' by yere settin' up on de boiler deck of a taxiscab. You better step lively to git out of de way fur me den. "

"I 'lows to do so, " assented Bill. "I ain't aimin' to git shot wid nostray bullets. "

"How come stray bullets?"

"Anytime I sees you runnin' a taxiscab I'll know by dat sign alone datde sheriff an' de man which owns de taxiscab will be right behineyou--da's whut I means. "

"Don't pay no 'tention to Unc' Bill, " put in Tallow Dick. "Whar you aimto git dis yere taxiscab, Red Hoss?"

"Mist' Lee Farrell he's done start up a regular taxiscab line, "expounded Red Hoss. "He's lookin' fur some smart, spry cullid men ezdrivers. Dat natchelly bars you two out, but it lets me in. Mist' LeeFarrell he teach you de trade fust, an' den he gives you three dollars aday, an' you keeps all de tips you teks in. So it's so long and fare youwell to you mule lovers, 'ca'se Ise on my way to pick myse' out mytaxiscab. "

"Be sure to pick yo'se'f out one which ain't been pampered, " was BillTilghman's parting shot. 

"Nummine dat part, " retorted Red Hoss. "You jes' remember dis after I'mgone: Mules' niggers an' niggers' mules is 'bout to go out of style indis man's town. "

In a way of speaking, Red Hoss in his final taunt had the rights of it. Lumbering drays no longer runneled with their broad iron tires thered-graveled flanks of the levee leading down to the wharf boats. Theyhad given way almost altogether to bulksome motor trucks. Closed hacksstill found places in funeral processions, but black chaser craft, gasoline driven and snorting furiously, met all incoming trains and spedto all outgoing ones. Betimes, beholding as it were the handwriting onthe wall, that enterprising liveryman, Mr. Lee Farrell, had set up agarage and a service station on the site of his demolished stable, andnow was the fleet commander of a whole squadron of these tin-armoreddestroyers. 

Under his tutelage Red Hoss proved a reasonably apt pupil. At the end ofan apprenticeship covering a fortnight he matriculated into a regulardriver, with a badge and a cap to prove it and a place on the nightshift. Red Hoss felt impressive, and bore himself accordingly. He begantaking sharp turns on two wheels. He took one such turn too many. OnFriday night of his first week as a graduate chauffeur he steered hiscar headlong into a smash-up from which she emerged with a dished frontwheel and a permanent marcel wave in one fender. As he nursed thecripple back to the garage Red Hoss exercised an imagination which neveryet had failed him, and fabricated an explanation so plausibly shapedand phrased as to absolve him of all blameful responsibility for themishap. 

Mr. Farrell listened to and accepted this account of the accident withno more than a passing exhibition of natural irritation; but nextmorning when Attorney Sublette called, accompanied by an irate clientwith a claim for damages sustained to a market wagon, and bringing withhim also the testimony of at least two disinterested eye-witnesses toprove upon whose shoulders the fault must rest, Mr. Farrell somewhatlost his customary air of sustained calm. Cursing softly under hisbreath, he settled on the spot with a cash compromise; and then callingthe offender to his presence, he used strong and bitter words. 

"Look here, boy, " he proclaimed, "I've let you off this time with acussing, but next time anything happens to a car that you are drivingyou've got to come clean with me. It ain't to be expected that a lot ofcrazy darkies can go sky-hooting round this town driving pot-metalomnibuses for me without one of them getting in a smash-up about everyso often, and I'm carrying accident insurance and liability insurance tocover my risks; but next time you get into a jam I want you to comethrough with the absolute facts in the case, so's I'll know where Istand and how to protect myself in court or out of it. I don't care twobits whose fault it is--your fault or some other lunatic's fault. Thetruth is what I want--the truth, the whole truth and nothing but thetruth, so help you God. And He'll need to help you if I catch you lyingagain! Get me?"

"Boss, " said Red Hoss fervently, "I gits you. "

Two nights later the greater disaster befell. It was a thick, drizzly, muggy night, when the foreground of one's perspective was blurred by themurk and when there just naturally was not any background at all. Downby the Richland House a strange white man wearing a hand-coloredmustache and a tiger-claw watch charm hailed Red Hoss. This persondesired to be carried entirely out of town, to the south yards of the P. T. & A. Railroad, where Powers Brothers' Carnival Company was detrainingfrom its cars with intent to pitch camp in the suburb of Mechanicsvillehard by and furnish the chief attractions for a three days' street fairto be given under the auspices of the Mechanicsville lodge of Knights ofDamon. 

After they had quit the paved streets, Red Hoss drove a bumpy coursediagonally across many switch spurs, and obeying instructions from hisfare brought safely up alongside a red-painted sleeping car which formedthe head end of the show train where it stood on a siding. But startingback he decided to skirt alongside the track, where he hoped the goingmight be easier. As he backed round and started off, directly in frontof him he made out through the encompassing mists the dim flare of agasoline torch, and he heard a voice uplifted in pleading:

"Come on, Lena! Come on, Baby Doll! Come on out of that, you Queenie!"

Seemingly an unseen white man was urging certain of his lady friends toquit some mysterious inner retreat and join him where he stood; all ofwhich, as Red Hoss figured it, was none of his affair. Had he known morehe might have moved more slowly; indeed might have stopped movingaltogether. But--I ask you--how was Red Hoss to know that the chief bullhandler for Powers Brothers was engaged in superintending the unloadingof his large living charges from their traveling accommodations in thebull car?

There were three of these bulls, all of them being of the gentler sex. Perhaps it might be well to explain here that the word "bull, " in thelanguage of the white tops, means elephant. To a showman all cowelephants are bulls just as in a mid-Victorian day, more refined thanthis one, all authentic bulls were, to cultured people, cows. 

Obeying the insistent request of their master, forth now and down awooden runway filed the members of Powers Brothers' World Famous Troupeof Ponderous Pachydermic Performers. First came Lena, then Baby Doll andlast of all the mighty Queenie; and in this order they lumberinglyproceeded, upon huge but silent feet, to follow him alongside thecindered right of way, feeling their way through the fog. 

Now it is a fact well established in natural history--and in thisinstance was to prove a lamentable one--that elephants, unlike lightningbugs, carry no tail lamps. Of a sudden Red Hoss was aware of a vast, indefinite, mouse-colored bulk looming directly in the path before him. He braked hard and tried to swing out, but he was too close upon theobstacle to avoid a collision. 

With a loud metallic smack the bow of the swerving taxicab, coming upfrom the rear, treacherously smote the mastodonic Queenie right whereher wrinkles were thickest. Her knees bent forward, and involuntarilyshe squatted. She squatted, as one might say, on all points south. Simultaneously there was an agonized squeal from Queenie and a crunchingsound from behind and somewhat under her, and the tragic deed was done. The radiator of Red Hoss' car looked something like a concertina whichhad seen hard usage and something like a folded-in crush hat, but verylittle, if any, like a radiator. 

At seven o'clock next morning, when Mr. Farrell arrived at hisestablishment, his stricken gaze fastened upon a new car of his whichhad become to all intents and purposes practically two-thirds of a car. The remnant stood at the curbing, where his service car, having towed itin, had left it as though the night foreman had been unwilling to giveso complete a ruin storage space within the garage. Alongside thewreckage was Red Hoss, endeavoring more or less unsuccessfully to makehimself small and inconspicuous. Upon him menacingly advanced hisemployer. 

"The second time in forty-eight hours for you, eh?" said Mr. Farrell. "Well, boy, you do work fast! Come on now, and give me the cold facts. How did the whole front end of this car come to get mashed off?"

Tone and mien alike were threatening. Red Hoss realized there was notime for extended preliminary remarks. From him the truth cametrippingly on the tongue. 

"Boss, man, I ain't aimin' to tell you no lies dis time. I comes clean. "

"Come clean and come fast. "

"A elephint set down on it. "

"What!"

"I sez, suh, a elephint set down on it. "

In moments of stress, when tempted beyond his powers of self-control, Mr. Farrell was accustomed to punctuate physically, as it were, thespoken word. What he said--all he said--before emotion choked him was:"Why--you--you--" What he did was this: His right arm crooked upwardlike a question mark; it straightened downward like an exclamationpoint; his fist made a period, or, as the term goes, a full stop on thepoint of Red Hoss Shackleford's jaw. What Red Hoss saw resembled this:

 * * * * * * *

Only they were all printed flashingly in bright primary colors, reds andgreens predominating. 

As the last gay asterisk faded from before his blinking eyes Red Hossfound himself sitting down on a hard concrete sidewalk. Coincidentallyother discoveries made themselves manifest to his understanding. One wasthat the truth which often is stranger than fiction may also on occasionbe a more dangerous commodity to handle. Another was that abruptly hehad severed all business connections with Mr. Lee Farrell's industry. His resignation had been accepted on the spot, and the spot was thebulge of his left jaw. 

Somewhat dazed, filled with an inarticulate but none the less sincereconviction that there was neither right nor justice left in a misshapenworld, Red Hoss got up and went away from there. He deemed it the partof prudence to go utterly and swiftly away from there. It seemedprobable that at any moment Mr. Farrell might emerge from his inneroffice, whither, as might be noted through an open window, he hadretired to pour cold water on his bruised knuckles, and get violentagain. The language he was using so indicated. 

Presently Red Hoss, with one side of his face slightly swollen and acurious taste in his mouth, might have been seen boarding a LocustStreet car southbound. He was on his way to Mechanicsville. In the backpart of his brain lurked vaguely a project to seek out the man who ownedthose elephants and plead for some fashion of redress for painfulinjuries innocently sustained. Perhaps the show gentleman might inclinea charitable ear upon hearing Red Hoss' story. Just how the suffererwould go about the formality of presenting himself to the considerationof the visiting dignitary he did not yet know. It was all nebulous andcloudy; a contingency to be shaped by circumstances as they mightdevelop. Really sympathy was the balm Red Hoss craved most. 

He quit the car when the car quit him--at the end of the line where theiron bridge across Island Creek marked the boundary between themunicipality and its principal suburb. Even at this hourMechanicsville's broadest highway abounded in fascinating sights andalluring zoölogical aromas. The carnival formally would not open tillthe afternoon, but by Powers Brothers' crews things already had beenprepared against the coming of that time. In all available open spaces, such as vacant lots abutting upon the sidewalks and the junctions ofcross streets, booths and tents and canvas-walled arenas had been setup. Boys of assorted sizes and colors hung in expectant clumps aboutmarquees and show fronts. Also a numerous assemblage of adults of theresident leisure class, a majority of these being members of Red Hoss'own race, moved back and forth through the line of fairings, inspired bythe prospect of seeing something interesting without having to pay forit. 

Red Hoss forgot temporarily the more-or-less indefinite purpose whichhad brought him hither. He joined a cluster of watchful persons whohopefully had collected before the scrolled and ornamented woodenentrance of a tarpaulin structure larger than any of the rest. Frombeneath the red-and-gold portico of this edifice there issued a blockyman in a checkered suit, with a hard hat draped precariously over oneear and with a magnificent jewel gleaming out of the bosom of acollarless shirt. All things about this man stamped him as one havingauthority over the housed mysteries roundabout. Visibly he rayed thataura of proprietorship common to some monarchs and to practically allowners of traveling caravansaries. Seeing him, Red Hoss promptlydetached himself from the group he had just joined, and advanced, havingit in mind to seek speech with this superior-appearing personage. Thewhite man beat him to it. 

"Say, boy, that's right, keep a-coming, " he called. His experienced eyeappraised Red Hoss' muscular proportions. "Do you want a job?"

"Whut kinder job, boss?"

"Best job you ever had in your life, " declared the white man. "You getfourteen a week and cakes. Get me? Fourteen dollars just as regular asSaturday night comes, and your scoffing free--all the chow you can eatthrown in. Then you hear the band play absolutely free of charge, andyou see the big show six times a day without having to pay for it, andyou travel round and see the country. Don't that sound good to you? Oh, yes, there's one thing else!" He dangled a yet more alluring temptation. "And you wear a red coat with brass buttons on it and a cap with a plumein it. "

"Sho' does sound good, " said Red Hoss, warming. "Whut else I got to do, cunnel?"

"Oh, just odd jobs round this pitch here--this animal show. "

"Hole on, please, boss! I don't have no truck wid elephints, does I?"

"Nope. The elephants are down the line in a separate outfit of theirown. You work with this show--clean out the cages and little things likethat. Don't get worried, " he added quickly, interpreting aright a lookof sudden concern upon Red Hoss' face. "You don't have to go inside thecages to clean 'em out. You stay outside and do it with a long-handledtool. I had a good man on this job, but he quit on me unexpectedly nightbefore last. "

The speaker failed to explain that the recent incumbent had quit thusabruptly as a result of having a forearm clawed by a lady leopard namedViolet. 

"'Bout how long is dis yere job liable to last?" inquired Red Hoss. "Yousee, cunnel, Ise 'spectin' to have some right important private businessin dis town 'fore so very long. "

"Then this is the very job you want. After we leave here to-morrow nightwe strike down across the state line and play three more stands, andthen we wind up with a week in Memphis. We close up the season there andgo into winter quarters, and you come on back home. What's your name?"

"My full entitled name is Roscoe Conklin' Shackleford, but 'count of myhavin' a kinder brightish complexion dey mos' gin'rally calls me RedHoss. I reckin mebbe dey's Injun blood flowin' in me. "

"All right, Red Hoss, let it flow. You just come on with me and I'llshow you what you'll have to do. My name is Powers--Captain Powers. "

Proudly sensing that already he was an envied figure in the eyes of thegroup behind him, Red Hoss followed the commanding Powers back through acanvas-sided marquee into a circular two-poled tent. There were noseats. The middle spaces were empty. Against the side walls were rangedfour cages. One housed a pair of black bears of a rather weather-beatenand travel-worn aspect. Next to the bears, the lady leopard, Violet, through the bars contemplated space, meanwhile wearing that air ofintense boredom peculiar to most caged animals. A painted inscriptionabove the front of the third cage identified its occupant as none otherthan The Educated Ostrich; the Bird That Thinks. 

Red Hoss' conductor indicated these possessions with a lordly wave ofhis arm, then led the way to the fourth cage. It was the largest cage ofall; it was painted a bright and passionate red. It had gildedscrollings on it. Upon the ornamented façade which crossed its frontfrom side to side a lettered legend ran. Red Hoss spelled out thepronouncement:

Chieftain, King of Feline Acrobats! The Largest Black-maned Nubian Lionin Captivity! Danger!

The face of the cage was boarded halfway up, but above the top line ofthe planked cross panel Red Hoss could make out in the foreground of thedimmed interior a great tawny shape, and at the back, in one corner, anorderly clutter of objects painted a uniform circus blue. There was abarrel or two, an enormous wooden ball, a collapsible fold-up seesaw andother impedimenta of a trained-animal act. Red Hoss had heard that thelion was a noble brute--in short, was the king of beasts. He now wasprepared to swear it had a noble smell. Beneath the cage a white man inoveralls slumbered audibly upon a tarpaulin folded into a pallet. 

"There's the man you take your orders from if you join us, " explainedPowers, flirting a thumb toward the sleeper. "Name of Riley, he is. Butyou draw your pay from me. " With his arm he described a circle. "Andhere's the stock you help take care of. The only one you need to becareful about is that leopard over yonder. She gets a little peevishonce in a while. Well, I would sort of keep an eye on the ostrich herealongside you too. The old bird's liable to cut loose when you ain'tlooking and kick the taste out of your mouth. You give them both theirdistances. But those bears behind you is just the same as a pair ofpuppies, and old Chieftain here--well, he looks pretty fierce and heacts sort of fierce too when he's called on for it, but it's just actingwith him; he's trained to it. Off watch, he's just as gentle as anovergrown kitten. Riley handles him and works him, and all you've got todo when Riley is putting him through his stunts is to stand outside hereand hand him things he wants in through the bars. Well, is it a go?Going to take the job?"

"Boss, " said Red Hoss, "you speaks late--I done already tooken it. "

"Good!" said Powers. "That's the way I love to do business--short andsweet. You hang round for an hour or two and sort of get acquainted withthings until Riley has his nap out. When he wakes up, if I ain't back bythat time, you tell him you're the new helper, and he'll wise you up. "

"Yas suh, " said Red Hoss. "But say, boss, 'scuse me, but did Iunderstand you to mention dat eatin' was in de contract?"

"Sure! Hungry already?"

"Well, suh, you see I mos' gin'rally starts de day off wid breakfust, an' to tell you de truth I ain't had nary grain of breakfust yit!"

"Got the breakfast habit, eh? Well, come on with me to the cook houseand I'll see if there ain't something left over. "

Despite the nature of his calling as a tamer of ferocious denizens ofthe tropic jungle, Mr. Riley, upon wakening, proved to be a person of afairly amiable disposition. He made it snappy but not unduly burdensomeas he initiated Red Hoss into the rudimentary phases of the newemployment. As the forenoon wore on the conviction became fixed in RedHoss' mind that for an overlord he had a white man who would be apt tolisten to reason touching on any proposition promising personal profitswith no personal risks. 

Sharp upon this diagnosis of his new master's character, a magnificentidea, descending without warning like a bolt from the blue, struck RedHoss on top of his head and bored in through his skull and took promptroot in his entranced and dazzled brain. It was a gorgeous conception;one which promised opulent returns for comparatively minor exertions. Tocarry it out, though, required coöperation, and in Riley he saw with adivining glance--or thought he saw--the hope of that coöperation. 

In paving the way for confidential relations he put to Riley certainleading questions artfully disguised, and at the beginning seeminglyartlessly presented. By the very nature of Riley's answers he wasfurther assured of the safety of the ground on which he trod, whereuponRed Hoss cautiously broached the project, going on to amplify it inglowing colors the while Riley hearkened attentively. 

It was a sheer pleasure to outline a proposition to a white gentlemanwho received it so agreeably. Fifteen minutes after the first tentativeovertures had been thrown out feeler-wise, Red Hoss found that he andRiley were in complete accord on all salient points. Indeed they alreadywere as partners jointly committed to a joint undertaking. 

After the third and last afternoon performance, in which Red Hoss, wearing a proud mien and a somewhat spotty uniform coat, had acquittedhimself in all regards creditably, Riley gave him a leave of absence oftwo hours, ostensibly for the purpose of quitting his boarding house andcollecting his traveling wardrobe. As a matter of fact, these detailsreally required but a few minutes, and it had been privily agreedbetween them that the rest of the time should be devoted by Red Hoss tosetting in motion the actual preliminaries of their scheme. 

This involved a personal call upon Mr. Moe Rosen, who conducted a hide, pelt, rag, junk, empty-bottle and old-iron emporium on lower CourtStreet, just off the Market Square. September's hurried twilight haddescended upon the town when the scouting conspirator tapped foradmission at the alley entrance to the back room of Mr. Rosen'sestablishment, where the owner sat amid a variegated assortment ofchoicer specimens culled from his collected wares. Mr. Rosen needed nosign above his door to inform the passing public of the nature of hisbusiness. When the wind was right you could stand two blocks away andknow it without being told. Here at Mr. Rosen's side door Red Hosssmacked his nostrils appreciatively. Even to one newly come from awild-animal show, and even when smelled through a brick wall, Mr. Rosen's place had a graphic and striking atmosphere which was all itsown. 

As one well acquainted with the undercurrents of community life, RedHoss shared, with many others, the knowledge that Mr. Rosen, whileostensibly engaged in one industry, carried on another as a sort ofclandestine by-product. Now this side line, though surreptitiouslyconducted and perilous in certain of its aspects, was believed by theinitiated to be really more lucrative than his legitimatized and avowedcalling. Mr. Rosen was by way of being--by a roundabout way ofbeing--what technically is known as a bootlegger. He bootlegged upon alarger scale than do most of those pursuing this precarious avocation. 

It was stated in an earlier paragraph that national prohibition had notyet come to pass. But already local option held the adjoiningcommonwealth of Tennessee in a firm and arid grasp; wherefore Mr. Rosen's private dealings largely had to do with discreet clientsthirstily residing below the state line. It was common rumor in certainquarters that lately this traffic had suffered a most disastrousinterruption. Tennessee revenue agents suddenly had evinced anunfriendly curiosity touching on vehicular movements from the Kentuckyside. 

A considerable chunk of Mr. Rosen's profits for the current year hadbeen irretrievably swallowed up when a squad of these suspiciousexcisemen laid their detaining hands upon a sizable order of case stuffwhich--disguised and broadly labeled as crated household goods--wastraveling southward by nightfall in a truck, heading toward adestination in a district which that truck was destined never to reach. 

Bottle by bottle the aromatic contents of the packages had been pouredinto the wayside ditch to be sucked up by an unappreciative if poroussoil. The truck itself had been confiscated. Its driver barely hadescaped, to return homeward afoot across country bearing dire tidings tohis employer, who was reported, upon hearing the lamentable news, literally to have scrambled the air with disconsolate flappings of hishands, meanwhile uttering shrill cries of grief. 

Moreover, as though to top this stroke of ill luck, further activitiesin the direction of his most profitable market practically had beenbrought to a standstill by reason of enhanced vigilance on the part ofthe Tennessee authorities along the main highroads running north andsouth. Between supply and demand, or perhaps one should say betweenpurveyor and consumer, the boundary mark dividing the sistercommonwealths stretched its dead line like a narrow river of despair. Itwas not to be wondered at, therefore, that the sorely pestered Mr. Rosenshould be at this time a prey to care so carking as to border onforthright melancholia. Never a particularly cheerful person, at RedHoss' soft knock upon his outer door he raised a countenance completelyclothed in moroseness where not clothed in whiskers and gruntedbriefly--a sound which might or might not be taken as an invitation toenter. Nor was his greeting, following upon the caller's soft-footedentrance, calculated to promote cordial intercourse. 

"What you want, nigger?" he demanded, breaking in on Red Hoss' politelyphrased greeting. Then without waiting for a reply, "Well, whatever itis, you don't get it. Get out!"

Nevertheless, Red Hoss came right on in. Carefully he closed the doorbehind him, shutting himself in with Mr. Rosen and privacy and asymposium of strong, rich smells. 

"'Scuse me, Mist' Rosen, " he said, "fur bre'kin' in on you lak dis, butI got a little sumpin' to say to you in mos' strictes' confidence. Seemslak to me I heard tell lately dat you'd had a little trouble wid somewhite folkses down de line. Co'se dat ain't none o' my business. I jes'mentioned it so's you'd understan' whut it is I wants to talk wid youabout. "

He drew up an elbow length away from Mr. Rosen and sank his voice to anintimate half whisper. 

"Mist' Rosen, le's you an' me do a little s'posin'. Le's s'posen' youhas a bar'l of vinegar or molasses or sumpin' which you wants deliveredto a frien' in Memphis, Tennessee. Seems lak I has heared somewhars datyou already is got a frien' or two in Memphis, Tennessee? All right den!S'posin', den, dat you wrote to your frien' dat dis yere bar'l would becomin' along to him inside of a week or ten days f'um now wid me in defull charge of it. S'posin', den, on top o' dat I could guarantee you todeliver dat bar'l to your frien' widout nobody botherin' dat bar'l on deway, and widout nobody 'spectin' whut wuz in dat bar'l, an' widoutnobody axin' no hard questions about dat bar'l. S'posin' all dem things, ef you please, suh, an' den I axes you dis question: How much would datfavor be wuth to you in cash money?"

As a careful business man, Mr. Rosen very properly pressed for furtherparticulars before in any way committing himself in the matter of theamount of remuneration to be paid for the accommodation proposed. Atthis evidence of interest on the other's part Red Hoss grinned in happyoptimism. 

"Mist' Rosen, 'twon't hardly be no trouble a-tall, " he stated. "In defust place, you teks a pot o' blue paint an' you paints dat bar'l bluef'um head to foot. De bluer dat bar'l is de more safer she'll be. An' tomek sure dat de color will be right yere's a sample fur you to go by. "

With that, Red Hoss produced from a hip pocket a sliver of plankpainted on both sides in the cerulean hue universally favored by circusfolk for covering seat boards, tent poles and such paraphernalia of aportable caravansary as is subject to rough treatment and frequenthandling. At this the shock of surprise was such as almost to lift Mr. Rosen up on top of the cluttered desk which separated him from hisvisitor. It did lift him halfway out of his chair. 

"Nigger, " he declared incredulously, "you talk foolishness! A mile awaythose dam Tennessee constables would be able to see a plain barrel whichain't got no paint on it at all, and now you tell me I should paint abarrel so blue as the sky, and yet it should get through from here toMemphis. Are you crazy in the head or something, or do you maybe think Iam?"

"Nummine dat, " went on Red Hoss. "You do lak I tells you, an' you paintsde bar'l right away so de paint'll git good an' dry twixt now an'We'n'sday night. Come We'n'sday night, you loads dat blue bar'l in awaggin an' covers it up an' you fetches it to me at de back do' of demain wild animal tent of dat carnival show which is now gwine on up yerein Mechanicsville. Don't go to de tent whar de elephints is. Go to detent whar de educated ostrich is. Dar you'll fin' me. I done tuk a jobas de fust chief 'sistant wild-animal trainer, an' right dar I'll bewaitin'. So den you turns de bar'l over to me an' you goes on back homean' you furgits all 'bout it. Den in 'bout two weeks mo' when I gitsback yere I brings you a piece o' writin' f'um de gen'elman in Memphissayin' dat de bar'l has been delivered to him in good awder, an' den youpays me de rest o' de money dat's comin' to me. " He had a canny secondthought. "Mebbe, " he added, "mebbe it would be better for all concern'ef you wrote to yore frien' in Memphis to hand me over de rest of demoney when I delivers de bar'l. Yassuh, I reckins dat would be de best. "

"The rest of what money?" demanded Mr. Rosen sharply. "I ain't saidnothing about giving no money to nobody. What do you mean--money?"

"I mean de rest of de money which'll be comin' to me ez my share, "explained Red Hoss patiently. "De white man dat's goin' to he'p me widdis yere job, he 'sists p'intedly dat he must have his share paid downcash in advance 'count of him not bein' able to come back yere an'collek it fur hisse'f, an' likewise 'count of him not keerin' to have notruck wid de gen'elman at de other end of de line. De way he put it, hewants all of his'n 'fore he starts. But me, Ise willin' to wait fur debes' part of mine anyhow. So dat's how it stands, Mist' Rosen, an''scusin' you an' me an' dis yere white man an' your frien' in Memphis, dey ain't nary pusson gwine know nothin' 'bout it a-tall, 'ceptin' mebbehit's de lion. An' ez fur dat, w'y de lion don't count noways, 'countof him not talkin' no language 'ceptin' 'tis his own language. "

"The lion?" echoed Mr. Rosen blankly. "What lion? First you tell me bluebarrel and then you tell me lion. "

"I means Chieftain--de larges' black-mangy Nubbin lion in captivation, "stated Red Hoss grandly, quoting from memory his own recollection of aninscription he but lately had read for the first time. "Mist' Rosen, twixt you an' me, I reckins dey ain't no revenue officer in de wholestate of Tennessee which is gwine go projeckin' round a lion cagelookin' fur evidence. "

Disclosing the crux of his plot, his voice took on a jubilant tone. "Mist' Rosen, please, suh, lissen to me whut Ise revealin' to you. Datblue bar'l of yourn is gwine ride f'um yere plum' to Memphis, Tennessee, in a cage wid a lion ez big ez ary two lions got ary right to be! An'now den, Mist' Rosen, le's you an' me talk 'bout de money part of it;'cause when all is said an' done, dat's de principalest part, ain't it?"

The town of Wyattsville was, as the saying goes, all agog. Indeed, asthe editor of the Wyattsville Tri-Weekly Statesman most aptly phrased itin the introductory sentence of a first-page, full-column article in hislatest issue: "This week all roads run to Wyattsville. "

The occasion for all this pleasurable excitement wast the annual fairand races of the Forked Deer County Jockey Club, and superimposed uponthat the street carnival conducted under the patronage and for thebenefit of Wyattsville Herd Number 1002 of the Beneficent and PatrioticOrder of American Bison. Each day would be a gala day replete withthrills and abounding in incident; in the forenoons grand freeexhibitions upon the streets, also judgings and awards of prizes invarious classes, such as farm products, livestock, poultry, needlework, pickles, preserves and art objects; in the afternoons, on the half-miletrack out at the fair grounds, trotting, pacing and running events; inthe evenings the carnival spirit running high and free, withopportunities for innocent mirth, merriment and entertainment affordedupon every hand. 

This was Monday night, the opening night. The initial performance of thethree on the nightly schedule of Powers Brothers' Trained Wild AnimalArena approached now its climax, the hour approximately beingeight-forty-five. The ballyhoo upon the elevated platform without hadbeen completed. Hard upon this an audience of townspeople and visitorswhich taxed the standing capacity of the tented enterprise had flowedin, after first complying with the necessary financial details at theticket booth. The Educated Ostrich, the Bird That Thinks, had performedto the apparent satisfaction of all, though it might as well beconfessed that if one might judge by the intelligent creature'sexpression, the things it thought while going through its paces scarcelywould be printable. Violet, the lady leopard, had obliged by yowling ina spirited and spitty manner when stirred up with a broom handle. Thetwo bears had given a complete if somewhat lackadaisical rendition oftheir act. And now the gentlemanly orator in charge, who, after hisballyhoos, doubled as master of ceremonies and announcer of events, directed the attention of the patrons to the largest cage of the four. 

As was customary, the culminating feature of the program had beeninvested with several touches of skillful stage management, the purposebeing to enhance the thrills provided and send the audience forthpleased and enthusiastic. In high boots and a tiger-skin tunic, Mr. Riley, armed with an iron bar held in one hand and a revolver loadedwith blank cartridges in the other, stood poised and prepared to leapinto the den at the ostensible peril of his life and put his ferociouscharge through a repertoire of startling feats. His eye was set, hisface determined; his lower jaw moved slowly. This steel-hearted man waschewing tobacco to hide any concern he might feel. 

Red Hoss Shackleford, resplendent in his official trappings, made anelaborate ceremonial of undoing the pins and bolts which upheld thewooden panels across the front elevation of the cage. The announcer tookadvantage of the pause thus artfully contrived to urge upon thespectators the advisability of standing well back from the guard ropes. Every precaution had been taken, he informed them, every possiblesafeguard provided, but for their own sakes it were well to be on theprudent side in case the dauntless trainer should lose control over hisdangerous pupil. This warning had its usual effect. With a forward rusheveryone instantly pressed as closely as possible into the zone ofsupposed menace. 

Here a curious psychological fact obtrudes. In each gathering of thischaracter is at least one parent, generally a father, who habituallyconveys his offsprings of tender years to places where they will beacutely uncomfortable, and by preference more especially to spots wherethere is a strong likelihood that they may meet with a sudden andviolent end. Wyattsville numbered at least one such citizen within herenrolled midst. He was here now, jammed up against the creaking rope, holding fast with either clutch to a small and a sorely frightened childwho wept. 

Red Hoss finished with the iron catches. Behind the shielding falseworkhe heard and felt the rustle and the heave of a great sinewy bodythreshing about in a confined space. He turned his head toward theannouncer, awaiting the ordained signal. 

"Are you all ready?" clarioned that person. "Then go!"

With a clatter and crash down came the wooden frontage. It was a partof the mechanics intrusted to the docile and intelligent Chieftain thatso soon as the woodwork had dropped he, counterfeiting an unappeasablebloodthirstiness, should fling himself headlong against the strainingbars, uttering hair-raising roars. This also was the cue for Riley towriggle nimbly through a door set in the end of the cage and slam thedoor behind him; then to outface the great beast and by threats, withbar and pistol both extended, to force him backward step by step, stillsnarling but seemingly daunted, round and round the cage. Finally, whenthrough the demonstrated power of the human eye Chieftain had beensufficiently cowed, Riley would begin the stirring entertainment forwhich all this had been a spectacular overture. Such was the preliminaryformula, but for once in his hitherto blameless life Chieftain failed tosustain his rôle. 

He did not dash at his prison bars as though to rend them from theirsockets; he did not growl in an amazingly deep bass, as per inculcatedschooling; he did not bare the yellow fang nor yet unsheathe the cruelclaw. With apparent difficulty, rising on his all fours from where hewas crouched in the rear left-hand corner of his den, Chieftain advanceddown stage with what might properly be called a rolling gait. Againstthe iron uprights he lurched, literally; then, as though grateful fortheir support, remained fixed there at a slanted angle for a briefspace. 

A faunal naturalist, versed in the ways of lions, would promptly havetaken cognizance of the fact that Chieftain, upon his face, wore anexpression unnatural for lions to wear. It was an expression which mightbe classified as dreamily good-natured. His eyes drooped heavily, hislips were wreathed in a jovial feline smile. Transfixed as he was by ashock of astonishment and chagrin, Riley under his breath snapped a wordof command. 

In subconscious obedience to his master's voice, Chieftain slowlystraightened himself, came to an about face, and with his massive headcanted far to one side and all adroop as though its weight had become tohim suddenly burdensome, and his legs spraddled widely apart to hold himupright, he benignantly contemplated the sea of expectant and eagerfaces that stretched before him. Slowly he lifted a broad forefoot andwith its padded undersurface made a fumbling gesture which might havebeen interpreted as an attempt on his part to wipe his nose. 

The effort proved too much for him. Lacking one important prop, he losthis balance, toppled over and fell heavily upon his side. The falljolted his mouth widely ajar, and from the depths of his great throatwas emitted an immense but unmistakable hiccup--a hiccup deep, sincereand sustained, having a high muzzle velocity and humidly freighted withan aroma as of a hundred hot mince pies. 

From the spellbound crowd rose a concerted gasp of surprise. Chieftainheeded it not. With the indubitable air of just recalling a pleasant butnovel experience, and filled with a newborn desire to renew thesensation, he groggily regained his feet and reeled back to the cornerfrom whence he had come. Here, with the other properties of his act, aslickly painted blue barrel stood upended. Applying his nose to a spotat the base of it, he lapped greedily at a darkish aromatic liquidwhich, as the entranced watchers now were aware, oozed forth in a streamupon the cage floor through a cranny treacherously opened between twosprung staves. And all the while he tongued up the escaping runlet offluid he purred and rumbled joyously and his tawny sides heaved andlittle tremors of pure ecstasy ran lengthwise through him to expirediminishingly in lesser wriggles at the tufted tip of his gentlyflapping tail. 

Then all at once understanding descended upon the audience, and fromthem together rose a tremendous whoop. A joyous whoop it was, yet tingedwith a feather edging of jealous regret on the part of certain adultwhoopers there. They had paid their quarters, these worthy folk, to seea lion perform certain tricks and antics; and lo, they had beenvouchsafed the infinitely more unique spectacle of a lion with a jagon! It was a boon such as comes but once in many lifetimes, thisopportunity to behold majestic Leo, converted into a confirmed inebriateby his first indulgence in strong and forbidden waters, returning to histippling. 

To some perhaps in this land of ours the scene would have served topoint a moral and provide a text--a lamentable picture of the evils ofintemperance as exemplified in its effects upon a mere unreasoning dumbbrute. But in this assemblage were few or none holding the higher view. Unthoughtedly they yelled their appreciation, yelling all the louderwhen Chieftain, having copiously refreshed himself, upreared upon hishind legs, with both his forepaws winnowing the perfumed air, and afterexecuting several steps of a patently impromptu dance movement, tumbledwith a happy, intoxicated gurgle flat upon his back and lapsed into acoma of total insensibility. 

But there was one among them who did not cheer. This one was asquare-jawed person who, shoving and scrooging, cleft a passage throughthe applauding multitude, and slipped deftly under the ropes and laid adetaining grasp upon the peltry-clad shoulder of the astonished Riley. With his free hand he flipped back the lapel of his coat to display abadge of authority pinned on the breast of his waistcoat. 

"What's the main idea?" His tone was rough. "Who's the chief boozesmuggler of this outfit? How'd that barrel yonder come to be travelingacross country with a soused lion?"

"You can search me!" lied Riley glibly. "So help me, Mike, all I know isthat that barrel was slipped over on me by a big nigger that joined outwith us up here in Kentucky a week ago! I told him to get me a barrel, meaning to teach the lion a new trick, and he stuck that one in there. But I hadn't never got round to using it yet, and I didn't know it wasloaded--I'll swear to that!"

Cast in another environment, Mr. Riley might have made a good actor. Even here, in an embarrassing situation calling for lines spoken ad lib. And without prior rehearsals, he had what the critics term sincerity. His fine dissembling deceived the revenue man. 

"Well, that being the case, where is this here nigger, then?" demandedthe officer. 

Riley looked about him. 

"I don't see him, " he said. "He was right alongside just a moment agotoo. I guess he's gone. "

This, in a sense, was the truth, and in still another sense anexaggeration. Red Hoss was not exactly gone, but he certainly was going. A man on horseback might have overtaken him, but with the handicap ofRed Hoss' flying start against the pursuing forces no number of menafoot possibly could hope to do so. 

At the end of the second mile, and still going strong, the fugitivebethought him to part with his red coat. He already had run out fromunder his uniform cap, but a red coat with a double row of brass buttonsand brass-topped epaulettes on it flashing next morning across a blandautumnal landscape would be calculated to attract undesired attention. So without slackening speed he took it off and cast it behind him intothe darkness. Figuratively speaking, he breathed easier when he crossedthe state line at or about five A. M. As a matter of fact, though, he wasbreathing harder. Some hours elapsed before he caught up with hispanting. 

Traveling in his shirt sleeves, he reached home too late for thewedding. Still, considering everything, he hardly would have cared toattend anyhow. Either he would have felt embarrassed to be present orelse the couple would, or perhaps all three. On such occasions nothingis more superfluous than an extra bridegroom. The wedding in questionwas the one uniting Melissa Grider and Homer Holmes. It was generallyunexpected--in fact, sudden. 

The marriage took place on a Wednesday at high noon in the office ofJustice of the Peace Dycus. Red Hoss arrived the same afternoon, shortlyafter the departure of the happy pair for Cairo, Illinois, on ahoneymoon tour. All along, Melissa had had her heart set on going toSt. Louis; but after the license had been paid for and the magistratehad been remunerated there remained but thirty-four dollars of the fundshe had been safeguarding, dollar by dollar, as her other, or regular, fiancé earned it. So she and Homer compromised on Cairo, and by theirforethought in taking advantage of a popular excursion rate they had, ontheir return, enough cash left over to buy a hanging lamp with which tostart up housekeeping. 

Late that evening, while Red Hoss still wrestled mentally with theconfusing problem of being engaged to a girl who just had been marriedto another, a disquieting thought came abruptly to him, jolting him likea blow. Looking back on events, he was reminded that the sequence ofpainful misadventures which had befallen him recently dated, all andsundry, from that time when he was coming back down the Blandsville Roadafter delivering Mr. Dick Bell's new cow and acquired a fresh hind footof a graveyard rabbit. He had been religiously toting that presumablyinfallible charm against disaster ever since--and yet just see what hadhappened to him! Surely here was a situation calling for interpretivetreatment by one having the higher authority. In the person of thevenerable Daddy Hannah--root, herb and conjure doctor--he found such aone. 

Before going into consultation the patriarch forethoughtedly collected afee of seventy-five cents from Red Hoss. At the outset he demanded twodollars, but accepted the six bits, because that happened to be all themoney the client had. This formality concluded, he required it of RedHoss that he recount in their proper chronological order those variousstrokes of ill fortune which lately had plagued him; after which DaddyHannah asked to see the talisman which coincidentally had been in thevictim's ownership from beginning to culmination of the enumeratedcatastrophes. He took it in his wrinkled hand and studied it, sides, topand bottom, the while Red Hoss detailed the exact circumstancesattending the death of the bunny. Then slowly the ancient delivered hisfindings. 

"In de fust an' fo'mos' place, " stated Daddy Hannah, "dis yere warn't noreg'lar graveyard rabbit to start off wid. See dis li'l' teeny blackspot on de und'neath part? Well, dat's a sho' sign of a witch rabbit. Awitch rabbit he hang round a buryin' ground, but he don't go inside ofone--naw, suh, not never nur nary. He ain't dare to. He stay outside an'frolic wid de ha'nts w'en dey comes fo'th, but da's all. De onliestthing which dey is to do when you kills a witch rabbit is to cut off dehaid f'um de body an' bury de haid on de north side of a log, an' denbury de body on de south side so's dey can't jine together ag'in an'resume witchin'. So you havin' failed to do so, 'tain't no wonder youbeen havin' sech a powerful sorry time. " He started to return the footto its owner, but snatched it back. 

"Hole on yere a minute, boy! Lemme tek' nuther look at dat thing. " Hetook it, then burst forth with a volley of derisive chuckling. "Huh, huh, well ef dat ain't de beatenes' part of it all!" wheezed DaddyHannah. "Red Hoss, you sho' muster been in one big hurry to git awayf'um dat spot whar you kilt your rabbit and ketched your charm. Lookyyere at dis yere shank j'int! Don't you see nothin' curious about deside of de leg whar de hock sticks out? Well den, cullid boy, ef youdon't, all I got to say is you mus' be total blind ez well ez monst'ousignunt. Dis ain't no lef' hind foot of no rabbit. "

"Whut is it den?"

"It's de right hind foot, dat's whut 'tis!" He tossed it awaycontemptuously. 

After a long minute Red Hoss, standing at Daddy Hannah's doorstep withhis hands rammed deep in pockets, which were both empty, spoke in tonesof profound bitterness. He addressed his remarks to space, but DaddyHannah couldn't help overhearing. 

"Fust off, I gits fooled by de right laig of de wrong rabbit. Den aman-eatin' mule come a-browsin' on me an' gnaw a suit of close rightoffen my back. Den I runs into a elephint in a fog an' busts one ofMist' Lee Farrell's taxiscabs fur him an' he busts my jaw fur me. Den Igits tuk advantage of by a fool lion dat can't chamber his licker lak agen'l'man, in consequence of which I loses me a fancy job an' a chunk ofmoney. Den Melissa, she up an'--well, suh, I merely wishes to say datf'um now on, so fur ez I is concerned, natchel history is a utterfailure. "

CHAPTER IV

IT COULD HAPPEN AGAIN TO-MORROW

"Sorry, ma'am, " said the Pullman conductor, "but there's not a bit ofspace left in the chair car, nor the sleeper neither. "

"I'm sorry too, " said the young woman in the tan-colored tailor-mades. She was smartly hatted and smartly spatted; smart all over fromtoque-tip to toe-tip. "I didn't know until almost the last minute thatI'd have to catch this train, and trusted to chance for a seat. "

"Yes'm, I see, " commiserated the man in blue. "But you know what therush is this time of year, and right now on top of all that so many ofthe soldiers getting home from the other side and their folks comingEast to meet 'em and everything. I guess though, miss, you won't havemuch trouble getting accommodated in one of the day coaches. "

"I'll try it, " she said, "and thank you all the same. "

She picked up her hand bag. 

"Wait a minute, " he suggested. "I'll have my porter carry your valise onup to the other cars. "

Men of all stations in life were rather given to offering help to MissMildred Smith, the distinguished interior decorator and--on theside--amateur investigator for Uncle Sam with a wartime record forservices rendered which many a professional might have envied. Perhapsthey were the more ready to offer it since the young woman seemed sorarely to need it. 

This man's reward was a brisk little nod. 

"Please don't bother, " she said. "This bag isn't at all heavy, and I'mused to traveling alone and looking out for myself. " She footed itbriskly along the platform of the Dobb's Ferry station. At the door ofthe third coach back from the baggage car a flagman stopped her. 

"All full up in here, lady, " he told her, "but I think maybe you mightfind some place to sit in the next car beyond. If you'll just leave yourgrip here I'll bring it along to you after we pull out. "

As she reached the door of the coach ahead the train began to move. Thiscoach was comfortably filled--and more than comfortably filled. Into theaisles projected elbows and feet and at either side doubled rows ofbacks of heads showed above the red plush seats. She shrugged hershoulders; it meant standing for a while at least; probably someonewould be getting off soon--this train was a local, making frequentstops. It was not the train she would have chosen had the choosing beenleft altogether to her, but Mullinix of the Secret Service, herunofficial chief, had called her away from a furnishing and finishingcontract at a millionaire's mansion in the country back of Dobb's Ferryto run up state to Troy, where there had arisen a situation which in theopinion of the espionage squad a woman was best fitted to handle, provided only that woman be Miss Mildred Smith. And so on an hour'snotice she had dropped her own work and started. 

Now, though, near the more distant end of the car she saw a break in oneline of heads. Perhaps the gap might mean there would be room for her. She made her way toward the spot, her trim small figure swaying to themotion as the locomotive picked up speed. Drawing nearer, she saw theback of one seat had been turned so that its occupants faced rearwardtoward her. In this seat, the one farther from her as she went up theaisle, were a man and a woman; in the nearer seat, facing this pair andsitting next the window, was a second woman--a girl rather--all three ofthem, she deduced from the seating arrangement, being members of thesame party. A suitcase rested upon the cushions alongside the youngerwoman. 

"I beg your pardon, " said the lone passenger, halting here, "but isthis place taken?"

The man's face twisted as though in annoyance. He made an undecidedgesture which might be interpreted either as an affirmative or the otherthing. "I'm sorry if I am disturbing you, " added Miss Smith, "but thecar is crowded--every inch of it except this seems to be occupied. "

"Oh, I guess it's all right, " he said, though in his begrudged consentwas a sort of indirect intimation that it was not altogether all right. He half rose and swung the suitcase up into the luggage rack overhead, then tucked in his knees so she might slip into the place opposite himnext the aisle. 

"Excuse me, " he said a moment later, "but I could change seats with youif you don't mind. "

Her eyebrows went up a trifle. 

In her experiences it had not often happened that seemingly withoutreason a male fellow traveler had suggested that she give him a placecommonly regarded as preferable to his own. 

"I do mind, rather, " she answered. "Riding backward makes me carsicksometimes. Still I will change with you if you insist on it. I'm theintruder, you know. "

"No, no, never mind!" he hastened to say. "I guess it don't make anydifference. And there's no intrusion, miss--honest now, there ain't. "

Miss Smith opened the book she had brought along and began to read. Shefelt that obliquely her enforced companions were studying her--at leasttwo of them were. The one with whom she shared a seat had not looked herway; except to draw in her body a trifle as Miss Smith sat down she hadmade no movement of any sort. Certainly she had manifested no interestin the new arrival. In moments when her glance did not cross theirs, Miss Smith, turning the pages of her book, considered the two who facedher, subconsciously trying--as was her way--to appraise them for whatoutwardly they presumably were. Offhand she decided the man might be thesuperintendent of an estate; or then again he might be somebody's headgardener. He was heavily built and heavily mustached with a reddish castto his skin and fat broad hands. The woman alongside him had the lookabout her of being a high-class domestic employee, possibly ahousekeeper or perhaps a seamstress. Miss Smith decided that if notexactly a servant she was accustomed to dealing with servants and in herown sphere undoubtedly would figure as a competent and authoritativeperson. 

Of her own seat mate she could make out little except that she wasyoung--young enough to be the daughter of the woman across from her, andyet plainly enough not the woman's daughter. Indeed if first impressionscounted for anything she was of a different type and a different fiberfrom the pair who rode in her company. One somehow felt that she waswith them but not of them; that she formed the alien apex of a triangleotherwise harmonious in its social composition. She was muffled cheek toknees in a loose cape of blue military cloth which quite hid theoutlines of her figure, yet nevertheless revealed that she was slimlyformed and of fair height. The flaring collar of the garment wasupturned, shielding her face almost to the line of her brows. But out ofthe tail of her eye Miss Smith caught a suggestion of a youthful regularprofile and admiringly observed the texture of a mass of thick, fine, auburn hair. Miss Smith was partial to auburn hair; she wondered if thisgirl had a coloring to match the rich reddish tones that glinted in thesmooth coils about her head. 

Presently the man fumbled in a breast pocket of his waistcoat and founda long malignant-looking cigar. He bit the end of it and inserted thebitten end in his mouth, rolling it back and forth between his lips. Before long this poor substitute of the confirmed nicotinist for a smokefailed to satisfy his cravings. He whispered a word to his middle-agedcompanion, who nodded, and then with a mutter of apology to Miss Smithfor troubling her he scrouged out into the aisle and disappeared in thedirection of the smoker. 

Left alone, the woman very soon began to yawn. It was to be judged thatthe stuffy air of the car made her dozy. She kept her eyes open with aneffort, her head lolling in spite of her drowsy efforts to hold itstraight, yet all the while bearing herself after the fashion of onedetermined not to fall asleep. 

A voice spoke in Miss Smith's ear--a low and well-bred and musicalvoice. 

"I beg your pardon, " it said hesitatingly, then stopped. 

Miss Smith turned her head toward the speaker and now for the first timehad a fair chance to look into the face of the voice's owner. She lookedand saw the oval of a most comely face, white and drawn as though byexhaustion or by deep sorrow, or perhaps by both. For all their pallorthe cheeks were full and smooth; the brow was broad and low; the mouthfirm and sweet. From between the tall collars of the cape the throat, partly revealed, rose as a smooth fair column. What made the girl almostbeautiful were her eyes--eyes big and brown with a fire in them tosuggest the fine high mettle of a resolute character, but out of themthere looked--or else the other was woefully wrong--a great grief, agreat distress bravely borne. To herself--all in that instant oflooking--she said mentally that these were the saddest, most courageouseyes she ever had seen set in a face so young and seemingly bespeakingso healthful a body. For a moment Miss Smith was so held by what she sawthat she forgot to speak. 

"I beg your pardon, " repeated the girl. "I wonder if you would be goodenough to bring me a drink of water--if it isn't too much trouble. I'mso thirsty. I can't very well go myself--there are reasons why I can't. And I don't think she"--with a sidelong glance toward the nodding figureopposite--"I don't think she would feel that she could go and leave me. '

"Certainly I will, " said Miss Smith. "It's not a bit of bother. "

"What is it?" The woman had been roused to full wakefulness by themovement of the stranger in rising. 

"Please don't move, " said Miss Smith. "Your young lady is thirsty andI'm going to bring her a drink of water--that's all. "

"It's very good of you, miss, " said the elder woman. She reached for herhand bag. "I think I've got a penny here for the cup. "

"I've plenty of pennies, " said Miss Smith. 

At the cooler behind the forward door she filled a paper cup and broughtit back to where the two were. To her surprise the elder woman reachedfor the cup and took it from her and held it to the girl's lips whileshe drank. With a profound shock of sympathy the realization wentthrough Miss Smith that the girl had not the use of her hands. 

Having drunk, the girl settled back in her former posture, her face halfturned toward the window and her head drooping as if from weariness. Thewoman laid the emptied cup aside and at once was dozing off again. Thethird member of the group sat in pitying wonder. She wondered whataffliction had made a cripple of this wholesome-looking bonny creature. She thought of ghastly things she had read concerning the dreadful aftereffects of infantile paralysis, but rejected the suggestion, because nomatter what else of dread and woe the girl's eyes had betrayed the facewas too plump and the body, which she could feel touching hers, too firmand well nourished to betoken a present and wasting infirmity. So thenit must have been some accident--some maiming mishap which probably hadnot been of recent occurrence, since nothing else about the girlsuggested physical impairment. If this deduction were correct, thewearing of the shrouding blue cape in an atmosphere almost stiflinglyclose stood explained. It was so worn to hide the injured limbs fromview. That, of course, would be the plausible explanation. Yet at thesame time an inner consciousness gave Miss Smith a certain and absoluteconviction that the specter of tearfulness lurking at the back of thosebig brown eyes meant more than the ever-present realization of somebodily disfigurement. 

Fascinated, she found her eyes searching the shape beside her for a clewto the answer of this lamentable mystery. In her covert scrutiny therewas no morbid desire to spy upon another's hidden miseries--our MissSmith was too well-bred for that--only was there a sudden quickenedpity and with that pity a yearning to offer, if opportunity served, anysmall comfort of act or word which might fitly come her way. As herglance--behind the cover of her reopened book--traveled over the cloakedshape searching for a clew to the secret she saw how that chancepromised to serve her ends. The girl was half turned from her, ashoulder pressing against the window ledge; the twist of her body haddrawn one front breadth of the cape awry so that no longer did itcompletely overlap its fellow. In the slight opening thus unwittinglycontrived Miss Smith could make out at the wearer's belt line a partlyobscured inch or two of what seemed to be a heavy leathern gear, ortruss, which so far as the small limits of the exposed area gave hint asto its purpose appeared to engage the forearms like a surgical device, supporting their weight below the bend of the elbows. With quickeningand enhanced sympathy the little woman winced. 

Then she started, her gaze lifting quickly. Of a sudden she became awarethat the girl was regarding her straightforwardly with those haggardeyes. 

"Can you tell what the--the trouble is with me?" she asked. 

She spoke under her breath, the wraith of a weary little smile about hermouth. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " answered Miss Smith contritely. "But please believeme--it was not mere cheap inquisitiveness that made me look. "

"I think I know, " said the girl softly. "You were sorry. And it doesn'tmatter much--your seeing. Somehow I don't mind your seeing. "

"But I haven't really seen--I only caught a glimpse. And I'm afraid nowthat I've been pressing too closely against your side; perhaps givingyou pain by touching your arms. "

"My arms are not hurting me, " said the girl, still with that queer ghostof a smile at her lips. "I've not been hurt or injured in any way. "

"Not hurt? Then why--"

She choked the involuntary question even as she was framing it. 

"This--this has been done, I suppose, to keep me from hurting anyoneelse. "

"But--but I don't understand. "

"Don't you--yet? Then lift a fold of my wrap--carefully, so no one elsecan see while you are looking. I'd rather you did, " she continued, seeing how Miss Smith hesitated. 

"But I am a stranger to you. I don't wish to pry. I----"

"Please do! Then perhaps you won't be worrying later on about--about meif you know the truth now. "

With one hand Miss Smith turned back the edge of the cape, enlargingslightly the opening, and what she saw shocked her more deeply thanthough she had beheld some hideous mutilation. She saw that about bothof the girl's wrists were snugly strapped broad leather bands, designedsomething after the fashion of the armlets sometimes worn by athletesand artisans, excepting that here the buckle fastenings were set uponthe tops of the wrists instead of upon the inner sides; saw, too, thatthese cuffs were made fast to a wide leather belt, which in an unbrokenband encircled the girl's trunk, so that her prisoned forearms werepressed in and confined closely against her body at the line of herwaist. Her elbows she might move slightly and her fingers freely; butthe hands were held well apart and the fingers in play might touch onlythe face of the broad girthing, which presumably was made fast bybuckles or lacings at her back. As if the better to indicate how firmlyshe was secured, the wearer of these strange bonds flexed her armmuscles slightly; the result was a little creaking sound as the harnessanswered the strain. Then the girl relaxed and the sound ended. 

"Oh, you poor child!" The gasped exclamation came involuntarily, carrying all the deeper burden of compassion because it was uttered in ahalf whisper. Quickly she snugged the cloak in to cover the ugly thingshe had looked upon. "What have you done that you should be treated so?"

Indignation was in the asking--that and an incredulous disbelief thathere had been any wrongdoing. 

"It isn't what I've done--exactly. I imagine it is their fear of whatthey think I might do if my hands were free. "

"But where are you going? Where are these people taking you? You're nocriminal. I know you're not. You couldn't be!"

"I am being taken to a place up the road to be confined as a dangerouslunatic. "

In the accenting of the words was no trace of rebellion or even ofself-pity, but merely there was the dead weight and numbness of ahopeless resignation to make the words sound flat and listless. 

"I don't believe one word of it!" exclaimed Miss Smith, then broke offshort, realizing that the shock of the girl's piteous admission had senther own voice lifting and that now she had a second listener. The womandiagonally across from her was sitting bolt upright and a pair of smalleyes were narrowing upon her in a squint of watchful and hostilesuspicion. Instantly she stood up--a small, competent, determined body. 

"I'll be back, " she stated, disregarding the elder woman and speaking tothe younger. "And I'm going to find out more about you, too, before I'mdone. "

Her step, departing, was brisk and resolute. 

In the aisle near the forward door she encountered the flagman. 

"There is a man in the smoker I must see at once, " she said. "Will youplease go in there and find him and tell him I wish--no, never mind. Isee him coming now. "

She went a step or two on to meet the person she sought, halting him inthe untenanted space at the end of the coach. 

"I want to speak with you, please, " she began. 

"Well, you'll have to hurry, " he told her, "because I'm getting off withmy party in less'n five minutes from now. What was it you wanted to sayto me?"

"That young girl yonder--I became interested in her. I thought perhapsshe had been injured. Then more or less by chance I found out the truefacts. I spoke to her; she told me a little about her plight. "

"Well, if you've been talking to her what's the big idea in talking tome?"

His tone was churlish. 

"This isn't mere vulgar curiosity on my part. I have a perfectly propermotive, I think, in inquiring into her case. What is her name. "

"Margaret Vinsolving. "

"Spell it for me, please--the last name?"

He spelled it out, and she after him to fix it in her mind. 

"Where does she live--I mean where is her home?"

"Village of Pleasantdale, this state, " shortly. 

"Who are her people?"

"She's got a mother and that's all, far as I know. "

"What asylum are you taking her to?"

"No asylum. We're taking her to Doctor Shorter's Sanitarium back ofPeekskill two miles--Dr. Clement Shorter, specialist in nervousdisorders--he's the head. "

"It is a private place then and not a state asylum?"

"You said it. "

"You are connected with this Doctor Shorter's place, I assume?"

"Yep. "

"In what capacity?"

"Oh, sort of an outside man--look after the grounds and help outgenerally with the patients and all. And now, say, lady, if that'llsatisfy you I guess I better be stepping along. I got to see aboutgetting this here patient and the matron off the train; that's thematron that's setting with her. "

"Just a moment more, please. "

She felt in a fob set under the cuff of her left sleeve and broughtforth a small gold badge and held it cupped in her gloved hand for himto see. As he bent his head and made out the meaning of the badge thegruff air dropped from him magically. 

"Oh, I see!" he said. "Secret Service, eh? All right, ma'am, what moredid you want to know? Only I'd ask you speak brisk because there ain'tso much time. "

"Tell me briefly what you know of that child. "

"Not such a lot, excepting she's a dangerous lunatic, having beenlegally adjudged so yestiddy. And her mother's paying for her keep at ahigh-class place where she can have special treatment and special careinstead of letting her be put away in one of the state asylums. And soI'm taking her there--me and the matron yonder. That's about all, Iguess. "

"I don't believe it. "

"You don't believe what?"

He was beginning to bristle anew. 

"Don't believe she is insane at all, much less dangerously so. Why, I'vejust been talking with her. We exchanged only a few words, but in allthat she said she was so perfectly rational, so perfectly sensible. Besides, one has only to look at her to feel sure some terrible mistakeor some terrible injustice is being done. Surely there is nothingeccentric, nothing erratic about her; now is there? You must have beenstudying her. Don't you yourself feel that there might have beensomething wrong about her commitment?"

He shook his head. 

"Not a chancet. Everything's been positively regular and aboveboard. Youcan't railroad folks into Doctor Shorter's place; he's got too high astanding. Shorter takes no chances with anybody. "

"But she seemed so absolutely normal in speech, manner--everything. I'veseen insane persons before now and--"

"Excuse me, but about how many have you seen?"

"Not many, I admit, but--"

"Well, excuse me again, lady, but I thought as much. Well, Ihave--plenty of 'em I've seen in my time. See 'em every day for thematter of that. Listen to me! For instance, now, we've got a case upthere with us now. He's been there going on fifteen years; used to be apreacher, highly educated and all that. Look at him and you wouldn't seea thing out of the way with him except that he'd be wearing astrait-jacket. Talk to him for maybe a week and you wouldn't notice asingle thing wrong about him. He'd just strike you all along as beingone of the nicest, mildest, old Christian gents you ever met up with inyour whole life. But get him on a certain subject; just mention acertain word to him and he'd tear your throat out with his bare hands ifhe could get at you. "

"But this poor girl, surely her case is different? Was it reallynecessary to bind her hands as you've done?"

"Lady, about these here violent ones you can't never tell. Me, I neversaw her in my life before I went down after her this morning, and up tonow she hasn't made me a mite of trouble. But I had my warning from themthat turned her over to me. Anyhow, all I needed was the story of herown mother, as fine a lady as you'd care to see and just aboutbroken-hearted over all this. You'd think from the way she carried onshe was the one that was being put away and not the daughter. And yet, what did the mother swear to on her sacred oath? She swore to thedaughter's having tried, not once but half a dozen separate times tokill her, till she was afraid for her own life--positively!

"Besides, lady, it's been my experience, and I've had a heap of it, thatit's the quiet-acting ones that are apt to strike the quickest and dothe most damage when the fit comes on 'em. So taking everything intoconsideration, I felt like as if I oughter be purty careful handling heron this trip. But she's all right. Probably nobody on this train, outside of you, knows there's anything wrong with her and it wasaccidental-like, so you tell me, the way you come to find out--youtaking that seat alongside her and getting into talk with her whilst Iwas in yonder smoking. It's better she should be under control thatawaythan that she should maybe get a spell on her right here in this car orsomewheres and me be forced to hold her down by main strength andpossibly have to handle her pretty rough. I put it to you now, ain't it?The way she's fixed she can't harm herself nor no one else. You take itfrom me, lady, that while I've been in this business for so long I don'talways get my private feelings harrowed up over the case of anice-looking young girl like this one is, like an outsider might, stillat that I ain't hard-hearted and I ain't aiming to be severe justbecause I can. But what else is there for me to do except what I'mdoing? I ask you. Say, it's funny she talked to you. She ain't saidhardly a word to us since she started. Didn't even say nothing when Iput the hobbles on her. "

"I'm not questioning your judgment, " said Miss Smith, "but she is sopitiable! She seemed to me like some dumb, frightened, wild creaturecaught in a trap. And despite what you say I'm sure she can't be mad. Please, may I speak with her again--if she herself doesn't mind?"

"I'm afeared it's too late, " he said not unkindly. "We're slowing downfor Peekskill now. I'll have to step lively as it is to get 'em offshipshape. But if you've still got any doubts left in your mind you canlook up the court records at White Plains. You'll find everything's beendone positively legal and regular. And if you should want to reach meany time to find out how she's getting along or anything like that, whymy name is Abram Foley, care of Doctor Shorter. "

He cast this farewell information back over his shoulder as he hurriedfrom her. 

Half convinced yet doubting still, and filled wholly with anovermastering pity, Miss Smith stood where she was while the trainjerkily came to a standstill. There she stayed, watching, as the trioquitted the car. Past her where she stood the man Foley led the way, burdened with the heavy suitcase. Next came his charge, walking steadilyerect, mercifully cloaked to her knees in the blue garment; and thematron, in turn behind her, bearing a hand bag and an odd parcel or two. About the departing group a casual onlooker would have sensed nothingunusual. But our Miss Smith, knowing what she did know, held a clenchedhand to the lump that had formed in her throat. She was minded to speakin farewell to the prisoner, and yet a second impulse held her mute. 

She fell in behind the three of them though, following as far as theplatform, being minded to witness the last visible act of the tragedyupon which she had stumbled. Her eyes and her heart went with them asthey crossed through the open shed of the station, the man stillleading, the matron with one hand guiding their unresisting ward towardwhere a closed automobile, a sort of hybrid between a town car and anambulance, was drawn up on the driveway just beyond the eaves of thebuilding. A driver in a gray livery opened the door of the car for itsoccupants. 

Alongside the automobile the girl swung herself round, her head thrownback, as a felon might face about at the gateway of his prison--for alast view of the free world he was leaving behind. Seemingly thevigilant woman misinterpreted this movement as the first indication ofa spirit of kindling obstinacy. Alarmed, she caught at the girl torestrain her. Her grasp closed upon the shoulder of the cape and as thewrenched garment came away in her hand the prisoner stood revealed inher bonds--a slim graceful figure, for all the disfigurement of theclumsy harness work which fettered her. 

An instant later the cape had been replaced upon her shoulders, hidingher state from curious eyes, but in that same brief space of time shemust have seen leaning from the train, which now again was in motion, the shape of her unknown champion, for she nodded her head as though ingratitude and good-by and her white face suddenly was lighted with whatthe passenger upon the car platform, seeing this through a sudden mistof tears, thought to be the bravest, most pitiable smile that ever shehad seen. 

The train doubled round an abrupt curve, in the sharpness of its swingalmost throwing her off her feet, and when she had regained her balanceand looked again the station was furlongs behind her, hidden from sightby intervening buildings. 

It was that smile of farewell which acted as a flux to carry into therecipient's mind a resolution already forming. Into things her emotionswere likely to lead her headlong and impetuously, but for a way out ofthem this somewhat unusual young woman named Smith generally had forher guide a certain clear quality of reasoning, backed by an intuitionwhich helped her frequently to achieve satisfactory results. So it waswith her in this instance. 

Her share of the business in Troy completed, as speedily it was, shestayed in Albany for half a day on her way back and called upon thegovernor. At first sight he liked her, for her good looks, for hertrigness, her directness and more than any of these for the excellentmental poise which so patently was a part of her. The outcome of hervisit to him and his enthusiastic admiration for her was that thedistrict attorney of Westchester County shortly thereafter instituted aninvestigation, the chief fruitage of that investigation being embodiedin a somewhat longish letter from him, which Miss Smith read in herstudio apartment one afternoon perhaps three weeks after the date of hermeeting on trainboard with that adjudged maniac, the girl MargaretVinsolving. 

To the letter was a polite preamble. She skipped it. We may do well tofollow her lead and come to the body of it, which ran like this:

"Mrs. Janet Vinsolving is the widow of a colonel in our Regular Army. Myinformation is that she is a woman of culture and refinement. Since thedeath of her husband some eight years ago she has been residing in asmall home which she owns in the outskirts of Pleasantdale village inthis county. From the fact that she keeps no servants and from otherfacts brought to me I gather that she is in very modest circumstances. She has been living quite alone except for the daughter, Margaret, whois her only child. The daughter was educated in the public schools ofthe county. Lately she has been studying applied designing with a viewto becoming an interior decorator. "

"Ah, now I know another reason why I was drawn to her!" interpolated thereader, speaking to herself. With heightened interest she read on:

"On inquiry it appears that among her former schoolmates and teachersshe was popular, though not inclined to make intimates. She is reputedto have been rather high-tempered, but seemingly throughout herchildhood and young girlhood there was nothing about her conduct orappearance to indicate a disordered mind. Indeed there was no suggestionof mental aberration on her part from any source until within the pastmonth. However, I should add that it is rather hard to arrive at anyaccurate estimate of her general behavior by reason of the fact thatmother and daughter led so secluded a life. They had acquaintances inthe community, but apparently no close friends there or elsewhere. 

"About four weeks ago, on the twenty-eighth of last month to be exact, the mother, described to me as being in a state of great distress, visited Justice Cannavan, then sitting in chambers at White Plains, andasking for a private interview with him, requested an inquiry into thesanity of the girl Margaret, with a view, as she explained, ofprotecting her own life. Her daughter, she alleged, had without warningdeveloped a homicidal tendency aimed at the applicant. 

"According to Mrs. Vinsolving, the girl, who always theretofore had beena devoted and affectionate child, had made at least five separate anddistinct attempts to kill her, first by putting poison into her food andlater by attempting to strangle her at night in her bed. Next only to anatural desire to have her own physical safety insured, the mother wasapparently inspired by a wish to surround the truth regarding herbeloved child's aberration with as much secrecy as possible. At the sametime she realized that a certain amount of publicity was inevitable. 

"Acting under the statutes, the justice appointed two reputablepracticing physicians of the county, namely Dr. Ernest Malt, ofWincorah, and Dr. James P. McGlore, of Pleasantdale, to sit as acommission for the purpose of inquiring into Miss Vinsolving's mentalstate. The mother, still exhibiting every evidence of maternal grief, appeared before these gentlemen and repeated in detail the account ofthe attacks made upon her, as previously described to His Honor. 

"The girl was then brought before the commission. It was explained toher that under the law she had the right to demand a hearing in opencourt before a jury chosen to pass upon her sanity. This she waived, butfrom this point on throughout the inquiry she steadfastly declined tomake answers to the questions propounded to her by the members of thecommission in an effort to ascertain her mental status, but on thecontrary persistently maintained a silence which they interpreted as aphase of insane cunning characteristic of a type of abnormality notoften encountered, but in their opinion the more sinister andsignificant because of its rarity. 

"They accordingly drew up a finding setting forth that in their opinionand deliberate judgment the unfortunate young woman was suffering from aprogressive and therefore probably incurable form of dementia. Thejustice immediately signed the necessary orders for her detention andcommitment. To save the daughter from being sent to a state institutionthe mother provided funds sufficient for her care at Doctor Shorter'ssanitarium, an establishment of unimpeachable reputation, and sheaccordingly was taken there in proper custody, as you yourself areaware. 

"My information from the sanitarium, which I procured in response toyour request, and the governor's instructions to me for a full inquiryinto all the circumstances is that since her confinement MissVinsolving has been under constant observation. She has been orderly andobedient and except for slightly melancholic tendencies, which mighteasily be provoked by the nature of her environment, is quite natural inher behavior. I draw the inference, however, that this docility may bemerely the forerunner of an outburst at any time. 

"Altogether my investigation convinces me that no miscarriage of the lawcould possibly have occurred in this instance. There is certainly noground for suspecting that the mother had any ulterior or impropermotive in seeking to have her daughter and sole companion deprived ofliberty. Neither the mother nor any other person alive can hope toprofit in a financial sense by reason of the girl's temporary orpermanent detention. 

"The girl herself is without means of her own. The mother for hermaintenance is largely dependent upon the pension she receives from theUnited States Government. The girl had no income or estate of her ownand no expectancy of any inheritance from any imaginable source otherthan the small estate she will legally inherit at the death of hermother. Finally I may add that nowhere in the case has there developedany suggestion of a scandal in the life of mother or daughter or of anyclandestine love affair on the part of either. 

"These briefly are the available facts as compiled by a trustworthymember of my staff, Assistant District Attorney Horace Wilkes, to whomI detailed the duty of making a painstaking inquiry. If I may hereafterbe of service to you in this matter or any other matter, kindly commandme. I have the honor to be, "Yours etc. , etc. "

With a little gesture of despairful resignation Miss Smith laid theletter down. Well, there was nothing more she could do; nothing more tobe done. She had come to a blind end. The proof was conclusive of theworst. But in her thoughts, waking and sleeping, persisted the image ofthat gallant, pathetic little figure which she had seen last at thePeekskill station, bound, helpless, alone and all so courageously facingwhat to most of us would be worse than death itself. Awake or in sleepshe could not get it out of her mind. 

At length one night following on a day which for the greater part shehad spent in a study of the somewhat curious laws that in New YorkState--as well as in divers other states of the Union--govern theprocedure touching certain classes coming within purview of the code, she awoke in the little hours preceding the dawn to find herself sayingaloud: "There's something wrong--there must be--there has to be!"

Until daylight and after she lay there planning a course of action untilfinally she had it completed. True, it was a grasping at feeble straws, but even so she meant to follow along the only course which seemed opento her. 

First she did some long-distance telephoning. Then immediately afterbreakfast she sent to the garage round the corner for her runabout andin it she rode up through the city and on into Westchester, nowbeginning to flaunt the circus colors of a gorgeous Indian summer. Anhour and a half of steady driving brought her to the village ofPleasantdale. She found it a place well named, seeing that it was tuckeddown in a cove among the hills between the Hudson on the one side andthe Sound on the other. 

Following the directions given her by a lone policeman on duty in thetiny public square, she ran two blocks along the main street and drew upwhere a window sign giving name and hours advertised that James P. McGlore, M. D. , here professionally received patients in his office onthe lower floor of his place of residence. A maidservant answered thecaller's knock, and showing her into a chamber furnished like a parlorwhich had started out to be a reception room and then had tried--toolate--to change back again into a parlor, bade her wait. She did nothave long to wait. Almost immediately an inner door opened and in theopening appeared the short and blocky figure of a somewhat elderly, old-fashioned-looking man with a square homely face--a face whichinstantly she classified as belonging to a rather stupid, very dogmaticand utterly honest man. He had outjutting, belligerent eyebrows and astubborn underjaw that was badly undershot. He spoke as he entered andhis tone was noticeably not cordial. 

"The girl tells me your name is Smith. I suppose from that you're theyoung person that the district attorney telephoned me about an hour orso ago. Well, how can I serve you?"

"Perhaps, doctor, the district attorney told you I had interested myselfin the case of the Vinsolving girl--Margaret Vinsolving, " she began. "Ihad intended to call also upon your associate, Doctor Malt, over atWincorah, but I learn he is away. "

"Yes, yes, " he said with a sort of hurried petulance. "Know all aboutthat. Malt's like a lot of these young new physicians--always runningoff on vacations. Mustn't hold me responsible for his absences. Got notime to think about the other fellow. Own affairs are enough--keep mebusy. Well, go on, why don't you? You were speaking of the Vinsolvinggirl. Well, what of her?"

"I was saying that I had interested myself in her case and--"

He snapped in: "One moment. Let's get this all straightened out beforewe start. May I inquire if you are closely related to the young personin question?"

"I am not. I never saw her but once. "

"Are you by any chance a close friend of the young woman?"

He towered over her, for she was seated and he had not offered to sitdown. Indeed throughout the interview he remained standing. 

Looking up at him, where he glowered above her, she answered backpromptly:

"As I was saying, I never saw her but once--that was on the day shewas carried away to be placed in confinement. So I cannot call myselfher friend exactly, though I would like to be her friend. It wasbecause of the sympathy which her position--and I might add, herpersonality--roused in me that I have taken the liberty of coming hereto see you about her. "

Under his breath he growled and grunted and puffed certain sounds. Shecaught the purport of at least two of the words. 

"Pardon me, doctor, " she said briskly, "but I am not an amateurphilanthropist. I trust I'm not an amateur anything. I am a businesswoman earning my own living by my own labors and I pay taxes and for thepast year or so I have been a citizen and a voter. Please do not regardme merely as an officious meddler--a busybody with nothing to do exceptto mind other people's affairs. It was quite by chance that I came uponthis poor child and learned something of her unhappy state. "

The choleric brows went up like twin stress marks accenting unspokenskepticism. 

"A child--of twenty-four?" he commented ironically. 

"A child, measured by my age or yours. As I told you, I met her quiteaccidentally. She appealed to me so--such a plucky, helpless, friendlesslittle thing she seemed with those hideous leather straps binding her. "

"Do you mean to imply that she was being mistreated by those who had herin charge?"

"No, her escorts--or attendants or warders or guards or whatever onemight call them--seemed kindly enough, according to their lights. Butshe was so quiet, so passive that I--"

"Well, would you expect anyone who felt a proper sense of responsibilityto suffer dangerous maniacs to run at large without restraint or controlof any sort upon their limbs and their actions?"

"But, doctor, that is just the point--are you so entirely sure that sheis a dangerous maniac? That is what I want to ask you--whether thereisn't a possibility, however remote, that a mistake may conceivably havebeen made? Please don't misunderstand me, " she interjected quickly, seeing how he--already stiff and bristly--had at her words stiffened andbristled still more. "I do not mean to intimate that anything unethicalhas been done. In fact I am quite sure that everything has been quiteethical. And I am not questioning your professional standing or decryingyour abilities. 

"But as I understand it, neither you nor Doctor Malt is avowedly analienist. I assume that neither of you has ever specialized in nervousor mental disorders. Such being the case, don't you agree with me--thisidea has just occurred to me--that if an alienist, a man especiallyversed in these things rather than a general practitioner, howeverexperienced and competent, were called in even now--"

"And you just said you were not reflecting upon my professionalabilities!"

His tone was heavily sarcastic. 

"Of course I am not! I beg your pardon if my poor choice of language hasconveyed any such impression. What I am trying to get at, doctor, in myinexpert way, is that I talked with this girl, and while I exchangedonly a few words with her, nevertheless what she said--yes, and herbearing as well, her look, everything about her--impressed me as beingentirely rational. "

He fixed her with a hostile glare and at her he aimed a blunt gimlet ofa forefinger. 

"Are you quite sure you are entirely sane yourself?"

"I trust I am fairly normal. "

"Got any little funny quirks in your brain? Any little temperamentalcrotchets in which you differ from the run of people round you? Thinknow!"

"Well, " she confessed, "I don't like cats--I hate cats. And I don't likefigured wall paper. And I don't like--"

"That will be sufficient. Take the first point: You hate cats. On thatcount alone any confirmed cat lover would regard you as being as crazyas a March hare. But until you start going round trying to kill otherpeople's cats or trying to kill other people who own cats there'sprobably no danger that anyone will prefer charges of lunacy against youand have you locked up. "

She smiled a little in spite of her earnestness. 

"Perhaps it is symptomatic of a lesion in my brain that I should beconcerning myself in the case of a strange girl whom I have seen butonce--is that also in your thoughts, Doctor McGlore?"

"We'll waive that, " he said. "For the sake of argument we'll concedethat your indicative peculiarities assume a harmless phase at present. But this Vinsolving girl's case is different--hers were not harmless. Her acts were amply conclusive to establish proof of her mentalcondition. "

"From the district attorney's statement to me I rather got theimpression that she did not indulge in any abnormal conduct while beforeyou for examination. "

"Did he tell you of her blank refusal to answer the simplest of thequestions my associate and I put to her?"

"Doctor, " she countered, seeking to woo him into a better humor, "wouldyou construe silence on a woman's part as necessarily a mark ofinsanity? It is a rare thing, I concede. But might it not sometimes bean admirable thing as well?"

But this gruff old man was not to be cajoled into pleasanter channelsthan the course his mood steered for him. 

"We'll waive that too. Anyhow, the mother's evidence was enough. "

"But was there anything else other than the mother's unsupported storyfor you to go on and be guided by?"

"What else was needed?" he retorted angrily. "What motive could themother have except the motives that were prompted by mother love? Thatwas a devoted, desolated woman if ever I saw one. Look here! A daughterwithout cause suddenly turns upon her mother and tries to kill her. Well, then, either she's turned criminal or she has gone crazy!

"But why should I go on debating with you a matter which you don't knowanything about in the first place and in which you have no call tointerfere in the second place?

"I don't want to be sharp with you, young woman, but that's the plainfact. The duty which I undertook under the law and as a reputablephysician was not a pleasant one, and it becomes all the less pleasantwhen an unqualified layman--laywoman if you prefer to phrase it thatway--cross-examines me on my judgment. "

"Doctor, let me repeat again I have not sought to cross-question you orbelittle your knowledge. But you speak of the law. Do you not think it amonstrous thing that two men even though they be of high standing intheir profession as general practitioners, but without specialacquaintance with mental derangements--I am not speaking of thisparticular case now but of hundreds of other cases--do you not think ita wrong thing that two such persons may pass upon a third person'ssanity and upon the uncorroborated testimony of some fourth personrecommend the confinement of the accused third person in an asylum forthe insane?"

"I suppose you know a person so complained of--or accused, as you putit--has the right to a jury trial in open court. This girl that you'reso worked up about had that right. She waived it. "

"But is a presumably demented person a fit judge of his or her own bestcourse of conduct? In your opinion shouldn't there be other safeguardsin their interests to insure against what conceivably might be aterrible error or a terrible injustice?"

He didn't exactly sneer, but he indulged himself in the first cousin ofa sneer. 

"You've evidently been fortifying yourself to give me a battle--readingup on the subject, eh?"

"I've been reading up on the subject--not, though, for the purpose ofentering into a joint debate on the subject with anyone. But, doctor, Ihave read enough to startle me. I never knew before there were such lawson the statute books. And I have learned about another case, the case ofthat rich man--a multimillionaire the papers called him, which means Isuppose that at least he was well-to-do. You remember about him, I amsure? A commission declared him of unsound mind. He got away to anotherstate where the legal processes of this state could not reach him. Thecourts of that other state declared him mentally competent and capableof managing his own affairs--and for a period of years he did managethem. Here the other month, under a pledge of safe conduct, he returnedto New York on legal business and while he was here he carried his causeto a higher court and that court ruled him to be sane and entitled tohis complete freedom of body and action. But for years he had been apseudofugitive in enforced exile and for years he had carried the stigmaof having been adjudged insane. This thing happened, incredible as itsounds. It might happen again to-day or to-morrow. It--"

"Excuse me for interrupting your flow of eloquence, " he said with alabored politeness, "but I thought you came here to discuss the case ofa girl named Vinsolving, not the case of a man I never heard of before. Now, at least I'm not going to discuss generalities with you and I'm notgoing to sit here and join with you in questioning the workings of thelaw either. The laws are good enough for me as they stand. I'm alaw-abiding citizen, not one of these red-eyed socialistic Bolsheviksthat are forever trying to tear down things. I believe in taking thelaws as I find them. Let well enough alone--that's my motto, youngwoman. And there are a whole lot more like me in this country. "

"Pardon me for breaking in on you, sir, " she said, fighting hard to keepher temper, "but neither am I a socialist or a Bolshevik. "

"Then I reckon probably you're one of these rampant suffragists. Anyhow, what's the use of discussing abstracts? If you don't like the law whydon't you have it changed?"

"That's one of the very things I hope before long to try to do, " shereplied. 

"It'll keep you pretty busy, " he responded with a sniff of profounddisapproval. "But then you seem to have a lot of spare time on yourhands to spend in crusading round. Well, I haven't. I've got my patientsto see to. One of 'em is waiting for me now--if you'll kindly excuseme?"

She rose. 

"I'm sorry, " she said sincerely, "if either my mission or my languagehas irritated you. I seem somehow to have defeated the purpose thatbrought me--I mean a faint hope that perhaps somehow I might help thatgirl. Something tells me--call it intuition or sentimentality or whatyou will--but something tells me I must keep on trying to help her. Ionly wish I could make you share my point of view. "

"Well, you can't. Say, see here, why don't you go to see the mother? Ijudge she might convince you that you are on the wrong tack, even if Ican't. "

"That's exactly what I mean to do, " she declared. 

Something inside her brain gave a little jump. It was curious that shehad not thought of it before; even more curious that his laboredsarcasms had been required to set her on this new trail. 

"Well, at that, you'd better think twice before you go, " he retorted. "She was a mighty badly broken-up woman the last time I saw her, buteven so I judge she's still got spunk enough left in her to resenthaving an unauthorized and uninvited stranger coming about, seeking topry into her own private sorrow. But it's your affair, not mine. Besides, judging by everything, you probably don't think my advice isworth much anyhow. "

"Oh, yes, but I do--I do indeed! And I thank you for it. "

"Don't mention it! And good day!"

The slamming of the inner door behind him made an appropriateexclamation point to punctuate the brevity of his offended and indignantdeparture. For a moment she felt like laughing outright. Then she feltlike crying. Then she did neither. She left. 

"Poor, old opinionated, stupid old, conscientious old thing!" she wassaying to herself as she let herself, unattended, out of the front door. "And yet I'll wager he would sit up all night and work his fingers tothe bone trying to save a life. And when it comes to serving poor peoplewithout expecting payment or even asking for it, I know he is a perfectdear. Besides, I should be grateful to him--he gave me an idea. I don'tknow where he got it from either--I don't believe he ever had so verymany of his own. "

Again the handy cop in the communal center set her upon her way. Butwhen she came to the destination she sought--a small, rather shabbycottage standing a mile or so westward from the middle of thingscommunal, out in the fringes of the village where outlying homesteadstailed away into avowed farmsteads--the house itself was closed up fastand tight. The shutters all were closely drawn and against the gatepostwas fastened a newly painted sign reading: "For Sale or Rent. Apply toSearle, the Up-to-Date Real Estate Man, Next Door to Pythian Hall. "

Not quite sure she had stopped at the right place, Miss Smith hailed aman pottering in a chrysanthemum bed in the yard of the adjoiningcottage. 

"Mrs. Vinsolving?" he said, lifting a tousled head above his palings. "Yessum, she lives there--leastwise she did. She moved away only the daybefore yesterday. Sort of sudden, I think it must have been. I didn'tknow she was going till she was gone. " He grinned in extenuation of theunaccountable failure of a small-town man to acquaint himself with allavailable facts regarding a neighbor's private affairs. "But then shenever wasn't much of a hand, Mrs. Vinsolving wasn't, for mixing withfolks. I'll say she wasn't!"

Back she turned to seek out Searle, he of up-to-date real estate. In adingy office upstairs over the local harness store a lean and rangygentleman raised a brindled beard above a roll-top desk and in answer toher first question crisply remarked, "Can't tell. "

"But surely if she put her property in your hands for disposal she musthave given you some address where you might communicate with her?"pressed Miss Smith. 

"Oh, yes, she done that all right, but that ain't the question you astme first. You ast me if I could tell you where she was--and that I can'tdo. "

"I see. Then I presume she left instructions with you not to give herpresent whereabouts to anyone?"

"Well, you might figger it out that way and mebbe not so far wrong, "said the cryptic Mr. Searle. "But if you think you'd like to buy or renther place I'm fully empowered to act. Got the keys right here and a carstanding outside--take you right on out there in a jiffy if you say theword. "

He rose up and followed her halfway down the steps, plainly tornbetween a desire to make a commission and a regret that under ordersfrom his client he could furnish no details regarding her latemovements. 

"If you're interested in any other piece of property in this vicinity--"were the last words she heard floating down the stair well as she passedout upon the uneven sidewalk. 

She knew exactly what she meant to do next. At sight of her badge, asshown to him through his wicketed window marked "General Delivery, " thevillage postmaster gave her a number on a side street well up-town inNew York, adding: "Going away, Mrs. Vinsolving particularly asked me notto tell anybody where her mail was to be sent on to. Kind of a secretivewoman anyhow, she was, and besides she's had some very pressing troublecome on her lately. I presume you've heard something about that matter?"

She nodded. 

"I suppose now, " went on the postmaster, his features sharpening withcuriosity, "that the Federal authorities ain't looking into thatparticular matter? Not that I care to know myself, but I just thought itwouldn't be any harm to ask. "

"No, " said Miss Smith, "I merely wanted to see her on a personal matterand I only let you see my credential in order to learn her forwardingaddress. "

Provided with the requisite information, she figured that before nightshe would interview the widow or know good reasons why. That the otherwoman had quitted her home seemingly in a hurry and with efforts atsecrecy gave zest to the quest and added a trace of bepuzzlement to ittoo. Even so, she did not herself know what she meant to say to thewoman when she had found her in her present abiding place or whatquestions she would ask. Only she knew that an inner prompting strongerthan any reasoned-out process drove her forward upon her vague andblinded mission. Fool's errand it might be--probably was--yet she meantto see it through. 

But she had not reckoned upon the contingency that on this fine Octoberforenoon, for the first time since buying his new touring car, Mr. JakeGoebel, shirt-waist manufacturer in a small way in Broome Street andhead of a family in a large way in West One Hundred and Ninety-ninthStreet, would be undertaking to drive the said car unaided and untutoredby a more experienced charioteer on a trial spin up the Albany PostRoad, accompanied--it being merely a five-passenger car--only by Mrs. Rosa Goebel, wife of the above, six little Goebels of assorted sizes andages and Mrs. Goebel's unmated sister, Miss Freda Hirschfeld ofRivington Street. In Getty Square, Yonkers, about noontime occurred ahead-on collision, the subsequent upshots of which were variously thatdivers of those figuring in the accident went in the followingdirections:

Miss Smith to a doctor's office near by to have a sprained wristbandaged; and thence home in a hired automobile. 

Her runabout to a Yonkers repair shop and garage. 

Mr. Goebel, with lamentations, to the office of an attorney making aspecialty of handling damage suits, thence home by train with the sevenmembers of his family party, all uninjured as to their limbs and membersbut in a highly distracted state nervously. 

Mr. Goebel's car to another repair shop and garage. 

The traffic policeman on duty in Getty Square to the station house tomake a report of the fifth smash-up personally officered by him withineight hours--on a Sunday his casualty list would have been longer, butthis was a week day, when pleasure travel was less fraught with highwayperilousness. 

It so happened that Mullinix came to town from Washington next morningand, following his custom, rang up his unpaid but none the less valuedaid to inquire whether he might come a-calling. No, he might not, MissSmith being confined to her room with cold compresses on her injuredwrist, but he might render a service for her if so minded--and he was. To him, then, over the wire Miss Smith stated her requirements. 

"I want you please to go to this address"--giving it--"and see whetheryou find there a Mrs. Janet Vinsolving, a widow. I rather imagine theplace may be a boarding house, though I won't be sure as to that. Itwill not be necessary for you to see her in person; in fact I'd ratheryou did not. What I want you to do is to learn whether she is stillthere, and if so how long she expects to stay there, and generallyanything you can about her movements. She went there only three days agoand inasmuch as she has a reputation in her former home for keeping verymuch to herself this may be a more difficult job than it sounds. But dothe best you can, won't you, and then notify me of the results bytelephone? No, it is a personal affair--nothing to do with any of ourofficial undertakings. I'll tell you more about it when I see you. Iexpect I shall be able to receive visitors in a day or two; just now Ifeel a bit shaken up and unstrung. That's all, and thank you ever somuch. "

Within an hour he had her on the telephone again. 

"Hello!" she said. "Yes, this is Miss Smith. Oh, it's you, is it? Well, what luck?. .. Oh, so it was a boarding house, after all. .. . And youfound her there?. .. No? Then where is she?. .. What? Where did you say?Bellevue!. .. I knew it, I knew it, something told me!. .. No, no, nevermind my ravings! Go on, please, go on!. .. Yes, all right. Now then, listen please: You jump in a taxi and get here to my apartments as soonas you can. I'll be dressed and ready when you arrive to go over therewith you. .. . What?. .. Oh, bother the doctor's instructions. It's only asprain anyhow and I feel perfectly fit by now, honestly I do . .. Tellyou I'd get up out of my dying bed to go. .. . Yes, indeed, it isimportant--much more important than you think! Come on for me, I'll bewaiting. "

When fifteen minutes later the perplexed Mullinix halted a taxi at theDeansworth Studio Building she was at the curbing, her left arm in asling and her eyes ablaze with barely controlled emotions. Before hecould move to get out and help her in she was already in. 

"Bellevue Hospital, psychopathic ward, " he told the driver as sheclimbed nimbly inside. 

As the taxi started she turned to Mullinix, demanding: "Now tell it tome all over again. When you are through, then I'll explain to you why Iam so interested. "

"Well, " he said, "there isn't so very much to tell. The address you gaveme turned out to be a boarding house just as you suspected it might--asecond-rate place but apparently highly respectable, kept by a Mrs. Sheehan. It's been under the same management at the same place for agood many years. It wasn't very much trouble for me to find out whatyou wanted to know, because the whole place was in turmoil after whathad happened just an hour or so before I got there. And when itdeveloped that I had come to inquire about the cause of all theexcitement every old-lady boarder in the house wanted to tell me aboutit all at the same time. 

"It seems that three days ago this Mrs. Vinsolving applied at the placefor room and board. Mrs. Sheehan vaguely remembered her as having beenher guest for a short time ten or twelve years ago. At that time she waswith her husband, Colonel Vinsolving, who it appears has since died, anda daughter about ten years or twelve years of age--a little girl withred hair, as Mrs. Sheehan recalls. This time, though, she came alone, carrying only hand baggage. Except that she seemed to be nervous andrather harassed and unhappy looking, there was nothing noticeablyunusual about her. Mrs. Sheehan took her in willingly enough. 

"She went straight to her room on the third floor and stayed there, having her meals brought up to her. But this morning early she went tothe landlady and begged for protection, saying she was in fear of herlife. Mrs. Sheehan very naturally inquired to know what was up--and thenMrs. Vinsolving told her this story:

"She said she had discovered a conspiracy to murder her, headedby--guess who? The late Kaiser, no less! She said that the Kaiser indisguise had escaped from Holland, leaving behind him in his recentplace of exile over there a double made up to look like him, and was nowin hiding in this country for the sole purpose of having Mrs. Vinsolvingassassinated in revenge, because her late husband, while an officer inthe Army, had perfected a poison gas deadlier than any other known, which, being kept a secret by this Government and used against theGerman army in the war, had brought about the victory for our side andled to the overthrow of the Kaiser's outfit. 

"She went on to say she had run away from some suburban town or other tohide in New York and that was why she had taken refuge at Mrs. Sheehan's, thinking she would be in safety. But now she knew theplotters had tracked her, because she had just detected that the maidwho had been bringing up her meals to her was really a German agent, andacting under orders from the Kaiser had put poison into her food. All ofwhich naturally surprised Mrs. Sheehan considerably, especially as theaccused servant happened to be a perfectly reliable Finnish girl who hasbeen working for Mrs. Sheehan for five years and who had two brothers inthe Seventy-seventh Division overseas. 

"It didn't take Mrs. Sheehan two minutes--she being a prettylevel-headed person evidently--to see what ailed her new boarder. Shemanaged to get Mrs. Vinsolving quieted down and get her back again intoher room, and then she called in the policeman on the post and insideof an hour the woman had been smuggled out of the house and was on herway to Bellevue in an ambulance with a doctor and a policeman guardingher. But by that time, of course, the news had leaked out among theother boarders and the whole place was beginning to stew withexcitement. It was still stewing when I got there. 

"Well, as soon as you told me over the telephone that you were bent anddetermined on going to Bellevue, though I do not see why you should bein such a hurry about it and taking chances on setting up aninflammation in your injured arm, because even though you do know thepoor crazed creature you can't be of any help--"

"I don't know her. I never saw her in my life. "

"Then why--"

"That part can wait. I'll explain later. You were saying that as soon asyou talked with me over the telephone you did something. What was it?"

"Oh, yes, I called up Doctor Steele, chief surgeon in the psychopathicward, who happens to be a friend of mine and one of us besides"--hetapped the badge he wore under his coat lapel--"and told him I wasbringing you down to see this woman, and he volunteered some informationof the case in advance of your coming. I've forgotten just what hecalled the form of insanity which has seized her--it's a jaw-breakingLatin name--but anyhow, he said his preliminary diagnosis convinced himthat it must have been coming on her for some time; that it was markedby delusions of persecution and by an exaggerated ego, causing itsvictims to imagine themselves the objects of plots engineered by themost distinguished personages, such as rulers and high dignitaries; andthat while in this state a man or a woman suffering from this particularbrand of lunacy was apt to shift his or her suspicion from one person toanother--first perhaps accusing some perfectly harmless and well-meaningindividual, who might be a relative or a near friend, and then nearlyalways progressing to the point in his or her madness where the chargewas directed against some famous character. "

"Did you hear anywhere any mention made of a daughter--the red-hairedchild of twelve years ago?" inquired Miss Smith. 

"To be sure I did, but I'd forgotten about her, " said Mullinix. "Mrs. Sheehan told me that somewhere in her excited narrative Mrs. Vinsolvingdid say something about the daughter. As nearly as I can recall, shetold Mrs. Sheehan that five or six weeks ago, or some such matter, herdaughter had tried to kill her and that she thought then the daughterhad gone mad, but that now she knew the girl had joined the Kaiser'sgang for pay. I made a mental note of this part of the rigmarole at thetime Mrs. Sheehan was repeating it to me, and then it slipped my mind. But now putting that yarn alongside of what Doctor Steele tells me aboutthe symptoms of the disease, I see the connection--first the daughter, then the strange servant girl and finally the Kaiser. But say, I wonderwhy the daughter hasn't been keeping some sort of a guard over the poordemented creature? What can she have been thinking about herself to lether mother go running foot-loose round the country, nursing thesechanging delusions?"

"She couldn't very well help herself, " put in Miss Smith. "The daughteris in an asylum--put there five weeks ago on the mother's complaint. "

"But heavens alive, how could that have happened?"

"Very easily--under the laws of this state, " she answered grimly. Thenspeaking more quickly: "I've changed my mind about going to Bellevuewith you. Please tell the driver to take me to the Grand CentralStation. I don't know what train I'm going to catch, except that it'sthe next one leaving on the Hudson River Division for up state. You goon then, please, to the hospital and find out all you can about thiscase and call me on the long-distance to-night--no, that won't doeither. I don't know where I'll be. I may be in Peekskill or inAlbany--I can't say which. I tell you--I'll call you at eight o'clock;that will be better. 

"No, no!" she went on impetuously, reading on his face the protest hemeant to utter. "My wrist is well bandaged and giving me no pain. I'mthinking now of what a poor brave girl had on both her wrists when lastI saw her and of what she must have been enduring since then. I'llexplain the biggest chapter of the story to you on the way over beforeyou drop me at the station. "

At the Grand Central she left behind a thoroughly astonished gentleman. He was clear on some points which had been puzzling him from time totime during this exceedingly busy morning, but still much mystified tomake out the meaning of Miss Smith's farewell remark as he put heraboard her train. 

"I only wish one thing, " she had said. "I only wish I might take thetime to stop at the village of Pleasantdale and break the news to acertain Doctor McGlore who lives there. I trust I am not unduly cattish, but I dearly would love to watch the expression on his face when heheard it. I think I'd do it, too, if I were not starting on the mostimperative errand that ever called me in my life. "

A week later, to the day, two expected visitors were ushered into theprivate chamber of the governor at Albany--one of them a small, exceedingly well-groomed and good-looking woman in her thirties, andone a slender pretty girl with big brown eyes and wonderful auburn hair. 

"Governor, " said Miss Smith, "I want the pleasure of introducing to youthe gamest girl in the whole world--Margaret Vinsolving. "

He took the firm young hand she offered him. "Miss Vinsolving, " he said, "in the name of the State of New York and on behalf of it I ask yourforgiveness for the great and cruel wrong which unintentionally was doneto you. "

"And I want to thank you for what you have done for me, sir, " sheanswered him simply. 

"Don't thank me, " he said. "You know the one to thank. If I had not setthe machinery of my office in motion on your behalf within five minutesafter your benefactress here reached me the other day I should havedeserved impeachment. But I should never have lived to face impeachment. I'm sure the slightest sign of hesitation on my part would have been thesignal for your advocate to brain me with my own inkstand. " His facesobered. "But, my child, for my own information there are some things Iwant cleared up. Why in the face of the monstrous charges laid againstyou did you keep silent--that is one of the things I want to know?"

Before answering, the girl glanced inquiringly at her companion. 

"Tell him, " counseled Miss Smith. 

Steadily the girl made answer. 

"When my poor mother accused me of trying to kill her I realized for thefirst time that her mind had become affected. No one else, though, appeared to suspect the real truth. Perhaps this was because she seemedso normal on every other subject. So I decided to keep silent. I thoughtthat if I were taken away from her for a while possibly the separationand with it the lifting of the imaginary fear of injury at my hands, which had upset her, might help her to regain her reason and no outsiderbe ever the wiser for it. I am young and strong; I believed I could bearthe imprisonment without serious injury to me. I believe yet--for hersake--I could have borne it. And I knew--I realized what would happen toher if she were placed in such surroundings as I have been in and madeto pass through such experiences as those through which I have passed. Ifelt that all hope of a cure for her would then be gone forever. And Ilove my mother. " She faltered, her voice trembling a bit, then added:"That is why I kept silent, sir. "

"But, my dear child, " he said, "what a wrong thing for you to have done. It was a splendid, chivalrous, gallant sacrifice, but it was wrong. Andif you don't mind I'd like to shake hands with you again. "

"You see, sir, there was no one with whom I might advise in theemergency that came upon me without warning, " she explained. "I had noconfidante except my mother, and she--through madness--had turnedagainst me. I had no friend then--I have one now, though. "

And she went to Miss Smith and put her head on the elder woman'sshoulder. 

With her arms about the girl, Miss Smith addressed the governor. 

"We are going away a while together for a rest, " she told him. "We bothneed it. And when we come back she is going to join me in my work. Someday Margaret will be a better interior decorator than her teacher canever hope to be. "

"Then from now on, so far as you two are concerned, this ghastly thingshould be only an unhappy dream which you'll strive to forget, I'msure, " he said. "It's all over and done with, isn't it?"

"Over and done with for her--yes, " said Miss Smith. "But how about yourduty as governor? How about my duty as a citizen? Shouldn't we each ofus, you in your big way and I in my small way, work to bring about areform in the statutes under which such errors are possible? Think, governor, of what happened to this child! It may happen again to-day orto-morrow to some other equally innocent sufferer. It might happen toany one of us--to me or to someone dear to you. "

"Miss Smith, " he stated, "if ever it happens to you I shall take thewitness stand on your account and testify to two things: First, that youare the sanest human being in this state; and second, that you certainlydo know how to play a hunch when you get one. If I had your intuition, plus my ambition, I wouldn't be governor--I'd be running for president. And I'd win out too!"

CHAPTER V

THE RAVELIN' WOLF

When the draft came to our town as it came to all towns it enmeshed JeffPoindexter, who to look at him might be any age between twenty-one andforty-one. Jeff had a complexion admirably adapted for hiding the wearand tear of carking years and as for those telltale wrinkles whichbetray care he had none, seeing that care rarely abode with him forlonger than twenty-four hours on a stretch. Did worry knock at the frontdoor Jeff had a way of excusing himself out of the back window. But thisdread thing they called a draft was a worry which just opened the doorand walked right in--and outside the window stood a jealous Government, all organized to start a rookus if anybody so much as stepped sideways. 

Jeff had no ambition to engage in the jar and crash of actual combat;neither did the idea of serving in a labor battalion overseas appeal toone of his habits. The uniform had its lure, to be sure, but theresponsibilities presaged by the putting on of the uniform beguiled himnot a whipstitch. Anyhow, his ways were the ways of peace. As a diplomathe had indubitable gifts; as a warrior he felt that he would be out ofhis proper element. So when answering a summons which was not to bedisregarded Jeff appeared before the draft board he was not noticeablyhappy. 

"Unmarried, eh?" inquired his chief inquisitor. 

"Yas, suh--I means, naw, suh, " stated Jeff. "I ain't never been much ofa hand fur marryin' round. "

He forced an ingratiating smile. The smile fell as seed on barrensoil--fell and died there. 

"Mother and father? Either one or both of them living?"

Never had Jeff looked more the orphan than as he stood there confessinghimself one. He fumbled his hat in his hands. 

"No dependents at all then, I take it?"

"Yas, suh, dey shorely is, " answered Jeff smartly, hope rekindlingwithin him. 

"Well, who is it that you help support--if it's anybody?"

"Hit's Jedge Priest--tha's who. Jedge, he jes' natchelly couldn't git'long noways 'thout me lookin' after him, suh. The older he git the moreit seem lak he leans heavy on me. "

"Well, Judge Priest may have to lean on himself for a while. Uncle Samneeds every able-bodied man he can get these times and you look to be asstrong as a mule. Here, take this card and go on through that dooryonder to the second room down the hall and let Doctor Dismukes look youover. "

Jeff cheered up slightly. He knew Doctor Dismukes--knew him mighty well. In Doctor Dismukes' hands he would be in the hands of a friend. Beyondquestion the doctor would understand the situation as this strange andmost unsympathetic white man undoubtedly did not. 

But Doctor Dismukes, all snap and smartness, went over him as though hehad never seen him before in all his life. If Jeff had been a horse forsale and the doctor a professional horse coper, scarcely could theexamination have been carried forward with a more businesslike dispatch. 

"Jeff, " said the doctor when he had finished and the other wasrearranging his wardrobe, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself for beingso healthy. Take your teeth now--your teeth are splendid. I only wish Ihad a set like 'em. "

"Is dey?" said Jeff despondently, for the first time in his liferegretting his unblemished ivory. 

"They certainly are. You wouldn't need a gun, not with those teeth youwouldn't--you could just naturally bite a German in two. "

Jeff shivered. The very suggestion was abhorrent to his nature. 

"Please suh, don't--don't talk lak that, " he entreated. "I ain'tcravin' to bite nobody a-tall, 'specially 'tis Germans. Live an' letlive--tha's my sayin'. "

"Yep, " went on the doctor, prolonging the agony for the victim, "yourteeth are perfect and your lungs are sound, your heart action issplendid and I know something about your appetite myself, having seenyou eat. Black boy, listen to me! In every respect you are absolutelyqualified physically to make a regular man-eating bearcat of asoldier"--he paused--"in every respect excepting one--no, two. "

If a drowning man clutching for a straw might be imagined ascoincidentally asking a question, it is highly probable he would ask itin the tone now used by Jeff. 

"Meanin'--meanin' w'ich, suh?"

"I mean your feet. You've got flat feet, Jeff--you've got the flattestfeet I ever saw. I don't understand it either. So far as I've been ableto observe you've spent the greater part of your life sitting down. Somebody must have hit you on the head with an ax when you were standingon a plowshare and broke your arches down. "

It was an old joke, but it fitted the present case, and Jeff, not to beoutdone in politeness, laughed louder at it than its maker did. IndeedJeff felt he had reason to laugh; a great load was lifting from hissoul. 

"Jeff, " went on the doctor, "deeply though it may grieve both of us, itnevertheless is my painful duty to inform you that you have twoperfectly good exemptions from military service--a right one and a leftone. Now grab your hat and get out of here. "

"Boss, " cried Jeff, "Ise gone. Exemptions, tek me away frum yere!"

So while many others went away to fight or to learn how to fight, as thecase might be, Jeff stayed behind and did his bit by remainingsteadfastly cheerful. Never before, sartorially speaking, had he cut sosplendid a figure as now when such numbers of young white gentlemen ofhis acquaintance were putting aside civilian garb to put on khaki. Jeffhad one of those adaptable figures. The garments to which he fell heirmight never have fitted their original owner, but always they would fitJeff. Gorgeous in slightly worn but carefully refurbished raiment, hefigured in the wartime activities of the colored population and inostensibly helpful capacities figured in some of the activities of thewhite folks too. 

Going among his own set his frequent companion was that straw-coloredlight of his social hours, Ophelia Stubblefield. It helped to reconcileJeff to the rigors of the period of enforced rationing as he reflectedthat the same issues and causes which made lump sugar a rarity and fatmeat a scarcity had rid him of his more dangerous competition in thequarter where his affections centered. Particularly on one account didhe feel reconciled. A spirit of the most soothful resignation filled himwhen he gave thought to the moral certainty that the most formidable andfearsome of his rivals, that bloody-minded bravo, Smooth Crumbaugh, would daunt him never again with threats of articular dismemberment witha new-honed razor. For Smooth Crumbaugh was gone and gone for good. First the draft had carried him away and then the pneumonia had carriedhim off. War had its compensations after all. 

Wearing Ophelia upon one arm and wearing in the crook of the other ahigh hat which once had been the property of a young man now bossing aninfantry battalion in the muddiest part of France, Jeff appearedprominently in the Armistice celebration at the First Ward ColoredBaptist Church. Still so accoutered--Ophelia on his one hand and thehigh hat held in proper salute against his breast--he served upon theofficial reception committee headed by the Rev. Potiphar Grasty and byProf. Rutherford B. H. Champers, principal of the Colored High School, which greeted the first returning squad of service men of color. 

Home-comers who had been clear across the ocean brought back with themalmost unbelievable but none the less fascinating accounts of life andcustoms in foreign parts. The tales these traveled ones had to tell wereeagerly listened to and as eagerly passed along, dowered at each timeof retelling with prodigal enlargements and amplifications the mostgenerous. 

A ferment of discontent began to stir under the surface of things; asort of inarticulate rebellion against existing conditions, whichpresently manifested itself in small irritations at various points ofcontact with the white race. It was nothing tangible as yet, nothingupon which one might put a hand or cap with a word of comprehensivedescription. Indeed it had been working for weeks like a yeast in theminds of sundry black folk before their Caucasian neighbors began tosense it at all, and for this there was a reason easily understandableby anyone born and reared in any sizable town in any one of the olderstates lying below Mason and Dixon's Line. For in each such communitythere are two separate and distinct worlds--a black one and a whiteone--interrelated by necessities of civic coördination and in aneconomic sense measurably dependent one upon the other, and yet in manyother aspects as far apart as the North Pole is from the South. 

Regarding what the white world is feeling and thinking and saying, thelesser black world that is set down within it is nearly always betterinformed than is the other and larger group touching on new movementsand growing sentiments amongst the darker-skinned factors. Into thewhite man's house, serving in this or that domestic capacity, goes thenegro as an observant witness to the moods and emotions of his or heremployer and bringing away an understanding of the family complexitiesand the current trend of opinion as it shapes itself beneath that roof. 

But the white man, generally speaking, views the negro's private lifeonly from the outside, and if he be a Southern-born white man, wise inhis generation, seeks to look no further, for surface garrulity andsurface exuberance do not deceive him, but serve only to make himrealize all the more clearly that he is dealing with members of what atheart is one of the most secretive and sensitive of all the breeds ofmen. But since this started out to be the chronicle of an episodelargely relating to Jeff Poindexter and one other and not apsychological study of actions and reactions as between the two mostnumerous races in this republic, it is perhaps as well that we shouldget on with our narrative. 

If the leaven of unrest, vague and formless as it was at the outset, properly might be said to date from the time of the return of diversblack veterans, it took on shape and substance after the advent of oneDr. J. Talbott Duvall, an individual engaging in manner, and inlanguage, dress and deportment fascinating beyond degree; likewise anorganizer by profession and a charmer of the opposite sex by reason ofqualifications both natural and acquired. 

A doctor he was, as witness the handle to his name, and yet a doctor ofany known variety he was not. Confessedly he was no doctor of medicine, though his speech dripped gorgeous ear-filling Latin words which soundedas though they might be the names of difficult and sinister diseases;nor was he doctor of divinity, though speedily he proved himself to beat home in pulpits. He was not a horse doctor or a corn doctor or aconjure doctor or a root-and-herb doctor or a healer by faith or thelaying on of hands. His title, it seemed, was his by virtue of a degreeconferred upon him by a college--a white man's college--somewhere in theNorth. His accent was that of a traveled cosmopolite superimposed uponthe speech of a place away off somewhere called the West Indies. He hadmoney and he spent it; he had a wardrobe of distinction and he wore it;he had a gift for argumentation and he exercised it; he had a way withthe ladies and he used it. His coming had created a social furor; hissubsequent ministrations amounted to what for lack of a better word iscommonly called a sensation. 

If there were those who from motives, let us say, of envy looked withthe jaundiced eye of disfavor upon his mounting popularity and hisconstantly widening scope of influence they mainly kept their owncounsel or at least refrained from voicing their private prejudices inpublic places. One gets fewer bumps traveling with the crowd thanagainst it. 

Even so bold a spirit and customarily so outspoken a speaker as AuntDilsey Turner, Judge Priest's black cook of many years' incumbency, sawfit somewhat to dissemble on the occasion of a call paid by SisterEldora Menifee, who came dressed to kill and inspired by the zeal of thenew convert to win yet other converts. Entering by way of the alley gateone fine forenoon, Sister Eldora found Aunt Dilsey sitting in thekitchen doorway hulling out a mess of late green peas newly picked fromthe house garden. 

"Sist' Turner, " began the visitor, "I hopes I ain't disturbin' you byrunnin' in on you this mawnin'. "

"Honey, " said Aunt Dilsey, "you're jes' ez welcome ez day is frum night. Lemme fetch you a cheer out yere on the gallery. " And she made as if toheave her vast comfortable bulk upright. 

"No'm, set right where you is, " begged Sister Menifee. "I ain't got onlyjes' a few minutes to stay. Things is mighty pressin' with me. I gotquite a number of my lady frien's to see to-day an' you happens to bethe fust one on de list. "

"Is tha' so?" inquired Aunt Dilsey. Her tone was cordiality itself, butone less carried away by the enthusiasm of the mission which had broughther than Sister Eldora Menifee was might have caught a latent gleam ofhostility in the elder woman's eye. "Well, go on, Ise lis'enin'. "

"Well, Sist' Turner, ef you's heared 'bout de work I been doin' latelyI reckin mebbe you kin guess whut brung me to yore do'. I is solicitin'you fur yore fellership ez a reg'lar member of de ladies' auxiliary ofde new s'ciety w'ich Doct' J. Talbott Duvall is got up. "

"Meanin' perzactly w'ich s'ciety? Dis yere Doct' Duvall 'pears to be sobusy gittin' up fust one thing an' then 'nother seems lak I ain't beenable to keep track of his doin's, 'count of my bein' so slow gittin'round on my feet by reason of de rheumatism. "

"Meanin' de Shinin' Star Cullid Uplift and Progress League--dat's deprincipalest activity in w'ich he's now engaged. De dues is one dollardown on 'nitiation an' twenty cents a week an'--"

"Wait jes' one minute, Sist' Menifee, ef you please. 'Fore we gits anyfurder 'long answer me dis one question Ise fixin' to ast you--do disyere new lodge perpose to fune'lize de daid?"

"We ain't tuck up dat point yit; doubtless we'll come to de plans furdat part later. Fur de time bein' de work is jes' to form de ladies'auxiliary an' git de main objec's set fo'th. "

"Lis'en, chile. Me, I don't aim never so long as I lives an' keeps myreason to jine no lodge w'ich don't start out fust thing by fune'lizin'de daid. Ise thinkin' now of de case of dat pore shif'less Sist'Clarabelle Hardin dat used to live out yere on Plunkett's Hill. She upan' jined one of dese newfandangle' lodges w'ich didn't have nothin' toit but a fancy name an' a fancy strange nigger man runnin' it, an' righton top of dat she up an' died 'thout a cent to her back. An' you knowwhut happen den? Well, I'm gwine tell you. Dat pore chile laid round dehouse daid fur gwine on three days an' den she jes' natchelly had to gitout to de cemetery de bes' way she could. Not fur me, honey, not fur me. Dey got to have de money in de bank waitin' an' ready to bury de fus'member dat passes frum dis life before dey gits a cent of mine. "

"But dis yere lodge is gwine have a more 'portant puppose 'en jes' tofune'lize de daid, " protested Sister Eldora. "We aims to do somethin'fur de livin' whilst yet dey's still alive. Curious you ain't tucknotice of de signs of de times ez dey's been expounded 'mongst de peopleby Doct' Duvall. He sho' kin 'splain things in a way to mek you a truebeliever. " The advocate of the new order of things sank her voice to adiscreet half whisper. "Sist' Turner, we aims at gittin' mo' of derights dat's due us. We aims to see dat de pore an' de lowly an' dedowntrodden-on is purtected in dey rights. We aims--"

"Num'mine whut you aims at--de question is, is you gwine be able hitwhar you aims? An' lemme tell you somethin' more, Sist' Eldora Menifee. I ain't needin' no ladies' auxiliary to tell me whut my rights is. Neither I ain't needin' to pay out no twenty cents a week to find outneither. W'en it comes to dat, all de ladies' auxiliary w'ich I needs isjes' me, myse'f. I knows good an' well whut my rights is already an' Isegwine have 'em, too, or somebody'll sho' git busted plum wide open. Mindyou, I ain't sayin' nothin' 'ginst dis new man nur 'ginst dem w'ichchooses to follow 'long after his teachin's. Ise jes' sayin' dat so furez my jinin' in wid dis yere lodge is concern' you's wastin' yorebreath. Better pass along, honey, to de nex' one on dat list of your'n, 'thout you's a mind to stay yere an' watch me dish up Jedge Priest'svittles fur 'im. "

"Mebbe if Doct' Duvall wuz to come hisse'f an' mek manifest to you dehigh pupposes--" began Sister Eldora. But Aunt Dilsey cut her off short. 

"Wouldn't mek no diffe'nce ef he come eighty times a day an' twice ezoffen on Sunday. Anyway, I reckins my day fur jinin' things is doneover. "

There was a dead weight of finality in her words. She rose heavily. AsSister Menifee departed Aunt Dilsey became aware of the presence of JeffPoindexter. He was emerging from behind the door. 

"Been hidin' inside dat kitchen lis'enin', I s'pose?" demanded AuntDilsey. 

"Couldn't help frum hearin', " admitted Jeff. It was evident that he wasnot deeply grieved over the failure of Sister Menifee to make headwayagainst Aunt Dilsey's opposition. "At the last you suttinly give datwoman her marchin' orders, didn't you, Aunt Dilsey?"

"An' sech wuz my intention frum de start off, " she confided. "Minute shecome th'ough dat back gate yonder I knowed whut she wuz comin' fur an' Iwuz set an' ready wid de words waitin' on de tip of my tongue. "

"Me, I don't fancy dat Duvall neither, " stated Jeff. "I ain't beensayin' much 'bout him one way or 'nother but I been doin' a heap o'steddyin'. "

"Yas, I knows all 'bout dat too, " snapped Aunt Dilsey. "I got eyes in myhaid. You los' yore taste fur dis yere big-talkin', fine-lookin' man jesez soon ez he started sparkin' round dat tore-down limb of a 'PheliaStubblefield. Whut ails you is you is jealous; hadn't been fur dat I layyou'd be runnin' round wid yore tongue hangin' out suckin' in ever'thinghe sez ez de gospil truth same ez a lot of dese other weak-minded onesis doin'. Oh, I know you, boy, frum ze ground up! An' furthermo' I knowsdis Doct' Duvall likewise also, even ef I ain't never seen him but oncetor twicet sence fust he come yere to dis town all dress' up lak apersidin' elder. I don't lak his looks an' I don't lak his ways, jedgin'by whut I hears of 'em frum dis one an' dat one, an' most in special Idon't lak his color. He ain't clear brown lak whut I is, an' he ain'tmuddy black lak whut you is, neither he ain't high yaller lak some is. To me he looks most of all lak de ground side of a nickel wahtermelon. An' in all de goin' on sixty-two yeahs of my life I ain't never seen nopusson callin' theyselves Affikins dat had dat kind of a sicklygreenish-yaller-whitish complexion but whut trouble come pourin' frum'em sooner or later, an' most gin'rally sooner, lak manna pourin' fromde gourd of de Prophet Jonah. Dat man is a ravelin' wolf, ef ever I seenone. "

"Whut kind of a wolf did you say, Aunt Dilsey?" asked Jeff. 

"Consult de Scriptures an' you won't be so ignunt, " she answeredcrushingly. "Consult de Scriptures an' you'll read whar de ravelin' wolfcome down on de fold, an' whut he done to de fold after he'd done comedown on it wuz more'n aplenty. An' now, boy, you git on out of mykitchen an' go on 'bout yore business--ef you's got any business, w'ichI doubts. I ain't got no mo' time to waste on you den whut I is on datflighty-haided Eldora Menifee, a-traipsin' round frum one back do' to'nother with her talk 'bout ladies' auxiliaries an' gittin' yo rightsfur a dollah down an' twenty cents a week. "

Jeff faded away. It was comforting in a way to find Aunt Dilsey on hisside, even though her manner rather indicated she resented the fact thathe was on hers. A few evenings later he found out something else. He wasmade to know that in another and entirely unsuspected quarter theendeavors of the diligently crusading and organizing Duvall person hadroused more than a passing curiosity. 

One evening, supper being over, Judge Priest lingered on in hislow-ceiled dining room smoking his corncob pipe while Jeff cleared awaythe supper dishes. It was the same high-voiced deliberatelyungrammatical Judge Priest that the kindly reader may recall--somewhatolder than at last accounts, somewhat slower in his step--but then henever had been given to fast movements--and perhaps just a triflebalder. 

"Wuz dey anythin' else you wanted, jedge, 'fore I locks up the back ofthe house an' lights out?" Jeff inquired when the table had been resetfor breakfast. 

"Yes, I think mebbe there wuz, " drawled the old man. He hesitated amoment almost as though at a loss for a proper phrasing of the thing hemeant to say next. Then: "Jeff, what's come over your race in this townhere lately?"

"Meanin' w'ich, suh?" countered Jeff. "Me, I ain't notice nothin' out ofthe way--nothin' particular. "

"Haven't you? Well, I think I have. Jeff, I don't want to be put in theposition of pryin' into the private and the personal affairs of otherfolks, reguardless of color. I have to do enough of that sort of thingin my official capacity when I'm settin' in judgment up at the big cotehouse. But unless I can get some confidential information frum you Idon't know where else I'm likely to git it, and at the same time I sortof feel as ef I should try to get hold of it somewheres or other ef it'shumanly possible. "

"Yas, suh. "

"Now heretofore in this community the two races--white and black--havegot along purty tolerably well together. We managed to put up with yourshortcomings and you managed to put up with ours, which at times mayhave been considerable of a strain on both sides. Still we've done it. But it seems to me here of late there's been a kind of an undercurrentof discontent stirrin' amongst your people--and no logical reason fur iteither, so fur as I kin see. Yet there it is. 

"There wuz that rumpus two-three weeks ago down in Market Square. Alittle more and that affair could have growed into a first-class raceriot. And here last Saturday night followed that mix-up out by the UnionDepot when Policeman Gip Futtrell got all carved up and two darkies gotpurty extensively shot. And night before last the trouble that occurredon that Belt Line car out in Hollandville; that looked mightythreatenin', too, fur a while. And in between all these more seriousthings a lot of little unpleasantnesses keep croppin' up--always takin'the form of friction between whites and blacks. 

"One of these here occurrences might be what you'd call an accident andtwo of them in rapid succession a coincidence, but it looks to me likenow it's gittin' to be a habit. It's leadin' to bad blood and what'sworse it's leadin' to a lot of spilt blood and our city gittin' a badname and all that. 

"And I know the respectable black folks in this town don't want that tohappen any more than the respectable white people do. 

"Now then, Jeff, whut's at the bottom of all this--I mean on your sideof the color line? Who's stirrin' up old grudges and kindlin' new ones?I've sort of got my own private suspicions, but I'd like to see ef yourideas run along with mine. Got any suggestions as to the underlyingcauses of this ill feelin' that's sprung up so lately and without anygood reason for it either so fur ez I kin see?"

Now ordinarily Jeff would have held firmly to the doctrine that whitefolks should tend to their business and let black folks tend to theirs. For all his loyalty to his master, a certain race consciousness in himwould have bade him keep hands off and tongue locked. But here a strongpersonal prejudice operated to steer Jeff away from what otherwise wouldhave been his customary course. 

"Jedge, " he said, drawing a pace or two nearer his employer, "did youever hear tell of a pale-yaller party w'ich calls hisse'f Doct' J. Talbott Duvall dat come yere a few weeks ago?"

"Ah, hah!" said the judge as though satisfied of the correctness of aprior conclusion. "I thought possibly my mind might be on the righttrack. Yes, I've heard of him and I've seen him. Whut of him?"

"Jedge, I trusts you won't tell nobody else whut I'm tellin' you, butdat's sho' de one dat's at the bottom of the whole mess. He's the onedat's plantin' the pizen. Me, I ain't had no truck wid him myse'f, butdat ain't sayin' I don't know whut he's doin', case I do. He callshisse'f a organizer. "

"Ah, hah! And whut is he organizin'?"

"Trouble, jedge. Dat's whut--trouble fur a lot of folks. Jedge, fo' wegoes any further lemme ast you a coupler questions, please, suh. Is ittrue dat over dere in some of dem Youropean countries black folks isjes' the same ez white folks, ef not more so?"

Choosing his words, the old man elucidated his understanding of thesocial order as it prevailed in certain geographical divisions andsubdivisions of the continent of Europe. 

"Yas, suh, thanky, suh, " said Jeff when the judge had finished. "Ireckin mebbe one main trouble over dere is, jedge, dat dem folks ain'tbeen raised de way you an' me is. "

"Jeff, " said the judge, "I'm inclined to think probably you're right. "

"Yas, suh. Now den, jedge, here's one mo' thing. Is it true dat in alldem furrin countries--Russia an' Germany an' Bombay an' all--dat thepo' people, w'ite or black or whutever dey color is, is fixin' to riseup in they might an' tek the money an' de gover'mint an' de fine housesan' the cream of ever'thing away frum dem dat's had it all 'long?"

Again the judge expounded at length, touching both upon upheavals abroadand on discords nearer home. Next it was Jeff's turn to make disclosureshaving a purely local application and he made them. Listening intently, Judge Priest puckered his bald brow into furrows of perplexity. 

"Jeff, " he said finally, "I'm much obliged to you fur tellin' me allthis. It backs up what I'd sort of figgered out all by myself. The wholeworld appears to be engaged in standin' on its esteemed head at thiswritin'. I reckin when old Mister Kaiser turned loose the war he didn'tstop to think that mebbe the war was only one of a whole crop of evilshe wuz lettin' out of his box of tricks. Or mebbe he didn't care--bein'the kind of a person he wuz. And I'm prone to believe also that when theGermans stopped fightin' us with guns they begun fightin' us with otherweapons almost as dangersome to our peace of mind and future well-bein'. Different parts of this country are in quite a swivet--agitatorspreachin' bad doctrine--some of 'em drawin' pay from secret enemiesacross the sea fur preachin' it, too, I figger--and a lot of highlydisagreeable disturbances croppin' up here and there. But I was hopin'that mebbe our little corner of the world wouldn't be pestered. But nowit looks ez ef we weren't goin' to escape our share of the trouble. "

"Jedge, " asked Jeff, "ain't they some way dis Duvall pusson could befetched up in cote? I suttinly would admire to see dat yaller manwearin' a striped suit of clothes. "

"Well, Jeff, " said the judge, "I doubt either the legality or thepropriety of such a step, ef you get what I mean. From whut you tell meI don't see where he's really broken any laws. He's got a right to comehere and organize his societies and lodges and things so long as hedon't actually come out in the open and preach violence. He's got aperfect right under the law to organize this here new drill company youspeak about. I sometimes think that ef all the young men in this countryhad been required to do a little more drillin' in years gone by we'd befeelin' somewhat safer to-day. Anyway, it's a mighty great mistakesometimes to make a martyr out of a rascal. Puttin' him in jail, unlessyou're absolutely certain that a jail is where he properly belongs, gives him a chance to raise the cry of persecution and gives hisfollowers an excuse to cut loose and smash up things. You git my drift, don't you?"

"Yas, suh, think I do. Well den, suh, ef I wuz runnin' dis town seems tome I'd git a crowd of strong-minded gen'elmen together some evenin' inthe dark of the moon an' let 'em call on dis yere slick-haidedhalf-strainer an' invite him to tek his foot in his hand an' marvilfurther. Ef one of 'em wuz totin' a rope in his hand sorter keerless lakit might help. Ropes is powerful influential. An' the sight of tar an'feathers meks a mighty strong argument, too, Ise heared tell. "

"Jeff, " said the judge, "I'm astonished that you'd even suggest sech athing! Mob law is worse even than no law at all. Besides, " he added--andnow there was a small twinkle in his eye to offset to a degree theseverity in his tones--"besides, the feller that was bein' called on bythe committee might decline to take the hint and then purty soon youmight have another self-made martyr on your hands. But ef he ran away onhis own hook now--ef something came up that made him go of his ownaccord and go fast and cut a sort of a cheap figure in the eyes of hisdeluded followers whilst he was goin'--that'd be a different thingaltogether. Start a crowd of folks, white or black or brown, to laughin'at a feller and they'll quit believin' in him. Worshipin' a false godand laughin' at him at the same time never has been successfully doneyit. "

He sucked his pipe. "Jeff, " he resumed, "what do you know, ef anything, about the past career and movements of this here J. Talbott Et Cetery?"

Jeff knew a good deal--at second hand. Didn't the object of his deepestaversions persist in almost nightly calls upon the object of hisdeepest affections? Paying such calls, didn't the enemy spendhours--hours upon hours doubtless--pouring into Ophelia's ear accountsof his recent triumphs as an uplifter in other towns and other states?Didn't the fascinated and flattered Ophelia in turn recount these talesto one whose opportunities for traveling and seeing the great world hadbeen more circumscribed? Had not Jeff writhed in jealous misery thewhile he heard the annals of a rival's successes? So Jeff made promptanswer. 

"Yas, suh, I suttinly does. Ise heared a right smart 'bout dis yereDuvall's past life frum--frum somebody. 'Cordin' to the way he norratesit, he wuz in Nashville, Tennessee 'fore he come yere; an' 'fore dat inMobile, Alabama; an' 'fore dat in Little Rock, Arkansaw. Seem lak w'enhe ain't organizin' or speechifyin' he ain't got nothin' better to doden run round amongst young cullid gals braggin' 'bout the places he'sbeen an' the things he done whilst in 'em. "

Jeff spoke with an enhanced bitterness. 

"I see. Then I take it ef he spends so much time in seekin' out femalesociety that he's not a married man?"

"So he say--so he say! But, Jedge Priest, ef ever I looked on thespittin'-image of a natchel-born marryin' nigger, dat ver' same Duvallis de one. "

Judge Priest seemed not to have heard this last. He sat for a bitapparently studying the tips of his square-toed, low-quarter shoes. 

"Jeff, " he said when he had given his feet a long half minute of seemingconsideration, "I would like to know some facts about the previous lifeand general history of the individual we've been discussin'--I reallywould. In fact my curiosity is sech that I might even be willin' tospend a little money out of my own pocket, ef needs be, in order to findout. So I was jest wonderin' whether you wouldn't like to take a littletrip, with all expenses paid, and tour round through some of our sisterstates and make a few private inquiries. It occurs to me that everythingconsidered you might make a better job of it as an amateur investigatorthan a regular professional detective of a different color might. Do youknow where by any chance you could git hold of a good photograph of thishere individual--I mean without lettin' him know anything about it?"

"Yas, suh, dat I does, " stated Jeff briskly. 

The conference between master and man lasted perhaps fifteen minuteslonger before Jeff was dismissed for the night. Mainly it dealt withways, means and purposes. Upon the heels of it, within forty-eight hourstwo events--seemingly nowise related or bearing one upon theother--occurred. An ornately framed photograph lately bestowed as a giftand treasured as a trophy of sentimental value mysteriously vanishedfrom the mantelpiece of the front room of Ophelia Stubblefield's pa'shouse; and Jefferson Poindexter, carrying a new and very shiny suitcase, unostentatiously left town late at night on a southbound train. 

Darktown in Nashville knew him for a brief space as a visiting noblemanwith money in all his pockets and apparently nothing of importance to doexcept to spend it in divertisements suitable to the social instincts ofa capitalist of leisure. In Mobile at the Elite Colored Beauty Parlorsfor the first time in his life he tendered his finger nails forministrations at the hands of a dashing chocolate-ice-cream-coloredmanicurist and spent the remainder of that same afternoon in a sunnyspot, glistening pleasantly. 

If in both these cities and likewise in Little Rock, which next hefavored with his presence, he made himself known to brothers of hisparticular lodge--the Afro-American Order of Supreme Kings of theUniverse has a large and a widely distributed membership--and if underthe sacred pledge of secrecy which only may be broken on pain ofmutilation and death by torture he--with the aid of these fraternalallies of his--conducted certain discreet inquiries, why, that was hisown private business. Assuredly, so far as surface indications counted, he appeared to have no business other than pleasurable pursuits. FromLittle Rock he turned his face southeastward, landing at Macon, Georgia, where he lingered on for upward of a week, breaking his visit only by aday's side trip to a smaller town south of Macon. Altogether Jeff wasan absentee from his favorite haunts back home for the greater part of amonth. 

He reached town on a Monday. Betimes Tuesday morning, inspired outwardlyby the zeal of one just won over from skepticism to the immediateadvisability of following a sapient course, he sought opportunity tobecome a member in good standing of the Shining Star Colored Uplift andProgress League, a simple ceremony and a brief, since it involved merelythe signing of one's name on Dotted Line A of a printed form card andthe paying of a dollar into the hand of Dr. J. Talbott Duvall. OnTuesday evening the league met in stated session at Hillman's Hall onYazoo Street and Jeff was early on hand, visibly enthusiastic andprofessedly ready to do all within his power to further the aims andintents of the organization. As a brand snatched from the burning he waselevated before the eyes of the assemblage so that all might see him andmark his mien of newborn fervor, for Doctor Duvall, following hiscustom, called to places upon the platform the proselytes enrolled sincethe previous meeting, to the end that older members might observe thephysical proof of a steady and a healthful growth. 

So there sat Jefferson in the very front row of wooden chairs, where allmight behold him and he might behold all and sundry. About him were hisrecent fellow converts. Almost directly behind him was a door givingupon a side entrance; there was another door serving similar purposesupon the opposite side of the stage. Beyond him to the left in thecenter of the stage were grouped the honorary officers of the league, flanking and supporting their chief. 

Being an honorary officer carried with it, as the title might imply, honor and prominence second only to that enjoyed by thepresident-organizer, but it entailed no great weight of responsibility, since practically all the actual work of the league had from the veryoutset been generously assumed by Doctor Duvall. It was he who cared forthe funds, he who handled disbursements, he who conducted theproceedings, he who made the principal addresses on meeting nights, hewho between meetings labored without cessation to spread educationalpropaganda. That he found time for all these purposeful endeavors andyet crowded in such frequent opportunity for mingling socially among thelambs of his flock--notably the ewe lambs--was but evidence, accumulating daily, of his genius for leadership and direction. 

This night the session opened with a prayer--by Doctor Duvall; aneloquent and a moving prayer indeed, its sonorous periods set off andadorned with noble big words and quotations in foreign tongues. Theprayer would be followed, it had been announced, by the reading of theminutes of the previous session, after which Doctor Duvall would speakat length with particular reference to things lately accomplished andthe even more important things in contemplation for the near future. 

Standing for the prayer, Jeff could look out over what a master of wordsbefore now has fitly described as a sea of upturned faces--faces black, brown and yellow. Had he been minded to give thought to details he mighthave noted how at every polysyllabic outburst from the inspiredinvocationist old Uncle Ike Fauntleroy, himself accounted a powerfulhand at wrestling with sinners in prayer, was visibly jolted byadmiration; might, if he had had a head for figures, have kept count ofthe hearty amens with which Sister Eldora Menifee punctuated each pausewhen Doctor Duvall was taking a fresh breath; might have cast a sideglance upon Ophelia Stubblefield in a new and most becoming hat withostrich plumage grandly surmounting it. But under the hand which he heldreverently cupped over his brow Jeff's eyes were fixed upon a certainfocal point, --to wit, the door of the main entrance at the length of thehall from him. It was as though Jeff waited for something or somebody hewas expecting. 

Nor did he have so very long to wait. The prayer was done and well done. In its wake, so to speak, there spouted up from every side veritablegeysers of hallelujahs and amens. The honorary secretary, Brother LemuelDiuguid, smelling grandly of expensive hair ointments--Brother Diuguidbeing by calling a head barber--stood up to read the minutes of thepreceding regular session, and having read them sat down again. Afriendly and flattering bustle of anticipation filled the body of thehall as Doctor Duvall rose and moved one pace forward and--raising ahand for silence--began to speak. But he had no more than begun, hadprogressed no farther than part way of his first smoothly launchedsentence, when he was made to break off by an unseemly interruption atthe rear. The honorary grand inner guard on duty at the far street door, after a brief and unsuccessful struggle with unseen forces, was observedto be shoved violently aside from his post. Bursting in together thereentered two strangers--a tall yellow woman and a short black man, andboth of them of a most grim and determined aspect. He moved fast, thisman, but even so his companion moved faster still. She was three pacesahead of him when, bulging impetuously past those who sprang into thecenter aisle as though to halt her onward rush--all others present beinglikewise up on their feet--she came to a halt near the middle of thehall and, glaring about her defiantly, just double-dog-dared any presentto lay so much as the weight of one detaining finger upon her. There wassomething about her calculated to daunt the most willing of volunteeropponents, and so while those at a safe distance demanded the ejectionof the intruders, those nearer her hesitated. 

"Th'ow me out?" she whooped, echoing the words of outraged and startledmembers of the Shining Star. "I'd lak to see de one dat's gwine try it!An' 'fo' anybody talk 'bout th'owin' out lettum heah me whilst I sez mysay!"

Towering until she seemed to increase in stature by inches, she aimed along and bony finger dead ahead. 

"Ax dat slinky yaller man up yonder on dat flatfo'm ef he gwine give deorder to th'ow me out!" she clarioned in a voice which rose to acompelling shriek. "But fust off ax him whut he meant--marryin' me inMobile, Alabama, an' den runnin' 'way frum his lawful wedded wife undercover of de night! Ax him--dat's all, ax him!"

"An' ax him one thing mo'!" It was the voice of her short companionrising above the tumult. "Ax him whut he done wid de funds of de s'cietyhe 'stablished at Little Rock, Arkansaw, all of w'ich he absconded widdis last spring!"

As though the same set of muscles controlled every neck the heads of allswung about, their eyes following where the accusers pointed, their earstwitching for the expected blast of denial and denunciation which wouldwither these mad and scandalous detractors in their tracks. 

Alas and alackaday! With his splendid figure suddenly all diminished andshrunken, with distress writ large and plain upon his features, thepopular idol was step by step flinching backward from the edge of theplatform--was step by step inching, edging toward the side door in theright-hand wall. 

And in this same instant the stunned assemblage realized that JeffPoindexter, by nimble maneuvering, had thrust himself between theretreating figure and the exit, and Jeff was crying out: "Not dis wayout, Doct' Duvall. Not dis way! The one you married down below Macon iswaitin' fur you behin' dis do'!"

The doctor stopped in midflight and swung about and his eye fell uponthe right-hand door and he moved a yard or two in that direction; but nomore than a yard or two, for again Jeff spoke in warning, halting himshort:

"Not dat way neither! The one frum dat other town whar you uster live iswaitin' outside dat do'--wid a pistil! Seems lak you's entirelys'rounded by wives dis evenin'!"

To the verge of the footlights the beset man darted, and like adesperate swimmer plunging from a foundering bark into a stormy sea heleaped far out and projected himself, a living catapult, along themiddle aisle. He struck the tall yellow woman as the irresistible forcestrikes the supposedly immovable object of the scientists' age-oldriddle, but on his side was impetus and on hers surprise. She was bowledover flat and her hands, clutching as she went down, closed, but onempty and unresisting air. Literally he hurdled over the stocky form ofthe little black man behind her, but as the other flitted by him thefists of the stranger knotted firmly into the skirts of its wearer'slong black frock coat and held on. There was a rending, tearing soundand as the back breadth of the garment ripped bodily away from thewaistband there flew forth from the capsized tail pockets a veritablecloudburst of currency--floating, fluttering green and yellow bills andwith them pattering showers of dollars and halves and dimes and quartersand nickels. 

That canny instinct which had led the fugitive apostle of the uplift tohide the collected funds of the league upon his person rather than trustto banks and strong boxes was to prove his ruination financially but hissalvation physically. While those who had believed in him, nowforgetting all else, scrambled for the scattered money--their money--hefled out of the unguarded door and was instantly gone into the shieldingnight--a sorry shape in a bob-tailed garment. 

At a somewhat later hour Judge Priest in his living room was receivingfrom Jefferson Poindexter a much lengthier and more elaborated accountof the main occurrences of the evening at Hillman's Hall than has herebeen presented. Speaking as he did in the dual rôle of spectator and ofan actuating force in the events of that crowded and exciting night, Jeff spared no details. He had come to the big scene of his narrativewhen his master interrupted him:

"Hold on a minute, Jeff! I don't know ez I get the straight of it allyit. I rather gathered frum whut you told me yesterday when you landedback home and made your report that you'd only been able to dig up onecertain-sure wife of this feller's--the one that came along with you andthat little Arkansaw darky. You didn't say anything then about bein'able to prove he wuz a bigamist. "

"Huh, jedge, I didn't have to prove it! Dat man wuz more'n jes' a plainbigamist. He sho' wuz a trigamist, an' ef the full truth wuz knowed I'spects he wuz a quadrupler at the very least. He proved it hisself--wayhe act' w'en the big 'splosion come. "

"But the two women you told him were waitin' behind those side doors forhim--how about them?"

"Law, jedge, dey wuzn't dere--neither one of 'em wuzn't. Jes' lak I toldyou yistiddy, I couldn't find only jest one woman dat nigger'd marriedan' run off frum, an' her I fetched 'long wid me. But lak I also toldyou, I got kind of traces of one dat uster live below Macon but w'ich isnow vanished, an' ever'whar else I went whar he'd lived befo' he comeyere de signs wuz manifold dat he wuz a natchel-born marryin' fool, jes'lak I 'spicioned fust time ever I see him. So w'en he started fur datfust do' I taken a chancet on him an' w'en I seen how he cringed an'ducked back I taken another chancet on him, an' the subsequent evidencesoffers testimony dat both times I reckined right. Jedge, the late Doct'Duvall muster married some powerful rough-actin' gals in his time ef hethought the Mobile one wuz the gentlest out of three. Well, anyway, suh, the ravelin' wolf is gone frum us, an' fur one I ain't 'spectin' himback never no mo'. An' I reckin dat's the main pint wid you an' meboth. "

"The ravelin' whut?"

"Dat's whut Aunt Dilsey called him oncet, speechifyin' to me 'bouthim--the ravelin' wolf. Only he suttinly did look he wuz comin'unraveled mighty fast the last I seen of him. "

CHAPTER VI

"WORTH 10, 000"

You might have called Vincent C. Marr a self-made man and be making nomistake about it. For he was self-made; not merely self-assembled, as somany men are who attain distinction in this profession or that calling. Entirely through his own efforts, with only his native wit to light theway for him, he had pulled himself up, step by step, from the verybottom of his trade to the very top of it. His trade was the appliedtrade of crookedness; his pursuit the pursuit of other folks' cashresources. He had the envy and admiration of his friends in alliedbranches of the same general industry; he had the begrudged respect ofhis official enemies, the police; while his accomplishments--the trickshe pulled, the coups he scored, the purses he garnered--were discussedand praised by the human nits and lice of the Seamy Side, just as theachievements in a legitimate field of a Hill or a Schwab or aRockefeller might be talked of among petty shopkeepers and littlebusiness men. He had, as the phrase goes, everything--imagination, resource, ingenuity, audacity, utter ruthlessness. 

Yet it would seem hard to conceive a more humble beginning than his hadbeen. His father was a cobbler in a little West Virginia coal town. Atsixteen he ran away from home to go with a small circus. This circus wasa traveling shield for all manner of rough extortioners. Card sharps, shell workers, petermen, sneak thieves, pickpockets, even burglars rodeits train. They had a saying that the owner of this show sold thesafe-blowing privileges outright but retained a one-third interest inthe hold-up concession. That was a whimsical exaggeration of whatperhaps had a kern of truth in it. Certainly it was the fact of the casethat the owner depended more upon his lion's cut of the swag which thetrailing jackals amassed than upon the intake at the ticket windows. Badweather might kill his business for a week; a crop failure might lame itfor a month; but the graft was as sure as anything graftified can be. When the runaway youth, Vince Marr, inserted himself beneath theprotecting wing of this patron he knew exactly whither his ultimateambitions tended. He had no vague boyish design to serve a 'prenticeshipas stake driver or roustabout in the hope some day of graduating into arider or a tumbler, a ringmaster or a clown. He joined out in order thatamong these congenial influences he might the quicker become anaccomplished thief. 

Starting as a novice he had to carve out his own little niche incompany where the competition already was fierce. His rise, though, wasrapid. So far as the records show he was the first of the Monday guys. He developed the line himself and gave to it its name. A Monday guy wasa plunderer of clotheslines. He followed the route of the daily streetparade; rather he followed a route running roughly parallel to it. Heset out coincidentally with it and he aimed to have his pilfering stintfinished when the parade was over. He prowled in alleys and skinned overback fences, progressing from house yard to house yard while the paradepassed through the streets upon which the houses faced. From kitchenboilers and laundry heaps, from wash baskets and drying ropes, heskimmed the pick of what was offered--silk shirts, fancy hose, women'sembroidered blouses, women's belaced under-things. His work was madecomparatively easy for him, since the dwellers of the houses would bewatching the parade. 

His strippings he carried to the show lot and there he hid them away. That night in the privilege car the collections of the day would bedisposed of by sale or trade to members of the troupe and the affiliatedrogues. Especially desirable pieces might be reserved to be shipped onto a professional receiver of stolen goods in a certain city. Naturally, pickings were at their best on a Monday, for since Mother Eve on thefirst Monday hanged her fig leaf out to dry, Monday has been wash daythe world over. Hence the name for the practitioner of the business. 

Vince Marr did not very long remain a Monday guy. The risks were notvery great, everything considered. Suppose detection did come; supposethe cry of "Stop thief!" was raised. Who would quit watching a circusparade to join in a hunt for a marauder already vanished in a maze ofoutbuildings and alleyways? Still there were risks to be taken, and therewards on the whole were small and uncertain. Before he reached hisnineteenth year young Marr was the manager of a weighing pitch. Apparently he had but one associate in the enterprise; as a matter offact he had four. In the place where holidaying crowds gathered--on acircus lot, at a street carnival, outside the gates of a county fair--heand his visible partner would set up his weighing device, and thenstationing himself near it he would beseech you to let him guess yourcorrect weight. If he guessed within three pounds of it, as recorded bythe machine, you owed him a nickel; if he failed to guess within threepounds of it you owed him nothing. "Take a chance, brother!" he wouldentreat you with friendly jovial banter. "Be a sport--take a chance!"Let us say you accepted his proposition. Swiftly he would flip with hishands along your sides, would slap your flanks, would pinch you gentlyas though testing your flesh for solidity, then would call out loudlyso that all within earshot might hear: "I figure that the gentlemanweighs--let me see--exactly one hundred and forty-seven pounds. " Orperhaps he would predict: "This big fellow will pull her down at twohundred and eight pounds, no more and no less. " Then you placed yourselfin the swinging seat of the machine with your feet clear of the earth, and his partner duly weighed you. Sometimes Marr guessed your weight;quite as often, though, he failed to come within three pounds of it andyou paid him nothing for his pains. It was difficult to figure how soprecarious a means of income could be made to yield a proper returnunless the scales were dishonest. 

The scales were honest enough. The real profits were derived from quitea different source. Three master dips--pickpockets--were waiting for youas you moved off; they attended to your case with neatness and dispatch. Their work was expedited for them by reason that already they knew whereyou carried your valuables. Once Marr ran his swift and practicedfingers over your body he knew where your watch was, your wallet, yourpurse for small change, your roll of bills. 

A code word in his patter advertised to his confederates exactlywhereabouts upon your person the treasure was carried. Really thebusiness gave splendid returns. It was Marr, though, who had seized uponit when it merely was a catchpenny carnival device and made of it areal money earner. Moreover, the pickpockets took the real peril. Evenin the infrequent event of the detection of them there was no evidenceto justify the suspicion that the proprietors of the weighing machinewere accessories to the pocket looting. Vince Marr was like that--alwaysplaying safe for himself, always thinking a jump ahead of his crowd anda jump and a half ahead of the police. 

He was never the one to get into a rut and stay there. Long before theold-time grafting circuses grew scarce and scarcer, and before thestreet-fairing concessions progressed out of their primitive beginningsinto orderly and recognized organizations, he had quitted both fieldsfor higher and more lucrative ramifications of his craft. Ask anyold-time con man who ostensibly has reformed. If he tells you thetruth--which is doubtful--he will tell you it was Chappy Marr who reallyevolved the fake foot-racing game, who patched up the leaks in thewireless wire-tapping game, who standardized at least two popular formsof the send game, who improved marvelously upon three differing versionsof the pay-off game. 

All the time he was perfecting himself in his profession, fittinghimself for the practice of it in its highermost departments. He learnedto tone down his wardrobe. He polished his manners until they had agloss on them. He labored assiduously to correct his grammar, and sowell succeeded at the task that except when he was among associates andrelapsed into the argot of the breed, he used language fit for a collegeprofessor--fit for some college professors anyway. At thirty he was aglib, spry person with a fancy for gay housings. At forty-five, when hereached the top of his swing, he had the looks, the vocabulary and thepresence of an educated and a traveled person. 

He had one technical defect, if defect it might be called. In the largeraffairs of his unhallowed business he displayed a mental adaptability, atalent to think quickly and shift his tactics to meet the suddenlyarisen emergency, which was the envy of lesser underworld notables; butin smaller details of life he was prone to follow the line of leastresistance, which is true of the most of us, honest and dishonest menthe same. For instance, though he had half a dozen or more commonaliases--names which he changed as he changed his collars--he pursued acertain fixed rule in choosing them, just as a man in picking outneckties might favor mixed weaves and varied patterns but stick alwaysto the same general color scheme. He might be Vincent C. Marr, which washis proper name, or among intimates Chappy Marr. Then again he might beCol. Van Camp Morgan, of Louisiana; or Mr. Vance C. Michaels, a Westernmine owner; or Victor C. Morehead; he might be a Markham or a Murrill ora Marsh or a Murphy as the occasion and the rôle and his humor suited. Always, though, the initials were the same. Partly this was forconvenience--the name was so much easier to remember then--but partly itwas due to that instinct for ordered routine which in a reputable sphereof endeavor would have made this man rather conventional and methodicalin his personal habits, however audacious and resourceful he might havebeen on his public side and his professional. He especially was lucky inthat he never acquired any of those mouth-filling nicknames such asPaper Collar Joe wore, and Grand Central Pete and Appetite Willie andthe Mitt-and-a-Half Kid and the late Soapy Smith--picturesque enough, all of them, but giving to the wearers thereof an undesirable prominencein newspapers and to that added extent curtailing their usefulness intheir own special areas of operation. 

Nor had he ever smelled the chloride-of-lime-and-circus-cage smell ofthe inside of a state's prison; no Bertillon sharp had on file hismeasurements and thumb prints, nor did any central office or detectivebureau contain his rogues-gallery photograph. Times almost past countinghe had been taken up on suspicion; more than once had been arrested ondirect charges, and at least twice had been indicted. But because ofconnections with crooked lawyers and approachable politicians and venalpolice officials and because also of his own individual canniness, healways had escaped conviction and imprisonment. There was no stink ofthe stone hoosgow on his correctly tailored garments, and no barberother than one of his own choosing had ever shingled Chappy Marr's hair. Within reason, therefore, he was free to come and go, to bide and totarry; and come and go at will he did until that unfortuitous hour whenthe affair of the wealthy Mrs. Propbridge and her husband came to pass. 

When the period of post-wartime inflation came upon this countryspecialized thievery marched abreast with legitimate enterprise; with itas with the other, rewards became tremendously larger; small turnoverswere regarded as puny and contemptible, and operators thought in termsof pyramiding thousands of dollars where before they had been glad tostrive for speculative returns of hundreds. By now Chappy Marr had wonhis way to the forefront of his kind. The same intelligence invoked, thesame energies exercised, and in almost any proper field he would beforethis have been a rich man and an honored one. By his twisted code ofethics and unmorals, though, the dubious preëminence he enjoyed wasample reward. He stood forth from the ruck and run, a creator and aleader who could afford to pass by the lesser, more precarious games, with their prospect of uncertain takings, for the really big andimportant things. He was like a specialist who having won a prominentposition may now say that he will accept only such patients as hepleases and treat only such cases as appeal to him. 

This being so, there were open to him two especially favored lines: hemight be a deep-sea fisherman, meaning by that a crooked card playertraveling on ocean steamers; or he might be the head of a swell mob ofblackmailers preying upon more or less polite society. For the first hehad not the digital facility which was necessary; his fingers lacked therequisite deftness, however agile and flexible the brain which directedthe fingers might be. So Chappy Marr turned his talents to blackmailing. Blackmailing plants had acquired a sudden vogue; nearly all thewise-cracking kings and queens of Marr's world had gone or were goinginto them. Moreover, blackmailing offered an opportunity for variety ofscope and ingenuity in the mechanics of its workings which appealedmightily to a born originator. Finally there was a paramountconsideration. Of all the tricks and devices at the command of thetop-hole rogue it was the very safest to play. Ninety-nine times out ofa hundred the victim had his social position or his business reputationto think of, else in the first place he would never have been picked onas a fit subject for victimizing. Therefore he was all the more disposedto pay and keep still, and pay again. 

The bait in the trap of the average blackmailing plant is a woman--ayoung woman, good-looking, well groomed and smart. It is with her thatthe quarry is compromisingly entangled. But against women confederatesChappy Marr had a strong prejudice. They were such uncertain quantities;you never could depend upon them. They were emotional, temperamental;they let their sentimental attachments run away with their judgment;they fell in love, which was bad; they talked too much, which was worse;they were fickle-minded and jealous; they were given to falling out withmale pals, and they had been known to carry a jealous grudge to thepoint of turning informer. So he set his inventions to the task ofevolving a blackmailing snare which might be set and sprung, andafterwards dismantled and hidden away without the intervention of thefemale knave of the species in any of its stages. Trust him--smooth aslubricating oil, a veritable human graphite--to turn the trick. Heturned it. 

The upshot was a lovely thing, almost foolproof and practicallycop-proof. To be sure, a woman figured in it, but her part was that ofthe chosen prey, not the part of an accessory and accomplice. Thegreater simplicity of the device was attested by the fact that for itsmounting, from beginning to end, only three active performers wereneeded. The chief rôle he would play. For his main supporting cast heneeded two men, and knew moreover exactly where to find them. Of thesetwo only one would show ever upon the stage. The other would bide outof sight behind the scenes, doing his share of the work, unsuspected, from under cover. 

For the part which he intended her to take in his production--the partof dupe--Mrs. Justus Propbridge was, as one might say, made to order. Consider her qualifications: young, pretty, impressionable, vain andinexperienced; the second wife of a man who even in these times ofsuddenly inflated fortunes was reckoned to be rich; newly come out ofthe boundless West, bringing a bounding social ambition with her;spending money freely and having plenty more at command to spend whenthe present supply was gone; her name appearing frequently in thosenewspapers and those weekly and monthly magazines catering particularlyto the so-called smart set, which is so called, one gathers, because itis not a set and is not particularly smart. 

Young Mrs. Propbridge figured that her name was becoming tolerably wellknown along the Gold Coast of the North Atlantic Seaboard. It was too. For example, there was at least one person entirely unknown to her whokept a close tally of her comings and her goings, of her socialactivities, of her mode of daily life. This person was Vincent Marr. Thanks to the freedom with which a certain type of journal discusses theprivate and the public affairs of those men and women most commonlymentioned in its columns, he presently had in his mind a very clearpicture of this lady, and he followed her movements, as reflected inprint, with care and fidelity; it was as though he had a deep personalinterest in her. For a matter of fact, he did; he had a very personalinterest in her. He had been doing this for months; in his trade, as inmany others, patience was not only a virtue but a necessity. Forexample, he knew that her determined and persistent but somewhat crudelyengineered campaigning to establish herself in what New York calls--witha big S--Society was the subject in some quarters of a somewhat thinlyveiled derision; he knew that her husband was rather an elemental, notto say a primitive creature, but genuine and aboveboard and generous, aselemental beings are likely to be. Marr figured him to be of the jealoustype. He hoped he was; it might simplify matters tremendously. 

On a certain summer morning a paragraph appeared in at least three dailypapers to the effect that Mr. And Mrs. Justus Propbridge had gone downto Gulf Stream City, on the Maryland coast; they would be at theChurchill-Fontenay there for a week or ten days. It was at his breakfastthat Marr read this information. At noon, having in the meantime done aconsiderable amount of telephoning, he was on his way to the seasidetoo. Mentally he was shaking hands with himself in a warmlycongratulatory way. Gulf Stream City was a place seemingly designed, both by Nature and by man, for the serving of his purposes. 

Residing there were persons of his own kidney and persuasion, on whomhe might count for at least one detail of invaluable coöperation. For acertain act of his piece, a short but highly important one, he also musthave a borrowed stage setting and a supernumerary actor or so. 

Immediately upon his arrival he sought out certain dependableindividuals and put them through a rough rehearsal. This he did beforehe claimed the room he had engaged by wire at the Hotel Crofter. TheHotel Crofter snuggled its lesser bulk under an imposing flank of thesupposedly exclusive and admittedly expensive Churchill-Fontenay. Fromits verandas one might command a view of the main entrance of thegreater hotel. 

It was on a Tuesday that the Propbridges reached Gulf Stream City. Itwas on Wednesday afternoon that the husband received a telegram, signedwith the name of a business associate, calling him to Toledo for aconference--so the wire stated--upon an urgent complication newlyarisen. Mr. Propbridge, as all the world knew, was one of the heavieststockholders and a member of the board of the Sonnesbein-Propbridge TireCompany, which, as the world likewise knew, had had tremendous dealingsin contracts with the Government and now was having trouble closing upthe loose ends of its wartime activities. 

He packed a bag and caught a night train West. On the following morning, which would be Thursday, Mrs. Propbridge took a stroll on Gulf StreamCity's famous boardwalk. It was rather a lonely stroll. She had noparticular objective. It was too early in the day for a full display ofvivid costumes among the bathers on the beach. She encountered no oneshe knew. 

Really, for a resort so extensively advertised, Gulf Stream City was nota particularly exciting place. For lack of anything better to do she hadhalted to view the contents of a shop window when an exclamation ofhappy surprise from someone immediately behind her caused Mrs. Propbridge to turn around. 

Immediately it was her turn to register astonishment. A tall, well-dressed, gray-haired man, a stranger to her, was taking possessionof her right hand and shaking it warmly. 

"Why, my dear Mrs. Watrous, " he was saying, "how do you do? Well, thisis an unexpected pleasure! When did you come down from Wilmington? Andwho is with you? And how long are you going to stay? General Dunlap andhis daughter Claire--you know, the second daughter--and Mrs. Gordon-Tracy and Freddy Urb will be here in a little while. They'll bedelighted to see you! Why, we'll have a reunion! Well, well, well!"

He had said all this with scarcely a pause for breath and without givingher an opportunity to speak, as though surprise made him disregardful oflabial punctuation of his sentences. Indeed, Mrs. Propbridge did notsucceed in getting her hand free from his grasp until he had utteredthe final "well. "

"You have the advantage of me, " she said. "I do not know you. I am sureI never saw you before. "

At this his sudden shift from cordiality to a look half incredulous, half embarrassed was almost comic. 

"What?" he demanded, falling back a pace. "Surely this is Mrs. BeemanWatrous of Wilmington? I can't be mistaken!"

"But you are mistaken, " she insisted; "very much mistaken. My name isnot Watrous; my name is Propbridge. "

"Madam, " he cried, "I beg ten thousand pardons! Really, though, this isone of the most remarkable things I ever saw in my life--one of the mostremarkable cases of resemblance, I mean. I am sure anyone would bedeceived by it; that is my apology. In my own behalf, madam, I must tellyou that you are an exact counterpart of someone I know--of Mrs. BeemanWatrous, a very good friend of mine. Pardon me once more, but may I askif you are related to Mrs. Beeman Watrous? Her cousin perhaps? It isn'thumanly possible that two persons should look so much alike and not berelated?"

"I don't think I ever heard of the lady, " stated Mrs. Propbridgesomewhat coldly. 

"Again, madam, please excuse me, " he said. "I am very, very sorry tohave annoyed you. " He bowed his bared head and turned away. Thenquickly he swung on his heel and returned to her, his hat again in hisleft hand. 

"Madam, " he said, "I am fearful that you are suspecting me of being oneof the objectionable breed of he-flirts who infest this place. At therisk of being tiresome I must repeat once more that your wonderfulresemblance to another person led me into this awkward error. My name, madam, is Murrill--Valentine C. Murrill--and I am sure that if you onlyhad the time and the patience to bear with me I could find someonehere--some acquaintance of yours perhaps--who would vouch for me andmake it plain to you that I am not addicted to the habit of forcingmyself upon strangers on the pretext that I have met them somewhere. "

His manner was disarming. It was more than that; it was outrightengaging. He was carefully groomed, smartly turned out; he had themanner and voice of a well-bred person. To Mrs. Propbridge he seemed acandid, courteous soul unduly distressed over a small matter. 

"Please don't concern yourself about it, " she said. "I didn't suspectyou of being a professional masher; I was only rather startled, that'sall. "

"Thank you for telling me so, " he said. "You take a load off my mind, Iassure you. Pardon me again, please--but did I understand you to say amoment ago that your name was Propbridge?"

"Yes. "

"It isn't a very common name. Surely you are not the Mrs. Propbridge?"

Without being in the least presuming he somehow had managed to convey asubtle tribute. 

"I am Mrs. Justus Propbridge, if that is what you mean, " she said. 

"Well, then, " he said in tones of relief, "that simplifies matters. Isyour husband about, madam? If he is I will do myself the honor ofintroducing myself to him and repeating to him the explanation I havejust made to you. You see, I am by way of being one of the small fishwho circulate on the outer edge of the big sea where the large financialwhales swim, and it is possible that he may have heard my name and mayknow who I am. "

"My husband isn't here, " she explained. "He was called away last nighton business. "

"Again my misfortune, " he said. 

They were in motion now; he had fallen into step alongside her as shemoved on back up the boardwalk. Plainly her amazing resemblance tosomeone else was once more the uppermost subject in his mind. He wentback to it. 

"I've heard before now of dual personalities, " he said, "but this is myfirst actual experience with a case of it. When I first saw you standingthere with your back to me and even when you turned round facing meafter I spoke to you, I was ready to swear that you were Mrs. BeemanWatrous. Look, manner, size, voice, hair, eyes--all identical. I knowher very well too. I've been a guest at one or two of her house parties. It's curious that you never heard of her, Mrs. Propbridge; she's thewidow of one of the Wilmington Watrouses--the firearms people, youknow--guns, rifles, all that sort of thing--and he left her moremillions than she knows what to do with. "

Now Mrs. Propbridge had never heard of any Wilmington Watrouses, butplainly, here in the East they were persons of consequence--persons whowould be worth knowing. 

She nodded as though to indicate that now she did faintly recall who itwas this kindly stranger had meant. 

He went on. It was evident that he was inclined to be talkative. Theimpression was conveyed to her that here was a well-meaning but rathershallow-minded gentleman who was reasonably fond of the sound of his ownvoice. Yet about him was nothing to suggest over-effusiveness orfamiliarity. 

"I've a sort of favor to ask of you, " he said. "I've some friends who'remotoring over to-day from Philadelphia. I had to run on down ahead ofthem to see a man on business. They're to join me in about an hour fromnow"--he consulted his watch--"and we're all driving back togetherto-night. General Dunlap and Mrs. Claire Denton, his daughter--she's theamateur tennis champion, you know--and Mrs. Gordon-Tracy, of Newport, and Freddy Urb, the writer--they're all in the party. And the favor I'masking is that I may have the pleasure of presenting them to you--thatis, of course, unless you already know them--so that I may enjoy thelooks on their faces when they find out that you are not Mrs. BeemanWatrous. I know they'll behave as I did. They won't believe it at first. May I?"

What could Mrs. Propbridge do except consent? Indeed, inwardly sherejoiced at the prospect. She did not know personally the four named bythis Mr. Murrill, but she knew mighty well who they were. What personfamiliar with the Social Register could fail to know who they were?Another thing had impressed her: The stranger had mentioned thesenotables with no especial emphasis on the names; but instead, quitecasually and in a manner which carried with it the impression that suchnoted folk as Mrs. Denton and her distinguished father, and Freddy Urbthe court jester of the innermost holies of holies of Newport and BarHarbor and Palm Beach, and Mrs. Gordon-Tracy, the famous beauty, were ofthe sort with whom customarily he associated. Plainly here was agentleman who not only belonged to the who's-who but had a very clearperception of the what-was-what. So fluttered little Mrs. Propbridgepromptly said yes--said it with a gratified sensation in her heart. 

"That's fine of you!" said Murrill, visibly elated. It would appearthat small favors were to him great pleasures. "That's splendid!Up until now the joke of this thing has been on me. I want totransfer it to them. I'm to meet them up here in the lounge of theChurchill-Fontenay. "

"That's where I am stopping, " said Mrs. Propbridge. 

"Is it? Better and better! We might stroll along that way if you don'tmind. By Jove, I've an idea! Suppose when they arrive they found uschatting together like old friends--suppose as they came up they were tooverhear me calling you Mrs. Beeman Watrous. That would make the shockall the greater for them when they found out you really weren't Mrs. Watrous at all, but somebody they'd never seen before! Are you game forit?. .. Capital! Only, if we mean to do that we'll have to kill the time, some way, for forty or fifty minutes or so. Do you mind letting me boreyou for a little while? I know it's unconventional--but I like to do theunconventional things when they don't make one conspicuous. "

Mrs. Propbridge did not in the least mind. So they killed the time andit died a very agreeable death, barring one small incident. On Mr. Murrill's invitation they took a short turn in a double-seated rollerchair, Mr. Murrill chatting briskly all the while and savoring hisconversation with offhand reference to this well-known personage andthat. At his suggestion they quit the wheel chair at a point well downthe boardwalk to drink orangeades in a small glass-fronted café whichfaced the sea. He had heard somewhere, he said, that they made famousorangeades in this shop. They might try for themselves and find out. 

The experiment was not entirely a success. To begin with, a waiterperson--Mr. Murrill referred to him as a waiter person--sat them downnear the front at a small, round table whose enamel top was decoratedwith two slopped glasses and a bottle one-third filled with wine gonestale. At least the stuff looked and smelled like wine--like a poorquality of champagne. 

"Ugh!" said Mr. Murrill, tasting the air. "Somebody evidently couldn'twait until lunch time before he started his tippling. And I didn'tsuspect either that this place might be a bootlegging place in disguise. Well, since prohibition came in it's hard to find a resort shop anywherewhere you can't buy bad liquor--if only you go about it the right way. "

When the waiter person brought their order he bade him remove the bottleand the slopped glasses, and the waiter person obliged, but so sulkilyand with such slowness of movement that Mr. Murrill was moved to speakto him rather sharply. Even so, the sullen functionary took his timeabout the thing. Nor did the orangeade prove particularly appetizing. Mr. Murrill barely tasted his. 

"Shall we clear out?" he asked, making a fastidious little grimace. 

At the door, on the way out, he made excuses. 

"Sorry I suggested coming into this place, " he said, sinking his voice. "Either it is a shop which has gone off badly or its merits have beenoveradvertised by its loving friends. To me the whole atmosphere of theestablishment seemed rather dubious, eh, what? Well, what shall we donext? I see a few bathers down below. Shall we go down on the beach andfind a place to sit and watch them for a bit?"

They went; and he found a bench in a quiet place under the shorings ofthe boardwalk close up alongside one of the lesser bathing pavilions, and they sat there, and he talked and she listened. The man had anendless fund of gossip about amusing and noted people; most of them, itwould seem, were his intimates. Telling one or two incidents in whichthese distinguished friends had figured, he felt it expedient to sinkhis voice to a discreet undertone. There was plainly apparent a delicacyof feeling in this; one did not shout out the names of such persons forany curious passer-by to hear. It developed that there was one speciallyclose bond between him and the members of General Dunlap's family, anattachment partly based upon old acquaintance and partly upon the factthat the Dunlaps thought he once upon a time had saved the life of thegeneral's youngest daughter, Millicent. 

"Really, though, it was nothing, " he said deprecatingly, as befitted amodest and a mannerly man. "The thing came about like this: It was oncewhen we were all out West together. We were spending a week at the GrandCañon. One morning we took the Rim Drive over to Mohave Point. No doubtyou know the spot? I was standing with Millicent on the outer edge ofthe cliff and we were looking down together into that tremendous voidwhen all of a sudden she fainted dead away. Her heart isn't verystrong--she isn't athletic as Claire, her older sister, and the otherDunlap girls are--and I suppose the altitude got her. Luckily I was asclose to her as I am to you now, and I saw her totter and I threw out myarms--pardon me--like this. " He illustrated with movements of his arms. "And luckily I managed to catch her about the waist as she fell forward. I held on and dragged her back out of danger. Otherwise she would havedropped for no telling how many hundreds of feet. Of course it was onlya chance that I happened to be touching elbows with the child, andnaturally I only did what anyone would have done in the samecircumstances, but the whole family were tremendously grateful and madea great pother over it. By the way, speaking of rescues, have you heardabout the thing that happened to the two Van Norden girls at Bailey'sBeach last week? I must tell you about that. "

Presently they both were surprised to find that forty-five minutes hadpassed. Mr. Murrill said they had better be getting along; he made sobold as to venture the suggestion that possibly Mrs. Propbridge mightwant to go to her rooms before the automobile party arrived, to changeher frock or something. Not that he personally thought she should changeit. If he might be pardoned for saying so, he thought it a most becomingfrock; but women were curious about such things, now honestly weren'tthey? And Mrs. Propbridge was constrained to confess that about suchthings women were curious. She had a conviction that if all things movedsmoothly she presently would be urged to waive formality and join theparty at luncheon. Mr. Murrill had not exactly put the idea into wordsyet, but she sensed that the thought of offering the invitation was inhis mind. In any event the impending meeting called for efforts on herpart to appear at her best. 

"I believe I will run up to our rooms for a few minutes before yourfriends arrive, " she said as they arose from the bench. "I want tofreshen up a bit. "

"Quite so, " he assented. 

He left her at the doors of the Churchill-Fontenay, saying he would idleabout and watch for the others in case they should arrive ahead of time. 

Ten minutes later, while she was still trying to make a choice betweenthree frocks, her telephone rang. She answered the ring; it was Mr. Murrill, who was at the other end of the line. He was distressed to haveto tell her that word had just reached him that on the way down fromPhiladelphia General Dunlap had been taken suddenly ill--an attack ofacute indigestion, perhaps, or possibly a touch of the sun--and themotor trip had been halted at a small town on the mainland fifteen milesback of Gulf Stream City. He was starting immediately for the town in acar with a physician. He trusted the general's indisposition was notreally serious but of course the party would be called off; and theinvalid would return to Philadelphia as soon as he felt well enough tomove. He was awfully sorry--Mr. Murrill was--terribly put out, and allthat sort of thing; hoped that another opportunity might be vouchsafedhim of meeting Mrs. Propbridge; he had enjoyed tremendously meeting herunder these unconventional circumstances; and now he must go. 

It was not to be denied that young Mrs. Propbridge felt distinctlydisappointed. The start of the little adventure had had promise in it. She had forecast all manner of agreeable contingencies as the probableoutcome. 

For some reason, though, or perhaps for no definite reason at all, shesaid nothing to her husband, on his return from Toledo, of her encounterwith the agreeable Mr. Murrill. Anyway, he arrived in no very affablestate of mind. As a matter of fact he was most terrifically out oftemper. Somebody or other--presumably some ass of a practical joker, hefigured, or possibly a person with a grudge against him who had curiousmethods of taking vengeance--had lured him into taking a hot, dusty, tiresome and entirely useless trip. There was no business conference onout at Toledo; no need for his presence there. If he could lay hands onthe idiot who had sent him that forged telegram--well, the angered Mr. Propbridge indicated with a gesture of a large and knobby fist what hewould do to the aforesaid idiot. 

The next time Mr. Propbridge was haled to the broiling Corn Belt he madevery sure that the warrant was genuine. One of these wild-goose chases asummer was quite enough for a man with a size-nineteen collar and aforty-six-inch waistband. 

The next time befell some ten days after the Propbridges returned fromthe shore to their thirty-thousand-dollars-a-year apartment on UpperPark Avenue. The very fact that they did live in an apartment and thatthey did spend a good part of their time there would stamp them for whatthey were--persons not yet to be included among the really fashionablegroup. The really fashionable maintained large homes which they occupiedwhen they came to town to have dental work done or to launch a débutantedaughter into society; the rest of the year they usually were elsewhere. It was the thing. 

Business of importance sent Mr. Propbridge to Detroit, and then on toChicago and Des Moines. On a certain afternoon he caught the WolverineLimited. Almost before his train had passed One Hundred and Twenty-fifthStreet Mrs. Propbridge had a caller. She was informed that a member ofthe staff of that live paper, People You Know, desired to see her for afew minutes. Persons of social consequence or persons who craved to beof social consequence did not often deny themselves to representativesof People You Know. Mrs. Propbridge told the switchboard girl downstairsto tell the hallman to invite the gentleman to come up. 

He proved to be a somewhat older man than she had expected to see. Hewas well dressed enough, but about him was something hard andforbidding, almost formidable in fact. Yet there was a soothing, conciliatory tone in his voice when he spoke. 

"Mrs. Propbridge, " he began, "my name is Townsend. I am one of theeditors of People You Know. I might have sent one of our reporters tosee you, but in a matter so important--and so delicate as this one is--Ifelt it would be better if I came personally to have a little talk withyou and get your side of the affair for publication. "

"My side of what affair?" she asked, puzzled. 

He lifted one lip in a cornerwise smile. 

"Let me give you a little advice, Mrs. Propbridge, " he said. "I've had alot of experience in such matters as these. The interested parties willbe better off if they're perfectly frank in talking to the press. Thenall misunderstandings are avoided and everybody gets a fair deal inprint. Don't you agree with me that I am right?"

"You may be right, " she said, "but I haven't the least idea what you aretalking about. "

"I mean your trouble with your husband--if you force me to speakplainly; I'd like to have your statement, that's all. "

"But I haven't had any trouble with my husband!" she said. Her amazementmade her voice shrill. "My husband and I are living together in perfecthappiness. You've made a mistake. "

"No chance, " he said, and suddenly his manner changed from thesympathetic to the accusing. "Mrs. Propbridge, we have exclusive advanceinformation from reliable sources--a straight tip--that the proofagainst you is about to be turned over to your husband and we've everyreason to believe that when he gets it in his hands he's going to sueyou for divorce, naming as corespondent a certain middle-aged man. Doyou mean to tell me you don't know anything about that?"

"Of course I mean to! Why, you're crazy! You're--"

"Wait just one minute please, " he interrupted the distressed lady. "Waituntil I get through telling you how much I know already; then you'll seethat denials won't help you any. As a matter of fact we're ready now togo ahead and spring the story in next week's issue, but I thought itwas only fair to come to you and give you a chance to make your defensein print--if you care to make one. "

"I still tell you that you've made a terrible mistake, " she declared. Her anger began to stir within her, as indignation succeeded toastonishment. "How dare you come here accusing me of doing anythingwrong!"

"I'm accusing you of nothing. I'm only going by the plain evidence. Imight be lying to you. Other people might lie to you. But, madam, photographs don't lie. That's why they're the best possible evidence ina divorce court. And I've seen the evidence. I've got it in my pocketright now. "

"Evidence against me? Photographs of me?"

"Sure. Photographs of you and the gray-haired party. " He reached in abreast pocket and brought out a thin sheaf of unmounted photographs andhanded them to her. "Mrs. Propbridge, just take a look at these and thentell me if you blame me for assuming that there's bound to be troublewhen your husband sees them?"

She looked, and her twirling brain told her it was all a nightmare, buther eyes told her it was not. Here were five photographs, enlargedsnapshots apparently: One, a profile view, showing her standing on aboardwalk, her hand held in the hand of the man she had known asValentine C. Murrill; one, a quartering view, revealing them ridingtogether in a wheel chair, their heads close together, she smiling andhe apparently whispering something of a pleasing and confidential natureto her, the posture of both almost intimate; one, a side view, showingthe pair of them emerging from an open-fronted café--she recognized thefaçade of the place where they had found the orangeades sodisappointing--and in this picture Mr. Murrill had been caught by thecamera as he was saying something of seeming mutual interest, for shewas glancing up sidewise at him and he had lowered his head until hislips almost touched her ear; one, showing them sitting at a small roundtable with a wine bottle and glasses in front of them and behind them abackground suggesting the interior of a rather shabby drinking place, adistinct impression of sordidness somehow conveyed; and one, a rearview, showing them upon a bench alongside a seemingly deserted woodenstructure of some sort, and in this one the man had been snapped in thevery act of putting his arms about her and drawing her toward him. 

That was all--merely five oblong slips of chemically printed paper, andyet on the face of them they told a damning and a condemning story. 

She stared at them, she who was absolutely innocent of thought or intentof wrong-doing, and could feel the fabric of her domestic life tremblingbefore it came crashing down. 

"Oh, but this is too horrible for words!" the distressed lady criedout. "How could anybody have been so cruel, so malicious, as to followus and waylay us and catch us in these positions? It's monstrous!"

"Somebody did catch you, then, in compromising attitudes--you admitthat?"

"You twist my words to give them a false meaning!" she exclaimed. "Youare trying to trap me into saying something that would put me in a wronglight. I can explain--why, the whole thing is so simple when youunderstand. "

"Suppose you do explain, then. Get me right, Mrs. Propbridge--I'm allfor you in this affair. I want to give you the best of it from everystandpoint. "

So she explained, her words pouring forth in a torrent. She told him insuch details as she recalled the entire history of her meeting with thevanished Mr. Murrill--how a doctored telegram sent her husband away andleft her alone, how Murrill had accosted her, and why and whatfollowed--all of it she told him, withholding nothing. 

He waited until she was through. Then he sped a bolt, watching herclosely, for upon the way she took it much, from his viewpoint, depended. 

"Well, " he said, "if that's the way this thing happened and if you'vetold your husband about it"--he dragged his words just a trifle--"whyshould you be so worried, even if these pictures should reach him?"

Her look told him the shot had struck home. Inwardly he rejoiced, knowing, before she answered, what her answer would be. 

"But I didn't tell him, " she confessed, stricken with a new cause forconcern. "I--I forgot to tell him. "

"Oh, you forgot to tell him?" he repeated. Now suddenly he became across-examiner, snapping his questions at her, catching her up sharplyin her replies. "And you say you never saw this Mr. Murrill--as you callhim--before in all your life?"

"No. "

"And you've never seen the mysterious stranger since?"

"There was nothing mysterious about him, I tell you. He was merelyinteresting. "

"Anyhow, you've never seen him since?"

"No. "

"Nor had any word from him other than that telephone talk you say youhad with him?"

"No. "

"Did you ever make any inquiries with a view to finding out whetherthere was such a person as this Mrs. Beeman Watrous?"

"No; why should I?"

"That's a question for you to decide. Did you think to look in thepapers to see whether General Dunlap had really been taken ill on amotor trip?"

"No. "

"Yet he's a well-known person. Surely you expected the papers wouldmention his illness?"

"It never occurred to me to look. I tell you there was nothing wrongabout it. Why do you try to trip me up so?"

"Excuse me, I'm only trying to help you out of what looks like a prettybad mess. But I've got to get the straight of it. Let me run over thepoints in your story: No sooner do you land in Gulf Stream City thanyour husband gets a faked-up telegram and goes away? And you are leftall alone? And you go for a walk all by yourself? And a man you neverlaid eyes on before comes up to you and tells you that you look a lotlike a friend of his, a certain very rich widow, Mrs. Watrous--somebody, though, that I for one never heard of, and I know the Social Registerfrom cover to cover, and know something about Wilmington too. And on thestrength of your imaginary resemblance to an imaginary somebody heintroduced himself to you? And then you let him walk with you? And youlet him whisper pleasant things in your ear? Two of those pictures thatyou've got in your hand prove that. And you let him take you into one ofthe most notorious blind tigers on the beach? And you sit there with himin this dump--this place with a shady reputation--"

"I've explained to you how that happened. We didn't stay there. We cameright out. "

"Let me go on, please. And you let him buy you wine there?"

"I've told you about that part, too--how the bottles and the glasseswere already on the table when we sat down. "

"I'm merely going by what the photographs tell, Mrs. Propbridge. I'mmerely saying to you what a smart divorce lawyer would say to you ifever he got you on the witness stand; only he'd be trying to convict youby your own words and I'm trying to give you every chance to clearyourself. And then after that you go and sit with him--this perfectstranger--in a lonely place alongside a deserted bath house and nobodyelse in sight?"

"There were people bathing right in front of us all the time. "

"Were there? Well, take a look at Photograph Number Five and see if itshows any bathers in sight. And he slips his arm around you and drawsyou to him?"

"I explained to you how that happened, " protested the badgered, desperate woman. "No matter what the circumstances seem to be, I didnothing wrong, I tell you. "

"All right, just as you say. Remember, I'm taking your side of it; I'mtrying to be your friend. But here's the important thing for you toconsider: With those pictures laid before them would any jury on earthbelieve your side of it? Would they believe you had no hand in sendingyour husband that faked-up telegram? Would they believe it wasn't atrick to get him away so you could keep an appointment with this man?Would any judge believe you? Would your friends believe you? Or wouldthey all say that they never heard such a transparent cock-and-bullstory in their lives?"

"Oh, oh!" she cried chokingly, and put her face in her hands. Then shethrew up her head and stared at him out of her miserable eyes. "Wheredid those pictures come from? You say you believe in me, that you arewilling to help me. Then tell me where they came from and who took them?And how did you manage to get hold of them?"

His baitings had carried her exactly to the desired place--the turningpoint, they call it in the vernacular of the confidence sharp. The restshould be easy. 

"Mrs. Propbridge, " he said, "you've been pretty frank with me. I'll beequally frank with you. Those pictures were brought to our office by theman who took them. I have his name and address, but am not at liberty totell them to anyone. I don't know what his motives were in taking them;we did not ask him that either. We can't afford to question the motivesof people who bring us these exclusive tips. We pay a fancy price forthem and that lets us out. Besides, these photographs seemed to speakfor themselves. So we paid him the price he asked for the use of them. Destroying these copies wouldn't help you any. That man still has theplates; he could print them over again. The only hope you've got is toget hold of those plates. And I'm afraid he'll ask a big price forthem. "

"How big a price?"

"That I couldn't say without seeing him. Knowing the sort of person heis, my guess is that he'd expect you to hand him over a good-sized chunkof money to begin with--as a proof of your intentions to do businesswith him. You'd have to pay him in cash; he'd be too wise to take acheck. And then he might want so much apiece for each plate or he mightinsist on your paying him a lump sum for the whole lot. You see, what heevidently expects to do is to sell them to your husband, and he'd expectyou at least to meet the price your husband would have to pay. Any wayyou look at it he's got you at his mercy--and, as I see it, you'llprobably have to come to his terms if you want to keep this thing asecret. "

"Where is this man? You keep saying you want to serve me--can't youbring him to me?"

"I'm afraid he wouldn't come. If he's engaged in a shady business--ifhe's cooked up a deliberate scheme to trap you--he won't come near you. That's my guess. But if you are willing to trust me to act as yourrepresentative maybe the whole thing might be arranged and no one exceptus ever be the wiser for it. "

Mrs. Propbridge being an average woman did what the average woman, thuscruelly circumstanced and sorely frightened and half frantic andlacking advice from honest folk, would do. She paid and she paid and shekept on paying. First off, it appeared the paper had to be recompensedfor its initial outlay and for various vaguely explained incidentalexpenses which it had incurred in connection with the affair. Then, through Townsend, the unknown principal demanded that a larger sumshould be handed over as an evidence of good faith on her part before hewould consider further negotiations. This, though, turned out to be onlythe beginning of the extortion processes. 

When, on this pretext and that, she had been mulcted of nearly fourteenthousand dollars, when her personal bank account had been exhausted, when most of her jewelry was secretly in pawn, when still she had notyet been given the telltale plates, but daily was being tortured bythreats of exposure unless she surrendered yet more money, poor badgeredbeleaguered little Mrs. Propbridge, being an honest and astraightforward woman, took the course she should have taken at theoutset. She went to her husband and she told him the truth. And hebelieved her. 

He did not stop with believing her; he bestirred himself. He had money;he had the strength and the authority which money gives. He hadsomething else--he had that powerful, intangible thing which amongpolice officials and in the inner politics of city governments isvariously known as a pull and a drag. Straightway he invoked it. 

Of a sudden Chappy Marr was aware that he had made a grievous mistake. He had calculated to garner for himself a fat roll of the Propbridgecurrency; had counted upon enjoying a continuing source of income for solong as the wife continued to hand over hush money. Deduct the cutswhich went to Zach Traynor, alias Townsend, for playing the part of themagazine editor, and to Cheesy Mike Zaugbaum, that camera wizard ofnewspaper staff work turned crook's helper--Zaugbaum it was who hadworked the trick of the photographs--and still the major share of thespoils due him ought, first and last, to run into five gratifyingfigures. On this he confidently had figured. He had not reckoned intothe equation the possibility of invoking against him the Propbridge pullbacked by the full force of this double-fisted, vengeful millionaire'srage. Indeed he never supposed that there might be any such pull. Andhere, practically without warning, he found his influence arrayedagainst an infinitely stronger influence, so that his counted forconsiderably less than nothing at all. 

Still, there was a warning. He got away to Toronto. Traynor made Chicagoand went into temporary seclusion there. Cheesy Zaugbaum lacked the luckof these two. As soon as Mrs. Propbridge had described the ingratiatingMr. Murrill and the obliging Mr. Townsend to M. J. Brock, head of theBrock private-detective agency, that astute but commonplace-appearinggentleman knew whom she meant. Knowing so much, it was not hard for himto add one to one and get three. He deduced who the third member of thetriumvirate must be. Mr. Brock owed his preëminence in his trade to oneoutstanding faculty--he was an honest man who could think like a thief. Three hours after he concluded his first interview with the lady one ofhis operatives walked up behind Cheesy and tapped him on the shoulderand inquired of him whether he would go along nice and quiet for a talkwith the boss or was inclined to make a fuss about it. In either event, so Cheesy was assured, he, could have his wish gratified. And Cheesy, who had the heart of a rabbit--a rabbit feeding on other folks' cabbage, but a timorous, nibbling bunny for all that--Cheesy, he went. 

In Toronto Marr peaked and pined. He probably was safe enough for solong as he bided there; there had been no newspaper publicity, and hefelt reasonably sure that openly, at least, the aid of regular policedepartments would not be set in motion against him; so he put thethoughts of arrest and extradition and such like unpleasantcontingencies out of his mind. But li'l' old N'York was his properabiding place. The smell of its streets had a lure for him which noother city's streets had. His crowd was there--the folk who spoke histongue and played his game. And there the gudgeons on which his sortfed schooled the thickest and carried the most savory fat on their bonesas they skittered over the asphaltum shoals of the Main Stem. 

For a month, emulating Uncle Remus' Brer Fox, he lay low, resisting thegnawing discontent that kept screening delectable visions of Broadwayand the Upper Forties and Seventh Avenue before his homesick eyes. Itwas a real nostalgia from which he suffered. He endured it, though, withwhat patience he might lest a worse thing befall. And at the end of thatmonth he went back to the big town; an overpowering temptation was thereason for his going. There had arisen a chance for a large turnover anda quick get-away again, with an attractively large sum to stay him andcomfort him after he resumed his enforced exile. An emissary from theGulwing mob ran up to Toronto and dangled the lure before his eyes. 

Harbored in New York at the present moment was a beautiful prospect--asupremely credulous cattleman from the Far West, who had been playingthe curb market. A crooks' tipster who was a clerk in a bucket shopdowntown had for a price passed the word to the Gulwings, and theGulwings--Sig and Alf--were intentful to strip the speculative Westernerbefore the curb took from him the delectable core of his bank roll. Butthe Gulwing organization, complete as it is in most essential details, lacked in its personnel for the moment a person of address to undertakethe steering and the convincing--to worm a way into the good graces ofthe prospective quarry; to find out approximately about how much indollars and cents he might reasonably be expected to yield, and then tostand by in the pose of a pretended fellow investor and fellow loser, while the cleaning up of the plunger was done by the competent butcrude-mannered Messrs. Sigmund and Alfred Gulwing and their associates. For the important rôle of the convincer Marr was suited above allothers. It was represented to him that he could slip back to town and, all the while keeping well under cover, rib up the customer to go, asthe trade term has it, and then withdraw again to the Dominion. A pricewas fixed, based on a sliding scale, and Marr returned to New York. 

Three days from the day he reached town the Westerner, whose name wasHartridge, lunched with him as his guest at the Roychester, a small, discreetly run hotel in Forty-sixth Street. After luncheon they sat downin the lobby for a smoke. For good and sufficient reasons Marr preferredas quiet a spot and as secluded a one as the lobby of the hotel mightoffer. He found it where a small red-leather sofa built for two stood ina sort of recess formed on one side by a jog in the wall and on theother side by the switchboard and the two booths which constituted theRoychester's public telephone equipment. To call the guest rooms onemade use of an instrument on the clerk's desk, farther over to the left. 

To this retreat Marr guided the big Oregonian. From it he had a fairlycomplete view of the lobby. This was essential since presently, ifthings went well or if they did not go well, he must privily give adesignated signal for the benefit of a Gulwing underling, a lessermember of the mob, who was already on hand, standing off and on in theoffing. Sitting there Marr was well protected from the view of personspassing through, bound to or from the grill room, the desk or theelevators. This also was as it should be. Better still, he waspractically out of sight of those who might approach the telephoneoperator to enlist her services in securing outside calls. Theoutjutting furniture of her desk and the flanks of the nearermost paybooth hid him from them; only the top of the young woman's head wasvisible as she sat ten feet away, facing her perforated board. 

The voices of her patrons came to him, and her voice as she repeated thenumbers after them: "Greenwich 978, please. "

"Larchmont 54 party J. "

"Worth 9009, please, miss. "

"Vanderbilt 100. "

And so on and so forth, in a steady patter, like raindrops falling; butthough he could hear he could not be seen. Altogether, the spot was, forhis own purposes, admirably arranged. 

So they sat and smoked, and pretty soon, the occasion and the conditionsand the time being ripe, Marr outlined to his new friend Hartridge, onpledge of secrecy, a wonderfully safe and wonderfully simple plan fortaking its ill-gotten money away from a Tenderloin pool room. Swiftly hesketched in the details; the opportunity, he divulged in strictconfidence, had just come to him. He confessed to having taken a greatliking to Hartridge during their short acquaintance; Hartridge hadimpressed him as one who might be counted upon to know a good thing whenhe saw it, and so, inspired by these convictions, he was going to giveHartridge a chance to join him in the plunge and share with him thejuicy proceeds. Besides, the more money risked the greater the killing. He himself had certain funds in hand, but more funds were needed if areal fortune was to be realized. 

There was need, though, for prompt decision on the part of allconcerned, because that very afternoon--in fact, within that samehour--there in the Roychester he was to meet, by appointment, theconniving manager of an uptown branch office of the telegraph company, who would coöperate in the undertaking and upon whose good offices inwithholding flashed race results at Belmont Park until his fellowconspirators, acting on the information, could get their bets down uponthe winners, depended the success of the venture. Only, strictlyspeaking, it would not be a venture at all, but a moral certainty, acinch, the surest of all sure things. Guaranties against mischanceentailing loss would be provided; he could promise his friend Hartridgethat; and the telegraph manager, when he came shortly, would add furtherproof. 

The question then was: Would Hartridge join him as a partner? And if so, about how much, in round figures, would Hartridge be willing to put up?He must know this in advance because he was prepared to matchHartridge's investment dollar for dollar. 

And at that Hartridge, to Marr's most sincere discomfiture, shook hishead. 

"I'll tell you how it is with me, " said Hartridge. "These broker fellowsdowntown have been touchin' me up purty hard. I guess this here New Yorkgame ain't exactly my game. I'm aimin' to close up what little dealsI've still got on here and beat it back to God's country while I'vestill got a shirt on my back. I'm much obliged to you, Markham, forwantin' to take me into your scheme. It sounds good the way you tell it, but it seems like ever'thing round this burg sounds good till you testit out--and so I guess you better count me out and find yourself apartner somewheres else. "

There was definiteness in his refusal; the shake of his head emphasizedit too. Marr's rôle should have been the persuasive, the insistent, theargumentative, the cajoling; but Marr was distinctly out of temper. 

Here he had ventured into danger to play for a fat purse and all hewould get for his trouble and his pains and the risk he had run wouldbe just those things--pains and trouble and risk--these, and nothingmore nourishing. 

"Oh, very well then, Hartridge, " he said angrily, "if you haven't anyconfidence in me--if you can't see that this is a play that naturallycan't go wrong--why, we'll let it drop. "

"Oh, I've got confidence in you--" began Hartridge, but Marr, nopatience left in him, cut him short. 

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" he snapped. "Forget it! Let's talk aboutthe weather. "

He lifted his straw hat as though to ease its pressure upon his head andthen settled it well down over his eyes. This was the sign to theGulwings' messenger, watching him covertly from behind a newspaper overon the far side of the lobby, that the plan had failed. The signal hehad so confidently expected to give--a trick of relighting his cigar andflipping the match into the air--would have conveyed to the watcher theinformation that all augured well. The latter's job then would have beento get up from his chair and step outside and bear the word to SigGulwing, who, letter-perfect in the part of the conspiring telegraphmanager, would promptly enter and present himself to Marr, and by Marrbe introduced to the Westerner. The hat-shifting device had been devisedin the remote contingency of failure on Marr's part to win over thechosen victim. Plainly the collapse of the plot had been totallyunexpected by the messenger. Over his paper he stared at Marr untilMarr repeated the gesture. Then, fully convinced now that there had beenno mistake, the messenger arose and headed for the door, the wholething--signaling, duplicated signaling and all--having taken very muchless time for its action than has here been required to describe it. 

The signal bearer had taken perhaps five steps when Hartridge spokewords which instantly filled Marr with regret that he had been soimpetuously prompt to take a no for a no. 

"Say, hold your hosses, Markham, " said Hartridge contritely. "Don't bein such a hurry! Come to think about it, I might go so far as to riskaltogether as much, say, as eight or ten thousand dollars in this schemeof yours--I don't want to be a piker. "

In the hundredth part of a second Marr's mind reacted; his brain wasgalvanized into speedy action. Ten thousand wasn't very much--not nearlyso much as he had counted on--still, ten thousand dollars was tenthousand dollars; besides, if the Gulwings did their work cannily theten thousand ought to be merely a starter, an initiation fee, really, for the victim. Once he was enmeshed, trust Sig and Alf to trim him tohis underwear; the machinery of the wire-tapping game was geared forjust that. 

He must stop the departing messenger then, must make him understand thatthe wrong sign had been given and that the fish was nibbling the bait. Yet the messenger's back was to them; ten steps, fifteen steps more, andhe would be out of the door. 

For Marr suddenly to hail a man he was supposed not to know might befatal; almost surely at this critical moment it would stir up suspicionin Hartridge's mind. Yet some way, somehow, at once, he must stop theword bearer. But how? That was it--how?

Ah, he had it! In the fraction of a moment he had it. It came to himnow, fully formed, the shape of it conjured up out of that jumble ofwords which had been flowing to him from the telephone desk all thewhile he had been sitting there and which had registered subconsciouslyin his quick brain. The pause, naturally spaced, which fell betweenHartridge's 'bout-faced concession and Marr's reply, was not undulylengthened, yet in that flash of time Marr had analyzed the puzzle ofthe situation and had found the answer to it. 

"Bully, Hartridge!" he exclaimed. "You'll never regret it. Our man oughtto be here any minute now. .. . By Jove! That reminds me--I meant totelephone for some tickets for to-night's Follies--you're going with meas my guest. Just a moment!"

He got on his feet and as he came out of the corner and still was eightfeet distant from the telephone girl, he called out loudly, as a manmight call whose hurried anxiety to get an important number made himcareless of the pitch of his voice: "Worth 10, 000! Worth 10, 000!"

He feared to look toward the door--yet. For the moment he must seemconcerned only with the hasty business of telephoning. 

Annoyed by his shouting, the girl raised her head and stared at him ashe came toward her. 

"What's the excitement?" she demanded. 

With enhanced vehemence he answered, putting on the key words all theemphasis he dared employ:

"I should think anybody in hearing could understand what I said and whatI meant--_Worth 10, 000_!"

He was alongside her now; he could risk a glance toward the door. Helooked, and his heart rejoiced inside of him, for the messenger hadswung about, as had half a dozen others, all arrested by the harshnessof his words--and the messenger was staring at him. Marr gave thecorrect signal--with quick well-simulated nervousness drew a loose matchfrom his waistcoat pocket, struck it, applied it to his cigar, thenflipped the still burning match halfway across the floor. No need forhim again to look--he knew the artifice had succeeded. 

"Here's your number, " said the affronted young woman. With a viciouslittle slam she stuck a metal plug into its proper hole. 

Marr had not the least idea what concern or what individual owned Worth10, 000 for a telephone number. Nor did it concern him now. Even so, hemust of course carry out the pretense which so well had served him inthe emergency. He entered the booth, leaving the door open forHartridge's benefit. 

"Hello, hello!" he called into the transmitter. "This is V. C. Markhamspeaking. I want to speak to"--he uttered the first name which poppedinto his mind--"to George Spillane. Want to order some tickets for ashow to-night. " He paused a moment for the sake of the verities; then, paying no heed to the confused rejoinder coming to him from the otherend of the wire, and improvising to round out his play, went on: "What'sthat?. .. Not there? Oh, very well! I'll call him later. .. . No, nevermind, Spillane's the man I want. I'll call again. "

He hung up the receiver. Out of the tail of his eye as he hung it up hesaw Sig Gulwing just entering the hotel, in proper disguise for thecharacter of the district telegraph manager with a grudge against poolrooms and a plan for making enough at one coup to enable him to quit hispresent job; the job was mythical, and the grudge, too--bits merely ofthe fraudulent drama now about to be played--but surely Gulwing was mostsolid and dependable and plausible looking. His make-up was perfect. Toget here so soon after receiving the cue he must have been awaiting theword just outside the entrance. Gulwing was smart but he was not sosmart as Marr--Marr exulted to himself. In high good humor, he droppeda dollar bill at the girl's elbow. 

"Pay for the call out of that, miss, and keep the change, " he saidgenially. "Sorry I was so boisterous just now. "

Thirty minutes later, still radiating gratification, Marr stood at thecigar stand making a discriminating choice of the best in the humidor ofimported goods. Gulwing and Hartridge were over there on the sofa, cheekby jowl, and all was going well. 

Half aloud, to himself, he said, smiling in prime content: "Well, Iguess I'm bad!"

"I guess you are!" said a voice right in his ear; "and you're due to beworse, Chappy, old boy--much worse!"

The smile slipped. He turned his head and looked into the complacent, chubby face and the pleased eyes of M. J. Brock, head of Brock'sDetective Agency--the man of all men in this world he wished least tosee. For once, anyhow, in his life Marr was shaken, and showed it. 

"That's all right, Chappy, " said Brock soothingly, rocking his shortplump figure on his heels; "there won't be any rough stuff. I've got acop off the corner who's waiting outside if I should need him--in caseof a jam--but I guess we won't need him, will we? You'll go along withme nice and friendly in a taxicab, won't you?" He flirted his thumb overhis shoulder. "And you needn't bother about Gulwing either. I've seenhim--saw him as soon as I came in. I guess he'll be seeing me in aminute, too, and then he'll suddenly remember where it was he left hisumbrella and take it on the hop. "

Marr said not a word. Brock rattled on in high spirits, stillmaintaining that cat-with-a-mouse attitude which was characteristic ofhim. 

"Never mind worrying about old pal Gulwing--I don't want him now. You'rethe one you'd better be worrying about; because that's going to be amighty long taxi ride that you're going to take with me, Chappy--fifteenminutes to get there, say, and anywhere from five to ten years to getback--or I miss my guess. .. . Yes, Chappy, you're nailed with the goodsthis time. Propbridge is going through; his wife too. They'll go tocourt; they'll shove the case. And Cheesy Zaugbaum has come clean. Oh, Iguess it's curtains for you all right, all right. "

"You don't exactly hate yourself, do you?" gibed Marr. "Sort of pleasedwith yourself?"

"Not so much pleased with myself as disappointed in you, Chappy, "countered the exultant Brock. "I figured you were different from therest of your crowd, maybe; but it turns out you're like all theothers--you will do your thinking in a groove. " He shook his head inmock sorrow. "Chappy, tell me--not that it makes any differenceparticularly, but just to satisfy my curiosity--curiosity being mybusiness, as you might say--what number was it you called up from hereabout thirty minutes back? Come on. The young lady over yonder will tellme if you don't. Was it Worth 10, 000?"

"Yes, " said Marr, "it was. "

"I thought so, " said Brock. "I guessed as much. But say Chappy, that'sthe trunk number of the Herald. Before this you never were the one totry to break into the newspapers on your own hook. What did you wantwith that number?"

"That's my business, " said Marr. 

"Have it your way, " assented Brock with ironic mildness. "Now, Chappy, follow me a minute and you'll see how you dished your own beans: Youcall up Worth 10, 000--that's a private matter, as you say. But Centralgets the call twisted and gives you another number--that's a mistake. And the number she happens to give you is the number of my new branchoffice down in the financial district--that's an accident. And thefellow who answers the call at my shop happens to be Costigan, my chiefassistant, who's been working on the Propbridge case for five weeksnow--and that's a coincidence. He doesn't recognize your voice over thewire--that would be luck. But when, like a saphead, you pull your newmoniker, but with the same old initials hitched to it, and when on topof that you ask for George Spillane, which is Cheesy by his most popularalias--when you do these things, why Chappy, it's your own fault. 

"Because Costigan is on then, bigger than a house. You've tipped himyour hand, see? And with our connections it's easy--and quick--forCostigan to trace the call to this hotel. And inside of two minutesafter that he has me on the wire at my uptown office over here in WestFortieth. And here I am; as a matter of fact, I've been here all offifteen minutes. 

"It all proves one thing to me, Chappy. You're wiser than the run of'em, but you've got your weak spot, and now I know what it is: You thinkin a groove, Chappy, and this time, by looking at the far end of thegroove, you can see little old Warble-Twice-on-the-Hudson looming up. And you won't have to look very hard to see it, either. .. . Well, I seeGulwing has taken a tumble to himself and has gone on a run to look forhis umbrella. Suppose we start on our little taxi ride, old groovethinker?"

CHAPTER VII

MR. LOBEL'S APOPLEXY

The real purpose of this is to tell about Mr. Lobel's attack ofapoplexy. What comes before must necessarily be in its naturepreliminary and preparatory, leading up to the climactic stroke whichleaves the distinguished victim stretched upon the bed of affliction. 

First let us introduce our principal. Reader, meet Mr. Max Lobel, president of Lobel Masterfilms, Inc. , also its founder, its chiefstockholder and its general manager. He is a short, broad, thick, globular man and a bald one, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, carrying agold-headed cane and using a private gold-mounted toothpick after meals. His collars are of that old-fashioned open-faced kind such as ourfathers and Mr. John D. Rockefeller, Sr. , used to wear; collars rearingat the back but shorn widely away in front to show two things--namely, the Adam's apple and that Mr. Lobel is conservative. But for hisneckwear he patronizes those shops where ties are exclusively referredto as _scarves_ and cost from five dollars apiece up, which proves alsohe is progressive and keeps abreast of the times. When he walks hefavors his feet. Mostly, though, he rides in as good a car as domesticcurrency can buy in foreign marts. 

Aside from his consuming desire to turn out those surpassingachievements of the cellular-cinema art known as Lobel's Masterfilms, hehas in life two great passions, one personal in its character, the othernational in its scope--the first a craving for fancy waistcoats, thesecond a yearning to see the name of Max Lobel in print as often aspossible and in as large letters as likewise is possible; and for eitherof these is a plausible explanation. Mr. Lobel has a figure excellentlyshaped for presenting the patternings of a fanciful stomacher to theworld and up until a few years ago there were few occasions when hemight hope to see the name Lobel in print. For, know you, Mr. Lobel hasnot always been in the moving-picture business. Nobody in themoving-picture business has always been in the moving-picturebusiness--excepting some of the child wonders under ten years of age. And ten years ago our hero was the M. Lobel Company, cloak and suitjobbers in rather an inconspicuous Eastern town. 

What was true of him as regards his comparatively recent advent into theproducing and distributing fields was true of his major associates. Back in 1911 the vice president and second in command, Mr. F. X. Quinlan, moved upward into a struggling infantile industry via thestepping-stone of what in the vernacular of his former calling is knownas a mitt joint--summers at Coney, winters in store pitches--where heguided the professional destinies of Madame Zaharat, the Egyptianseeress, in private, then as now, Mrs. F. X. Quinlan née Clardy. 

The treasurer and secretary, Mr. Simeon Geltfin, had once upon a timebeen proprietor of the Ne Plus Ultra Misfit Clothing Parlors at Utica, New York, a place where secondhand habiliments, scoured and ironed, dangled luringly in show windows bearing such enticing labels as"Tailor's Sample--Nobby--$9. 80, " "Bargain--Take Me Home For $5. 60, " and"These Trousers Were Uncalled For--$2. 75. "

The premier director, Mr. Bertram Colfax, numbered not one but twochrysalis changes in his career. In the grub stage, as it were, he hadbegun life as Lemuel Sims, a very grubby grub indeed, becoming Colfax atthe same time he became property man for a repertoire troupe playingcounty-fair weeks in the Middle West. 

As for the scenario editor and continuity writer, he in a priorcondition of life had solicited advertisements for a trade journal. Soit went right down the line. 

At the time of the beginning of this narrative Lobel Masterfilms, Inc. , had attained an eminence of what might be called fair-to-mediumprominence in the moving-picture field. In other words, it now was ableto pay its stars salaries running up into the multiples of tens ofthousands of dollars a year and the bank which carried its paper had notyet felt justified in installing a chartered accountant in the homeoffices to check the finances and collect the interest on the loansoutstanding. Before reaching this position the concern had passedthrough nearly all the customary intervening stages. Nearly a decaderearward, back in the dark ages of the filmic cosmos, the JurassicPeriod of pictures, so to speak, this little group of pathfinderstracking under the chieftainship of Mr. Lobel into almost unchartedwilds of artistic endeavor had dabbled in slap-stick one reelersfeaturing the plastic pie and the treacherous seltzer siphon, also thetrick staircase, the educated mustache and the performing doormat. 

Next--following along the line of least resistance--the adventurers wentin more or less extensively for wild-western dramas replete withstagecoach robberies and abounding in hair pants. If the head badman--not the secondary bad man who stayed bad all through, or thetertiary bad man who was fatally extinguished with gun-fire in Reel Two, but the chief, or primary, bad man who reformed and married Little Nell, the unspoiled child of Death Valley--wore the smartest frontier get-upof current year's vintage that the Chicago mail-order houses could turnout; if Little Nell's father, appearing contemporaneously, dressedaccording to the mode laid down for Forty-niners by such indubitableauthorities as Bret Harte; if the sheriff stalked in and out of lensrange attired as a Mississippi River gambler was popularly supposed tohave been attired in the period 1860 to 1875; and if finally the cavalrytroopers from the near-by army post sported the wide hats and khakishirts which came into governmental vogue about the time of the SpanishWar, all very well and good. The action was everything; the sartorialaccessories were as they might be and were and frequently still are. 

Along here there intruded a season when the Lobel shop tentativelyexperimented with costume dramas--the Prisoner of Chillon wearing theconventional black and white in alternating stripes of a Georgia chaingang and doing the old Sing Sing lock step and retiring for the night tohis donjon cell with a set of shiny and rather modern-looking leg ironson his ankles; Mary Queen of Scots and Catharine de' Medici in costumesstrikingly similar; Oliver Goldsmith in Sir Walter Raleigh's neck ruffand Captain Kidd's jack boots. 

But this season endured not for long. Costume stuff was nix. It was notwhat the public wanted. It was over their heads. Mr. Lobel himself saidso. Wake him up in the middle of the night and he could tell you exactlywhat the public did and did not want. Divining the popular will amountedwith him to a gift; it approximated an exact art; really it formed thecorner stone of his success. Likewise he knew--but this knowledgeperhaps had come to him partly by experience rather than altogether byintuition--that historical ten reelers dealing with epochal events inthe life of our own people were entirely unsuited for generalconsumption. 

When this particular topic untactfully was broached in his presence Mr. Lobel, recalling the fate of the elaborate feature entitled Let FreedomRing, had been known to sputter violently and vehemently. Upon thisproduction--now abiding as a memory only, yet a memory bitter asaloes--he had spared neither expense nor pains, even going so far aspersonally to direct the filming of all the principal scenes. And towhat ends? Captious critics, including those who wrote for the dailypress and those who merely sent in offensive letters--college professorsand such like cheap high-brows--had raised yawping voices to point outthat Paul Revere galloping along the pre-Revolutionary turnpike tospread the alarm passed en route two garages and one electric powerhouse; that Washington crossing the Delaware stood in the bow of hisskiff half shrouded in an American flag bearing forty-eight stars uponits field of blue; that Andrew Jackson's riflemen filing out from NewOrleans to take station behind their cotton-bale breastworks marched forsome distance beneath a network of trolley wires; that Abraham Lincolnsigning the Emancipation Proclamation did so while seated at a desk in aroom which contained in addition to Lincoln and the desk and theProclamation a typewriter and a Persian rug; that at Manila Bay AdmiralDewey wore spats and a wrist watch. 

But these primitive adventurings, these earlier pioneering quests intothe realm of the speculative were all in limbo behind them, all wipedoff the slate, in part forgiven, in a measure forgotten. Since thatprimitive beginning and those formulative middle periods LobelMasterfilms had found their field, and having found it, now plowed andtilled it. To those familiar with the rise and the ever-forward movementof this, now the fourth largest industry in the civilized globe--or isit the third?--it sufficiently will fix the stage of evolutionarydevelopment attained by this component unit of that industry when Istate that Lobel Masterfilms now dealt preponderantly with vampires. Tobe sure, it continued to handle such side lines as taffy-haired ingénuesfrom the country, set adrift among the wiles and pitfalls of a cruelcity; such incidentals as soft-pie comickers and chin-whiskeredby-Hectors; such necessary by-products as rarely beautiful he-juvenileswith plush eyelashes and the hair combed slickly back off the foreheadin the approved Hudson seal effect--splendid, manly youths these, whomight have dodged a draft or two but never yet had flinched from beforethe camera's aiming muzzle. But even though it had to be conceded thatGoldilockses and Prince Charmings endure and that while drolls andjesters may come and go, pies are permanent and stale not, neither dothey wither; still, and with all that, such like as these were, in theLobel scheme of things, merely so many side lines and incidentals andby-products devised and designed to fatten out a program. 

Where Mr. Lobel excelled was in the vamp stuff. Even his competitorsadmitted it the while they vainly strove to rival him. In this, his ownchosen realm of exploration and conquest he stood supremely alone; amonarch anointed with the holy oils of superiority, coroneted withsuccess's glittering diadem. Look at his Woman of a Million Sins! Lookat his Satan's Stepchild, or How Human Souls are Dragged Down to Hell, in six reels! Look at A Daughter of Darkness! Look at The Wrecker ofLives! Look at The Spider Lady, or The Net Where Men Were the Flies!Look at Fair of Face Yet Black of Heart! All of them his, all box-officebest bets and all still going strong!

Moreover by now Lobel Masterfilms had progressed to that milestone onthe path of progress and enterprise where genuine live authors--guysthat wrote regular books--frequently furnished vehicles for stardom'sregal usages. By purchase, upon the basis of so much cash or--as thecase might be--so little cash down on the signing of the contract andthe promise of so much more--often very very much more--to be paid inroyalties out of accrued net profits, the rights to a published workwould be acquired. Its name, say, was A Commonplace Person, whichpromptly would be changed in executive conclave to The Cataract ofDestiny, or perhaps Fate's Plaything, or in any event some good catchytitle which would look well in electrics and on three sheets. 

This important point having been decided on, Mr. Ab Connors, thescenario editor, would take the script in hand to labor and bring forththe screen adaptation. If the principal character in the work, asoriginally evolved by her creator, was the daughter of a storekeeper ina small town in Indiana who ran away from home and went to Chicago tolearn the millinery business, he, wielding a ruthless but gifted bluepencil, would speedily transform her into the ebon-hearted heiress of aKlondyke millionaire, an angel without but a harpy within, and afteropening up Reel One with scenes in a Yukon dance hall speedily wouldmove all the important characters to New York, where the plot thickenedso fast that only a succession of fade-outs and fade-ins, close-ups andcut-backs saved it from clabbering right on Mr. Connors' hands. 

The rest would be largely a matter of continuity and after that therewas nothing to worry about except picking out the cast and the locationsand building the sets and starting to shoot and mayhap detailing a headoffice boy to stall off the author in case that poor boob came buttingin kicking about changes in his story or squawking about overdue royaltystatements or something. Anyhow, what did he know--what could he beexpected to know--about continuity or what the public wanted or what thelimitations and the possibilities of the screen were? He merely was thepoor fish who'd wrote the book and he should ought to be grateful that afellow with a real noodle had took his stuff and cut all that dulldescriptive junk out of it and stuck some pep and action and punch andzip into the thing and wrote some live snappy subtitles, instead ofcoming round every little while, like he was, horning in and beefing allover the place. 

And besides, wasn't he going to have his name printed in all theadvertising matter and flashed on the screen, too, in letters nearly afifth as tall as the letters of Mr. Lobel's name and nearly one-third astall as the name of the star and nearly one-half as tall as the name ofthe director and nearly--if not quite--as tall as the name of the cameraman, and so get a lot of absolutely free advertising that would beworth thousands of dollars to him and start people all over the countryto hearing about him? Certainly he was! And yet, with all that, wasthere any satisfying some of these cheap ginks? The answer was thatthere was not. 

There was never any trouble, though, about casting the principal rôle. That was easy--a matter of natural selection. If it could be playedvampishly from the ground up, and it usually could--trust Mr. Connorsfor that--it went without question to Vida Monte, greatest of all theluminaries in the Lobel constellation and by universal acknowledgmentthe best vampire in the business. In vampiring Vida Monte it was wholed; others imitatively followed. Compared with her these envying ladycopy cats were as pale paprikas are to the real tabasco. Five picturesshe had done for Lobel Masterfilms since placing herself under Lobel'smanagement and a Lobel contract, all of them overpowering knock-outs, sensations, sure-fire hits. On the sixth she now was at work and herproud employer in conversation and in announcements to the trade stoodsponsor for the pledge that in its filming Monte literally wouldout-Monte Monte. 

Making his word good, he took over volunteer supervision of the mainscenes. His high-domed forehead glistening with sweat, his spectaclesaflame like twin burning glasses, his coat off, his collar off, hiswaistcoat off, he snorted and churned, a ninety-horse dynamo of alittle fat man, through the hot glary studio, demanding thisimprovement, detecting that defect, calling for this, that or the otherperfect thing in a voice which would have detained the admiring ear ofan experienced bull whacker. Before him Josephson, the little cameraman, quailed. From his path extra people departed, fleeing headlong; andin his presence property men were as though they were not and never hadbeen. Out of the hands of Bertram Colfax, born Sims, he wrenched amegaphone and through it he bellowed:

"Put more punch in it, Monte--that's what I'm asking you for--the punch!Choke her, Harcourt! Choke him right back, Monte! Now-w-w then, clinch!Clinch and hang on! Good! And now the kiss! You know, Monte, the longkiss--the genuwine Monte kiss! Oh, if you love me, Monte, give mefootage on that kiss! That's it--hold it! Hold it! Keep on holding it!"

"But, Mr. Lobel, now, " protested Colfax, born a Sims but living it downand feeling that never more than at this minute, when rudely thesteersman's helm had been snatched from his grasp, was there greaterneed that he should be a Colfax through and through----"but, Mr. Lobel, it was my idea that up to this point anyway the action should be playedwith restraint to sort of prepare the way for----"

"What do you mean restraint?"

"Well, I thought to emphasize what comes later--for a sort ofcomparative value--that if we were just a little subtle at thebeginning--"

"Sufficient, Colfax! Listen! Don't come talking to me about no subtles!When you're working the supporting members of the cast you maybe couldstick in some subtles once in a while to salve them censors, but so faras Monte is concerned you leave 'em out!"

"But--but--"

"Don't but me any buts! Listen! Ain't I taken my paralyzed oath thatthis here picture should make all the other vamp pictures which everwere taken look like pikers? I have! Listen! For Monte, the way I feel, I shouldn't care if she don't do a single subtle in the whole damnpicture. "

He had taken his paralyzed oath and he kept it. It was a wonderfulstory. The queen of the apaches, ruling the Parisian underworld by herfire, her beauty, her courage, accepts German gold to betray hercountry, and attempts by siren wiles to seduce from the path of dutyCapt. Stuyvesant Schuyler of the U. S. A. General staff; almost succeedstoo because of his blind passion for this glorious, sinful creature. Atthe crucial moment, when about to surrender to his Delilah secrets whichwould destroy the entire Allied cause and open the gates of Paris to theconquering foe, he is saved by a vision of his sainted, fade-in-and-fade-out mother's face. Overcome with remorse, he resignshis commission, and fleeing from temptation returns to America, abroken-hearted man; proves heart is broken by constantly pressingclenched hand to left breast as though to prevent pieces from slippingdown into the abdominal cavity. Distress of the apache queen on findingher intended victim gone. Suddenly a real love, not the love of thewanton, but a purer, deeper emotion wakens in her breast. Close-upshowing muscular reflexes produced upon the human face by wakeningprocesses in the heart. 

Quitting the gay life, she follows him to Land of Free. Finds him aboutto marry his sweetheart of childhood, a New York society girl worthuncounted millions but just middling looking. Prompt bust-up ofchildhood sweetheart's romance. Abandonment of social position, wealth, everything by Schuyler, who declares he will make the stranger hisbride--accompanying subtitle, "What should we care what the world maysay? For after all, love is all!" Discovery on day before marriage ofpapers proving that Lolita--that's the lady apache's name--is reallySchuyler's half sister, due to carryings-on of Schuyler's late father asa young art student in Paris with Lolita's mother, a famous gypsy model. Renunciation by Lolita of Schuyler. Her suicide by imbibing poison fromsecret receptacle in ring. Schuyler, after registering copious grief, reënters American Army under assumed name as a private in the ranks. Returns to battlefield in time to take part in decisive action of thewar. All the officers in his brigade above the rank of corporal havingapparently been killed by one devastating blast of high explosive, heassumes command and leads dauntless charge of the heavy artillerythrough the Hindenburg Line. Is made a colonel on the spot. Rides upFifth Avenue alongside of Pershing in grand triumphant parade ofhome-coming First Division, carrying a large flag and occasionallychatting pleasantly with Pershing. On eve of marriage to childhood'ssweetheart, who remains faithful, he goes to lonely spot where Lolitalies buried and places upon the silent mound her favorite flower, asingle long-stemmed tiger lily. Fade out--finish!

Artistically, picturesquely, from the standpoint of timeliness, from thestandpoint of vampirishness, from any standpoint at all, it satisfiedfully every demand. It was one succession of thrilling, gripping, heart-lifting scenes set amid vividly contrasting surroundings--thelowest dive in all Paris; the citadel at Verdun; grand ballroom of theSchuyler mansion at Newport; the Place Vendôme on a day when it wasentirely unoccupied except by moving-picture actors; Fifth Avenue on itsmost gala occasion--these were but a few samples. The subtitles fairlyhissed to the sibilant swishing of such words as traitress, temptress, tigress and sorceress. And the name of it--you'd never guess--the nameof it was The She-Demon's Doom! When Mr. Lobel spoke those wordsinspired he literally took them up in his arms and fondled them andkissed them on the temples. And why not? They were his own brainchildren. 

He had kept his paralyzed word and he could prove it. For because thisVida Monte was one of those mimetic pieces of flesh which, without anyspecial mental coöperation, may alter the body, the face, the muscles, the expression, the very look out of the eyes, to suit the demands ofprompters and teachers; because of the plan of direction so powerfullyengineered by the master mind of Lobel and, under Lobel, the lesser mindof Colfax, born Sims; because of the very nature of the rôle of Lolitathe abandoned, this picture was more daring, more sensual, more filledup with voluptuous suggestion, with coiling, clinging, writhingsnakiness, with rampant, naked sexuality--in short and in fine was morevampirishly vampiratious than this, the greatest of all modern mediumsfor the education, the moral uplift and the entertainment of the masses, had ever known. 

And then one week to the day after Mr. Lobel shot the last scene she upand died on him. 

That is to say, a woman named Glassman, a Hungarian by birth, in agethirty-two years, widowed and without children or known next of kin, died in a small bungalow in a small town up in the coast range north ofLos Angeles. When the picture was done and Vida Monte took off thebarbaric trappings and the heavy paste jewels and the clinging reptilianhalf gowns of the rôle she played, with them she took off and laid asidethe animal emotionalism, the theatricalistic fever and fervor, thepassion and the lure that professionally made up Vida Monte, movie star. She took off even the very aspect of herself as the show shop and aspatrons of the cinemas knew her; and she put on a simple traveling gownand she tucked her black hair up in coils beneath a severely plain hatand she became what really she was and always had been--a quiet, self-contained, frugal and--except for her splendid eyes, her finefigure and her full mobile mouth--a not particularly striking-lookingwoman, by name Sarah Glassman, which was, in fact, her name; and quitealone she got on a train and she went up into the foothills to a tinybungalow which she had rented there for a month or so to live alone, todo her own simple housekeeping, to sew and to read and to rest. 

It was the day after the taking of the last segment of the picture thatshe went away. It was four days later that she sickened of the Spanishinfluenza, so called. It was not Spanish and not influenza, though byany other name it would have been as deadly in its devastating sweepacross this country. And it was within forty-eight hours after that, ona November afternoon, that word came to the Lobel plant that she wasdead. Down there they had not known even that she was sick. 

"The doctor in that there little jay town up there by the nameHamletsburg is the one which just gets me on the long-distance telephoneand tells me that she died maybe half an hour ago. "

Mr. Lobel in his private office was telling it to Vice President Quinlanand Secretary-Treasurer Geltfin, the only two among his associates thathis messenger had been able to find about the executive department atthe moment. He continued:

"Coming like a complete shock, you could 'a' knocked me down with afeather, I assure you. For a minute I couldn't believe it. This doctorhe has to say it to me twice before I get it into my head. Shocking--huh? Sudden--huh? Awful--what? You bet you! That poor girl, for her my heart is bleeding. Dead and gone like that, with absolutelypractically no warning! It don't seem possible! Taken down day beforeyesterday, the doctor says, and commenced getting from bad to worseright away. And this morning she goes out of her head and attwo-forty-five this afternoon all of a sudden her heart gives out on herand she is dead before anybody knows it. Awful, awful!"

Mr. Lobel wagged a mournful poll. 

"More than awful--actually it is horrifying!" quoth Mr. Geltfin. Visiblyat least his distress seemed greater than the distress of either of theothers. "All off alone up there by herself in some little rube town itmust come to her! Maybe if she had been down here with specialists andsurgeons and nurses and all she would 'a' been saved. Too bad, too bad!People got no business going away from a big town! Me, I get nervouseven on a motor trip in the country and--"

"Everything possible which could be done was done, " resumed Mr. Lobel. "So you don't need you should worry there, Geltfin. The doctor tells mehe can't get no regular trained nurse on account there is so muchsickness from this flu and no regular nurses there anyway, but he tellsme he brings in his wife which she understands nursing and he says thewife sticks right there day and night and gives every attention. Thereain't nothing we should reproach ourselves about, and besides we didn'tknow even she was sick--nobody knew. 

"Dead and gone, poor girl, and not one week ago--six days, if I got tobe exact--she is sitting right there in that same seat where you'resitting now, Geltfin, looking just as natural and healthy as what youlook, Geltfin; looking just as if nothing is ever going to happen toher. "

Mr. Geltfin had hastily risen and moved nearer the outer door. 

"An awful thing--that flu!" he declared. "Lobel, do you think maybe shecould 'a' had the germs of it on her then?"

"Don't be a coward, Geltfin!" rebuked his senior severely. "Look at mehow I am not frightened, and yet it was me she seen last, not you!Besides, only to-day I am reading where that big doctor in Cincinnati, Ohio--Silverwater--says it is not a disease which you could catch fromsomebody else until after they have actually got down sick with it. Yes, sir, she sits right there telling me good-by. 'Mr. Lobel, ' she says tome--I had just handed her her check--'Mr. Lobel, ' she says, 'always toyou, ' she says, 'I should be grateful. Always to you, ' she says, 'Ishould give thanks that two years ago when I am practicallycomparatively unknown you should 'a' given me my big chance. ' In themvery words she says it, and me setting here at this desk listening ather while she said so!

"Well, I ain't lost no time, boys. Before even I sent to find you Ialready got busy. I've got Appel starting for up there in half an hourin my car to take charge of everything and with orders to spare noexpense. The funeral what I am going to give that girl! Well, shedeserves it. Always a hard worker, always on the job, always she mindsher own business, always she saves her money, always a perfect lady, never throwing any of these here temperamentals, never going off in anyof these here highsterics, never making a kick if something goes wrongbecause it happens I ain't on the lot to run things, never----"

It threatened to become a soliloquy. This time it was Quinlan whointerrupted:

"You said it all, Lobel, and it's no need that you should go on sayingit any more. The main points, I take it, are that we're all sorry andthat we've lost one swell big asset by her dying--only it's lucky for usshe didn't take ill before we got through shooting The She-Demon. "

"Lucky? Huh! Actually, lucky ain't the right word for it!" said thepresident. "When I think of the fix we should 'a' been in if she hadn'tfinished up the picture first, I assure you, boys, it gives me theshivers. Right here and now in the middle of being sorry it gives me theshivers!"

"It does, does it?" There was something so ominous in Mr. Geltfin'ssadly ironic remark--something in tone and accent so lugubriouslyforeboding that his hearers swung about to stare at him. "It does, doesit? Well, all what I've got to say is, Lobel, you've got some shiverscoming to you! We've all got some shivers coming to us! Having this girldie on us is bad business!"

"Sure it is, " agreed the head, "but it might be worse. There's oneawful big salary cut off the pay roll and if we can't have her withus no longer there's nobody else can have her. And the profitsfrom that last picture should ought to be something positivelyenormous--stupendous--sensational. Listen! I bet you that from the hourwe release----"

"You ain't going to release!" broke in Geltfin, his wizen featuressharpening into a peaky mask of grief. 

"Don't talk foolishness!" snapped Mr. Lobel. "For why shouldn't we begoing to release?"

"That's it--why?" Mr. Quinlan seconded the demand. 

"Because you wouldn't dare do it!" In his desire to make clear his pointMr. Geltfin fairly shoveled the words out of himself, bringing themforth overlapping one another like shingles on a roof. "Because thepublic wouldn't stand for it! Always you brag, Lobel, that you know whatthe public want! Well then, would the public stand for a picture where agood, decent, straight girl that's dead and will soon be in her grave isfor six reels doing all them suggestive vampire stunts like what youyourself, Lobel, made her do? Would the public stand for calling a deadwoman names like she-demon? They would not--not in a thousand years--andyou should both know it without I should have to tell you! With somepretty rough things we could get by, but with that thing we could neverget by! The public, I tell you, would not stand for it. No, sir; whenthat girl died the picture died with her. You just think it over once!"

Out of popped eyes he glared at them. They glared at him, then theylooked at each other. Slowly Mr. Lobel's head drooped forward as thoughan unseen hand pressed against the back of his neck. Quinlan casting hiseyes downward traced with one toe the pattern of the rug under his feet. 

On top of one sudden blow, heavy and hard to bear, another now hadfollowed. Since Lobel had become one of the topnotchers with areputation to maintain, expenses had been climbing by high jumps, butreceipts had not kept pace with expenses. There were the vast salarieswhich even the lesser drawing cards among the stars now demanded--andgot. There were war taxes, excess profit taxes, amusement taxes. Therewas to be included in the reckoning the untimely fate of Let FreedomRing, a vastly costly thing and quickly laughed to death, yet a smartingmemory still. Its failure had put a crimp in the edge of the exchequer. This stroke would run a wide fluting of deficit right through the middleof it. 

The pall of silence lasted no longer than it has here taken to describehow it fell and enveloped them. Mr. Geltfin broke the silence withoutlifting the prevalent gloom. Indeed his words but depressingly served todarken it to a very hue of midnight. 

"Besides, " he added, "there is anyhow another reason. We know what anice clean girl she was in private life. We know that all them wildromance stories about her was cooked up in the press department to makethe suckers believe that both on and off the screen she was the same. But she wasn't, and so I for one should be afraid that if we put thatfillum out she'd come back from the dead to stop it!"

He sank his voice, glancing apprehensively over his shoulder. 

"Lobel, you wouldn't dare do it!"

"Lobel, " said Quinlan, "he's right! We wouldn't dare do it!"

"Quinlan, " admitted Lobel, "it's right--I wouldn't dare do it. "

In that same instant of his confession, though, Mr. Lobel bounded out ofhis chair, magically changing from a dumpy static figure of woe into thedynamo of energy and resourcefulness the glassed-in studios and theout-of-door locations knew. 

"I got it!" he whooped. "I got it!" He threw himself at an inner door ofthe executive suite and jerked it open. "Appel, " he shouted, "don'tstart yet! I got more instructions still for you. And say, Appel, youain't seen nobody but only Quinlan and Geltfin--eh? You ain't toldnobody only just them? Good! Well, don't! Don't telephone nobody! Don'tspeak a word to nobody! Don't move from where you are!"

He closed the door and stood against it as though to hold his privatesecretary a close prisoner within, and faced his amazed partners. 

"It's a cinch!" he proclaimed to them. "I just this minute thought it upmyself. If I must say it myself, always in a big emergency I can thinkfast. Listen! Nobody ain't going to know Monte is dead; not for a year, not maybe for two years; not until this last big picture is old and wornout; not until we get good and ready they should know. Vida Monte, shegoes right on living till we say the word. "

"But--but--"

"Wait, wait, can't you? If I must do all the quick thinking for thisshop shouldn't I sometimes get a word in sideways? What I'm telling you, if you'll please let me, is this: The girl is dead all right! But nobodyknows it only me and you, Quinlan, and you, Geltfin, and Appel in thisnext room here. Even the doctor up there at Hamletsburg he don't know itand his wife she don't know it and nobody in all that town knows it. Andwhy don't they know? Because they think only it is a woman named SarahGlassman that is dead. Actually that sickness no doubt changed her sothat even if them rubes ever go to see high-class feature fillums theredidn't nobody recognize her. If they didn't suspect nothing when she wasalive, for why should they suspect something now she is dead? Theyshouldn't and they won't and they can't!

"What give me the idea was, I just remembered that when the doctorcalled me up he spoke only the name Glassman, not the name Monte. Hetells me he calls up here because he finds in her room where she died acard with the name Lobel Masterfilms on it. And likewise also I justremembered that in the excitement of getting such a sad news over thetelephone I don't tell him who really she is neither. "

"Holy St. Patrick!" blurted Quinlan, up now on his feet. "You mean, Lobel----"

"Wait, wait, I ain't done--I ain't hardly started!" With flapperlikemotions of his hands Mr. Lobel waved him down. "It's easy--a pipe. Listen! To date her salary is paid. The day she went away I gave her acheck in full, and if she done what always before she does, it's in thebank drawing interest. Let it go on staying in the bank drawinginterest. So far as we know, she ain't got no people in this country atall. In the old country, in Hungary? Maybe, yes. But Hungary is yet alltorn up by this war--no regular government there, no regular mails, noAmerican consuls there, no nothing. Time for them foreigners that theyshould get their hands on her property one year from now or two years orthree. They couldn't come to claim it even if we should notify them, which we can't. They don't lose nothing by waiting. Instead theygain--the interest it piles up. 

"Should people ask questions, why then through the papers we give it outthat Miss Vida Monte is gone far off away somewhere for a long rest;that maybe she don't take no more pictures for a long time. That shouldmake The She-Demon go all the better. And to-morrow up there in thatlittle rube town very quietly we bury Sarah Glassman, deceased, withthe burial certificate made out in her own name. " He paused a moment toenjoy his triumph. "Boys, when I myself think out something, am I rightor am I wrong?"

He answered his own question. 

"I'm right!"

By the look on Quinlan's face he read conviction, consent, full andhearty approval. But Geltfin wavered. Inside Geltfin superstitionwrestled with opposing thoughts. Upon him then Lobel, the master mind, advanced, dominating the scene and the situation and determined also todominate the lesser personality. 

"But--but say--but look here now, Lobel, " stammered Geltfin, hesitatingon the verge of a decision, "she might come back. "

"Geltfin, " commanded Lobel, "you should please shut up. Do you want thatwe should make a lot of money or do you want that we should lose a lotof money? I ask you. Listen! The dead they don't come back. When justnow you made your spiel, that part of it which you said about the deadcoming back didn't worry me. It was the part which you said about thepublic not standing for it that got me, because for once, anyhow, inyour life you were right and I give you right. But what the public don'tknow don't hurt 'em. And the public won't know. You leave it to me!"

It was as though this argument had been a mighty arm outstretched toshove him over the edge. Geltfin ceased to teeter on the brim--he fellin. He nodded in surrender and Lobel quit patting him on the back towave the vice president into activity. 

"Quinlan, " he ordered as he might order an office boy, "get busy! Tell'em to rush The She-Demon! Tell 'em to rush the subtitles and all! Tell'em to rush out an announcement that the big fillum is going to bereleased two months before expected--on account the demand of the publicis so strong to see sooner the greatest vampire feature ever fillumed. "

Quinlan was no office boy, but he obeyed as smartly as might any newlyhired office boy. 

If it was Mr. Lobel's genius which guided the course of action, energizing and speeding it, neither could it be denied that circumstanceand yet again circumstance and on top of that more circumstance matchedin with hue and shade to give protective coloration to his plan. Continued success for it as time should pass seemed assured andguaranteed, seeing that Vida Monte, beyond the studios and off thelocations, had all her life walked a way so secluded, so inconspicuousand so utterly commonplace that no human being, whether an attaché ofthe company or an outsider, would be likely to miss her, or missing her, to pry deeply into the causes for her absence. So much for thecontingencies of the future as those in the secret foresaw it. As forthe present, that was simplicity. 

As quietly as she had moved in those earlier professional days of hers, when she played small rôles in provincial stock companies; as quietly asshe had gone on living after film fame and film money came her way; asquietly as she had laid her down and died, so--very quietly--was herbody put away in the little cemetery at Hamletsburg. To the physicianwho had ministered to her, to his good-hearted wife, to the official whoissued the burial certificate, to the imported clergyman who held theservice, to the few villagers who gathered for the funeral, drawn by themorbid lure which in isolated communities brings folk to any funeral--toall of these the dead woman merely was a stranger with a strange namewho, temporarily abiding here, had fallen victim to the plague whichfilled the land. 

Of those who had a hand in the last mortal rôle she would ever play onlyLobel's private secretary, young Appel, who came to pay the bills andtake over the private effects of this Sarah Glassman and after somefashion to play the rôles of next friend and chief mourner, kenned thetruth. The clergyman having done his duty by a deceased coreligionist, to him unknown, went back to the city where he belonged. The physicianhurried away from the cemetery to minister to more patients than heproperly could care for. The townspeople scattered, intent upon theirown affairs. Appel returned to headquarters, reporting all well. 

At headquarters all likewise went well--so briskly well in fact thatunder the urge for haste things essential were accomplished in less timeby fewer craftsmen than had been the case since those primitivebeginnings when Lobel's, then a struggling short-handed concern, frequently had doubled up its studio staffs for operative service in themakeshift laboratory. Reporting progress to the president, Mr. Quinlanexpanded with self-satisfaction. 

"I'm fixing to show you something in the way of a speed record, " heproudly proclaimed. "The way I looked at it, the fewer people I hadrushing this thing through the factory the less chance there was forloose talk round the plant and the less loose talk there was going onround the plant the less chance there was for maybe more loose talkoutside. Yes, I know we'd figured we'd got everything caulked upair-tight, but I says to myself, 'What's the use in taking a chance on aleak if you don't have to?'

"So I practically turned the big part of the job--developing and all therest of it--over to Josephson, same as we used to do back yonder when wewas starting out in this game and didn't have a regular film cutter andthe camera man had to jump in and develop and cut and assemble and printand everything. Josephson shot all the scenes for The She-Demon--heknows the run of it better even than the director does. Besides, Josephson is naturally close-mouthed. He minds his own business andnever butts in anywhere. To look at him you can't never tell what he'sthinking about. But even if he suspected anything--and, of course, hedon't--he's the kind that'd know enough to keep his trap shut. So I'vehad him working like a nailer and he's pretty near done. 

"Soon as he had the negative ready, which was late yesterday afternoonafter you'd went home, I had it run off with nobody there but me andJosephson, and I took a flash at it--and, Lobel, it's a bear! No needfor you to worry about the negative--it was a heap too long, of course, in the shape it was yesterday, but it had everything in it we hopedwould be in it--and more besides. 

"So then without losing a minute I stuck Josephson on the printingmachine himself. I'd already gave the girl on the machine a couple ofdays off to get her out of the way. Josephson stayed on the job alonepretty near all last night, I guess. He had things to himself withoutanybody to bother him and I tell you he shoved it along. 

"Connors ain't lost no time neither. He's got the subtitles pretty neardone, and believe it or not, as you're a mind to, but, Lobel, I'mtelling you that this time to-morrow morning and not a minute later I'llhave the first sample print all cut and assembled and ready for you togive it a look! Then it'll just be a job of matching up the negative andsticking in the subtitles and starting to turn out the positives fasterthan the shipping-room gang can handle 'em. I guess that ain't moving, heh?"

"Quinlan, " said Mr. Lobel, "I give you right. "

By making his word good to the minute the gratified Mr. Quinlan derivedadditional gratification. At the time appointed they sat in darkness inthe body of the projection room--Lobel, Quinlan, Geltfin and Appel, these four and none other--behind a door locked and barred. Promptly onQuinlan's order the operator in the box behind them started his machineand the accomplished rough draft of the great masterpiece leaped intobeing and actuality upon the lit square toward which they faced. 

The beginning was merely a beginning--graphic enough and offeringabundant proof that in this epochal undertaking the Lobel shop hadspared no expense to make the production sumptuous, but after all onlypreliminary stuff to sauce the palate of the patron for a greater feastto come and suitably to lead up to the introduction of the star. Soonthe star was projected upon the screen, a purring, graceful panther of awoman, to change at once into a sinuous python of a woman and then tomerge the feline and the ophidian into a sinister, splendid, menacingcomposite bespeaking the dramatic conception and the dramaticpresentment of all feminine evil, typifying in every move of the lithe, half-clad body, in every shift of the big eyes, wickedness unleashed andunashamed. 

Mr. Lobel sitting unseen in the velvet blackness uttered grunts ofapprobation. The greatest of all film vampires certainly had deliveredthe goods in this her valedictory. Never before had she so welldelivered them. The grunting became a happy rumble. 

But all this, too, was in a measure dedicatory--a foretaste of morevivid episodes to follow, when the glorious siren, displaying to thefull her powers of fascination over the souls and the bodies of men, would rise to heights yet greater and the primitive passion she so wellsimulated would shine forth like a malignant jewel in a setting that wassemibarbaric and semicivilized, too, and altogether prodigal and lavish. The first of these bigger scenes started--the scene where the queen ofthe apaches set herself to win the price of her hire from the Germans byseducing the young army officer into a betrayal of the Allied cause; thesame scene wherein at the time of filming it Mr. Lobel himself had takenover direction from Colfax's hands. 

The scene was launched, acquired headway, then was halted as a bellowfrom Mr. Lobel warned the operator behind him to cut off the power. 

"What the hell!" sputtered the master. "There's a blur on the picturehere, a sort of a kind of smokiness. Did you see it, Geltfin? Rightalmost directly in front of Monte it all of a sudden comes! Did you, Quinlan?"

"Sure I seen it, " agreed Geltfin. "Like a spot--sort of. "

"It wasn't on the negative when I seen it day before yesterday, " statedQuinlan. "I can swear to that. A little defect from faulty printing, Iguess. "

"All right then, " said Mr. Lobel. "Only where you got efficiency like Igot it in this plant such things should have no business occurring. 

"Go on, operator--let's see how goes it from now on. "

Out again two shadow figures--the vampire and the vampire'sprey--flashed in motion. Yes, the cloudy spot was there, a bit of murkyshadow drifting between the pair of figures and the audience. Itthickened and broadened--and then from the suddenly constricted throatsof the four watchers, almost as though all in the same moment aninvisible hand had laid gripping hold on each of their severalwindpipes, came a chorused gasp. 

For they saw how out of the drifting patch of spumy wrack there emergeda shape vague and indistinct and ghostly, but taking on instantly thesharpened outlines of one they recognized. It was the shape, not of VidaMonte, the fabled wrecker of lives, but the shape of her other self, Sarah Glassman, and the face it wore was not the face of the stagevampire, aflame with the counterfeited evil which the actor woman had sowell known how to simulate but the real face of the real woman, who laydead and buried under a mound of fresh-cut sods seventy miles away--herown face, melancholy and sadly placid, as God had fashioned it for her. 

Out from the filmy umbra it advanced to the center, thus hiding itshalf-naked double writhing in the embrace of the deluded lover, andclearly revealed itself in long sweeping garments of pure white--fitgrave clothes for one lately entombed--with great masses of loosenedblack hair falling like a pall about the passionless brooding face; andnow lifting reproachful eyes, it looked out across the intervening voidof blackness into their staring eyes, and from the folds of the cerementrobes raised a bare arm high as though to forbid a lying sacrilege. Andstood there then as a wraith newly freed from the burying mold, fillingand dominating the picture so that one looking saw nothing else save theshrouded figure and the head and the face and those eyes and that upheldwhite arm. 

Cowering low in his seat with a sleeve across his eyes to shut out theaccusing apparition, Mr. Geltfin whispered between chattering teeth: "Itold him! I told him the dead could maybe come back!"

Mr. Quinlan, a bolder nature but even so terribly shaken, was mutteringto himself: "But it wasn't in the negative! I swear to God it wasn't inthe negative!"

It is probable that Mr. Lobel heard neither of them, or if he heard hegave no heed. He had a feeling that the darkness was smothering him. 

"Shut off the machine!" he roared as he wrenched his body free of thesnug opera chair in which he sat. "And turn on the lights in thisroom--quick! And let me out of here--quick!"

Lunging into the darkness he stumbled over Appel's legs and tumbledheadlong out into the narrow aisle. On all fours as the lights flashedon, he gave in a choking bellow his commands. 

"Burn that print--you hear me, burn it now! And then burn the negativetoo! Quick you burn it, like I am telling you!"

"But, Lobel, I'll swear to the negative!" protested Quinlan, jealouseven in his fright for his own vindication. "If you'll look at theneg--"

"I wouldn't touch it for a million dollars!" roared Lobel. "Burn it up, I tell you! And bury the ashes!"

Still choking, still bellowing, he scrambled to his feet, an ungainlyembodiment of mortal agitation, and ran for the door. But Mr. Geltfinbeat him to it and through it, Quinlan and Appel following in the ordernamed. 

Outside their chief fell up against a wall, panting and wheezing forbreath, his face swollen and all congested with purple spots. Theythought he was about to have a stroke or a seizure of some sort. Butthey were wrong. This merely was Nature's warning to a man with a sizeseventeen neckband and a forty-six-inch girth measurement. The stroke hewas to have on the following day. 

Probably Quinlan and Geltfin as experienced business men should haveknown better than to come bursting together into the office of a stoutmiddle-aged man who so lately had suffered a considerable nervous shockand still was unstrung; and having after such unseemly fashion burst in, then to blurt out their tidings in concert without first by soft andsoothing words preparing their hearer's system to receive the tidingsthey bore. But themselves, they were upset by what they just had learnedand so perhaps may be pardoned for a seeming unthoughtfulness. Bothspeaking at once, both made red of face and vehement by mingled emotionsof rage and chagrin, each nourishing a perfectly natural and humandesire to place the blame for a catastrophe on shoulders other thantheir own two pairs, they sought to impart the tale they brought. Ensuedfor an exciting moment a baffling confusion of tongues. 

"It was that Josephson done it--the mousy little sneak!"

These words became intelligible as Quinlan, exerting his superior vocalpowers, dinned out the sputtering inarticulate accents of Geltfin. 

"He fixed it so that you'd spill the beans, Lobel! He fixed TheShe-Demon--Josephson. And me trusting him!

"How should I be knowing that all this time him and that girl wassecretly engaged to be married? How should I be knowing that he wouldfind out for himself the day after the funeral that she was dead and yetnever say a word about it? How should I be knowing that he would haveall tucked away somewhere a roll of film showing her dressed up like amadonna or a saint or a martyr or a ghost or something which he tookprivately one time when they was out together on location--slipping awaywith her and taking 'em without nobody knowing about it? How should I beknowing that without tipping his hand he would cook up the idea to worka slick fake on you, Lobel, and scare you into killing off the wholething? How should I be knowing that while he was on the printing machineall by himself the other night that he would work the old doubleexposure stunt and throw such a scare into you in the projecting roomyesterday?"

By reason of his valvular resources Mr. Quinlan might shout louder thanGeltfin. But he could not shout louder than Mr. Lobel. Nobody in thatsection of Southern California could. Mr. Lobel outblared him:

"How should you be knowing? You come now and ask me that when all alongit was you that had the swell idee to stick him into the laboratory allby himself where he could play some funny business? You!"

"But it was you, Lobel, that wouldn't listen to me when I begged you towait and not burn up the negative. I tried to tell you that the negativewas O. K. When I'd seen it run off. "

"You told me? It's a lie!"

"Sure I told you! Geltfin remembers my telling you, don't you, Geltfin?You're an old bird, Lobel--you ought to know by now about retouching anddoctoring and all. You know how easy it is to slip over a doubleexposure. But it was only the sample print that was doctored. Thenegative was all right, but you wouldn't listen. "

"That's right too, Lobel!" shrilled Geltfin. "I heard him when he yelledout to you that you should wait!"

Quinlan amplified the indictment. 

"Sure he heard me--and so did you! But no, you had to lose your nerveand lose your head just because you'd had a scare throwed into you. "

"I never lose my head! I never lose my nerve!" denied Mr. Lobel. Heturned the counter tide of recriminations on Geltfin. 

"Anyhow, --it was you started it, Geltfin--you in the first place, righthere in this room, with your craziness about the dead coming back. Onlyfor your fool talk I would never have had the idee of a ghost at all. And now--now when the cow is all spilt milk you two come and--"

"Oh, but Lobel, " countered Geltfin, "remember you was the one that made'em burn up the negative without giving it a look at all!"

"He said it, Lobel!" reënforced Quinlan. "You was the one that justwould have the negative burned up whether or no. And now it's burnedup!"

Mr. Lobel was not used to being bullied in his own office or elsewhere. If there was bullying to be done by anyone, he was his own candidatealways. Surcharged with distracting regrets as he was, he had aninspiration. He would turn the flood of accusation away from himself. 

"Where is that Josephson?" he whooped. "He is the one actually to blame, not us. Let me get my hands on that Josephson once!"

"You can't!" jeered Quinlan. "He's quit--he's gone--he's beat it! Hewrote me a note, though, and mailed it back to me when he was beating itout of town, telling me to tell you how slick he'd worked it on you. " Hefelt in his pockets. "I got that note here somewhere--here it is. I'llread it to you, Lobel--he calls you an old scoundrel in one place and anold sucker in another. "

"Look out--catch him, Quinlan!" cried Mr. Geltfin. "Look at hisface--he's fixing to faint or something. "

The prime intent of this recital, as set forth at the beginning, was totell why Mr. Max Lobel had an attack of apoplexy. That original purposehaving been now carried out, there remains nothing more to be added andthe chapter ends. 

CHAPTER VIII

ALAS, THE POOR WHIFFLETIT!

Over Jefferson Poindexter's usually buoyant spirits a fabric of gloom, black, thick, and heavy, was spread like a burying-pall. His thoughtswere the color of twelve o'clock at night at the bottom of a coal-mineand it the dark of the moon. Moroseness crowned his brow; sorrow berodehis soul, and on his under lip the bull-bat, that eccentric bird whichhas to sit lengthwise of the limb, might have perched with room tospare. You couldn't see the ointment for the flies, and Gilead had goneout of the balm business. There was a reason. The reason was OpheliaStubblefield. 

On an upturned watering-piggin alongside Mittie May's stall in thestable back of the house, Jeff sat and just naturally gloomed. To thisretreat he had been harried against his will. Out of her domain, whichwas the kitchen, Aunt Dilsey had driven him with words barbed andbitter. 

"Tek yo'se'f on 'way f'um yere, black boy!" Such had been her command. "Me, I's plum distracted an' wore out jes' f'um lookin' at you settin''round sullin' lak a' ole possum. Ef Satan fine some labor still furidle hands to do, same ez de Holy Word say he do, he suttinly must bestedyin' 'bout openin' up a branch employmint agency fur cullid only, 'specially on yore account. You ain't de Grand President of de Order ofde Folded Laigs, tho' you shorely does ack lak it. You's s'posed to bedoin' somethin' fur yore keep an' wages. H'ist yo'se'f an' move. "

"I ain't doin' nothin'!" Jeff protested spiritlessly. 

"Dat you ain't!" agreed Aunt Dilsey. "An' whut you better do is betterdo somethin'--tha's my edvices to you. S'posin' ole boss-man came backyere to dis kitchen an' ketch you 'cumberin' de earth de way you is. Youknows, well ez I does, w'ite folks suttinly does hate to see a strappin'nigger settin' 'round doin' nothin'. "

"Boss-man ain't yere, " said Jeff. "He's up at the cote-house. Mos'doubtless jes' about right now he's sendin' some flippy cullid woman tothe big jail fur six months fur talkin' too much 'bout whut don'tconcern her. "

"Is tha' so?" she countered. "Well, ef he should come back home he'llfind one of de most fragrant cases of vagromcy he ever run acrost rightyere 'pon his own household premises. Boy, is you goin' move, lak Ipatiently is warned you, or ain't you? Git on out yander to de stablean' confide yo' sorrows to de Jedge's old mare. Mebbe she mout be ableto endure you, but you p'intedly gives me de fidgits. Git--befo' Istarts findin' out ef dat flat haid of yourn fits up smooth ag'inst deback side of a skillit. "

Nervously she fingered the handle of her largest frying-pan. Jeff knewthe danger-signals. Too deeply sunken in melancholy to venture anyfurther retorts, he withdrew himself, seeking sanctuary in the lee ofMittie May. He squatted upon the capsized keeler, automaticallybalancing himself as it wabbled under him on its one projecting handle, and, with his eyes fixed on nothing, gave himself over unreservedly to aconsuming canker. For all that unhappiness calked his ears as withpledgets of cotton wool, there presently percolated to his aloofunderstanding the consciousness that somebody was speaking on the otherside of the high board fence which marked the dividing line betweenJudge Priest's place and the Enders' place next door. Listlessly heidentified the voice as the property of the young gentleman from upNorth who was staying with his kinsfolk, the Enders family. This was agentleman already deeply admired by Jeff at long distance for thesprightliness of his wardrobe and for his gay and gallus ways. Againsthis will--for he craved to be quite alone with his griefs and nodistracting influences creeping in--Jeff listened. Listening, he heardlanguage of such splendor as literally to force him to rise up andapproach the fence and apply his eye to a convenient cranny between twowhitewashed boards. 

Under an Injun-cigar tree which grew in the Enders' back yard thefascinating visitor out of Northern parts was stretched in a hammock, between draws on a cigarette discoursing grandiloquently to ahalf-incredulous but wholly delighted audience of three. His three smallnephews were hunkered on the earth beside him, their grinning facesupturned to his the while he dealt first with this and then with thatvariety of curious fauna which, he alleged, were to be encountered inthe wilds of a strange place called the State of Rhode Island, where, itseemed, he had spent the greater part of an adventurous and crowdedyouth. 

"Well, " he was saying now, beginning, as it were, a new chapter, "if youthink the sulfur-crested parabola is a funny bird you should hear aboutthe great flannel-throated golosh, or arctic bird of the polar seas, which is a creature so rare that nobody ever saw one, although Dr. Cook, the imminent ex-explorer, made an exhaustive study of its habits andpeculiarities and told the King of Denmark about them, afterwardamplifying his remarks on the subject in the lecture which he deliveredin this, his native land, under the auspices of the InternationalSchool of Poor Fish. By the way, I'm sure the Doctor must have visitedthis town on his tour. Only yesterday, I think it was, I saw anilluminated sign down on Franklin Street which surely was usedoriginally to advertise his lecture. It was a sign which said, 'CookWith Gas!' But speaking of fish, I am reminded of the fur-bearingwhiffletit; only some authorities say the whiffletit is not a fish atall, but a subspecies of the wampus family. Now, the wampus--"

"Say, tell us about the whiffletit next, " begged one wrigglingyoungster, plainly allured by the sound of the name. 

"With pleasure, " said the speaker. "The whiffletit is found only instreams running in a south-northerly direction. This is because thewhiffletit, being a sensitive creature with poor vision, insists onhaving the light falling over its left shoulder at all times. A creek, river, inlet, or estuary which has a wide mouth and a narrow head, suchas a professional after-dinner speaker has, is a favorite haunt for thewhiffletit. To the naturalist it is a constant source of joy. It alwaysswims backward upstream, to keep the water out of its eyes, and it hasonly one fin, which grows just under its chin, so that the whiffletitcan fan itself in warm weather, thus keeping cool, calm, and collected. Most marvelous thing of all about this marvelous creature is its diet. For the whiffletit, my dear young friends, lives exclusively on importedBrie cheese. 

"Did I say exclusively? Ah, there I fell into error. It has been knownto nibble at a chiropodist's finger, but it prefers imported Briecheese, aged in the wood. The mode employed in catching it is veryinteresting, and I shall now describe it to you. Selecting a body ofwater wherein the whiffletit resides, you enter a round-bottomed boatand row out to the middle of it. Then you take a square timber, and, driving it into the water, withdraw it very swiftly so as to leave asquare hole in the water. Care should be taken to use a perfectly squaretimber because the whiffletit being, as I forgot to tell you, shapedlike a brick, cannot move up and down a round hole without barking itsshins, much to the discomfort of the pretty creature. 

"Pray follow me closely now, for at this juncture we come to the mostimportant phase of the undertaking. You bait the edges of the hole withthe cheese cut in small cubes and quietly await results. Nor do you havelong to wait. Far down below in his watery retreat the whiffletitcatches the alluring aroma of the cheese. He swims to the surface anddevours it to the last crumb. But alas for the greedy whiffletit!Instantly the cheese swells him up so that he cannot change gears norretreat back down the hole, and as he circles about, flappinghelplessly, you lean over the side of the boat and laugh him to death!And such, my young friends, such is the fate of the whiffletit. "

"'Scuse me, suh. "

The amateur aspirant for the robe of Munchausen paused from lighting afresh cigarette and lifted his eyes, and was aware of ananthracite-colored face risen, like some new kind of crayoned full moon, above the white skyline of the side fence. 

"'Scuse me, suh, fur interruptin', " repeated the voice belonging to theapparition, "but I couldn't he'p frum overhearin' whut you wuz tellin'the boys yere. An' I got sort of interested myse'f. "

"It's Judge Priest's Jeff, Uncle Dwight, " explained the oldest nephew. "Jeff makes us fluttermills out of corn-stalks, and he learnedus--taught us, I mean--to call a brickbat an alley-apple, and he canmake his ears wiggle just like a rabbit and everything. Don't you, Jeff?--I mean, can't you, Jeff?"

"Ah, I see, " said the fabulist with a wink aside for Jeff's benefit. "Iam indeed delighted to make the acquaintance of one thus gifted, evenunder the present informal circumstances. In what way, if any, may I beof service to you, Judge Priest's Jeff?"

"That air thing you named the whiffletit--near ez I made out you said, boss, that fust you tolled him up to whar you wanted him wid cheese an''en you jest natchelly laffed him to death?"

"Such are the correct facts accurately repeated, Judge Priest's Jeff, "gravely assented this affable faunalist. 

"Yas, suh, " said Jeff. "D'ye s'pose now, boss, it would he'p any efthey wuz a whole passel of folks to do the laffin' 'stid of jes' one?"

"Beyond the peradventure of a doubt. Concerted action on the part ofmany, guffawing merrily in chorus, assuredly would hasten the death ofthe ill-starred victim, if you get what I mean, Judge Priest's mostestimable Jeff?"

"Yas, suh, " said Jeff. "Thanky, suh. " He did not exactly smile histhanks, but the mask of his melancholy crinkled round the edges andraised slightly. One who knew Jeff, and more particularly one who hadbeen cognizant of his depressed state during the past fortnight, wouldhave said that a heartening thought suddenly had come to him, lighteningand lifting in ever so small a degree the funereal mantlings. He made asthough to withdraw from sight. A gesture from the visiting naturalistdetained him. 

"One moment, " said Uncle Dwight. "Might I, a comparative stranger, bepardoned for inquiring into the motives underlying the interest you haveevinced in my perhaps poorly expressed but veracious narration?"

The wraith of Jeff's grin took on flesh visibly. It was a pleasure--evento one beset by grievous perplexities--it was a pleasure to hear suchnoble big words fall thus trippingly from human lips. His answer, tho, was in a measure evasive, not to say cryptic. 

"I wuz jes' stedyin', tha's all, suh, " he fenced. He ducked from view, then bobbed his head up again. 

"'Scuse me, suh, but they is one mo' thing I craves to ast you. "

"Proceed, I pray you. Our aim is to please and instruct. "

"Well, suh, I jes' wanted to ast you ef you ever run acrost one of theseyere whiffletits w'ich played on the jazzin'-valve?"

"Prithee?"

"Naw, suh, not the prith--prith--whut you jes' said. I mentioned thejazzin'-valve--whut some folks calls the saxophone. D'ye reckin theymout' 'a' been a whiffletit onct 'at played on one?"

"Oh, the saxophone! Well, as to that I could not with certainty speak. But, mark you, the whiffletit is a creature of infiniteresources--versatile, abounding in quaint conceits and whimsies, and, having withal a wide repertoire. Sometimes its repertoire is twice aswide as it is, thus producing a peculiar effect when the whiffletit isviewed from behind. On second thought, I have no doubt that in theprivacy of its subterranean fireside the whiffletit wiles away thetedium of the long winter evenings by playing on the saxophone. "

"Come on over, Jeff, and Uncle Dwight will tell us some more, " urged thehospitable oldest nephew. 

But Jeff had vanished. He wished to be alone for the working out of aproject as yet vague and formless, but having a most definite object tobe attained. Stimulated by hope new-born, he was now a sort of twelfthcarbon-copy of the regular Jeff--faint, perhaps, and blurry, butrecognizable. Through the clouds which encompassed him the faint promiseof a rift was apparent. 

By rights one would have said that Jeff had no excuse for hiding in ashadowed hinterland at all. The world might have been excused for itsfailure to plumb the underlying causes which roiled the waters of hissoul. Seemingly the currents of life ran for him in agreeable channels. He had an indulgent employer whose clothes fitted Jeff. Indeed, anybody's clothes fitted Jeff. He had one of those figures which seem togive and take. He was well nourished, gifted conversationally, of animble wit, resourceful, apt. Moreover, home-grown watermelons wereripe. The Eighth of August, celebrated in these parts by the race asEmancipation Day, impended. The big revival--the biggest and mosttremendously successful revival in his people's local history--was infull swing at the Twelfth Ward tabernacle, affording thrill andentertainment every week-night and thrice on Sundays. 

There never had been such a revival; probably there never would beanother such. Justifiably, the pastor of Emmanuel Chapel took credit tohimself that he had planted the seed which at this present time sogloriously yielded harvest. Theretofore his chief claim to publicattention had rested upon the sound of the name he wore. He had beenborn a Shine and christened a Rufus. But to him the name of Rufus Shinehad seemed lacking in impressiveness and euphony for use by one aboutentering the ministry. Thanks to the ingenuity of a white friend who wasaddicted to puns and plays upon words, the defect had been cured. As theRev. A. Risen Shine he bore a name which fitted its bearer and itsbearer's calling--at once it was a slogan and a testimony, a trade-markand a watch-cry. 

Proudly now he walked the earth, broadcasting the favor of his smile onevery side. For it had been he who divined that the times were ripe forthe importation of that greatest of all exhorting evangelists of hisdenomination, the famous Sin Killer Wickliffe, of Nashville, Tenn. Hishad been the zeal which inspired the congregation to form committees onways and means, on place and time, on finance; his, mainly, the energybehind the campaign for subscriptions which filled the war-chest. Asresident pastor, chief promotor, and general manager of the project, hehad headed the delegation which personally waited upon the great man athis home and extended the invitation. Almost immediately, upon learningthat the amount of his customary guaranty already had been raised anddeposited in bank, the Rev. Wickliffe felt that he had a call to comeand labor, and he obeyed it. He brought with him his entireorganization--his private secretary, his treasurer, his musicaldirector. For, mind you, the Sin Killer had borrowed a page from thebook of certain distinguished revivalists of a paler skin-pigmentationthan his. As the saying goes among the sinful, he saw his Caucasianbrethren and went them one better. His musical director was not only aninstrumentalist but a composer as well. He adapted, he wrote, heoriginated, he improvised, he interpolated, he orchestrated, he played. As one inspired, this genius played the saxophone. 

Now, in the world at large the saxophone has its friends and its foes. Its detractors agree that the late Emperor Nero was a maligned man;cruel, perhaps, in some of his aspects, but not so cruel as has beenmade out in the case against him. It was a fiddle he played while Romeburned--it might have been a saxophone. But to the melody-loving heartof the black race in our land the mooing tones of this long-waisted, dark-complected horn carry messages as of great joy. It had remained, though, for the resourceful Rev. Wickliffe to prove that it might bemade to fill a nobler and a higher destiny than setting the feet of theyoung men to dancing and the daughters to treading the syncopatedpathways of the ungodly. Discerning this by a sort of higher intuition, he had thrown himself into the undertaking of luring the most expertsaxophone performer of his acquaintance away from the flaunting tents ofthe transgressor and herding him into the fold of the safely regenerate. He succeeded. He saved Cephus Fringe, plucking him up as a brand fromthe burning, to remold him into a living torch fitted to light the wayfor others. 

Of Cephus it might be said, paraphrasing the lines about little dogRover, that when he was saved he was saved all over. Being redeemed, hestraightway disbanded his orchestra. He tore up his calling-cardreading, +-----------------------------------------+ | PROFESSOR CEPHUS FRINGE ESQUIRE | | THE ANGLO-SAXOPHONE KING | | Address: Care Champey's Barber-Shop | |SOLE PROPRIETOR FRINGE'S ALL-STAR TROUPE | +-----------------------------------------+

He enlisted under the militant banners and on the personal staff of theSin Killer. Amply then was the prior design of his new commanderjustified. For if it was the eloquence, the magnetism, the compellingforce of the revivalist which brought the penitents shouting down thetan-bark trail to the mourner's bench, it was the harmonious crooningsof Prof. Fringe as he conducted the introductory program--now renderingas a solo his celebrated original composition, "The Satan Blues, " nowleading the special choir--which psychologically paved the way for thegreater scene to follow after. There was distress in the devil'sglebe-lands when this pair struck their proper stride--first theFringian outpourings harmoniously exalting the spirits of the assemblageand then the exhorters tying his hands to the Gospel plow and drivingdown into the populous valleys of sin, there to furrow and harrow, tosow and tend, to garner and glean. 

The team had struck its stride early at the protracted meeting socompetently fostered by the resident pastor of Emmanuel Chapel, the Rev. A. Risen Shine. To himself, as already stated, the latter took pridefulcredit for results achieved and results promised. Well he might. Alreadyhundreds of converts had come halleluiahing through; hundreds moreteetered and swayed, back and forth, between doubt and conviction, readyat a touch to fall like the ripe and sickled grain in the lap of thehusbandman. Wavering brethren had been fortified and were made stalwartagain. Confirmed backsliders rubbed their wayward feet in the resin offaith and were boosted up the treacherous skids of their temptation andover the citadel walls to bask among the chosen in a Jericho City ofrepentance. Proselytes from other and hostile creeds trooped over withhosannas and loud outcries of rejoicing. Even the place where, eachevening, the triumph of the preceding evening was repeated and amplifiedseemed appropriate for such scenes. For the Twelfth Ward tabernacle hadnot always been a tabernacle; it had been a tobacco-warehouse--but itwas converted. And its present chief ornament, next only to the SinKiller himself--indeed, its chiefest ornament of all in the estimationof impressionable younger unmarried female members--was Prof. CephusFringe. 

At thought of him and of this, Jeff Poindexter, reperched on his wabblypiggin, wove his furrowed brow into a closer and more intricate patternof cordial dislike. For if the main reason of his unhappiness wasOphelia Stubblefield, the secondary reason and principal contributorycause was this same Cephus Fringe. Ophelia's favorite letter may nothave been F, but it should have been. She was fair, fickle, fawn-toned, flirty, flighty, and frequently false. Jeff cast back in his mind. Hecertainly had had his troubles since he became permanently engaged toOphelia. For instance, there had been her affair with that ferociousrazor-wielder Smooth Crumbaugh. In this matter the fortuitous returnfrom the dead of Red Hoss Shackleford, as skilfully engineered by Jeff, had broken up Red Hoss's own memorial services, had also operated toscare Smooth Crumbaugh clean out of Colored Odd Fellows' Hall and leavethe fainting Ophelia in the rescuing arms of Jeff. But there had beenhalf a dozen other affairs, each of such intensity as temporarily toundermine Jeff's peace of mind. Between spells of infatuations forattractive strangers, she accepted Jeff's devotions. The trouble was, though, that life, with Ophelia, seemed to be just one infatuation afteranother. And now, to cap all, she had suffered herself, nay, offeredherself, to fall thrall to the dashing personality and the variedaccomplishments of this Fringe person. It was this entanglement whichfor two weeks past had made Jeff, her official 'tween-times fiancé, aprey to carking cares and dark forebodings. 

Hourly and daily the situation, from Jeff's point of view, had grownmore desperate as Ophelia's passion for the fascinating sojourner grew. He had even lost his relish for victuals which, with Jeff, was indeed aserious sign. In long periods of self-imposed solitude he had devisedand discarded as hopeless various schemes for bringing discomfiture uponhis latest and most dangerous rival. For a while he had thought somehow, somewhere, to rake up proofs of the interloper's former wild andreckless life. But of what avail to do that?

By his own frank avowal the Professor had had a spangled past; had beenan adventurer and a wanton, a wandering minstrel bard; had even been injail. This background of admitted transgressions, now that he was socompletely reformed and reclaimed, merely made him an all-the-moreattractive figure in the eyes of those to whom he offered confession. Again, Jeff had trifled with a vague design of taunting Fringe into aquarrel and beating him up something scandalous. To this end hetentatively had approached our leading exponent of the art ofself-defense and our most dependable sporting authority, one Mr. JerryDitto. 

Mr. Ditto had grown out of a clerkship at Gus Neihiem's cigar-store intothe realm of fistiana. As a shadow-boxer he excelled; as a bag-puncheralso. But in an incautious hour for himself and his backer, Flash Purdy, owner of Purdy's Dixieland Bar, he had permitted himself to be enteredfor a match before an athletic club at Louisville against one MaxSchorrer, a welter-weight appearing professionally under the _nom depuge_ of Slugging Fogarty. It was to have been a match of twelve rounds, but early in the second round Mr. Ditto suddenly lost all consciousinterest in the proceedings. 

He retired from the ring after this with a permanent lump on the pointof his jaw and a profound conviction that the Lord had made a mistakeand drowned the wrong crowd that time at the Red Sea. He fitted up agymnasium in the old plow factory and gave instructions in sparring tothe youth of the town. Naturally, his patronage was all-white, but heoffered to take Jeff on for a few strictly private lessons at nightprovided Jeff would promise not to tell anybody about it. But at lastthe prospective client drew back. His ways were the ways of peace anddiplomacy. Why depart from them? And, anyhow, this Cephus Fringe was sodog-goned sinewy-looking. Playing a saxophone ought to give a man windand endurance. If not knocked cold in the first onslaught he mightbecome seriously antagonized toward Jeff. 

But now, in the sportive fablings of the young white gentleman from upNorth who was visiting the Enders family, he had found a clue to what hesought. The difficult point, though, was to evolve the plan for the plotnebulously floating about in his brain; for while he envisaged thedelectable outcome, the scheme of procedure was as yet entirely withoutform and substance. It was as though he looked through a tunnel under ahill. At the far end he beheld the sunlight, but all this side of it wasutter darkness. Seeking to pluck inspiration out of the air, his rovingeye fell upon the dappled rump of Mittie May as she stood in her stallplacidly munching provender, and with that, _bang_! inspiration hit himspang between the eyes. 

To look on her, ruminative, ewe-like, fringed of fetlock and deliberatein her customary amblings, you would never have reckoned Mittie May tobe a mare with a past. But such was the case. Her youth had been spentin travel over the continent with a tented caravan; in short, a circus. Her broad flat top-side, her dependable gait, her amiable disposition, her color--white with darkish half-moons on shoulder and flank--allthese admirably had fitted her for the ring. When, long years before, Hooper's wagon-shows came to grief in our town Mittie May had beenseized by Farrell Brothers to satisfy an unpaid hay-bill. 

Through her sobering maturer years she had passed from one set of handsto another, until finally, in her declining days, she found asylum inthe affectionate ownership of Judge Priest, with Jeff to curry her fatsides and no more arduous labor to perform than occasionally to draw theJudge about from place to place in his ancient shovel-topped buggy. About her now there was naught to suggest the prancing rozin-back sheonce had been; the very look of her eye conjured up images of simplepastoral scenes--green meadows and purling brooks. 

But let a certain signal be sounded and on top of that let a certain airbe played and Mittie May, instantly losing that air she had of avenerable and dignified sheep, became a Mittie May transformed; a MittieMay reverted to another and more feverish time; a Mittie May stirred byolden memories to nightmarish performances. By chance once Jeff hadhappened upon her secret, and now, all in one illuminating flash, recalling the conditions governing this discovery, he gave vent to a lowanticipatory chuckle. It was the first chuckle he had uttered in afortnight, and this one was edged with a sinister portent. He had hisidea now. He had at hand the agency for bringing the scheme to fruition. But yet there remained much of preliminary detail to be worked out. Hisplan still was like a fine-toothed comb which has seen hard usage in awiry thatch--there were wide gaps between its prongs. 

Jeff gave himself over to sustained thought. He made calculationscalendar-wise. This was the first day of August; the eighth, therefore, was but seven short days removed. This plot of his seemed to resemble anumber of things. It was like a piece of pottery, too. First the plasticclay must be assembled, then the vessel itself turned from it; finallythe completed product must be given time to harden before it would beready for use. He must move fast but warily. 

To begin with, now, he must create a setting of plausibility for therôle he meant, in certain quarters, to essay; must dress the character, as it were, in its correct housings and provide just the right touchesof local color. Ready at hand was Aunt Dilsey; he would make her, unwittingly so far as she kenned, a supporting member of the cast. Shewould never know it, but she would play an accessory part, small butimportant, in his prologue. 

Five minutes later she lifted her eyebrows in surprise. As he reinsertedhimself halfway across the portals of the realm where she queened it hisrecent moroseness was quite gone from him. About him now was thesuggestion, subtly conveyed, that here stood one who, after profoundcogitation, had found out what ailed him and, by the finding out, wasfilled with a gentle, chastened satisfaction. He seated himself on thekitchen door-step, facing outward so that comparative safety might beattained with a single flying leap did her uncertain temper, flaring upsuddenly, lead her to acts of hostility before he succeeded in winningher over. He uttered a long-drawn sigh, then sat a minute in silence. Insilence, too--a suspicious, menacing silence--she glared at him. 

"Aunt Dilsey, " he ventured, speaking over his shoulder, with his faceaverted from her, "mebbe you been noticin' yere lately I seemed kind ofdowncasted an' shiftless, lak ez ef I had a mood on me?"

"Has I noticed it?" she repeated--"huh!" The punctuating grunt wasnon-committal. It might mean nothing; it might mean anything. 

He cleared his throat and went on, "An', mebbe--I ain't sayin' you actually is; I's sayin' it with amebbe--mebbe you been marvelin' in yore mind whut it wuz w'ich pesteredme an' made me ack so kind of no-'count?"

"I ain't needin' to marvel, " she stated coldly. "I knows. Laziness! Jes'pyure summer-time nigger laziness, wid a rich streak of meanness th'owedin. "

"Nome, you is wrong, " he corrected her gently. "You is wrong there. 'Ca'se likewise an' furthermo' I also is been off my feed--ain't that asign to you?"

"Sign of a tapeworm, I 'spects. "

"Don't say that, please, Ma'am, " he humbly pleaded. "You speakin' insich a way meks me 'most discouraged to confide in you whut I aims toconfide in you. I'm tellin' it to you the fust one, too. 'Tain't nary'nother soul heared it. Aunt Dilsey, I's grateful to you in my heart, honest I is, fur runnin' me 'way frum yore presence yere jes' a littlew'ile ago. You never knowed it at the time--I didn't s'picion it alsoneither--but you done me a favor. 'Ca'se settin' out yonder in thestable all alone and ponderin' deep, all of a sudden somethin' jes' comeright over me an' I knowed whut's been the matter wid me lately. AuntDilsey, I's felt the quickenin' tech. "

"Better fur you ef somebody made you feel de quickenin' buggy-whup. "

He disregarded the brutal suggestion. 

"Yessum, I's felt the quickenin' tech. Ez you doubtless full well knows, I ain't been 'tendin' much 'pon the big revival. But even so--even an'evermo' so--the influence frum it done stretch fo'th its hand an' reachme. I ain't sayin' I's plum won over yit, but 'way down deep insides ofme I's stirred--yessum, tha's the word--stirred. I ain't sayin' thespirit of grace is actually th'owed me, but I feel prone to say I thinksit's fixin' to rassle wid me. I ain't sayin' I stands convicted, but Iaims to be a searcher fur the truth; I aims to stop, look, an' lissen. Iain't sayin'--" He broke off, the floods of his imagery dammed by theskeptical eye which swept him; then made a lame conclusion, "Tha's whutI sez, Ma'am, to you in strict confidences. "

"Den lemme say somethin' to you. You figgers it's salvation you needs, huh? I figgers it's vermifuge. Oh, I knows you, boy--I knows you f'um degrass-roots up. Still an' wid all dat, ef you should crave to mend yo'ways--an' de Heavens above knows dey kin stand a heap of mendin'!--Iain't gwine be de one to hender you. "

Against her better judgment her tone was softening. For she gave herallegiance unrestrainedly to the doctrine preached at Emmanuel Chapel. She was one of its stanch pillows. Indeed, it might be said of her thatshe was one of its plumpest bolsters; and Jeff, although admittedly ofno religious persuasion, had grown up in the shadow of a differingcreed. The winning over of the black ram of another fold would be agreater victory than the reclamation of any wandering sheep who had beenreared as a true believer. 

"Well, boy, " she went on, in this new mood, "let us hope an' pray dat inyore case dey's yit hope. De ways of de Almighty is pas' findin' out. Fur do not de Scriptures say dey's room fur both man an' beast?--de maidservant an' de man servant, de ox an' de ass, dey all may enter in? Sodey mout be a skimsy, bare chanct fur sech even ez you is. One thingshore--ef dey's ary grain of contritefulness in yore soul, trust de SinKiller to fetch it fo'th to de light of day. He's de ole fambly doctorw'en it come to dat kind of sickness. You go to dat tabernickle to-nightan' you keep on goin' an' le's see whut come to pass. .. . Jeffy, dey's alittle mossil of cold peach cobbler lef over f'um dinner yistiddysettin' up yonder amongst de shelfs of my cu'board!"

"Nome, thank you, " said Jeff. "The emotions w'ich is in me seems lakthey ain't left me no room fur nothin' else. Seems lak I can't git mymind on vittles yit. But I shore aims to be at the tabernickle to-night, Aunt Dilsey--I means, Sist' Dilsey. You jes' watch me. Tha's all I astsof you now--jes' watch me!"

Head down and shoulders hunched, in the manner of one harkening to innervoices, Jeff betook himself around the corner of the back porch. Onceout of her sight, though, he flung from him his mien of absorption. Theoverture had been rendered; there remained much to be done before thecurtain rose. The languorous shade invited one to tarry and rest, butJeff breasted the sunshine, going hither and yon upon his errands. Backof a cabin on Plunket's Hill he had private conference with one GumboRollins, by profession a carnival concessionaire and purveyor ofamusements in a small way. No cash actually changed hands, but on Jeff'spart there was a promise of moneys to be paid in the event of certainas-yet-problematical contingencies. 

Next he sought for and, at the Bleeding Heart restaurant, found a limberindividual named Tecumseh Sherman Glass, called Cump for short. ThisTecumseh Sherman Glass was a person of two trades and one outstandingtrait. By day a short-order cook, by night he played in 'GustusHillman's Colored String Band. It is to be marked down in the reader'smemory that the instrument he played was the saxophone; also that he washeavily impregnated with that form of professional jealousy which lurksin the souls of so many _artistes_; likewise that he was a member infair standing of the Rev. A. Risen Shine's congregation, and, finally, that he was a born meddler in other folks' affairs. These facts allshould be borne in mind; they have their value. 

With Tecumseh Sherman Glass, Jeff spent some time in a confidentialexchange of words. Here, again, the matter of a subsequent financialreward, to be paid by the party of the first part, meaning Jeff, to theparty of the second part, meaning Cump, following the satisfactoryoutcome of sundry developments, was arranged. Would there were space totell how cunningly, how craftily Jeff, in the subtleties marking thisinterview, played upon three chords in the other's being--the chord ofvengeful envy, the chord of malice, the chord of avarice. There is notspace. 

Four o'clock found the plotter entering the parlor of what once hadbeen the establishment of T. Marshall, undertaker, now the Elite ColoredFuneral Home, Marshall & Kivil, proprietors. These transformations haddated from the time Percy C. Kivil (Tuskegee '18) entered the firm. Herewas no plain undertaker. Here was an expert and a graduate mortician, with diploma to prove it; also one gifted of the pen. Two inscriptionsdone in flowing type hung on the wall. One of these inscriptions read:

 Oh, Death, where is thy sting When we officiates? Embalming done attentively At standard pre-war rates. 

And the other:

 Blest be the tie that binds! Tho death thy form may shake. Call in a brother of thy race And let him undertake!

At a desk between these two decorative objects and half shadowed by thebright-green fronds of a large artificial palm, sat Æsop Loving, son-in-law of the senior partner. From his parent-by-marriage Æsop hadborrowed desk-room for the carrying on of the multitudinous businessrelating to the general management of one of the celebrations projectedin honor, and on account of, the Eighth of August. He might appear to beabsorbed in important details, as he now did. But inside of him he wasnot happy and Jeff knew the reasons; the reasons were common rumor. This year there was to be more than one celebration; there were to betwo; and the opposition, organizing secretly and stealing a march onthat usually wide-awake person, Æsop, had rented Belt Line Park, thusforcing Æsop's crowd to make a poor second choice of the oldshow-grounds, a treeless common away out near the end of TennesseeStreet. On top of this and in an unexpected quarter, even moreformidable competition was foreshadowed. A scant eighth of a miledistant from the show-lot and on the same thoroughfare stood the TwelfthWard tabernacle, and here services would be held both afternoon andevening of the Eighth. The Rev. Wickliffe had so announced, and the Rev. Shine had backed him in the decision. 

It was inevitable, with this surpassing magnet of popular interest sonear at hand, that for every truant convert who might halt to taste ofthe pleasures provided by Æsop Loving and his associate promoters, halfa dozen possible patrons would pass on by and beyond, drawn away by thecompelling power of the Sin Killer's eloquence. Representations had beenmade to the revivalist that, with propriety, he might suspend hisministry for the great day. His answer was the declaration that on theEighth he would preach not merely once, but twice. 

By him and his there would be no temporizing with the powers of evil, however insidiously cloaked. Would not dancing be included in theentertainments planned by these self-seeking laymen who now approachedhim? Would not there be idle sports and vain pastimes calculated toentice the hearts of the populace away from consideration of the welfareof their own souls? Admittedly there would be drinking of soft drinks. And into the advertised softness some hardness assuredly would slip. Youcould not fool the Sin Killer. Having taken a firm stand, his rectitudepresently moved him to further steps. On his behalf it was stated thathe, personally, would lead the elect in triumphant procession outTennessee Street to the tabernacle between the afternoon preaching andthe evening. As an army with banners, the saved, the sober, and theseeking would march past, thus attesting their fealty to the cause whichmoved them. He defied all earthly forces to lure a single one from theranks. 

And, after the preaching, under his auspices, there would be a mightycutting of watermelons for those deemed to be qualified to participatetherein. By the strict tenets of the Rev. Wickliffe's theology it seemedthat watermelons were almost the only luscious things of this carnalworld not held to be potentially or openly sinful. Small wonder thenthat Jeff, jauntily entering the Elite Funeral Home, read traces of anill-concealed distress writ plain upon the face of Æsop Loving. 

"Well, Brother Lovin', you shore does look lak you'd hung yore harp'pon the willer-tree an' wuz fixin' to tek in sorrow fur a livin', " hesaid in greeting. "Cheer yo'se'f up; 'tain't nothin' so worse but whutit mout be worser. "

"Easy fur you to say so, Brother Poindexter; harder fur me to do so, "stated Æsop. "Gallivantin' 'round the way you is, you ain't got no ideaof the aggervations w'ich keeps comin' up in connection wid an occasionsech ez this one, an' mo' 'specially the aggervations w'ich pussonallyafflicts the director-general of the same, w'ich I is him. "

"I been hearin' somethings myse'f, " said Jeff. "Word is come to me, furone thing, that this yere smart-ellicky gang out at the Belt Line Parkis aimin' to try to cut some of the groun' frum under yore feet. Iregrets to hear it. "

"'Tain't them so much, " said Æsop. "We couldn't 'spect to go 'longhavin' a nomopoly furever. Sooner or late they wuz bound to beopposition arisin' up. 'Tain't them so much, although I will say it wuza low-flung trick to tek an' rent that park right out frum under ournoses 'thout givin' us no warnin' so's we mout go an' rent it fu'st. No, hit's the action of that Emmanuel Chapel bunch w'ich gives me the mos'deepest concern. Seems lak ev'ry time that Rev'n' Sin Killer open hismouth I kin feel cold cash crawlin' right out of my pocket. Mind you, Brother Poindexter, I ain't got a word to say ag'in religion. I's strongfur it on Sundays, ez you well knows, but dog-gone religion w'en itcome interferin' wid a pusson's chanct to pick up a little spare changefur hisse'f on a week-day!"

"Spoke lak a true business man, Brother Lovin', " said Jeff. "Still, Ireckin you's mebbe countin' the spoilt eggs 'fore they's all laid. Theway I sees it, you'll do fairly well, nevertheless an' to the contrarynotwithstandin'. Le's see. Ain't you goin' to have the dancin'-paviliongoin' all day?"

"Yas, but--"

"Ain't you goin' to have money rollin' in frum all the snack-stands an'frum the fried-fish privilege an' frum the cane rackits an' frum theknock-the-babies-down an' all?"

"Tubby shore, but--"

"Ain't you due to pick up a right smart frum the kitty of the privatecrap game an' the chuck-a-luck layout?"

"Natchelly. But--"

"Hole on; I ain't th'ough yit. Seems lak to me you ain't properlycounted up yore blessin's a-tall. Ain't the near-beer--" he sank hisvoice discreetly, although there was no one to overhear "ain't thenear-beer an' the _still nearer_ beer goin' fetch you in a right peartlil' income? I'll say they is. An' ain't you goin' do mighty well onyore own account out of yore share of the commission frum GumboRollinses' Flyin' Jinny?"

"Hole on, hole on! How come Gumbo Rollins?"

"W'y tha's all fixed, " stated Jeff. "Gumbo he'll be out there 'foresunup on the 'p'inted day wid his ole Flyin' Jinny an' his olegrind-organ an'--"

"Tain't nothin' fixed, " demurred the astonished and indignant Æsop. "'Tain't nothin' fixed 'thout I fixes it. Ain't I had pestermints 'nufflas' yeah settlin' up, or tryin' to, wid that Rollins? Ain't I told himthen that never ag'in would I--"

"Oh, tha's settled, " announced Jeff soothingly. 

"Who settled it?"

"Me. "

"You?"

"Yas, me--out of pyure frien'ship fur you. Lissen, Brother Lovin', an'give due heed. I comes to you d'rect frum Gumbo Rollins. He's done seenthe error of the way he acked tow'ds you that time. He's cravin' thatall the grudges of the bygone past shall be disremembered. Here's whuthe's goin' to do: He's goin' give yore organization the reg'lar cut, an''pon top of that he's goin' hand you, pussonally an' private, a specialextra five pur cent, on all he teks in; that comes ez a free-willofferin' to you. He's goin' 'bandon his plan to run ez a independintattraction on the Eighth down back of the market-house. He's goin' bewid you heart an' soul an' Flyin' Jinny. All he asts, through me, isthat he kin have the right to set her up on the purtic'lar spot w'ichhe's got in mind out there on them show-ground lots. An' finally an'furthermo' he's done commission me to hand you ten dollars, unbeknownstto anybody, jes' to prove to you that his heart's in the right place an'that he's wishful fur to do the square thing. " He felt in his pockets, producing a crumpled bill. "An' here 'tis!"

Æsop pouched the currency on the flank where he carried his personalfunds before his commercial instinct inspired him to seek out themotives actuating the volunteer peacemaker. Experience had taught him tobeware of Greeks bearing gifts--not of the gifts particularly, but ofthe Greeks. 

"Well, " he said, "ef Gumbo Rollins aims to be honest an' open an'abovebode wid us, w'y that puts a diff'unt face on it. But so fur ez Iheared tell, you an' Gumbo Rollins ain't been so thick ez all this uptill now. I's wonderin' whut does you 'spect to git out of the littletransaction fur yo'se'f? 'Ca'se I gives you warnin' right yere an' nowthat ef you's hopin' to git a split out of me you mout jes' ez well stopdreamin' ary sech a delusion an' become undelirious ag'in. "

"Stop, Brother Lovin', " broke in Jeff in the tone of one aggrieved atbeing unjustly accused. "Has I asted you fur anything? Then wait till Idoes so. "

"All right, " agreed Æsop. "I'll wait till you does so an' w'en you doesso I'll say no, same ez I's already sayin' it to you in advance. Say, boy, you must have yore reasons fur the int'rust you is displayin' indis matter. "

"Whutever 'tis 'taint got nothin' to do wid lurin' no money out of yorepossession, " said Jeff. His voice changed to one of deep gravity. "Brother Lovin', look yere at me. "

He glanced about him, making doubly sure they were alone. He advancedone step and came to a halt; he made his figure rigid and gave first thegrand hailing-sign of the Afro-American Society of Supreme Kings of theUniverse, then the private signal of distress which invokes succor andsupport, and he wound up by uttering the cabalistic words which bind afellow Supreme King in the vows of eternal secrecy on pain of having hisheart cut out of his bosom and burned and the ashes scattered to thefour winds. For his part, Æsop Loving arose and, obeying the ritual, made the proper responses. In a solemn silence they exchanged thesymbolic grip which is reserved only for occasions of emergency andstress and which unites brother to brother in bonds stronger than steel. A moment later Æsop Loving was alone. 

It was not Jeff, the intriguer, who had colleagued with Gumbo Rollinsand conspired with Cump Glass, who came in the evening to the TwelfthWard tabernacle and sought a seat on a bench well up toward the frontwhere he could be fairly conspicuous and yet not too conspicuous;neither was it the persuasive person who had dangled the bait ofprivate profit before the beguiled eyes of Æsop Loving. Rather was itthe serious, self-searching, introspective Jeff, who earlier that dayhad besought counsel and comfort of Aunt Dilsey Turner. He came alone, walking with head bowed as walks one who is wrapped in his own thoughts. He arrived betimes; he remained silent and apart, inwardly communing, one would have said, while the audience rustled in. 

So engrossed was he that he seemed to have no eyes even for Ophelia, whoperched high aloft, the brightest flower in the hanging garden of colorthat banked the tiers of the choir division terracing up behind theplatform. She, in turn, had no eyes for any there save Prof. CephusFringe, who, it should be added, had one eye for Ophelia and the otherfor his own person. Even by those prejudiced in his favor it was not tobe denied that the Professor was, as one might say, passionatelyaddicted to himself. When, with Cephus Fringe accompanying anddirecting, the opening hymn was offered, Ophelia, lifting high hersoprano voice, sang directly at, to, and for him. From the front thisplainly was to be observed; in fact was the subject of whispered commentamong some of Jeff's neighbors. 

As though he heard them not nor saw the byplay, he gave no sign whichmight be interpreted as denoting annoyance or chagrin. There was only afriendly and whole-souled approval in his look when, following thesong, Prof. Fringe rendered--I believe this is the customaryphrase--rendered as a solo on his saxophone one of the compositionsbearing his name as author. There was rapt attention and naught else inhis pose and on his face the while the Rev. Wickliffe, swinging hisscythe of righteousness, mowed for a solid hour in Satan's weedy backyard, so that the penitents fell in a broad swath. 

From her place hard by, Aunt Dilsey vigilantly watched Jeff and was, inspite of herself, convinced of his sincerity. She marked how, at theclose of the meeting, he passed slowly, almost reluctantly out, stoppingmore than once and looking rearward as though half inclined to turn backand join the ranks of those who clustered still at the foot of thepulpit, completely and utterly won over. She was moved to direct thenotice of certain of the sistren and brethren to his behavior asconspicuous proof of the compelling fervor of the Sin Killer. Swiftlythe word spread that Jeff Poindexter magically had ceased to be ahorrible example and was betraying evidences that he might yet becomewhat insurance agents call a prospect. 

As though to justify this hope Jeff attended Tuesday night; his presenceattesting him a well-wisher, his deportment an added testimony that hedeeply had been stirred by the outpoured words of the revivalist. Beforethe service got under way he seized upon an opportunity to beintroduced to the Rev. Wickliffe. Many were spectators to the meetingbetween them, and speculation ran higher upon the possibility thatbefore the week ended he would be enrolled among the avowedly convicted. Again on Wednesday night he was on hand, an attentive and earnestlistener. 

Prior to the preliminary exercise of song on this night, the Rev. Wickliffe outlined the amplified plans for the great moral jubilation onthe evening of the Eighth and invited suggestions from the assemblage tothe end that naught be overlooked which might add to its splendors. Atthis invitation, almost as though he had been awaiting some suchfavorable opening, there stood up promptly Tecumseh Sherman Glass, andTecumseh made a certain motion which on being put to the vote of thehouse carried unanimously amid sounds of a general approval. Someapplauded, no doubt, because of the popularity of the idea embodied inthe motion and some perhaps because the brother, in offering it, wasdeemed to have displayed a most generous, a most becoming, and a totallyunexpected spirit of magnanimity toward a fellow professional occupyinga place which Cump Glass or any other saxophonist might well envy him. 

If at this Jeff's heart gave a joyous jump inside of him, his faceremained a mask to hide his real feelings. If, privily, by day helabored to gather up all the loose ends of his shaping design, publiclyby night he patronized the tabernacle. He was present on Thursday nightand on Friday and on Saturday, and three times on Sunday he was present, maintaining still his outward bearing of interest and sympathy. He waslike a tree which bends before the compelling blast yet refuses for alittle while longer to topple headlong. This brings us up to Monday, theGlorious Eighth. 

With the morning of that day or with its nooning or with itsafternooning we need have no concern, replete though they were invariety of entertainment and abounding in pleasurable incident. For usthe interest chiefly centers in the early evening and especially in thatpart of the evening falling between seven o'clock and forty minutes pastseven. At seven, prompt on the clock's stroke and as guaranteed in theannouncements, the parade fathered by the Rev. Wickliffe, started fromthe corner of Tennessee and Front Streets, down by the river, andwended, as the saying goes, its way due westward into the sunset'spainted afterglow. 

This was a parade! A great man had sired it; a tried organizer hadfostered it; proved executives had worked out the problems of itsdivisions and its groupings. At its head, suitably mounted upon a whitesteed, rode a grand marshal who was more than a grand marshal. For inhis one person this dignitary combined two parts: not only was he thegrand marshal with a broad sash draped diagonally across his torso toprove it, but likewise he was the official trumpeter. At intervals heraised his horn to his lips and sounded forth inspiring notes. That hishorn was neither a trumpet nor yet a bugle but a long, goose-neckedthing might be regarded as merely a detail. Only one who was overlytechnical would have noted the circumstance at all. Behind him, sixteenabreast, appeared the special tabernacle choristers with largefluttering badges of royal purple. They came on magnificently, fillingthe street from curb-line to curb-line, and the sound of their singingwas as a great wind gathering. The second one on the left, counting fromthe end, in the front row, was Ophelia Stubblefield, tawny and splendidas a lithesome tiger-lily. She wore white with long white kid gloves anda beflowered hat which represented the hoarded total of six weeks'wages. You would have said it was worth the money. Anybody would. 

In the second section rode the Rev. Wickliffe and the Rev. Shine; theywere in a touring-car with its top flattened back. You might say theycomposed the second section. Carriages and automobiles rolling alongimmediately behind them bore the members of the official board ofEmmanuel Chapel in sets of fours, and the chief financial contributorsto the revival which this night would reach its climax. Flanking thecarriages and following after them marched the living garnerings of thecampaign--the converts to date, a veritable Gideon's Band of them, innumber amounting to a host, and all afoot as befitting the palmer andthe pilgrim. Established members of the congregation, in hired hacks, injitneys, in rented and privately owned equipages, and also afoot camenext. 

Voluntarily aligned representatives of the colored population at largeformed the tail of the column. Of these last there surely were hundreds. Hundreds more, in holiday dress now somewhat rumpled after a day ofpleasure-seeking and pleasure-finding, lined the sidewalks to see thisspectacle. Nowhere along the straightaway of the line of march did thepavements lack for onlookers, but nearing the end of the route, andespecially where the wide vacant spaces of the Tennessee Street commonhad been preëmpted by the festal enterprises of Director General ÆsopLoving and his confrères, the press became thicker and ever thicker. Here the crowds overflowed upon the gravel roadway, narrowing thethoroughfare to a lane through which the paraders barely might pass. They did pass, though at a lessened pace, until their front ranks hadreached the approximate middle breadth of the old show-grounds, with thetabernacle looming against the sunset's dying fires an eighth of a mileon beyond. 

It is necessary here and now that, taking our eyes from this scene, wehark back to the Wednesday evening preceding. It will be recalled thaton this evening a certain motion was made and by acclamation adopted. The maker of the motion, as we know, was Tecumseh Sherman Glass; itsbeneficiary, as the reader shrewdly may have divined, was Cephus Fringe. Beforehand perhaps the Professor had had vague misgivings as to the parthe was to play in the pageantry on the Eighth; perhaps in his mind hehad forecast the probability that he might suffer eclipse--a temporaryeclipse--but to an _artiste_ none the less distasteful--in the shadow ofthe Sin Killer, for since the Sin Killer had originally promulgated theidea of the procession it was only natural and only human that the SinKiller should devise to himself the outstanding place of honor in it. 

Be these conjectures as they may be, it is not to be gainsaid that thesuggestion embodied in Cump Glass's motion was to Prof. Fringe highlyagreeable, insuring, as it did, a fair measure of prominence for himwithout infringing upon his chief's distinctions. He showed hisapprobation. I believe I already have intimated that Prof. Fringe wasnot exactly prejudiced against himself. Any lingering aversions he mayhave entertained in this quarter had long since been overcome. Nevertheless a fresh doubt, arising from fresh causes, assailed him asthe first flush of satisfaction abated within him. 

This new-born uneasiness betrayed itself in his voice and his mannerwhen, at the conclusion of the night's services, he encountered CumpGlass in the middle aisle. The meeting was not entirely by chance; ifthe truth is to be known, Cump had maneuvered to bring it about. The actwas his; a greater mind than his, though, had sponsored the act. AndCump Glass, rightly interpreting the look upon Prof. Fringe's large, plump face, guilefully set himself to play upon the emotional nature ofthe other. With a gracious wave of his hand he checked the Professor'sexpression of thanks. 

"Don't mention it, " he said generously, "don't mention it. It teks apurformer to understand another purformer's feelin's. So I therefo'teken it 'pon myse'f to nomernate you fur the gran' marshal and also ezthe proper one to sound the buglin' blasts endurin' of the turnout. Seems lak somebody else would 'a' had the sense to do so, but w'en theywuzn't nobody w'ich did so, I steps in. But right soon afterwards I gitsto stedyin' 'bout the hoss you'll be ridin', an' it's been worryin' mequite some little--the question of the hoss. "

"I been thinkin' concernin' of 'at very same thing, " confessed CephusFringe. 

"Is that possible?" exclaimed Cump Glass with well-simulated surprise. "Well, suh, smart minds shorely runs in the same grooves, ez the sayin'goes. Yas, suh, settin' yonder after I made that motion, I sez tomyse'f, I sez, 'Glass, you done started this thing an' you must see itth'ough. 'Twon't never do in this world fur the gran' marshal to bestuck up 'pon the top side of a skittish, skeery liver'-stable hossthat'll mebbe start cuttin' up right in the smack middle of things anddistrac' the gran' marshal's mind frum his business. ' I seen that happenmo' times 'en onct, wid painful results. I s'pose, tho, you kin ridemighty nigh ary hoss they is, can't you, Purfessor?"

"Well, I could do so onct, " stated Cephus in the manner of one whoformerly had followed rough-riding for a calling, "but leadin' a publiclife fur so long, lak I has, I ain't had much time fur privatepleasures. 'Sides w'ich, ef I'm goin' sound the notes I'll be needin'both hands free fur my instermint. "

"Puzzactly the same thought w'ich came to me, jes' lak I'm tellin' it toyou, " agreed Cump. "It teks a musician to think of things w'ich anordinary pusson wouldn't never dream of. So, fur the las' hour or so Ibeen castin' about in my mind an' jes' a minute ago the idee come to me. I feels shore I kin arrange wid a frien' of mine to he'p us out. Is'pose you is acquainted with this yere Jeffy Poindexter?"

"I has met him, " said Cephus with chill creeping into his tones. "An' Ihas observed him present yere the last two-three nights. But I ain'taimin' to ax no favors frum him. "

"You ain't needin' to, " said Cump. "I'll 'tend to that myse'f. Besides, Purfessor, you is sizin' up Jeffy Poindexter wrong. He's went an''sperienced a change of heart in his feelin's tow'ds whut's goin' onyere. Furthermo'"--and here he favored his flattered listener with aconfidential and a meaning wink--"he got sense 'nuff, Jeffy has, to knoww'en he's crowded plum out of the runnin' by somebody w'ich is mo'swiftly gaited 'en whut he is, an' natchelly he crave to stand in wellwid a winner. Naw, suh, that Jeffy, he'd be most highly overjoyed tohaul off an' lend a helpin' hand, ef by so doin' he mout put you onder afavor to him. "

Cephus sniffed, half disarmed but wavering. 

"Wharin' could he he'p out? He ain't ownin' no private string ofridin'-hosses so fur ez I've took note of. "

"The w'ite man he wuks fur is got one an' Jeffy gits the borrowin' useof her--it's a mare--w'enever he want to, ez I knows frum whut he tellsme an' frum whut I seen. Purfessor, that mare is jes' natchelly ordainedan' cut out fur peradin'--broad ez a feather-tick, gentle ez the onbornlamb, an' mouty nigh pyure white--perzactly the right color fur a gran'marshal's hoss. Crowds ain't goin' pester that lady-mare none. Musicain't goin' disturb her none whutsoever, neither. "

"Whut's her reg'lar gait?"

"Her reg'lar gait is standin' still. But w'en she's travelin' at herbestest speed she uses the cemetery walk. See that mare goin' pas' youw'en she's in a hurry an' you say to yo'se'f, you say, 'Yere you is, bound fur de buryin'-groun', but how come you got separated frum thehearse?' Purfessor, that mare's entitled Christian name is Mittie May. Did you ever hear of ary thing on fo' laigs, ur two, w'ich answered tothe name of Mittie May that wuz tricky?"

"Better be mouty sure, " said the cautious Cephus, concerned for thesafety and dignity of the creature which he held most dear of all onthis earth. "'Member, I'll be needin' both hands free--'twon't be notime fur me to go jerkin' on the reins w'en my saxophone is requirin' tobe played. "

"You's right there, " agreed Cump. "Twouldn't never do, neither, fur youto slip off an' mebbe git yo'se'f crippled up. Whar would this yerepertracted meetin' be then? Lemme think. Ah, hah! I got it--the notionjes' come to me. Purfessor, listen yere. " He placed his lips close tothe other's ear and spoke perhaps fifty words in a confidential whisper. In token of approval and acquiescence the Professor warmly clasped theright hand of this forethoughted Glass. 

After such a manner was Cephus Fringe, all unwittingly, thrust into thepit which had been digged for him. 

At the point where the narrative was broken into for the interpolationof the episode now set forth, the head of the parade, as will beremembered, was just coming abreast of the old show-grounds. Now, thehead of the parade was Cephus Fringe, and none other. One glance at him, upon a white steed, all glorious in high hat and frock coat and withthat wide crimson sash dividing his torso in two parts, would haveproved that to the most ignorant. As for his palfrey, she ambled alongas though Eighth of August celebrations and a saxophone blaring betweenher drooping ears, and jubilating crowds and all that singing behindher, and all these carnival barkers shouting alongside her, had been herdaily portion since first she was foaled into the world. The compoundword lady-like would be the word fittest to describe her. 

Not twenty feet from her, close up to where the abutting common met thestraggling brick pavement, stood the battered Flyin' Jinny of GumboRollins. It was nearermost to the street-line of all the attractionsprovided by Æsop Loving and his associates. Here, on the site which hehad chosen, was Gumbo Rollins himself, competently in charge. At theprecise moment when Mittie May and her proud rider had reached a pointjust opposite him, Gumbo Rollins elected to set his device in motion andwith it the steam-organ which was part and parcel of the thing'sorganism. Really he might have waited a bit. 

Lured by the prospect of beholding something for nothing, most of hisconsistent patrons temporarily had deserted him to flock out into theroadway and witness the passing by of the Sin Killer's cohorts. Twoinfatuated lovers, country darkies, sat with arms entwined in a ricketywooden chariot. Here and there a piccaninny clung to the back of aspotted wooden pony or a striped wooden zebra. These, for the moment, were his only customers; nevertheless Gumbo Jones Rollins swung a leverand started the machinery. The merry-go-round moved with a shriek ofsteam; the wheezy organ began spouting forth the introductory bars of arollicking _galop_, a tune so old that its very name had been forgotten, although the air of it lived anonymously. 

As though she had been bee-stung, Mittie May flung up her head. Shearched her neck and pranced with all four of her feet. She spun about, scattering those of the pedestrian classes who hemmed her so closely in. Unmindful of a sudden anxious command from her rider, she swung herforeparts this way and that. She was looking for it. It must be directlyhereabouts somewhere. In those ancient days of her youthful vagabondageit had always been close at hand when that tune--her own tune--wasplayed. 

Then above the heads of the crowd she saw it--a scuffed circlet of earthmeasuring exactly fifty-two feet across and marking the location wherethe middle ring had been builded when Runyon & Bulger's Mighty UnitedRailroad Shows pitched their tents on the occasion of their annualSpring engagement. That had been in early May and this was summer'sthird month; the attrition of the weather had worn down the sharp edgesof that low turfen parapet; by rights, too, there should have been muchsawdust and much smell of the same and a center pole rising like onelone blasted tree from the exact middle of a circular island of thissawdust; there should have been a ringmaster and at least two clowns andan orderly clutter of paraphernalia. Nevertheless there before her wasthe middle ring. And the music had started. And Mittie May answered thecue which had lived in her brain for fifteen long years and more, justas always she answered it, or sought to, when that tune smote hereardrums. 

The startled spectators gave backward and to either side in scramblingretreat as she lunged forward, cleaving a passage for herself to theproper spot of entrance. She whisked in. Around the ring she sped, herhoofs drumming against the flanks of the ring-back, her barrel slantingfar over in obedience to the laws of centripetal force, her tailrippling out behind her like a homebound pennon in a fair breeze--aroundand around and yet again and then some more. 

To be sure there were irregularities in the procedure. Upon her back, springily erect, there should have been a jaunty equestrian swinging agay pink leg in air and anon uttering the traditional _Hoop-la_. Insteadthere was a heavy bulk which embraced her neck with two strong arms, which wallowed about on her spinal column, which continually cried outentreaties, threats, commands, even profanities. Yet with Mittie May, as with most of us, habit was stronger than all else. She knew her dutyas of old. She did it. Accommodating her gait to the quickening measuresof the music, she stretched her legs, passing out of a rolling gallopinto a hard run. Yet one more thing, or rather the lack of it, perplexedher. Attendants should be bringing forth knockdown fence-panels for herto leap over and hoops of paper for her rider to leap through. Nevermind; out of her imagination she would supply these missing details whenthe proper moment came. She'd hurdle the hurdles which weren't there. Meanwhile she knew what to do--around and around and around, rightwillingly, right blithely went Mittie May. 

And, with her, around and around went also Prof. Cephus Fringe, but notwillingly and by no means blithely. He shed his high hat and with it alllingering essences of his dignity. One of Mittie May's feet squasheddown on the high hat and it folded up like a condensed time-card. Helost the last vestige of his vanishing authority when he lost hissaxophone. The Professor did not understate the case when he hadintimated that he was somewhat out of practice at equestrian exercises. Stark terror convulsed his frame; instinct of self-preservation made himcareless of the language he used. Indeed, a good deal of the language heused was bounced right out of him. 

Haply perhaps for him--and surely nothing else that happened was forhim haply circumstanced--most of the naughty words reached no ears savethose of Mittie May. There were sounds which drowned them--sounds whichbegan with a fluttered outcry of alarm, which progressed to a great gaspof astonishment, which swelled and rippled into a titter, which grewinto a vast rocking roar of unrestrained joyousness. Children shrieked, old women cackled, old men wheezed, adults guffawed, strong men rolledupon the earth in uncontrollable outbursts of thunderous mirth. Asthough stricken in all his members, Gumbo Rollins fell alongside hiswhirling Flyin' Jinny, but failed not, even in that excess of hismounting hysteria, to see to it that the steam-driven organ continued togrind out the one tune of its repertoire. The members of the choirforgot that their mission was to sing. They were too busy laughing tosing. And high and clear above the chorus of their glad outcry rose thesoprano gurglings of Ophelia Stubblefield as she leaned for support upagainst somebody. 

You ask, Why did not Prof. Cephus Fringe fall off of Mittie May? Hetried to. At first he sought only to stay on; then after a bit he soughtto get off; he couldn't. The cause for his staying on was revealed whenMittie May took the first of those mental hazards of hers. As she rosegrandly into space to clear the imagined top-rail of the imagined paneland with hind heels drawn well in under her, descended and continued onher circling way, a keen-eyed spectator, all bent double though he was, alongside the ring, and beating himself in the short ribs, caught aflashing glimpse of a strong but narrow strap which bound the rider'sankles to the saddle-girth and which, through the ordered march of theparade, had been safely hidden from view behind the ornament housings ofthe broad Spanish stirrups. Cump Glass had done his fiendish work well;those straps strained, but they held. 

"Name of Glory!" shouted out the observer. "He done tie hisse'f on! Hedone tie hisse'f--" Overcome he choked. 

With a great sweeping, swooping heave Mittie May made the last leap. Andthen at the precise second when the music stopped, the leathern thongsparted, and as the burden on her tumbled off and lay struggling in thedust, Mittie May swerved from the ring and, magically andinstantaneously becoming once more Judge Priest's staidly respectableold buggy-mare, stood waiting for Jeff Poindexter to come and lead herout of all this shrieking, whooping jam of folks back to her stable. AndJeff came. He had been there all the time. It was against his supportingframe that Ophelia had slanted limply the while she laughed. 

Here the curtain is lowered for two seconds to denote the passage of twodays. At its rise Jeff Poindexter and Gumbo Rollins are discoveredsitting side by side on the back step of a cabin in the Plunket's Hillneighborhood. 

"An' so they ain't nobody seen him sence?" It is Jeff who is speaking. 

"So they tells me, " answers Gumbo. "Ain't nary soul seen hair nur hideof him frum the moment he riz out 'en that ring an' tuk his foot in hishand an' marviled further. Yas, suh, the pertracted meetin' will have toworry 'long the best way it kin 'thout its champion purty man. Well, sometimes it seems lak these things turns out fur the bes'. It suttin'lywould damage his lacinated feelin's still mo' ef he wus yere an' hearedfolks all over town callin' him the Jazzed-up Circus Rider. "

"I got a better name fur him 'en that, " says Jeff, "Whiffletit. "

"W'ich?" asks Gumbo. 

Seemingly Jeff has not heard his friend's question. In an undertone, andas though seeking to recall the words of a given formula, he communeswith himself, "Fust you baits him wid the cheese. An' 'en w'en he nibblethe cheese, he git all swelled up an' 'en whilst he's flappin' helplessyou leans over the side of the boat an jes' natchelly laffs him todeath. "

"Whut-all is you mumblin'?" demands Gumbo Rollins, puzzled by theseseemingly unrelated and irrelevant mouthings. "Is you crazy?"

"Yas, " concurs Jeff, "crazy lak the king of the weazels. "

CHAPTER IX

PLENTIFUL VALLEY

"So this here head brakeman, the same being a large, coarse, hairy, rectangular person with a square-toed jaw and a square-jawed toe, he upand boots the two of us right off this here freight train. "

My old and revered friend, Scandalous Doolan, is much addicted toopening a narrative smack down the middle, as though it were an oyster, and then, by degrees, working both ways--toward the start and thefinish. So it did not greatly surprise me that without preface, dedication, index or chapter-heading, he should suddenly introduce ahead brakeman and a freight train into a conversation which until thatmoment had dealt with topics not in the least akin to these. Indeed, knowing him as I did, it seemed to me all the better reason why I shouldpromptly incline the greedy ear, for over and above his eccentricitiesin the matter of launching a subject, Mr. Doolan is the only member ofhis calling I ever saw who talks in real life as all the members of hiscalling are fondly presumed to talk, in story-books and on the stage. 

I harkened, therefore, saying nothing, and sure enough, having dealt fora brief passage of time with the incident of a certain enforceddeparture from a certain as yet unnamed common carrier, he presentlyretraced his verbal footsteps and began at the beginning. 

I quote in full:

"Yes, sir, that's what he does. Refusing to listen to reason, this herehead brakeman, which anybody could tell just by looking at him that hedidn't have no heart a-tall and no soul, so as you could notice it, hejust red lights us off into the peaceful and sun-lit bosom of the rooralNew York State landscape. But before reaching the landscape it becomesnecessary for us to slide down a grade of a perpendicular character, andin passing I am much pleased to note that the right-of-way isself-trimmed to match the prevalent style of scenery, with maybe a fewcinders interspersed for decorations. There is one class of travelerswhich prefers a road-bed rock-ballasted, and these is those which goeson trains from place to place. There's another kind which likes aroad-bed done in the matched or natural materials, and them's the kindwhich goes off trains from time to time. And us two, being for themoment in this class, we are much gratified by the circumstance. 

"And we sits up and dusts ourselves off in a nonchalant manner whilethe little old choo-choo continues upon her way to Utica, Syracuse, andall points west, leaving me and the Sweet Caps Kid with all the brightworld before us, and nothing behind us but the police force. 

"For some months previous to this, me and the Sweet Caps Kid has beensojourning in that favored metropolis which is bounded on one side by aloud Sound and on the other by a steep Bluff, and is doing her constantbest at all times to live up to the surroundings. Needless to say, Irefer to little Noo Yawk, the original haunt of the come-on and thenative habitat of the sure thing, where the jays bite freely and thewoods are full of fish. We have been doing very well there--very, verywell, considering. What with working the nuts on the side streets rightoff Broadway and playing a little three-card monte down round Coney inthe cool of the evening and once in a while selling a sturdy husbandmanfrom over Jersey way a couple of admission tickets to Central Park, wehave found no cause to complain at the business depression. It surelooks to us like confidence has been restored and any time she seems alittle backward we take steps to restore her some ourselves. But all ofa sudden, something seems to tell me that we oughter be moving. 

"You know how them mysterious premonitions comes to a feller. A littlebird whispers to you, or you have a dream, or else you walk into themitt-joint and hand a he-note to a dark complected lady wearing a redkimono and a brown mustache, and she takes a flash at your palm andseems to see a dark man coming with a warrant, followed by a trip up agreat river to a large stone building like a castle. Or elseHeadquarters issues a general alarm, giving names, dates, personaldescription, size of reward and place where last seen. This time it's ageneral alarm. From what I could gather, a downcasted Issy Wisenheimerhas been up to the front parlor beefing about his vanishing bankroll andhis disappearing breast-pin. You wouldn't think a self-respectingcitizen of a great Republic like this'n would carry on so overthirty-eight dollars in currency and a diamond so yeller it woulda beena topaz if it had been any yellower. But such was indeed the case. Igleans a little valuable information from a friendly barkeeper who's gota brother-in-law at the Central Office, and so is in position to gethold of much interesting and timely chit-chat before it becomes commongossip throughout the neighborhood. So then I takes the Sweet Caps Kidoff to one side and I says to him, I says:

"'Kiddo, ' I says, 'listen: I've got a strong presentiment that we shouldoughter be going completely away from here. If we don't, the first thingyou know some plain-clothes bull with fallen arches and his neck shaved'way up high in the back will be coming round asking us to go ridingwith him down town into the congested district, and if we declines theinvitation, like as not he'll muss our clothes all up. Do you seem toget my general drift?' I says. 

"'Huh, ' he says, 'you talk as if there'd been a squeal. '

"'Squeal?' I says. 'Squeal? Son, you can take it from me there's been aregular season of grand opera. You and me are about to be accused ofpernicious activity. What's more, they're liable to prove it. There's amovement on foot in influential quarters to provide us with board andlodgings at a place which I will not name to you in so many words onaccount of your weak heart. The work there, ' I says, 'is regular, andthe meals is served on time, and you're protected from the damp nightair; but, ' I says, 'the hours is too long and too confining to suit me. 'I've knowed probably a thousand fellers in my time that sojourned up atBird Center-on-the-Hudson anywhere from one to fifteen years on astretch, and I never seen one of them yet but had some fault to findwith the place. 

"'Whereas, on the other hand, ' I says, 'all nature seems to beckon tous. Let's you and me steal forth under the billowy blue caliber ofHeaven and make hay while the haymakers are good. Let us quit the citywith its temptations and its snares and its pitfalls, 'specially thelast named, ' I says, 'and in some peaceful spot far, far away, let usteach Uncle Joshua Whitcomb that the hand is quicker than the eye, himpaying cash down in advance for the lessons. Tubby sure, the pickingshas been excellent here in the shadow of the skyscrapers, and it'llprobably be harder sledding out amongst the disk-harrow boys. Everybodyreads the papers these days, only the Rube believes what he reads andthe city guy don't. I hate to go, but I ain't comfortable where I am. When my scalp begins to itch like it does now that's a sign of a closehair-cut coming on. I've got educated dandruff, ' I says, 'and it ain'tnever fooled me yet. In short, ' I says, 'I've been handed the office toskiddoo, and in such cases I believe in skiddooing. Let us create avacancy in these parts _sine quinine_--which, ' I says, 'is Latin, meaning it's a bitter dose but you gotta take it. '

"'I can start right this minute, ' says Sweet Caps; 'my tooth-brush ispacked and all I've got to do is to put on my hat. S'pose we run up to aHundred and Twenty-fifth Street, which is a nice secluded spot, ' hesays, 'and catch the rattler. '

"'How are you fixed for currency?' I says. 

"'Fixed?' he says. 'I ain't fixed a-tall. A'int you been carrying thefirm's bank-roll? Say, ain't you?'

"Well, right there I has to break the sad news to him. I does it asgentle as I could but still he seems peeved. Money has caused a lot ofsuffering in this world, they tell me, but I'm here to tell you the lackof it's been responsible for consider'ble many heartburnings too. Upuntil that minute I hadn't had the heart to tell the Sweet Caps Kid thatour little joint partnership bank-roll is no longer with us. I'd beensaving back them tidings for a more suitable moment, but now I has totell him. 

"It seems that the night before, I had been tiger hunting in the jungledown at Honest John Donohue's. Of course I should have knowed betterthan to go up against a game run by anybody calling hisself Honest John. Them complimentary monakers always work with the reverse English. Youare walking along and you see a gin-mill across the street with a signover the door which says it's Smiling Pete's Place, and you cross overand look in, and behind the bar is an old guy who ain't heard anythingthat really pleased him since the Martinique disaster. He's standingthere with his lip stuck out like a fender on a street car, and a bungstarter handy, just hoping that somebody will come in and start to startsomething. That's Smiling Pete. As for this here Donohue, he's socrooked he can't eat nothing such as stick candy and cheese strawswithout he gets cramps in his stomach. He'd take the numbers off yourhouse. That's why they call him Honest John. I know all this, good andwell, but what's a feller going to do when his is the only place intown that's open? You've got to play somewheres, ain't you? Somehow, Ialways was sort of drawed to faro. 

"Well, you know the saying--one man's meat is another's pizen. He was mypizen and I certainly was his meat. So now, I ain't got nothing in mypockets except the linings. 

"I tells the Sweet Caps Kid just how it was--how right up to the verylast minute I kept expecting the luck to turn and how even then I mightagot it all back if the game-keeper hadn't been so blamed unreasonableand mercenary. When my last chip is gone I holds up a finger for amarker and tells him I'll take another stack of fifty, all blues thistime, but he only looks at me sort of chilly and distrustful and remarksin a kind of a bored way that there's nothing doing. 

"'That'll be all right, ' I says to him. 'I'll see you to-morrow. '

"'No, you wont, ' he says, spiteful-like. 

"'Why, ' I says, 'wont you be here to-morrow?'

"'Oh, yes, ' he says, 'we'll be here to-morrow, but you wont. '

"'Is that so?' I says, sarcastical. 'Coming in, ' I says, 'I thought Iseen the word _Welcome_ on the doormat. '

"'Going out, ' he says, 'you'll notice that, spelled backward, it's aFrench word signifying _Mind Your Step_. '

"And while I'm thinking up a proper comeback for that last remark ofhis'n somebody hands me my hat, and in less'n a minute, seems-like, I'mout in the street keeping company with myself. 

"I tells all this to the Sweet Caps Kid, but still he don't seemsatisfied with my explanation. That's one drawback to the Kid'sdisposition--he gets all put out over the least little thing. So I saysto him: 'Cheer up, ' I says, 'things ain't so worse. Due to my being inright with the proper parties we gets this here advance tip, and webeats the barrier while this here fat Central Office bull, who thinks hewants us, is slipping his collar on over his head in the morning. Remember, ' I says, 'we are going to the high grass where the littlebirdies sing and the flowers bloom. Providence, ' I says, 'has an eye onevery sparrow that falls, but nothing is said about the jays, ' I says, 'and we'll see if a few of them wont fall for our little cute tricks. '

"Tubby sure, I'm speaking figurative. I aint really aiming for the deepwoods proper. Only I've been in Noo Yawk long enough to git the Noo Yawkhabit of thinking everybody beyond Rahway, New Jersey, is the Far West. I'm really figuring to land in one of them small junction points, suchas Cleveland or Pittsburgh. And we would too, if it hadn'ta been forthat there head brakeman. 

"Anyway, we moons round in a kind of an unostentatious way, with the Kidstill acting peevish and low in his mind, and me saying little thingsevery now and then to chirk him up, until the shank of the eveningarrives 'long about two A. M. Then we slips over into the yards belowRiverside Drive, taking due care not to wake up no sleeping policeman onthe way. There we presently observes a freight train, which is givingsigns of getting ready to make up its mind to go somewheres. 

"A freight train is like a woman. When you see a woman coming out of thefront door and running back seven or eight times to get something she'sforgot, you know that woman is on her way. And it's the same withfreights; that's why they call 'em '_shes_'. Pretty soon this herefreight quits vacilliating back and forth, and comes sliding down pastwhere we're waiting. 

"'Here comes a side-door Pullman, with the side door open, ' I says. 'Let's get on and book a couple of lowers. '

"'How do you know where she's going?' says the Kid, him being greatlyaddicted to idle questions. 

"'I don't, ' I says; 'the point is that she's going. To-night she will behere but to-morrow she will be extensively elsewhere; and so, ' I says, 'will we. Let us therefore depart from these parts while the departingis good, ' I says. 

"Which we done so, just like I'm telling you. And for some hours wetrundles along very snug and comfortable, both of us being engrossed insleep. When we wakes up it's another day, and the wicked city is far, far behind us, and we are running through a district which is entirelysurrounded by scenery. If it hadn'ta been that something keeps remindingme I ai'nt had no breakfast I coulda been just as happy. 

"'Where'll we git off?' says Sweet Caps, setting up and rubbing hiseyes. 

"'Well, ' I says, 'we takes our choice. Maybe Albany, ' I says. 'Thelegislature is in special session there, and a couple of grafters moreor less wont make no material difference--they'll probably take us formembers. Maybe Rochester, ' I says, 'which is a pleasant city, full oflarge and thriving industries. Maybe, ' I says, 'if this here train don'ttake a notion to climb down off the track and go berry-picking, maybeChicago. Of course, ' I says, 'Chi ain't quite so polished as Noo Yawk. Chi has been called crude by some. When I think of Noo Yawk, ' I says, 'Ithink of a peroxide chorus lady going home at three o'clock in themorning in two taxicabs, but when I think of Chicago I'm reminded of asoused hired girl, with red hair, on a rampage. But, ' I says, 'what'sthe difference? Everywhere you go, ' I says, 'there's always human life, and Chicago is reputed to be quite full of population and very probablywe can find a few warm-hearted persons there who are more or lessaddicted to taking a chance. '

"But you know how it is in these matters--you never can tell. Just asI'm concluding my remarks touching on our two largest cities, this herebrakeman comes snooping along and intimates that we better be thinkingabout getting off. He's probably the biggest brakeman living. If he wasany bigger than what he is, he'd be twins. We endeavors to argue him outof the notion but it seems like he's sort of set in his mind. Besides, being so much larger than either one of us or both of us put together, for that matter, he has the advantage in repartee. So he makes an issueof it and we sees our way clear to getting off without waiting for thelocomotive to slow up or anything. After our departure, the traincontinues on its way thither, we remaining hither. 

"'My young friend, ' I says when the dust has settled down, 'the questionwhich you propounded about five minutes ago is now answered in theaffirmative. This is where we get off--right here on this identicalspot. I don't know the name of the place, ' I says; 'maybe it's so farout in the suburbs that they ain't found time to get round to it yet andgive it a name; but, ' I says, 'there's one consolation. By glancingfirst up this way and then down that way you will observe that from hereto the point where the rails meet down yonder is exactly the samedistance that it is from here to where the rails meet upyonderways--proving, ' I says, 'that we are in the exact center of thecountry. So let us be up and doing, ' I says, 'specially doing. But thefirst consideration, ' I say, 'is vittles. '

"You know me well enough to know, " interjected Mr. Doolan, interruptingthe thread of his narrative for a moment and turning to me with a waveof his stout arm, "that I ain't no glutton. I can eat my grub when it'sset before me or I can let it alone, only I never do. I never begin tothink about the next meal till I'm almost through with the last one. Andright now my mind seems to dwell on breakfast. 

"Well, anyway we arises up and goes away from there, walking in ageneral direction, and before long we comes to a sign which says we arenow approaching the incorporated village of Plentiful Valley--AutosReduce Speed to Eight Miles an Hour--No Tramps Allowed. I kind offavors the sound of that name--Plentiful Valley. And as I remarks to theSweet Caps Kid, 'We ain't no autos and we ain't no tramps but merely twoprofessional men, looking for a chance to practise our profession. '

"This here is the first valley I ever see in the course of a long andmore or less polka-dotted career that it is all up-hill and never nodownhill. Be that as it may, we rambles on until it must be going ontowards nine forty-five o'clock, and comes to a neat bungalow on a greenslope inside of a high white fence. There's a venerable party setting onthe front porch, in his shirt-sleeves. He looks beneficent and well fed. 

"'Pull down your vest, son-boy, ' I says to Sweet Caps, 'and pleaseremember not to drink your coffee out of the sasser. I have a growingconviction, ' I says, 'that we are about to partake of refreshment. '

"'Hadn't we better sell this ancient guy a few Bermuda oats, orsomething to start off with?' says he. 

"'Not until after we have et, ' I says; business before pleasure. Andanyway, ' I says, 'I works best on a full stomach. Follow your dearuncle, ' I says, 'and don't do nothing till you hear from me. '

"With that I opens the gate and we meanders up a neat gravel path. As wedraws near, the venerable party takes his feet down off the railings. 

"'Come in, ' he says cordially, 'come right in and rest your face andhands. You're out nice and early. '

"'Suffer us, ' I says, 'to introduce ourselves. We are a couple ofprominent tourist-pedestrians walking from Noo Yawk to Portland, Oregon, on a bet. This, ' I says, pointing to Sweet Caps, 'is Young Twinkletoes, and I am commonly knowed as old King Lightfoot the First. By anunfortunate coincidence, ' I says, 'we got separated at an early hourfrom our provision wagon, as a result of which we have omitted breakfastand feel the omission severely. If we might impose, ' I says, 'upon yourgood nature to the extent of--'

"'Don't mention it, ' he says; 'take two or three chairs and set down, and we'll talk it over. To tell you the truth, ' he says, 'I was jestsetting here wishing somebody would come along and visit with me aspell. I'm keeping bachelor's hall, ' he says, 'and raising chickens onthe side, and sometimes I get a mite lonely. I guess maybe the Chinkmight scare up something, although, ' he says, 'to tell you the truththere ain't hardly a bite in the house, except a couple of milk-fedbroilers and some fresh tomattuses right out of the garden and a few hotbiscuits and possibly some razzberries with cream; for I'm a simplefeeder, ' he says, 'and a very little satisfies me. '

"He pokes his head inside the door and yells to a Jap to put two moreplaces at the table. So we reclines and indulges in edifyingconversation upon the current topics of the day and, very shortly, nourishing smells begin for to percolate forth from within, causing meto water at the mouth until I has all the outward symptoms of being anebb-tide. But this here pernicious Sweet Caps Kid, he can't let wellenough alone. Observing copious signs of affluence upon every side hegets ambitious and would abuse the sacred right of hospitality abouthalf to three-quarters of an hour too soon. Out of the tail of my eye Isees him reaching in his pocket for the educated pasteboards and I giveshim the high sign to soft pedal, but he don't mind me. Out he comes with'em. 

"'A little harmless game of cards, ' he says, addressing the elderlyguy, 'entitled, ' he says, 'California euchre. I have here, you willobserve, two jacks and an ace--the noble ace of spades. I riffle andshuffle and drop 'em in a row, the trick being to pick out the ace. Now, then, ' goes on this besetted Sweet Caps, with a winning smile, 'just towhile away the time before breakfast, s'pose you make a small bet withme regarding the present whereabouts of said ace. '

"The party with the whiskers gets up; and now, when he speaks I seesthat in spite of him wearing a brush arbor, he aint no real rube. 

"'To think, ' he says, more in sorrow than in anger, 'to think that Ishould live to see this day! To think that me, who helped Canady Billsell the first gold brick that ever was molded in this country, shouldin my declining years have a couple of wooden-fingered amatoors comealong and try to slip me the oldest graft in the known world! It is toomuch, ' he says, 'it is too much too much. You lower a noble pursuit, ' hesays, 'and I must respectfully but firmly request you to be on your way. I'll try to forgive you, ' he says, 'but at this moment your merepresence offends me. On your way out, ' he says, 'kindly latch the gatebehind you--the chickens might stray off. Chickens, ' he says, 'is notexciting for steady company, ' he says, 'but in comparison with somehumans I've met lately, chickens is absolutely gifted intellectually. 

"'Furthermore, ' he says, 'I would offer you a word of advice, althoughyou don't really deserve it. Beware, ' he says, 'of the constable in thevillage beyond. You'll recognize him by his whiskers, ' he says. 'Alongside of him, I look like an onion in the face. Ten years ago, ' hesays, 'that constable swore a solemn oath not never to shave until he'dlocked up a thousand bums, and, ' he says, 'he's now on his last lap. Keep moving, ' he says, 'till you feel like stopping, and then don'tstop. '

"Them edifying smells has made me desperate. Besides, not counting theChink, who don't count we outnumbers him two to one. 

"'We don't go, ' I says, 'until we gets a bite. '

"'Oh! I'll see that you get a bite, ' he says. 'Sato, ' he says, callingoff-stage, 'kindly unchain Ophelia and Ralph Waldo. Ophelia, ' he says, turning to us, 'is a lady Great Dane, standing four feet high at theshoulder and very morose in disposition. But Ralph Waldo is acrossbreed--part Boston bull and part snapping turtle. Sometimes I thinkthey don't neither one of them care much for strangers. Here they comenow! Sick 'em, pups!'

"Sweet Caps starts first but I beats him to the gate by half a length, Ophelia and Ralph Waldo finishing third and fourth, respectively. Wefades away down the big road, and the last thing we sees as we turns awistful farewell look over our shoulders is them two man-eaters ragingback and forth inside the fence trying to gnaw down the palings, and theold guy standing on the steps laughing. 

"So we pikes along, me frequently reproaching Sweet Caps for hisprecipitancy in spilling the beans. We passes through the village ofPlentiful Valley without stopping and walks on and on and on some more, until we observes a large, prosperous-looking building of red brick, like a summer hotel with a lawn in front and a high stone wall in frontof that. A large number of persons of both sexes, but mainly females, iswandering about over the front yard dressed in peculiar styles. Leaningover the gates is a thickset man gazing with repugnance upon a lettuceleaf which he is holding in his right hand. He sees us and his facelights up some, but not much. 

"'What ho, comrades!' he says; 'what's the latest and newest in thegreat world beyond?'

"'Mister, ' I says, disregarding these pleasantries, 'how's the prospectsfor a pair of footsore travelers to get a free snack of vittles here?'

"'Poor, ' he says, 'very poor. Even the pay-patients, one or two of whomI am which, don't get anything to eat to speak of. The diet here, ' says, 'is exclusively vegeterrible. You wouldn't scarcely believe it, ' hesays, 'but we're paying out good money for this. Some of us is here toget cured of what the docters think we've got, and some of us is here, 'he says, 'because as long as we stay here they ain't so liable to lockus up in a regular asylum. Yes, ' he says, pensively, 'we've got allkinds here. That lady yonder, ' he says, pointing to a large female who'sdressed all in white like a week's washing and ain't got no shoes on, 'she's getting back to nature. She walks around in the dew barefooted. It takes quite a lot of dew, ' he says. 'And that fat one just beyond herbelieves in reincarnation. '

"'You don't say!' I says. 

"'Yes, ' he says, 'I do. She wont eat potatoes not under nocircumstances, because she thinks that in her last previous existenceshe was a potato herself. '

"I takes a squint at the lady. She has a kind of a round face with twoor three chins that she don't actually need, and little knobby features. 

"'Well, ' I says, 'if I'm any judge, she ain't entirely recovered yet. Might I ask, ' I says, 'what is your particular delusion? Are you astriped cabbage worm or a pet white rabbit?'

"I was thinking about that lettuce leaf which he held in his mitt. 

"'Not exactly, ' he says, 'I was such a good liver that I developed a badone and so I paid a specialist eighty dollars to send me here. At thiswriting, ' he says, 'the beasts of the field have but little on me. Weboth browse, but they've got cuds to chew on afterwards. It'ssickening, ' he says in tones of the uttermost conviction. 'Do you knowwhat we had for breakfast this morning? Nuts, ' he says, 'mostly nuts, which it certainly was rank cannibalism on the part of many of thosepresent to partake thereof, ' he says. 'This here frayed foliage which Ihold in my hand, ' he says, 'is popularly known as the mid-forenoonrefreshment. It's got imitation salad dressing on it to make it moretasty. Later on there'll be more of the same, but the big doings will bepulled off at dinner to-night. You just oughter see us at dinner, ' hesays with a bitter laugh. 'There'll be a mess of lovely boiled carrots, 'he says, 'and some kind of chopped fodder, and if we're all real goodand don't spill things on our bibs or make spots on the tablecloth, why, for dessert we'll each have a nice dried prune. I shudder to think, ' hesays, 'what I could do right this minute to a large double sirloincooked with onions _Desdemona_ style, which is to say, smothered. '

"'Mister, ' I says, 'I never thought I'd fall so low as to be avegeterrier, but necessity, ' I says, 'is the mother of vinegar. Couldyou please, sir, spare us a couple of bites out of that there ensilageof yourn--one large bite for me and one small bite for my young friendthere to keep what little life we have until the coming of the cornedbeef and cabbage?'

"'Fellow sufferer, ' he says, 'listen here to me. I've got a dear oldwhite-haired grandmother, which she was seventy-four her last birthdayand has always been a life-long member of the First Baptist Church. Ilove my dear old grandmother, but if she was standing right here now andasked me for a nibble off my mid-day refreshment I'd tell her to gofind a truck patch of her own. Yes sir, I'd turn her down cold; becauseif I don't eat enough to keep me alive to get out of here when the timescomes I wont be alive to get out of here when the time comes. Anywhereelse I could love you like a brother, ' he says, 'and divide my last bitewith you, but not here, ' he says, 'not here! Do you get me?' he says. 

"'Sir, ' I says, 'I get you. Take care of yourself and don't getfoundered on the green truck, ' I says. 'A bran mash now and then and awisp of cured timothy hay about once in so long ought to keep off thegrass colic, ' I says. 'Come on, little playmate, ' I says to Sweet Caps, 'let us meander further into this here vale of plenty of everythingexcept something to eat. Which, by rights, ' I says, 'its real nameoughter be Hungry Hollow. '

"So we meanders some more miles and pretty soon I'm that empty that Icouldn't be no emptier than I am without a surgical operation. My voicegets weak, and objects dance before my eyes. 

"After while they quits dancing, and I realizes that I'm bowing lowbefore probably the boniest lady that ever lived. A gold watch has gotmore extra flesh on it than this lady has on her. She is looking out ofthe front window of a small cottage and her expression verges on thedisapproving. As nearly as I can figure out she disapproves ofeverything in general, and a large number of things in particular. AndI judges that if there is any two things in the world which shedisapproves of more than any other two things, those two things is meand the Sweet Caps Kid. 

"I removes my lid and starts to speak, but she merely waves her arm in amajestic manner, meaning, if I know anything about the sign language, 'Exit in case of dog. ' So we exits without even passing the time of theday with her and continues upon our way through the bright sunshine. Thethermometer now registers at least ninety-eight in the shade, but thenof course we don't have to stay in the shade, and that's someconsolation. 

"The next female land-owner we encounters lives away down in the woods. She's plump and motherly-looking, with gold bows on her spec's. She isout in her front garden picking pansies and potato bugs and other floraand fauna common to the soil. She looks up as the gate-latch clicks, andbeholds me on the point of entering. 

"'Madam, ' I says, 'pardon this here intrusion but in us you behold twoweary travelers carrying no script and no purse. Might I ask you whatthe chances are of us getting a square meal before we perish?'

"'You might, ' she says. 

"'Might what?' I says. 

"'Might ask me, ' she says, 'but I warn you in advance, that I ain't verygood at conundrums. I'm a lone widder woman, ' she says, 'and I've gotsomething to do, ' she says, 'besides standing out here in the hot sunanswering riddles for perfect strangers, ' she says. 'So go ahead, ' shesays. 

"'Madam, ' I says pretty severe, 'don't trifle with me. I'm a desperateman, and my friend here is even desperater than what I am. Remember youare alone, and at our mercy and--'

"'Oh, ' she says, with a sweet smile, 'I ain't exactly alone. There'sTige, ' she says. 

"I don't see no Tige, ' I says, glancing around hurriedly. 

"'That ain't his fault, ' she says. 'I'll call him, ' she says, lookinglike it wont be no trouble whatsoever to show goods. 

"But we don't wait. 'Sweet Caps, ' I says to him as we hikes round thefirst turn in the road, 'this district ain't making no pronounced hitwith me. Every time you ast 'em for bread they give you a dog. The nexttime, ' I says, ' anybody offers me a canine, I'm going to take him, ' Isays. 'If he can eat me any faster than I can eat him, ' I says, 'he'llhave to work fast. And, ' I says, 'if I should meet a nice little cleanboy with fat legs--Heaven help him!'

"And just as I'm speaking them words we comes to a lovely glade in thewoods and stops with our mouths ajar and our eyes bulged out like pushbuttons. 'Do I sleep, ' I says to myself, 'or am I just plain delirious?'

"For right there, out in the middle of the woods, is a table with awhite cloth on it, and it's all covered over with the most luciviciouslooking viands you ever see in your life, including a ham and a coupleof chickens and a pie and some cool-looking bottles with long necks on'em and gilt-foil crowns upon their regal heads. And a couple offlunkies in long-tailed coats and knee breeches and white wigs aremooning round, fixing things up ship shape. And just then a tall ladycomes sauntering out of the bushes, and she strolls up close and theflunkies bow and fall back and she says something about everything beingnow ready for Lady Gwyndolin's garden party and departs the same way shecame. And the second she's out of sight, me and Sweet Caps can't hold inno longer. We busts through the roadside thicket and tear acrost thatopen place, licketty-split. It seems too good to be true. And it is. When we gets up close we realizes the horrible truth. 

"The ham is wood and the chickens is pasteboard and the pie is a proppie and the bottles aint got nothing in 'em but the corks. As we pauses, stupefied with disappointment, a cheerful voice calls out: 'That's theticket! Hold the spot and register grief--we can work the scene in andit'll be a knock-out!'

"And right over yonder at the other side of the clearing stands a guy ina checked suit grinding the handle of a moving-picture machine. We hasinadvertently busted right into the drammer. So we kicks over his tableand departs on the run, with a whole troupe of them cheap fillumtroopers chasing after us, calling hard names and throwing sticks androcks and things. 

"After while, by superior footwork, we loses 'em and resumes ourjourney. Well, unless you've got a morbid mind you wont be interested inhearing about our continued sufferings. I will merely state that by thetime five o'clock comes we have traveled upwards of nine hundred miles, running sometimes but mostly walking, and my feet is so full of waterblisters I've got riparian rights. Nearly everything has happened to usexcept something to eat. So we comes to the edge of a green fieldalongside the road and I falls in a heap, and Sweet Caps he falls inanother heap alongside of me, making two heaps in all. 

"'Kiddo, ' I says, 'let us recline here and enjoy the beauties ofNature, ' I says. 

"'Dern the beauties of Nature!' says Sweet Caps. 'I've had enough Naturesince this morning to last me eleven thousand years. Nature, ' he says, 'has been overdone, anyway. '

"'Ain't you got no soul?' I says. 

"'Oh yes, ' he says, 'I've got a soul, but the trouble is, ' he says, 'I've got a lot of other vital organs, too. When I ponder, ' he says, 'and remember how many times I've got up from the table and gone awayleaving bones and potato peels and clam shells and lobster claws on theplate--when I think, ' he says, 'of them old care-free, prodigal days, Icould bust right out crying. '

"'Sh-h!' I says, 'food has gone out of fashion--the best people ain'teating any more. Put your mind on something else, ' I says. 'Consider thesetting sun, ' I says, 'a-sinking in the golden west. Gaze yonder, ' Isays, 'upon that great yellow orb with all them fleecy white cloudsbanked up behind it. '

"'I'm gazing, ' he says. 'It looks something like a aig fried on oneside. That's the way I always uster take mine, ' he says, 'before I quiteating--fried with the sunny side up. '

"I changed the subject. 

"'Ain't it a remarkable fact, ' I says, 'how this district is addicted todogs? Look at that there little stray pup, yonder, ' I says, 'jumping upand down in the wild mustard, making himself all warm and panty. That'san edifying sight, ' I says. 

"'You bet, ' says the Sweet Caps Kid, kind of dreamy, 'it's a greatcombination, ' he says, '--hot dog with fresh mustard. That's the way wegot 'em at Coney, ' he says. 

"'Sweet Caps, ' I says, 'you are breaking my heart. Desist, ' I says. 'Iask you to desist. If you don't desist, ' I says, 'I'm going to tear yourhead off by the roots and after that I'll probably get right rough withyou. Fellow me, ' I says, 'and don't speak another word of no descriptionwhatsoever. I've got a plan, ' I says, 'and if it don't work I'll knowthem calamity howlers is right and I wont vote Democratic neveragain--not, ' I says, 'if I have to vote for Bryan!'

"He trails along behind me, and his head is hanging low and he muttersto hisself. Injun file we retraces our weary footsteps until we comesonce more to the village of Plentiful Valley. We goes along MainStreet--I know it's Main Street because it's the only street thereis--until we comes to a small brick building which you could tell by thebars at the windows that it was either the local bank or the calaboose. On the steps of this here establishment stands a party almost entirelyconcealed in whiskers. But on his breast I sees a German silver badgegleaming like a full moon seen through thick brush. 

"'The town constable, I believe?' I says to him. 

"'The same, ' he says. 'What can I do for for you?'

"'Lock us up, ' I says, '--him and me both. We're tramps, ' I says, 'vagrants, derilicks wandering to and fro, ' I says, 'like raging lionsseeking whatsoever we might devour--and not, ' I says, 'having no luck. We are dangerous characters, ' I says, 'and it's a shame to leave us atlarge. Lock us up, ' I says, 'and feed us. '

"'Nothing doing, ' he says. 'Try the next town--it's only nine miles anda good hard road all the way. '

"'I thought, ' I says, 'that you took a hidebound oath never to shaveuntil you'd locked up a thousand tramps. '

"'Yep, he says, 'that's so; but you're a little late. I pinched himabout an hour ago. '

"'Pinched who?' I says. 

"'The thousandth one, ' he says. 'Early to-morrow morning, ' he says, 'I'mgoing to get sealed bids and estimates on a clean shave. But first, ' hesays, 'in celebration of a historic occasion, I'm giving a little supperto-night to the regular boarders in the jail. I guess you'll have toexcuse me--seems to me like I smell the turkey dressing scorching. '

"And with that he goes inside and locks the door behind him, and don'tpay no attention to us beating on the bars, except to open an upstairswindow and throw a bucket of water at us. 

"That's the last straw. My legs gives way, both at once, in oppositedirections. Sweet Caps he drags me across the street and props me upagainst a building, and as he fans me with his hat I speaks to him verysoft and faint and low. 

"'Sweep Caps, ' I says, 'I'm through. Leave me, ' I says, 'and make forcivilization. And, ' I says, 'if you live to get there, come backsometime and collect my mortal remains and bury 'em, ' I says, 'in somequiet, peaceful spot. No, ' I says, 'don't do that neither! Bury me, ' Isays, 'in a Chinee cemetary. The Chinees, ' I says, 'puts vittles on thegraves of their dear departeds, instead of flowers. Maybe, ' I says, 'myghost will walk at night, ' I says, 'and eat chop suey. '

"'Wait, ' he says, 'don't go yet. Look yonder, ' he says, pointing upMain Street on the other side. 'Read that sign, ' he says. 

"I looks and reads, and it says on a front window; '_Undertaking andEmba'ming In All Its Branches. _'

"I rallies a little. 'Son boy, ' I says, 'you certainly are onethoughtful little guy--but can't you take a joke? I talk about passingaway, and before I get the words out of my pore exhausted vacant frameyou begin to pick out the fun'el director. What's your rush?' I says. 'Can't you wait for the remains?'

"'Keep ca'm, ' he says, 'and look again. Your first look wasn't asuccess. I don't mean the undertaker's, ' he says; 'I mean the place nextdoor beyond. It's a delicatessen dump, ' he says, 'containing cold gruball ready to be et without tools, ' he says. 'And what's more, ' he says, 'the worthy delicatessener is engaged at this present moment in lockingup and going away from here. In about a half an hour, ' he says, 'he'llbe setting in his happy German-American home picking his teeth aftersupper, and reading comic jokes to his little son August out of the_Fleagetty Bladder_. And shortly thereafter, ' he says, 'what'll you andme be doing? We'll be there, in that vittles emporium, in the midst ofplenty, ' he says, 'filling our midsts with plenty of plenty. That's whatwe'll be doing, ' he says. 

"'Sweet Caps, ' I says, reviving slightly, remember who we are? Rememberthe profession which we adorn? Would you, ' I says, 'sink to burglary?'

"'Scandalous, ' he says, with feeling, 'I'm so hollow I could sink aboutthree feet without touching nothing whatsoever. Death before dishonor, but not death by quick starvation. Are you with me, ' he says, 'or ain'tyou?'

"Well, what could you say to an argument like that? Nothing, not asyllable. So eventually night ensoos. And purty soon the little starscome softly out and at the same juncture me and the Sweet Caps Kid goesin. We goes into an alley behind that row of shops and after feelingabout in the darkness for quite a spell and falling over a couple offences and a lurking wheelbarrow and one thing and another, we finds aback window with a weak latch on it and we pries it open and we crawlsin. 

"Only, just as we gits inside all nice and snug, Sweet Caps he has to goand turn over a big long box that's standing up on end, and down itcomes _ker-blim_! making a most hideous loud noise. 

"Then we hears somebody upstairs run across the floor over our heads andhears 'em pile down the steps, which is built on the outside of thebuilding to save building 'em on the inside of the building, and inabout a half a minute a fire bell or some similar appliance down thestreet a piece begins to ring its head off. 

"'The stuff's off, ' says Sweet Caps to me in a deep, skeered whisper. 'Let's beat it. '

"'Nix, ' I says. 'You fasten that there window! I'm too weak to run now, and if they'll give me about five minutes among the vittles I'll be toofull to run. Either way, ' I says, 'it's pinch, and, ' I says, 'we'dbetter face it on a full stomach, than an empty one. '

"'But they'll have the goods on us, ' he says. 

"'Son, ' I says, 'if they'll only hang back a little we'll have the goodsin us. They won't have no trouble proving the corpus delicatessen, ' Isays, '--not if they bring a stomach pump along. Bar that window, ' Isays, 'and let joy be unconfined. '

"So he fastens her up from the inside, and while we hears the arousedand infuriated populace surrounding the place and getting ready to beginto think about making up their minds to advance en massy, I pulls downthe front shades and strikes a match and lights up a coal-oil lamp andreaches round for something suitable to take the first raw edge off myappetite--such as a couple of hams. 

"Then right off I sees where we has made a fatal mistake, and my heartdies within me and I jest plum collapses and folds up inside of myselflike a concertina. And that explains, " he concluded, "why you ain't seenme for going on the last eighteen months. "

"Did they give you eighteen months for breaking into the delicatessenshop?" I asked. 

Mr. Doolan fetched a long, deep, mournful sigh. 

"No, " he said simply, "they gave us eighteen months for breaking intothe undertaker's next door. "

CHAPTER X

A TALE OF WET DAYS

In the days before the hydrant-headed specter of Prohibition reared itshead in the Sunny South I had this tale from a true Kentucky gentleman. As he gave it to me, so, reader, do I give it to you:

"Yes, suh, to this good day Colonel Bud Crittenden ain't never fergotthat time he made the mistake about Stony Buggs and the Bear GrassCounty man. It learnt him a lesson, though. It learnt him that thedeceivingest pusson on earth, when it comes to seeping up licker, is alittle feller with his eyes fur apart and one of these here excitableAdamses' apples. 

"Speaking about it afterwards to a passel of boys over in the swoppingring, he said the experience, while dissapinting at the time, was wortha right smart to him subsequent. Previous to that time he said he was inerror regarding the amount of licker a little man, with thempeculiarities of features I just mentioned, could chamber at onesetting. 

"Said he knowed some of the derndest, keenest gunfighters in the statewas little men and he'd always acknowledged that spare-built, narrer-waisted men made the best hands driving trotting hawses; but hedidn't know, not until then, that they was so gifted in the matter ofputting away sweet'ning drams. 

"It happened the time we all was up at Frankfort nomernating a Clerk ofthe Court of Appeals. There'd been a deadlock for nigh on to three days. The up-state delegates was all solid for old General Marcellus BrutusHightower of Limestone County, and our fellers to a man was pledged toMajor Zach Taylor Simms, of Pennroyal. 

"Ballot after ballot it stood the same way--fifty-three to fifty-three. Then on the mawning of the third day one of their deligates from themountains was called home suddenly by a message saying amisunderstanding had come up with a neighboring fambly and two of hisboys was shot up consid'rable. 

"The convention had voted the first day not to recognize no proxies forabsentees, and so, having one vote the advantage, we was beginning tofeel like winners, when just then Breck Calloway from McCorkin County, he up and taken the cramps the worst way. For a spell it shore lookedlike he was going to be cholera-morbussed. Breck started in for luxuriesin the line of vittles soon as he hit town, and between votes he keptfilling hisself up on fried catfeesh and red bananas and pickled pigs'feet and gum drops and cove eyesters and cocoanut out of the shell andice cream and sardines--greasy minners, Breck called 'em--and aig-kissesand a whole lot of them kind of knick-knacks. 

"That mout not a-bothered him so much if he hadn't switched fromstraight licker and taken on consid'able many drinks of this herenew-fangled stuff called creamy de mint--green stuff like what you seein a big bottle in a drug store winder with a light behind it. By themiddle of the third day Breck was trying to walk on his hands. He had afigger like one of them Mystic Mazes. 'Course, all kinked up that way, he warn't fitten for a deligate, and Colonel Bud Crittenden had to shiphim home. 

"I heard tell afterwards that going back on the steam cars the conductortold Breck he didn't care if he was a contortionist, he couldn'tpractise none of his didoes on that there train. 

"So there we was, each side shy one vote and still tied--52 and 52. Andat dinner time the convention taken a recess until ha'f past three inthe evening with the understanding that we'd vote again at foah o'clock. 

"Jest as soon as our fellers had got a drink or two and a snack to eat, Colonel Bud Crittenden, he called a caucus, him being not only managerof Major Zach Taylor Simms' campaign but likewise chairman of thedistrict committee. Colonel Bud rapped for order and made a speech. Hesaid the paramountest issue was how to nominate Major Simms on thatthere next ballot. Said they'd done trying buying off members of theopposition and other regular methods without no success whatsomever. Said the Chair would now be glad to hear suggestions from any gen'elmanpresent. 

"So Morg Holladay he got up and moved the Chair to appoint a committeeof one or more to shoot up some deligate or, if desired, deligates, inthe other crowd. But the Colonel said no. We wuz in a strange town, furremoved from the time-honored institutions of home, and the police moutbe hosstile. Customs differed in different towns. Whil'st shooting up ofa man for purely political purposes mout be accepted as necessary andproper in one place; then agin it mout lead to trouble, sich aslawsuits, in another. And so on. 

"Morg he got up again and said how he recognized the wisdom of theChair's remarks. Then he moved to amend his motion by substituting theword 'kidnapping' for 'shooting up. ' Said as a general proposition hefavored shooting up, not being familiar with kidnapping; in fact notknowing none of the rules, but was willing to try kidnapping as anexperiment. But Colonel Bud 'peared to be even more dead set, efpossible, agin kidnapping than agin shooting. He advanced the thoughtthat shooting was recognized as necessary under proper conditions andsafeguards, ever'where, but that kidnapping was looked on as borderingon the criminal even in the case of a child. How much more so, then, inthe case of a growed-up adult man and Dimocrat?

"Nobody couldn't think of nothing else then, but Colonel Bud 'lowed wewas bleeged to do something. There warn't no telling, he said, whenanother one of our deligates would get to craving dainties andgormandize hisself with a lot of them fancy vittles the same as BreckCalloway had done, and go home all quiled up like a blue racer in apa'tridge nest. Finally Colonel Bud he said he had a suggestion toadvance his ownse'f, and we all set up and taken notice, knowing therewasn't no astuter political leader in the State and maybe none soastuted. 

"Colonel Bud he said he was shamed to admit that the scheme hadn'tsuggested itself to him or ary other gen'elman present before now--itwas so plum doggone simple. 

"'We got mighty nigh three hours yet, ' says Colonel Bud, 'and enduringof that time all we got to do is to get one of them Hightower deligatesdeef, dumb and blind drunk--so drunk he won't never git back to answerroll-call; and if he does, won't know his own name if he heered it. Wewill simply appint a committee of one, composed of some gen'elman fromamongst our midst of acknowledged capacity and experience, to accomplishthis here undertaking, and likewise also at the same time we will pickout some accessible deligate in the opposition and commission saidcommittee of one to put said opposition deligate out of commission bymeans of social conversation and licker between the present time and thehour of 4 P. M. By so doing victory will perch on our banners, and therecan't be no claim of underhand work or fraud from the other side. It'llall be according to the ethics made and purvided in such emergencies. '

"Right off everybody seen Colonel Bud had the right idee, and he put thesuggestion in the form of a motion and it carried unanimous. Colonel Budstated that it now devolved upon the caucus to name the committee ofone. And of course we all said that Colonel Bud was the very man for theplace hisse'f; there wasn't none of us qualified like him for sich ajob. Everybody was bound to admit that. But Colonel Bud said much as heappreciated the honor and high value his colleagues put on his humbleabilities, he must, purforce, sacrifice pussonal ambition in theintrusts of his esteemed friend, Major Zach Taylor Simms. As manager ofthe campaign he must remain right there on the ground to see which waythe cat was going to jump--and be ready to jump with her. So, if thecaucus would kindly indulge him for one moment moah he would nominatefor the post of honor and responsibility as noble a Dimocrat, as true aKintuckian and as chivalrous a gen'elman as ever wore hair. And withall the requisited qualifications and gifts, too. 

"Needless to state he referred to that sterling leader of FulmanCounty's faithful cohorts, Captain Stonewall Jackson Bugg, Esquire. 

"And so everybody voted for Stony. We knowed of course that while StonyBugg had both talents and education he warn't no sich genius as ColonelBud Crittenden when it came to storing away licker; yet so far as therecord showed he never had been waterlooed by anybody. And we couldn'task no more than that. Stony was all hoped up and proud at beingselected. 

"Then there came up the question of picking out the party of the secondpart, as Colonel Bud said he would call him for short. Colonel Bud saidhe felt the proper object for treatment, beyond the peradventure of adoubt, was that there Mr. Wash Burnett, of Bear Grass. 

"He believed the caucus would ricolect this here Burnett gen'elmanreferred to by the Chair. And when he described him we all done so, owing to his onusual appearance. He was a little teeny feller, rising offive feet tall, with a cough that unbuttoned his vest about every threeminutes. He had eyes 'way round on the side of his head like agrasshopper and the blamest, busiest, biggest, scariest, nervousestAdamses' apple I ever see. It 'peared like it tried to beat his brainsout every time he taken a swaller of licker--or even water. 

"Right there old Squire Buck Throckmorton objected to the selection ofMr. Wash Burnett. Near as I can recall here's what Squire says:

"'You all air suttenly fixing to make a monstrous big mistake. I've givea heap of study in my time to this question of licker drams. I haveobserved that when you combine in a gen'elman them two features jestmentioned--a Adamses' apple that's always running up and down like a catsquirrel on a snag, and eyes away 'round yonder so's he can see bothways at once without moving his head--you've got a gen'elman that'sspecially created to store away licker. 

"'I don't care ef your Bear Grass County man is so shortwaisted he canuse his hip pockets for year-muffs in the winter time. Concede, if youwill, that every time he coughs it shakes the enamel off'n his teeth. The pint remains, I repeat, my feller citizens, that there ain't nolicker ever distilled can throw him with them eyes and that thereAdamses' apple. You gen'elmen 'd a sight better pick out some big fellerwhich his eyes is bunched up close together like the yallers in a doubleyolk aig and which his Adamses' apple is comparatively stationary. '

"But Colonel Bud, he wouldn't listen. Maybe he was kinder jealous atseeing old Squire Buck Throckmorton setting hisse'f up as a jedge ofhuman nature that-a-way. Even the greatest of us air but mortal, and Ireckon Colonel Bud wouldn't admit that anybody could outdo him readingcharacter offhand, and he taken the floor agin. Replying to hisvenerable friend and neighbor, he would say that the Squire was talkinglike a plain derned fool. Continuing he would add that it didn't make nodifference if both eyes was riding the bridge of the nose side-saddle, or if they was crowding the ears for position. 

"'Now, as to the Adamses' apple, which he would consider next in thisbrief reply, ' he went on to explain, 'Science teached us that theAdamses' apple didn't have no regular functions to speak of, and whatfew it did have bore no relation to the consumption of licker in thereg'lar and customary manner, viz. , to-wit, by swallowing of the samefrom demijohn, dipper, tumbler or gourd. The Adamses' apple was but anatchel ornament nestled at the base of the chin whiskers. He asked ifany gen'elman in the sound of his voice ever see a bowlder on the sideof a dreen, enlessen it was covered, in whole or in part, by vines? Thesame wise provision of Nature was to be observed in the Adamses' apple, it being, ef he mout be pardoned for using such a figger of speech, atsich a time, the bowlder, and the chin whiskers, the vine. 

"'It's the size that counts, ' said Colonel Bud Crittenden. 'It natchellystands to reason that a big scaffolded-up man like Stony Bugg canchamber more licker than a little runt like that Burnett. Why, he coulddo it if Burnett was spangled all over with Adamses' apples and all ofthem palpitating like skeered lizards. He could do it if Burnett's eyeswere so fur apart he was cross-eyed behind. Besides, this here Burnettis a mountaineering gen'elman, and I mistrust not, he's been educatedaltogether on white moonshine licker fresh out of the still. When redlicker, with some age behind it, takes holt of his abbreviated vitalshe's shore going to wilt and wilt sudden and complete. 

"'Red licker, say about fourteen year old, is mighty deceivin' to amountaineer. It tastes so smooth he forgets that it's strong enough totake off warts. '

"Well, suzz, that argument fetched us and we all coincided; all butSquire Buck Throckmorton, who still looked mighty dubiousome. Anyway, Stony Bugg, he went out and found this here Mister Wash Burnett andinvited him to see if there was anything left in the bar; and Burnett, he fell into the trap, not apparently suspicioning nothing, and said hedidn't care if he did. So they sashayed off together t'wards the nighestgrocery arm in arm. 

"Being puffectly easy in our minds, we all went back to the conventionhall 'bout half past two. The Forks of Elkhorn William Jinnings Bryanand Silver Cornet Band was there and give a concert, playin 'Dixie' foahtimes and 'Old Kentucky Home' five. And Senator Joe Blackburn spokethree or foah times. I never before heard Republicans called out oftheir name like he done it. Senator Joe Blackburn shore proved hisse'fa statesman that day. 

"Well, it got on t'wards half past three, and while we warn't nowaysuneasy we taken to wishing that Stony Bugg would report back. At tenminutes befoah foah there warn't no signs of Stony Bugg. At five minutesbefoah foah our fellers was gettin' shore nuff worried, and jest thenthe doah opened and in comes that there little Wash Burnett--alone! Hewas coughing fit to kill hisse'f. His Adamses' apple was sticking outlike a guinney egg, and making about eighteen reverlutions to thesecond, and them fur-apart eyes of his'n was the glassiest I ever seen, but it was him all right. He stopped jest inside the hall and turned uphis pants at the bottom and stepped high over a shadder on the floor. But he warn't too fur gone to walk. Nor he warn't too fur gone to vote. 

"'Fore we could more'n ketch our breaths the chairman called for aballot and they taken it, and General Hightower was nominated--52 to51--Captain Stonewall J. Bugg being recorded by the secretary as absentand not voting. And while the up-state fellers was carrying on andswapping cheers with one another, our fellers sat there jestdumfoundered. Colonel Bud Crittenden, he was the first one to speak. 

"'Major Simms being beat ain't the wust of it, ' he says. 'Our committeeon irrigation is deceased. The solemn and sorryful duty devolves uponus, his associates, to go send a dispatch to Mrs. Stony Bugg and famblyinforming them that they air widows. Stony, he must have choked hisse'fto death on some free barroom vittles, or else he got run over by ahawse and waggin. Otherwise he'd a' been here as arranged, and thatthere little human wart of a Wash Burnett would be spraddled out on thefloor, face-down, right this very minute, a'trying to swim out of somelicker store dog fashion. '

"But jest then we heard a kind of to-do outside, and the doah flew openand something rolled in and flattened out in the main aisle. Would youbelieve me, it was Stony Bugg, more puffectly disguised in licker than Iever expected to see. 

"Two of us grabbed holt of him by the arms and pulled him up on hisfeet. He opened his eyes kind of dazed-like and looked around. ColonelBud, he done the talking. 

"'Stony, ' he says, not angry but real pitiful, in his tones, 'Stony, whythe name of Gawd didn't you git him drunk?'

"Stony, he sort of studied a minute. Then he says, slow and deliberateand thick:

"'Drunk? Why, boys, I gozzom so drunk I couldn't see him. '

"And as we came on home, we all had to admit you couldn't git a man nodrunker than that, and live. "