THE CONFLICT

by

David Graham Phillips

I

Four years at Wellesley; two years about equally divided among Paris, Dresden and Florence. And now Jane Hastings was at home again. Athome in the unchanged house--spacious, old-fashioned--looking down fromits steeply sloping lawns and terraced gardens upon the sooty, smokyactivities of Remsen City, looking out upon a charming panorama ofhills and valleys in the heart of South Central Indiana. Six years ofstriving in the East and abroad to satisfy the restless energy sheinherited from her father; and here she was, as restless as ever--yetwith everything done that a woman could do in the way of an activecareer. She looked back upon her years of elaborate preparation; shelooked forward upon--nothing. That is, nothing but marriage--droppingher name, dropping her personality, disappearing in the personality ofanother. She had never seen a man for whom she would make such asacrifice; she did not believe that such a man existed. 

She meditated bitterly upon that cruel arrangement of Nature's wherebythe father transmits his vigorous qualities in twofold measure to thedaughter, not in order that she may be a somebody, but solely in orderthat she may transmit them to sons. "I don't believe it, " she decided. "There's something for ME to do. " But what? She gazed down at RemsenCity, connected by factories and pierced from east, west and south byrailways. She gazed out over the fields and woods. Yes, there must besomething for her besides merely marrying and breeding--just as muchfor her as for a man. But what? If she should marry a man who wouldlet her rule him, she would despise him. If she should marry a man shecould respect--a man who was of the master class like her father--howshe would hate him for ignoring her and putting her in her ordainedinferior feminine place. She glanced down at her skirts with an angrysense of enforced masquerade. And then she laughed--for she had a keensense of humor that always came to her rescue when she was in danger oftaking herself too seriously. 

Through the foliage between her and the last of the stretches ofhighroad winding up from Remsen City she spied a man climbing in herdirection--a long, slim figure in cap, Norfolk jacket andknickerbockers. Instantly--and long before he saw her--there was agrotesque whisking out of sight of the serious personality upon whichwe have been intruding. In its stead there stood ready to receive theyoung man a woman of the type that possesses physical charm and knowshow to use it--and does not scruple to use it. For a woman to conquerman by physical charm is far and away the easiest, the most fleetingand the emptiest of victories. But for woman thus to conquer withoutherself yielding anything whatsoever, even so little as an alluringglance of the eye--that is quite another matter. It was this sort ofconquest that Jane Hastings delighted in--and sought to gain with anyman who came within range. If the men had known what she was about, they would have denounced her conduct as contemptible and herself asimmoral, even brazen. But in their innocence they accused only theirsophisticated and superbly masculine selves and regarded her as thesoul of innocence. This was the more absurd in them because sheobviously excelled in the feminine art of inviting display of charm. To glance at her was to realize at once the beauty of her figure, theexceeding grace of her long back and waist. A keen observer would haveseen the mockery lurking in her light-brown eyes, and about the cornersof her full red lips. 

She arranged her thick dark hair to make a secret, half-revealed charmof her fascinating pink ears and to reveal in dazzling unexpectednessthe soft, round whiteness of the nape of her neck. 

Because you are thus let into Miss Hastings' naughty secret, so wellveiled behind an air of earnest and almost cold dignity, you must notdo her the injustice of thinking her unusually artful. Such artfulnessis common enough; it secures husbands by the thousand and by the tensof thousands. No, only in the skill of artfulness was Miss Hastingsunusual. 

As the long strides of the tall, slender man brought him rapidlynearer, his face came into plain view. A refined, handsome face, darkand serious. He had dark-brown eyes--and Miss Hastings did not likebrown eyes in a man. She thought that men should have gray or blue orgreenish eyes, and if they were cruel in their love of power she likedit the better. 

"Hello, Dave, " she cried in a pleasant, friendly voice. She wasposed--in the most unconscious of attitudes--upon a rustic bench sothat her extraordinary figure was revealed at its most attractive. 

The young man halted before her, his breath coming quickly--notaltogether from the exertion of his steep and rapid climb. "Jen, I'mmad about you, " he said, his brown eyes soft and luminous with passion. "I've done nothing but think about you in the week you've been back. Ididn't sleep last night, and I've come up here as early as I dared totell you--to ask you to marry me. "

He did not see the triumph she felt, the joy in having subdued anotherof these insolently superior males. Her eyes were discreetly veiled;her delightful mouth was arranged to express sadness. 

"I thought I was an ambition incarnate, " continued the young man, unwittingly adding to her delight by detailing how brilliant herconquest was. "I've never cared a rap about women--until I saw you. Iwas all for politics--for trying to do something to make my fellow menthe better for my having lived. Now--it's all gone. I want you, Jen. Nothing else matters. "

As he paused, gazing at her in speechless longing, she lifted hereyes--simply a glance. With a stifled cry he darted forward, droppedbeside her on the bench and tried to enfold her in his arms. The veinsstood out in his forehead; the expression of his eyes was terrifying. 

She shrank, sprang up. His baffled hands had not even touched her. "David Hull!" she cried, and the indignation and the repulsion in hertone and in her manner were not simulated, though her artfulnesshastened to make real use of them. She loved to rouse men to frenzy. She knew that the sight of their frenzy would chill her--would fill herwith an emotion that would enable her to remain mistress of thesituation. 

At sight of her aversion his eyes sank. "Forgive me, " he muttered. "You make me--CRAZY. "

"I!" she cried, laughing in angry derision. "What have I ever done toencourage you to be--impertinent?"

"Nothing, " he admitted. "That is, nothing but just being yourself. "

"I can't help that, can I?"

"No, " said he, adding doggedly: "But neither can men help going crazyabout you. "

She looked at him sitting there at once penitent and impenitent; andher mind went back to the thoughts that had engaged it before he cameinto view. Marriage--to marry one of these men, with their coarsephysical ideas of women, with their pitiful weakness before an emotionthat seemed to her to have no charm whatever. And these were thecreatures who ruled the world and compelled women to be theirplaythings and mere appendages! Well--no doubt it was the women's ownfault, for were they not a poor, spiritless lot, trembling with frightlest they should not find a man to lean on and then, having found theman, settling down into fat and stupid vacuity or playing the cat atthe silly game of social position? But not Jane Hastings! Her bosomheaved and her eyes blazed scorn as she looked at this person who haddared think the touch of his coarse hands would be welcome. Welcome!

"And I have been thinking what a delightful friendship ours was, " saidshe, disgustedly. "And all the time, your talk about yourambition--the speeches you were going to make--the offices you weregoing to hold--the good you were going to do in purifying politics--itwas all a blind!"

"All a blind, " admitted he. "From the first night that you came to ourhouse to dinner--Jen, I'll never forget that dress you wore--or the wayyou looked in it. "

Miss Jane had thought extremely well of that toilet herself. She hadheard how impervious this David Hull, the best catch in the town, wasto feminine charm; and she had gone prepared to give battle. But shesaid dejectedly, "You don't know what a shock you've given me. "

"Yes, I do, " cried he. "I'm ashamed of myself. But--I love you, Jen!Can't you learn to love me?"

"I hadn't even thought of you in that way, " said she. "I haven'tbothered my head about marriage. Of course, most girls have to thinkabout it, because they must get some one to support them----"

"I wish to God you were one of that sort, " interrupted he. "Then Icould have some hope. "

"Hope of what, " said she disdainfully. "You don't mean that you'dmarry a girl who was marrying you because she had to have food, clothing and shelter?"

"I'd marry the woman I loved. Then--I'd MAKE her love me. She simplycouldn't help it. "

Jane Hastings shuddered. "Thank heaven, I don't have to marry!" Hereyes flashed. "But I wouldn't, even if I were poor. I'd rather go towork. Why shouldn't a woman work, anyhow?"

"At what?" inquired Hull. "Except the men who do manual labor, thereare precious few men who can make a living honestly andself-respectingly. It's fortunate the women can hold aloof and remainpure. "

Jane laughed unpleasantly. "I'm not so sure that the women who livewith men just for shelter are pure, " said she. 

"Jen, " the young man burst out, "you're ambitious--aren't you?"

"Rather, " replied she. 

"And you like the sort of thing I'm trying to do--like it and approveof it?"

"I believe a man ought to succeed--get to the top. "

"So do I--if he can do it honorably. "

Jane hesitated--dared. "To be quite frank, " said she, "I worshipsuccess and I despise failure. Success means strength. Failure meansweakness--and I abominate weakness. "

He looked quietly disapproving. "You don't mean that. You don'tunderstand what you're saying. "

"Perfectly, " she assured him. "I'm not a bit good. Education hastaken all the namby-pamby nonsense out of me. "

But he was not really hearing; besides, what had women to do with therealities of life? They were made to be the property of men--that wasthe truth, though he would never have confessed it to any woman. Theywere made to be possessed. "And I must possess this woman, " hethought, his blood running hot. He said:

"Why not help me to make a career? I can do it, Jen, with you to help. "

She had thought of this before--of making a career for herself, ofdoing the "something" her intense energy craved, through a man. The"something" must be big if it were to satisfy her; and what that wasbig could a woman do except through a man? But--this man. Her eyesturned thoughtfully upon him--a look that encouraged him to go on:

"Politics interest you, Jen. I've seen that in the way you listen andin the questions you ask. "

She smiled--but not at the surface. In fact, his political talk hadbored her. She knew nothing about the subject, and, so, had been asone listening to an unknown language. But, like all women, having onlythe narrowest range of interests herself and the things that wouldenable her to show off to advantage, she was used to being bored by theconversational efforts of men and to concealing her boredom. She hadlistened patiently and had led the conversation by slow, imperceptiblestages round to the interesting personal--to the struggle for dominionover this difficult male. 

"Anyhow, " he went on, "no intelligent person could fail to beinterested in politics, once he or she appreciated what it meant. Andpeople of our class owe it to society to take part in politics. VictorDorn is a crank, but he's right about some things--and he's right insaying that we of the upper class are parasites upon the masses. Theyearn all the wealth, and we take a large part of it away from them. And it's plain stealing unless we give some service in return. Forinstance, you and I--what have we done, what are we doing that entitlesus to draw so much? Somebody must earn by hard labor all that isproduced. We are not earning. So"--he was looking handsome now in hismanly earnestness--"Jen, it's up to us to do our share--to stopstealing--isn't it?"

She was genuinely interested. "I hadn't thought of these things, " saidshe. 

"Victor Dorn says we ought to go to work like laborers, " pursued David. "But that's where he's a crank. The truth is, we ought to give theservice of leadership--especially in politics. And I'm going to do it, Jane Hastings!"

For the first time she had an interest in him other than that ofconquest. "Just what are you going to do?" she asked. 

"Not upset everything and tear everything to pieces, as Victor Dornwants to do, " replied he. "But reform the abuses and wrongs--make itso that every one shall have a fair chance--make politics straight andhonest. "

This sounded hazy to her. "And what will you get out of it?" asked she. 

He colored and was a little uneasy as he thus faced a direct demand forhis innermost secret--the secret of selfishness he tried to hide evenfrom himself. But there was no evading; if he would interest her hemust show her the practical advantages of his proposal. "If I'm to doany good, " said he, putting the best face, and really not a bad face, upon a difficult and delicate matter--"if I'm to do any good I must wina commanding position--must get to be a popular leader--must hold highoffices--and--and--all that. "

"I understand, " said she. "That sounds attractive. Yes, David, youought to make a career. If I were a man that's the career I'd choose. "

"You can choose it, though you're a woman, " rejoined he. "Marry me, andwe'll go up together. You've no idea how exciting campaigns andelections are. A little while, and you'll be crazy about it all. Thewomen are taking part, more and more. "

"Who's Victor Dorn?" she suddenly asked. 

"You must remember him. It was his father that was killed by therailway the day we all went on that excursion to Indianapolis. "

"Dorn the carpenter, " said Jane. "Yes--I remember. " Her face grewdreamy with the effort of memory. "I see it all again. And there wasa boy with a very white face who knelt and held his head. "

"That was Victor, " said Hull. 

"Yes--I remember him. He was a bad boy--always fighting and robbingorchards and getting kept after school. "

"And he's still a bad boy--but in a different way. He's out againsteverything civilized and everybody that's got money. "

"What does he do? Keep a saloon?"

"No, but he spends a lot of time at them. I must say for him that hedoesn't drink--and professes not to believe in drink. When I pointedout to him what a bad example he set, loafing round saloons, he laughedat me and said he was spending his spare time exactly as Jesus Christdid. 'You'll find, Davy, old man, ' he said, 'if you'll take thetrouble to read your Bible, that Jesus traveled with publicans andsinners--and a publican is in plain English a saloonkeeper. '"

"That was very original--wasn't it?" said Jane. "I'm interested inthis man. He's--different. I like people who are different. "

"I don't think you'd like him, Victor Dorn, " said David. 

"Don't you?"

"Oh, yes--in a way. I admire him, " graciously. "He's really aremarkable fellow, considering his opportunities. "

"He calls you 'Davy, old man, '" suggested Jane. 

Hull flushed. "That's his way. He's free and easy with every one. Hethinks conventionality is a joke. "

"And it is, " cried Miss Hastings. 

"You'd not think so, " laughed Hull, "if he called you Jane or Jenny ormy dear Jenny half an hour after he met you. "

"He wouldn't, " said Miss Hastings in a peculiar tone. 

"He would if he felt like it, " replied Hull. "And if you resented it, he'd laugh at you and walk away. I suspect him of being a good deal ofa poseur and a fakir. All those revolutionary chaps are. But Ihonestly think that he really doesn't care a rap for classes--or formoney--or for any of the substantial things. "

"He sounds common, " said Miss Hastings. "I've lost interest in him. "Then in the same breath: "How does he live? Is he a carpenter?"

"He was--for several years. You see, he and his mother togetherbrought up the Dorn family after the father was killed. They didn'tget a cent of damages from the railroad. It was an outrage----"

"But my father was the largest owner of the railroad. "

Hull colored violently. "You don't understand about business, Jen. The railroad is a corporation. It fought the case--and the Dorns hadno money--and the railway owned the judge and bribed several jurors ateach trial. Dorn says that was what started him to thinking--to beinga revolutionist--though he doesn't call himself that. "

"I should think it would!" cried Miss Hastings. "If my father hadknown----" She caught her breath. "But he MUST have known! He was onthe train that day. "

"You don't understand business, Jen. Your father wouldn't interferewith the management of the corporation . "

"He makes money out of it--doesn't he?"

"So do we all get money out of corporations that are compelled to doall sorts of queer things. But we can't abolish the system--we've gotto reform it. That's why I'm in politics--and want you----"

"Something must be done about that, " interrupted Jane. "I shall talkto father----"

"For heaven's sake, Jen, " cried David in alarm, "don't tell your fatherI'VE been stirring you up. He's one of the powers in politics in thisState, and----"

"I'll not give you away, Davy, " said Miss Hastings a littlecontemptuously. "I want to hear more about this Victor Dorn. I'll getthat money for him and his mother. Is he very poor?"

"Well--you'd call him poor. But he says he has plenty. He runs asmall paper. I think he makes about twenty-five dollars a week out ofit--and a little more out of lecturing. Then--every once in a while hegoes back to his trade--to keep his hand in and enjoy the luxury ofearning honest money, as he puts it. "

"How queer!" exclaimed Miss Hastings. "I would like to meet him. Ishe--very ignorant?"

"Oh, no--no, indeed. He's worked his way through college--and lawschool afterward. Supported the family all the time. "

"He must be tremendously clever. "

"I've given you an exaggerated idea of him, " Davy hastened to say. "He's really an ordinary sort of chap. "

"I should think he'd get rich, " said Miss Hastings. "Most of the menthat do--so far as I've met them--seem ordinary enough. "

"He says he could get rich, but that he wouldn't waste time that way. But he's fond of boasting. "

"You don't think he could make money--after all he did--going tocollege and everything?"

"Yes--I guess he could, " reluctantly admitted Davy. Then in a burst ofcandor: "Perhaps I'm a little jealous of him. If _I_ were thrown onmy own resources, I'm afraid I'd make a pretty wretched showing. But--don't get an exaggerated idea of him. The things I've told yousound romantic and unusual. If you met him--saw him every day--you'drealize he's not at all--at least, not much--out of the ordinary. "

"Perhaps, " said Miss Hastings shrewdly, "perhaps I'm getting a betteridea of him than you who see him so often. "

"Oh, you'll run across him sometime, " said Davy, who was bearing up nobetter than would the next man under the strain of a woman's interestin and excitement about another man. "When you do, you'll get enoughin about five minutes. You see, he's not a gentleman . "

"I'm not sure that I'm wildly crazy about gentlemen--AS gentlemen, "replied the girl. "Very few of the interesting people I've read aboutin history and biography have been gentlemen. "

"And very few of them would have been pleasant to associate with, "rejoined Hull. "You'll admire Victor as I do. But you'll feel--as Ido--that there's small excuse for a man who has been educated, who hasassociated with upper class people, turning round and inciting thelower classes against everything that's fine and improving. "

It was now apparent to the girl that David Hull was irritatedly jealousof this queer Victor Dorn--was jealous of her interest in him. Herobvious cue was to fan this flame. In no other way could she get anyamusement out of Davy's society; for his tendency was to be heavilyserious--and she wanted no more of the too strenuous love making, yetwanted to keep him "on the string. " This jealousy was just the meansfor her end. Said she innocently: "If it irritates you, Davy, wewon't talk about him. "

"Not at all--not at all, " cried Hull. "I simply thought you'd begetting tired of hearing so much about a man you'd never known. "

"But I feel as if I did know him, " replied she. "Your account of himwas so vivid. I thought of asking you to bring him to call. "

Hull laughed heartily. "Victor Dorn--calling!"

"Why not?"

"He doesn't do that sort of thing. And if he did, how could I bringhim here?"

"Why not?"

"Well--in the first place, you are a lady--and he is not in your class. Of course, men can associate with each other in politics and business. But the social side of life--that's different. "

"But a while ago you were talking about my going in for politics, " saidMiss Hastings demurely. 

"Still, you'd not have to meet SOCIALLY queer and rough characters----"

"Is Victor Dorn very rough?"

The interrupting question was like the bite of a big fly to a sweatinghorse. "I'm getting sick of hearing about him from you, " cried Hullwith the pettishness of the spoiled children of the upper class. 

"In what way is he rough?" persisted Miss Hastings. "If you didn'twish to talk about Victor Dorn, why did you bring the subject up?"

"Oh--all right, " cried Hull, restraining himself. "Victor isn'texactly rough. He can act like a gentleman--when he happens to wantto. But you never can tell what he'll do next. "

"You MUST bring him to call!" exclaimed Miss Hastings. 

"Impossible, " said Hull angrily. 

"But he's the only man I've heard about since I've been home that I'vetaken the least interest in. "

"If he did come, your father would have the servants throw him off theplace. "

"Oh, no, " said Hiss Hastings haughtily. "My father wouldn't insult aguest of mine. "

"But you don't know, Jen, " cried David. "Why, Victor Dorn attacks yourfather in the most outrageous way in his miserable little anarchistpaper--calls him a thief, a briber, a blood-sucker--a--I'd not ventureto repeat to you the things he says. "

"No doubt he got a false impression of father because of that damagesuit, " said Miss Hastings mildly. "That was a frightful thing. Ican't be so unjust as to blame him, Davy--can you?"

Hull was silent. 

"And I guess father does have to do a lot of things in the course ofbusiness---- Don't all the big men--the leaders?"

"Yes--unfortunately they do, " said Hull. "That's what givesplausibility to the shrieks of demagogues like Victor Dorn--thoughVictor is too well educated not to know better than to stir up theignorant classes. "

"I wonder why he does it, " said Miss Hastings, reflectively. "I mustask him. I want to hear what he says to excuse himself. " In fact, shehad not the faintest interest in the views of this queer unknown; herchief reason for saying she had was to enjoy David Hull's jealousy. 

"Before you try to meet Victor, " said Hull, in a constrained, desperateway, "please speak to your father about it. "

"I certainly shall, " replied the girl. "As soon as he comes home thisafternoon, I'm going to talk to him about that damage suit. That hasgot to be straightened out. " An expression of resolution, ofgentleness and justice abruptly transformed her face. "You may notbelieve it, but I have a conscience. " Absently, "A curious sort of aconscience--one that might become very troublesome, I'm afraid--in somecircumstances. "

Instantly the fine side of David Hull's nature was to the fore--thedominant side, for at the first appeal it always responded. "So haveI, Jen, " said he. "I think our similarity in that respect is whatdraws me so strongly to you. And it's that that makes me hope I can winyou. Oh, Jen--there's so much to be done in the world--and you and Icould have such a splendid happy life doing our share of it. "

She was once more looking at him with an encouraging interest. But shesaid, gently: "Let's not talk about that any more to-day, Davy. "

"But you'll think about it?" urged he. 

"Yes, " said she. "Let's be friends--and--and see what happens. "

Hull strolled up to the house with her, but refused to stop for lunch. He pleaded an engagement; but it was one that could--and in othercircumstances would--have been broken by telephone. His real reason forhurrying away was fear lest Jane should open out on the subject ofVictor Dorn with her father, and, in her ignorance of the truth as tothe situation, should implicate him. 

She found her father already at home and having a bowl of crackers andmilk in a shady corner of the west veranda. He was chewing in themanner of those whose teeth are few and not too secure. His brows wereknitted and he looked as if not merely joy but everything exceptdisagreeable sensation had long since fled his life beyond hope ofreturn--an air not uncommon among the world's successful men. However, at sight of his lovely young daughter his face cleared somewhat and heshot at her from under his wildly and savagely narrowed eyebrows aglance of admiration and tenderness--a quaint expression for thosecold, hard features. 

Everyone spoke of him behind his back as "Old Morton Hastings. "

In fact, he was barely past sixty, was at an age at which city men ofthe modern style count themselves young and even entertain--not withoutreason--hope of being desired of women for other than purely practicalreasons. He was born on a farm--was born with an aversion to physicalexertion as profound as was his passion for mental exertion. We nevershall know how much of its progress the world owes to the physicallylazy, mentally tireless men. Those are they who, to save themselvesphysical exertion, have devised all manner of schemes and machines tosave labor. And, at bottom, what is progress but man's success in hiseffort to free himself from manual labor--to get everything for himselfby the labor of other men and animals and of machines? Naturally hisboyhood of toil on the farm did not lessen Martin Hastings' innatehorror of "real work. " He was not twenty when he dropped tools neverto take them up again. He was shoeing a horse in the heat of the coolside of the barn on a frightful August day. Suddenly he threw down thehammer and said loudly: "A man that works is a damn fool. I'll neverwork again. " And he never did. 

As soon as he could get together the money--and it was not long afterhe set about making others work for him--he bought a buggy, a kind ofphaeton, and a safe horse. Thenceforth he never walked a step thatcould be driven. The result of thirty-five years of this life, sounnatural to an animal that is designed by Nature for walking and ispunished for not doing so--the result of a lifetime of this folly was abody shrivelled to a lean brown husk, legs incredibly meagre and sotottery that they scarcely could bear him about. His head--large andfinely shaped--seemed so out of proportion that he looked at a glancesenile. But no one who had business dealings with him suspected him ofsenility or any degree of weakness. He spoke in a thin dry voice, shrouded in sardonic humor. 

"I don't care for lunch, " said Jane, dropping to a chair near the sideof the table opposite her father. "I had breakfast too late. Besides, I've got to look out for my figure. There's a tendency to fat in ourfamily. "

The old man chuckled. "Me, for instance, " said he. 

"Martha, for instance, " replied Jane. Martha was her onesister--married and ten years older than she and spaciously matronly. 

"Wasn't that Davy Hull you were talking to, down in the woods?"inquired her father. 

Jane laughed. "You see everything, " said she. 

"I didn't see much when I saw him, " said her father. 

Jane was hugely amused. Her father watched her laughter--the dazzlingdisplay of fine teeth--with delighted eyes. "You've got mighty goodteeth, Jenny, " observed he. "Take care of 'em. You'll never know whatmisery is till you've got no teeth--or next to none. " He lookeddisgustedly into his bowl. "Crackers and milk!" grunted he. "No teethand no digestion. The only pleasure a man of my age can have left iseating, and I'm cheated out of that. "

"So, you wouldn't approve of my marrying Davy?" said the girl. 

Her father grunted--chuckled. "I didn't say that. Does he want tomarry you?"

"I didn't say that, " retorted Jane. "He's an unattached young man--andI, being merely a woman, have got to look out for a husband. "

Martin looked gloomy. "There's no hurry, " said he. "You've been awaysix years. Seems to me you might stay at home a while. "

"Oh, I'd bring him here, popsy I've no intention of leaving you. Youwere in an awful state, when I came home. That mustn't ever happenagain. And as you won't live with Martha and Hugo--why, I've got to bethe victim. "

"Yes--it's up to you, Miss, to take care of me in my decliningyears. .. . You can marry Davy--if you want to. Davy--or anybody. Itrust to your good sense. "

"If I don't like him, I can get rid of him, " said the girl. 

Her father smiled indulgently. "That's A LEETLE too up-to-date for anold man like me, " observed he. "The world's moving fast nowadays. It's got a long ways from where it was when your ma and I were young. "

"Do you think Davy Hull will make a career?" asked Jane. She had heardfrom time to time as much as she cared to hear about the world of ageneration before--of its bareness and discomfort, its primness, itsrepulsive piety, its ignorance of all that made life bright andattractive--how it quite overlooked this life in its agitation aboutthe extremely problematic life to come. "I mean a career in politics, "she explained. 

The old man munched and smacked for full a minute before he said, "Well, he can make a pretty good speech. Yes--I reckon he could betaken in hand and pushed. He's got a lot of fool college-bred ideasabout reforming things. But he'd soon drop them, if he got into thepractical swing. As soon as he had a taste of success, he'd stop beingfinicky. Just now, he's one of those nice, pure chaps who stand offand tell how things ought to be done. But he'd get over that. "

Jane smiled peculiarly--half to herself. "Yes--I think he would. Infact, I'm sure he would. " She looked at her father. "Do you think heamounts to as much as Victor Dorn?" she asked, innocently. 

The old man dropped a half raised spoonful of milk and crackers intothe bowl with a splash. "Dorn--he's a scoundrel!" he exclaimed, shaking with passion. "I'm going to have that dirty little paper ofhis stopped and him put out of town. Impudent puppy!--foul-moutheddemagogue! I'll SHOW him!"

"Why, he doesn't amount to anything, father, " remonstrated the girl. "He's nothing but a common working man--isn't he?"

"That's all he is--the hound!" replied Martin Hastings. A look ofcruelty, of tenacious cruelty, had come into his face. It would havestartled a stranger. But his daughter had often seen it; and it didnot disturb her, as it had never appeared for anything that in any waytouched her life. "I've let him hang on here too long, " went on theold man, to himself rather than to her. "First thing I know he'll bedangerous. "

"If he's worth while I should think you'd hire him, " remarked Janeshrewdly. 

"I wouldn't have such a scoundrel in my employ, " cried her father. 

"Oh, maybe, " pursued the daughter, "maybe you couldn't hire him. "

"Of course I could, " scoffed Hastings. "Anybody can be hired. "

"I don't believe it, " said the girl bluntly. 

"One way or another, " declared the old man. "That Dorn boy isn't worththe price he'd want. "

"What price would he want?" asked Jane. 

"How should I know?" retorted her father angrily. 

"You've tried to hire him--haven't you?" persisted she. 

The father concentrated on his crackers and milk. Presently he said:"What did that fool Hull boy say about Dorn to you?"

"He doesn't like him, " replied Jane. "He seems to be jealous ofhim--and opposed to his political views. "

"Dorn's views ain't politics. They're--theft and murder andhighfalutin nonsense, " said Hastings, not unconscious of his feebleanti-climax. 

"All the same, he--or rather, his mother--ought to have got damagesfrom the railway, " said the girl. And there was a sudden and startlingshift in her expression--to a tenacity as formidable as her father'sown, but a quiet and secret tenacity. 

Old Hastings wiped his mouth and began fussing uncomfortably with acigar. 

"I don't blame him for getting bitter and turning against society, "continued she. "I'd have done the same thing--and so would you. "

Hastings lit the cigar. "They wanted ten thousand dollars, " he said, almost apologetically. "Why, they never saw ten thousand cents theycould call their own. "

"But they lost their bread-winner, father, " pleaded the girl. "Andthere were young children to bring up and educate. Oh, I hate to thinkthat--that we had anything to do with such a wrong. "

"It wasn't a wrong, Jen--as I used to tell your ma, " said the old man, much agitated and shrill of voice. "It was just the course ofbusiness. The law was with our company. "

Jane said nothing. She simply gazed steadily at her father. Heavoided her glance. 

"I don't want to hear no more about it, " he burst out with abruptviolence. "Not another word!"

"Father, I want it settled--and settled right, " said the girl. "I askit as a favor. Don't do it as a matter of business, but as a matter ofsentiment. "

He shifted uneasily, debating. When he spoke he was even moreexplosive than before. "Not a cent! Not a red! Give that whelp moneyto run his crazy paper on? Not your father, while he keeps his mind. "

"But--mightn't that quiet him?" pleaded she. "What's the use of havingwar when you can have peace? You've always laughed at people who lettheir prejudices stand in the way of their interests. You've alwayslaughed at how silly and stupid and costly enmities and revenges are. Now's your chance to illustrate, popsy. " And she smiled charmingly athim. 

He was greatly softened by her manner--and by the wisdom of what shesaid--a wisdom in which, as in a mirror, he recognized with pleasureher strong resemblance to himself. "That wouldn't be a bad idea, Jen, "said he after reflection, "IF I could get a guarantee. "

"But why not do it generously?" urged the girl. "Generosity inspiresgenerosity. You'll make him ashamed of himself. "

With a cynical smile on his shrivelled face the old man slowly shookhis big head that made him look as top-heavy as a newborn baby. "Thatisn't as smart, child, as what you said before. It's in them thingsthat the difference between theory and practice shows. He'd take themoney and laugh at me. No, I'll try to get a guarantee. " He noddedand chuckled. "Yes, that was a good idea of yours, Jen. "

"But--isn't it just possible that he is a man with--with principles ofa certain kind?" suggested she. 

"Of course, he THINKS so, " said Hastings. "They all do. But you don'tsuppose a man of any sense at all could really care about and respectworking class people?--ignorant, ungrateful fools. _I_ know 'em. Didn't I come from among 'em? Ain't I dealt with 'em all my life? No, that there guy Dorn's simply trying to get up, and is using them tostep up on. I did the same thing, only I did it in a decent, law-abiding way. I didn't want to tear down those that was up. Iwanted to go up and join 'em. And I did. "

And his eyes glistened fondly and proudly as he gazed at his daughter. She represented the climax of his rising--she, the lady born and bred, in her beautiful clothes, with her lovely, delicate charms. Yes, hehad indeed "come up, " and there before him was the superb tangibleevidence of it. 

Jane had the strongest belief in her father's worldly wisdom. At thesame time, from what David Hull said she had got an impression of asomething different from the ordinary human being in this queer VictorDorn. "You'd better move slowly, " she said to her father. "There's nohurry, and you might be mistaken in him. "

"Plenty of time, " asserted her father. "There's never any need tohurry about giving up money. " Then, with one of those uncanny flashesof intuition for which he, who was never caught napping, was famous, hesaid to her sharply: "You keep your hands off, miss. "

She was thrown into confusion--and her embarrassment enraged heragainst herself. "What could _I_ do?" she retorted with a braveattempt at indifference. 

"Well--keep your hands off, miss, " said the old man. "No femalemeddling in business. I'll stand for most anything, but not for that. "

Jane was now all eagerness for dropping the subject. She wished nofurther prying of that shrewd mind into her secret thoughts. "It'shardly likely I'd meddle where I know nothing about the circumstances, "said she. "Will you drive me down to Martha's?"

This request was made solely to change the subject, to shift her fatherto his favorite topic for family conversation--his daughter Martha, Mrs. Hugo Galland, her weakness for fashionable pastimes, her incessanthints and naggings at her father about his dowdy dress, his vulgarmannerisms of speech and of conduct, especially at table. Jane had notthe remotest intention of letting her father drive her to Mrs. Galland's, or anywhere, in the melancholy old phaeton-buggy, behind thefat old nag whose coat was as shabby as the coat of the master or asthe top and the side curtains of the sorrowful vehicle it drew along atcaterpillar pace. 

When her father was ready to depart for his office in the HastingsBlock--the most imposing office building in Remsen City, Jane announceda change of mind. 

"I'll ride, instead, " said she. "I need the exercise, and the dayisn't too warm. "

"All right, " said Martin Hastings grumpily. He soon got enough ofanyone's company, even of his favorite daughter's. Through years ofhabit he liked to jog about alone, revolving in his mind his businessaffairs--counting in fancy his big bundles of securities, one by one, calculating their returns past, present and prospective--reviewing thevarious enterprises in which he was dominant factor, working outschemes for getting more profit here, for paying less wages there, fortightening his grip upon this enterprise, for dumping his associates inthat, for escaping with all the valuable assets from another. Hisappearance, as he and his nag dozed along the highroad, was asdeceptive as that of a hive of bees on a hot day--no signs of lifeexcept a few sleepy workers crawling languidly in and out at the low, broad crack-door, yet within myriads toiling like mad. 

Jane went up to dress. She had brought an Italian maid with her fromFlorence, and a mass of baggage that had given the station loungers atRemsen City something to talk about, when there was a dearth of newsubjects, for the rest of their lives. She had transformed her ownsuite in the second story of the big old house into an appearance ofthe quarters of a twentieth century woman of wealth and leisure. Inthe sitting room were books in four languages; on the walls weretasteful reproductions of her favorite old masters. The excellence ofher education was attested not by the books and pictures but by theabsence of those fussy, commonplace draperies and bits of bric-a-bracwhere--with people of no taste and no imagination furnish their housesbecause they can think of nothing else to fill in the gaps. 

Many of Jane's ways made Sister Martha uneasy. For Martha, whileadmitting that Jane through superior opportunity ought to know, couldnot believe that the "right sort" of people on the other side hadthrown over all her beloved formalities and were conducting themselvesdistressingly like tenement-house people. For instance, Martha couldnot approve Jane's habit of smoking cigarettes--a habit which, by oneof those curious freaks of character, enormously pleased her father. But--except in one matter--Martha entirely approved Jane's style ofdress. She hastened to pronounce it "just too elegant" and repeatedthat phrase until Jane, tried beyond endurance, warned her that theword elegant was not used seriously by people of the "right sort" andthat its use was regarded as one of those small but subtle signs of theloathsome "middle class. "

The one thing in Jane's dress that Martha disapproved--or, rather, shied at--was her riding suit. This was an extremely noisy plaid man'ssuit--for Jane rode astride. Martha could not deny that Jane looked"simply stunning" when seated on her horse and dressed in that garbwith her long slim feet and graceful calves encased in a pair of ridingboots that looked as if they must have cost "something fierce. " Butwas it really "ladylike"? Hadn't Jane made a mistake and adopted acostume worn only by the fashionables among the demi-mondaines of whomMartha had read and had heard such dreadful, delightful stories?

It was the lively plaid that Miss Hastings now clad herself in. Sheloved that suit. Not only did it give her figure a superb opportunitybut also it brought out new beauties in her contour and coloring. Andher head was so well shaped and her hair grew so thickly about brow andears and nape of neck that it looked full as well plaited and doneclose as when it was framing her face and half concealing, halfrevealing her charming ears in waves of changeable auburn. After alingering--and pardonably pleased--look at herself in a long mirror, she descended, mounted and rode slowly down toward town. 

The old Galland homestead was at the western end of town--in a quarterthat had become almost poor. But it was so dignified and its groundswere so extensive that it suggested a manor house with the humble homesof the lord's dependents clustering about it for shelter. To reach itJane had to ride through two filthy streets lined with factories. Asshe rode she glanced at the windows, where could be seen in dusty airgirls and boys busy at furiously driven machines--machines thatcompelled their human slaves to strain every nerve in the monotonoustask of keeping them occupied. Many of the girls and boys paused longenough for a glance at the figure of the man-clad girl on the big horse. 

Jane, happy in the pleasant sunshine, in her beauty and health and fineraiment and secure and luxurious position in the world, gave a thoughtof pity to these imprisoned young people. "How lucky I am, " shethought, "not to have been born like that. Of course, we all have ourfalls now and then. But while they always strike on the hard ground, I've got a feather bed to fall on. "

When she reached Martha's and was ushered into the cool upstairssitting room, in somehow ghastly contrast to the hot rooms where theyoung working people sweated and strained, the subject persisted in itshold on her thoughts. There was Martha, in comfortable, corsetlessexpansiveness--an ideal illustration of the worthless idler fatteningin purposelessness. She was engaged with all her energies in preparingfor the ball Hugo Galland's sister, Mrs. Bertrand, was giving at theassembly rooms that night. 

"I've been hard at it for several days now, " said she. "I think atlast I see daylight. But I want your opinion. "

Jane gazed absently at the dress and accompanying articles that hadbeen assembled with so much labor. "All right, " said she. "You'll lookfine and dandy. "

Martha twitched. "Jane, dear--don't say that--don't use such anexpression. I know it's your way of joking. But lots of people wouldthink you didn't know any better. "

"Let 'em think, " said Jane. "I say and do as I please. "

Martha sighed. Here was one member of her family who could be acredit, who could make people forget the unquestionably common originof the Hastingses and of the Morleys. Yet this member was alwaysbreaking out into something mortifying, something reminiscent of thefarm and of the livery stable--for the deceased Mrs. Hastings had beendaughter of a livery stable keeper--in fact, had caught Martin Hastingsby the way she rode her father's horses at a sale at a county fair. Said Martha:

"You haven't really looked at my clothes, Jane. Why DID you go back tocalling yourself Jane?"

"Because it's my name, " replied her sister. 

"I know that. But you hated it and changed it to Jeanne, which is somuch prettier. "

"I don't think so any more, " replied Miss Hastings. "My taste hasimproved. Don't be so horribly middle class, Martha--ashamed ofeverything simple and natural. "

"You think you know it all--don't you?--just because you've livedabroad, " said Martha peevishly. 

"On the contrary, I don't know one-tenth as much as I thought I did, when I came back from Wellesley with a diploma. "

"Do you like my costume?" inquired Martha, eying her finery with thefond yet dubious expression of the woman who likes her own taste but isnot sure about its being good taste. 

"What a lazy, worthless pair we are!" exclaimed Jane, hitting her bootleg a tremendous rap with her little cane. 

Martha startled. "Good God--Jane--what is it?" she cried. 

"On the way here I passed a lot of factories, " pursued Jane. "Whyshould those people have to work like--like the devil, while we sitabout planning ball dresses?"

Martha settled back comfortably. "I feel so sorry for those poorpeople, " said she, absently sympathetic. 

"But why?" demanded Jane. "WHY? Why should we be allowed to idlewhile they have to slave? What have we done--what are we doing--toentitle us to ease? What have they done to condemn them to pain andtoil?"

"You know very well, Jane, that we represent the finer side of life. "

"Slop!" ejaculated Jane. 

"For pity's sake, don't let's talk politics, " wailed Martha. "I knownothing about politics. I haven't any brains for that sort of thing. "

"Is that politics?" inquired Jane. "I thought politics meant whetherthe Democrats or the Republicans or the reformers were to get theoffices and the chance to steal. "

"Everything's politics, nowadays, " said Martha, comparing the color ofthe material of her dress with the color of her fat white arm. "AsHugo says, that Victor Dorn is dragging everything into politics--evenour private business of how we make and spend our own money. "

Jane sat down abruptly. "Victor Dorn, " she said in a strange voice. "WHO is Victor Dorn? WHAT is Victor Dorn? It seems that I can hear ofnothing but Victor Dorn to-day. "

"He's too low to talk about, " said Martha, amiable and absent. 

"Why?"

"Politics, " replied Martha. "Really, he is horrid, Jane. "

"To look at?"

"No--not to look at. He's handsome in a way. Not at all commonlooking. You might take him for a gentleman, if you didn't know. Still--he always dresses peculiarly--always wears soft hats. I thinksoft hats are SO vulgar--don't you?"

"How hopelessly middle-class you are, Martha, " mocked Jane. 

"Hugo would as soon think of going in the street in a--in a--I don'tknow what. "

"Hugo is the finest flower of American gentleman. That is, he's thequintessence of everything that's nice--and 'nasty. ' I wish I weremarried to him for a week. I love Hugo, but he gives me the creeps. "She rose and tramped restlessly about the room. "You both give me thecreeps. Everything conventional gives me the creeps. If I'm notcareful I'll dress myself in a long shirt, let down my hair and runwild. "

"What nonsense you do talk, " said Martha composedly. 

Jane sat down abruptly. "So I do!" she said. "I'm as poor a creatureas you at bottom. I simply like to beat against the bars of my cage tomake myself think I'm a wild, free bird by nature. If you opened thedoor, I'd not fly out, but would hop meekly back to my perch and fallto smoothing my feathers. .. . Tell me some more about Victor Dorn. "

"I told you he isn't fit to talk about, " said Martha. "Do you know, they say now that he is carrying on with that shameless, brazen thingwho writes for his paper, that Selma Gordon?"

"Selma Gordon, " echoed Jane. Her brows came down in a gesturereminiscent of her father, and there was a disagreeable expressionabout her mouth and in her light brown eyes. "Who's Selma Gordon?"

"She makes speeches--and writes articles against rich people--and--oh, she's horrid. "

"Pretty?"

"No--a scrawny, black thing. The men--some of them--say she's got akind of uncanny fascination. Some even insist that she's beautiful. "Martha laughed. "Beautiful! How could a woman with black hair and adark skin and no flesh on her bones be beautiful?"

"It has been known to happen, " said Jane curtly. "Is she one of THEGordons?"

"Mercy, no!" cried Martha Galland. "She simply took the name ofGordon--that is, her father did. He was a Russian peasant--a Jew. Andhe fell in love with a girl who was of noble family--a princess, Ithink. "

"Princess doesn't mean much in Russia, " said Jane sourly. 

"Anyhow, they ran away to this country. And he worked in the rollingmill here--and they both died--and Selma became a factory girl--andthen took to writing for the New Day--that's Victor Dorn's paper, youknow. "

"How romantic, " said Jane sarcastically. "And now Victor Dorn's inlove with her?"

"I didn't say that, " replied Martha, with a scandal-smile. 

Jane Hastings went to the window and gazed out into the garden. Martharesumed her habitual warm day existence--sat rocking gently and fanningherself and looking leisurely about the room. Presently she said:

"Jane, why don't you marry Davy Hull?"

No answer. 

"He's got an independent income--so there's no question of his marryingfor money. And there isn't any family anywhere that's better thanhis--mighty few as good. And he's DEAD in love with you, Jen. "

With her back still turned Jane snapped, "I'd rather marry Victor Dorn. "

"What OUTRAGEOUS things you do say!" cried Martha. 

"I envy that black Jewess--that--what's her name?--that Selma Gordon. "

"You don't even know them, " said Martha. 

Jane wheeled round with a strange laugh. "Don't I?" cried she. 

"I don't know anyone else. "

She strode to her sister and tapped her lightly on the shoulder withthe riding stick. 

"Be careful, " cautioned Martha. "You know how easily my fleshmars--and I'm going to wear my low neck to-night. "

Jane did not heed. "David Hull is a bore--and a fraud, " she said. "Itell you I'd rather marry Victor Dorn. "

"Do be careful about my skin, dear, " pleaded Martha. "Hugo'll be SOput out if there's a mark on it. He's very proud of my skin. "

Jane looked at her quizzically. "What a dear, fat old rotter of arespectability it is, to be sure, " said she--and strode from the room, and from the house. 

Her mood of perversity and defiance did not yield to a ten mile gallopover the gentle hills of that lovely part of Indiana, but held onthrough the afternoon and controlled her toilet for the ball. She knewthat every girl in town would appear at that most fashionable party ofthe summer season in the best clothing she could get together. As shehad several dresses from Paris which she not without reason regarded asnotable works of art, the opportunity to outshine was hers--the sort ofopportunity she took pleasure in using to the uttermost, as a rule. But to be the best dressed woman at Mrs. Bertram's party was too easyand too commonplace. To be the worst dressed would call forcourage--of just the sort she prided herself on having. Also, it wouldlook original, would cause talk--would give her the coveted sense ofachievement. 

When she descended to show herself to her father and say good night tohim, she was certainly dressed by the same pattern that caused him tobe talked about throughout that region. Her gown was mussed, had beenmended obviously in several places, had not been in its best daybecoming. But this was not all. Her hair looked stringy anddishevelled. She was delighted with herself. Except during an illnesstwo years before never had she come so near to being downright homely. "Martha will die of shame, " said she to herself. "And Mrs. Bertramwill spend the evening explaining me to everybody. " She did notdefinitely formulate the thought, "And I shall be the most talked aboutperson of the evening"; but it was in her mind none the less. 

Her father always smoked his after-dinner cigar in a little room justoff the library. It was filled up with the plain cheap furniture andthe chromos and mottoes which he and his wife had bought when theyfirst went to housekeeping--in their early days of poverty andstruggle. On the south wall was a crude and cheap, but startlinglylarge enlargement of an old daguerreotype of Letitia Hastings attwenty-four--the year after her marriage and the year before the birthof the oldest child, Robert, called Dock, now piling up a fortune as aninsider in the Chicago "brave" game of wheat and pork, which it isabsurd to call gambling because gambling involves chance. To smoke theone cigar the doctor allowed him, old Martin Hastings always seatedhimself before this picture. He found it and his thoughts the bestcompany in the world, just as he had found her silent self and herthoughts the best company in their twenty-one years of married life. As he sat there, sometimes he thought of her--of what they had beenthrough together, of the various advances in his fortune--how this onehad been made near such and such anniversary, and that one between twoother anniversaries--and what he had said to her and what she had saidto him. Again--perhaps oftener--he did not think of her directly, anymore than he had thought of her when they sat together evening afterevening, year in and year out, through those twenty-one years ofcontented and prosperous life. 

As Jane entered he, seated back to the door, said:

"About that there Dorn damage suit----"

Jane started, caught her breath. Really, it was uncanny, thiscontinual thrusting of Victor Dorn at her. 

"It wasn't so bad as it looked, " continued her father. He was speakingin the quiet voice--quiet and old and sad--he always used when seatedbefore the picture. 

"You see, Jenny, in them days"--also, in presence of the picture helapsed completely into the dialect of his youth--"in them days therailroad was teetering and I couldn't tell which way things'd jump. Every cent counted. "

"I understand perfectly, father, " said Jane, her hands on his shouldersfrom behind. She felt immensely relieved. She did not realize thatevery doer of a mean act always has an excellent excuse for it. 

"Then afterwards, " the old man went on, "the family was getting alongso well--the boy was working steady and making good money and pushingahead--and I was afeared I'd do harm instead of good. It's mightydangerous, Jen, to give money sudden to folks that ain't used to it. I've seen many a smash-up come that way. And your ma--she thought so, too--kind of. "

The "kind of" was advanced hesitatingly, with an apologetic side glanceat the big crayon portrait. But Jane was entirely convinced. She wasaverage human; therefore, she believed what she wished to believe. 

"You were quite right, father, " said she. "I knew you couldn't do abad thing--wouldn't deliberately strike at weak, helpless people. Andnow, it can be straightened out and the Dorns will be all the betterfor not having been tempted in the days when it might have ruined them. "

She had walked round where her father could see her, as she deliveredherself of this speech so redolent of the fumes of collegiate smugness. He proceeded to examine her--with an expression of growingdissatisfaction. Said he fretfully:

"You don't calculate to go out, looking like that?"

"Out to the swellest blow-out of the year, popsy, " said she. 

The big heavy looking head wobbled about uneasily. "You look too muchlike your old pappy's daughter, " said he. 

"I can afford to, " replied she. 

The head shook positively. "You ma wouldn't 'a liked it. She wasmighty partic'lar how she dressed. "

Jane laughed gayly. "Why, when did you become a critic of women'sdress?" cried she. 

"I always used to buy yer ma dresses and hats when I went to the city, "said he. "And she looked as good as the best--not for these days, butfor them times. " He looked critically at the portrait. "I bought themclothes and awful dear they seemed to me. " His glance returned to hisdaughter. "Go get yourself up proper, " said he, between request andcommand. "SHE wouldn't 'a liked it. "

Jane gazed at the common old crayon, suddenly flung her arms round theold man's neck. "Yes--father, " she murmured. "To please HER. "

She fled; the old man wiped his eyes, blew his nose and resumed thecareful smoking of the cheap, smelly cigar. He said he preferred thatbrand of his days of poverty; and it was probably true, as he wouldrefuse better cigars offered him by fastidious men who hoped to savethemselves from the horrors of his. He waited restlessly, though itwas long past his bedtime; he yawned and pretended to listen while DavyHull, who had called for Jane in the Hull brougham, tried to make afavorable impression upon him. At last Jane reappeared--and certainlyLetitia Hastings would have been more than satisfied. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, " said she to Hull, who was speechless andtremulous before her voluptuous radiance. "But father didn't like theway I was rigged out. Maybe I'll have to change again. "

"Take her along, Davy, " said Hastings, his big head wagging withdelight. "She's a caution--SHE is!"

Hull could not control himself to speak. As they sat in the carriage, she finishing the pulling on of her gloves, he stared out into theheavy rain that was deluging the earth and bending low the boughs. Said she, half way down the hill:

"Well--can't you talk about anything but Victor Dorn?"

"I saw him this afternoon, " said Hull, glad that the tension of thesilence was broken. 

"Then you've got something to talk about. "

"The big street car strike is on. "

"So father said at dinner. I suppose Victor Dorn caused it. "

"No--he's opposed to it. He's queer. I don't exactly understand hisideas. He says strikes are ridiculous--that it's like trying to curesmallpox by healing up one single sore. "

Jane gave a shiver of lady-like disgust. "How--nasty, " said she. 

"I'm telling you what he said. But he says that the only way humanbeings learn how to do things right is by doing them wrong--so whilehe's opposed to strikes he's also in favor of them. "

"Even _I_ understand that, " said Jane. "I don't think it's difficult. "

"Doesn't it strike you as--as inconsistent?"

"Oh--bother consistency!" scoffed the girl. "That's another middleclass virtue that sensible people loathe as a vice. Anyhow, he'shelping the strikers all he can--and fighting US. You know, your fatherand my father's estate are the two biggest owners of the streetrailways. "

"I must get his paper, " said Jane. "I'll have a lot of fun reading thetruth about us. "

But David wasn't listening. He was deep in thought. After a while hesaid: "It's amazing--and splendid--and terrible, what power he'sgetting in our town. Victor Dorn, I mean. "

"Always Victor Dorn, " mocked Jane. 

"When he started--twelve years ago as a boy of twenty, just out ofcollege and working as a carpenter--when he started, he was alone andpoor, and without friends or anything. He built up little by little, winning one man at a time--the fellow working next him on his right, then the chap working on his left--in the shop--and so on, one manafter another. And whenever he got a man he held him--made him asdevoted--as--as fanatical as he is himself. Now he's got a band ofnearly a thousand. There are ten thousand voters in this town. So, he's got only one in ten. But what a thousand!"

Jane was gazing out into the rain, her eyes bright, her lips parted. 

"Are you listening?" asked Hull. "Or, am I boring you?"

"Go on, " said she. 

"They're a thousand missionaries--apostles--yes, apostle is the namefor them. They live and breathe and think and talk only the ideasVictor Dorn believes and fights for. And whenever he wants anythingdone--anything for the cause--why, there are a thousand men ready to doit. "

"Why?" said Jane. 

"Victor Dorn, " said Hull. "Do you wonder that he interests me? Forinstance, to-night: you see how it's raining. Well, Victor Dorn hadthem print to-day fifty thousand leaflets about this strike--what itmeans to his cause. And he has asked five hundred of his men to standon the corners and patrol the streets and distribute those dodgers. I'll bet not a man will be missing. "

"But why?" repeated Jane. "What for?"

"He wants to conquer this town. He says the world has to beconquered--and that the way to begin is to begin--and that he hasbegun. "

"Conquer it for what?"

"For himself, I guess, " said Hull. "Of course, he professes that it'sfor the public good. They all do. But what's the truth?"

"If I saw him I could tell you, " said Jane in the full pride of herbelief in her woman's power of divination in character. 

"However, he can't succeed, " observed Hull. 

"Oh, yes, he can, " replied Jane. "And will. Even if every idea he hadwere foolish and wrong. And it isn't--is it?"

David laughed peculiarly. "He's infernally uncomfortably right in mostof the things he charges and proposes. I don't like to think aboutit. " He shut his teeth together. "I WON'T think about it, " hemuttered. 

"No--you'd better stick to your own road, Davy, " said Jane withirritating mockery. "You were born to be thoroughly conventional andrespectable. As a reformer you're ideal. As a--an imitator of VictorDorn, you'd be a joke. "

"There's one of his men now, " exclaimed Hull, leaning forward excitedly. 

Jane looked. A working man, a commonplace enough object, was standingunder the corner street lamp, the water running off his hat, hisshoulders, his coat tail. His package of dodgers was carefullyshielded by an oilcloth from the wet which had full swing at the man. To every passer-by he presented a dodger, accompanying the politegesture with some phrase which seemed to move the man or woman to takewhat was offered and to put it away instead of dropping it. 

Jane sank back in the carriage, disappointed. "Is that all?" said shedisdainfully. 

"ALL?" cried Hull. "Use your imagination, Jen. But I forgot--you're awoman. They see only surfaces. "

"And are snared into marrying by complexions and pretty features anddresses and silly flirting tricks, " retorted the girl sarcastically. 

Hull laughed. "I spoke too quick that time, " said he. "I suppose youexpected to see something out of a fifteenth century Italian oldmaster! Well--it was there, all right. "

Jane shrugged her shoulders. "And your Victor Dorn, " said she, "nodoubt he's seated in some dry, comfortable place enjoying the thoughtof his men making fools of themselves for him. "

They were drawing up to the curb before the Opera House where were theassembly rooms. "There he is now, " cried Hull. 

Jane, startled, leaned eagerly forward. In the rain beyond the edge ofthe awning stood a dripping figure not unlike that other which had sodisappointed her. Underneath the brim of the hat she could see asmooth-shaven youngish face--almost boyish. But the rain streamingfrom the brim made satisfactory scrutiny impossible. 

Jane again sank back. "How many carriages before us?" she said. 

"You're disappointed in him, too, I suppose, " said Hull. "I knew youwould be. "

"I thought he was tall, " said Jane. 

"Only middling, " replied Hull, curiously delighted. 

"I thought he was serious, " said Jane. 

"On the contrary, he's always laughing. He's the best natured man Iknow. "

As they descended and started along the carpet under the middle of theawning, Jane halted. She glanced toward the dripping figure whom thepolice would not permit under the shelter. Said she: "I want one ofthose papers. "

Davy moved toward the drenched distributor of strike literature. "Giveme one, Dorn, " he said in his most elegant manner. 

"Sure, Davy, " said Dorn in a tone that was a subtle commentary onHull's aristocratic tone and manner. As he spoke he glanced at Jane;she was looking at him. Both smiled--at Davy's expense. 

Davy and Jane passed on in, Jane folding the dodger to tuck it away forfuture reading. She said to him: "But you didn't tell me about hiseyes. "

"What's the matter with them?"

"Everything, " replied she--and said no more. 

II

The dance was even more tiresome than Jane had anticipated. There hadbeen little pleasure in outshining the easily outshone belles of RemsenCity. She had felt humiliated by having to divide the honors with abrilliantly beautiful and scandalously audacious Chicago girl, a YvonneHereford--whose style, in looks, in dress and in wit, was morecomfortable to the standard of the best young men of Remsen City--astandard which Miss Hastings, cultivated by foreign travel and socialadventure, regarded as distinctly poor, not to say low. MissHereford's audacities were especially offensive to Jane. Jane wasaudacious herself, but she flattered herself that she had a delicatesense of that baffling distinction between the audacity that is thehall mark of the lady and the audacity that proclaims the not-lady. For example, in such apparently trifling matters as the way of smokinga cigarette, the way of crossing the legs or putting the elbows on thetable or using slang, Jane found a difference, abysmal though narrow, between herself and Yvonne Hereford. "But then, her very name gives heraway, " reflected Jane. "There'd surely be a frightfully cheap streak ina mother who in this country would name her daughter Yvonne--or in agirl who would name herself that. "

However, Jane Hastings was not deeply annoyed either by theshortcomings of Remsen City young men or by the rivalry of MissHereford. Her dissatisfaction was personal--the feeling of futility, of cheapness, in having dressed herself in her best and spent a wholeevening at such unworthy business. "Whatever I am or am not fit for, "said she to herself, "I'm not for society--any kind of society. Atleast I'm too much grown-up mentally for that. " Her disdainfulthoughts about others were, on this occasion as almost always, merely amode of expressing her self-scorn. 

As she was undressing she found in her party bag the dodger Hull hadgot for her from Victor Dorn. She, sitting at her dressing table, started to read it at once. But her attention soon wandered. "I'm notin the mood, " she said. "To-morrow. " And she tossed it into the topdrawer. The fact was, the subject of politics interested her only whensome man in whom she was interested was talking it to her. In ageneral way she understood things political, but like almost all womenand all but a few men she could fasten her attention only on thingsdirectly and clearly and nearly related to her own interests. Politicsseemed to her to be not at all related to her--or, indeed, to anybodybut the men running for office. This dodger was politics, pure andsimple. A plea to workingmen to awaken to the fact that their STRIKESwere stupid and wasteful, that the way to get better pay and decenthours of labor was by uniting, taking possession of the power that wasrightfully theirs and regulating their own affairs. 

She resumed fixing her hair for the night. Her glance bent steadilydownward at one stage of this performance, rested unseeingly upon thehandbill folded printed side out and on top of the contents of the opendrawer. She happened to see two capital letters--S. G. --in a line bythemselves at the end of the print. She repeated them mechanicallyseveral times--"S. G. --S. G. --S. G. "--then her hands fell from her hairupon the handbill. She settled herself to read in earnest. 

"Selma Gordon, " she said. "That's different. "

She would have had some difficulty in explaining to herself why it was"different. " She read closely, concentratedly now. She tried to readin an attitude of unfriendly criticism, but she could not. A dozenlines, and the clear, earnest, honest sentences had taken hold of her. How sensible the statements were, and how obviously true. Why, itwasn't the writing of an "anarchistic crank" at all--on the contrary, the writer was if anything more excusing toward the men who were givingthe drivers and motormen a dollar and ten cents a day for fourteenhours' work--"fourteen hours!" cried Jane, her cheeks burning--yes, Selma Gordon was more tolerant of the owners of the street car linethan Jane herself would have been. 

When Jane had read, she gazed at the print with sad envy in her eyes. "Selma Gordon can think--and she can write, too, " said she half aloud. "I want to know her--too. "

That "too" was the first admission to herself of a curiously intensedesire to meet Victor Dorn. 

"Oh, to be in earnest about something! To have a real interest! Tofind something to do besides the nursery games disguised under newforms for the grown-up yet never to be grown-up infants of the world. And THAT kind of politics doesn't sound shallow and dull. There'sheart in it--and brains--real brains--not merely nasty littleself-seeking cunning. " She took up the handbill again and read aparagraph set in bolder type:

"The reason we of the working class are slaves is because we haven'tintelligence enough to be our own masters, let alone masters of anybodyelse. The talk of equality, workingmen, is nonsense to flatter yoursilly, ignorant vanity. We are not the equals of our masters. Theyknow more than we do, and naturally they use that knowledge to make uswork for them. So, even if you win in this strike or in all yourstrikes, you will not much better yourselves. Because you are ignorantand foolish, your masters will scheme around and take from you in someother way what you have wrenched from them in the strike. 

"Organize! Think! Learn! Then you will rise out of the dirt whereyou wallow with your wives and your children. Don't blame yourmasters; they don't enslave you. They don't keep you in slavery. Yourchains are of your own forging and only you can strike them off!"

Certainly no tenement house woman could be lazier, emptier of head, more inane of life than her sister Martha. "She wouldn't even keepclean if it wasn't the easiest thing in the world for her to do, and ahelp at filling in her long idle day. " Yet--Martha Galland had everycomfort and most of the luxuries, was as sheltered from all thehardships as a hot-house flower. Then there was Hugo--to go no furtherafield than the family. Had he ever done an honest hour's work in hislife? Could anyone have less brains than he? Yet Hugo was rich andrespected, was a director in big corporations, was a member of afirst-class law firm. "It isn't fair, " thought the girl. "I've alwaysfelt it. I see now why. It's a bad system of taking from the many forthe benefit of us few. And it's kept going by a few clever, strong menlike father. They work for themselves and their families and relativesand for their class--and the rest of the people have to suffer. "

She did not fall asleep for several hours, such was the tumult in heraroused brain. The first thing the next morning she went down town, bought copies of the New Day--for that week and for a few precedingweeks--and retreated to her favorite nook in her father's grounds toread and to think--and to plan. She searched the New Day in vain forany of the wild, wandering things Davy and her father had told herVictor Dorn was putting forth. The four pages of each number weregiven over either to philosophical articles no more "anarchistic" thanEmerson's essays, not so much so as Carlyle's, or to plain accounts ofthe current stealing by the politicians of Remsen City, of the squalorand disease--danger in the tenements, of the outrages by the gas andwater and street car companies. There was much that was terrible, muchthat was sad, much that was calculated to make an honest heart burnwith indignation against those who were cheerily sacrificing the wholecommunity to their desire for profits and dividends and graft, publicand private. But there was also a great deal of humor--of rather asardonic kind, but still seeing the fantastic side of this grand gameof swindle. 

Two paragraphs made an especial impression on her:

"Remsen City is no worse--and no better--than other American cities. It's typical. But we who live here needn't worry about the rest of thecountry. The thing for us to do is to CLEAN UP AT HOME. "

"We are more careful than any paper in this town about verifying everystatement we make, before we make it. If we should publish a singlestatement about anyone that was false even in part we would besuppressed. The judges, the bosses, the owners of the bigblood-sucking public service corporations, the whole ruling class, areeager to put us out of existence. Don't forget this fact when you hearthe New Day called a lying, demagogical sheet. "

With the paper beside her on the rustic bench, she fell todreaming--not of a brighter and better world, of a wiser and freerrace, but of Victor Dorn, the personality that had unaided become sucha power in Remsen City, the personality that sparkled and glowed in theinteresting pages of the New Day, that made its sentences read as ifthey were spoken into your very ears by an earnest, honest voiceissuing from a fascinating, humor-loving, intensely human and naturalperson before your very eyes. But it was not round Victor Dorn's brainthat her imagination played. 

"After all, " thought she, "Napoleon wasn't much over five feet. Mostof the big men have been little men. Of course, there wereAlexander--and Washington--and Lincoln, but--how silly to bother abouta few inches of height, more or less! And he wasn't really SHORT. Letme see--how high did he come on Davy when Davy was standing near him?Above his shoulder--and Davy's six feet two or three. He's at least astall as I am--anyhow, in my ordinary heels. "

She was attracted by both the personalities she discovered in thelittle journal. She believed she could tell them apart. About some ofthe articles, the shorter ones, she was doubtful. But in those of anylength she could feel that difference which enables one to distinguishthe piano touch of a player in another room--whether it is male orfemale. Presently she was searching for an excuse for scrapingacquaintance with this pair of pariahs--pariahs so far as her world wasconcerned. And soon she found it. The New Day was takingsubscriptions for a fund to send sick children and their mothers to thecountry for a vacation from the dirt and heat of the tenements--forRemsen City, proud though it was and boastful of its prosperity, housedmost of its inhabitants in slums--though of course that low sort ofpeople oughtn't really to be counted--except for purposes of swellingcensus figures--and to do all the rough and dirty work necessary tokeep civilization going. 

She would subscribe to this worthy charity--and would take hersubscription, herself. Settled--easily and well settled. She did notinvolve herself, or commit herself in any way. Besides, those whomight find out and might think she had overstepped the bounds wouldexcuse her on the ground that she had not been back at home long anddid not realize what she was doing. 

What should she wear?

Her instinct was for an elaborate toilet--a descent in state--or suchstate as the extremely limited resources of Martin Hastings' stableswould permit. The traps he had ordered for her had not yet come; shehad been glad to accept David Hull's offer of a lift the night before. Still, without a carriage or a motor she could make quite an impressionwith a Paris walking dress and hat, properly supported by fashionableaccessories of the toilet. 

Good sense and good taste forbade these promptings of nature. No, shewould dress most simply--in her very plainest things--taking care tomaintain all her advantages of face and figure. If she overwhelmedDorn and Miss Gordon, she would defeat her own purpose--would notbecome acquainted with them. 

In the end she rejected both courses and decided for the ridingcostume. The reason she gave for this decision--the reason she gaveherself--was that the riding costume would invest the call with an airof accident, of impulse. The real reason. 

It may be that some feminine reader can guess why she chose the moststartling, the most gracefully becoming, the most artlessly physicalapparel in her wardrobe. 

She said nothing to her father at lunch about her plans. Why shouldshe speak of them? He might oppose; also, she might change her mind. After lunch she set out on her usual ride, galloping away into thehills--but she had put twenty-five dollars in bills in her trouserspocket. She rode until she felt that her color was at its best, andthen she made for town--a swift, direct ride, her heart beating high asif she were upon a most daring and fateful adventure. And, as a matterof fact, never in her life had she done anything that so intenselyinterested her. She felt that she was for the first time slackeningrein upon those unconventional instincts, of unknown strength andpurpose, which had been making her restless with their vague stirrings. 

"How silly of me!" she thought. "I'm doing a commonplace, rathercommon thing--and I'm trying to make it seem a daring, romanticadventure. I MUST be hard up for excitement!"

Toward the middle of the afternoon she dropped from her horse beforethe office of the New Day and gave a boy the bridle. "I'll be back in aminute, " she explained. It was a two-story frame building, dingy andin disrepair. On the street floor was a grocery. Access to the NewDay was by a rickety stairway. As she ascended this, making a greatnoise on its unsteady boards with her boots, she began to feel cheapand foolish. She recalled what Hull had said in the carriage. "Nodoubt, " replied she, "I'd feel much the same way if I were going to seeJesus Christ--a carpenter's son, sitting in some hovel, talking withhis friends the fishermen and camel drivers--not to speak of the women. "

The New Day occupied two small rooms--an editorial work room, and aprinting work room behind it. Jane Hastings, in the doorway at thehead of the stairs, was seeing all there was to see. In the editorialroom were two tables--kitchen tables, littered with papers andjournals, as was the floor, also. At the table directly opposite thedoor no one was sitting--"Victor Dorn's desk, " Jane decided. At thetable by the open window sat a girl, bent over her writing. Jane sawthat the figure was below, probably much below, the medium height forwoman, that it was slight and strong, that it was clad in a simple, clean gray linen dress. The girl's black hair, drawn into a plain butdistinctly graceful knot, was of that dense and wavy thickness which isa characteristic and a beauty of the Hebrew race. The skin at the napeof her neck, on her hands, on her arms bare to the elbows was of abeautiful dead-white--the skin that so admirably compliments dead-blackhair. 

Before disturbing this busy writer Jane glanced round. There wasnothing to detain her in the view of the busy printing plant in theroom beyond. But on the walls of the room before her were fourpictures--lithographs, cheap, not framed, held in place by a tack ateach corner. There was Washington--then Lincoln--then a copy ofLeonardo's Jesus in the Last Supper fresco--and a fourth face, bearded, powerful, imperious, yet wonderfully kind and good humored--a face shedid not know. Pointing her riding stick at it she said:

"And who is that?"

With a quick but not in the least a startled movement the girl at thetable straightened her form, turned in her chair, saying, as she didso, without having seen the pointing stick:

"That is Marx--Karl Marx. "

Jane was so astonished by the face she was now seeing--the face of thegirl--that she did not hear the reply. The girl's hair and skin hadreminded her of what Martha had told her about the Jewish, orhalf-Jewish, origin of Selma Gordon. Thus, she assumed that she wouldsee a frankly Jewish face. Instead, the face looking at her frombeneath the wealth of thick black hair, carelessly parted near thecentre, was Russian--was Cossack--strange and primeval, intense, dark, as superbly alive as one of those exuberant tropical flowers that seemto cry out the mad joy of life. Only, those flowers suggest theevanescent, the flame burning so fiercely that it must soon burn out, while this Russian girl declared that life was eternal. You could notthink of her as sick, as old, as anything but young and vigorous andvivid, as full of energy as a healthy baby that kicks its dresses intorags and wears out the strength of its strapping nurse. Her nose wasas straight as Jane's own particularly fine example of nose. Her darkgray eyes, beneath long, slender, coal black lines of brow, werebrimming with life and with fun. She had a wide, frank, scarlet mouth;her teeth were small and sharp and regular, and of the strong andhealthy shade of white. She had a very small, but a very resolutechin. With another quick, free movement she stood up. She was indeedsmall, but formed in proportion. She seemed out of harmony with herlinen dress. She looked as if she ought to be careening on the steppesin some romantic, half-savage costume. Jane's first and instantthought was, "There's not another like her in the whole world. She'sthe only living specimen of her kind. "

"Gracious!" exclaimed Jane. "But you ARE healthy. "

The smile took full advantage of the opportunity to broaden into alaugh. A most flattering expression of frank, childlike admirationcame into the dark gray eyes. "You're not sickly, yourself, " repliedSelma. Jane was disappointed that the voice was not untamed Cossack, but was musically civilized. 

"Yes, but I don't flaunt it as you do, " rejoined Jane. "You'd makeanyone who was the least bit off, furious. "

Selma, still with the child-like expression, but now one of curiosity, was examining Jane's masculine riding dress. "What a sensible suit!"she cried, delightedly. "I'd wear something like that all the time, ifI dared. "

"Dared?" said Jane. "You don't look like the frightened sort. "

"Not on account of myself, " explained Selma. "On account of the cause. You see, we are fighting for a new idea. So, we have to be careful notto offend people's prejudices about ideas not so important. If we wentin for everything that's sensible, we'd be regarded as cranks. Onething at a time. "

Jane's glance shifted to the fourth picture. "Didn't you say thatwas--Karl Marx?"

"Yes. "

"He wrote a book on political economy. I tried to read it at college. But I couldn't. It was too heavy for me. He was a Socialist--wasn'the?--the founder of Socialism?"

"A great deal more than that, " replied Selma. "He was the mostimportant man for human liberty that ever lived--except perhaps one. "And she looked at Leonardo's "man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. "

"Marx was a--a Hebrew--wasn't he?"

Selma's eyes danced, and Jane felt that she was laughing at herhesitation and choice of the softer word. Selma said:

"Yes--he was a Jew. Both were Jews. "

"Both?" inquired Jane, puzzled. 

"Marx and Jesus, " explained Selma. 

Jane was startled. "So HE was a Jew--wasn't He?"

"And they were both labor leaders--labor agitators. The first oneproclaimed the brotherhood of man. But he regarded this world ashopeless and called on the weary and heavy laden masses to look to thenext world for the righting of their wrongs. Then--eighteen centuriesafter--came that second Jew"--Selma looked passionate, reverentadmiration at the powerful, bearded face, so masterful, yet sokind--"and he said: 'No! not in the hereafter, but in the here. Hereand now, my brothers. Let us make this world a heaven. Let us redeemourselves and destroy the devil of ignorance who is holding us in thishell. ' It was three hundred years before that first Jew began totriumph. It won't be so long before there are monuments to Marx inclean and beautiful and free cities all over the earth. "

Jane listened intensely. There was admiring envy in her eyes as shecried: "How splendid!--to believe in something--and work for it andlive for it--as you do!"

Selma laughed, with a charming little gesture of the shoulders and thehands that reminded Jane of her foreign parentage. "Nothing else seemsworth while, " said she. "Nothing else is worth while. There are onlytwo entirely great careers--to be a teacher of the right kind and workto ease men's minds--as those four did--or to be a doctor of the rightkind and work to make mankind healthy. All the suffering, all thecrime, all the wickedness, comes from ignorance or bad health--or both. Usually it's simply bad health. "

Jane felt as if she were devoured of thirst and drinking at a fresh, sparkling spring. "I never thought of that before, " said she. 

"If you find out all about any criminal, big or little, you'll discoverthat he had bad health--poisons in his blood that goaded him on. "

Jane nodded. "Whenever I'm difficult to get on with, I'm always notquite well. "

"I can see that your disposition is perfect, when you are well, " saidSelma. 

"And yours, " said Jane. 

"Oh, I'm never out of humor, " said Selma. "You see, I'm neversick--not the least bit. "

"You are Miss Gordon, aren't you?"

"Yes--I'm Selma Gordon. "

"My name is Jane Hastings. " Then as this seemed to convey nothing toSelma, Jane added: "I'm not like you. I haven't an individuality ofmy own--that anybody knows about. So, I'll have to identify myself bysaying that I'm Martin Hastings' daughter. "

Jane confidently expected that this announcement would cause some sortof emotion--perhaps of awe, perhaps of horror, certainly of interest. She was disappointed. If Selma felt anything she did not show it--andJane was of the opinion that it would be well nigh impossible for sodirect and natural a person to conceal. Jane went on:

"I read in your paper about your fund for sick children. I was ridingpast your office--saw the sign--and I've come in to give what I happento have about me. " She drew out the small roll of bills and handed itto Selma. 

The Russian girl--if it is fair thus to characterize one so intenselyAmerican in manner, in accent and in speech--took the money and said:

"We'll acknowledge it in the paper next week. "

Jane flushed and a thrill of alarm ran through her. "Oh--please--no, "she urged. "I'd not like to have my name mentioned. That would lookas if I had done it to seem charitable. Besides, it's such a trifle. "

Selma was calm and apparently unsuspicious. "Very well, " said she. "We'll write, telling what we did with the money, so that you caninvestigate. "

"But I trust you entirely, " cried Jane. 

Selma shook her head. "But we don't wish to be trusted, " said she. "Only dishonest people wish to be trusted when it's possible to avoidtrusting. And we all need watching. It helps us to keep straight. "

"Oh, I don't agree with you, " protested Miss Hastings. "Lots of thetime I'd hate to be watched. I don't want everybody to know all I do. "

Selma's eyes opened. "Why not?" she said. 

Jane cast about for a way to explain what seemed to her a self-evidenttruth. "I mean--privacy, " she said. "For instance, if you were inlove, you'd not want everybody to know about it?"

"Yes, indeed, " declared Selma. "I'd be tremendously proud of it. Itmust be wonderful to be in love. "

In one of those curious twists of feminine nature, Miss Hastingssuddenly felt the glow of a strong, unreserved liking for this strange, candid girl. 

Selma went on: "But I'm afraid I never shall be. I get no time tothink about myself. From rising till bed time my work pushes at me. "She glanced uneasily at her desk, apologetically at Miss Hastings. "Iought to be writing this minute. The strike is occupying Victor, andI'm helping out with his work. "

"I'm interrupting, " said Jane. "I'll go. " She put out her hand withher best, her sweetest smile. "We're going to be friends--aren't we?"

Selma clasped her hand heartily and said: "We ARE friends. I likeeverybody. There's always something to like in everyone--and the badpart isn't their fault. But it isn't often that I like anyone so muchas I do you. You are so direct and honest--quite different from theother women of your class that I've met. "

Jane felt unaccountably grateful and humble. "I'm afraid you're toogenerous. I guess you're not a very good judge of people, " she said. 

"So Victor--Victor Dorn--says, " laughed Selma. "He says I'm tooconfiding. Well--why not? And really, he trusts everybody, too--except with the cause. Then he's--he's"--she glanced from face toface of the four pictures--"he's like those men. "

Jane's glance followed Selma's. She said: "Yes--I should imagineso--from what I've heard. " She startled, flushed, hid behind asomewhat constrained manner. "Will you come up to my house to lunch?"

"If I can find time, " said Selma. "But I'd rather come and take youfor a walk. I have to walk two hours every day. It's the only thingthat'll keep my head clear. "

"When will you come?--to-morrow?"

"Is nine o'clock too early?"

Jane reflected that her father left for business at half-past eight. "Nine to-morrow, " she said. "Good-by again. "

As she was mounting her horse, she saw "the Cossack girl, " as she wascalling her, writing away at the window hardly three feet above thelevel of Jane's head when she was mounted, so low was the first storyof the battered old frame house. But Selma did not see her; she wasall intent upon the writing. "She's forgotten me already, " thoughtJane with a pang of jealous vanity. She added: "But SHE has SOMETHINGto think about--she and Victor Dorn. "

She was so preoccupied that she rode away with only an absent thank youfor the small boy, in an older and much larger and wider brother'scast-off shirt, suspenders and trousers. At the corner of the avenueshe remembered and turned her horse. There stood the boy gazing afterher with a hypnotic intensity that made her smile. She rode backfumbling in her pockets. "I beg your pardon, " said she to the boy. Then she called up to Selma Gordon:

"Miss Gordon--please--will you lend me a quarter until to-morrow?"

Selma looked up, stared dazedly at her, smiled absently at MissHastings--and Miss Hastings had the strongest confirmation of hersuspicion that Selma had forgotten her and her visit the instant shevanished from the threshold of the office. Said Selma: "Aquarter?--oh, yes--certainly. " She seemed to be searching a drawer ora purse out of sight. "I haven't anything but a five dollar bill. I'mso sorry"--this in an absent manner, with most of her thoughtsevidently still upon her work. She rose, leaned from the window, glanced up the street, then down. She went on:

"There comes Victor Dorn. He'll lend it to you. "

Along the ragged brick walk at a quick pace the man who had in suchabrupt fashion stormed Jane Hasting's fancy and taken possession of hercuriosity was advancing with a basket on his arm. He was indeed a manof small stature--about the medium height for a woman--about the heightof Jane Hastings. But his figure was so well put together and his walkso easy and free from self-consciousness that the question of statureno sooner arose than it was dismissed. His head commanded all theattention--its poise and the remarkable face that fronted it. Thefeatures were bold, the skin was clear and healthy and rather fair. His eyes--gray or green blue and set neither prominently norretreatedly--seemed to be seeing and understanding all that was goingon about him. He had a strong, rather relentless mouth--the mouth ofmen who make and compel sacrifices for their ambitions. 

"Victor, " cried Selma as soon as he was within easy range of her voice, "please lend Miss Hastings a quarter. " And she immediately sat downand went to work again, with the incident dismissed from mind. 

The young man--for he was plainly not far beyond thirty--halted andregarded the young woman on the horse. 

"I wish to give this young gentleman here a quarter, " said Jane. "Hewas very good about holding my horse. "

The words were not spoken before the young gentleman darted across thenarrow street and into a yard hidden by masses of clematis, morningglory and sweet peas. And Jane realized that she had wholly mistakenthe meaning of that hypnotic stare. 

Victor laughed--the small figure, the vast clothes, the bare feet withvoluminous trousers about them made a ludicrous sight. "He doesn'twant it, " said Victor. "Thank you just the same. "

"But I want him to have it, " said Jane. 

With a significant unconscious glance at her costume Dorn said: "Thosecostumes haven't reached our town yet. "

"He did some work for me. I owe it to him. "

"He's my sister's little boy, " said Dorn, with his amiable, friendlysmile. "We mustn't start him in the bad way of expecting pay forpoliteness. "

Jane colored as if she had been rebuked, when in fact his tone forbadethe suggestion of rebuke. There was an unpleasant sparkle in her eyesas she regarded the young man in the baggy suit, with the basket on hisarm. "I beg your pardon, " said she coldly. "I naturally didn't knowyour peculiar point of view. "

"That's all right, " said Dorn carelessly. "Thank you, and good day. "And with a polite raising of the hat and a manner of good humoredfriendliness that showed how utterly unconscious he was of her beingoffended at him, he hastened across the street and went in at the gatewhere the boy had vanished. And Jane had the sense that he hadforgotten her. She glanced nervously up at the window to see whetherSelma Gordon was witnessing her humiliation--for so she regarded it. But Selma was evidently lost in a world of her own. "She doesn't lovehim, " Jane decided. "For, even though she is a strange kind of person, she's a woman--and if she had loved him she couldn't have helpedwatching while he talked with another woman--especially with one of myappearance and class. "

Jane rode slowly away. At the corner--it was a long block--she glancedtoward the scene she had just quitted. Involuntarily she drew rein. Victor and the boy had come out into the street and were playingcatches. The game did not last long. Dorn let the boy corner him andseize him, then gave him a great toss into the air, catching him as hecame down and giving him a hug and a kiss. The boy ran shoutingmerrily into the yard; Victor disappeared in the entrance to theoffices of the New Day. 

That evening, as she pretended to listen to Hull on national politics, and while dressing the following morning Jane reflected upon heradventure. She decided that Dorn and the "wild girl" were a low, ill-mannered pair with whom she had nothing in common, that herfantastic, impulsive interest in them had been killed, that for thefuture she would avoid "all that sort of cattle. " She would receiveSelma Gordon politely, of course--would plead headache as an excuse fornot walking, would get rid of her as soon as possible. "No doubt, "thought Jane, with the familiar, though indignantly denied, complacenceof her class, "as soon as she gets in here she'll want to hang on. Sheplayed it very well, but she must have been crazy with delight at mynoticing her and offering to take her up. "

The postman came as Jane was finishing breakfast. He brought a notefrom Selma--a hasty pencil scrawl on a sheet of printer's copy paper:

"Dear Miss Hastings: For the present I'm too busy to take my walks. So, I'll not be there to-morrow. With best regards, S. G. "

Such a fury rose up in Jane that the undigested breakfast went wrongand put her in condition to give such exhibition as chance might temptof that ugliness of disposition which appears from time to time in allof us not of the meek and worm-like class, and which we usuallyattribute to any cause under the sun but the vulgar right one. "Theimpertinence!" muttered Jane, with a second glance at the note whichconveyed; among other humiliating things, an impression of her ownabsolute lack of importance to Selma Gordon. "Serves me right forlowering myself to such people. If I wanted to try to do anything forthe working class I'd have to keep away from them. They're sounattractive to look at and to associate with--not like those shrewd, respectful, interesting peasants one finds on the other side. They'rebetter in the East. They know their place in a way. But out herethey're insufferable. "

And she spent the morning quarrelling with her maid and the otherservants, issuing orders right and left, working herself into ahorrible mood dominated by a headache that was anything but a pretense. As she wandered about the house and gardens, she trailed a beautifulnegligee with that carelessness which in a woman of clean and orderlyhabits invariably indicates the possession of many clothes and of amaid who can be counted on to freshen things up before they shall beused again. Her father came home to lunch in high good humor. 

"I'll not go down town again for a few days, " said he. "I reckon I'dbest keep out of the way. That scoundrelly Victor Dorn has done somuch lying and inciting these last four or five years that it ain'tsafe for a man like me to go about when there's trouble with the hands. "

"Isn't it outrageous!" exclaimed Jane. "He ought to be stopped. "

Hastings chuckled and nodded. "And he will be, " said he. "Wait tillthis strike's over. "

"When will that be?" asked Jane. 

"Mighty soon, " replied her father. "I was ready for 'em thistime--good and ready. I've sent word to the governor that I want themilitia down here tomorrow----"

"Has there been a riot?" cried Jane anxiously. 

"Not yet, " said Hastings. He was laughing to himself. "But there willbe to-night. Then the governor'll send the troops in to-morrowafternoon. "

"But maybe the men'll be quiet, and then----" began Jane, sick insideand trembling. 

"When I say a thing'll happen, it'll happen, " interrupted her father. "We've made up our minds it's time to give these fellows a lesson. It's got to be done. A milder lesson'll serve now, where later on it'dhave to be hard. I tell you these things because I want you toremember 'em. They'll come in handy--when you'll have to look afteryour own property. "

She knew how her father hated the thought of his own death; this wasthe nearest he had ever come to speaking of it. "Of course, there'syour brother William, " he went on. "William's a good boy--and a mightygood business man--though he does take risks I'd never 'a took--noteven when I was young and had nothing to lose. Yes--and Billy'shonest. BUT"--the big head shook impressively--"William's human, Jenny--don't ever forget that. The love of money's an awful thing. " Alustful glitter like the shine of an inextinguishable fire made hiseyes fascinating and terrible. "It takes hold of a man and never letsgo. To see the money pile up--and up--and up. "

The girl turned away her gaze. She did not wish to see so far into herfather's soul. It seemed a hideous indecency. 

"So, Jenny--don't trust William, but look after your own property. "

"Oh, I don't care anything about it, popsy, " she cried, fighting tothink of him and to speak to him as simply the living father she hadalways insisted on seeing. 

"Yes--you do care, " said Hastings sharply. "You've got to have yourmoney, because that's your foundation--what you're built on. And I'mgoing to train you. This here strike's a good time to begin. "

After a long silence she said: "Yes, money's what I'm built on. Imight as well recognize the truth and act accordingly. I want you toteach me, father. "

"I've got to educate you so as, when you get control, you won't go anddo fool sentimental things like some women--and some men that warn'ttrained practically--men like that Davy Hull you think so well of. Things that'd do no good and 'd make you smaller and weaker. "

"I understand, " said the girl. "About this strike--WHY won't you givethe men shorter hours and better pay?"

"Because the company can't afford it. As things are now, there's onlyenough left for a three per cent dividend after the interest on thebonds is paid. "

She had read in the New Day that by a series of tricks the "tractionring" had quadrupled the bonded indebtedness of the roads andmultiplied the stock by six, and had pocketed the proceeds of thesteal; that three per cent on the enormously inflated capital was infact eighteen per cent on the actual stock value; that seven per centon the bonds was in fact twenty-eight per cent on the actual bondedindebtedness; that this traction steal was a fair illustration of howin a score of ways in Remsen City, in a thousand and one ways in allparts of the country, the upper class was draining away the substanceof the masses, was swindling them out of their just wages, was forcingthem to pay many times the just prices for every article of civilizeduse. She had read these things--she had thought about them--she hadrealized that they were true. 

She did not put to her father the question that was on her lips--thenext logical question after his answer that the company could notafford to cut the hours lower than fourteen or to raise wages to whatwas necessary for a man to have if he and his family were to live, notin decency and comfort, but in something less than squalor. She didnot put the question because she wished to spare her father--to spareherself the shame of hearing his tricky answer--to spare herself thediscomfort of squarely facing a nasty truth. 

Instead she said: "I understand. And you have got to look out for therights of the people who have invested their money. "

"If I didn't I'd be cheating them, " said Hastings. "And if the mendon't like their jobs, why, they can quit and get jobs they do like. "He added, in absolute unconsciousness of his inconsistency, in absolutebelief in his own honesty and goodness, "The truth is our company paysas high wages as can be got anywhere. As for them hours--when _I_ wasworking my way up, _I_ used to put in sixteen and eighteen hours a day, and was mighty glad to do it. This lazy talk of cutting down hoursmakes me sick. And these fellows that're always kicking on their jobs, I'd like to know what'd become of them and their families if I and menlike me didn't provide work for 'em. "

"Yes, indeed!" cried Jane, eagerly seizing upon this attractive view ofthe situation--and resolutely accepting it without question. 

In came one of the maids, saying: "There's a man wants to see you, Mr. Hastings. "

"What's his name? What does he want?" inquired Hastings, while Janemade a mental note that she must try to inject at least a little orderand form into the manners of announcing visitors. 

"He didn't give a name. He just said, 'Tell the old man I want to seehim. ' I ain't sure, but I think it's Dick Kelly. "

As Lizzie was an ardent Democrat, she spoke the namecontemptuously--for Dick Kelly was the Republican boss. If it had beenHouse, the Democratic boss and Kelly's secret dependent and henchman, she would have said "Mr. Joseph House" in a tone of deep respect. 

"Kelly, " said Hastings. "Must be something important or he'd 'atelephoned or asked me to see him at my office or at the Lincoln Club. He never came out here before. Bring him in, Lizzie. "

A moment and there appeared in the doorway a man of perhaps forty yearswho looked like a prosperous contractor who had risen from the ranks. His figure was notable for its solidity and for the power of theshoulders; but already there were indications that the solidity, comeof hard manual labor in early life, was soon to soften into fat underthe melting influence of prosperity and the dissipation it put withintoo easy reach. The striking features of his face were a pair of keen, hard, greenish eyes and a jaw that protruded uglily--the jaw ofaggressiveness, not the too prominent jaw of weakness. At sight ofJane he halted awkwardly. 

"How're you, Mr. Hastings?" said he. 

"Hello, Dick, " said the old man. "This is my daughter Jane. "

Jane smiled a pleasant recognition of the introduction. Kelly saidstiffly, "How're you, ma'am?"

"Want to see me alone, I suppose?" Hastings went on. "You go out onthe porch, Jenny. "

As soon as Jane disappeared Kelly's stiffness and clumsiness vanished. To head off Hastings' coming offer of a cigar, he drew one from hispocket and lighted it. "There's hell to pay, Mr. Hastings, " he began, seating himself near the old man, tilting back in his chair andcrossing his legs. 

"Well, I reckon you can take care of it, " said Hastings calmly. 

"Oh, yes, we kin take care of it, all right. Only, I don't want to donothing without consulting you. "

In these two statements Mr. Kelly summed up the whole of politics inRemsen City, in any city anywhere, in the country at large. 

Kelly had started life as a blacksmith. But he soon tired of thedullness and toil and started forth to find some path up to where menlive by making others work for them instead of plodding along at thehand-to-mouth existence that is the lot of those who live by their ownlabors alone. He was a safe blower for a while, but wisely soonabandoned that fascinating but precarious and unremunerative career. From card sharp following the circus and sheet-writer to a bookmaker hegraduated into bartender, into proprietor of a doggery. As everysaloon is a political club, every saloon-keeper is of necessity apolitician. Kelly's woodbox happened to be a convenient place fordirecting the floaters and the repeaters. Kelly's political importancegrew apace. His respectability grew more slowly. But it had grown andwas growing. 

If you had asked Lizzie, the maid, why she was a Democrat, she wouldhave given no such foolish reason as the average man gives. 

She would not have twaddled about principles--when everyone witheyeteeth cut ought to know that principles have departed from politics, now that both parties have been harmonized and organized into agenciesof the plutocracy. She would not have said she was a Democrat becauseher father was, or because all her friends and associates were. Shewould have replied--in pleasantly Americanized Irish:

"I'm a Democrat because when my father got too old to work, Mr. House, the Democrat leader, gave him a job on the elevator at the CourtHouse--though that dirty thief and scoundrel, Kelly, the Republicanboss, owned all the judges and county officers. And when my brotherlost his place as porter because he took a drink too many, Mr. Housegave him a card to the foreman of the gas company, and he went to workat eight a week and is there yet. "

Mr. Kelly and Mr. House belong to a maligned and much misunderstoodclass. Whenever you find anywhere in nature an activity of any kind, however pestiferous its activity may seem to you--or however good--youmay be sure that if you look deep enough you will find that thatactivity has a use, arises from a need. The "robber trusts" and thepolitical bosses are interesting examples of this basic truth. Theyhave arisen because science, revolutionizing human society, hascompelled it to organize. The organization is crude and clumsy andstupid, as yet, because men are ignorant, are experimenting, areworking in the dark. So, the organizing forces are necessarily crudeand clumsy and stupid. 

Mr. Hastings was--all unconsciously--organizing society industrially. Mr. Kelly--equally unconscious of the true nature of hisactivities--was organizing society politically. And as industry andpolitics are--and ever have been--at bottom two names for identicallythe same thing, Mr. Hastings and Mr. Kelly were bound sooner or laterto get together. 

Remsen City was organized like every other large or largish community. There were two clubs--the Lincoln and the Jefferson--which well enoughrepresented the "respectable elements"--that is, those citizens whowere of the upper class. There were two other clubs--the Blaine and theTilden--which were similarly representative of the "rank and file" and, rather, of the petty officers who managed the rank and file and votedit and told it what to think and what not to think, in exchange takingcare of the needy sick, of the aged, of those out of work and so on. Martin Hastings--the leading Republican citizen of Remsen City, thoughfor obvious reasons his political activities were wholly secret andstealthy--was the leading spirit in the Lincoln Club. JaredOlds--Remsen City's richest and most influential Democrat, the head ofthe gas company and the water company--was foremost in the JeffersonClub. At the Lincoln and the Jefferson you rarely saw any but"gentlemen"--men of established position and fortune, deacons andvestrymen, judges, corporation lawyers and the like. The Blaine andthe Tilden housed a livelier and a far less select class--the"boys"--the active politicians, the big saloon keepers, the criminallawyers, the gamblers, the chaps who knew how to round up floaters andto handle gangs of repeaters, the active young sports working forpolitical position, by pitching and carrying for the political leaders, by doing their errands of charity or crookedness or what not. JoeHouse was the "big shout" at the Tilden; Dick Kelly could be foundevery evening on the third--or "wine, " or plotting--floor of theBlaine--found holding court. And very respectful indeed were even themost eminent of Lincoln, or Jefferson, respectabilities who sought himout there to ask favors of him. 

The bosses tend more and more to become mere flunkeys of theplutocrats. Kelly belonged to the old school of boss, dating from thedays when social organization was in the early stages, when thepolitical organizer was feared and even served by the industrialorganizer, the embryo plutocrats. He realized how necessary he was tohis plutocratic master, and he made that master treat him almost as anequal. He was exacting ever larger pay for taking care of the votersand keeping them fooled; he was getting rich, and had as yet vagueaspirations to respectability and fashion. He had stopped drinking, had "cut out the women, " had made a beginning toward a less inelegantway of speaking the language. His view of life was what is calledcynical. That is, he regarded himself as morally the equal of therespectable rulers of society--or of the preachers who attended to thereligious part of the grand industry of "keeping the cow quiet while itwas being milked. "

But Mr. Kelly was explaining to Martin Hastings what he meant when hesaid that there was "hell to pay":

"That infernal little cuss, Victor Dorn, " said he "made a speech in theCourt House Square to-day. Of course, none of the decent papers--andthey're all decent except his'n--will publish any of it. Still, therewas about a thousand people there before he got through--and thething'll spread. "

"Speech?--what about?" said Hastings. "He's always shooting off hismouth. He'd better stop talking and go to work at some honestbusiness. "

"He's got on to the fact that this strike is a put-up job--that thecompany hired labor detectives in Chicago last winter to come down hereand get hold of the union. He gave names--amounts paid--the whole damnthing. "

"Um, " said Hastings, rubbing his skinny hands along the shinypantaloons over his meagre legs. "Um. "

"But that ain't all, " pursued Kelly. "He read out a list of the mentold off to pretend to set fire to the car barns and start theriot--those Chicago chaps, you know. "

"I don't know anything about it, " said Hastings sharply. 

Kelly smiled slightly--amused scorn. It seemed absurd to him for theold man to keep up the pretense of ignorance. In fact, Hastings wasignorant--of the details. He was not quite the aloof plutocrat of themodern school, who permits himself to know nothing of details beyondthe dividend rate and similar innocent looking results of causes atwhich sometimes hell itself would shudder. But, while he was moreactive than the conscience-easing devices now working smoothly madenecessary, he never permitted himself to know any unnecessary criminalor wicked fact about his enterprises. 

"I don't know, " he repeated. "And I don't want to know. "

"Anyhow, Dorn gave away the whole thing. He even read a copy of yourletter of introduction to the governor--the one you--according toDorn--gave Fillmore when you sent him up to the Capitol to arrange forthe invitation to come after the riot. "

Hastings knew that the boss was deliberately "rubbing it in" becauseHastings--that is, Hastings' agents had not invited Kelly to assist inthe project for "teaching the labor element a much needed lesson. " Butknowledge of Kelly's motive did not make the truth he was telling anyless true--the absurd mismanagement of the whole affair, with theresult that Dorn seemed in the way to change it from a lesson to laboron the folly of revolt against their kind and generous but firmemployers into a provoker of fresh and fiercer revolt--effectiverevolt--political revolt. So, as Kelly "rubbed, " Hastings visiblywinced and writhed. 

Kelly ended his recital with: "The speech created a hell of asensation, Mr. Hastings. That young chap can talk. "

"Yes, " snapped Hastings. "But he can't do anything else. "

"I'm not so sure of that, " replied Kelly, who was wise enough torealize the value of a bogey like Dorn--its usefulness for purposes of"throwing a scare into the silk-stocking crowd. " "Dorn's getting mightystrong with the people. "

"Stuff and nonsense!" retorted Hastings. "They'll listen to any slicktongued rascal that roasts those that are more prosperous than theyare. But when it comes to doing anything, they know better. They envyand hate those that give them jobs, but they need the jobs. "

"There's a good deal of truth in that, Mr. Hastings, " said Kelly, whowas nothing if not judicial. "But Dorn's mighty plausible. I hearsensible men saying there's something more'n hot air in his facts andfiggures. " Kelly paused, and made the pause significant. 

"About that last block of traction stock, Mr. Hastings. I thought youwere going to let me in on the ground floor. But I ain't heardnothing. "

"You ARE in, " said Hastings, who knew when to yield. "Hasn't Barkerbeen to see you? I'll attend to it, myself. "

"Thank you, Mr. Hastings, " said Kelly--dry and brief as always whenreceipting with a polite phrase for pay for services rendered. "I'vebeen a good friend to your people. "

"Yes, you have, Dick, " said the old man heartily. "And I want you tojump in and take charge. "

Hastings more than suspected that Kelly, to bring him to terms and toforce him to employ directly the high-priced Kelly orRepublico-Democratic machine as well as the State Republico-Democraticmachine, which was cheaper, had got together the inside information andhad ordered one of his henchmen to convey it to Dorn. But of what useto quarrel with Kelly? Of course, he could depose him; but that wouldsimply mean putting another boss in his place--perhaps one moreexpensive and less efficient. The time had been when he--and theplutocracy generally--were compelled to come to the political bossesalmost hat in hand. That time was past, never to return. But still acompetent political agent was even harder to find than a competentbusiness manager--and was far more necessary; for, while a big businessmight stagger along under poor financial or organizing managementwithin, it could not live at all without political favors, immunities, and licenses. A band of pickpockets might as well try to work a townwithout having first "squared" the police. Not that Mr. Hastings andhis friends THEMSELVES compared themselves to a band of pickpockets. No, indeed. It was simply legitimate business to blackjack yourcompetitors, corner a supply, create a monopoly and fix prices andwages to suit your own notions of what was your due for taking the"hazardous risks of business enterprise. "

"Leave everything to me, " said Kelly briskly. "I can put the thingthrough. Just tell your lawyer to apply late this afternoon to JudgeLansing for an injunction forbidding the strikers to assemble anywherewithin the county. We don't want no more of this speechifying. Thisis a peaceable community, and it won't stand for no agitators. "

"Hadn't the lawyers better go to Judge Freilig?" said Hastings. 

"He's shown himself to be a man of sound ideas. "

"No--Lansing, " said Kelly. "He don't come up for re-election for fiveyears. Freilig comes up next fall, and we'll have hard work to pullhim through, though House is going to put him on the ticket, too. Dorn's going to make a hot campaign--concentrate on judges. "

"There's nothing in that Dorn talk, " said Hastings. "You can't scareme again, Dick, as you did with that Populist mare's nest ten yearsago. "

That had been Kelly's first "big killing" by working on the fears ofthe plutocracy. Its success had put him in a position to buy acarriage and a diamond necklace for Mrs. Kelly and to make firstpayments on a large block of real estate. "It was no mare's nest, Mr. Hastings, " gravely declared the boss. "If I hadn't 'a knowed just howto use the money we collected, there'd 'a been a crowd in office forfour years that wouldn't 'a been easy to manage, I can tell you. Butthey was nothing to this here Dorn crowd. Dorn is----"

"We must get rid of him, Dick, " interrupted Hastings. 

The two men looked at each other--a curious glance--telegraphy. Nomethod was suggested, no price was offered or accepted. But in thecircumstances those matters became details that would settlethemselves; the bargain was struck. 

"He certainly ought to be stopped, " said Kelly carelessly. "He's theworst enemy the labor element has had in my time. " He rose. "Well, Mr. Hastings, I must be going. " He extended his heavy, strong hand, whichHastings rose to grasp. "I'm glad we're working together again withoutany hitches. You won't forget about that there stock?"

"I'll telephone about it right away, Dick--and about Judge Lansing. You're sure Lansing's all right? I didn't like those decisions of hislast year--the railway cases, I mean. "

"That was all right, Mr. Hastings, " said Kelly with a wave of the hand. "I had to have 'em in the interests of the party. I knowed the uppercourt'd reverse. No, Lansing's a good party man--a good, sound man inevery way. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " said Hastings. 

Before going into his private room to think and plan and telephone, helooked out on the west veranda. There sat his daughter; and a few feetaway was David Hull, his long form stretched in a hammock while hediscoursed of his projects for a career as a political reformer. Thesight immensely pleased the old man. When he was a boy David Hull'sgrandfather, Brainerd Hull, had been the great man of that region; andMartin Hastings, a farm hand and the son of a farm hand, had looked upat him as the embodiment of all that was grand and aristocratic. AsHastings had never travelled, his notions of rank and position allcentred about Remsen City. Had he realized the extent of the world, hewould have regarded his ambition for a match between the daughter andgranddaughter of a farm hand and the son and grandson of a Remsen Cityaristocrat as small and ridiculous. But he did not realize. 

Davy saw him and sprang to his feet. 

"No--no--don't disturb yourselves, " cried the old man. "I've got somethings to 'tend to. You and Jenny go right ahead. "

And he was off to his own little room where he conducted his ownbusiness in his own primitive but highly efficacious way. A corps ofexpert accountants could not have disentangled those crabbed, criss-crossed figures; no solver of puzzles could have unravelled themystery of those strange hieroglyphics. But to the old man therewasn't a difficult--or a dull--mark in that entire set of dirty, dog-eared little account books. He spent hours in poring over them. Just to turn the pages gave him keen pleasure; to read, and toreconstruct from those hints the whole story of some agitating andprofitable operation, made in comparison the delight of an imaginativeboy in Monte Cristo or Crusoe seem a cold and tame emotion. 

David talked on and on, fancying that Jane was listening and admiring, when in fact she was busy with her own entirely different train ofthought. She kept the young man going because she did not wish to bebored with her own solitude, because a man about always made life atleast a little more interesting than if she were alone or with a woman, and because Davy was good to look at and had an agreeable voice. 

"Why, who's that?" she suddenly exclaimed, gazing off to the right. 

Davy turned and looked. "I don't know her, " he said. "Isn't she queerlooking--yet I don't know just why. "

"It's Selma Gordon, " said Jane, who had recognized Selma the instanther eyes caught a figure moving across the lawn. 

"The girl that helps Victor Dorn?" said Davy, astonished. "What's SHEcoming HERE for? You don't know her--do you?"

"Don't you?" evaded Jane. "I thought you and Mr. Dorn were such pals. "

"Pals?" laughed Hull. "Hardly that. We meet now and then at aworkingman's club I'm interested in--and at a cafe' where I go to getin touch with the people occasionally--and in the street. But I nevergo to his office. I couldn't afford to do that. And I've never seenMiss Gordon. "

"Well, she's worth seeing, " said Jane. "You'll never see another likeher. "

They rose and watched her advancing. To the usual person, acutelyconscious of self, walking is not easy in such circumstances. ButSelma, who never bothered about herself, came on with that matchlesssteady grace which peasant girls often get through carrying burdens onthe head. Jane called out:

"So, you've come, after all. "

Selma smiled gravely. Not until she was within a few feet of the stepsdid she answer: "Yes--but on business. " She was wearing the samelinen dress. On her head was a sailor hat, beneath the brim of whichher amazingly thick hair stood out in a kind of defiance. This hat, this further article of Western civilization's dress, added to thesuggestion of the absurdity of such a person in such clothing. But inher strange Cossack way she certainly was beautiful--and as healthy andhardy as if she had never before been away from the high, wind-sweptplateaus where disease is unknown and where nothing is thought ofliving to be a hundred or a hundred and twenty-five. Both before andafter the introduction Davy Hull gazed at her with fascinated curiositytoo plainly written upon his long, sallow, serious face. She, intentupon her mission, ignored him as the arrow ignores the other birds ofthe flock in its flight to the one at which it is aimed. 

"You'll give me a minute or two alone?" she said to Jane. "We can walkon the lawn here. "

Hull caught up his hat. "I was just going, " said he. Then hehesitated, looked at Selma, stammered: "I'll go to the edge of thelawn and inspect the view. "

Neither girl noted this abrupt and absurd change of plan. He departed. As soon as he had gone half a dozen steps, Selma said in her quick, direct fashion:

"I've come to see you about the strike. "

Jane tried to look cool and reserved. But that sort of expressionseemed foolish in face of the simplicity and candor of Selma Gordon. Also, Jane was not now so well pleased with her father's ideas andthose of her own interest as she had been while she was talking withhim. The most exasperating thing about the truth is that, once one hasbegun to see it--has begun to see what is for him the truth--the honesttruth--he can not hide from it ever again. So, instead of looking coldand repellant, Jane looked uneasy and guilty. "Oh, yes--the strike, "she murmured. 

"It is over, " said Selma. "The union met a half hour ago and revokedits action--on Victor Dorn's advice. He showed the men that they hadbeen trapped into striking by the company--that a riot was to bestarted and blamed upon them--that the militia was to be called in andthey were to be shot down. "

"Oh, no--not that!" cried Jane eagerly. "It wouldn't have gone as faras that. "

"Yes--as far as that, " said Selma calmly. "That sort of thing is anold story. It's been done so often--and worse. You see, therespectable gentlemen who run things hire disreputable creatures. Theydon't tell them what to do. They don't need to. The poor wretchesunderstand what's expected of them--and they do it. So, therespectable gentlemen can hold up white hands and say quite truthfully, 'No blood-no filth on these--see!"' Selma was laughing drearily. Hersuperb, primitive eyes, set ever so little aslant, were flashing withan intensity of emotion that gave Jane Hastings a sensation ofterror-much as if a man who has always lived where there were nostorms, but such gentle little rains with restrained and refinedthunder as usually visit the British Isles, were to find himself in themidst of one of those awful convulsions that come crashing down thegorges of the Rockies. She marveled that one so small of body couldcontain such big emotions. 

"You mustn't be unjust, " she pleaded. "WE aren't THAT wicked, my dear. "

Selma looked at her. "No matter, " she said. "I am not trying toconvert you--or to denounce your friends to you. I'll explain whatI've come for. In his speech to-day and in inducing the union tochange, Victor has shown how much power he has. The men whose plans hehas upset will be hating him as men hate only those whom they fear. "

"Yes--I believe that, " said Jane. "So, you see, I'm not blindlyprejudiced. "

"For a long time there have been rumors that they might kill him----"

"Absurd!" cried Jane angrily. "Miss Gordon, no matter how prejudicedyou may be--and I'll admit there are many things to justify you infeeling strongly--but no matter how you may feel, your good sense musttell you that men like my father don't commit murder. "

"I understand perfectly, " replied Selma. "They don't commit murder, and they don't order murder. I'll even say that I don't think theywould tolerate murder, even for their benefit. But you don't know howthings are done in business nowadays. The men like your father have touse men of the Kelly and the House sort--you know who they are?"

"Yes, " said Jane. 

"The Kellys and the Houses give general orders to their lieutenants. The lieutenants pass the orders along--and down. And so on, until allsorts of men are engaged in doing all sorts of work. Dirty, clean, criminal--all sorts. Some of these men, baffled in what they aretrying to do to earn their pay--baffled by Victor Dorn--plot againsthim. " Again that sad, bitter laugh. "My dear Miss Hastings, to kill acat there are a thousand ways besides skinning it alive. "

"You are prejudiced, " said Jane, in the manner of one who could not beconvinced. 

Selma made an impatient gesture. "Again I say, no matter. Victorlaughs at our fears----"

"I knew it, " said Jane triumphantly. "He is less foolish than hisfollowers. "

"He simply does not think about himself, " replied Selma. "And he isright. But it is our business to think about him, because we need him. Where could we find another like him?"

"Yes, I suppose your movement WOULD die out, if he were not behind it. "

Selma smiled peculiarly. "I think you don't quite understand what weare about, " said she. "You've accepted the ignorant notion of yourclass that we are a lot of silly roosters trying to crow one sun out ofthe heavens and another into it. The facts are somewhat different. Your class is saying, 'To-day will last forever, ' while we are saying, 'No, to-day will run its course--will be succeeded by to-morrow. Letus not live like the fool who thinks only of the day. Let us besensible, intelligent, let us realize that there will be to-morrow andthat it, too, must be lived. Let us get ready to live it sensibly. Letus build our social system so that it will stand the wear and tear ofanother day and will not fall in ruins about our heads. '"

"I am terribly ignorant about all these things, " said Jane. "What aridiculous thing my education has been!"

"But it hasn't spoiled your heart, " cried Selma. And all at once hereyes were wonderfully soft and tender, and into her voice came a toneso sweet that Jane's eyes filled with tears. "It was to your heart thatI came to appeal, " she went on. "Oh, Miss Hastings--we will do all wecan to protect Victor Dorn--and we guard him day and night without hisknowing it. But I am afraid--afraid! And I want you to help. Willyou?"

"I'll do anything I can, " said Jane--a Jane very different from thevarious Janes Miss Hastings knew--a Jane who seemed to be conjuring ofSelma Gordon's enchantments. 

"I want you to ask your father to give him a fair show. We don't askany favors--for ourselves--for him. But we don't want to see him--"Selma shuddered and covered her eyes with her hands "--lying dead insome alley, shot or stabbed by some unknown thug!"

Selma made it so vivid that Jane saw the whole tragedy before her veryeyes. 

"The real reason why they hate him, " Selma went on, "is because hepreaches up education and preaches down violence--and is building hisparty on intelligence instead of on force. The masters want theworkingman who burns and kills and riots. They can shoot him down. They can make people accept any tyranny in preference to the danger offire and murder let loose. But Victor is teaching the workingmen tostop playing the masters' game for them. No wonder they hate him! Hemakes them afraid of the day when the united workingmen will have theirway by organizing and voting. And they know that if Victor Dorn lives, that day will come in this city very, very soon. " Selma saw Davy Hull, impatient at his long wait, advancing toward them. She said: "You willtalk to your father?"

"Yes, " said Jane. "And I assure you he will do what he can. You don'tknow him, Miss Gordon. "

"I know he loves you--I know he MUST love you, " said Selma. "Now, Imust go. Good-by. I knew you would be glad of the chance to dosomething worth while. "

Jane had been rather expecting to be thanked for her generosity andgoodness. Selma's remark seemed at first blush an irritating attemptto shift a favor asked into a favor given. But it was impossible forher to fail to see Selma's sensible statement of the actual truth. So, she said honestly:

"Thank you for coming, Miss Gordon. I am glad of the chance. "

They shook hands. Selma, holding her hand, looked up at her, suddenlykissed her. Jane returned the kiss. David Hull, advancing with hisgaze upon them, stopped short. Selma, without a glance--becausewithout a thought--in his direction, hastened away. 

When David rejoined Jane, she was gazing tenderly after the small, graceful figure moving toward the distant entrance gates. Said David:

"I think that girl has got you hypnotized. "

Jane laughed and sent him home. "I'm busy, " she said. "I've gotsomething to do, at last. "

III

Jane knocked at the door of her father's little office. "Are youthere, father?" said she. 

"Yes--come in, Jinny. " As she entered, he went on, "But you must goright away again. I've got to 'tend to this strike. " He took on aninjured, melancholy tone. "Those fool workingmen! They're certain tolose. And what'll come of it all? Why, they'll be out their wages andtheir jobs, and the company lose so much money that it can't put on thenew cars the public's clamorin' for. The old cars'll have to do foranother year, anyhow--maybe two. "

Jane had heard that lugubrious tone from time to time, and she knewwhat it meant--an air of sorrow concealing secret joy. So, here wasanother benefit the company--she preferred to think of it as thecompany rather than as her father--expected to gain from the strike. It could put off replacing the miserable old cars in which it wascompelling people to ride. Instead of losing money by the strike, itwould make money by it. This was Jane's first glimpse of one of themost interesting and important truths of modern life--how it is oftento the advantage of business men to have their own business crippled, hampered, stopped altogether. 

"You needn't worry, father, " said she cheerfully. "The strike's beendeclared off. "

"What's that?" cried her father. 

"A girl from down town just called. She says the union has called thestrike off and the men have accepted the company's terms. "

"But them terms is withdrawn!" cried Hastings, as if his daughter werethe union. He seized the telephone. "I'll call up the office andorder 'em withdrawn. "

"It's too late, " said she. 

Just then the telephone bell rang, and Hastings was soon hearingconfirmation of the news his daughter had brought him. She could notbear watching his face as he listened. She turned her back, stoodgazing out at the window. Her father, beside himself, was shriekinginto the telephone curses, denunciations, impossible orders. The oneemergency against which he had not provided was the union's ending thestrike. When you have struck the line of battle of a general, howeverable and self-controlled, in the one spot where he has not arranged adefense, you have thrown him--and his army--into a panic. Some of thegreatest tactitians in history have given way in those circumstances;so, Martin Hastings' utter loss of self-control and of control of thesituation only proves that he had his share of human nature. He hadprovided against the unexpected; he had not provided against theimpossible. 

Jane let her father rave on into the telephone until his voice grewhoarse and squeaky. Then she turned and said: "Now, father--what'sthe use of making yourself sick? You can't do any good--can you?" Shelaid one hand on his arm, with the other hand caressed his head. "Hangup the receiver and think of your health. "

"I don't care to live, with such goings-on, " declared he. But he hungup the receiver and sank back in his chair, exhausted. 

"Come out on the porch, " she went on, tugging gently at him. "The air'sstuffy in here. "

He rose obediently. She led him to the veranda and seated himcomfortably, with a cushion in his back at the exact spot at which itwas most comfortable. She patted his shrunken cheeks, stood off andlooked at him. 

"Where's your sense of humor?" she cried. "You used to be able tolaugh when things went against you. You're getting to be as solemn andto take yourself as seriously as Davy Hull. "

The old man made a not unsuccessful attempt to smile. "That thereVictor Dorn!" said he. "He'll be the death of me, yet. "

"What has he done now?" said Jane, innocently. 

Hastings rubbed his big bald forehead with his scrawny hand. "He'stryin' to run this town--to run it to the devil, " replied he, by way ofevasion. 

"Something's got to be done about him--eh?" observed she, in a fineimitation of a business-like voice. 

"Something WILL be done, " retorted he. 

Jane winced--hid her distress--returned to the course she had mappedout for herself. "I hope it won't be something stupid, " said she. Then she seated herself and went on. "Father--did you ever stop towonder whether it is Victor Dorn or the changed times?"

The old man looked up abruptly and sharply--the expression of a shrewdman when he catches a hint of a new idea that sounds as if it mighthave something in it. 

"You blame Victor Dorn, " she went on to explain. "But if there were noVictor Dorn, wouldn't you be having just the same trouble? Aren't menof affairs having them everywhere--in Europe as well as on thisside--nowadays?"

The old man rubbed his brow--his nose--his chin--pulled at the tufts ofhair in his ears--fumbled with his cuffs. All of these gesturesindicated interest and attention. 

"Isn't the real truth not Victor Dorn or Victor Dorns but a changed andchanging world?" pursued the girl. "And if that's so, haven't youeither got to adopt new methods or fall back? That's the way it looksto me--and we women have got intuitions if we haven't got sense. "

"_I_ never said women hadn't got sense, " replied the old man. "I'vesometimes said MEN ain't got no sense, but not women. Not to go nofurther, the women make the men work for 'em--don't they? THAT'S apretty good quality of sense, _I_ guess. "

But she knew he was busily thinking all the time about what she hadsaid. So she did not hesitate to go on: "Instead of helping VictorDorn by giving him things to talk about, it seems to me I'd USE him, father. "

"Can't do anything with him. He's crazy, " declared Hastings. 

"I don't believe it, " replied Jane. "I don't believe he's crazy. AndI don't believe you can't manage him. A man like that--a man as cleveras he is--doesn't belong with a lot of ignorant tenement-house people. He's out of place. And when anything or anybody is out of place, theycan be put in their right place. Isn't that sense?"

The old man shook his head--not in negation, but in uncertainty. 

"These men are always edging you on against Victor Dorn--what's thematter with them?" pursued Jane. "_I_ saw, when Davy Hull talked abouthim. They're envious and jealous of him, father. They're afraid he'lldistance them. And they don't want you to realize what a useful man hecould be--how he could help you if you helped him--made friends withhim--roused the right kind of ambition in him. "

"When a man's ambitious, " observed Hastings, out of the fullness of hisown personal experience, "it means he's got something inside him, teasing and nagging at him--something that won't let him rest, butkeeps pushing and pulling--and he's got to keep fighting, trying tosatisfy it--and he can't wait to pick his ground or his weapons. "

"And Victor Dorn, " said Jane, to make it clearer to her father byputting his implied thought into words, "Victor Dorn is doing the besthe can--fighting on the only ground that offers and with the onlyweapons he can lay hands on. "

The old man nodded. "I never have blamed him--not really, " declaredhe. "A practical man--a man that's been through things--he understandshow these things are, " in the tone of a philosopher. "Yes, I reckonVictor's doing the best he can--getting up by the only ladder he's gota chance at. "

"The way to get him off that ladder is to give him another, " said Jane. 

A long silence, the girl letting her father thresh the matter out inhis slow, thorough way. Finally her young impatience conquered herrestraint. "Well--what do you think, popsy?" inquired she. 

"That I've got about as smart a gel as there is in Remsen City, "replied he. 

"Don't lay it on too thick, " laughed she. 

He understood why she was laughing, though he did not show it. He knewwhat his much-traveled daughter thought of Remsen City, but he held tohis own provincial opinion, nevertheless. Nor, perhaps, was he so farwrong as she believed. A cross section of human society, taken almostanywhere, will reveal about the same quantity of brain, and the qualityof the mill is the thing, not of the material it may happen to begrinding. 

She understood that his remark was his way of letting her know that hehad taken her suggestion under advisement. This meant that she hadsaid enough. And Jane Hastings had made herself an adept in the art ofhandling her father--an accomplishment she could by no means haveachieved had she not loved him; it is only when a woman deeply andstrongly loves a man that she can learn to influence him, for only lovecan put the necessary sensitiveness into the nerves with which moodsand prejudices and whims and such subtle uncertainties can be felt out. 

The next day but one, coming out on the front veranda a few minutesbefore lunch time she was startled rather than surprised to see VictorDorn seated on a wicker sofa, hat off and gaze wandering delightedlyover the extensive view of the beautiful farming country round RemsenCity. She paused in the doorway to take advantage of the chance tolook at him when he was off his guard. Certainly that profile view ofthe young man was impressive. It is only in the profile that we get achance to measure the will or propelling force behind a character. Ineach of the two main curves of Dorn's head--that from the top of thebrow downward over the nose, the lips, the chin and under, and thatfrom the back of the head round under the ear and forward along thelower jaw--in each of these curves Dorn excelled. 

She was about to draw back and make a formal entry, when he said, without looking toward her:

"Well--don't you think it would be safe to draw near?"

The tone was so easy and natural and so sympathetic--the tone of SelmaGordon--the tone of all natural persons not disturbed about themselvesor about others--that Jane felt no embarrassment whatever. "I've heardyou were very clever, " said she, advancing. "So, I wanted to have theadvantage of knowing you a little better at the outset than you wouldknow me. "

"But Selma Gordon has told me all about you, " said he--he had risen asshe advanced and was shaking hands with her as if they were oldfriends. "Besides, I saw you the other day--in spite of your effort toprevent yourself from being seen. "

"What do you mean?" she asked, completely mystified. 

"I mean your clothes, " explained he. "They were unusual for this partof the world. And when anyone wears unusual clothes, they act as adisguise. Everyone neglects the person to center on the clothes. "

"I wore them to be comfortable, " protested Jane, wondering why she wasnot angry at this young man whose manner ought to be regarded aspresuming and whose speech ought to be rebuked as impertinent. 

"Altogether?" said Dorn, his intensely blue eyes dancing. 

In spite of herself she smiled. "No--not altogether, " she admitted. 

"Well, it may please you to learn that you scored tremendously as faras one person is concerned. My small nephew talks of you all thetime--the 'lady in the lovely pants. '"

Jane colored deeply and angrily. She bent upon Victor a glance thatought to have put him in his place--well down in his place. 

But he continued to look at her with unchanged, laughing, friendly blueeyes, and went on: "By the way, his mother asked me to apologize forHIS extraordinary appearance. I suppose neither of you would recognizethe other in any dress but the one each had on that day. He doesn'talways dress that way. His mother has been ill. He wore out hisplay-clothes. If you've had experience of children you'll know howsuddenly they demolish clothes. She wasn't well enough to do anytailoring, so there was nothing to do but send Leonard forth in his bigbrother's unchanged cast-offs. "

Jane's anger had quite passed away before Dorn finished this simple, ingenuous recital of poverty unashamed, this somehow fine laying openof the inmost family secrets. "What a splendid person your sister mustbe!" exclaimed she. 

She more than liked the look that now came into his face. He said:"Indeed she is!--more so than anyone except us of the family canrealize. Mother's getting old and almost helpless. My brother-in-lawwas paralyzed by an accident at the rolling mill where he worked. Mysister takes care of both of them--and her two boys--and of me--keepsthe house in band-box order, manages a big garden that gives us most ofwhat we eat--and has time to listen to the woes of all the neighborsand to give them the best advice I ever heard. "

"How CAN she?" cried Jane. "Why, the day isn't long enough. "

Dorn laughed. "You'll never realize how much time there is in a day, Miss Jane Hastings, until you try to make use of it all. It's veryinteresting--how much there is in a minute and in a dollar if you'reintelligent about them. "

Jane looked at him in undisguised wonder and admiration. "You don'tknow what a pleasure it is, " she said, "to meet anyone whose sentencesyou couldn't finish for him before he's a quarter the way through them. "

Victor threw back his head and laughed--a boyish outburst that wouldhave seemed boorish in another, but came as naturally from him as songfrom a bird. "You mean Davy Hull, " said he. 

Jane felt herself coloring even more. "I didn't mean him especially, "replied she. "But he's a good example. "

"The best I know, " declared Victor. "You see, the trouble with Davy isthat he is one kind of a person, wants to be another kind, thinks heought to be a third kind, and believes he fools people into thinking heis still a fourth kind. "

Jane reflected on this, smiled understandingly. "That sounds like adescription of ME, " said she. 

"Probably, " said Victor. "It's a very usual type in the secondgeneration in your class. "

"My class?" said Jane, somewhat affectedly. "What do you mean?"

"The upper class, " explained Victor. 

Jane felt that this was an opportunity for a fine exhibition of herdemocracy. "I don't like that, " said she. "I'm a good American, and Idon't believe in classes. I don't feel--at least I try not tofeel--any sense of inequality between myself and those--thoseless--less--fortunately off. I'm not expressing myself well, but youknow what I mean. "

"Yes, I know what you mean, " rejoined Victor. "But that wasn't what Imeant, at all. You are talking about social classes in the narrowsense. That sort of thing isn't important. One associates with thekind of people that pleases one--and one has a perfect right to do so. If I choose to have my leisure time with people who dress a certainway, or with those who have more than a certain amount of money, ormore than a certain number of servants or what not--why, that's my ownlookout. "

"I'm SO glad to hear you say that, " cried Jane. "That's SO sensible. "

"Snobbishness may be amusing, " continued Dorn, "or it may berepulsive--or pitiful. But it isn't either interesting or important. The classes I had in mind were the economic classes--upper, middle, lower. The upper class includes all those who live withoutwork--aristocrats, gamblers, thieves, preachers, women living off menin or out of marriage, grown children living off their parents or offinheritances. All the idlers. "

Jane looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt. She had long taken asecret delight in being regarded and spoken of as an "upper class"person. Henceforth this delight would be at least alloyed. 

"The middle class, " pursued Victor, "is those who are in part parasitesand in part workers. The lower class is those who live by what theyearn only. For example, you are upper class, your father is middleclass and I am lower class. "

"Thank you, " said Jane demurely, "for an interesting lesson inpolitical economy. "

"You invited it, " laughed Victor. "And I guess it wasn't much moretiresome to you than talk about the weather would have been. Theweather's probably about the only other subject you and I have incommon. "

"That's rude, " said Jane. 

"Not as I meant it, " said he. "I wasn't exalting my subjects orsneering at yours. It's obvious that you and I lead wholly differentlives. "

"I'd much rather lead your life than my own, " said Jane. "But--you areimpatient to see father. You came to see him?"

"He telephoned asking me to come to dinner--that is, lunch. I believeit's called lunch when it's second in this sort of house. "

"Father calls it dinner, and I call it lunch, and the servants call itIT. They simply say, 'It's ready. '"

Jane went in search of her father, found him asleep in his chair in thelittle office, one of his dirty little account books clasped in hislong, thin fingers with their rheumatic side curve. The maid had seenhim there and had held back dinner until he should awaken. PerhapsJane's entrance roused him; or, perhaps it was the odor of the sachetpowder wherewith her garments were liberally scented, for he had asingularly delicate sense of smell. He lifted his head and, after themanner of aged and confirmed cat-nappers, was instantly wide awake. 

"Why didn't you tell me Victor Dorn was coming for dinner?" said she. 

"Oh--he's here, is he?" said Hastings, chuckling. "You see I took youradvice. Tell Lizzie to lay an extra plate. "

Hastings regarded this invitation as evidence of his breadth of mind, his freedom from prejudice, his disposition to do the generous and thehelpful thing. In fact, it was evidence of little more than hisdominant and most valuable trait--his shrewdness. After one carefulglance over the ruins of his plan, he appreciated that Victor Dorn wasat last a force to be reckoned with. He had been growing, growing--somewhat above the surface, a great deal more beneath thesurface. His astonishing victory demonstrated his power over RemsenCity labor--in a single afternoon he had persuaded the street car unionto give up without hesitation a strike it had been planning--at least, it thought it had been doing the planning--for months. The Remsen Cityplutocracy was by no means dependent upon the city government of RemsenCity. It had the county courts--the district courts--the State courtseven, except where favoring the plutocracy would be too obviouslyoutrageous for judges who still considered themselves men of honest andjust mind to decide that way. The plutocracy, further, controlled allthe legislative and executive machinery. To dislodge it from thesefortresses would mean a campaign of years upon years, conducted by menof the highest ability, and enlisting a majority of the voters of theState. Still, possession of the Remsen City government was a mostvaluable asset. A hostile government could "upset business, " could"hamper the profitable investment of capital, " in other words couldestablish justice to a highly uncomfortable degree. This victory ofDorn's made it clear to Hastings that at last Dorn was about to unitethe labor vote under his banner--which meant that he was about toconquer the city government. It was high time to stop him and, ifpossible, to give his talents better employment. 

However, Hastings, after the familiar human fashion, honestly thoughthe was showing generosity, was going out of his way to "give a likelyyoung fellow a chance. " When he came out on the veranda he stretchedforth a graciously friendly hand and, looking shrewdly into Victor'sboyishly candid eyes, said:

"Glad to see you, young man. I want to thank you for ending thatstrike. I was born a working man, and I've been one all my life and, when I can't work any more, I want to quit the earth. So, being aworking man, I hate to see working men make fools of themselves. "

Jane was watching the young man anxiously. She instinctively knew thatthis speech must be rousing his passion for plain and direct speaking. Before he had time to answer she said: "Dinner's waiting. Let's go in. "

And on the way she made an opportunity to say to him in an undertone:"I do hope you'll be careful not to say anything that'll upset father. I have to warn every one who comes here. His digestion's bad, and theleast thing makes him ill, and--" she smiled charmingly at him--"I HATEnursing. It's too much like work to suit an upper-class person. "

There was no resisting such an appeal as that. Victor sat silent andate, and let the old man talk on and on. Jane saw that it was a severetrial to him to seem to be assenting to her father's views. Wheneverhe showed signs of casting off his restraint, she gave him a pleadingglance. And the old man, so weazened, so bent and shaky, with his bowlof crackers and milk, was--or seemed to be--proof that the girl wasasking of him only what was humane. Jane relieved the situation bytalking volubly about herself--her college experiences, what she hadseen and done in Europe. 

After dinner Hastings said:

"I'll drive you back to town, young man. I'm going in to work, asusual. I never took a vacation in my life. Can you beat that record?"

"Oh, I knock off every once in a while for a month or so, " said Dorn. 

"The young fellows growing up nowadays ain't equal to us of the oldstock, " said Martin. "They can't stand the strain. Well, if you'reready, we'll pull out. "

"Mr. Dorn's going to stop a while with me, father, " interposed Janewith a significant glance at Victor. "I want to show him the groundsand the views. "

"All right--all right, " said her father. He never liked company in hisdrives; company interfered with his thinking out what he was going todo at the office. "I'm mighty glad to know you, young man. I hopewe'll know each other better. I think you'll find out that for a devilI'm not half bad--eh?"

Victor bowed, murmured something inarticulate, shook his host's hand, and when the ceremony of parting was over drew a stealthy breath ofrelief--which Jane observed. She excused herself to accompany herfather to his trap. As he was climbing in she said:

"Didn't you rather like him, father?"

Old Hastings gathered the reins in his lean, distorted hands. "So so, "said he. 

"He's got brains, hasn't he?"

"Yes; he's smart; mighty smart. " The old man's face relaxed in ashrewd grin. "Too damn smart. Giddap, Bet. "

And he was gone. Jane stood looking after the ancient phaeton with anexpression half of amusement, half of discomfiture. "I might haveknown, " reflected she, "that popsy would see through it all. "

When she reappeared in the front doorway Victor Dorn was at the edge ofthe veranda, ready to depart. As soon as he saw her he said gravely:"I must be off, Miss Hastings. Thank you for the very interestingdinner. " He extended his hand. "Good day. "

She put her hands behind her back, and stood smiling gently at him. "You mustn't go--not just yet. I'm about to show you the trees and thegrass, the bees, the chickens and the cows. Also, I've somethingimportant to say to you. "

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I must go. "

She stiffened slightly; her smile changed from friendly to cold. "Oh--pardon me, " she said. "Good-by. "

He bowed, and was on the walk, and running rapidly toward the entrancegates. 

"Mr. Dorn!" she called. 

He turned. 

She was afraid to risk asking him to come back for a moment. He mightrefuse. Standing there, looking so resolute, so completely master ofhimself, so devoid of all suggestion of need for any one or anything, he seemed just the man to turn on his heel and depart. She descendedto the walk and went to him. She said:

"Why are you acting so peculiarly? Why did you come?"

"Because I understood that your father wished to propose some changesin the way of better hours and better wages for the men, " replied he. "I find that the purpose was--not that. "

"What was it?"

"I do not care to go into that. "

He was about to go on--on out of her life forever, she felt. "Wait, "she cried. "The men will get better hours and wages. You don'tunderstand father's ways. He was really discussing that very thing--inhis own mind. You'll see. He has a great admiration for you. You cando a lot with him. You owe it to the men to make use of his liking. "

He looked at her in silence for a moment. Then he said: "I'll have tobe at least partly frank with you. In all his life no one has evergotten anything out of your father. He uses men. They do not use him. "

"Believe me, that is unjust, " cried Jane. "I'll tell you another thingthat was on his mind. He wants to--to make reparation for--thataccident to your father. He wants to pay your mother and you the moneythe road didn't pay you when it ought. "

Dorn's candid face showed how much he was impressed. This beautiful, earnest girl, sweet and frank, seemed herself to be another view ofMartin Hastings' character--one more in accord with her strong beliefin the essential goodness of human nature. 

Said he: "Your father owes us nothing. As for the road--its debtnever existed legally--only morally. And it has been outlawed longago--for there's a moral statute of limitations, too. The best thingthat ever happened to us was our not getting that money. It put us onour mettle. It might have crushed us. It happened to be just the thingthat was needed to make us. "

Jane marveled at this view of his family, at the verge of poverty, assuccessful. But she could not doubt his sincerity. Said she sadly, "But it's not to the credit of the road--or of father. He mustpay--and he knows he must. "

"We can't accept, " said Dorn--a finality. 

"But you could use it to build up the paper, " urged Jane, to detain him. 

"The paper was started without money. It lives without money--and itwill go on living without money, or it ought to die. "

"I don't understand, " said Jane. "But I want to understand. I want tohelp. Won't you let me?"

He shook his head laughingly. "Help what?" inquired he. "Help raisethe sun? It doesn't need help. "

Jane began to see. "I mean, I want to be helped, " she cried. 

"Oh, that's another matter, " said he. "And very simple. "

"Will YOU help me?"

"I can't. No one can. You've got to help yourself. Each one of us isworking for himself--working not to be rich or to be famous or to beenvied, but to be free. "

"Working for himself--that sounds selfish, doesn't it?"

"If you are wise, Jane Hastings, " said Dorn, "you willdistrust--disbelieve in--anything that is not selfish. "

Jane reflected. "Yes--I see, " she cried. "I never thought of that!"

"A friend of mine, Wentworth, " Victor went on, "has put it wonderfullyclearly. He said, 'Some day we shall realize that no man can be freeuntil all men are free. '"

"You HAVE helped me--in spite of your fierce refusal, " laughed Jane. "You are very impatient to go, aren't you? Well, since you won't stayI'll walk with you--as far as the end of the shade. "

She was slightly uneasy lest her overtures should be misunderstood. Bythe time they reached the first long, sunny stretch of the road down totown she was so afraid that those overtures would not be"misunderstood" that she marched on beside him in the hot sun. She didnot leave him until they reached the corner of Pike avenue--and then itwas he that left her, for she could cudgel out no excuse for goingfurther in his direction. The only hold she had got upon him for afuture attempt was slight indeed--he had vaguely agreed to lend hersome books. 

People who have nothing to do get rid of a great deal of time in tryingto make impressions and in speculating as to what impressions they havemade. Jane--hastening toward Martha's to get out of the sun whichcould not but injure a complexion so delicately fine as hers--gaveherself up to this form of occupation. What did he think of her? Didhe really have as little sense of her physical charm as he seemed? Nowoman could hope to be attractive to every man. Still--this man surelymust be at least not altogether insensible. "If he sends me thosebooks to-day--or tomorrow--or even next day, " thought Jane, "it will bea pretty sure sign that he was impressed--whether he knows it or not. "

She had now definitely passed beyond the stage where she wondered atherself--and reproached herself--for wishing to win a man of suchcommon origin and surroundings. She could not doubt Victor Dorn'ssuperiority. Such a man as that didn't need birth or wealth or evenfame. He simply WAS the man worth while--worth any woman's while. Howcould Selma be associated so intimately with him without trying to gethim in love with her? Perhaps she had tried and had given up?No--Selma was as strange in her way as he was in his way. What astrange--original--INDIVIDUAL pair they were!

"But, " concluded Jane, "he belongs with US. I must take him away fromall that. It will be interesting to do it--so interesting that I'll besorry when it's done, and I'll be looking about for something else todo. "

She was not without hope that the books would come that same evening. But they did not. The next day passed, and the next, and still nobooks. Apparently he had meant nothing by his remark, "I've some booksyou'd be interested to read. " Was his silence indifference, or was itshyness? Probably she could only faintly appreciate the effect herposition, her surroundings produced in this man whose physicalsurroundings had always been as poor as her mental surroundings--thosecreated by that marvelous mind of his--had been splendid. 

She tried to draw out her father on the subject of the young man, witha view to getting a hint as to whether he purposed doing anythingfurther. But old Hastings would not talk about it; he was stilldebating, was looking at the matter from a standpoint where hisdaughter's purely theoretical acumen could not help him to a decision. Jane rather feared that where her father was evidently so doubtful hewould follow his invariable rule in doubtful cases. 

On the fourth day, being still unable to think of anything but herproject for showing her prowess by conquering this man with no time forwomen, she donned a severely plain walking costume and went to hisoffice. 

At the threshold of the "Sanctum" she stopped short. Selma, pencilpoised over her block of copy paper and every indication of impatience, albeit polite impatience, in her fascinating Cossack face, was talkingto--or, rather, listening to--David Hull. Like not a few youngmen--and young women--brought up in circumstances that surround themwith people deferential for the sake of what there is, or may possiblybe, in it--Davy Hull had the habit of assuming that all the world wasas fond of listening to him as he was of listening to himself. So itdid not often occur to him to observe his audience for signs of awillingness to end the conversation. 

Selma, turning a little further in her nervousness, saw Jane and sprangup with a radiant smile of welcome. 

"I'm SO glad!" she cried, rushing toward her and kissing her. "I'vethought about you often, and wished I could find time to come to seeyou. "

Jane was suddenly as delighted as Selma. For Selma's burst offriendliness, so genuine, so unaffected, in this life of blackness andcold always had the effect of sun suddenly making summer out of a chillautumnal day. Nor, curiously enough, was her delight lessened by DavyHull's blundering betrayal of himself. His color, his eccentrictwitchings of the lips and the hands would have let a far less astuteyoung woman than Jane Hastings into the secret of the reason for hispresence in that office when he had said he couldn't "afford" to go. So guilty did he feel that he stammered out:

"I dropped in to see Dorn. "

"You wished to see Victor?" exclaimed the guileless Selma. "Why didn'tyou say so? I'd have told you at once that he was in Indianapolis andwouldn't be back for two or three days. "

Jane straightway felt still better. The disgusting mystery of thebooks that did not come was now cleared up. Secure in the certainty ofSelma's indifference to Davy she proceeded to punish him. "What astupid you are, Davy!" she cried mockingly. "The instant I saw yourface I knew you were here to flirt with Miss Gordon. "

"Oh, no, Miss Hastings, " protested Selma with quaint intensity ofseriousness, "I assure you he was not flirting. He was telling meabout the reform movement he and his friends are organizing. "

"That is his way of flirting, " said Jane. "Every animal has its ownway--and an elephant's way is different from a mosquito's. "

Selma was eyeing Hull dubiously. It was bad enough for him to havetaken her time in a well-meaning attempt to enlighten her as to a newphase of local politics; to take her time, to waste it, inflirting--that was too exasperating!

"Miss Hastings has a sense of humor that runs riot at times, " said Hull. 

"You can't save yourself, Davy, " mocked Jane. "Come along. Miss Gordonhas no time for either of us. "

"I do want YOU to stay, " she said to Jane. "But, unfortunately, withVictor away----" She looked disconsolately at the half-finished pageof copy. 

"I came only to snatch Davy away, " said Jane. 

"Next thing we know, he'll be one of Mr. Dorn's lieutenants. "

Thus Jane escaped without having to betray why she had come. In thestreet she kept up her raillery. "And a WORKING girl, Davy! What wouldour friends say! And you who are always boasting of yourfastidiousness! Flirting with a girl who--I've seen her three times, and each time she has had on exactly the same plain, cheap littledress. "

There was a nastiness, a vulgarity in this that was as unworthy of Janeas are all the unlovely emotions of us who are always sweet and refinedwhen we are our true selves--but have a bad habit of only too often notbeing what we flatter ourselves is our true selves. Jane was growingangry as she, away from Selma, resumed her normal place in the worldand her normal point of view. Davy Hull belonged to her; he had noright to be hanging about another, anyway--especially an attractivewoman. Her anger was not lessened by Davy's retort. Said he:

"Her dress may have been the same. But her face wasn't--and her mindwasn't. Those things are more difficult to change than a dress. "

She was so angry that she did not take warning from this reminder thatDavy was by no means merely a tedious retailer of stale commonplaces. She said with fine irony--and with no show of anger: "It is always ashock to a lady to realize how coarse men are--how they don'tdiscriminate. "

Davy laughed. "Women get their rank from men, " said he coolly. 

"In themselves they have none. That's the philosophy of thepeculiarity you've noted. "

This truth, so galling to a lady, silenced Jane, made her bite her lipswith rage. "I beg your pardon, " she finally said. "I didn't realizethat you were in love with Selma. "

"Yes, I am in love with her, " was Davy's astounding reply. "She's thenoblest and simplest creature I've ever met. "

"You don't mean you want to marry her!" exclaimed Jane, so amazed thatshe for the moment lost sight of her own personal interest in thisaffair. 

Davy looked at her sadly, and a little contemptuously. 

"What a poor opinion at bottom you women--your sort of women--have ofwoman, " said he. 

"What a poor opinion of men you mean, " retorted she. "After a littleexperience of them a girl--even a girl--learns that they are incapableof any emotion that isn't gross. "

"Don't be so ladylike, Jane, " said Hull. 

Miss Hastings was recovering control of herself. She took a new tack. "You haven't asked her yet?"

"Hardly. This is the second time I've seen her. I suspected that shewas the woman for me the moment I saw her. To-day I confirmed my idea. She is all that I thought--and more. And, Jane, I know that youappreciate her, too. "

Jane now saw that Davy was being thus abruptly and speedily confidingbecause he had decided it was the best way out of his entanglement withher. Behind his coolness she could see an uneasy watchfulness--thefear that she might try to hold him. Up boiled her rage--the higherbecause she knew that if there were any possible way of holding Davy, she would take it--not because she wished to, or would, marry him, butbecause she had put her mark upon him. But this new rage was of thekind a clever woman has small difficulty in dissembling. 

"Indeed I do appreciate her, Davy, " said she sweetly. "And I hope youwill be happy with her. "

"You think I can get her?" said he, fatuously eager. "You think shelikes me? I've been rather hoping that because it seized me sosuddenly and so powerfully it must have seized her, too. I think oftenthings occur that way. "

"In novels, " said Jane, pleasantly judicial. "But in real life aboutthe hardest thing to do is for a man to make a woman care forhim--really care for him. "

"Well, no matter how hard I have to try----"

"Of course, " pursued Miss Hastings, ignoring his interruption, "when aman who has wealth and position asks a woman who hasn't to marry him, she usually accepts--unless he happens to be downright repulsive, orshe happens to be deeply and hopefully in love with another man. "

Davy winced satisfactorily. "Do you suspect, " he presently asked, "that she's in love with Victor Dorn?"

"Perhaps, " said Jane reflectively. "Probably. But I'd not feeldiscouraged by that if I were you. "

"Dorn's a rather attractive chap in some ways. "

Davy's manner was so superior that Jane almost laughed in his face. What fools men were. If Victor Dorn had position, weren't surroundedby his unquestionably, hopelessly common family, weren't deliberatelykeeping himself common--was there a woman in the world who wouldn'tchoose him without a second thought being necessary, in preference to aDavy Hull? How few men there were who could reasonably hope to holdtheir women against all comers. 

Victor Dorn might possibly be of those few. But Davy Hull--the ideawas ridiculous. All his advantages--height, looks, money, position--were excellent qualities in a show piece; but they weren'tthe qualities that make a woman want to live her life with a man, thatmake her hope he will be able to give her the emotions woman-naturecraves beyond anything. 

"He is very attractive, " said Jane, "and I've small doubt that SelmaGordon is infatuated with him. But--I shouldn't let that worry me if Iwere you. " She paused to enjoy his anxiety, then proceeded: "She is alevel-headed girl. The girls of the working class--the intelligentones--have had the silly sentimentalities knocked out of them byexperience. So, when you ask her to marry you, she will accept. "

"What a low opinion you have of her!" exclaimed Davy. "What a low viewyou take of life!"--most inconsistent of him, since he was himself morethan half convinced that Jane's observations were not far from thetruth. 

"Women are sensible, " said Jane tranquilly. "They appreciate thatthey've got to get a man to support them. Don't forget, my dear Davy, that marriage is a woman's career. "

"You lived abroad too long, " said Hull bitterly. 

"I've lived at home and abroad long enough and intelligently enough notto think stupid hypocrisies, even if I do sometimes imitate otherpeople and SAY them. "

"I am sure that Selma Gordon would no more think of marrying me for anyother reason but love--would no more think of it than--than YOU would!"

"No more, " was Jane's unruffled reply. "But just as much. I didn'tabsolutely refuse you, when you asked me the other day, partly becauseI saw no other way of stopping your tiresome talk--and yourunattractive way of trying to lay hands on me. I DETEST being handled. "

Davy was looking so uncomfortable that he attracted the attention ofthe people they were passing in wide, shady Lincoln Avenue. 

"But my principal reason, " continued Jane, mercilessly amiable andcandid, "was that I didn't know but that you might prove to be aboutthe best I could get, as a means to realizing my ambition. " She lookedlaughingly at the unhappy young man. "You didn't think I was in lovewith you, did you, Davy dear?" Then, while the confusion following thisblow was at its height, she added: "You'll remember one of your chiefarguments for my accepting you was ambition. You didn't think it lowthen--did you?"

Hull was one of the dry-skinned people. But if he had been sweatingprofusely he would have looked and would have been less wretched thanburning up in the smothered heat of his misery. 

They were nearing Martha's gates. Jane said: "Yes, Davy, you've got agood chance. And as soon as she gets used to our way of living, she'llmake you a good wife. " She laughed gayly. 

"She'll not be quite so pretty when she settles down and takes onflesh. I wonder how she'll look in fine clothes and jewels. "

She measured Hull's stature with a critical eye. "She's only abouthalf as tall as you. How funny you'll look together!" With suddensoberness and sweetness, "But, seriously, David, I'm proud of yourcourage in taking a girl for herself regardless of her surroundings. So few men would be willing to face the ridicule and the criticism, andall the social difficulties. " She nodded encouragingly. "Go in andwin! You can count on my friendship--for I'm in love with her myself. "

She left him standing dazedly, looking up and down the street as if itwere some strange and pine-beset highway in a foreign land. 

After taking a few steps she returned to the gates and called him: "Iforgot to ask do you want me to regard what you've told me asconfidential? I was thinking of telling Martha and Hugo, and itoccurred to me that you might not like it. "

"Please don't say anything about it, " said he with panicky eagerness. "You see--nothing's settled yet. "

"Oh, she'll accept you. "

"But I haven't even asked her, " pleaded Hull. 

"Oh--all right--as you please. "

When she was safely within doors she dropped to a chair and burst outlaughing. It was part of Jane's passion for the sense of triumph overthe male sex to felt that she had made a "perfect jumping jack of afool" of David Hull. "And I rather think, " said she to herself, "thathe'll soon be back where he belongs. " This with a glance at the tallheels of the slippers on the good-looking feet she was thrusting outfor her own inspection. "How absurd for him to imagine he could doanything unconventional. Is there any coward anywhere so cowardly asan American conventional man? No wonder I hate to think of marryingone of them. But--I suppose I'll have to do it some day. What's awoman to do? She's GOT to marry. "

So pleased with herself was she that she behaved with unusualforbearance toward Martha whose conduct of late had been most trying. Not Martha's sometimes peevish, sometimes plaintive criticisms of her;these she did not mind. But Martha's way of ordering her own life. Jane, moving about in the world with a good mind eager to improve, hadgot a horror of a woman's going to pieces--and that was what Martha wasdoing. 

"I'm losing my looks rapidly, " was her constant complaint. As she hadjust passed thirty there was, in Jane's opinion, not the smallestexcuse for this. The remedy, the preventive, was obvious--diet andexercise. But Martha, being lazy and self-indulgent and notimaginative enough to foresee to what a pass a few years more oflounging and stuffing would bring her, regarded exercise as unladylikeand dieting as unhealthful. She would not weaken her system by takingless than was demanded by "nature's infallible guide, the healthyappetite. " She would not give up the venerable and aristocratictradition that a lady should ever be reposeful. 

"Another year or so, " warned Jane, "and you'll be as steatopygous asthe bride of a Hottentot chief. "

"What does steat--that word mean?" said Martha suspiciously. 

"Look in the dictionary, " said Jane. "Its synonyms aren't used byrefined people. "

"I knew it was something insulting, " said Martha with an injured sniff. 

The only concessions Martha would make to the latter-day craze of womenfor youthfulness were buying a foolish chin-strap of a beauty quack andconsulting him as to whether, if her hair continued to gray, she wouldbetter take to peroxide or to henna. 

Jane had come down that day with a severe lecture on fat and wrinkleslaid out in her mind for energetic delivery to the fast-seeding Martha. She put off the lecture and allowed the time to be used by Martha intelling Jane what were her (Jane's) strongest and less strong--notweaker but less strong, points of physical charm. 

It was cool and beautiful in the shade of the big gardens behind theold Galland house. Jane, listening to Martha's honest and justcompliments and to the faint murmurs of the city's dusty, sweaty toil, had a delicious sense of the superiority of her lot--a feeling thatsomehow there must be something in the theory of rightfully superiorand inferior classes--that in taking what she had not earned she wasnot robbing those who had earned it, as her reason so often asserted, but was being supported by the toil of others for high purposes ofaesthetic beauty. Anyhow, why heat one's self wrestling with theseproblems?

When she was sure that Victor Dorn must have returned she called him onthe telephone. "Can't you come out to see me to-night?" said she. "I've something important--something YOU'LL think important--to consultyou about. " She felt a refusal forming at the other end of the wireand hastened to add: "You must know I'd not ask this if I weren'tcertain you would be glad you came. "

"Why not drop in here when you're down town?" suggested Victor. 

She wondered why she did not hang up the receiver and forget him. 

But she did not. She murmured, "In due time I'll punish you for this, sir, " and said to him: "There are reasons why it's impossible for meto go there just now. And you know I can't meet you in a saloon or ona street corner. "

"I'm not so sure of that, " laughed he. "Let me see. I'm very busy. But I could come for half an hour this afternoon. "

She had planned an evening session, being well aware of the favorablequalities of air and light after the matter-of-fact sun has withdrawnhis last rays. But she promptly decided to accept what offered. "Atthree?"

"At four, " replied he. 

"You haven't forgotten those books?"

"Books? Oh, yes--yes, I remember. I'll bring them. "

"Thank you so much, " said she sweetly. "Good-by. "

And at four she was waiting for him on the front veranda in a housedress that was--well, it was not quite the proper costume for such anoccasion, but no one else was to see, and he didn't know about thatsort of thing--and the gown gave her charms their best possibleexposure except evening dress, which was out of the question. She hadnot long to wait. One of the clocks within hearing had struck andanother was just beginning to strike when she saw him coming toward thehouse. She furtively watched him, admiring his walk without quiteknowing why. You may perhaps know the walk that was Victor's--a steadyforward advance of the whole body held firmly, almost rigidly--the walkof a man leading another to the scaffold, or of a man being led therein conscious innocence, or of a man ready to go wherever his purposesmay order--ready to go without any heroics or fuss of any kind, butsimply in the course of the day's business. When a man walks likethat, he is worth observing--and it is well to think twice beforeobstructing his way. 

That steady, inevitable advance gave Jane Hastings an absurd feeling ofnervousness. She had an impulse to fly, as from some oncoming danger. Yet what was coming, in fact? A clever young man of the working class, dressed in garments of the kind his class dressed in on Sunday, andplebeianly carrying a bundle under his arm. 

"Our clock says you are three seconds late, " cried she, laughing andextending her hand in a friendly, equal way that would have immenselyflattered almost any man of her own class. "But another protests thatyou are one second early. "

"I'm one of those fools who waste their time and their nerves by beingpunctual, " said he. 

He laid the books on the wicker sofa. But instead of sitting Janesaid: "We might be interrupted here. Come to the west veranda. "

There she had him in a leafy solitude--he facing her as she posed infascinating grace in a big chair. He looked at her--not the look of aman at a woman, but the look of a busy person at one who is about toshow cause for having asked for a portion of his valuable time. Shelaughed--and laughter was her best gesture. "I can never talk to you ifyou pose like that, " said she. "Honestly now, is your time sopricelessly precious?"

He echoed her laugh and settled himself more at his ease. "What didyou want of me?" he asked. 

"I intend to try to get better hours and better wages for the streetcar men, " said she. "To do it, I must know just what is right--what Ican hope to get. General talk is foolish. If I go at father I musthave definite proposals to make, with reasons for them. I don't wanthim to evade. I would have gotten my information elsewhere, but Icould think of no one but you who might not mislead me. "

She had confidently expected that this carefully thought out schemewould do the trick. He would admire her, would be interested, would bedrawn into a position where she could enlist him as a constant adviser. He moved toward the edge of his chair as if about to rise. He said, pleasantly enough but without a spark of enthusiasm:

"That's very nice of you, Miss Hastings. But I can't adviseyou--beyond saying that if I were you, I shouldn't meddle. "

She--that is, her vanity--was cut to the quick. "Oh!" said she withirony, "I fancied you wished the laboring men to have a better sort oflife. "

"Yes, " said he. "But I'm not in favor of running hysterically aboutwith a foolish little atomizer in the great stable. You are talkingcharity. I am working for justice. It will not really benefit theworking man for the company, at the urging of a sweet and lovely youngLady Bountiful, to deign graciously to grant a little less slavery tothem. In fact, a well fed, well cared for slave is worse off than onewho's badly treated--worse off because farther from his freedom. Theonly things that do our class any good, Miss Hastings, are the thingsthey COMPEL--compel by their increased intelligence and increased unityand power. They get what they deserve. They won't deserve more untilthey compel more. Gifts won't help--not even gifts from--" Hisintensely blue eyes danced--"from such charming white hands sobeautifully manicured. "

She rose with an angry toss of the head. "I didn't ask you here toannoy me with impertinences about my finger nails. "

He rose, at his ease, good-humored, ready to go. "Then you should haveworn gloves, " said he carelessly, "for I've been able to think only ofyour finger nails--and to wonder WHAT can be done with hands like that. Thank you for a pleasant talk. " He bowed and smiled. "Good-by. Oh--Miss Gordon sent you her love. "

"What IS the matter, Mr. Dorn?" cried the girl desperately. "I wantyour friendship--your respect. CAN'T I get it? Am I utterly hopelessin your eyes?"

A curious kind of color rose in his cheeks. His eyes regarded her witha mysterious steadiness. "You want neither my respect nor myfriendship, " said he. "You want to amuse yourself. " He pointed at herhands. "Those nails betray you. " He shrugged his shoulders, laughed, said as if to a child: "You are a nice girl, Jane Hastings. It's apity you weren't brought up to be of some use. But you weren't--andit's too late. "

Her eyes flashed, her bosom heaved. "WHY do I take these things fromyou? WHY do I invite them?"

"Because you inherit your father's magnificent persistence--and you'veset your heart on the whim of making a fool of me--and you hate to giveup. "

"You wrong me--indeed you do, " cried she. "I want to learn--I want tobe of use in the world. I want to have some kind of a real life. "

"Really?" mocked he good-humoredly. 

"Really, " said she with all her power of sweet earnestness. 

"Then--cut your nails and go to work. And when you have become agenuine laborer, you'll begin to try to improve not the condition ofothers, but your own. The way to help workers is to abolish the idlerswho hang like a millstone about their necks. You can help only byabolishing the one idler under your control. "

She stood nearer him, very near him. She threw out her lovely arms ina gesture of humility. "I will do whatever you say, " she said. 

They looked each into the other's eyes. The color fled from her face, the blood poured into his--wave upon wave, until he was like a man whohas been set on fire by the furious heat of long years of equatorialsun. He muttered, wheeled about and strode away--in resolute andrelentless flight. She dropped down where he had been sitting and hidher face in her perfumed hands. 

"I care for him, " she moaned, "and he saw and he despises me! How COULDI--how COULD I!"

Nevertheless, within a quarter of an hour she was in her dressing room, standing at the table, eyes carefully avoiding her mirrored eyes--asshe cut her finger nails. 

IV

Jane was mistaken in her guess at the cause of Victor Dorn's agitationand abrupt flight. If he had any sense whatever of the secret she hadbetrayed to him and to herself at the same instant it was whollyunconscious. He had become panic-stricken and had fled because he, faced with her exuberance and tempting wealth of physical charm, hadbecome suddenly conscious of her and of himself in a way as new to himas if he had been fresh from a monkery where no woman had ever beenseen. Thus far the world had been peopled for him with human beingswithout any reference to sex. The phenomena of sex had not interestedhim because his mind had been entirely taken up with the other aspectsof life; and he had not yet reached the stage of development where athinker grasps the truth that all questions are at bottom questions ofthe sex relation, and that, therefore, no question can be settled rightuntil the sex relations are settled right. 

Jane Hastings was the first girl he had met in his whole life who wasin a position to awaken that side of his nature. And when his brainsuddenly filled with a torrent of mad longings and of sensuousappreciations of her laces and silk, of her perfume and smoothness androundness, of the ecstasy that would come from contact with those warm, rosy lips--when Victor Dorn found himself all in a flash eagerimpetuosity to seize this woman whom he did not approve of, whom he didnot even like, he felt bowed with shame. He would not have believedhimself capable of such a thing. He fled. 

He fled, but she pursued. And when he sat down in the garden behindhis mother's cottage, to work at a table where bees and butterflies hadbeen his only disturbers, there was this SHE before him--her soft, shining gaze fascinating his gaze, her useless but lovely white handsextended tantalizingly toward him. 

As he continued to look at her, his disapproval and dislike melted. "Iwas brutally harsh to her, " he thought repentantly. 

"She was honestly trying to do the decent thing. How was she to know?And wasn't I as much wrong as right in advising her not to help themen?"

Beyond question, it was theoretically best for the two opposing forces, capital and labor, to fight their battle to its inevitable end withoutinterference, without truce, with quarter neither given nor taken oneither side. But practically--wasn't there something to be said forsuch humane proposals of that of Jane Hastings? They would put off theday of right conditions rightly and therefore permanentlyfounded--conditions in which master and slave or serf or wage-takerwould be no more; but, on the other hand, slaves with shorter hours oftoil and better surroundings could be enlightened more easily. Perhaps. He was by no means sure; he could not but fear that anythingthat tended to make the slave comfortable in his degradation must ofnecessity weaken his aversion to degradation. Just as the worst kingswere the best kings because they hastened the fall of monarchy, so theworst capitalists, the most rapacious, the most rigid enforcers of theeconomic laws of a capitalistic society were the best capitalists, werehelping to hasten the day when men would work for what they earned andwould earn what they worked for--when every man's pay envelope wouldcontain his wages, his full wages, and nothing but his wages. 

Still, where judgment was uncertain, he certainly had been unjust tothat well meaning girl. And was she really so worthless as he had onfirst sight adjudged her? There might be exceptions to the rule that aparasite born and bred can have no other instructor or idea but thoseof parasitism. She was honest and earnest, was eager to learn thetruth. She might be put to some use. At any rate he had been unworthyof his own ideals when he, assuming without question that she was theusual capitalistic snob with the itch for gratifying vanity bypatronizing the "poor dear lower classes, " had been almost insultinglycurt and mocking. 

"What was the matter with me?" he asked himself. "I never acted inthat way before. " And then he saw that his brusqueness had been thecover for fear of of her--fear of the allure of her luxury and herbeauty. In love with her? He knew that he was not. No, his feelingtoward her was merely the crudest form of the tribute of man towoman--though apparently woman as a rule preferred this form to anyother. 

"I owe her an apology, " he said to himself. And so it came to passthat at three the following afternoon he was once more facing her inthat creeper-walled seclusion whose soft lights were almost equal tolight of gloaming or moon or stars in romantic charm. 

Said he--always direct and simple, whether dealing with man or woman, with devious person or straight:

"I've come to beg your pardon for what I said yesterday. "

"You certainly were wild and strange, " laughed she. 

"I was supercilious, " said he. "And worse than that there is not. However, as I have apologized, and you have accepted my apology, weneed waste no more time about that. You wished to persuade your fatherto----"

"Just a moment!" interrupted she. "I've a question to ask. WHY did youtreat me--why have you been treating me so--so harshly?"

"Because I was afraid of you, " replied he. "I did not realize it, butthat was the reason. "

"Afraid of ME, " said she. "That's very flattering. "

"No, " said he, coloring. "In some mysterious way I had been betrayedinto thinking of you as no man ought to think of a woman unless he isin love with her and she with him. I am ashamed of myself. But Ishall conquer that feeling--or keep away from you. .. . Do you understandwhat the street car situation is?"

But she was not to be deflected from the main question, now that it hadbeen brought to the front so unexpectedly and in exactly the way mostfavorable to her purposes. "You've made me uneasy, " said she. "Idon't in the least understand what you mean. I have wanted, and Istill want, to be friends with you--good friends--just as you and SelmaGordon are--though of course I couldn't hope to be as close a friend asshe is. I'm too ignorant--too useless. "

He shook his head--with him, a gesture that conveyed the full strengthof negation. "We are on opposite sides of a line across whichfriendship is impossible. I could not be your friend without beingfalse to myself. You couldn't be mine unless you were by some accidentflung into the working class and forced to adopt it as your own. Eventhen you'd probably remain what you are. Only a small part of theworking class as yet is at heart of the working class. Most of ussecretly--almost openly--despise the life of work, and dream and hope atime of fortune that will put us up among the masters and the idlers. "His expressive eyes became eloquent. "The false and shallow ideas thathave been educated into us for ages can't be uprooted in a few briefyears. "

She felt the admiration she did not try to conceal. She saw the proudand splendid conception of the dignity of labor--of labor as ablessing, not a curse, as a badge of aristocracy and not of slavery andshame. "You really believe that, don't you?" she said. "I know it'strue. I say I believe it--who doesn't SAY so? But I don't FEEL it. "

"That's honest, " said he heartily. "That's some thing to build on. "

"And I'm going to build!" cried she. "You'll help me--won't you? Iknow, it's a great deal to ask. Why should you take the time and thetrouble to bother with one single unimportant person. "

"That's the way I spend my life--in adding one man or one woman to ourparty--one at a time. It's slow building, but it's the only kind thatendures. There are twelve hundred of us now--twelve hundred voters, Imean. Ten years ago there were only three hundred. We'd expand muchmore rapidly if it weren't for the constant shifts of population. Ourmen are forced to go elsewhere as the pressure of capitalism gets toostrong. And in place of them come raw emigrants, ignorant, full ofdreams of becoming capitalists and exploiters of their fellow men andidlers. Ambition they call it. Ambition!" He laughed. "What avulgar, what a cruel notion of rising in the world! To cease to beuseful, to become a burden to others! . .. Did you ever think how manypoor creatures have to toil longer hours, how many children have to goto the factory instead of to school, in order that there may be twohundred and seven automobiles privately kept in this town andseventy-four chauffeurs doing nothing but wait upon their masters?Money doesn't grow on bushes, you know. Every cent of it has to beearned by somebody--and earned by MANUAL labor. "

"I must think about that, " she said--for the first time as muchinterested in what he was saying as in the man himself. No smalltriumph for Victor over the mind of a woman dominated, as was JaneHastings, by the sex instinct that determines the thoughts and actionsof practically the entire female sex. 

"Yes--think about it, " he urged. "You will never see it--oranything--until you see it for yourself. "

"That's the way your party is built--isn't it?" inquired she. "Of thosewho see it for themselves. "

"Only those, " replied he. "We want no others. "

"Not even their votes?" said she shrewdly. 

"Not even their votes, " he answered. "We've no desire to get theoffices until we get them to keep. And when we shall have conqueredthe city, we'll move on to the conquest of the county--then of thedistrict--then of the state. Our kind of movement is building in everycity now, and in most of the towns and many of the villages. The oldparties are falling to pieces because they stand for the old politicsof the two factions of the upper class quarreling over which of themshould superintend the exploiting of the people. Very few of usrealize what is going on before our very eyes--that we're seeing thedeath agonies of one form of civilization and the birth-throes of anewer form. "

"And what will it be?" asked the girl. 

She had been waiting for some sign of the "crank, " the impracticaldreamer. She was confident that this question would reveal the man shehad been warned against--that in answering it he would betray his trueself. But he disappointed and surprised her. 

"How can I tell what it will be?" said he. "I'm not a prophet. All Ican say is I am sure it will be human, full of imperfections, full ofopportunities for improvements--and that I hope it will be better thanwhat we have now. Probably not much better, but a little--and thatlittle, however small it may be, will be a gain. Doesn't history showa slow but steady advance of the idea that the world is for the peoplewho live in it, a slow retreat of the idea that the world and thepeople and all its and their resources are for a favored few of somekind of an upper class? Yes--I think it is reasonable to hope that outof the throes will come a freer and a happier and a more intelligentrace. "

Suddenly she burst out, apparently irrelevantly: "But I can't--Ireally can't agree with you that everyone ought to do physical labor. That would drag the world down--yes, I'm sure it would. "

"I guess you haven't thought about that, " said he. "Painters dophysical labor--and sculptors--and writers--and all the scientificmen--and the inventors--and--" He laughed at her--"Who doesn't dophysical labor that does anything really useful? Why, you yourself--attennis and riding and such things--do heavy physical labor. I've onlyto look at your body to see that. But it's of a foolish kind--foolishand narrowly selfish. "

"I see I'd better not try to argue with you, " said she. 

"No--don't argue--with me or with anybody, " rejoined he. "Sit downquietly and think about life--about your life. Think how it is best tolive so that you may get the most out of life--the most substantialhappiness. Don't go on doing the silly customary things simply becausea silly customary world says they are amusing and worth while. Think--and do--for yourself, Jane Hastings. "

She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I'll try to, " she said. Shelooked at him with the expression of the mind aroused. It was anexpression that often rewarded him after a long straight talk with afellow being. She went on: "I probably shan't do what you'd approve. You see, I've got to be myself--got to live to a certain extent thekind of a life fate has made for me. "

"You couldn't successfully live any other, " said he. 

"But, while it won't be at all what you'd regard as a model life--oreven perhaps useful--it'll be very different--very much better--than itwould have been, if I hadn't met you--Victor Dorn. "

"Oh, I've done nothing, " said he. "All I try to do is to encourage myfellow beings to be themselves. So--live your own life--the life youcan live best--just as you wear the clothes that fit and become you. .. . And now--about the street car question. What do you want of me?"

"Tell me what to say to father. "

He shook his head. "Can't do it, " said he. "There's a good place foryou to make a beginning. Put on an old dress and go down town and getacquainted with the family life of the street-car men. Talk to theirwives and their children. Look into the whole business yourself. "

"But I'm not--not competent to judge, " objected she. 

"Well, make yourself competent, " advised he. 

"I might get Miss Gordon to go with me, " suggested she. 

"You'll learn more thoroughly if you go alone, " declared he. 

She hesitated--ventured with a winning smile: "You won't go withme--just to get me started right?"

"No, " said he. "You've got to learn for yourself--or not at all. If Igo with you, you'll get my point of view, and it will take you so muchthe longer to get your own. "

"Perhaps you'd prefer I didn't go. "

"It's not a matter of much importance, one way or the other--exceptperhaps to yourself, " replied he. 

"Any one individual can do the human race little good by learning thetruth about life. The only benefit is to himself. Don't forget that inyour sweet enthusiasm for doing something noble and generous andhelpful. Don't become a Davy Hull. You know, Davy is on earth for thebenefit of the human race. Ever since he was born he has been takencare of--supplied with food, clothing, shelter, everything. Yet heimagines that he is somehow a God-appointed guardian of the people whohave gathered and cooked his food, made his clothing, served him inevery way. It's very funny, that attitude of your class toward mine. "

"They look up to us, " said Jane. "You can't blame us for allowingit--for becoming pleased with ourselves. "

"That's the worst of it--we do look up to you, " admitted he. "But--we're learning better. "

"YOU'VE already learned better--you personally, I mean. I think thatwhen you compare me, for instance, with a girl like Selma Gordon, youlook down on me. "

"Don't you, yourself, feel that any woman who is self-supporting andfree is your superior?"

"In some moods, I do, " replied Jane. "In other moods, I feel as I wasbrought up to feel. "

They talked on and on, she detaining him without seeming to do so. Shefelt proud of her adroitness. But the truth was that his stopping onfor nearly two hours was almost altogether a tribute to her physicalcharm--though Victor was unconscious of it. When the afternoon wasdrawing on toward the time for her father to come, she reluctantly lethim go. She said:

"But you'll come again?"

"I can't do that, " replied he regretfully. "I could not come to yourfather's house and continue free. I must be able to say what Ihonestly think, without any restraint. "

"I understand, " said she. "And I want you to say and to write what youbelieve to be true and right. But--we'll see each other again. I'msure we are going to be friends. "

His expression as he bade her good-by told her that she had won hisrespect and his liking. She had a suspicion that she did not deserveeither; but she was full of good resolutions, and assured herself shesoon would be what she had pretended--that her pretenses were notexactly false, only somewhat premature. 

At dinner that evening she said to her father:

"I think I ought to do something beside enjoy myself. I've decided togo down among the poor people and see whether I can't help them in someway. "

"You'd better keep away from that part of town, " advised her father. "They live awful dirty, and you might catch some disease. If you wantto do anything for the poor, send a check to our minister or to thecharity society. There's two kinds of poor--those that are workinghard and saving their money and getting up out of the dirt, and thosethat haven't got no spunk or get-up. The first kind don't need help, and the second don't deserve it. "

"But there are the children, popsy, " urged Jane. "The children of theno-account poor ought to have a chance. "

"I don't reckon there ever was a more shiftless, do-easy pair than myfather and mother, " rejoined Martin Hastings. "They were what set meto jumping. "

She saw that his view was hopelessly narrow--that, while he regardedhimself justly as an extraordinary man, he also, for purposes ofprejudice and selfishness, regarded his own achievements in overcomingwhat would have been hopeless handicaps to any but a giant in characterand in physical endurance as an instance of what any one could do if hewould but work. She never argued with him when she wished to carry herpoint. She now said:

"It seems to me that, in our own interest, we ought to do what we canto make the poor live better. As you say, it's positively dangerous togo about in the tenement part of town--and those people are alwayscoming among us. For instance, our servants have relatives living inCooper Street, where there's a pest of consumption. "

Old Hastings nodded. "That's part of Davy Hull's reform programme, "said he. "And I'm in favor of it. The city government ought to makethem people clean up. "

"Victor Dorn wants that done, too--doesn't he?" said Jane. 

"No, " replied the old man sourly. "He says it's no use to clean up theslums unless you raise wages--and that then the slum people'd cleanthemselves up. The idea of giving those worthless trash more money tospend for beer and whisky and finery for their fool daughters. Why, they don't earn what we give 'em now. "

Jane couldn't resist the temptation to say, "I guess the laziest ofthem earn more than Davy Hull or I. "

"Because some gets more than they earn ain't a reason why othersshould. " He grinned. "Maybe you and Davy ought to have less, butVictor Dorn and his riff-raff oughtn't to be pampered. .. . Do you wantme to cut your allowance down?"

She was ready for him. "If you can get as satisfactory a housekeeperfor less, you're a fool to overpay the one you have. "

The old man was delighted. "I've been cheating you, " said he. "I'lldouble your pay. "

"You're doing it just in time to stop a strike, " laughed the girl. 

After a not unknown fashion she was most obedient to her father whenhis commands happened to coincide with her own inclinations. 

Her ardor for an excursion into the slums and the tenements died almostwith Victor Dorn's departure. Her father's reasons for forbidding herto go did not impress her as convincing, but she felt that she owed itto him to respect his wishes. Anyhow, what could she find out that shedid not know already? Yes, Dorn and her father were right in theconclusion each reached by a different road. She would do well not tomeddle where she could not possibly accomplish any good. She couldquestion the servants and could get from them all the facts she neededfor urging her father at least to cut down the hours of labor. 

The more she thought about Victor Dorn the more uneasy she became. Shehad made more progress with him than she had hoped to make in so shorta time. But she had made it at an unexpected cost. If she hadsoftened him, he had established a disquieting influence over her. Shewas not sure, but she was afraid, that he was stronger than she--that, if she persisted in her whim, she would soon be liking him entirely toowell for her own comfort. Except as a pastime, Victor Dorn did not fitinto her scheme of life. If she continued to see him, to yield to thedelight of his magnetic voice, of his fresh and original mind, of hisenergetic and dominating personality, might he not becomearoused--begin to assert power over her, compel her to--to--she couldnot imagine what; only, it was foolish to deny that he was a dangerousman. "If I've got good sense, " decided she, "I'll let him alone. I'venothing to gain and everything to lose. "

Her motor--the one her father had ordered as a birthday present--camethe next day; and on the following day two girl friends fromCincinnati arrived for a long visit. So, Jane Hastings had the helpshe felt she perhaps needed in resisting the temptings of her whim. 

To aid her in giving her friends a good time she impressed Davy Hull, in spite of his protests that his political work made social foolingabout impossible. The truth was that the reform movement, of which hewas one of the figureheads, was being organized by far more skillfuland expert hands than his--and for purposes of which he had no notion. So, he really had all the time in the world to look after EllenClearwater and Josie Arthur, and to pose as a serious man bent upondoing his duty as an upper class person of leisure. All that thereform machine wished of him was to talk and to pose--and to ride onthe show seat of the pretty, new political wagon. 

The new movement had not yet been "sprung" upon the public. It wasstill an open secret among the young men of the "better element" in theLincoln, the Jefferson and the University clubs. 

Money was being subscribed liberally by persons of good family whohoped for political preferment and could not get it from the oldparties, and by corporations tired of being "blackmailed" by Kelly andHouse, and desirous of getting into office men who would give them whatthey wanted because it was for the public good that they should not behampered in any way. With plenty of money an excellent machine couldbe built and set to running. Also, there was talk of a fusion with theDemocratic machine, House to order the wholesale indorsement of thereform ticket in exchange for a few minor places. 

When the excitement among the young gentlemen over the approachingmoral regeneration of Remsen City politics was at the boiling pointVictor Dorn sent for David Hull--asked him to come to the Baker Avenuecafe', which was the social headquarters of Dorn's Workingmen's League. As Hull was rather counting on Dorn's support, or at least neutrality, in the approaching contest, he accepted promptly. As he entered thecafe' he saw Dorn seated at a table in a far corner listening calmly toa man who was obviously angrily in earnest. At second glance herecognized Tony Rivers, one of Dick Kelly's shrewdest lieutenants and alabor leader of great influence in the unions of factory workers. Among those in "the know" it was understood that Rivers could comenearer to delivering the labor vote than any man in Remsen City. Heknew whom to corrupt with bribes and whom to entrap by subtle appealsto ignorant prejudice. As a large part of his herd was intenselyCatholic, Rivers was a devout Catholic. To quote his own phrase, usedin a company on whose discretion he could count, "Many's the pair ofpants I've worn out doing the stations of the Cross. " In fact, Rivershad been brought up a Presbyterian, and under the name of Blake--hiscorrect name--had "done a stretch" in Joliet for picking pockets. 

Dorn caught sight of Davy Hull, hanging uncertainly in the offing. Herose at once, said a few words in a quiet, emphatic way toRivers--words of conclusion and dismissal--and advanced to meet Hull. 

"I don't want to interrupt. I can wait, " said Hull, who saw Rivers'angry scowl at him. He did not wish to offend the great labor leader. 

"That fellow pushed himself on me, " said Dorn. "I've nothing to say tohim. "

"Tony Rivers--wasn't it?" said Davy as they seated themselves atanother table. 

"I'm going to expose him in next week's New Day, " replied Victor. "When I sent him a copy of the article for his corrections, if he couldmake any, he came threatening. "

"I've heard he's a dangerous man, " said Davy. 

"He'll not be so dangerous after Saturday, " replied Victor. "One by oneI'm putting the labor agents of your friends out of business. The bestones--the chaps like Rivers--are hard to catch. And if I should attackone of them before I had him dead to rights, I'd only strengthen him. "

"You think you can destroy Rivers' influence?" said Davy incredulously. 

"If I were not sure of it I'd not publish a line, " said Victor. 

"But to get to the subject I wish to talk to you about. You are to bethe reform candidate for Mayor in the fall?"

Davy looked important and self-conscious. "There has been some talkof----" he began. 

"I've sent for you to ask you to withdraw from the movement, Hull, "interrupted Victor. 

Hull smiled. "And I've come to ask you to support it, " said Hull. "We'll win, anyhow. But I'd like to see all the forces againstcorruption united in this campaign. I am even urging my people to putone or two of your men on the ticket. "

"None of us would accept, " said Victor. "That isn't our kind ofpolitics. We'll take nothing until we get everything. .. . What do youknow about this movement you're lending your name to?"

"I organized it, " said Hull proudly. 

"Pardon me--Dick Kelly organized it, " replied Victor. "They're simplyusing you, Davy, to play their rotten game. Kelly knew he was certainto be beaten this fall. He doesn't care especially for that, becauseHouse and his gang are just as much Kelly as Kelly himself. But he'salarmed about the judgeship. "

Davy Hull reddened, though he tried hard to look indifferent. 

"He's given up hope of pulling through the scoundrel who's on the benchnow. He knows that our man would be elected, though his tool had thesupport of the Republicans, the Democrats and the new reform crowd. "

Dorn had been watching Hull's embarrassed face keenly. He now said:"You understand, I see, why Judge Freilig changed his mind and decidedthat he must stop devoting himself to the public and think of thewelfare of his family and resume the practice of the law?"

"Judge Freilig is an honorable gentleman, " said Davy with much dignity. "I'm sorry, Dorn, that you listen to the lies of demagogues. "

"If Freilig had persisted in running, " said Victor, "I should havepublished the list of stocks and bonds of corporations benefiting byhis decisions that his brother and his father have come into possessionof during his two terms on the bench. Many of our judges are simplymentally crooked. But Freilig is a bribe taker. He probably believeshis decisions are just. All you fellows believe that upper-class ruleis really best for the people----"

"And so it is, " said Davy. "And you, an educated man, know it. "

"I'll not argue that now, " said Victor. "As I was saying, whileFreilig decides for what he honestly thinks is right, he also feels heis entitled to a share of the substantial benefits. Most of the judges, after serving the upper class faithfully for years, retire to an oldage of comparative poverty. Freilig thinks that is foolish. "

"I suppose you agree with him, " said Hull sarcastically. 

"I sympathize with him, " said Victor. "He retires with reputationunstained and with plenty of money. If I should publish the truthabout him, would he lose a single one of his friends? You know hewouldn't. That isn't the way the world is run at present. "

"No doubt it would be run much better if your crowd were in charge, "sneered Hull. 

"On the contrary, much worse, " replied Victor unruffled. "But we'reeducating ourselves so that, when our time comes, we'll not do sobadly. "

"You'll have plenty of time for education, " said Davy. 

"Plenty, " said Victor. "But why are you angry? Because you realizenow that your reform candidate for judge is of Dick Kelly's selecting?"

"Kelly didn't propose Hugo Galland, " cried Davy hotly. "I proposed himmyself. "

"Was his the first name you proposed?"

Something in Dorn's tone made Davy feel that it would be unwise toyield to the impulse to tell a lie--for the highly moral purpose ofsilencing this agitator and demagogue. 

"You will remember, " pursued Victor, "that Galland was the sixth orseventh name you proposed--and that Joe House rejected the others. Hedid it, after consulting with Kelly. You recall--don't you?--thatevery time you brought him a name he took time to consider?"

"How do you know so much about all this?" cried Davy, his tonesuggesting that Victor was wholly mistaken, but his manner betrayingthat he knew Victor was right. 

"Oh, politicians are human, " replied Dorn. "And the human race isloose-mouthed. I saw years ago that if I was to build my party I musthave full and accurate information as to all that was going on. I mademy plans accordingly. "

"Galland is an honest man--rich--above suspicion--above corruption--anideal candidate, " said Davy. 

"He is a corporation owner, a corporation lawyer--and a fool, " saidVictor. "As I've told you, all Dick Kelly's interest in this fall'slocal election is that judgeship. "

"Galland is my man. I want to see him elected. If Kelly's forGalland, so much the better. Then we're sure of electing him--ofgetting the right sort of a man on the bench. "

"I'm not here to argue with you about politics, Davy, " said Victor. "Ibrought you here because I like you--believe in your honesty--and don'twant to see you humiliated. I'm giving you a chance to save yourself . "

"From what?" inquired Hull, not so valiant as he pretended to be. 

"From the ridicule and disgrace that will cover this reform movement, if you persist in it. "

Hull burst out laughing. "Of all the damned impudence!" he exclaimed. "Dorn, I think you've gone crazy . "

"You can't irritate me, Hull. I've been giving you the benefit of thedoubt. I think you are falling into the commonest kind of error--doingevil and winking at evil in order that a good end may be gained. Now, listen. What are the things you reformers are counting on to get youvotes this fall. "

Davy maintained a haughty silence. 

"The traction scandals, the gas scandals and the paving scandals--isn'tthat it?"

"Of course, " said Davy. 

"Then--why have the gas crowd, the traction crowd and the paving crowdeach contributed twenty-five thousand dollars to your campaign fund?"

Hull stared at Victor Dorn in amazement. "Who told you that lie?" heblustered. 

Dorn looked at him sadly. "Then you knew? I hoped you didn't, Hull. But--now that you're facing the situation squarely, don't you see thatyou're being made a fool of? Would those people put up for yourelection if they weren't SURE you and your crowd were THEIR crowd?"

"They'll find out!" cried Hull. 

"You'll find out, you mean, " replied Victor. "I see your wholeprogramme, Davy. They'll put you in, and they'll say, 'Let us aloneand we'll make you governor of the State. Annoy us, and you'll have nopolitical future. ' And you'll say to yourself, 'The wise thing for meto do is to wait until I'm governor before I begin to serve the people. THEN I can really do something. ' And so, you'll be THEIR mayor--andafterward THEIR governor--because they'll hold out another inducement. Anyhow, by that time you'll be so completely theirs that you'll have nohope of a career except through them. "

After reading how some famous oration wrought upon its audience we turnto it and wonder that such tempests of emotion could have been producedby such simple, perhaps almost commonplace words. The key to themystery is usually a magic quality in the tone of the orator, evokingbefore its hypnotized hearers a series of vivid pictures, just as thenotes of a violin, with no aid from words or even from musical formseem to materialize into visions. 

This uncommon yet by no means rare power was in Victor Dorn's voice, and explained his extraordinary influence over people of all kinds andclasses; it wove a spell that enmeshed even those who disliked him forhis detestable views. Davy Hull, listening to Victor's simple recitalof his prospective career, was so wrought upon that he sat staringbefore him in a kind of terror. 

"Davy, " said Victor gently, "you're at the parting of the ways. Thetime for honest halfway reformers--for political amateurs has passed. 'Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!'--that's the situationtoday. "

And Hull knew that it was so. "What do you propose, Dorn?" he said. "I want to do what's right--what's best for the people. "

"Don't worry about the people, Hull, " said Victor. 

"Upper classes come and pass, but the people remain--bigger andstronger and more aggressive with every century. And they dictatelanguage and art, and politics and religion--what we shall all eat andwear and think and do. Only what they approve, only that yoke evenwhich they themselves accept, has any chance of enduring. Don't worryabout the people, Davy. Worry about yourself. "

"I admit, " said Hull, "that I don't like a lot of things about the--theforces I find I've got to use in order to carry through my plans. Iadmit that even the sincere young fellows I've grouped together to headthis movement are narrow--supercilious--self-satisfied--that theyirritate me and are not trustworthy. But I feel that, if I once getthe office, I'll be strong enough to put my plans through. " Nervously, "I'm giving you my full confidence--as I've given it to no one else. "

"You've told me nothing I didn't know already, " said Victor. 

"I've got to choose between this reform party and your party, "continued Hull. "That is, I've got no choice. For, candidly, I've noconfidence in the working class. It's too ignorant to do the ruling. It's too credulous to build on--for its credulity makes it fickle. AndI believe in the better class, too. It may be sordid and greedy andtyrannical, but by appealing to its good instincts--and to its fear ofthe money kings and the monopolists, something good can be got throughit. "

"If you want to get office, " said Dorn, "you're right. But if you wantto BE somebody, if you want to develop yourself, to have the joy ofbeing utterly unafraid in speech and in action--why, come with us. "

After a pause Hull said, "I'd like to do it. I'd like to help you. "

Victor laid his hand on Davy's arm. "Get it straight, Davy, " he said. "You can't help us. We don't need you. It's you that needs us. We'llmake an honest man of you--instead of a trimming politician, trying tosay or to do something more or less honest once in a while and winkingat or abetting crookedness most of the time. "

"I've done nothing, and I'll do nothing, to be ashamed of, " protestedHull. 

"You are not ashamed of the way your movement is financed?"

Davy moved uncomfortably. "The money's ours now, " said he. "They gaveit unconditionally. "

But he could not meet Victor's eyes. Victor said: "They paid ahundred thousand dollars for a judgeship and for a blanket mortgage onyour party. And if you should win, you'd find you could do littleshowy things that were of no value, but nothing that would seriouslydisturb a single leech sucking the blood of this community. "

"I don't agree with you, " said Davy. He roused himself into anger--hisonly remaining refuge. "Your prejudices blind you to all themeans--the PRACTICAL means--of doing good, Dorn. I've listenedpatiently to you because I respect your sincerity. But I'm not goingto waste my life in mere criticism. I'm going to DO something. "

An expression of profound sadness came into Victor's face. "Don'tdecide now, " he said. "Think it over. Remember what I've told youabout what we'll be compelled to do if you launch this party. "

Hull was tempted to burst out violently. Was not this swollen-headedupstart trying to intimidate him by threats? But his strong instinctfor prudence persuaded him to conceal his resentment. "Why the devilshould you attack US?" he demanded. 

"Surely we're nearer your kind of thing than the old parties--and we, too, are against them--their rotten machines. "

"We purpose to keep the issue clear in this town, " replied Victor. "So, we can't allow a party to grow up that PRETENDS to be just as goodas ours but is really a cover behind which the old parties we've beenbattering to pieces can reorganize. "

"That is, you'll tolerate in this market no brand of honest politicsbut your own?"

"If you wish to put it that way, " replied Victor coolly. 

"I suppose you'd rather see Kelly or House win?"

"We'll see that House does win, " replied Victor. "When we have shotyour movement full of holes and sunk it, House will put up a straightDemocratic ticket, and it will win. "

"And House means Kelly--and Kelly means corruption rampant. "

"And corruption rampant means further and much needed education in theschool of hard experience for the voters, " said Dorn. "And the moreeducation, the larger our party and the quicker its triumph. "

Hull laughed angrily. "Talk about low self-seeking! Talk about rottenpractical politics!"

But Dorn held his good humor of the man who has the power and knows it. "Think it over, Davy, " counseled he. "You'll see you've got to comewith us or join Kelly. For your own sake I'd like to see you with us. For the party's sake you'd better be with Kelly, for you're not reallya workingman, and our fellows would be uneasy about you for a longtime. You see, we've had experience of rich young men whose heartsbeat for the wrongs of the working class--and that experience has notbeen fortunate. "

"Before you definitely decide to break with the decent element of thebetter class, Victor, I want YOU to think it over, " said Davy. "We--I, myself--have befriended you more than once. But for a few of us whostill have hope that demagoguery will die of itself, your paper wouldhave been suppressed long ago. "

Victor laughed. "I wish they would suppress it, " said he. "The resultwould give the 'better element' in this town a very bad quarter of anhour, at least. " He rose. "We've both said all we've got to say toeach other. I see I've done no good. I feared it would be so. " Hewas looking into Hull's eyes--into his very soul. "When we meet again, you will probably be my open and bitter enemy. It's a pity. It makesme sad. Good-by, and--do think it over, Davy. "

Dorn moved rapidly away. Hull looked after him in surprise. At firstblush he was astonished that Dorn should care so much about him as thiscurious interview and his emotion at its end indicated. But onreflecting his astonishment disappeared, and he took the view that Dornwas simply impressed by his personality and by his ability--was perhapscraftily trying to disarm him and to destroy his political movementwhich was threatening to destroy the Workingmen's League. "A veryshrewd chap is Dorn, " thought Davy--why do we always generously concedeat least acumen to those we suspect of having a good opinion of us?--"AVERY shrewd chap. It's unfortunate he's cursed with that miserableenvy of those better born and better off than he is. "

Davy spent the early evening at the University Club, where he was animportant figure. Later on he went to a dance at Mrs. Venable's--andthere he was indeed a lion, as an unmarried man with money cannot butbe in a company of ladies--for money to a lady is what soil and sun andrain are to a flower--is that without which she must cease to exist. But still later, when he was alone in bed--perhaps with the supper heate at Mrs. Venable's not sitting as lightly as comfort required--thethings Victor Dorn had said came trailing drearily through his mind. What kind of an article would Dorn print? Those facts about thecampaign fund certainly would look badly in cold type--especially ifDorn had the proofs. And Hugo Galland-- Beyond question the mere listof the corporations in which Hugo was director or large stockholderwould make him absurd as a judge, sitting in that district. And Hugothe son-in-law of the most offensive capitalist in that section of theState! And the deal with House, endorsed by Kelly--how nasty thatwould look, IF Victor had the proofs. IF Victor had the proofs. Buthad he?

"I MUST have a talk with Kelly, " said Davy, aloud. 

The words startled him--not his voice suddenly sounding in the profoundstillness of his bedroom, but the words themselves. It was his firstadmission to himself of the vicious truth he had known from the outsetand had been pretending to himself that he did not know--the truth thathis reform movement was a fraud contrived by Dick Kelly to further theinterests of the company of financiers and the gang ofpolitico-criminal thugs who owned the party machinery. It is a nicequestion whether a man is ever allowed to go in HONEST self-deceptiondecisively far along a wrong road. However this may be, certain it isthat David Hull, reformer, was not so allowed. And he was glad of thedarkness that hid him at least physically from himself as he strove toconvince himself that, if he was doing wrong, it was from the highestmotives and for the noblest purposes and would result in the publicgood--and not merely in fame and office for David Hull. 

The struggle ended as struggles usually end in the famous arena ofmoral sham battles called conscience; and toward the middle of thefollowing morning Davy, at peace with himself and prepared to make anysacrifice of personal squeamishness or moral idealism for the sake ofthe public good, sought out Dick Kelly. 

Kelly's original headquarters had, of course, been the doggery in andthrough which he had established himself as a political power. As hispower grew and his relations with more respectable elements of societyextended he shifted to a saloon and beer garden kept by a reputableGerman and frequented by all kinds of people--a place where his friendsof the avowedly criminal class and his newer friends of the class thatdoes nothing legally criminal, except in emergencies, would feelequally at ease. He retained ownership of the doggery, but took hisname down and put up that of his barkeeper. When he won his first bigpolitical fight and took charge of the public affairs of Remsen Cityand made an arrangement with Joe House where--under Remsen City, whenever it wearied or sickened of Kelly, could take instead Kellydisguised as Joe House--when he thus became a full blown boss heestablished a secondary headquarters in addition to that at Herrmann'sGarden. Every morning at ten o'clock he took his stand in the maincorridor of the City Hall, really a thoroughfare and short cut for thebusiest part of town. With a cigar in his mouth he stood there for anhour or so, holding court, making appointments, attending to all sortsof political business. 

Presently his importance and his ideas of etiquette expanded to such anextent that he had to establish the Blaine Club. Joe House's TildenClub was established two years later, in imitation of Kelly. If youhad very private and important business with Kelly--business of thekind of which the public must get no inkling, you made--preferably bytelephone--an appointment to meet him in his real estate offices in theHastings Building--a suite with entrances and exits into threeseparated corridors. If you wished to see him about ordinary mattersand were a person who could "confer" with Kelly without its causingtalk you met him at the Blaine Club. If you wished to cultivate him, to pay court to him, you saw him at Herrmann's--or in the general roomsof the club. If you were a busy man and had time only to exchangegreetings with him--to "keep in touch"--you passed through the CityHall now and then at his hour. Some bosses soon grow too proud for thevulgar democracy of such a public stand; but Kelly, partly throughshrewdness, partly through inclination, clung to the City Hall standand encouraged the humblest citizens to seek him there and tell him thenews or ask his aid or his advice. 

It was at the City Hall that Davy Hull sought him, and found him. 

Twice he walked briskly to the boss; the third time he went by slowly. Kelly, who saw everything, had known from the first glance at Hull'sgrave, anxious face, that the young leader of the "holy boys" was thereto see him. But he ignored Davy until Davy addressed him directly. 

"Howdy, Mr. Hull!" said he, observing the young man with eyes thattwinkled cynically. "What's the good word?"

"I want to have a little talk with you, " Davy blurted out. "Where couldI see you?"

"Here I am, " said Kelly. "Talk away. "

"Couldn't I see you at some--some place where we'd not be interrupted?I saw Victor Dorn yesterday, and he said some things that I think youought to know about. "

"I do know about 'em, " replied Kelly. 

"Are you sure? I mean his threats to--to----"

As Davy paused in an embarrassed search for a word that would not hurthis own but recently soothed conscience, Kelly laughed. "To expose youholy boys?" inquired he. "To upset the nice moral campaign you and JoeHouse have laid out? Yes, I know all about Mr. Victor Dorn. But--JoeHouse is the man you want to see. You boys are trying to do meup--trying to break up the party. You can't expect ME to help you. I've got great respect for you personally, Mr. Hull. Your father--hewas a fine old Republican wheel-horse. He stood by the party throughthick and thin--and the party stood by him. So, I respect hisson--personally. But politically--that's another matter. Politically Irespect straight organization men of either party, but I've got no usefor amateurs and reformers. So--go to Joe House. " All this in perfectgood humor, and in a tone of banter that might have ruffled a man witha keener sense of humor than Davy's. 

Davy was red to his eyes, not because Kelly was laughing at him, butbecause he stood convicted of such a stupid political blunder as comingdirect to Kelly when obviously he should have gone to Kelly's secretpartner. "Dorn means to attack us all--Republicans, Democrats andCitizens' Alliance, " stammered Davy, trying to justify himself. 

Kelly shifted his cigar and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Don't worry about his attacks on me--on US, " said he. "We're used tobeing attacked. We haven't got no reputation for superior virtue tolose. "

"But he says he can prove that our whole campaign is simply a dealbetween you and House and me to fool the people and elect a bad judge. "

"So I've heard, " said Kelly. "But what of it? You know it ain't so. "

"No, I don't, Mr. Kelly, " replied Hull, desperately. "On the contrary, I think it is so. And I may add I think we are justified in makingsuch a deal, when that's the only way to save the community from VictorDorn and his crowd of--of anarchists. "

Kelly looked at him silently with amused eyes. 

"House can't do anything, " pursued Davy. "Maybe YOU can. So I camestraight to you. "

"I'm glad you're getting a little political sense, my boy, " said Kelly. "Perhaps you're beginning to see that a politician has got to bepractical--that it's the organizations that keeps this city from beingthe prey to Victor Dorns. "

"I see that, " said Davy. "I'm willing to admit that I've misjudgedyou, Mr. Kelly--that the better classes owe you a heavy debt--and thatyou are one of the men we've got to rely on chiefly to stem the tide ofanarchy that's rising--the attack on the propertied classes--theintelligent classes. "

"I see your eyes are being opened, my boy, " said Kelly in a kindly tonethat showed how deeply he appreciated this unexpected recognition ofhis own notion of his mission. "You young silk stocking fellows up atthe University Club, and the Lincoln and the Jefferson, have beenindulging in a lot of loose talk against the fellows that do the hardwork in politics--the fellows that helped your fathers to make fortunesand that are helping you boys to keep 'em. If I didn't have a prettylevel head on me, I'd take my hands off and give Dorn and his gang achance at you. I tell you, when you fool with that reform nonsense, youplay with fire in a powder mill. "

"But I--I had an idea that you wanted me to go ahead, " said Davy. 

"Not the way you started last spring, " replied Kelly. "Not the wayyou'd 'a gone if I hadn't taken hold. I've been saving you in spite ofyourselves. Thanks to me, your party's on a sound, conservative basisand won't do any harm and may do some good in teaching a lesson tothose of our boys that've been going a little too far. It ain't goodfor an organization to win always. "

"Victor Dorn seemed to be sure--absolutely sure, " said Hull. "And he'spretty shrewd at politics--isn't he?"

"Don't worry about him, I tell you, " replied Kelly. 

The sudden hardening of his voice and of his never notably soft facewas tribute stronger than any words to Dorn's ability as a politician, to his power as an antagonist. Davy felt a sinister intent--and heknew that Dick Kelly had risen because he would stop at nothing. Hewas as eager to get away from the boss as the boss was to be rid ofhim. The intrusion of a henchman, to whom Kelly had no doubt signaled, gave him the excuse. As soon as he had turned from the City Hall intoMorton Street he slackened to as slow a walk as his length of leg wouldpermit. Moving along, absorbed in uncomfortable thoughts, he startledviolently when he heard Selma Gordon's voice:

"How d'you do, Mr. Hull? I was hoping I'd see you to-day. "

She was standing before him--the same fascinating embodiment of lifeand health and untamed energy; the direct, honest glance. 

"I want to talk to you, " she went on, "and I can't, walking beside you. You're far too tall. Come into the park and we'll sit on that benchunder the big maple. "

He had mechanically lifted his hat, but he had not spoken. He did notfind words until they were seated side by side, and then all he couldsay was:

"I'm very glad to see you again--very glad, indeed. "

In fact, he was the reverse of glad, for he was afraid of her, afraidof himself when under the spell of her presence. He who prided himselfon his self-control, he could not account for the effect this girl hadupon him. As he sat there beside her the impulse Jane Hastings had soadroitly checked came surging back. He had believed, had hoped it wasgone for good and all. He found that in its mysterious hiding place ithad been gaining strength. Quite clearly he saw how absurd was theidea of making this girl his wife--he tall and she not much above thebend of his elbow; he conventional, and she the incarnation ofpassionate revolt against the restraints of class and form and customwhich he not only conformed to but religiously believed in. And sheset stirring in him all kinds of vague, wild longings to run amucksocially and politically--longings that, if indulged, would ruin himfor any career worthy of the name. 

He stood up. "I must go--I really must, " he said, confusedly. 

She laid her small, strong hand on his arm--a natural, friendly gesturewith her, and giving no suggestion of familiarity. Even as she wassaying, "Please--only a moment, " he dropped back to the seat. 

"Well--what is it?" he said abruptly, his gaze resolutely away from herface. 

"Victor was telling me this morning about his talk with you, " she saidin her rapid, energetic way. "He was depressed because he had failed. But I felt sure--I feel sure--that he hasn't. In our talk the otherday, Mr. Hull, I got a clear idea of your character. A womanunderstands better. And I know that, after Victor told you the plaintruth about the situation, you couldn't go on. "

David looked round rather wildly, swallowed hard several times, saidhoarsely: "I won't, if you'll marry me. "

But for a slight change of expression or of color Davy would havethought she had not heard--or perhaps that he had imagined he wasuttering the words that forced themselves to his lips in spite of hisefforts to suppress them. For she went on in the same impetuous, friendly way:

"It seemed to me that you have an instinct for the right that's unusualin men of your class. At least, I think it's unusual. I confess I'venot known any man of your class except you--and I know you veryslightly. It was I that persuaded Victor to go to you. He believesthat a man's class feeling controls him--makes his moral sense--compelshis actions. But I thought you were an exception--and he yielded afterI urged him a while. "

"I don't know WHAT I am, " said Hull gloomily. "I think I want to doright. But--what is right? Not theoretical right, but the practical, workable thing?"

"That's true, " conceded Selma. "We can't always be certain what'sright. But can't we always know what's wrong? And, Mr. Hull, it iswrong--altogether wrong--and YOU know it's wrong--to lend your name andyour influence and your reputation to that crowd. They'd let you do alittle good--why? To make their professions of reform seem plausible. To fool the people into trusting them again. And under cover of thelittle good you were showily doing, how much mischief they'd do! Ifyou'll go back over the history of this town--of any town--of anycountry--you'll find that most of the wicked things--the things thatpile the burdens on the shoulders of the poor--the masses--most of thewicked things have been done under cover of just such men as you, usedas figureheads. "

"But I want to build up a new party--a party of honest men, honestlyled, " said Davy. 

"Led by your sort of young men? I mean young men of your class. Led byyoung lawyers and merchants and young fellows living on inheritedincomes? Don't you see that's impossible, " cried Selma. "They are allliving off the labor of others. Their whole idea of life is exploitingthe masses--is reaping where they have not sown or reaping not onlywhat they've sown but also what others have sown--for they couldn't buyluxury and all the so-called refinements of life for themselves andtheir idle families merely with what they themselves could earn. Howcan you build up a really HONEST party with such men? They may meanwell. They no doubt are honest, up to a certain point. But they willside with their class, in every crisis. And their class is theexploiting class. "

"I don't agree with you, " said Davy. "You are not fair to us. "

"How!" demanded Selma. 

"I couldn't argue with you, " replied Hull. "All I'll say is thatyou've seen only the one side--only the side of the working class. "

"That toils without ceasing--its men, its women, its children--" saidthe girl with heaving bosom and flashing eyes--"only to have most ofwhat it earns filched away from it by your class to waste in foolishluxury!"

"And whose fault is that?" pleaded Hull. 

"The fault of my class, " replied she. "Their ignorance, theirstupidity--yes, and their foolish cunning that overreaches itself. Forthey tolerate the abuses of the present system because each man--atleast, each man of the ones who think themselves 'smart'--imagines thatthe day is coming when he can escape from the working class and gainthe ranks of the despoilers. "

"And you ask ME to come into the party of those people!" scoffed Davy. 

"Yes, Mr. Hull, " said she--and until then he had not appreciated howlovely her voice was. "Yes--that is the party for you--for all honest, sincere men who want to have their own respect through and through. Toteach those people--to lead them right--to be truthful and just withthem--that is the life worth while. "

"But they won't learn. They won't be led right. They are asungrateful as they are foolish. If they weren't, men like me trying tomake a decent career wouldn't have to compromise with the Kellys andthe Houses and their masters. What are Kelly and House but leaders ofyour class? And they lead ten to Victor Dorn's one. Why, any dayDorn's followers may turn on him--and you know it. "

"And what of that?" cried Selma. "He's not working to be their leader, but to do what he thinks is right, regardless of consequences. Why ishe a happy man, as happiness goes? Why has he gone on his way steadilyall these years, never minding setbacks and failures and defeats anddangers? I needn't tell you why. "

"No, " said Hull, powerfully moved by her earnestness. "I understand. "

"The finest sentence that ever fell from human lips, " Selma went on, "was 'Father, forgive them; they know not what they do. ' Forgivethem--forgive us all--for when we go astray it is because we are in thedark. And I want you to come with us, Mr. Hull, and help to make it alittle less dark. At least, you will then be looking toward thelight--and every one turned in that direction counts. "

After a long pause, Hull said:

"Miss Gordon, may I ask you a very personal question?"

"Yes, " said she. 

"Are you in love with Victor Dorn?"

Selma laughed merrily. "Jane Hastings had that same curiosity, " saidshe. "I'll answer you as I answered her--though she didn't ask mequite so directly. No, I am not in love with him. We are too busy tobother about those things. We have too much to do to think aboutourselves. "

"Then--there is no reason why I should not ask you to be my wife--why Ishould not hope--and try?"

She looked at him with a peculiar smile. "Yes, there is a very goodreason. I do not love you, and I shall not love you. I shall not havetime for that sort of thing. "

"Don't you believe in love?"

"I don't believe in much else, " said she. "But--not the kind of loveyou offer me. "

"How do you know?" cried he. "I have not told you yet how I feeltoward you. I have not----"

"Oh, yes, you have, " interrupted she. "This is the second--no, thethird time you have seen me. So, the love you offer me can only be ofa kind it is not in the least flattering to a woman to inspire. Youneedn't apologize, " she went on, laughingly. "I've no doubt you meanwell. You simply don't understand me--my sort of woman. "

"It's you that don't understand, Selma, " cried he. "You don't realizehow wonderful you are--how much you reveal of yourself at once. I wasall but engaged to another woman when I saw you. I've been fightingagainst my love for you--fighting against the truth that suddenly cameto me that you were the only woman I had ever seen who appealed to andaroused and made strong all that is brave and honest in me. Selma, Ineed you. I am not infatuated. I am clearer-headed than I ever was inmy life. I need you. You can make a man of me. "

She was regarding him with a friendly and even tender sympathy. "Iunderstand now, " she said. "I thought it was simply the ordinaryoutburst of passion. But I see that it was the result of your strugglewith yourself about which road to take in making a career. "

If she had not been absorbed in developing her theory she might haveseen that Davy was not altogether satisfied with this analysis of hisfeelings. But he deemed it wise to hold his peace. 

"You do need some one--some woman, " she went on. "And I am anxious tohelp you all I can. I couldn't help you by marrying you. To memarriage means----" She checked herself abruptly. "No matter. I canhelp you, I think, as a friend. But if you wish to marry, you shouldtake some one in your own class--some one who's in sympathy with you. Then you and she could work it out together--could help each other. You see, I don't need you--and there's nothing in one-sidedmarriages. .. . No, you couldn't give me anything I need, so far as Ican see. "

"I believe that's true, " said Davy miserably. 

She reflected, then continued: "But there's Jane Hastings. Why notmarry her? She is having the same sort of struggle with herself. Youand she could help each other. And you're, both of you, finecharacters. I like each of you for exactly the same reasons. .. . Yes--Jane needs you, and you need her. " She looked at him with hersweet, frank smile like a breeze straight from the sweep of a vastplateau. "Why, it's so obvious that I wonder you and she haven'tbecome engaged long ago. You ARE fond of her, aren't you?"

"Oh, Selma, " cried Davy, "I LOVE you. I want YOU. "

She shook her head with a quaint, fascinating expression ofpositiveness. "Now, my friend, " said she, "drop that fancy. It isn'tsensible. And it threatens to become silly. " Her smile suddenlyexpanded into a laugh. "The idea of you and me married--of ME marriedto YOU! I'd drive you crazy. No, I shouldn't stay long enough forthat. I'd be of on the wings of the wind to the other end of the earthas soon as you tried to put a halter on me. "

He did not join in her laugh. She rose. "You will think again beforeyou go in with those people--won't you, David?" she said, sober andearnest. 

"I don't care what becomes of me, " he said boyishly. 

"But _I_ do, " she said. "I want to see you the man you can be. "

"Then--marry me, " he cried. 

Her eyes looked gentle friendship; her passionate lips curled in scorn. "I might marry the sort of man you could be, " she said, "but I nevercould marry a man so weak that, without me to bolster him up, he'dbecome a stool-pigeon. "

And she turned and walked away. 

V. 

A few days later, after she had taken her daily two hours' walk, Selmawent into the secluded part of Washington Park and spent the rest ofthe morning writing. Her walk was her habitual time for thinking outher plans for the day. And when it was writing that she had to do, andthe weather was fine, that particular hillside with its splendid shadeso restful for the eyes and so stimulating to the mind became herwork-shop. She thought that she was helped as much by the colors ofgrass and foliage as by the softened light and the tranquil view outover hills and valleys. 

When she had finished her article she consulted the little nickel watchshe carried in her bag and discovered that it was only one o'clock. She had counted on getting through at three or half past. Two hoursgained. How could she best use them. The part of the Park where shewas sitting was separated from the Hastings grounds only by the windinghighroad making its last reach for the top of the hill. She decidedthat she would go to see Jane Hastings--would try to make tactfulprogress in her project of helping Jane and David Hull by marrying themto each other. Once she had hit upon this project her interest in bothof them had equally increased. Yes, these gained two hours was anopportunity not to be neglected. 

She put her papers into her shopping bag and went straight up the steephill. She arrived at the top, at the edge of the lawn before Jane'shouse, with somewhat heightened color and brightened eyes, but with noquickening of the breath. Her slim, solid little body had all thequalities of endurance of those wiry ponies that come from the regionsher face and walk and the careless grace of her hair so delightfullysuggested. As she advanced toward the house she saw a gay companyassembled on the wide veranda. Jane was giving a farewell luncheon forher visitors, had asked almost a dozen of the most presentable girls inthe town. It was a very fashionable affair, and everyone had dressedfor it in the best she had to wear at that time of day. 

Selma saw the company while there was still time for her to draw backand descend into the woods. But she knew little aboutconventionalities, and she cared not at all about them. She had cometo see Jane; she conducted herself precisely as she would have expectedany one to act who came to see her at any time. She marched straightacross the lawn. The hostess, the fashionable visitors, thefashionable guests soon centered upon the extraordinary figure movingtoward them under that blazing sun. The figure was extraordinary notfor dress--the dress was plain and unconspicuous--but for thatexpression of the free and the untamed, the lack of self-consciousnessso rarely seen except in children and animals. Jane rushed to thesteps to welcome her, seized her extended hands and kissed her with asmuch enthusiasm as she kissed Jane. There was sincerity in thisgreeting of Jane's; but there was pose, also. Here was one of thosechances to do the unconventional, the democratic thing. 

"What a glorious surprise!" cried Jane. "You'll stop for lunch, ofcourse?" Then to the girls nearest them: "This is Selma Gordon, whowrites for the New Day. "

Pronouncing of names--smiles--bows--veiled glances ofcuriosity--several young women exchanging whispered comments ofamusement. And to be sure, Selma, in that simple costume, gloveless, with dusty shoes and blown hair, did look very much out of place. Butthen Selma would have looked, in a sense, out of place anywhere but ina wilderness with perhaps a few tents and a half-tamed herd asbackground. In another sense, she seemed in place anywhere as anynatural object must. 

"I don't eat lunch, " said Selma. "But I'll stay if you'll put me nextto you and let me talk to you. "

She did not realize what an upsetting of order and precedence thisrequest, which seemed so simple to her, involved. Jane hesitated, butonly for a fraction of a second. "Why, certainly, " said she. "Nowthat I've got you I'd not let you go in any circumstances. "

Selma was gazing around at the other girls with the frank and pleasedcuriosity of a child. "Gracious, what pretty clothes!" she cried--shewas addressing Miss Clearwater, of Cincinnati. "I've read about thissort of thing in novels and in society columns of newspapers. But Inever saw it before. ISN'T it interesting!"

Miss Clearwater, whose father was a United States Senator--bypurchase--had had experience of many oddities, male and female. Shealso was attracted by Selma's sparkling delight, and by the magneticcharm which she irradiated as a rose its perfume. "Pretty clothes areattractive, aren't they?" said she, to be saying something. 

"I don't know a thing about clothes, " confessed Selma. "I've neverowned at the same time more than two dresses fit to wear--usually onlyone. And quite enough for me. I'd only be fretted by a lot of thingsof that kind. But I like to see them on other people. If I had my waythe whole world would be well dressed. "

"Except you?" said Ellen Clearwater with a smile. 

"I couldn't be well dressed if I tried, " replied Selma. "When I was achild I was the despair of my mother. Most of the people in thetenement where we lived were very dirty and disorderly--naturallyenough, as they had no knowledge and no money and no time. But motherhad ideas of neatness and cleanliness, and she used to try to keep melooking decent. But it was of no use. Ten minutes after she hadsmoothed me down I was flying every which way again. "

"You were brought up in a tenement?" said Miss Clearwater. Several ofthe girls within hearing were blushing for Selma and were feeling howdistressed Jane Hastings must be. 

"I had a wonderfully happy childhood, " replied Selma. "Until I was oldenough to understand and to suffer. I've lived in tenements all mylife--among very poor people. I'd not feel at home anywhere else. "

"When I was born, " said Miss Clearwater, "we lived in a log cabin up inthe mining district of Michigan. "

Selma showed the astonishment the other girls were feeling. But whiletheir astonishment was in part at a girl of Ellen Clearwater's positionmaking such a degrading confession, hers had none of that element init. "You don't in the least suggest a log cabin or poverty of anykind, " said she. "I supposed you had always been rich and beautifullydressed. "

"No, indeed, " replied Ellen. She gazed calmly round at the other girlswho were listening. "I doubt if any of us here was born to what yousee. Of course we--some of us--make pretenses--all sorts of sillypretenses. But as a matter of fact there isn't one of us who hasn'tnear relatives in the cabins or the tenements at this very moment. "

There was a hasty turning away from this dangerous conversation. Janecame back from ordering the rearrangement of her luncheon table. SaidSelma:

"I'd like to wash my hands, and smooth my hair a little. "

"You take her up, Ellen, " said Jane. "And hurry. We'll be in thedining-room when you come down. "

Selma's eyes were wide and roving as she and Ellen went through thedrawing-room, the hall, up stairs and into the very prettily furnishedsuite which Ellen was occupying. "I never saw anything like thisbefore!" exclaimed Selma. "It's the first time I was ever in a grandhouse. This is a grand house, isn't it?"

"No--it's only comfortable, " replied Ellen. "Mr. Hastings--and Jane, too, don't go in for grandeur. "

"How beautiful everything is--and how convenient!" exclaimed Selma. "Ihaven't felt this way since the first time I went to the circus. " Shepointed to a rack from which were suspended thin silk dressing gowns ofvarious rather gay patterns. "What are those?" she inquired. 

"Dressing gowns, " said Ellen. "Just to wear round while one isdressing or undressing. "

Selma advanced and felt and examined them. "But why so many?" sheinquired. 

"Oh, foolishness, " said Ellen. "Indulgence! To suit different moods. "

"Lovely, " murmured Selma. "Lovely!"

"I suspect you of a secret fondness for luxury, " said Ellen slyly. 

Selma laughed. "What would I do with such things?" she inquired. "Why, I'd have no time to wear them. I'd never dare put on anything sodelicate. "

She roamed through dressing-room, bedroom, bath-room, marveling, inquiring, admiring. "I'm so glad I came, " said she. "This will giveme a fresh point of view. I can understand the people of your classbetter, and be more tolerant about them. I understand now why they areso hard and so indifferent. They're quite removed from the common lot. They don't realize; they can't. How narrow it must make one to haveone's life filled with these pretty little things for luxury and show. Why, if I lived this life, I'd cease to be human after a short time. "

Ellen was silent. 

"I didn't mean to say anything rude or offensive, " said Selma, sensitive to the faintest impressions. "I was speaking my thoughtsaloud. .. . Do you know David Hull?"

"The young reformer?" said Ellen with a queer little smile. "Yes--quitewell. "

"Does he live like this?"

"Rather more grandly, " said Ellen. 

Selma shook her head. A depressed expression settled upon herfeatures. "It's useless, " she said. "He couldn't possibly become aman. "

Ellen laughed. "You must hurry, " she said. "We're keeping everyonewaiting. "

As Selma was making a few passes at her rebellious thick hair--passesthe like of which Miss Clearwater had never before seen--she explained:

"I've been somewhat interested in David Hull of late--have been hopinghe could graduate from a fake reformer into a useful citizen. But--"She looked round expressively at the luxury surrounding them--"onemight as well try to grow wheat in sand. "

"Davy is a fine fraud, " said Ellen. "Fine--because he doesn't in theleast realize that he's a fraud. "

"I'm afraid he is a fraud, " said Selma setting on her hat again. "Whata pity? He might have been a man, if he'd been brought up properly. "She gazed at Ellen with sad, shining eyes. "How many men and womenluxury blights!" she cried. 

"It certainly has done for Davy, " said Ellen lightly. "He'll never beanything but a respectable fraud. "

"Why do YOU think so?" Selma inquired. 

"My father is a public man, " Miss Clearwater explained. "And I've seena great deal of these reformers. They're the ordinary human variety ofpolitician plus a more or less conscious hypocrisy. Usually they'remen who fancy themselves superior to the common run in birth andbreeding. My father has taught me to size them up. "

They went down, and Selma, seated between Jane and Miss Clearwater, amused both with her frank comments on the scene so strange to her--thebeautiful table, the costly service, the variety and profusion ofelaborate food. In fact, Jane, reaching out after the effects goteasily in Europe and almost as easily in the East, but overtaxed theresources of the household which she was only beginning to get intowhat she regarded as satisfactory order. The luncheon, therefore, wasa creditable and promising attempt rather than a success, from thestandpoint of fashion. Jane was a little ashamed, and at timesextremely nervous--this when she saw signs of her staff falling intodisorder that might end in rout. But Selma saw none of the defects. She was delighted with the dazzling spectacle--for two or threecourses. Then she lapsed into quiet and could not be roused to speak. 

Jane and Ellen thought she was overwhelmed and had been seized ofshyness in this company so superior to any in which she had ever foundherself. Ellen tried to induce her to eat, and, failing, decided thather refraining was not so much firmness in the two meals-a-day systemas fear of making a "break. " She felt genuinely sorry for the silentgirl growing moment by moment more ill-at-ease. When the luncheon wasabout half over Selma said abruptly to Jane:

"I must go now. I've stayed longer than I should. "

"Go?" cried Jane. "Why, we haven't begun to talk yet. "

"Another time, " said Selma, pushing back her chair. "No, don't rise. "And up she darted, smiling gayly round at the company. "Don't anybodydisturb herself, " she pleaded. "It'll be useless, for I'll be gone. "

And she was as good as her word. Before any one quite realized whatshe was about, she had escaped from the dining-room and from the house. She almost ran across the lawn and into the woods. There she drew along breath noisily. 

"Free!" she cried, flinging out her arms. "Oh--but it was DREADFUL!"

Miss Hastings and Miss Clearwater had not been so penetrating as theyfancied. Embarrassment had nothing to do with the silence that hadtaken possession of the associate editor of the New Day. 

She was never self-conscious enough to be really shy. She hastened tothe office, meeting Victor Dorn in the street doorway. She cried:

"Such an experience!"

"What now?" said Victor. He was used to that phrase from the ardentand impressionable Selma. For her, with her wide-open eyes and ears, her vivid imagination and her thirsty mind, life was one closely packedseries of adventures. 

"I had an hour to spare, " she proceeded to explain. "I thought it wasa chance to further a little scheme I've got for marrying Jane Hastingsand David Hull. "

"Um!" said Victor with a quick change of expression--which, however, Selma happened not to observe. 

"And, " she went on, "I blundered into a luncheon party Jane was giving. You never saw--you never dreamed of such style--such dresses and dishesand flowers and hats! And I was sitting there with them, enjoying itall as if it were a circus or a ballet, when--Oh, Victor, what a silly, what a pitiful waste of time and money! So much to do in the world--somuch that is thrillingly interesting and useful--and those intelligentyoung people dawdling there at nonsense a child would weary of! I hadto run away. If I had stayed another minute I should have burst outcrying--or denouncing them--or pleading with them to behave themselves. "

"What else can they do?" said Victor. "They don't know any better. They've never been taught. How's the article?"

And he led the way up to the editorial room and held her to the subjectof the article he had asked her to write. At the first opportunity shewent back to the subject uppermost in her mind. Said she:

"I guess you're right--as usual. There's no hope for any people ofthat class. The busy ones are thinking only of making money forthemselves, and the idle ones are too enfeebled by luxury to think atall. No, I'm afraid there's no hope for Hull--or for Jane either. "

"I'm not sure about Miss Hastings, " said Victor. 

"You would have been if you'd seen her to-day, " replied Selma. "Oh, shewas lovely, Victor--really wonderful to look at. But so obviously theidler. And--body and soul she belongs to the upper class. Sheunderstands charity, but she doesn't understand justice, and nevercould understand it. I shall let her alone hereafter. "

"How harsh you women are in your judgments of each other, " laughedDorn, busy at his desk. 

"We are just, " replied Selma. "We are not fooled by each other'spretenses. "

Dorn apparently had not heard. Selma saw that to speak would be tointerrupt. She sat at her own table and set to work on the editorialparagraphs. After perhaps an hour she happened to glance at Victor. He was leaning back in his chair, gazing past her out into the open; inhis face was an expression she had never seen--a look in the eyes, arelaxing of the muscles round the mouth that made her think of him as aman instead of as a leader. She was saying to herself. "What afascinating man he would have been, if he had not been an incarnatecause. "

She felt that he was not thinking of his work. She longed to talk tohim, but she did not venture to interrupt. Never in all the years shehad known him had he spoken to her--or to any one--a severe or even animpatient word. His tolerance, his good humor were infinite. Yet--she, and all who came into contact with him, were afraid of him. There could come, and on occasion there did come--into thoseextraordinary blue eyes an expression beside which the fiercest flashof wrath would be easy to face. 

When she glanced at him again, his normal expression had returned--theface of the leader who aroused in those he converted intofellow-workers a fanatical devotion that was the more formidablebecause it was not infatuated. He caught her eye and said:

"Things are in such good shape for us that it frightens me. I spendmost of my time in studying the horizon in the hope that I can foreseewhich way the storm's coming from and what it will be. "

"What a pessimist you are!" laughed Selma. 

"That's why the Workingmen's League has a thick-and-thin membership ofthirteen hundred and fifty, " replied Victor. "That's why the New Dayhas twenty-two hundred paying subscribers. That's why we grow fasterthan the employers can weed our men out and replace them withimmigrants and force them to go to other towns for work. "

"Well, anyhow, " said the girl, "no matter what happens we can't beweeded out. "

Victor shook his head. "Our danger period has just begun, " he replied. "The bosses realize our power. In the past we've been annoyed a littlefrom time to time. But they thought us hardly worth bothering with. In the future we will have to fight. "

"I hope they will prosecute us, " said Selma. "Then, we'll grow thefaster. "

"Not if they do it intelligently, " replied Victor. "An intelligentpersecution--if it's relentless enough--always succeeds. You forgetthat this isn't a world of moral ideas but of force. .. . I am afraid ofDick Kelly. He is something more than a vulgar boss. He SEES. Myhope is that he won't be able to make the others see. I saw him awhile ago. He was extremely polite to me--more so than he ever hasbeen before. He is up to something. I suspect----"

Victor paused, reflecting. "What?" asked Selma eagerly. 

"I suspect that he thinks he has us. " He rose, preparing to go out. "Well--if he has--why, he has. And we shall have to begin all overagain. "

"How stupid they are!" exclaimed the girl. "To fight us who are simplytrying to bring about peaceably and sensibly what's bound to come aboutanyhow. "

"Yes--the rain is bound to come, " said Victor. "And we say, 'Here's anumbrella and there's the way to shelter. ' And they laugh at OURumbrella and, with the first drops plashing on their foolish faces, deny that it's going to rain. "

The Workingmen's League, always first in the field with its ticket, hadbeen unusually early that year. Although it was only the first week inAugust and the election would not be until the third of October, theLeague had nominated. It was a ticket made up entirely of skilledworkers who had lived all their lives in Remsen City and who hadacquired an independence--Victor Dorn was careful not to expose to thefalling fire of the opposition any of his men who could be ruined bythe loss of a job or could be compelled to leave town in search ofwork. The League always went early into campaign because it pursued amuch slower and less expensive method of electioneering than either ofthe old parties--or than any of the "upper class" reform parties thatsprang up from time to time and died away as they accomplished orfailed of their purpose--securing recognition for certain personalambitions not agreeable to the old established bosses. Besides, theLeague was, like the bosses and their henchmen, in politics every dayin every year. The League theory was that politics was as much a partof a citizen's daily routine as his other work or his meals. 

It was the night of the League's great ratification meeting. The nextday the first campaign number--containing the biographical sketch ofTony Rivers, Kelly's right-hand man . .. Would go upon the press, and onthe following day it would reach the public. 

Market Square in Remsen City was on the edge of the power quarter, wassurrounded by cheap hotels, boarding houses and saloons. A few yearsbefore, the most notable citizens, market basket on arm, could havebeen seen three mornings in the week, making the rounds of the stallsand stands, both those in the open and those within the Market House. But customs had rapidly changed in Remsen City, and with the exceptionof a few old fogies only the poorer classes went to market. Themasters of houses were becoming gentlemen, and the housewives wereelevating into ladies--and it goes without saying that no gentleman andno lady would descend to a menial task even in private, much less inpublic. 

Market Square had even become too common for any but the inferiormeetings of the two leading political parties. Only the Workingmen'sLeague held to the old tradition that a political meeting of the firstrank could be properly held nowhere but in the natural assembling placeof the people--their market. So, their first great rally of thecampaign was billed for Market Square. And at eight o'clock, headed bya large and vigorous drum corps, the Victor Dorn cohorts at their fullstrength marched into the centre of the Square, where one of the standshad been transformed with flags, bunting and torches into a speaker'splatform. A crowd of many thousands accompanied and followed theprocession. Workingmen's League meetings were popular, even amongthose who believed their interests lay elsewhere. At League meetingsone heard the plain truth, sometimes extremely startling plain truth. The League had no favors to ask of anybody, had nothing to conceal, wasstrongly opposed to any and all political concealments. Thus, itsspeakers enjoyed a freedom not usual in political speaking--and Dornand his fellow-leaders were careful that no router, no exaggerator orwell intentioned wild man of any kind should open his mouth under aleague banner. THAT was what made the League so dangerous--and sosteadily prosperous. 

The chairman, Thomas Colman, the cooper, was opening the meeting in aspeech which was an instance of how well a man of no platform talentcan acquit himself when he believes something and believes it is hisduty to convey it to his fellow-men. Victor Dorn, to be the fourthspeaker and the orator of the evening, was standing at the rear of theplatform partially concealed by the crowd of men and women leaders ofthe party grouped behind Colman. As always at the big formaldemonstrations of the League, Victor was watching every move. Thisevening his anxiety was deeper than ever before. His trained politicalsagacity warned him that, as he had suggested to Selma, the time of hisparty's first great crisis was at hand. No movement could becomeformidable with out a life and death struggle, when its aim frankly wasto snatch power from the dominant class and to place it where thatclass could not hope to prevail either by direct means of force or byits favorite indirect means of bribery. What would Kelly do? Whatwould be his stroke at the very life of the League?--for Victor hadmeasured Kelly and knew he was not one to strike until he could destroy. 

Like every competent man of action, Victor had measured his ownabilities, and had found that they were to be relied upon. But thecontest between him and Kelly--the contest in the last ditch--was soappallingly unequal. Kelly had the courts and the police, the moneyedclass, the employers of labor, had the clergy and well-dressedrespectability, the newspapers, all the customary arbiters of publicsentiment. Also, he had the criminal and the semi-criminal classes. And what had the League?

The letter of the law, guaranteeing freedom of innocent speech andaction, guaranteeing the purity of the ballot--no, not guaranteeing, but simply asserting those rights, and leaving the upholding of themto--Kelly's allies and henchmen! Also, the League had the power ofbetween a thousand and fifteen hundred intelligent and devoted men andabout the same number of women--a solid phalanx of great might, ofmight far beyond its numbers. Finally, it had Victor Dorn. He had nomean opinion of his value to the movement; but he far and most modestlyunderestimated it. The human way of rallying to an abstract principleis by way of a standard bearer--a man--personality--a real or fanciedincarnation of the ideal to be struggled for. And to the Workingmen'sLeague, to the movement for conquering Remsen City for the mass of itscitizens, Victor Dorn was that incarnation. 

Kelly could use violence--violence disguised as law, violence candidlyand brutally lawless. Victor Dorn could only use lawful means--clearlyand cautiously lawful means. He must at all costs prevent the use offorce against him and his party--must give Kelly no pretext for usingthe law lawlessly. If Kelly used force against him, whether theperverted law of the courts or open lawlessness, he must meet it withpeace. If Kelly smote him on the right cheek he must give him the leftto be smitten. 

When the League could outvote Kelly, then--another policy, still ofcalmness and peace and civilization, but not so meek. But until theLeague could outvote Kelly, nothing but patient endurance. 

Every man in the League had been drilled in this strategy. Every manunderstood--and to be a member of the League meant that one waspolitically educated. Victor believed in his associates as he believedin himself. Still, human nature was human nature. If Kelly shouldsuddenly offer some adroit outrageous provocation--would the League beable to resist?

Victor, on guard, studied the crowd spreading out from the platform ina gigantic fan. Nothing there to arouse suspicion; ten or twelvethousand of working class men and women. His glance pushed on outtoward the edges of the crowd--toward the saloons and alleys of thedisreputable south side of Market Square. His glance traveled slowlyalong, pausing upon each place where these loungers, too far away tohear, were gathered into larger groups. Why he did not know, butsuddenly his glance wheeled to the right, and then as suddenly to theleft--the west and the east ends of the square. There, on either sidehe recognized, in the farthest rim of the crowd, several of the men whodid Kelly's lowest kinds of dirty work--the brawlers, the repeaters, the leaders of gangs, the false witnesses for petty corporation damagecases. A second glance, and he saw or, perhaps, divined--purpose inthose sinister presences. He looked for the police--the detail of adozen bluecoats always assigned to large open-air meetings. Not apoliceman was to be seen. 

Victor pushed through the crowd on the platform, advanced to the sideof Colman. "Just a minute, Tom, " he said. "I've got to say a word--atonce. "

Colman had fallen back; Victor Dorn was facing the crowd--HIScrowd--the men and women who loved him. In the clear, friendly, natural voice that marked him for the leader born, the honest leader ofan honest cause, he said:

"My friends, if there is an attempt to disturb this meeting, rememberwhat we of the League stand for. No violence. Draw away from everydisturber, and wait for the police to act. If the police stop ourmeeting, let them--and be ready to go to court and testify to the exactwords of the speaker on which the meeting was stopped. Remember, wemust be more lawful than the law itself!"

He was turning away. A cheer was rising--a belated cheer, because hiswords had set them all to thinking and to observing. From the left ofthe crowd, a dozen yards away from the platform, came a stone heavilyrather than swiftly flung, as from an impeded hand. In full view ofall it curved across the front of the platform and struck Victor Dornfull in the side of the head. 

He threw up his hands. 

"Boys--remember!" he shouted with a terrible energy--then, he staggeredforward and fell from the platform into the crowd. 

The stone was a signal. As it flew, into the crowd from everydirection the Beech Hollow gangs tore their way, yelling and cursingand striking out right and left--trampling children, knocking downwomen, pouring out the foulest insults. The street lamps all roundMarket Square went out, the torches on the platform were torn down andextinguished. And in a dimness almost pitch dark a riot that involvedthat whole mass of people raged hideously. Yells and screams andgroans, the shrieks of women, the piteous appeals of children--benchestorn up for weapons--mad slashing about--snarls and singings ofpain-stricken groups--then police whistles, revolvers fired in the air, and the quick, regular tramp of disciplined forces. Thepolice--strangely ready, strangely inactive until the mischief had allbeen done entered the square from the north and, forming a double lineacross it from east to west, swept it slowly clean. The fighting endedas abruptly as it had begun. Twenty minutes after the flight of thatstone, the square was empty save a group of perhaps fifty men and womenformed about Victor Dorn's body in the shelter of the platform. 

Selma Gordon was holding his head. Jane Hastings and Ellen Clearwaterwere kneeling beside him, and Jane was wiping his face with ahandkerchief wet with whisky from the flask of the man who had escortedthem there. 

"He is only stunned, " said Selma. "I can feel the beat of his blood. He is only stunned. "

A doctor came, got down on his knees, made a rapid examination withexpert hands. As he felt, one of the relighted torches suddenly lit upVictor's face and the faces of those bending over him. 

"He is only stunned, Doctor, " said Selma. 

"I think so, " replied the doctor. 

"We left our carriage in the side street just over there, " said JaneHastings. "It will take him to the hospital. "

"No--home, " said Selma, who was calm. "He must be taken home. "

"The hospital is the place for him, " said the doctor. 

"No--home, " repeated Selma. She glanced at the men standing round. "Tom--Henry--and you, Ed--help me lift him. "

"Please, Selma, " whispered Jane. "Let him be taken to the hospital. "

"Among our enemies?" said Selma with a strange and terrible littlelaugh. "Oh, no. After this, we trust no one. They may have arrangedto finish this night's work there. He goes home--doesn't he, boys?"

"That's right, Miss Gordon, " replied one of them. 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Here's where I drop the case, "said he. 

"Nothing of the kind, " cried Jane imperiously. "I am JaneHastings--Martin Hastings' daughter. You will come with us, please--orI shall see to it that you are not let off easily for such a shamefulneglect of duty. "

"Let him go, Jane, " said Selma. "There will be a doctor waiting. Andhe is only stunned. Come, boys--lift him up. "

They laid him on a bench top, softened with the coats of his followers. At the carriage, standing in Farwell Street, they laid him across thetwo seats. Selma got in with him. Tom Colman climbed to the boxbeside the coachman. Jane and Miss Clearwater, their escorts and abouta score of the Leaguers followed on foot. As the little processionturned into Warner Street it was stopped by a policeman. 

"Can't go down this way, " he said. 

"It's Mr. Dorn. We're taking him home. He was hurt, " explained Colman. 

"Fire lines. Street's closed, " said the policeman gruffly. 

Selma thrust her head out. "We must get him home----"

"House across the street burning--and probably his house, too, " cut inthe policeman. "He's been raising hell--he has. But it's coming hometo him at last. Take him to the hospital. "

"Jane, " cried Selma, "make this man pass us!"

Jane faced the policeman, explained who she was. He became humblycivil at once. "I've just told her, ma'am, " said he, "that his houseis burning. The mob's gutting the New Day office and setting fire toeverything. "

"My house is in the next street, " said Colman. "Drive there. Some ofyou people get Dr. Charlton--and everything. Get busy. Whip up, driver. Here, give me the lines!"

Thus, within five minutes, Victor was lying upon a couch in the parlorof Colman's cottage, and within ten minutes Dr. Charlton was beside himand was at work. Selma and Jane and Mrs. Colman were in the room. Theothers--a steadily increasing crowd--were on the steps outside, in thefront yard, were filling the narrow street. Colman had organized fiftyLeaguers into a guard, to be ready for any emergencies. Over the topsof the low houses could be seen the vast cloud of smoke from the fire;the air was heavy with the odors of burning wood; faintly came soundsof engines, of jubilant drunken shouts. 

"A fracture of the skull and of the jaw-bone. Not necessarilyserious, " was Dr. Charlton's verdict. 

The young man, unconscious, ghastly pale, with his thick hair mussedabout his brow and on the right side clotted with blood, lay breathingheavily. Ellen Clearwater came in and Mrs. Colman whispered to her thedoctor's cheering statement. She went to Jane and said in an undertone:

"We can go now, Jane. Come on. "

Jane seemed not to hear. She was regarding the face of the young manon the couch. 

Ellen touched her arm. "We're intruding on these people, " shewhispered. "Let's go. We've done all we can. "

Selma did not hear, but she saw and understood. 

"Yes--you'd better go, Jane, " she said. "Mrs. Colman and I will doeverything that's necessary. "

Jane did not heed. She advanced a step nearer the couch. "You aresure, doctor?" she said, and her voice sounded unnatural. 

"Yes, miss----" He glanced at her face. "Yes, Miss Hastings. He'll beout in less than ten days, as good as ever. It's a very simple affair. "

Jane glanced round. "Is there a telephone? I wish to send for Dr. Alban. "

"I'd be glad to see him, " said Dr. Charlton. "But I assure you it'sunnecessary. "

"We don't want Dr. Alban, " said Selma curtly. "Go home, Jane, and letus alone. "

"I shall go bring Dr. Alban, " said Jane. 

Selma took her by the arm and compelled her into the hall, and closedthe door into the room where Victor lay. "You must go home, Jane, " shesaid quietly. "We know what to do with our leader. And we could notallow Dr. Alban here. "

"Victor must have the best, " said Jane. 

She and Selma looked at each other, and Selma understood. 

"He HAS the best, " said she, gentle with an effort. 

"Dr. Alban is the best, " said Jane. 

"The most fashionable, " said Selma. "Not the best. " With restraint, "Go home. Let us alone. This is no place for you--for MartinHastings' daughter. "

Jane, looking and acting like one in a trance, tried to push past herand reenter the room. Selma stood firm. She said: "If you do not go Ishall have these men take you to your carriage. You do not know whatyou are doing. "

Jane looked at her. "I love him, " she said. 

"So do we, " said Selma. "And he belongs to US. You must go. Come!"She seized her by the arm, and beckoning one of the waiting Leaguers toher assistance she pushed her quietly but relentlessly along the hall, out of the house, out of the yard and into the carriage. Then sheclosed the door, while Jane sank back against the cushions. 

"Yes, he belongs to you, " said Jane; "but I love him. Oh, Selma!"

Selma suddenly burst into tears. "Go, Jane, dear. You MUST go, " shecried. 

"At least I'll wait here until--until they are sure, " said Jane. "Youcan't refuse me that, Selma. "

"But they are sure, " said Selma. "You must go with your friends. Herethey come. "

When Ellen Clearwater and Joe Wetherbe--the second son of the chiefowner of the First National--reached the curb, Selma said to Wetherbe:

"Please stand aside. I've something to say to this lady. "

When Wetherbe had withdrawn, she said: "Miss Hastings is--not quiteherself. You had better take her home alone. "

Jane leaned from the open carriage window. "Ellen, " said she, "I amgoing to stay here until Victor recovers consciousness, and I am SURE. "

"He has just come around, " said Ellen. "He is certain to get well. His mind is clear. "

"I must see for myself, " cried Jane. 

Selma was preventing her leaving the carriage when Ellen quietlyinterfered with a significant look for Selma. "Jane, " she said, "youcan't go in. The doctor has just put every one out but his assistantand a nurse that has come. "

Jane hesitated, drew back into the corner of the carriage. "Tell Mr. Wetherbe to go his own way, " said Ellen aside to Selma, and she got inbeside Jane. 

"To Mr. Hastings', " said Selma to the driver. The carriage drove away. 

She gave Ellen's message to Wetherbe and returned to the house. Victorwas still unconscious; he did not come to himself until towarddaylight. And then it was clear to them all that Dr. Charlton'sencouraging diagnosis was correct. 

Public opinion in Remsen City was publicly articulate by means of threedaily newspapers--the Pioneer, the Star, and the Free Press. The Starand the Free Press were owned by the same group of capitalists whocontrolled the gas company and the water works. The Pioneer was ownedby the traction interests. Both groups of capitalists were jointlyinterested in the railways, the banks and in the principal factories. The Pioneer was Republican, was regarded as the organ of Dick Kelly. The Star was Democratic, spoke less cordially of Kelly and alwayscalled for House, Mr. House, or Joseph House, Esquire. The Free Pressposed as independent with Democratic leanings. It indulged inadmirable essays against corruption, gang rule and bossism. But it wasnever specific and during campaigns was meek and mild. For nearly adozen years there had not been a word of truth upon any subjectimportant to the people of Remsen City in the columns of any of thethree. During wars between rival groups of capitalists a half-truthwas now and then timidly uttered, but never a word of "loose talk, " of"anarchy, " of anything but the entirely "safe, sane and conservative. "

Thus, any one who might have witnessed the scenes in Market Square onThursday evening would have been not a little astonished to read theaccounts presented the next day by the three newspapers. According toall three the Workingmen's League, long a menace to the public peace, had at last brought upon Remsen City the shame of a riot in which twomen, a woman and four children had lost their lives and more than ahundred, "including the notorious Victor Dorn, " had been injured. Andafter the riot the part of the mob that was hostile to "the Dorn gang"had swept down upon the office of the New Day, had wrecked it, and hadset fire to the building, with the result that five houses were burnedbefore the flames could be put out. The Free Press published, as amere rumor, that the immediate cause of the outbreak had been animpending "scurrilous attack" in the New Day upon one of the politicalgangs of the slums and its leader. The Associated Press, sending forthan account of the riot to the entire country, represented it as a fightbetween rival gangs of workmen precipitated by the insults and menacesof a "socialistic party led by a young operator named Dorn. " Dorn'sfaction had aroused in the mass of the workingmen a fear that thisspread of "socialistic and anarchistic ideas" would cause a generalshut down of factories and a flight of the capital that was "givingemployment to labor. "

A version of the causes and the events, somewhat nearer the truth, wastalked about Remsen City. But all the respectable classes were wellcontent with what their newspapers printed. And, while somebroad-minded respectabilities spoke of the affair as an outrage, noneof them was disposed to think that any real wrong had been done. Victor Dorn and his crowd of revolutionists had got, after all, onlytheir deserts. 

After forty-eight hours of careful study of public opinion, Dick Kellydecided that Remsen City was taking the dose as he had anticipated. Hefelt emboldened to proceed to his final move in the campaign against"anarchy" in his beloved city. On the second morning after the riot, all three newspapers published double-headed editorials calling uponthe authorities to safeguard the community against another suchdegrading and dangerous upheaval. "It is time that the distinctionbetween liberty and license be sharply drawn. " After editorials inthis vein had been repeated for several days, after sundry bodies ofeminently respectable citizens--the Merchants' Association, theTaxpayers' League, the Chamber of Commerce--had passed indignant andappealing resolutions, after two priests, a clergyman and fourpreachers had sermonized against "the leniency of constituted authoritywith criminal anarchy, " Mr. Kelly had the City Attorney go before JudgeLansing and ask for an injunction. 

Judge Lansing promptly granted the injunction. The New Day wasenjoined from appearing. The Workingmen's League was enjoined fromholding meetings. 

Then the County Prosecutor, also a henchman of Kelly's, secured fromthe Grand Jury--composed of farmers, merchants and owners offactories--indictments against Thomas Colman and Victor Dorn forinciting a riot. 

Meanwhile Victor Dorn was rapidly recovering. With rare restraintyoung Dr. Charlton did not fuss and fret and meddle, did not hampernature with his blundering efforts to assist, did not stuff"nourishment" into his patient to decay and to produce poisonous blood. He let the young man's superb vitality work the inevitable and speedycure. Thus, wounds and shocks, that have often been mistreated bydoctors into mortal, passed so quickly that only Selma Gordon and thedoctor himself realized how grave Victor's case had been. The day hewas indicted--just a week from the riot--he was sitting up and wastalking freely. 

"Won't it set him back if I tell him all that has occurred?" said Selma. 

"Talk to him as you would to me, " replied Charlton. "He is a sensibleman. I've already told him pretty much everything. It has kept himfrom fretting, to be able to lie there quietly and make his plans. "

Had you looked in upon Victor and Selma, in Colman's little transformedparlor, you would rather have thought Selma the invalid. The man inthe bed was pale and thin of face, but his eyes had the expression ofhealth and of hope. Selma had great circles under her eyes and herexpression was despair struggling to conceal itself. Thoseindictments, those injunctions--how powerful the enemy were! How couldsuch an enemy, aroused new and inflexibly resolved, becombatted?--especially when one had no money, no way of reaching thepeople, no chance to organize. 

"Dr. Charlton has told you?" said Selma. 

"Day before yesterday, " replied Victor. "Why do you look sodown-in-the-mouth, Selma?"

"It isn't easy to be cheerful, with you ill and the paper destroyed, "replied she. 

"But I'm not ill, and the paper isn't destroyed, " said Victor. "Neverwere either I or it doing such good work as now. " His eyes weredancing. "What more could one ask than to have such stupid enemies aswe've got?"

Selma did not lift her eyes. To her those enemies seemed anything butstupid. Had they not ruined the League?

"I see you don't understand, " pursued Victor. "No matter. You'll weara very different face two weeks from now. "

"But, " said Selma, "exactly what you said you were afraid of hasoccurred. And now you say you're glad of it. "

"I told you I was afraid Dick Kelly would make the one move that coulddestroy us. "

"But he has!" cried Selma. 

Victor smiled. "No, indeed!" replied he. 

"What worse could he have done?"

"I'll not tell you, " said Victor. "I'd not venture to say aloud such adangerous thing as what I'd have done if I had been in his place. Instead of doing that, he made us. We shall win this fall's election. "

Selma lifted her head with a sudden gesture of hope. She had unboundedconfidence in Victor Dorn, and his tone was the tone of absoluteconfidence. 

"I had calculated on winning in five years. I had left the brutalstupidity of our friend Kelly out of account. "

"Then you see how you can hold meetings and start up the paper?"

"I don't want to do either, " said Victor. "I want those injunctions tostand. Those fools have done at a stroke what we couldn't have done inyears. They have united the working class. They--the few--haveforbidden us, the many, to unite or to speak. If those injunctions holdfor a month, nothing could stop our winning this fall. .. . I can'tunderstand how Dick Kelly could be so stupid. Five years ago thesemoves of his would have been bad for us--yes, even three years ago. But we've got too strong--and he doesn't realize! Selma, when you wantto win, always pray that your opponent will underestimate you. "

"I still don't understand, " said Selma. "None of us does. You mustexplain to me, so that I'll know what to do. "

"Do nothing, " said Victor. "I shall be out a week from to-day. Ishall not go into the streets until I not only am well but look well. "

"They arrested Tom Colman to-day, " said Selma. "But they put the caseover until you'd be able to plead at the same time. "

"That's right, " said Victor. "They are playing into our hands!" Andhe laughed as heartily as his bandages would permit. 

"Oh, I don't understand--I don't understand at all!" cried Selma. "Maybe you are all wrong about it. "

"I was never more certain in my life, " replied Victor. "Stop worryingabout it, my dear. " And he patted her hands gently as they lay foldedin her lap. "I want you--all our people--to go round looking sad thesenext few days. I want Dick Kelly to feel that he is on the righttrack. "

There came a knock at the door, and Mrs. Colman entered. She had beena school teacher, and of all the occupations there is no other thatleaves such plain, such indelible traces upon manner, mind and soul. Said she:

"Miss Jane Hastings is outside in her carriage--and wants to know ifshe can see you. "

Selma frowned. Victor said with alacrity: "Certainly. Bring her in, Mrs. Colman. "

Selma rose. "Wait until I can get out of the way, " she cried. 

"Sit down, and sit still, " commanded Victor. 

Selma continued to move toward the door. "No--I don't wish to seeher, " she said. 

Victor chagrined her by acquiescing without another word. "You'll lookin after supper?" he asked. 

"If you want me, " said the girl. 

"Come back here, " said Victor. "Wait, Mrs. Colman. " When Selma wasstanding by the bed he took her hand. "Selma, " he said, "don't letthese things upset you. Believe me, I'm right. Can't you trust me?"

Selma had the look of a wild creature detained against its will. "I'mnot worried about the party--and the paper, " she burst out. "I'mworried about you. "

"But I'm all right. Can't you see I'm almost well?"

Selma drew her hand away. "I'll be back about half-past seven, " shesaid, and bolted from the room. 

Victor's good-natured, merry smile followed her to the door. When thesound of her retreat by way of the rear of the house was dying away hesaid to Mrs. Colman:

"Now--bring in the young lady. And please warn her that she must stayat most only half an hour by that clock over there on the mantel. "

Every day Jane had been coming to inquire, had been bringing or sendingflowers and fruit--which, by Dr. Charlton's orders, were not supposedto enter the invalid's presence. Latterly she had been asking to seeVictor; she was surprised when Mrs. Colman returned with leave for herto enter. Said Mrs. Colman:

"He's alone. Miss Gordon has just gone. You will see a clock on themantel in his room. You must not stay longer than half an hour. "

"I shall be very careful what I say, " said Jane. 

"Oh, you needn't bother, " said the ex-school teacher. "Dr. Charltondoesn't believe in sick-room atmosphere. You must treat Mr. Dornexactly as you would a well person. If you're going to take on, or puton, you'd better not go in at all. "

"I'll do my best, " said Jane, rather haughtily, for she did not likeMrs. Colman's simple and direct manner. She was used to being treatedwith deference, especially by the women of Mrs. Colman's class; andwhile she disapproved of deference in theory, in practice she cravedit, and expected it, and was irritated if she did not get it. But, asshe realized how unattractive this weakness was, she usually tookperhaps more pains than does the average person to conceal it. Thatday her nerves were too tense for petty precautions. However, Mrs. Colman was too busy inspecting the details of Miss Hastings' toilet tonote Miss Hastings' manners. 

Jane's nervousness vanished the instant she was in the doorway of theparlor with Victor Dorn looking at her in that splendidly simple andnatural way of his. "So glad to see you, " he said. "What a delightfulperfume you bring with you. I've noticed it before. I know it isn'tflowers, but it smells like flowers. With most perfumes you can smellthrough the perfume to something that's the very reverse of sweet. "

They were shaking hands. She said: "That nice woman who let me incautioned me not to put on a sick-room manner or indulge in sick-roomtalk. It was quite unnecessary. You're looking fine. "

"Ain't I, though?" exclaimed Victor. "I've never been so comfortable. Just weak enough to like being waited on. You were very good to me thenight that stone knocked me over. I want to thank you, but I don'tknow how. And the flowers, and the fruit--You have been so kind. "

"I could do very little, " said Jane, blushing and faltering. "And Iwanted to do--everything. " Suddenly all energy, "Oh, Mr. Dorn, I heardand saw it all. It was--INFAMOUS! And the lying newspapers--and allthe people I meet socially. They keep me in a constant rage. "

Victor was smiling gayly. "The fortunes of war, " said he. "I expectnothing else. If they fought fair they couldn't fight at all. We, onthis side of the struggle, can afford to be generous and tolerant. They are fighting the losing battle; they're trying to hold on to thepast, and of course it's slipping from them inch by inch. But we--weare in step with the march of events. "

When she was with him Jane felt that his cause was hers, also--was theonly cause. "When do you begin publishing your paper again?" sheasked. "As soon as you are sitting up?"

"Not for a month or so, " replied he. "Not until after the election. "

"Oh, I forgot about that injunction. You think that as soon as DavyHull's crowd is in they will let you begin again?"

He hesitated. "Not exactly that, " he said. "But after the electionthere will be a change. "

Her eyes flashed. "And they have indicted you! I heard the newsboyscrying it and stopped and bought a paper. But I shall do somethingabout that. I am going straight from here to father. Ellen Clearwaterand I and Joe Wetherbe SAW. And Ellen and I will testify if it'snecessary--and will make Joe tell the truth. Do you know, he actuallyhad the impudence to try to persuade Ellen and me the next day that wesaw what the papers reported?"

"I believe it, " said Victor. "So I believe that Joe convinced himself. "

"You are too charitable, " replied Jane. "He's afraid of his father. "

"Miss Hastings, " said Victor, "you suggested a moment ago that youwould influence your father to interfere in this matter of theindictment. "

"I'll promise you now that he will have it stopped, " said Jane. 

"You want to help the cause, don't you?"

Jane's eyes shifted, a little color came into her cheeks. "Thecause--and you, " she said. 

"Very well, " said Victor. "Then you will not interfere. And if yourfather talks of helping me you will discourage him all you can. "

"You are saying that out of consideration for me. You're afraid I willquarrel with my father. "

"I hadn't thought of that, " said Victor. "I can't tell you what I havein mind. But I'll have to say this much--that if you did anything tohinder those fellows from carrying out their plans against me andagainst the League to the uttermost you'd be doing harm instead ofgood. "

"But they may send you to jail. .. . No, I forgot. You can give bail. "

Victor's eyes had a quizzical expression. "Yes, I could give bail. But even if I don't give bail, Miss Hastings--even if I am sent tojail--Colman and I--still you must not interfere. You promise me?"

Jane hesitated. "I can't promise, " she finally said. 

"You must, " said Victor. "You'll make a mess of my plans, if youdon't. "

"You mean that?"

"I mean that. Your intentions are good. But you would only domischief--serious mischief. "

They looked at each other. Said Jane: "I promise--on one condition. "

"Yes?"

"That if you should change your mind and should want my help, you'dpromptly and freely ask for it. "

"I agree to that, " said Victor. "Now, let's get it clearly in mind. No matter what is done about me or the League, you promise not tointerfere in any way, unless I ask you to. "

Again Jane hesitated. "No matter what they do?" she pleaded. 

"No matter what they do, " insisted he. 

Something in his expression gave her a great thrill of confidence inhim, of enthusiasm. "I promise, " she said. "You know best. "

"Indeed I do, " said he. "Thank you. "

A moment's silence, then she exclaimed: "That was why you let me into-day--because you wanted to get that promise from me. "

"That was one of the reasons, " confessed he. "In fact, it was thechief reason. " He smiled at her. "There's nothing I'm so afraid of asof enthusiasm. I'm going to be still more cautious and exact anotherpromise from you. You must not tell any one that you have promised notto interfere. "

"I can easily promise that, " said Jane. 

"Be careful, " warned Victor. "A promise easily made is a promiseeasily forgotten. "

"I begin to understand, " said Jane. "You want them to attack you assavagely as possible. And you don't want them to get the slightesthint of your plan. "

"A good guess, " admitted Victor. He looked at her gravely. "Circumstances have let you farther into my confidence than any oneelse is. I hope you will not abuse it. "

"You can rely upon me, " said Jane. "I want your friendship and yourrespect as I never wanted anything in my life before. I'm not afraid tosay these things to you, for I know I'll not be misunderstood. "

Victor's smile thrilled her again. "You were born one of us, " he said. "I felt it the first time we talked together. "

"Yes. I do want to be somebody, " replied the girl. "I can't contentmyself in a life of silly routine . .. Can't do things that have nopurpose, no result. And if it wasn't for my father I'd come out openlyfor the things I believe in. But I've got to think of him. It may bea weakness, but I couldn't overcome it. As long as my father lives I'lldo nothing that would grieve him. Do you despise me for that?"

"I don't despise anybody for anything, " said Victor. "In your place Ishould put my father first. " He laughed. "In your place I'd probablybe a Davy Hull or worse. I try never to forget that I owe everythingto the circumstances in which I was born and brought up. I've simplygot the ideas of my class, and it's an accident that I am of the classto which the future belongs--the working class that will possess theearth as soon as it has intelligence enough to enter into its kingdom. "

"But, " pursued Jane, returning to herself, "I don't intend to bealtogether useless. I can do something and he--my father, Imean--needn't know. Do you think that is dreadful?"

"I don't like it, " said Victor. But he said it in such a way that shedid not feel rebuked or even judged. 

"Nor do I, " said she. "I'd rather lead the life I wish to lead--saythe things I believe--do the things I believe in--all openly. But Ican't. And all I can do is to spend the income of my money my motherleft me--spend it as I please. " With a quick embarrassed gesture shetook an envelope from a small bag in which she was carrying it. "There's some of it, " she said. "I want to give that to your campaignfund. You are free to use it in any way you please--any way, foreverything you are and do is your cause. "

Victor was lying motionless, his eyes closed. 

"Don't refuse, " she begged. "You've no right to refuse. "

A long silence, she watching him uneasily. At last he said, "No--I'veno right to refuse. If I did, it would be from a personal motive. Youunderstand that when you give the League this money you are doing whatyour father would regard as an act of personal treachery to him?"

"You don't think so, do you?" cried she. 

"Yes, I do, " said he deliberately. 

Her face became deathly pale, then crimson. She thrust the envelopeinto the bag, closed it hastily. "Then I can't give it, " she murmured. "Oh--but you are hard!"

"If you broke with your father and came with us--and it killed him, asit probably would, " Victor Dorn went on, "I should respect you--shouldregard you as a wonderful, terrible woman. I should envy you having aheart strong enough to do a thing so supremely right and so supremelyrelentless. And I should be glad you were not of my blood--shouldthink you hardly human. Yet that is what you ought to do. "

"I am not up to it, " said Jane. 

"Then you mustn't do the other, " said Victor. "We need the money. Iam false to the cause in urging you not to give it. But--I'm human. "

He was looking away, an expression in his eyes and about his mouth thatmade him handsomer than she would have believed a man could be. Shewas looking at him longingly, her beautiful eyes swimming. Her lipswere saying inaudibly, "I love you--I love you. "

"What did you say?" he asked, his thoughts returning from their farjourney. 

"My time is up, " she exclaimed, rising. 

"There are better ways of helping than money, " said he, taking herhand. "And already you've helped in those ways. "

"May I come again?"

"Whenever you like. But--what would your father say?"

"Then you don't want me to come again?"

"It's best not, " said he. "I wish fate had thrown us on the same side. But it has put us in opposite camps--and we owe it to ourselves tosubmit. "

Their hands were still clasped. "You are content to have it so?" shesaid sadly. 

"No, I'm not, " cried he, dropping her hand. "But we are helpless. "

"We can always hope, " said she softly. 

On impulse she laid her hand in light caress upon his brow, thenswiftly departed. As she stood in Mrs. Colman's flowery little frontyard and looked dazedly about, it seemed to her that she had been awayfrom the world--away from herself--and was reluctantly but inevitablyreturning. 

VI

As Jane drove into the grounds of the house on the hilltop she saw herfather and David Hull in an obviously intimate and agitatedconversation on the front veranda. She made all haste to join them;nor was she deterred by the reception she got--the reception given tothe unwelcome interrupter. Said she:

"You are talking about those indictments, aren't you? Everyone elseis. There's a group on every corner down town, and people are callingtheir views to each other from windows across the streets. "

Davy glanced triumphantly at her father. "I told you so, " said he. 

Old Hastings was rubbing his hand over his large, bony, wizened face inthe manner that indicates extreme perplexity. 

Davy turned to Jane. "I've been trying to show your father what astupid, dangerous thing Dick Kelly has done. I want him to help meundo it. It MUST be undone or Victor Dorn will sweep the town onelection day. "

Jane's heart was beating wildly. She continued to say carelessly, "Youthink so?"

"Davy's got a bad attack of big red eye to-day, " said her father. "It's a habit young men have. "

"I'm right, Mr. Hastings, " cried Hull. "And, furthermore, you know I'mright, Jane; you saw that riot the other night. Joe Wetherbe told meso. You said that it was an absolutely unprovoked assault of the gangsof Kelly and House. Everyone in town knows it was. The middle and theupper class people are pretending to believe what the papersprinted--what they'd like to believe. But they KNOW better. Theworking people are apparently silent. They usually are apparentlysilent. But they know the truth--they are talking it among themselves. And these indictments will make Victor Dorn a hero. "

"What of it? What of it?" said Hastings impatiently. "The workingpeople don't count. "

"Not as long as we can keep them divided, " retorted Davy. "But if theyunite----"

And he went on to explain what he had in mind. He gave them ananalysis of Remsen City. About fifty thousand inhabitants, of whomabout ten thousand were voters. These voters were divided into threeclasses--upper class, with not more than three or four hundred votes, and therefore politically of no importance AT THE POLLS, thoughoverwhelmingly the most influential in any other way; the middle class, the big and little merchants, the lawyers and doctors, the agents andfiremen and so on, mustering in all about two thousand votes; finally, the working class with no less than eight thousand votes out of a totalof ten thousand. 

"By bribery and cajolery and browbeating and appeal to religiousprejudice and to fear of losing jobs--by all sorts of chicane, " saidDavy, "about seven of these eight thousand votes are kept dividedbetween the Republican or Kelly party and the Democratic or Houseparty. The other ten or twelve hundred belong to Victor Dorn's League. Now, the seven thousand workingmen voters who follow Kelly and Houselike Victor Dorn, like his ideas, are with him at heart. But they areafraid of him. They don't trust each other. Workingmen despise theworkingman as an ignorant fool. "

"So he is, " said Hastings. 

"So he is, " agreed Davy. "But Victor Dorn has about got the workingmenin this town persuaded that they'd fare better with Dorn and the Leagueas their leaders than with Kelly and House as their leaders. And ifKelly goes on to persecute Victor Dorn, the workingmen will befrightened for their rights to free speech and free assembly. Andthey'll unite. I appeal to you, Jane--isn't that common sense?"

"I don't know anything about politics, " said Jane, looking bored. "Youmust go in and lie down before dinner, father. You look tired. "

Hastings got ready to rise. 

"Just a minute, Mr. Hastings, " pleaded Hull. "This must be settlednow--at once. I must be in a position not only to denounce this thing, but also to stop it. Not to-morrow, but to-day . .. So that the morningpapers will have the news. "

Jane's thoughts were flying--but in circles. Everybody habituallyjudges everybody else as both more and less acute than he really is. Jane had great respect for Davy as a man of college education. Butbecause he had no sense of humor and because he abounded in lengthyplatitudes she had thought poorly indeed of his abilities. She hadbeen realizing her mistake in these last few minutes. The man who hadmade that analysis of politics--an analysis which suddenly enlightedher as to what political power meant and how it was wielded everywhereon earth as well as in Remsen City--the man was no mere dreamer andtheorist. He had seen the point no less clearly than had Victor Dorn. But what concerned her, what set her to fluttering, was that he wasabout to checkmate Victor Dorn. What should she say and do to helpVictor?

She must get her father away. She took him gently by the arm, kissedthe top of his head. "Come on, father, " she cried. "I'll let Davy workhis excitement off on me. You must take care of your health. "

But Hastings resisted. "Wait a minute, Jenny, " said he. "I mustthink. "

"You can think lying down, " insisted his daughter Davy was about tointerpose again, but she frowned him into silence. 

"There's something in what Davy says, " persisted her father. "If thatthere Victor Dorn should carry the election, there'd be no living inthe same town with him. It'd put him away up out of reach. "

Jane abruptly released her father's arm. She had not thought ofthat--of how much more difficult Victor would be if he won now. Shewanted him to win ultimately--yes, she was sure she did. But--now?Wouldn't that put him beyond her reach--beyond need of her?

She said: "Please come, father!" But it was perfunctory loyalty toVictor. Her father settled back; Davy Hull began afresh, pressing homehis point, making his contention so clear that even Martin Hastings'prejudice could not blind him to the truth. And Jane sat on the arm ofa big veranda chair and listened and made no further effort tointerfere. 

"I don't agree with you, Hull, " said the old man at last. "VictorDorn's run up agin the law at last, and he ought to get theconsequences good and hard. But----"

"Mr. Hastings, " interrupted Davy eagerly--too fond of talking torealize that the old man was agreeing with him, "Your daughter saw----"

"Fiddle-fiddle, " cried the old man. "Don't bring sentimental womeninto this, Davy. As I was saying, Victor ought to be punished for theway he's been stirring up idle, lazy, ignorant people against the menthat runs the community and gives 'em jobs and food for their children. But maybe it ain't wise to give him his deserts--just now. Anyhow, while you've been talking away like a sewing machine I've beenthinking. I don't see as how it can do any serious HARM to stop themthere indictments. "

"That's it, Mr. Hastings, " cried Hull. "Even if I do exaggerate, asyou seem to think, still where's the harm in doing it?"

"It looks as if the respectable people were afraid of the lowerclasses, " said Hastings doubtfully. "And that's always bad. "

"But it won't look that way, " replied Davy, "if my plan is followed. "

"And what might be your plan?" inquired Hastings. 

"I'm to be the reform candidate for Mayor. Your son-in-law, Hugo, isto be the reform candidate for judge. The way to handle this is for meto come out in a strong statement denouncing the indictments, and theinjunction against the League and the New Day, too. And I'll announcethat Hugo Galland is trying to join in the fight against them and thathe is indignant and as determined as I am. Then early to-morrowmorning we can go before Judge Lansing and can present arguments, andhe will denounce the other side for misleading him as to the facts, andwill quash the indictments and vacate the injunctions. "

Hastings nodded reflectively. "Pretty good, " said he with a sly grin. "And Davy Hull and my son-in-law will be popular heroes. "

Davy reddened. "Of course. I want to get all the advantage I can forour party, " said he. "I don't represent myself. I represent theparty. "

Martin grinned more broadly. He who had been representing "honesttaxpayers" and "innocent owners" of corrupt stock and bonds all hislife understood perfectly. "It's hardly human to be as unselfish asyou and I are, Davy, " said he. "Well, I'll go in and do a littletelephoning. You go ahead and draw up your statement and get it to thepapers--and see Hugo. " He rose, stood leaning on his cane, all bentand shrivelled and dry. "I reckon Judge Lansing'll be expecting youto-morrow morning. " He turned to enter the house, halted, crooked hishead round for a piercing look at young Hull. "Don't go talking roundamong your friends about what you're going to do, " said he sharply. "Don't let NOBODY know until it's done. "

"Certainly, sir, " said Davy. 

"I could see you hurrying down to that there University Club to sitthere and tell it all to those smarties that are always blowing aboutwhat they're going to do. You'll be right smart of a man some day, Davy, if you'll learn to keep your mouth shut. "

Davy looked abashed. He did not know which of his many indiscretionsof self-glorifying talkativeness Mr. Hastings had immediately in mind. But he could recall several, any one of which was justification for therather savage rebuke--the more humiliating that Jane was listening. Heglanced covertly at her. 

Perhaps she had not heard; she was gazing into the distance with astrange expression upon her beautiful face, an expression that fastenedhis attention, absorbed though he was in his project for his ownambitions. As her father disappeared, he said:

"What are you thinking about, Jane?"

Jane startled guiltily. "I? Oh--I don't know--a lot of things. "

"Your look suggested that you were having a--a severe attack ofconscience, " said he, laughingly. He was in soaring good humor now, for he saw his way clear to election. 

"I was, " said Jane, suddenly stern. A pause, then she laughed--ratherhollowly. "Davy, I guess I'm almost as big a fraud as you are. Whatfakirs we human beings are?--always posing as doing for others andalways doing for our selfish selves. "

Davy's face took on its finest expression. "Do you think it'saltogether selfishness for me to fight for Victor Dorn and give him achance to get out his paper again--when he has warned me that he isgoing to print things that may defeat me?"

"You know he'll not print them now, " retorted Jane. 

"Indeed I don't. He's not so forbearing. "

"You know he'll not print them now, " repeated Jane. "He'd not be sofoolish. Every one would forget to ask whether what he said about youwas true or false. They'd think only of how ungenerous and ungratefulhe was. He wouldn't be either. But he'd seem to be--and that comes tothe same thing. " She glanced mockingly at Hull. "Isn't that yourcalculation?"

"You are too cynical for a woman, Jane, " said Davy. "It's notattractive. "

"To your vanity?" retorted Jane. "I should think not. "

"Well--good-by, " said Davy, taking his hat from the rail. "I've got ahard evening's work before me. No time for dinner. "

"Another terrible sacrifice for public duty, " mocked Jane. 

"You must be frightfully out of humor with yourself, to be girding atme so savagely, " said Davy. 

"Good-by, Mr. Mayor. "

"I shall be--in six weeks. "

Jane's face grew sombre. "Yes--I suppose so, " said she. "The peoplewould rather have one of us than one of their own kind. They do look upto us, don't they? It's ridiculous of them, but they do. The idea ofchoosing you, when they might have Victor Dorn. "

"He isn't running for Mayor, " objected Hull. "The League's candidateis Harbinger, the builder. "

"No, it's Victor Dorn, " said Jane. "The best man in a party--thestrongest man--is always the candidate for all the offices. I don'tknow much about politics, but I've learned that much. .. . It's VictorDorn against--Dick Kelly--or Kelly and father. "

Hull reddened. She had cut into quick. "You will see who is Mayorwhen I'm elected, " said he with all his dignity. 

Jane laughed in the disagreeably mocking way that was the climax of herability to be nasty when she was thoroughly out of humor. "That'sright, Davy. Deceive yourself. It's far more comfortable. So long!"

And she went into the house. 

Davy's conduct of the affair was masterly. He showed those rarequalities of judgment and diplomacy that all but insure a man adistinguished career. His statement for the press was a model ofdignity, of restrained indignation, of good common sense. The mostdifficult part of his task was getting Hugo Galland into condition fora creditable appearance in court. In so far as Hugo's meagreintellect, atrophied by education and by luxury, permitted him to be alawyer at all, he was of that now common type called the corporationlawyer. That is, for him human beings had ceased to exist, and ofcourse human rights, also; the world as viewed from the standpoint oflaw contained only corporations, only interests. Thus, a man likeVictor Dorn was in his view the modern form of the devil--was acombination of knave and lunatic who had no right to live except in therestraint of an asylum or a jail. 

Fortunately, while Hugo despised the "hoi polloi" as only a stupid, miseducated snob can despise, he appreciated that they had votes and somust be conciliated; and he yearned with the snob's famished yearningfor the title and dignity of judge. Davy found it impossible toconvince him that the injunctions and indictments ought to be attackeduntil he had convinced him that in no other way could he become JudgeGalland. As Hugo was fiercely prejudiced and densely stupid andreverent of the powers of his own intellect, to convince him was noteasy. In fact, Davy did not begin to succeed until he began to suggestthat whoever appeared before Judge Lansing the next morning in defenseof free speech would be the Alliance and Democratic and Republicancandidate for judge, and that if Hugo couldn't see his way clear toappearing he might as well give up for the present his politicalambitions. 

Hugo came round. Davy left him at one o'clock in the morning and wentgloomily home. He had known what a prejudiced ass Galland was, howunfit he was for the office of judge; but he had up to that time hiddenthe full truth from himself. Now, to hide it was impossible. Hugo hadfully exposed himself in all his unfitness of the man of narrow upperclass prejudices, the man of no instinct or enthusiasm for right, justice and liberty. "Really, it's a crime to nominate such a chap asthat, " he muttered. "Yet we've got to do it. How Selma Gordon's eyeswould shame me, if she could see me now!"

Davy had the familiar fondness for laying on the secret penitentialscourge--wherewith we buy from our complacent consciences license toindulge in the sins our appetites or ambitions crave. 

Judge Lansing--you have never seen a man who LOOKED the judge moreideally than did gray haired, gray bearded, open browed RobertLansing--Judge Lansing was all ready for his part in the farce. Heknew Hugo and helped him over the difficult places and cut him short assoon as he had made enough of his speech to give an inkling of what hewas demanding. The Judge was persuaded to deliver himself of ahigh-minded and eloquent denunciation of those who had misled the courtand the county prosecutor. He pointed out--in weighty judiciallanguage--that Victor Dorn had by his conduct during several yearsinvited just such a series of calamities as had beset him. But he wenton to say that Dorn's reputation and fondness for speech and actionbordering on the lawless did not withdraw from him the protection ofthe law. In spite of himself the law would protect him. Theinjunctions were dissolved and the indictments were quashed. 

The news of the impending application, published in the morning papers, had crowded the court room. When the Judge finished a tremendous cheerwent up. The cheer passed on to the throng outside, and when Davy andHugo appeared in the corridor they were borne upon the shoulders ofworkingmen and were not released until they had made speeches. Davy'smanly simplicity and clearness covered the stammering vagueness of heroGalland. 

As Davy was gradually clearing himself of the eager handshakers andback-slappers, Selma suddenly appeared before him. Her eyes wereshining and her whole body seemed to be irradiating emotion ofadmiration and gratitude. "Thank you--oh, thank you!" she said, pressing his hand. "How I have misjudged you!"

Davy did not wince. He had now quite forgotten the part selfishambition had played in his gallant rush to the defense of imperilledfreedom--had forgotten it as completely as the now ecstatic Hugo hadforgotten his prejudices against the "low, smelly working people. " Helooked as exalted as he felt. "I only did my plain duty, " replied he. "How could any decent American have done less?"

"I haven't seen Victor since yesterday afternoon, " pursued Selma. "ButI know how grateful he'll be--not so much for what you did as that YOUdid it. "

The instinct of the crowd--the universal human instinct--againstintruding upon a young man and young woman talking together sooncleared them of neighbors. An awkward silence fell. Said hehesitatingly:

"Are you ready to give your answer?--to that question I asked you theother day. "

"I gave you my answer then, " replied she, her glance seeking a way ofescape. 

"No, " said he. "For you said then that you would not marry me. And Ishall never take no for an answer until you have married some one else. "

She looked up at him with eyes large and grave and puzzled. "I'm sureyou don't want to marry me, " she said. "I wonder why you keep askingme. "

"I have to be honest with you, " said Davy. "Somehow you bring out allthe good there is in me. So, I can't conceal anything from you. In away I don't want to marry you. You're not at all the woman I havealways pictured as the sort I ought to marry and would marry. But--Selma, I love you. I'd give up anything--even my career--to getyou. When I'm away from you I seem to regain control of myself. Butjust as soon as I see you, I'm as bad as ever again. "

"Then we mustn't see each other, " said she. 

Suddenly she nodded, laughed up at him and darted away--and HugoGalland, long since abandoned by the crowd, had seized him by the arm. 

Selma debated whether to take Victor the news or to continue her walk. She decided for the walk. She had been feeling peculiarly towardVictor since the previous afternoon. She had not gone back in theevening, but had sent an excuse by one of the Leaguers. It was plainto her that Jane Hastings was up to mischief, and she had begun tofear--sacrilegious though she felt it to be to harbor such asuspicion--that there was man enough, weak, vain, susceptible manenough, in Victor Dorn to make Jane a danger. The more she had thoughtabout Jane and her environment, the clearer it had become that therecould be no permanent and deep sincerity in Jane's aspirations afteremancipation from her class. It was simply the old, old story of awoman of the upper class becoming infatuated with a man of a genuinekind of manhood rarely found in the languor-producing surroundings ofher own class. Would Victor yield? No! her loyalty indignantlyanswered. But he might allow this useless idler to hamper him, toweaken his energies for the time--and during a critical period. 

She did not wish to see Victor again until she should have decided whatcourse to take. To think at her ease she walked out Monroe Avenue onher way to the country. It was a hot day, but walking along in thebeautiful shade Selma felt no discomfort, except a slight burning ofthe eyes from the fierce glare of the white highway. In the distanceshe heard the sound of an engine. 

A few seconds, and past her at high speed swept an automobile. Itsheavy flying wheels tore up the roadway, raised an enormous cloud ofdust. The charm of the walk was gone; the usefulness of roadway andfootpaths was destroyed for everybody for the fifteen or twenty minutesthat it would take for the mass of dust to settle--on the foliage, inthe grass, on the bodies and clothing of passers-by and in their lungs. Selma halted and gazed after the auto. Who was tearing along at thismad speed? Who was destroying the comfort of all using that road, andannoying them and making the air unfit to breathe! Why, an idle, luxuriously dressed woman, not on an errand of life or death, but goingdown town to amuse herself shopping or calling. 

The dust had not settled before a second auto, having a young man andyoung woman apparently on the way to play tennis, rushed by, swirlingup even vaster clouds of dust and all but colliding with a babycarriage a woman was trying to push across the street. Selma's bloodwas boiling! The infamy of it! These worthless idlers! What utterlack of manners, of consideration for their fellow beings. A GENTLEMANand a LADY insulting and bullying everyone who happened not to have anautomobile. Then--she laughed. The ignorant, stupid masses! Theydeserved to be treated thus contemptuously, for they could stop it ifthey would. "Some day we shall learn, " philosophized she. "Then thesebrutalities of men toward each other, these brutalities big and little, will cease. " This matter of the insulting automobiles, with insolenthorns and criminal folly of speed and hurling dust at passers-by, worsethan if the occupants had spat upon them in passing--this matter was atrifle beside the hideous brutalities of men compelling masses of theirfellow beings, children no less than grown people, to toil at thingskilling soul, mind and body simply in order that fortunes might bemade! THERE was lack of consideration worth thinking about. 

Three more autos passed--three more clouds of dust, reducing Selma toextreme physical discomfort. Her philosophy was severely strained. She was in the country now; but even there she was pursued by theseinsolent and insulting hunters of pleasure utterly indifferent to thecomfort of their fellows. And when a fourth auto passed, bearing JaneHastings in a charming new dress and big, becoming hat--Selma, eyes andthroat full of dust and face and neck and hands streaked and dirty, quite lost her temper. Jane spoke; she turned her head away, pretending not to see!

Presently she heard an auto coming at a less menacing pace from theopposite direction. It drew up to the edge of the road abreast of her. "Selma, " called Jane. 

Selma paused, bent a frowning and angry countenance upon Jane. 

Jane opened the door of the limousine, descended, said to herchauffeur: "Follow us, please. " She advanced to Selma with a timidand deprecating smile. "You'll let me walk with you?" she said. 

"I am thinking out a very important matter, " replied Selma, with frankhostility. "I prefer not to be interrupted. "

"Selma!" pleaded Jane. "What have I done to turn you against me?"

Selma stood, silent, incarnation of freedom and will. She lookedsteadily at Jane. "You haven't done anything, " she replied. "Onimpulse I liked you. On sober second thought I don't. That's all. "

"You gave me your friendship, " said Jane. "You've no right to withdrawit without telling me why. "

"You are not of my class. You are of the class that is at war withmine--at war upon it. When you talk of friendship to me, you areeither false to your own people or false in your professions to me. "

Selma's manner was rudely offensive--as rude as Jane's dust, to whichit was perhaps a retort. Jane showed marvelous restraint. She toldherself that she felt compassionate toward this attractive, honest, really nice girl. It is possible, however, that an instinct ofprudence may have had something to do with her ultra-conciliatoryattitude toward the dusty little woman in the cheap linen dress. Theenmity of one so near to Victor Dorn was certainly not an advantage. Instead of flaring up, Jane said:

"Now, Selma--do be human--do be your sweet, natural self. It isn't myfault that I am what I am. And you know that I really belong heart andsoul with you. "

"Then come with us, " said Selma. "If you think the life you lead isfoolish--why, stop leading it. "

"You know I can't, " said Jane mournfully. 

"I know you could, " retorted Selma. "Don't be a hypocrite, Jane. "

"Selma--how harsh you are!" cried Jane. 

"Either come with us or keep away from us, " said the girl inflexibly. "You may deceive yourself--and men--with that talk of broad views andhigh aspirations. But you can't deceive another woman. "

"I'm not trying to deceive anybody, " exclaimed Jane angrily. "Permit meto say, Selma, that your methods won't make many converts to yourcause. "

"Who ever gave you the idea that we were seeking converts in yourclass?" inquired Selma. "Our whole object is to abolish yourclass--and end its drain upon us--and its bad example--and make itsmembers useful members of our class, and more contented and happierthan they are now. " She laughed--a free and merry laugh, but notpleasant in Jane's ears. "The idea of US trying to induce young ladiesand young gentlemen with polished finger nails to sit round indrawing-rooms talking patronizingly of doing something for the masses!You've got a very queer notion of us, my dear Miss Hastings. "

Jane's eyes were flashing. "Selma, there's a devil in you to-day. What is it?" she demanded. 

"There's a great deal of dust from your automobile in me and on me, "said Selma. "I congratulate you on your good manners in rushing aboutspattering and befouling your fellow beings and threatening theirlives. "

Jane colored and lowered her head. "I--I never thought of thatbefore, " she said humbly. 

Selma's anger suddenly dissolved. "I'm ashamed of myself, " she cried. "Forgive me. "

What she had said about the automobile had made an instant deepimpression upon Jane, who was honestly trying to live up to heraspirations--when she wasn't giving up the effort as hopelessly beyondher powers and trying to content herself with just aspiring. She wasnot hypocritical in her contrition. The dust disfiguring the foliage, streaking Selma's face and hair, was forcing the lesson in mannersvigorously home. "I'm much obliged to you for teaching me what I oughtto have learned for myself, " she said. "I don't blame you for scorningme. I am a pretty poor excuse. But"--with her most charmingsmile--"I'll do better--all the faster if you'll help me. "

Selma looked at her with a frank, dismayed contrition, like a childthat realizes it has done something very foolish. "Oh, I'm so horriblyimpulsive!" she cried. "It's always getting me into trouble. Youdon't know how I try Victor Dorn's patience--though he never makes theleast sign. " She laughed up at Jane. "I wish you'd give me awhipping. I'd feel lots better. "

"It'd take some of my dust off you, " said Jane. "Let me take you tothe house in the auto--you'll never see it going at that speed again, Ipromise. Come to the house and I'll dust you off--and we'll go for awalk in the woods. "

Selma felt that she owed it to Jane to accept. As they were climbingthe hill in the auto, Selma said:

"My, how comfortable this is! No wonder the people that have autosstop exercising and get fat and sick and die. I couldn't trust myselfwith one. "

"It's a daily fight, " confessed Jane. "If I were married and didn'thave to think about my looks and my figure I'm afraid I'd give up. "

"Victor says the only time one ought ever to ride in a carriage is tohis own funeral. "

"He's down on show and luxury of every kind--isn't he?" said Jane. 

"No, indeed, " replied Selma. "Victor isn't 'down on' anything. Hethinks show and luxury are silly. He could be rich if he wished, forhe has wonderful talent for managing things and for making money. Hehas refused some of the most wonderful offers--wonderful in that way. But he thinks money-making a waste of time. He has all he wants, andhe says he'd as soon think of eating a second dinner when he'd just hadone as of exchanging time that could be LIVED for a lot of foolishdollars. "

"And he meant it, too, " said Jane. "In some men that would sound likepretense. But not in him. What a mind he has--and what a character!"

Selma was abruptly overcast and ominously silent. She wished she hadnot been turned so far by her impulse of penitence--wished she had heldto the calm and deliberate part of her resolve about Jane--the partthat involved keeping aloof from her. However, Jane, thetactful--hastened to shift the conversation to generalities of thesoftest kinds--talked about her college life--about the inane anduseless education they had given her--drew Selma out to talk about herown education--in the tenement--in the public school, at night school, in factory and shop. Not until they had been walking in the woodsnearly two hours and Selma was about to go home, did Victor, about whomboth were thinking all the time, come into the conversation again. Itwas Jane who could no longer keep away from the subject--the onesubject that wholly interested her nowadays. Said she:

"Victor Dorn is REALLY almost well, you think?"

After a significant pause Selma said in a tone that was certainly notencouraging, "Obviously. "

"I was altogether wrong about Doctor Charlton, " said Jane. "I'mconvinced now that he's the only really intelligent doctor in town. I'm trying to persuade father to change to him. "

"Well, good-by, " said Selma. She was eager to get away, for shesuddenly felt that Jane was determined to talk about Victor beforeletting her go. 

"You altered toward me when I made that confession--the night of theriot, " said Jane abruptly. "Are you in love with him, too?"

"No, " said Selma. 

"I don't see how you could help being, " cried Jane. 

"That's because you don't know what it is to be busy, " retorted Selma. "Love--what you call love--is one of the pastimes with your sort ofpeople. It's a lazy, easy way of occupying the thoughts. "

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, " said Jane. Herexpression fascinated Selma--and made her more afraid than ever. 

Impulsively Selma took Jane by the arm. "Keep away from us, " she said. "You will do no good. You can only cause unhappiness--perhaps most ofall to yourself. "

"Don't I know that!" exclaimed Jane. "I'm fighting it as hard as Ican. But how little control one has over oneself when one has alwaysbeen indulged and self-indulgent. "

"The man for you is David Hull, " said Selma. 

"You could help him--could make a great deal of a person out of him. "

"I know it, " replied Jane. "But I don't want him, and he--perhaps youdidn't know that he is in love with you?"

"No more than you are with Victor Dorn, " said Selma. "I'm differentfrom the women he has known, just as Victor is different from the menyou meet in your class. But this is a waste of time. "

"You don't believe in me at all, " cried Jane. "In some ways you arevery unjust and narrow, Selma. "

Selma looked at her in that grave way which seemed to compel frankness. "Do YOU believe in yourself?" she asked. 

Jane's glance shifted. 

"You know you do not, " proceeded Selma. "The women of your classrarely have sincere emotions because they do not lead sincere lives. Part of your imaginary love for Victor Dorn is desire to fill up idlehours. The rest of it is vanity--the desire to show your power over aman who seems to be woman-proof. " She laughed a little, turned away, paused. "My mother used to quote a French proverb--'One cannot triflewith love. ' Be careful, Jane--for your own sake. I don't know whetheryou could conquer Victor Dorn or not. But I do know IF you couldconquer him it would be only at the usual price of those conquests to awoman. "

"And what is that?" said Jane. 

"Your own complete surrender, " said Selma. 

"How wise you are!" laughed Jane. "Who would have suspected you ofknowing so much!"

"How could I--a woman--and not unattractive to men--grow up to betwenty-one years old, in the free life of a working woman, withoutlearning all there is to know about sex relations?"

Jane looked at her with a new interest. 

"And, " she went on, "I've learned--not by experience, I'm glad to say, but by observation--that my mother's proverb is true. I shall notthink about love until I am compelled to. That is a peril a sensibleperson does not seek. "

"I did not seek it, " cried Jane--and then she halted and flushed. 

"Good-by, Jane, " said Selma, waving her hand and moving away rapidly. She called back--"On ne badine pas avec l'amour!"

She went straight to Colman's cottage--to Victor, lying very pale withhis eyes shut, and big Tom Colman sitting by his bed. There was astillness in the room that Selma felt was ominous. Victor'shand--strong, well-shaped, useful-looking, used-looking--notABUSED-looking, but USED-looking-was outside the covers upon the whitecounterpane. The fingers were drumming softly; Selma knew thatgesture--a certain sign that Victor was troubled in mind. 

"You've told him, " said Selma to Colman as she paused in the doorway. 

Victor turned his head quickly, opened his eyes, gave her a look ofwelcome that made her thrill with pride. "Oh--there you are!" heexclaimed. "I was hoping you'd come. "

"I saw David Hull just after it was done, " said Selma. "And I thankedhim for you. "

Victor's eyes had a look of amusement, of mockery. "Thank you, " hesaid. 

She, the sensitive, was on the alert at once. "Didn't you want me tothank him?"

Victor did not answer. In the same amused way he went on: "So theycarried him on their shoulders--him and that other defender of therights of the people, Hugo Galland? I should like to have seen. Itwas a memorable spectacle. "

"You are laughing at it, " exclaimed the girl. "Why?"

"You certainly are taking the news very queer, Victor, " said Colman. Then to Selma, "When I told him he got white and I thought I'd have tosend for Doctor Charlton. "

"Well--joy never kills, " said Victor mockingly. "I don't want to keepyou, Tom--Selma'll sit with me. "

When they were alone, Victor again closed his eyes and resumed thatsilent drumming upon the counterpane. Selma watched the restlessfingers as if she hoped they would disclose to her the puzzling secretof Victor's thoughts. But she did not interrupt. 

That was one lesson in restraint that Victor had succeeded in teachingher--never to interrupt. At last he heaved a great sigh and said:

"Well, Selma, old girl--we've probably lost again. I was glad you camebecause I wanted to talk--and I can't say what's in my mind before dearold Tom--or any of them but my sister and you. "

"You didn't want those injunctions and indictments out of the way?"said Selma. 

"If they had stood, we'd have won--in a walk, " replied Victor. "As thecards lie now, David Hull will win. And he'll make a pretty good showmayor, probably--good enough to fool a large majority of our fellowcitizens, who are politically as shallow and credulous as nurserychildren. And so--our work of educating them will be the harder andslower. Oh, these David Hulls!--these good men who keep their mantlesspotless in order to make them the more useful as covers for the dirtywork of others!" Suddenly his merry smile burst out. "And they carriedHugo Galland on their shoulders?"

"Then you don't think Hull's motives were honorable?" inquired Selma, perplexed and anxious. 

"How could I know his motives?--any man's motives?" replied Victor. "No one can read men's hearts. All I ever consider is actions. Andthe result of his actions is probably the defeat of the League and theelection of Dick Kelly. "

"I begin to understand, " said Selma thoughtfully. "But--I do believehis motive was altogether good. "

"My dear girl, " said Victor, "the primer lesson in the life of actionis: 'Never--NEVER look at motives. Action--only actions--alwaysactions. ' The chief reason the human race is led patiently round bythe nose is its fondness for fussing about motives. We are interestedonly in men's actions and the results to our cause. Davy Hull'smotives concern only himself--and those who care for him. " Victor'seyes, twinkling mischievously, shot a shrewd glance at Selma. "You'renot by any chance in love with Davy?"

Selma colored high. "Certainly not!" she exclaimed indignantly. 

"Why not? Why not?" teased Victor. "He's tall and handsome--andsuperbly solemn--and women always fancy a solemn man has intellect andcharacter. Not that Davy is a fool--by no means. I'd be the last manto say that--I whom he has just cleverly checkmated in one move. "

"You intended not to give bail! You intended to go to jail!" exclaimedSelma abruptly. "I see it all! How stupid I was! Oh, I could cry, Victor! What a chance. "

"Spilt milk, " said Victor. "We must forget it, and plan to meet thenew conditions. We'll start the paper at once. We can't attack him. Very clever of him--very clever! If he were as brave as he is shrewd, I'd almost give up hope of winning this town while he was in politicshere. But he lacks courage. And he daren't think and speak honestly. How that does cripple a man!"

"He'll be one of us before very long, " said Selma. "You misjudge him, Victor. "

Dorn smiled. "Not so long as his own class gratifies his ambitions, "replied Victor. "If he came with us it'd be because his own class hadfailed him and he hoped to rise through and upon--ours. "

Selma did not agree with him. But as she always felt presumptuous andeven foolish in disagreeing with Victor, she kept silent. Andpresently Victor began to lay out her share in the task of starting upthe New Day. "I shall be all right within a week, " said he, "and wemust get the first number out the week following. " She was realizingnow that Hull's move had completely upset an elaborate plan of campaigninto which Victor had put all his intelligence and upon which he hadstaked all his hopes. She marvelled as he talked, unfolding rapidly anentirely new campaign, different in every respect from what the otherwould have been. How swiftly his mind had worked, and how well! Howlittle time he had wasted in vain regrets! How quickly he hadrecovered from a reverse that would have halted many a strong man. 

And then she remembered how they all, his associates, were like him, proof against the evil effects of set-back and defeat. And why werethey so? Because Victor Dorn had trained them to fight for the cause, and not for victory. "Our cause is the right, and in the end right isbound to win because the right is only another name for thesensible"--that had been his teaching. And a hardy army he hadtrained. The armies trained by victory are strong; but the armiesschooled by defeat--they are invincible. 

When he had explained his new campaign--as much of it as he deemed itwise at that time to withdraw from the security of his own brain--shesaid:

"But it seems to me we've got a good chance to win, anyhow. "

"A chance, perhaps, " replied he. "But we'll not bother about that. All we've got to do is to keep on strengthening ourselves. "

"Yes, that's it!" she cried. "One added here--five there--ten yonder. Every new stone fitted solidly against the ones already in place. "

"We must never forget that we aren't merely building a new party, " saidDorn. "We're building a new civilization--one to fit the newconditions of life. Let the Davy Hulls patch and tinker away at tryingto keep the old structure from falling in. We know it's bound to falland that it isn't fit for decent civilized human beings to live in. And we're getting the new house ready. So--to us, election day is nomore important than any of the three hundred and sixty-five. "

It was into the presence of a Victor Dorn restored in mind as well asin body that Jane Hastings was shown by his sister, Mrs. Sherrill, oneafternoon a week or so later. 

All that time Jane had been searching for an excuse for going to seehim. She had haunted the roads and the woods where he and Selmahabitually walked. She had seen neither of them. When the pretext fora call finally came to her, as usual, the most obvious thing in theworld. He must be suspecting her of having betrayed his confidence andbrought about the vacating of those injunctions and the quashing of theindictments. She must go to him and clear herself of suspicion. 

She felt that the question of how she should dress for this crucialinterview, this attempt to establish some sort of friendly relationswith him, was of the very highest importance. Should she wear somethingplain, something that would make her look as nearly as might be likeone of his own class? HIS class!

No--no, indeed. The class in which he was accidentally born and bred, but to which he did not belong. Or, should she go dressed frankly asof her own class--wearing the sort of things that made her look herfinest and most superior and most beautiful? Having nothing else to do, she spent several hours in trying various toilets. She was not long indeciding against disguising herself as a working woman. That garbmight win his mental and moral approval; but not by mental and moralways did women and men prevail with each other. In plain garb--so Janedecided, as she inspected herself--she was no match for Selma Gordon;she looked awkward, out of her element. So much being settled, thereremained to choose among her various toilets. She decided for anembroidered white summer dress, extremely simple, but in the way thatcosts beyond the power of any but the very rich to afford. When she wasready to set forth, she had never looked so well in her life. Hertoilet SEEMED a mere detail. In fact, it was some such subtlety asthose arrangements of lines and colors in great pictures, whereby theglance of the beholder is unconsciously compelled toward the centralfigure, just as water in a funnel must go toward the aperture at thebottom. Jane felt, not without reason, that she had executed a strokeof genius. She was wearing nothing that could awaken Victor Dorn'sprejudices about fine clothes, for he must have those prejudices. Yetshe was dressed in conformity with all that centuries, ages ofexperience, have taught the dressmaking art on the subject of feminineallure. And, when a woman feels that she is so dressed, her naturalallure becomes greatly enhanced. 

She drove down to a point in Monroe Avenue not far from the house whereVictor and his family lived. The day was hot; boss-ridden Remsen Cityhad dusty and ragged streets and sidewalks. It, therefore, would notdo to endanger the freshness of the toilet. But she would arrive as ifshe had come all the way on foot. Arrival in a motor at so humble ahouse would look like ostentation; also, if she were seen going throughthat street afoot, people would think she was merely strolling a littleout of her way to view the ruins of the buildings set on fire by themob. She did pause to look at these ruins; the air of the neighborhoodstill had a taint of burnt wood and paper. Presently, when she was surethe street was clear of people of the sort who might talk--she hastilyentered the tiny front yard of Victor's house, and was pleased to findherself immediately screened from the street by the luxuriant bushesand creepers. 

There was nothing in the least pretentious about the appearance of thelittle house. It was simply a well built cottage--but of brick, instead of the usual wood, and the slate roof descended at attractiveangles. The door she was facing was superior to the usualflimsy-looking door. Indeed, she at once became conscious of a highlyattractive and most unexpected air of substantiality and good taste. The people who lived here seemed to be permanent people--long resident, and looking forward to long residence. She had never seen suchbeautiful or such tastefully grouped sun flowers, and the dahlias andmarigolds were far above the familiar commonplace kitchen gardenflowers. 

The door opened, and a handsome, extremely intelligent looking woman, obviously Victor's sister, was looking pleasantly at her. Said she:"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I was busy in the kitchen. This is Miss Hastings, isn't it?"

"Yes, " said Jane, smiling friendlily. 

"I've heard my brother and Selma talk of you. " (Jane wondered WHATthey had said. ) "You wish to see Victor?"

"If I'd not be interrupting, " said Jane. 

"Come right in. He's used to being interrupted. They don't give himfive minutes to himself all day long--especially now that thecampaign's on. He always does his serious work very early in themorning. "

They went through a hall, pleasantly odorous of baking in which goodflour and good butter and good eggs were being manufactured intosomething probably appetizing, certainly wholesome. Jane caught aglimpse through open doors on either side of a neat and reposefullittle library-sitting room, a plain delightfully simple littlebedroom, a kitchen where everything shone. She arrived at the reardoor somehow depressed, bereft of the feeling of upper-classsuperiority which had, perhaps unconsciously, possessed her as she cametoward the house. At the far end of an arbor on which the grape vineswere so trellised that their broad leaves cast a perfect shade, satVictor writing at a table under a tree. He was in his shirt sleeves, and his shirt was open at the throat. His skin was smooth andhealthily white below the collar line. The forearms exposed by hisrolled up sleeves were strong but slender, and the faint fair hair uponthem suggested a man, but not an animal. 

Never had she seen his face and head so fine. He was writing rapidly, his body easily erect, his head and neck in a poise of grace andstrength. Jane grew pale and trembled--so much so that she was afraidthe keen, friendly eyes of Alice Sherrill were seeing. Said Mrs. Sherrill, raising her voice:

"Victor--here's Miss Hastings come to see you. " Then to Jane: "Excuseme, please. I don't dare leave that kitchen long. "

She departed. Jane waited while Victor, his pencil reluctantlyslackening and his glance lingeringly rising from the paper, came backto sense of his surroundings. He stared at her blankly, then colored alittle. He rose--stiff, for him formal. Said he:

"How d'you do, Miss Hastings?"

She came down the arbor, recovering her assurance as she again becameconscious of herself, so charmingly dressed and no doubt beautiful inhis eyes. "I know you're not glad to see me, " said she. "But I'm onlystopping a very little minute. "

His eyes had softened--softened under the influence of the emotion noman can ever fail to feel at least in some degree at sight of a lovelywoman. "Won't you sit?" said he, with a glance at the wooden chairnear the other side of the table. 

She seated herself, resting one gloved hand on the prettily carved endof her white-sunshade. She was wearing a big hat of rough black straw, with a few very gorgeous white plumes. "What a delightful place towork, " exclaimed she, looking round, admiring the flowers, the slowripening grapes, the delicious shade. "And you--how WELL you look!"

"I've forgotten I was ever anything but well, " said he. 

"You're impatient for me to go, " she cried laughing. "It's very rudeto show it so plainly. "

"No, " replied he. "I am not impatient for you to go. But I ought tobe, for I'm very busy. "

"Well, I shall be gone in a moment. I came only to tell you that youare suspecting me wrongly. "

"Suspecting you?--of what?"

"Of having broken my word. I know you must think I got father to setDavy Hull on to upsetting your plans. "

"The idea never entered my head, " said he. "You had promised--and Iknow you are honest. "

Jane colored violently and lowered her eyes. "I'm not--not up to whatyou say, " she protested. "But at least I didn't break my promise. Davy thought of that himself. "

"I have been assuming so. "

"And you didn't suspect me?"

"Not for an instant, " Victor assured her. "Davy simply made the movethat was obviously best for him. "

"And now he will be elected, " said Jane regretfully. 

"It looks that way, " replied Victor. And he had the air of one who hasnothing more to say. 

Suddenly Jane looked at him with eyes shining and full of appeal. 

"Don't send me away so quickly, " she pleaded. "I've not been tellingthe exact truth. I came only partly because I feared you weresuspecting me. The real reason was that--that I couldn't stay away anylonger. I know you're not in the least interested in me----"

She was watching him narrowly for signs of contradiction. She hopedshe had not watched in vain. 

"Why should you be?" she went on. "But ever since you opened my eyesand set me to thinking, I can do nothing but think about the things youhave said to me, and long to come to you and ask you questions and hearmore. "

Victor was staring hard into the wall of foliage. His face was set. She thought she had never seen anything so resolute, so repelling asthe curve of his long jaw bone. 

"I'll go now, " she said, making a pretended move toward rising. 

"I've no right to annoy you. "

He stood up abruptly, without looking at her. "Yes, you'd better go, "he said curtly. 

She quivered--and it was with a pang of genuine pain. 

His gaze was not so far from her as it seemed. For he must have notedher expression, since he said hurriedly: "I beg your pardon. It isn'tthat I mean to be rude. I--I--it is best that I do not see you. "

She sank back in the chair with a sigh. "And I--I know that I ought tokeep away from you. But--I can't. It's too strong for me. "

He looked at her slowly. "I have made up my mind to put you out of myhead, " he said. "And I shall. "

"Don't!" she cried. "Victor--don't!"

He sat again, rested his forearms upon the table, leaned toward her. "Look at me, " he said. 

She slowly lifted her gaze to his, met it steadily. "I thought so, Victor, " she said tenderly. "I knew I couldn't care so much unless youcared at least a little . "

"Do I?" said he. "I don't know. I doubt if either of us is in lovewith the other. Certainly, you are not the sort of woman I couldlove--deeply love. What I feel for you is the sort of thing thatpasses. It is violent while it lasts, but it passes. "

"I don't care!" cried she recklessly. "Whatever it is I want it!"

He shook his head resolutely. "No, " he said. "You don't want it, andI don't want it. I know the kind of life you've mapped out foryourself--as far as women of your class map out anything. It's the onlykind of life possible to you. And it's of a kind with which I could, and would, have nothing to do. "

"Why do you say that?" protested she. "You could make of me what youpleased. "

"No, " said he. "I couldn't make a suit of overalls out of a length ofsilk. Anyhow, I have made up my life with love and marriage left out. They are excellent things for some people, for most people. But notfor me. I must be free, absolutely free. Free to think only of thecause I've enlisted in, free to do what it commands. "

"And I?" she said with tremendous life. "What is to become of me, Victor?"

He laughed quietly. "You are going to keep away from me--find some oneelse to amuse your leisure. That's what's going to become of you, JaneHastings. "

She winced and quivered again. "That--hurts, " she said. 

"Your vanity? Yes. I suppose it does. But those wounds arehealthful--when the person is as sensible as you are. "

"You think I am not capable of caring! You think I am vain and shallowand idle. You refuse me all right to live, simply because I happen tolive in surroundings you don't approve of. "

"I'm not such an egotistical ass as to imagine a woman of your sortcould be genuinely in love with a man of my sort, " replied he. "So, I'll see to it that we keep away from each other. I don't wish to betempted to do you mischief. "

She looked at him inquiringly. 

But he did not explain. He said: "And you are going now. And weshall not meet again except by accident. "

She gave a sigh of hopelessness. "I suppose I have lowered myself inyour eyes by being so frank--by showing and speaking what I felt, " shesaid mournfully. 

"Not in the least, " rejoined he. "A man who is anybody or has anythingsoon gets used to frankness in women. I could hardly have gotten pastthirty, in a more or less conspicuous position, without having had someexperience. .. . And without learning not to attach too much importanceto--to frankness in women. "

She winced again. "You wouldn't say those things if you knew how theyhurt, " she said. "If I didn't care for you, could I sit here and letyou laugh at me?"

"Yes, you could, " answered he. "Hoping somehow or other to turn thelaugh upon me later on. But really I was not laughing at you. And youcan spare yourself the effort of convincing me that you're sincere. "He was frankly laughing at her now. "You don't understand thesituation--not at all. You fancy that I am hanging back because I amoverwhelmed or shy or timid. I assure you I've never been shy or timidabout anything I wanted. If I wanted you--I'd--TAKE you. "

She caught her breath and shrank. Looking at him as he said that, calmly and confidently, she, for the first time, was in love--and wasafraid. Back to her came Selma's warnings: "One may not trifle withlove. A woman conquers only by surrender. "

"But, as I said to you a while ago, " he went on, "I don't want you--orany woman. I've no time for marriage--no time for a flirtation. Andthough you tempt me strongly, I like you too well to--to treat you asyou invite. "

Jane sat motionless, stunned by the sudden turning of the tables. 

She who had come to conquer--to amuse herself, to evoke a strong, hopeless passion that would give her a delightful sense of warmth asshe stood safely by its bright flames--she had been conquered. 

She belonged to this man; all he had to do was to claim her. 

In a low voice, sweet and sincere beyond any that had ever come fromher lips before, she said:

"Anything, Victor--anything--but don't send me away. "

And he, seeing and hearing, lost his boasted self-control. "Go--go, " hecried harshly. "If you don't go----" He came round the table, seizingher as she rose, kissed her upon the lips, upon the eyes. "You arelovely--lovely!" he murmured. "And I who can't have flowers on my tableor in sight when I've got anything serious to do--I love your perfumeand your color and the wonderful softness of you----"

He pushed her away. "Now--will you go?" he cried. 

His eyes were flashing. And she was trembling from head to foot. 

She was gazing at him with a fascinated expression. "I understand whatyou meant when you warned me to go, " she said. "I didn't believe it, but it was so. "

"Go--I tell you!" he ordered. 

"It's too late, " said she. "You can't send me away now--for you havekissed me. If I'm in your power, you're in my power, too. "

Moved by the same impulse both looked up the arbor toward the rear doorof the house. There stood Selma Gordon, regarding them with anexpression of anger as wild as the blood of the steppes that flowed inher veins. Victor, with what composure he could master, put out hishand in farewell to Jane. He had been too absorbed in the emotionsraging between him and her to note Selma's expression. But Jane, thewoman, had seen. As she shook hands with Victor, she said neither highnor low:

"Selma knows that I care. I told her the night of the riot. "

"Good-by, " said Victor in a tone she thought it wise not to dispute. 

"I'll be in the woods above the park at ten tomorrow, " she said in anundertone. Then to Selma, unsmilingly: "You're not interrupting. I'mgoing. " Selma advanced. The two girls looked frank hostility intoeach other's eyes. Jane did not try to shake hands with her. With anod and a forced smile of conventional friendliness upon her lips, shepassed her and went through the house and into the street. 

She lingered at the gate, opening and closing it in a most leisurelyfashion--a significantly different exit from her furtive and ashamedentrance. Love and revolt were running high and hot in her veins. Shelonged openly to defy the world--her world. 

VII

Impulse was the dominant strain in Selma Gordon's character--impulseand frankness. But she was afraid of Victor Dorn as we all are afraidof those we deeply respect--those whose respect is the mainstay of ourself-confidence. She was moving toward him to pour out the violencethat was raging in her on the subject of this flirtation of JaneHastings. The spectacle of a useless and insincere creature like thattrifling with her deity, and being permitted to trifle, was more thanshe could endure. But Victor, dropping listlessly to his chair andreaching for his pencil, was somehow a check upon her impetuousness. She paused long enough to think the sobering second thought. To speakwould be both an impertinence and a folly. She owed it to the causeand to her friend Victor to speak; but to speak at the wrong time andin the wrong way would be worse than silence. 

Said he: "I was finishing this when she came. I'll be done in aminute. Please read what I've written and tell me what you think. "

Selma took up the loose sheets of manuscript and stood reading hisinaugural of the new New Day. As she read she forgot the petty matterthat had so agitated her a moment before. This salutatory--thisaddress to the working class--this plan of a campaign to take RemsenCity out of the hands of its exploiters and despoilers and make it acity fit for civilized residence and worthy of its population ofintelligent, progressive workingmen--this leading editorial for thefirst number was Victor Dorn at his greatest and best. The man ofaction with all the enthusiasm of a dreamer. The shrewd, practicalpolitician with the outlook of a statesman. How honest and impassionedhe was; yet how free from folly and cant. Several times as she readSelma lifted her eyes to look at him in generous, worshipfuladmiration. She would not have dared let him see; she would not havedared speak the phrases of adoration of his genius that crowded to herlips. How he would have laughed at her--he who thought about himselfas a personality not at all, but only as an instrument. 

"Here's the rest of it, " said he, throwing himself back in his chairand relighting his pipe. 

She finished a moment later, said as she laid the manuscript on thetable: "That's the best you've ever done. "

"I think so, " agreed he. "It seems to me I've got a new grip onthings. I needed a turn such as your friend Davy Hull gave me. Nothing like rivalry to spur a man on. The old crowd was sostupid--cunning, but stupid. But Hull injects a new element into thestruggle. To beat him we've got to use our best brains. "

"We've got to attack him, " said Selma. "After all, he is the enemy. We can't let him disarm us by an act of justice. "

"No, indeed, " said Victor. "But we'll have to be careful. Here's whatI'm going to carry on the first page. "

He held up a sheet of paper on which he had written with a view toeffective display the names of the four most offensive localcorporations with their contribution--$25, 000 each--to the campaignfund of the Citizens' Alliance. "Under it, in big type, " proceeded he, "we'll carry a line asking, 'Is the Citizens' Alliance fooling thesefour corporations or is it fooling the people?' I think that will bemore effective than columns of attack. "

"We ought to get that out on wall-bills and dodgers, " suggested Selma, "and deluge the town with it once or twice a week until election. "

"Splendid!" exclaimed Victor. "I'll make a practical politician of youyet. "

Colman and Harbinger and Jocelyn and several others of the Leagueleaders came in one at a time, and the plan of campaign was developedin detail. But the force they chiefly relied upon was the influence oftheir twelve hundred men, their four or five thousand women and youngmen and girls, talking every day and evening, each man or woman oryouth with those with whom he came into contact. This "army ofeducation" was disciplined, was educated, knew just what arguments touse, had been cautioned against disputes, against arousing foolishantagonisms. The League had nothing to conceal, no object to gain butthe government of Remsen City by and for its citizens--well paved, welllighted, clean streets, sanitary houses, good and clean street carservice, honest gas, pure water, plenty of good schools--that first ofall. The "reform crowd"--the Citizens' Alliance--like every reformparty of the past, proposed to do practically the same things. But theLeague met this with: "Why should we elect an upper class government todo for us what we ought to do for ourselves? And how can they redeemtheir promises when they are tied up in a hundred ways to the verypeople who have been robbing and cheating us?"

There were to be issues of the New Day; there were to be posters anddodgers, public meetings in halls, in squares, on street corners. Butthe main reliance now as always was this educated "army ofeducation"--these six thousand missionaries, each one of them inresolute earnest and bent upon converting his neighbors on either side, and across the street as well. A large part of the time the leaderscould spare from making a living was spent in working at this army, inteaching it new arguments or better ways of presenting old arguments, in giving the enthusiasm, in talking with each individual soldier of itand raising his standard of efficiency. Nor could the employers ofthese soldiers of Victor Dorn's complain that they shirked their workfor politics. It was a fact that could not be denied that the membersof the Workingmen's League were far and away the best workers in RemsenCity, got the best pay, and earned it, drank less, took fewer days offon account of sickness. One of the sneers of the Kelly-House gang wasthat "those Dorn cranks think they are aristocrats, a little betterthan us common, ordinary laboring men. " And the sneer was not withouteffect. The truth was, Dorn and his associates had not picked out thebest of the working class and drawn it into the League, but had madethose who joined the League better workers, better family men, bettercitizens. 

"We are saying that the working class ought to run things, " Dorn saidagain and again in his talks, public and private. "Then, we've got toshow the community that we're fit to run things. That is why theLeague expels any man who shirks or is a drunkard or a crook or a badhusband and father. "

The great fight of the League--the fight that was keeping it frompower--was with the trades unions, which were run by secret agents ofthe Kelly-House oligarchy. Kelly and the Republican party ratherfavored "open shop" or "scab" labor--the right of an American to lethis labor to whom he pleased on what terms he pleased. The Kellyorators waxed almost tearful as they contemplated the outrage of anyinterference with the ancient liberty of the American citizen. Kellydisguised as House was a hot union man. He loathed the "scab. " Hejeered at the idea that a laborer ought to be at the mercy of thepowerful employer who could dictate his own terms, which the laborersmight not refuse under stress of hunger. Thus the larger part of the"free" labor in Remsen City voted with Kelly--was bought by him at somuch a head. The only organization it had was under the Kelly districtcaptains. Union labor was almost solidly Democratic--except inPresidential elections, when it usually divided on the tariff question. 

Although almost all the Leaguers were members of the unions, Kelly andHouse saw to it that they had no influence in union councils. That is, until recently Kelly-House had been able to accomplish this. But theywere seeing the approaching end of their domination. The "army ofeducation" was proving too powerful for them. And they felt that atthe coming election the decline of their power would beapparent--unless something drastic were done. 

They had attempted it in the riot. The riot had been a fizzle--thanksto the interposition of the personal ambition of the until thendespised "holy boy, " David Hull. Kelly, the shrewd, at once saw themark of the man of force. He resolved that Hull should be elected. Hehad intended simply to use him to elect Hugo Galland judge and to splitup the rest of the tickets in such a way that some Leaguers and somereformers would get in, would be powerless, would bring discredit andridicule upon their parties. But Hull was a man who could be useful;his cleverness in upsetting the plot against Dorn and turning all tohis advantage demonstrated that. Therefore, Hull should be elected andpassed up higher. It did not enter his calculations that Hull mightprove refractory, might really be all that he professed; he had talkedwith Davy, and while he had underestimated his intelligence, he knew hehad not misjudged his character. He knew that it was as easy to "deal"with the Hull stripe of honest, high minded men as it was difficult to"deal" with the Victor Dorn stripe. Hull he called a "sensiblefellow"; Victor Dorn he called a crank. But--he respected Dorn, whileHull he held in much such esteem as he held his cigar-holder and pocketknife, or Tony Rivers and Joe House. 

When Victor Dorn had first begun to educate and organize the people ofRemsen City, the boss industry was in its early form. That is, Kellyand House were really rivals in the collecting of big campaign funds byvarious forms of blackmail, in struggling for offices for themselvesand their followers, in levying upon vice and crime through the police. In these ways they made the money, the lion's share of which naturallyfell to them as leaders, as organizers of plunder. But that stage hadnow passed in Remsen City as it had passed elsewhere, and the bossindustry had taken a form far more difficult to combat. Kelly andHouse no longer especially cared whether Republican party or Democraticwon. Their business--their source of revenue--had ceased to be throughcarrying elections, had become a matter of skill in keeping the peoplemore or less evenly divided between the two "regular" parties, with anoccasional fake third party to discourage and bring into contemptreform movers and to make the people say, "Well, bad as they are, atleast the regulars aren't addle-headed, damn fools doing nothing exceptto make business bad. " Both Kelly and House were supported andenriched by the corporations and by big public contracting companiesand by real estate deals. Kelly still appropriated a large part of the"campaign fund. " House, in addition, took a share of the money raisedby the police from dives. But these sums were but a small part oftheir income, were merely pin money for their wives and children. 

Yet--at heart and in all sincerity Kelly was an ardent Republican andHouse was a ferocious Democrat. If you had asked either whatRepublican and Democrat meant he would have been as vague andunsatisfactory in his reply as would have been any of his followersbearing torch and oilcloth cape in political processions, with no hopeof gain--beyond the exquisite pleasure of making a shouting ass ofhimself in the most public manner. But for all that, Kelly was aRepublican and House a Democrat. It is not a strange, though it is aprofoundly mysterious, phenomenon, that of the priest who arranges thetrick mechanism of the god, yet being a devout believer, ready to diefor his "faith. "

Difficult though the task was of showing the average Remsen City manthat Republican and Democrat, Kelly and House, were one and the samething, and that thing a blood-sucking, blood-heavy leech upon hisveins--difficult though this task was, Victor Dorn knew that he hadabout accomplished it, when David Hull appeared. A new personality; aplausible personality, deceptive because self-deceiving--yet not sothoroughly self-deceived that it was in danger of hindering its ownambition. David Hull--just the kind of respectable, popular figureheadand cloak the desperate Kelly-House conspiracy needed. 

How far had the "army of education" prepared the people for seeingthrough this clever new fraud upon them? Victor Dorn could not judge. He hoped for the best; he was prepared for the worst. 

The better to think out the various problems of the new situation, complicated by his apparent debt of gratitude to Davy, Victor wentforth into the woods very early the next morning. He wandered far, butten o'clock found him walking in the path in the strip of woods nearthe high road along the upper side of the park. And when Jane Hastingsappeared, he was standing looking in the direction from which she wouldhave to come. It was significant of her state of mind that she hadgiven small attention to her dress that morning. Nor was she lookingher best in expression or in color. Her eyes and her skin suggested analmost sleepless night. 

He did not advance. She came rapidly as if eager to get over thatembarrassing space in which each could see the other, yet neither couldspeak without raising the voice. When she was near she said:

"You think you owe something to Davy Hull for what he did?"

"The people think so, " said he. "And that's the important thing. "

"Well--you owe him nothing, " pursued she. 

"Nothing that would interfere with the cause, " replied he. "And thatwould be true, no matter what he had done. "

"I mean he did nothing for you, " she explained. "I forgot to tell youyesterday. The whole thing was simply a move to further his ambition. I happened to be there when he talked with father and enlisted him. "

Victor laughed. "It was your father who put it through. I might haveknown!"

"At first I tried to interpose. Then--I stopped. " She stood beforehim with eyes down. "It came to me that for my own sake it would bebetter that you should lose this fall. It seemed to me that if you wonyou would be farther out of my reach. " She paused, went steadily on:"It was a bad feeling I had that you must not get anything except withmy help. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, " said he cheerfully. "You are your father's own daughter. "

"I love power, " said she. "And so do you. Only, being a woman, I'dstoop to things to get it, that a man--at least your sort of man--wouldscorn. Do you despise me for that? You oughtn't to. And you willteach me better. You can make of me what you please, as I told youyesterday. I only half meant it then. Now--it's true, through andthrough. "

Victor glanced round, saw near at hand the bench he was seeking. "Let'ssit down here, " said he. "I'm rather tired. I slept little and I'vebeen walking all morning. And you look tired, also. "

"After yesterday afternoon I couldn't sleep, " said she. 

When they were seated he looked at her with an expression that seemedto say: "I have thrown open the windows of my soul. Throw open yours;and let us look at each other as we are, and speak of things as theyare. " She suddenly flung herself against his breast and as he claspedher she said:

"No--no! Let's not reason coldly about things, Victor. Let'sfeel--let's LIVE!"

It was several minutes--and not until they had kissed manytimes--before he regained enough self-control to say: "This simplywill not do, Jane. How can we discuss things calmly? You sitthere"--he pushed her gently to one end of the bench--"and I'll sit atthis end. Now!"

"I love you, Victor! With your arms round me I am happy--and SOstrong!"

"With my arms round you I'm happy, I'll admit, " said he. "But--oh, soweak! I have the sense that I am doing wrong--that we are both doingwrong. "

"Why? Aren't you free?"

"No, I am not free. As I've told you, I belong to a cause--to acareer. "

"But I won't hinder you there. I'll help you. "

"Why go over that again? You know better--I know better. " Abruptly, "Your father--what time does he get home for dinner?"

"He didn't go down town to-day, " replied Jane. "He's not well--not atall well. "

Victor looked baffled. "I was about to propose that we go straight tohim. "

If he had been looking at Jane, he might have seen the fleeting flashof an expression that betrayed that she had suspected the object of hisinquiry. 

"You will not go with me to your father?"

"Not when he is ill, " said she. "If we told him, it might kill him. He has ambitions--what he regards as ambitions--for me. He admiresyou, but--he doesn't admire your ideas. "

"Then, " said Victor, following his own train of thought, "we must fightthis out between ourselves. I was hoping I'd have your father to helpme. I'm sure, as soon as you faced him with me, you'd realize thatyour feeling about me is largely a delusion. "

"And you?" said Jane softly. "Your feeling about me--the feeling thatmade you kiss me--was that delusion?"

"It was--just what you saw, " replied he, "and nothing more. The idea ofmarrying you--of living my life with you doesn't attract me in theleast. I can't see you as my wife. " He looked at her impatiently. "Have you no imagination? Can't you see that you could not change, andbecome what you'd have to be if you lived with me?"

"You can make of me what you please, " repeated she with lovingobstinacy. 

"That is not sincere!" cried he. "You may think it is, but it isn't. Look at me, Jane. "

"I haven't been doing anything else since we met, " laughed she. 

"That's better, " said he. "Let's not be solemn. Solemnity is pose, and when people are posing they get nowhere. You say I can make of youwhat I please. Do you mean that you are willing to become a woman ofmy class--to be that all your life--to bring up your children in thatway--to give up your fashionable friends--and maid--and carriages--andParis clothes--to be a woman who would not make my associates and theirfamilies uncomfortable and shy?"

She was silent. She tried to speak, but lifting her eyes before shebegan her glance encountered his and her words died upon her lips. 

"You know you did not mean that, " pursued he. "Now, I'll tell you whatyou did mean. You meant that after you and I were married--orengaged--perhaps you did not intend to go quite so far as marriage justyet. "

The color crept into her averted face. 

"Look at me!" he commanded laughingly. 

With an effort she forced her eyes to meet his. 

"Now--smile, Jane!"

His smile was contagious. The curve of her lips changed; her eyesgleamed. 

"Am I not reading your thoughts?" said he. 

"You are very clever, Victor, " admitted she. 

"Good. We are getting on. You believed that, once we were engaged, Iwould gradually begin to yield, to come round to your way of thinking. You had planned for me a career something like Davy Hull's--only freerand bolder. I would become a member of your class, but would pose as arepresentative of the class I had personally abandoned. Am I right?"

"Go on, Victor, " she said. 

"That's about all. Now, there are just two objections to your plan. The first is, it wouldn't work. My associates would be 'on to' me in avery short time. They are shrewd, practical, practically educatedmen--not at all the sort that follow Davy Hull or are wearing Kelly'sand House's nose rings. In a few months I'd find myself a leaderwithout a following--and what is more futile and ridiculous than that?"

"They worship you, " said Jane. "They trust you implicitly. They knowthat whatever you did would be for their good. "

He laughed heartily. "How little you know my friends, " said he. "I amtheir leader only because I am working with them, doing what we all seemust be done, doing it in the way in which we all see it must be done. "

"But THAT is not power!" cried Jane. 

"No, " replied Victor. "But it is the career I wish--the only one I'dhave. Power means that one's followers are weak or misled or ignorant. To be first among equals--that's worth while. The other thing is thepoor tawdriness that kings and bosses crave and that shallow, snobbishpeople admire. "

"I see that, " said Jane. "At least, I begin to see it. How wonderfulyou are!"

Victor laughed. "Is it that I know so much, or is it that you know solittle?"

"You don't like for me to tell you that I admire you?" said Jane, subtle and ostentatiously timid. 

"I don't care much about it one way or the other, " replied Victor, whohad, when he chose, a rare ability to be blunt without being rude. "Years ago, for my own safety, I began to train myself to care littlefor any praise or blame but my own, and to make myself a very searchingcritic of myself. So, I am really flattered only when I win my ownpraise--and I don't often have that pleasure. "

"Really, I don't see why you bother with me, " said she with slyinnocence--which was as far as she dared let her resentments go. 

"For two reasons, " replied he promptly. "It flatters me that you areinterested in me. The second reason is that, when I lost control ofmyself yesterday, I involved myself in certain responsibilities to you. It has seemed to me that I owe it to myself and to you to make you seethat there is neither present nor future in any relations between us. "

She put out her hand, and before he knew what he was doing he hadclasped it. With a gentle, triumphant smile she said: "THERE'S theanswer to all your reasoning, Victor. "

He released her hand. "AN answer, " he said, "but not the correctanswer. " He eyed her thoughtfully. "You have done me a greatservice, " he went on. "You have shown me an unsuspected, a dangerousweakness in myself. At another time--and coming in another way, Imight have made a mess of my career--and of the things that have beenentrusted to me. " A long pause, then he added, to himself rather thanto her, "I must look out for that. I must do something about it. "

Jane turned toward him and settled herself in a resolute attitude andwith a resolute expression. "Victor, " she said, "I've listened to youvery patiently. Now I want you to listen to me. What is the truthabout us? Why, that we are as if we had been made for each other. Idon't know as much as you do. I've led a much narrower life. I'vebeen absurdly mis-educated. But as soon as I saw you I felt that I hadfound the man I was looking for. And I believe--I feel--I KNOW youwere drawn to me in the same way. Isn't that so?"

"You--fascinated me, " confessed he. "You--or your clothes--or yourperfume. "

"Explain it as you like, " said she. "The fact remains that we weredrawn together. Well--Victor, _I_ am not afraid to face the future, asfate maps it out for us. Are you?"

He did not answer. 

"You--AFRAID, " she went on. "No--you couldn't be afraid. "

A long silence. Then he said abruptly: "IF we loved each other. ButI know that we don't. I know that you would hate me when you realizedthat you couldn't move me. And I know that I should soon get over theinfatuation for you. As soon as it became a question ofsympathies--common tastes--congeniality--I'd find you hopelesslylacking. "

She felt that he was contrasting her with some one else--with a certainsome one. And she veiled her eyes to hide their blazing jealousy. Amovement on his part made her raise them in sudden alarm. He hadrisen. His expression told her that the battle was lost--for the day. Never had she loved him as at that moment, and never had longing topossess him so dominated her willful, self-indulgent, spoiled nature. Yet she hated him, too; she longed to crush him, to make him suffer--torepay him with interest for the suffering he was inflicting uponher--the humiliation. But she dared not show her feelings. It wouldbe idle to try upon this man any of the coquetries indicated for suchcases--to dismiss him coldly, or to make an appeal through anexhibition of weakness or reckless passion. 

"You will see the truth, for yourself, as you think things over, " saidhe. 

She rose, stood before him with downcast eyes, with mouth sad andsweet. "No, " she said, "It's you who are hiding the truth fromyourself. I hope--for both our sakes--that you'll see it before long. Good-by--dear. " She stretched out her hand. 

Hesitatingly he took it. As their hands met, her pulse beating againsthis, she lifted her eyes. And once more he was holding her close, waskissing her. And she was lying in his arms unresisting, with two largetears shining in the long lashes of her closed eyes. 

"Oh, Jane--forgive me!" he cried, releasing her. "I must keep awayfrom you. I will--I WILL!" And he was rushing down the steepslope--direct, swift, relentless. But she, looking after him with atender, dreamy smile, murmured: "He loves me. He will come again. Ifnot--I'll go and get him!"

To Jane Victor Dorn's analysis of his feeling toward her and of thereasons against yielding to it seemed of no importance whatever. Sideby side with Selma's "One may not trifle with love" she would have put"In matters of love one does not reason, " as equally axiomatic. Victorwas simply talking; love would conquer him as it had conquered everyman and every woman it had ever entered. Love--blind, unreasoning, irresistible--would have its will and its way. 

And about most men she would have been right--about any manpractically, of the preceding generation. But Victor represented a newtype of human being--the type into whose life reason enters not merelyas a theoretical force, to be consulted and disregarded, but as anauthority, a powerful influence, dominant in all crucial matters. Onlyin our own time has science begun to make a notable impression upon thefog which formerly lay over the whole human mind, thicker here, thinnerthere, a mere haze yonder, but present everywhere. This fog made clearvision impossible, usually made seeing of any kind difficult; there wasno such thing as finding a distinct line between truth and error as toany subject. And reason seemed almost as faulty a guide asfeeling--was by many regarded as more faulty, not without justification. 

But nowadays for some of us there are clear or almost clear horizons, and such fog banks as there are conceal from them nothing that is ofimportance in shaping a rational course of life. Victor Dorn was oneof these emancipated few. All successful men form their lives upon asystem of some kind. Even those who seem to live at haphazard, likethe multitude, prove to have chart and compass and definite port inobjective when their conduct is more attentively examined. VictorDorn's system was as perfect as it was simple, and he held himself toit as rigidly as the father superior of a Trappist monastery holds hismonks to their routine. Also, Victor had learned to know and to be onguard against those two arch-enemies of the man who wishes to "getsomewhere"--self-excuse and optimism. He had got a good strong leashupon his vanity--and a muzzle, too. When things went wrong heinstantly blamed HIMSELF, and did not rest until he had ferreted outthe stupidity or folly of which HE had been guilty. He did not grieveover his failures; he held severely scientific post mortems upon themto discover the reason why--in order that there should not again bethat particular kind of failure at least. Then, as to the otherarch-enemy, optimism, he simply cut himself off from indulgence in it. He worked for success; he assumed failure. He taught himself to carenothing about success, but only about doing as intelligently and asthoroughly as he could the thing next at hand. 

What has all this to do with his infatuation for Jane? It serves toshow not only why the Workingmen's League was growing like a plague ofgypsy moth, but also why Victor Dorn was not the man to be conquered bypassion. Naturally, Jane, who had only the vaguest conception of thesize and power of Victor Dorn's mind, could not comprehend wherein laythe difference between him and the men she read about in novels or metin her wanderings among the people of her own class in various parts ofthe earth. It is possible for even the humblest of us to understandgenius, just as it is possible to view a mountain from all sides andget a clear idea of it bulk and its dominion. But the hasty travelercontents himself with a glance, a "How superb, " and a quick passing on;and most of us are hasty travelers in the scenic land ofintellectuality. Jane saw that he was a great man. But she wasdeceived by his frankness and his simplicity. She evoked in him onlythe emotional side of his nature, only one part of that. 

Because it--the only phase of him she attentively examined--was soimpressive, she assumed that it was the chief feature of the man. 

Also, young and inexperienced women--and women not so young, and withopportunity to become less inexperienced but without the ability tolearn by experience--always exaggerate the importance of passion. Almost without exception, it is by way of passion that a man and awoman approach each other. It is, of necessity, the exterior thatfirst comes into view. Thus, all that youth and inexperience can knowabout love is its aspect of passion. Because Jane had again and againin her five grown-up years experienced men falling passionately in lovewith her, she fancied she was an expert in matters of love. In fact, she had still everything to learn. 

On the way home she, assuming that the affair was as good as settled, that she and Victor Dorn were lovers, was busy with plans for thefuture. Victor Dorn had made a shrewd guess at the state of her mind. She had no intention of allowing him to pursue his present career. That was merely foundation. With the aid of her love and council, andof her father's money and influence, he--he and she--would mount tosomething really worth while--something more than the petty politics ofa third rate city in the West. Washington was the proper arena for histalents; they would take the shortest route to Washington. No troubleabout bringing him around; a man so able and so sensible as he wouldnot refuse the opportunity to do good on a grand scale. Besides--hemust be got away from his family, from these doubtless good and kindbut certainly not very high class associates of his, and from SelmaGordon. The idea of his comparing HER with Selma Gordon! He had notdone so aloud, but she knew what was in his mind. Yes, he must betaken far away from all these provincial and narrowing associations. 

But all this was mere detail. The big problem was how to bring herfather round. He couldn't realize what Victor Dorn would be after shehad taken him in hand. He would see only Victor Dorn, the laboragitator of Remsen City, the nuisance who put mischievous motives intothe heads of "the hands"--the man who made them think they had headswhen they were intended by the Almighty to be simply hands. Howreconcile him to the idea of accepting this nuisance, this poor, common member of the working class as a son-in-law, as the husband ofthe daughter he wished to see married to some one of the "best"families?

On the face of it, the thing was impossible. Why, then, did not Janedespair? For two reasons. In the first place, she was in love, andthat made her an optimist. Somehow love would find the way. But thesecond reason--the one she hid from herself deep in the darkestsub-cellar of her mind, was the real reason. It is one matter to wishfor a person's death. Only a villainous nature can harbor such a wish, can admit it except as a hastily and slyly in-crawling impulse, to beflung out the instant it is discovered. It is another matter tocalculate--very secretly, very unconsciously--upon a death that seemsinevitable anyhow. Jane had only to look at her father to feel that hewould not be spared to her long. The mystery was how he had kept aliveso long, how he continued to live from day to day. His stomach wasgone; his whole digestive apparatus was in utter disorder. His bodyhad shriveled until he weighed no more than a baby. His pulse was sofeeble that even in the hot weather he complained of the cold and hadto be wrapped in the heaviest winter garments. Yet he lived on, and hismind worked with undiminished vigor. 

When Jane reached home, the old man was sitting on the veranda in thefull sun. On his huge head was a fur cap pulled well down over hisears and intensifying the mortuary, skull-like appearance of his face. Over his ulster was an old-fashioned Scotch shawl such as men used towear in the days before overcoats came into fashion. About his wastedlegs was wrapped a carriage robe, and she knew that there was ahot-water bag under his feet. Beside him sat young Doctor Charlton, whom Jane had at last succeeded in inducing her father to try. Charlton did not look or smell like a doctor. He rather suggested aprofessional athlete, perhaps a better class prize fighter. Theweazened old financier was gazing at him with a fascinatedexpression--admiring, envious, amused. 

Charlton was saying:

"Yes, you do look like a dead one. But that's only another of yourtricks for fooling people. You'll live a dozen years unless you commitsuicide. A dozen years? Probably twenty. "

"You ought to be ashamed to make sport of a poor old invalid, " saidHastings with a grin. 

"Any man who could stand a lunch of crackers and milk for ten yearscould outlive anything, " retorted Charlton. "No, you belong to the oldstock. You used to see 'em around when you were a boy. They usuallycoughed and wheezed, and every time they did it, the family used to getready to send for the undertaker. But they lived on and on. When didyour mother die?"

"Couple of years ago, " said Hastings. 

"And your father?"

"He was killed by a colt he was breaking at sixty-seven. "

Charlton laughed uproariously. "If you took walks and rides instead ofalways sitting round, you never would die, " said he. "But you're likelots of women I know. You'd rather die than take exercise. Still, I've got you to stop that eating that was keeping you on the verge allthe time. "

"You're trying to starve me to death, " grumbled Hastings. 

"Don't you feel better, now that you've got used to it and don't feelhungry?"

"But I'm not getting any nourishment. "

"How would eating help you? You can't digest any more than what I'mallowing you. Do you think you were better off when you were full ofrotting food? I guess not. "

"Well--I'm doing as you say, " said the old man resignedly. 

"And if you keep it up for a year, I'll put you on a horse. If youdon't keep it up, you'll find yourself in a hearse. "

Jane stood silently by, listening with a feeling of depression whichshe could not have accounted for, if she would--and would not if shecould. Not that she wished her father to die; simply that Charlton'sconfidence in his long life forced her to face the onlyalternative--bringing him round to accept Victor Dorn. 

At her father's next remark she began to listen with a high beatingheart. He said to Charlton:

"How about that there friend of yours--that young Dorn? You ain'ttalked about him to-day as much as usual. "

"The last time we talked about him we quarreled, " said Charlton. "It'sirritating to see a man of your intelligence a slave to sillyprejudices. "

"I like Victor Dorn, " replied Hastings in a most conciliatory tone. "Ithink he's a fine young man. Didn't I have him up here at my house notlong ago? Jane'll tell you that I like him. She likes him, too. Butthe trouble with him--and with you, too--is that you're dreaming allthe time. You don't recognize facts. And, so, you make a lot oftrouble for us conservative men. "

"Please don't use that word conservative, " said Charlton. "It gags meto hear it. YOU'RE not a conservative. If you had been you'd still bea farm hand. You've been a radical all your life--changing thingsround and round, always according to your idea of what was to youradvantage. The only difference between radicals like you robberfinanciers and radicals like Victor and me is that our ideas of what'sto our advantage differ. To you life means money; to us it meanshealth and comfort and happiness. You want the world changed--lawsupset, liberty destroyed, wages lowered, and so on--so that you can getall the money. We want the world changed so that we can be healthy andcomfortable and happy--securely so--which we can't be unless everybodyis, or is in the way to being. "

Jane was surprised to see that her father, instead of being offended, was amused and pleased. He liked his new doctor so well that he likedeverything he said and did. Jane looked at Charlton in her friendliestway. Here might be an ally, and a valuable ally. 

"Human nature doesn't change, " said Hastings in the tone of a man whois stating that which cannot be disputed. 

"The mischief it doesn't, " said Charlton in prompt and vigorousdissent. "When conditions change, human nature has to change, has toadapt itself. What you mean is that human nature doesn't changeitself. But conditions change it. They've been changing it veryrapidly these last few years. Science--steam, electricity, a thousandinventions and discoveries, crowding one upon another--science hasbrought about entirely new and unprecedented conditions so rapidly thatthe changes in human nature now making and that must be made in thenext few years are resulting in a series of convulsions. Youold-fashioned fellows--and the political parties and thepoliticians--are in danger of being stranded. Leaders like VictorDorn--movements like our Workingmen's League--they seem new and radicalto-day. By to-morrow they'll be the commonplace thing, foundeverywhere--and administering the public affairs. "

Jane was not surprised to see an expression of at least partialadmission upon her father's face. Charlton's words were of the kindthat set the imagination to work, that remind those who hear of athousand and one familiar related facts bearing upon the same points. "Well, " said Hastings, "I don't expect to see any radical changes in mytime. "

"Then you'll not live as long as I think, " said Charlton. "WeAmericans advance very slowly because this is a big country andundeveloped, and because we shift about so much that no one stays inone place long enough to build up a citizenship and get an education inpolitics--which is nothing more or less than an education in the art ofliving. But slow though we are, we do advance. You'll soon see thelast of Boss Kelly and Boss House--and of such gentle, amiable fraudsas our friend Davy Hull. "

Jane laughed merrily. "Why do you call him a fraud?" she asked. 

"Because he is a fraud, " said Charlton. "He is trying to confuse theissue. He says the whole trouble is petty dishonesty in public life. Bosh! The trouble is that the upper and middle classes are milking thelower class--both with and without the aid of the various governments, local, state and national. THAT'S the issue. And the reason it isbeing forced is because the lower class, the working class, is slowlyawakening to the truth. When it completely awakens----" Charlton madea large gesture and laughed. 

"What then?" said Hastings. 

"The end of the upper and the middle classes. Everybody will have towork for a living. "

"Who's going to be elected this fall?" asked Jane. "Your man?"

"Yes, " said Doctor Charlton. "Victor Dorn thinks not. But he alwaystakes the gloomy view. And he doesn't meet and talk with the fellowson the other side, as I do. "

Hastings was looking out from under the vizor of his cap with apeculiar grin. It changed to a look of startled inquiry as Charltonwent on to say:

"Yes, we'll win. But the Davy Hull gang will get the offices. "

"Why do you think that?" asked old Hastings sharply. 

Charlton eyed his patient with a mocking smile. "You didn't think anyone knew but you and Kelly--did you?" laughed he. 

"Knew what?" demanded Hastings, with a blank stare. 

"No matter, " said Charlton. "I know what you intend to do. Well, you'll get away with the goods. But you'll wish you hadn't. Youold-fashioned fellows, as I've been telling you, don't realize thattimes have changed. "

"Do you mean, Doctor, that the election is to be stolen away from you?"inquired Jane. 

"Was that what I meant, Mr. Hastings?" said Charlton. 

"The side that loses always shouts thief at the side that wins, " saidthe old man indifferently. "I don't take any interest in politics. "

"Why should you?" said the Doctor audaciously. "You own both sides. So, it's heads you win, tails I lose. "

Hastings laughed heartily. "Them political fellows are a lot ofblackmailers, " said he. 

"That's ungrateful, " said Charlton. "Still, I don't blame you forliking the Davy Hull crowd better. From them you can get what you wantjust the same, only you don't have to pay for it. "

He rose and stretched his big frame, with a disregard of conventionalgood manners so unconscious that it was inoffensive. 

But Charlton had a code of manners of his own, and somehow it seemed tosuit him where the conventional code would have made him seem cheap. "I didn't mean to look after your political welfare, too, " said he. "But I'll make no charge for that. "

"Oh, I like to hear you young fellows talk, " said Martin. "You'll singa different song when you're as old as I am and have found out what alot of damn fools the human race is. "

"As I told you before, " said Charlton, "it's conditions that make thehuman animal whatever it is. It's in the harness of conditions--thetreadmill of conditions--the straight jacket of conditions. Change theconditions and you change the animal. "

When he was swinging his big powerful form across the lawns toward thefringe of woods, Jane and her father looking after him, Jane said:

"He's wonderfully clever, isn't he?"

"A dreamer--a crank, " replied the old man. 

"But what he says sounds reasonable, " suggested the daughter. 

"It SOUNDS sensible, " admitted the old man peevishly. "But it ain'twhat _I_ was brought up to call sensible. Don't you get none of thosefool ideas into your head. They're all very well for men that haven'tgot any property or any responsibilities--for flighty fellows likeCharlton and that there Victor Dorn. But as soon as anybody getsproperty and has interests to look after, he drops that kind of talk. "

"Do you mean that property makes a man too blind or too cowardly tospeak the truth?" asked Jane with an air of great innocence. 

The old man either did not hear or had no answer ready. He said:

"You heard him say that Davy Hull was going to win?"

"Why, he said Victor Dorn was going to win, " said Jane, still simpleand guileless. 

Hastings frowned impatiently. "That was just loose talk. He admittedDavy was to be the next mayor. If he is--and I expect Charlton wasabout right--if Davy is elected, I shouldn't be surprised to see himnominated for governor next year. He's a sensible, knowing fellow. He'll make a good mayor, and he'll be elected governor on his record. "

"And on what you and the other men who run things will do for him, "suggested Jane slyly. 

Her father grinned expressively. "I like to see a sensible, ambitiousyoung fellow from my town get on, " said he. "And I'd like to see mygirl married to a fellow of that sort, and settled. "

"I think more could be done with a man like Victor Dorn, " said Jane. "It seems to me the Davy Hull sort of politics is--is about played out. Don't you think so?"

Jane felt that her remark was a piece of wild audacity. But she wasdesperate. To her amazement her father did not flare up but keptsilent, wearing the look she knew meant profound reflection. 

After a moment he said:

"Davy's a knowing boy. He showed that the other day when he jumped inand made himself a popular hero. He'd never 'a' been able to comeanywheres near election but for that. Dorn'd 'a' won by a vote so bigthat Dick Kelly wouldn't 'a' dared even try to count him out. .. . Dorn's a better man than Davy. But Dorn's got a foolish streak in him. He believes the foolishness he talks, instead of simply talking it togain his end. I've been looking him over and thinking him over. Hewon't do, Jinny. "

Was her father discussing the matter abstractly, impersonally, as heseemed? Or, had he with that uncanny shrewdness of his somehowpenetrated to her secret--or to a suspicion of it? Jane was soagitated that she sat silent and rigid, trying to look unconcerned. 

"I had a strong notion to try to do something for him, " continued theold man. "But it'd be no use. He'd not rise to a chance that wasoffered him. He's set on going his own way. "

Jane trembled--dared. "I believe _I_ could do something with him, "said she--and she was pleased with the coolness of her voice, thecomplete absence of agitation or of false note. 

"Try if you like, " said her father. "But I'm sure you'll find I'mright. Be careful not to commit yourself in any way. But I needn'twarn you. You know how to take care of yourself. Still, maybe youdon't realize how set up he'd be over being noticed by a girl in yourposition. And if you gave him the notion that there was a chance forhim to marry you, he'd be after you hammer and tongs. The idea ofgetting hold of so much money'd set him crazy. "

"I doubt if he cares very much--or at all--about money, " said Jane, judicially. 

Hastings grinned satirically. "There ain't nobody that don't careabout money, " said he, "any more than there's anybody that don't careabout air to breathe. Put a pin right there, Jinny. "

"I hate to think that, " she said, reluctantly, "but I'mafraid--it's--so. "

As she was taking her ride one morning she met David Hull also onhorseback and out for his health. He turned and they rode together, for several miles, neither breaking the silence except with anoccasional remark about weather or scenery. Finally Davy said:

"You seem to be down about something, too?"

"Not exactly down, " replied Jane. "Simply--I've been doing a lot ofthinking--and planning--or attempt at planning--lately. "

"I, too, " said Davy. 

"Naturally. How's politics?"

"Of course I don't hear anything but that I'm going to be elected. Ifyou want to become convinced that the whole world is on the graft, takepart in a reform campaign. We've attracted every broken-down politicalcrook in this region. It's hard to say which crowd is the moreworthless, the college amateurs at politics or these rotten oldin-goods who can't get employment with either Kelly or House and, so, have joined us. By Jove, I'd rather be in with the out and outgrafters--the regulars that make no bones of being in politics for thespoils. There's slimy hypocrisy over our crowd that revolts me. Not aparticle of sincerity or conviction. Nothing but high moral guff. "

"Oh, but YOU'RE sincere, Davy, " said Jane with twinkling eyes. 

"Am I?" said Davy angrily. "I'm not so damn sure of it. " Hastily, "Idon't mean that. Of course, I'm sincere--as sincere as a man can beand get anywhere in this world. You've got to humbug the people, because they haven't sense enough to want the truth. "

"I guess, Davy, " said Jane shrewdly, "if you told them the whole truthabout yourself and your party they'd have sense enough--to vote forVictor Dorn. "

"He's a demagogue, " said Davy with an angry jerk at his rein. "He knowsthe people aren't fit to rule. "

"Who is?" said Jane. "I've yet to see any human creature who could runanything without making more or less of a mess of it. And--well, personally, I'd prefer incompetent honest servants to competent oneswho were liars or thieves. "

"Sometimes I think, " said Davy, "that the only thing to do is to burnthe world up and start another one. "

"You don't talk like a man who expected to be elected, " said Jane. 

"Oh--I'm worrying about myself--not about the election, " said Hull, lapsing into sullen silence. And certainly he had no reason to worryabout the election. He had the Citizen's Alliance and the Democraticnominations. And, as a further aid to him, Dick Kelly had given theRepublican nomination to Alfred Sawyer, about the most unpopularmanufacturer in that region. Sawyer, a shrewd money maker, was an assin other ways, was strongly seized of the itch for public office. Kelly, seeking the man who would be the weakest, combined business withgood politics; he forced Sawyer to pay fifty thousand dollars into the"campaign fund" in a lump sum, and was counting confidently upon"milking" him for another fifty thousand in installments during thecampaign. Thus, in the natural order of things, Davy could safelyassume that he would be the next mayor of Remsen City by a gratifyinglylarge majority. The last vote of the Workingmen's League had been madefifteen hundred. Though it should quadruple its strength at the comingelection--which was most improbable--it would still be a badly beatensecond. Politically, Davy was at ease. 

Jane waited ten minutes, then asked abruptly:

"What's become of Selma Gordon?"

"Did you see this week's New Day?"

"Is it out? I've seen no one, and haven't been down town. "

"There was a lot of stuff in it against me. Most of it demagoguing, ofcourse, but more or less hysterical campaigning. The only nasty articleabout me--a downright personal attack on my sincerity--was signed'S. G. '"

"Oh--to be sure, " said Jane, with smiling insincerity. "I had almostforgotten what you told me. Well, it's easy enough to bribe her tosilence. Go offer yourself to her. "

A long silence, then Davy said: "I don't believe she'd accept me. "

"Try it, " said Jane. 

Again a long pause. David said sullenly: "I did. "

Selma Gordon had refused David Hull! Half a dozen explanations of thisastounding occurrence rapidly suggested themselves. Jane rejected eachin turn at a glance. "You're sure she understood you?"

"I made myself as clear as I did when I proposed to you, " replied Davywith a lack of tact which a woman of Jane's kind would never forget orforgive. 

Jane winced, ignored. Said she: "You must have insisted on someconditions she hesitated to accept. "

"On her own terms, " said Davy. 

Jane gave up trying to get the real reason from him, sought it inSelma's own words and actions. She inquired: "What did she say? Whatreason did she give?"

"That she owed it to the cause of her class not to marry a man of myclass, " answered Hull, believing that he was giving the exact and theonly reason she assigned or had. 

Jane gave a faint smile of disdain. "Women don't act from a sense ofduty, " she said. 

"She's not the ordinary woman, " said Hull. "You must remember shewasn't brought up as you and I were--hasn't our ideas of life. Thethings that appeal to us most strongly don't touch her. She knowsnothing about them. " He added, "And that's her great charm for me. "

Jane nodded sympathetically. Her own case exactly. After a briefhesitation she suggested:

"Perhaps Selma's in love with--some one else. " The pause before thevague "some one else" was almost unnoticeable. 

"With Victor Dorn, you mean?" said Davy. "I asked her about that. No, she's not in love with him. "

"As if she'd tell you!"

Davy looked at her a little scornfully. "Don't insinuate, " he said. "You know she would. There's nothing of the ordinary tricky, evasive, faking woman about her. And although she's got plenty of excuse forbeing conceited, she isn't a bit so. She isn't always thinking aboutherself, like the girls of our class. "

"I don't in the least wonder at your being in love with her, Davy, "said Jane sweetly. "Didn't I tell you I admired your taste--and yourcourage?"

"You're sneering at me, " said Davy. "All the same, it did takecourage--for I'm a snob at bottom--like you--like all of us who've beenbrought up so foolishly--so rottenly. But I'm proud that I had thecourage. I've had a better opinion of myself ever since. And if youhave any unspoiled womanhood in you, you agree with me. "

"I do agree with you, " said Jane softly. She reached out and laid herhand on his arm for an instant. "That's honest, Davy. "

He gave her a grateful look. "I know it, " said he. "The reason Iconfide things to you is because I know you're a real woman at bottom, Jane--the only real person I've ever happened across in our class. "

"It took more courage for you to do that sort of thing than it wouldfor a woman, " said Jane. "It's more natural, easier for a woman tostake everything in love. If she hasn't the man she wants she hasn'tanything, while a man's wife can be a mere detail in his life. He canforget he's married, most of the time. "

"That isn't the way I intend to be married, " said Davy. "I want a wifewho'll be half, full half, of the whole. And I'll get her. "

"You mean you haven't given up?"

"Why should I? She doesn't love another man. So, there's hope. Don'tyou think so?"

Jane was silent. She hastily debated whether it would be wiser to sayyes or to say no. 

"Don't you think so?" repeated he. 

"How can I tell?" replied Jane, diplomatically. "I'd have to see herwith you--see how she feels toward you. "

"I think she likes me, " said Davy, "likes me a good deal. "

Jane kept her smile from the surface. What a man always thought, nomatter how plainly a woman showed that she detested him. "No doubt shedoes, " said Jane. She had decided upon a course of action. "If I wereyou, Davy, I'd keep away from her for the present--give her time tothink it over, to see all the advantages. If a man forces himself on aqueer, wild sort of girl such as Selma is, he's likely to drive herfurther away. "

Davy reflected. "Guess you're right, " said he finally. "My instinctis always to act--to keep on acting until I get results. But it'sdangerous to do that with Selma. At least, I think so. I don't know. I don't understand her. I've got nothing to offer her--nothing thatshe wants--as she frankly told me. Even if she loved me, I doubt ifshe'd marry me--on account of her sense of duty. What you said awhileago--about women never doing things from a sense of duty--that showshow hard it is for a woman to understand what's perfectly simple to aman. Selma isn't the sheltered woman sort--the sort whose moralobligations are all looked after by the men of her family. Theold-fashioned woman always belonged to some man--or else was anoutcast. This new style of woman looks at life as a man does. "

Jane listened with a somewhat cynical expression. No doubt, in theory, there was a new style of woman. But practically, the new style of womanmerely TALKED differently; at least, she was still the old-fashionedwoman, longing for dependence upon some man and indifferent to theobligations men made such a fuss about--probably not so sincerely asthey fancied. But her expression changed when Davy went on to say:

"She'd look at a thing of that sort much as I--or Victor Dorn would. "

Jane's heart suddenly sank. Because the unconscious blow had hurt shestruck out, struck back with the first weapon she could lay hold of. "But you said a minute ago that Victor was a hypocritical demagogue. "

Davy flushed with confusion. He was in a franker mood now, however. "I'd like to think that, " he replied. "But I don't honestly believeit. "

"You think that if Victor Dorn loved a woman of our class he'd put herout of his life?"

"That's hardly worth discussing, " said Davy. "No woman of ourclass--no woman he'd be likely to look at--would encourage him to thepoint where he'd presume upon it. "

"How narrow you are!" cried Jane, derisive but even more angry. 

"It's different--entirely different--with a man, even in our class. But a woman of our class--she's a lady or she's nothing at all. And alady couldn't be so lacking in refinement as to descend to a mansocially beneath her. "

"I can see how ANY woman might fall in love with Victor Dorn. "

"You're just saying that to be argumentative, " said Davy withconviction. "Take yourself, for example. "

"I confess I don't see any such contrast between Victor and you--exceptwhere the comparison's altogether in his favor, " said Jane pleasantly. "You don't know as much as he does. You haven't the independence ofcharacter--or the courage--or the sincerity. You couldn't be a realleader, as he is. You have to depend on influence, and on trickery. "

A covert glance at the tall, solemn-looking young man riding silentlybeside her convinced her that he was as uncomfortable as she had hopedto make him. 

"As for manners--and the things that go to make a gentleman, " she wenton, "I'm not sure but that there, too, the comparison is against you. You always suggest to me that if you hadn't the pattern set for men ofour class and didn't follow it, you'd be absolutely lost, Davy, dear. While Victor--he's a fine, natural person, with the manners that growas naturally out of his personality as oak leaves grow out of an oak. "

Jane was astonished and delighted by this eloquence of hers about theman she loved--an eloquence far above her usual rather commonplace modeof speech and thought. Love was indeed an inspirer! What a person shewould become when she had Victor always stimulating her. She went on:

"A woman would never grow tired of Victor. He doesn't talk stale stuffsuch as all of us get from the stale little professors and stale, dreary text-books at our colleges. "

"Why don't you fall in love with him?" said Davy sourly. 

"I do believe you're envious of Victor Dorn, " retorted Jane. 

"What a disagreeable mood you're in to-day, " said Davy. 

"So a man always thinks when a woman speaks well of another man in hispresence. "

"I didn't suspect you of being envious of Selma. Why should yoususpect me of feeling ungenerously about Victor? Fall in love with himif you like. Heaven knows, I'd do nothing to stop it. "

"Perhaps I shall, " said Jane, with unruffled amiability. "You'resetting a dangerous example of breaking down class lines. "

"Now, Jane, you know perfectly well that while, if I married Selmashe'd belong to my class, a woman of our class marrying Victor Dornwould sink to his class. Why quarrel about anything so obviously true?"

"Victor Dorn belongs to a class by himself, " replied Jane. "You forgetthat men of genius are not regarded like you poor ordinary mortals. "

Davy was relieved that they had reached the turning at which they hadto separate. "I believe you are in love with him, " said he as aparting shot. 

Jane, riding into her lane, laughed gayly, mockingly. She arrived athome in fine humor. It pleased her that Davy, for all his love forSelma, could yet be jealous of Victor Dorn on her account. And morethan ever, after this talk with him--the part of it that preceded thequarrel--she felt that she was doing a fine, brave, haughtilyaristocratic thing in loving Victor Dorn. Only a woman with a royalsoul would venture to be thus audacious. 

Should she encourage or discourage the affair between Davy and Selma?There was much to be said for this way of removing Selma from her path;also, if a man of Davy Hull's position married beneath him, less wouldbe thought of her doing the same thing. On the other hand, she feltthat she had a certain property right in David Hull, and that Selma wastaking what belonged to her. This, she admitted to herself, was meanand small, was unworthy of the woman who was trying to be worthy ofVictor Dorn, of such love as she professed for him. Yes, mean andsmall. She must try to conquer it. 

But--when she met Selma in the woods a few mornings later, her dominantemotions were anything but high-minded and generous. Selma was lookingher most fascinating--wild and strange and unique. They caught sightof each other at the same instant. Jane came composedly on--Selma madea darting movement toward a by-path opening near her, hesitated, stoodlike some shy, lovely bird of the deep wilderness ready to fly awayinto hiding. 

"Hello, Selma!" said Jane carelessly. 

Selma looked at her with wide, serious eyes. 

"Where have you been keeping yourself of late? Busy with the writing, I suppose?"

"I owe you an apology, " said Selma, in a queer, suppressed voice. "Ihave been hating you, and trying to think of some way to keep you andVictor Dorn apart. I thought it was from my duty to the cause. I'vefound out that it was a low, mean personal reason. "

Jane had stopped short, was regarding her with eyes that glowed in apallid face. "Because you are in love with him?" she said. 

Selma gave a quick, shamed nod. "Yes, " she said--the sound wasscarcely audible. 

Selma's frank and generous--and confiding--self-sacrifice aroused noresponse in Jane Hastings. For the first time in her life she wasknowing what it meant to hate. 

"And I've got to warn you, " Selma went on, "that I am going to dowhatever I can to keep you from hindering him. Not because I love him, but because I owe it to the cause. He belongs to it, and I must helphim be single-hearted for it. You could only be a bad influence in hislife. I think you would like to be a sincere woman; but you can't. Your class is too strong for you. So--it would be wrong for Victor Dornto love and to marry you. I think he realizes it and is struggling tobe true to himself. I intend to help him, if I can. "

Jane smiled cruelly. "What hypocrisy!" she said, and turned and walkedaway. 

VIII

In America we have been bringing up our women like men, and treatingthem like children. They have active minds with nothing to act upon. Thus they are driven to think chiefly about themselves. With JaneHastings, self-centering took the form of self-analysis most of thetime. She was intensely interested in what she regarded as the newdevelopment of her character. This definite and apparently finaldecision for the narrow and the ungenerous. In fact, it was no newdevelopment, but simply a revelation to herself of her own realcharacter. She was seeing at last the genuine Jane Hastings, inevitable product of a certain heredity in a certain environment. Thehigh thinking and talking, the idealistic aspiration were pose andpretense. Jane Hastings was a selfish, self-absorbed person, ready todo almost any base thing to gain her ends, ready to hate to theuttermost any one who stood between her and her object. 

"I'm certainly not a lovely person--not a lovable person, " thought she, with that gentle tolerance wherewith we regard our ownselves, whetherin the dress of pretense or in the undress of deformed humanness. "Still--I am what I am, and I've got to make the best of it. "

As she thought of Selma's declaration of war she became less and lessdisturbed about it. Selma neither would nor could do anything sly. Whatever she attempted in the open would only turn Victor Dorn morestrongly toward herself. However, she must continue to try to see him, must go to see him in a few days if she did not happen upon him in herrides or walks. How poorly he would think of her if he knew the truthabout her! But then, how poor most women--and men, too--would look ina strong and just light. Few indeed could stand idealizing; exceptVictor, no one she knew. And he was human enough not to make heruncomfortable in his presence. 

But it so happened that before she could see Victor Dorn her fatherdisobeyed Dr. Charlton and gave way to the appetite that was the chiefcause of his physical woes. He felt so well that he ate the familydinner, including a peach cobbler with whipped cream, which even therobust Jane adventured warily. Martha was dining with them. Sheabetted her father. "It's light, " said she. "It couldn't harmanybody. "

"You mustn't touch it, popsy, " said Jane. 

She unthinkingly spoke a little too commandingly. Her father, in aperverse and reckless mood, took Martha's advice. An hour later Dr. Charlton was summoned, and had he not arrived promptly----

"Another fifteen or twenty minutes, " said he to the old man when he hadhim out of immediate danger, "and I'd have had nothing to do but sign acertificate of natural death. "

"Murder would have been nearer the truth, " said Martin feebly. "Thatthere fool Martha!"

"Come out from behind that petticoat!" cried Charlton. "Didn't I spendthe best part of three days in giving you the correct ideas as tohealth and disease--in showing you that ALL disease comes fromindigestion--ALL disease, from falling hair and sore eyes to weakankles and corns? And didn't I convince you that you could eat onlythe things I told you about?"

"Don't hit a man when he's down, " groaned Hastings. 

"If I don't, you'll do the same idiotic trick again when I get youup--if I get you up. "

Hastings looked quickly at him. This was the first time Charlton hadever expressed a doubt about his living. "Do you mean that?" he saidhoarsely. "Or are you just trying to scare me?"

"Both, " said Charlton. "I'll do my best, but I can't promise. I'velost confidence in you. No wonder doctors, after they've been inpractice a few years, stop talking food and digestion to theirpatients. I've never been able to convince a single human being thatappetite is not the sign of health, and yielding to it the way tohealth. But I've made lots of people angry and have lost their trade. I had hopes of you. You were such a hopeless wreck. But no. And youcall yourself an intelligent man!"

"I'll never do it again, " said Hastings, pleading, but smiling, too--Charlton's way of talking delighted him. 

"You think this is a joke, " said Charlton, shaking his bullet head. "Have you any affairs to settle? If you have, send for your lawyer inthe morning. "

Fear--the Great Fear--suddenly laid its icy long fingers upon thethroat of the old man. He gasped and his eyes rolled. "Don't triflewith me, Charlton, " he muttered. "You know you will pull me through. "

"I'll do my best, " said Charlton. "I promise nothing. I'm seriousabout the lawyer. "

"I don't want no lawyer hanging round my bed, " growled the old man. "It'd kill me. I've got nothing to settle. I don't run things withloose ends. And there's Jinny and Marthy and the boy--share and sharealike. "

"Well--you're in no immediate danger. I'll come early to-morrow. "

"Wait till I get to sleep. "

"You'll be asleep as soon as the light's down. But I'll stop a fewminutes and talk to your daughter. "

Charlton found Jane at the window in the dressing room next herfather's bedroom. He said loudly enough for the old man to overhear:

"Your father's all right for the present, so you needn't worry. Comedownstairs with me. He's to go to sleep now. "

Jane went in and kissed the bulging bony forehead. "Good night, popsy. "

"Good night, Jinny dear, " he said in a softer voice than she had everheard from him. "I'm feeling very comfortable now, and sleepy. Ifanything should happen, don't forget what I said about not temptin'your brother by trustin' him too fur. Look after your own affairs. Take Mr. Haswell's advice. He's stupid, but he's honest and carefuland safe. You might talk to Dr. Charlton about things, too. He'sstraight, and knows what's what. He's one of them people that giveseverybody good advice but themselves. If anything should happen----"

"But nothing's going to happen, popsy. "

"It might. I don't seem to care as much as I did. I'm so tarnationtired. I reckon the goin' ain't as bad as I always calculated. Ididn't know how tired they felt and anxious to rest. "

"I'll turn down the light. The nurse is right in there. "

"Yes--turn the light. If anything should happen, there's an envelopein the top drawer in my desk for Dr. Charlton. But don't tell him tillI'm gone. I don't trust nobody, and if he knowed there was somethingwaiting, why, there's no telling----"

The old man had drowsed off. Jane lowered the light and went down tojoin Charlton on the front veranda, where he was smoking a cigarette. She said:

"He's asleep. "

"He's all right for the next few days, " said Charlton. "After that--Idon't know. I'm very doubtful. "

Jane was depressed, but not so depressed as she would have been had nother father so long looked like death and so often been near dying. 

"Stay at home until I see how this is going to turn out. Telephone yoursister to be within easy call. But don't let her come here. She's notfit to be about an ill person. The sight of her pulling a long, sadface might carry him off in a fit of rage. "

Jane observed him with curiosity in the light streaming from the fronthall. "You're a very practical person aren't you?" she said. 

"No romance, no idealism, you mean?"

"Yes. "

He laughed in his plain, healthy way. "Not a frill, " said he. "I'minterested only in facts. They keep me busy enough. "

"You're not married, are you?"

"Not yet. But I shall be as soon as I find a woman I want. "

"IF you can get her. "

"I'll get her, all right, " replied he. "No trouble about that. Thewoman I want'll want me. "

"I'm eager to see her, " said Jane. "She'll be a queer one. "

"Not necessarily, " said he. "But I'll make her a queer one before Iget through with her--queer, in my sense, meaning sensible and useful. "

"You remind me so often of Victor Dorn, yet you're not at all like him. "

"We're in the same business--trying to make the human race fit toassociate with. He looks after the minds; I look after the bodies. Mine's the humbler branch of the business, perhaps--but it's equallynecessary, and it comes first. The chief thing that's wrong with humannature is bad health. I'm getting the world ready for Victor. "

"You like him?"

"I worship him, " said Charlton in his most matter-of-fact way. 

"Yet he's just the opposite of you. He's an idealist. "

"Who told you that?" laughed Charlton. "He's the most practical, sensible man in this town. You people think he's a crank because heisn't crazy about money or about stepping round on the necks of hisfellow beings. The truth is, he's got a sense of proportion--and asense of humor--and an idea of a rational happy life. You're stillbarbarians, while he's a civilized man. Ever seen an ignorant yap jeerwhen a neat, clean, well-dressed person passed by? Well, you peoplejeering at Victor Dorn are like that yap. "

"I agree with you, " said Jane hastily and earnestly. 

"No, you don't, " replied Charlton, tossing away the end of hiscigarette. "And so much the worse for you. Good-night, lady. "

And away he strode into the darkness, leaving her amused, yet with apeculiar sense of her own insignificance. 

Charlton was back again early the next morning and spent that day--anda large part of many days there-after--in working at the wreck, MartinHastings, inspecting known weak spots, searching for unknown ones, patching here and there, trying all the schemes teeming in hisingenious and supremely sensible mind in the hope of setting the wreckafloat again. He could not comprehend why the old man remained alive. He had seen many a human being go who was in health, in comparison withthis conglomerate of diseases and frailties; yet life there was, and amost tenacious life. He worked and watched, and from day to day putoff suggesting that they telegraph for the son. The coming of his sonmight shake Martin's conviction that he would get well; it seemed toCharlton that that conviction was the one thread holding his patientfrom the abyss where darkness and silence reign supreme. 

Jane could not leave the grounds. If she had she would have seenVictor Dorn either not at all or at a distance. For the campaign wasnow approaching its climax. 

The public man is always two wholly different personalities. There isthe man the public sees--and fancies it knows. There is the man knownonly to his intimates, known imperfectly to them, perhaps an unknownquantity even to himself until the necessity for decisive actionreveals him to himself and to those in a position to see what he reallydid. Unfortunately, it is not the man the public sees but the hiddenman who is elected to the office. Nothing could be falser than the oldsaw that sooner or later a man stands revealed. Sometimes, as we wellknow, history has not found out a man after a thousand years ofstudying him. And the most familiar, the most constantly observed menin public life often round out a long career without ever havingaroused in the public more than a faint and formless suspicion as tothe truth about them. 

The chief reason for this is that, in studying a character, no one iscontent with the plain and easy way of reaching an understanding ofit--the way of looking only at its ACTS. We all love to dabble in themetaphysical, to examine and weigh motives and intentions, to compareourselves and make wildly erroneous judgment inevitable by listening tothe man's WORDS--his professions, always more or less dishonest, thoughperhaps not always deliberately so. 

In that Remsen City campaign the one party that could profit by thefull and clear truth, and therefore was eager for the truth as toeverything and everybody, was the Workingmen's League. The Kellycrowd, the House gang, the Citizens' Alliance, all had their uglysecrets, their secret intentions different from their publicprofessions. All these were seeking office and power with a view toincreasing or perpetuating or protecting various abuses, howeverardently they might attack, might perhaps honestly intend to end, certain other and much smaller abuses. The Workingmen's League saidthat it would end every abuse existing law did not securely protect, and it meant what it said. 

Its campaign fund was the dues paid in by its members and the profitsfrom the New Day. Its financial books were open for free inspection. Not so the others--and that in itself was proof enough of sinisterintentions. 

Under Victor Dorn's shrewd direction, the League candidates published, each man in a sworn statement, a complete description of all theproperty owned by himself and by his wife. "The character of a man'sproperty, " said the New Day, "is an indication of how that man will actin public affairs. Therefore, every candidate for public trust owes itto the people to tell them just what his property interests are. TheLeague candidates do this--and an effective answer the schedules maketo the charge that the League's candidates are men who have 'no stakein the community. ' Now, let Mr. Sawyer, Mr. Hull, Mr. Galland and therest of the League's opponents do likewise. Let us read how manyshares of water and ice stock Mr. Sawyer owns. Let us hear from Mr. Hull about his traction holdings--those of the Hull estate from whichhe draws his entire income. As for Mr. Galland, it would be easier forhim to give the list of public and semi-public corporations in which heis not largely interested. But let him be specific, since he asks thepeople to trust him as judge between them and those corporations ofwhich he is almost as large an owner as is his father-in-law. "

This line of attack--and the publication of the largest contributors tothe Republican and Democratic-Reform campaign fund--caused a great dealof public and private discussion. Large crowds cheered Hull when he, without doing the charges the honor of repeating them, denounced the"undignified and demagogic methods of our desperate opponents. " Thesmaller Sawyer crowds applauded Sawyer when he waxed indignant over theattempts of those "socialists and anarchists, haters of this freecountry and spitters upon its glorious flag, to set poor against rich, to destroy our splendid American tradition of a free field and nofavors, and let the best man win!"

Sawyer, and Davy, all the candidates of the machines and the reformersfor that matter, made excellent public appearances. They discoursedeloquently about popular rights and wrongs. They denounced corruption;they stood strongly for the right and renounced and denounced the deviland all his works. They promised to do far more for the people thandid the Leaguers; for Victor Dorn had trained his men to tell the exacttruth--the difficulty of doing anything for the people at any near timeor in any brief period because at a single election but a small part ofthe effective offices could be changed, and sweeping changes must bemade before there could be sweeping benefits. "We'll do all we can, "was their promise. "Their county government and their state governmentand their courts won't let us do much. But a beginning has to be made. Let's make it!"

David Hull's public appearance was especially good. Not so effectiveas it has now become, because he was only a novice at campaigning inthat year. But he looked, well--handsome, yet not too handsome, upperclass, but not arrogant, serious, frank and kindly. And he talked in aplain, honest way--you felt that no interest, however greedy, desperateand powerful, would dare approach that man with an improperproposal--and you quite forgot in real affairs the crude improperproposal is never the method of approach. When Davy, with graveemotion, referred to the "pitiful efforts to smirch the personalcharacter of candidates, " you could not but burn with scorn of theVictor Dorn tactics. What if Hull did own gas and water and ice andtraction and railway stocks? Mustn't a rich man invest his moneysomehow? And how could he more creditably invest it than in localenterprises and in enterprises that opened up the country and gaveemployment to labor? What if the dividends were improperly, evencriminally, earned? Must he therefore throw the dividends paid himinto the street? As for a man of such associations and financialinterests being unfit fairly to administer public affairs, whatbalderdash! Who could be more fit than this educated, high minded man, of large private means, willing to devote himself to the public serviceinstead of drinking himself to death or doing nothing at all. Youwould have felt, as you looked at Davy and listened to him, that it waslittle short of marvelous that a man could be so self-sacrificing as toconsent to run the gauntlet of low mudslingers for no reward but anoffice with a salary of three thousand a year. And you would have beenafraid that, if something was not done to stop these mudslingers, suchmen as David Hull would abandon their patriotic efforts to save theircountry--and then WHAT would become of the country?

But Victor and his associates--on the platform, in the paper, inposters and dodgers and leaflets--continued to press home the uglyquestions--and continued to call attention to the fact that, whilethere had been ample opportunity, none of the candidates had answeredany of the questions. And presently--keeping up this line ofattack--Victor opened out in another. He had Falconer, the Leaguecandidate for judge, draw up a careful statement of exactly what eachpublic officer could do under existing law to end or to check the mostflagrant of the abuses from which the people of Remsen City weresuffering. With this statement as a basis, he formulated a series ofquestions--"Yes or no? If you are elected, will you or will you not?"The League candidates promptly gave the specific pledges. Sawyerdodged. David Hull was more adroit. He held up a copy of the list ofquestions at a big meeting in Odd Fellows' Hall. 

"Our opponents have resorted to a familiar trick--the question and thepledge. " (Applause. Sensation. Fear lest "our candidate" was aboutto "put his foot in it. ") "We need resort to no tricks. I promptlyand frankly, for our whole ticket, answer their questions. I say, 'Wewill lay hold of ANY and EVERY abuse, as soon as it presents itself, and WILL SMASH IT. "

Applause, cheers, whistlings--a demonstration lasting nearly fiveminutes by a watch held by Gamaliel Tooker, who had a mania forgathering records of all kinds and who had voted for every Republicancandidate for President since the party was founded. Davy did not againrefer to Victor Dorn's questions. But Victor continued to press themand to ask whether a public officer ought not to go and present himselfto abuses, instead of waiting for them to hunt him out and presentthemselves to him. 

Such was the campaign as the public saw it. And such was in realitythe campaign of the Leaguers. But the real campaign--the one conductedby Kelly and House--was entirely different. They were not talking;they were working. 

They were working on a plan based somewhat after this fashion:

In former and happier days, when people left politics to politiciansand minded their own business, about ninety-five per cent. Of thevoters voted their straight party tickets like good soldiers. Thenpolitics was a high-class business, and politicians devoted themselvesto getting out the full party vote and to buying or cajoling to oneside or the other the doubtful ten per cent that held the balance ofpower. That golden age, however, had passed. People had gotten intothe habit of fancying that, because certain men had grown very, veryrich through their own genius for money-making, supplemented perhaps byaccidental favors from law and public officials, therefore politics insome way might possibly concern the private citizen, might account forthe curious discrepancy between his labor and its reward. Theimpression was growing that, while the energy of the citizen determinedthe PRODUCTION of wealth, it was politics that determined thedistribution of wealth. And under the influence of this impression, the percentage of sober, steady, reliable voters who "stood by thegrand old party" had shrunk to about seventy, while the percentage ofvoters who had to be worried about had grown to about thirty. 

The Kelly-House problem was, what shall we do as to that annoyingthirty per cent?

Kelly--for he was THE brain of the bi-partisan machine, proposed tothrow the election to the House-Reform "combine. " His henchmen andHouse's made a careful poll, and he sat up all night growing haggardand puffy-eyed over the result. According to this poll, not only wasthe League's entire ticket to be elected, but also Galland, despite hishaving the Republican, the Democratic and the Reform nominations, wasto be beaten by the League's Falconer. He couldn't understand it. TheSawyer meetings were quite up to his expectations and indicated thatthe Republican rank and file was preparing to swallow the Sawyer dosewithout blinking. The Alliance and the Democratic meetings wereequally satisfactory. Hull was "making a hit. " Everywhere he had bigcrowds and enthusiasm. The League meetings were only slightly betterattended than during the last campaign; no indication there of theLeague "landslide. "

Yet Kelly could not, dared not, doubt that poll. It was his only safeguide. And it assured him that the long-dreaded disaster was at hand. In vain was the clever trick of nominating a popular, "clean" youngreformer and opposing him with an unpopular regular of the mostoffensive type--more offensive even than a professional politician ofunsavory record. At last victory was to reward the tactics of VictorDorn, the slow, patient building which for several years now had beenrasping the nerves of Boss Kelly. 

What should he do?

It was clear to him that the doom of the old system was settled. Theplutocrats, the upper-class crowd--the "silk stockings, " as they hadbeen called from the days when men wore knee-breeches--they fanciedthat this nation-wide movement was sporadic, would work out in a fewyears, and that the people would return to their allegiance. Kelly hadno such delusions. Issuing from the depths of the people, heunderstood. They were learning a little something at last. They werediscovering that the ever higher prices for everything and stationaryor falling wages and salaries had some intimate relation with politics;that at the national capitol, at the state capitol, in the countycourthouse, in the city hall their share of the nation's vast annualproduction of wealth was being determined--and that the persons doingthe dividing, though elected by them, were in the employ of theplutocracy. Kelly, seeing and comprehending, felt that it behooved himto get for his masters--and for himself--all that could be got in thebrief remaining time. Not that he was thinking of giving up the game;nothing so foolish as that. It would be many a year before theplutocracy could be routed out, before the people would have theintelligence and the persistence to claim and to hold their own. Inthe meantime, they could be fooled and robbed by a hundred tricks. Hewas not a constitutional lawyer, but he had practical good sense, andcould enjoy the joke upon the people in their entanglement in the toilsof their own making. Through fear of governmental tyranny they haddivided authority among legislators, executives and judges, national, state, local. And, behold, outside of the government, out where theyhad never dreamed of looking, had grown up a tyranny that wasperpetuating itself by dodging from one of these divided authorities toanother, eluding capture, wearing out the not too strong perseveranceof popular pursuit. 

But, thanks to Victor Dorn, the local graft was about to be taken awayfrom the politicians and the plutocracy. How put off that unpleasantevent? Obviously, in the only way left unclosed. The election must bestolen. 

It is a very human state of mind to feel that what one wants somehowhas already become in a sense one's property. It is even moreprofoundly human to feel that what one has had, however wrongfully, cannot justly be taken away. So Mr. Kelly did not regard himself as athief, taking what did not belong to him; no, he was holding on to anddefending his own. 

Victor Dorn had not been in politics since early boyhood withoutlearning how the political game is conducted in all its branches. 

Because there had never been the remotest chance of victory, Victor hadnever made preelection polls of his party. So the first hint that hegot of there being a real foundation for the belief of some of hisassociates in an impending victory was when he found out that Kelly andHouse were "colonizing" voters, and were selecting election officerswith an eye to "dirty work. " These preparations, he knew, could not bemaking for the same reason as in the years before the "gentlemen'sagreement" between the Republican and the Democratic machines. Kelly, he knew, wanted House and the Alliance to win. Therefore, thecolonizations in the slums and the appointing of notorious buckos topositions where they would control the ballot boxes could be directedonly against the Workingmen's League. Kelly must have accurateinformation that the League was likely, or at least not unlikely, towin. 

Victor had thought he had so schooled himself that victory and defeatwere mere words to him. He soon realized how he had overestimated thepower of philosophy over human nature. During that campaign he hadbeen imagining that he was putting all his ability, all his energy, allhis resourcefulness into the fight. He now discovered his mistake. Hope--definite hope--of victory had hardly entered his mind before hewas organizing and leading on such a campaign as Remsen City had neverknown in all its history--and Remsen City was in a state where politicsis the chief distraction of the people. Sleep left him; he had no needof sleep. Day and night his brain worked, pouring out a steady streamof ideas. He became like a gigantic electric storage battery to whicha hundred, a thousand small batteries come for renewal. He charged hisassociates afresh each day. And they in turn became amazingly morepowerful forces for acting upon the minds of the people. 

In the last week of the campaign it became common talk throughout thecity that the "Dorn crowd" would probably carry the election. Kellywas the only one of the opposition leaders who could maintain a calmfront. Kelly was too seasoned a gambler even to show his feelings inhis countenance, but, had he been showing them, his following would nothave been depressed, for he had made preparations to meet and overcomeany majority short of unanimity which the people might roll up againsthim. The discouragement in the House-Alliance camps became so apparentthat Kelly sent his chief lieutenant, Wellman, successor to thefugitive Rivers, to House and to David Hull with a message. It wasdelivered to Hull in this form:

"The old man says he wants you to stop going round with your chinknocking against your knees. He says everybody is saying you havegiven up the fight. "

"Our meetings these last few days are very discouraging, " said Davygloomily. 

"What's meetin's?" retorted Wellman. "You fellows that shoot off yourmouths think you're doing the campaigning. But the real stuff is beingdoped up by us fellows who ain't seen or heard. The old man says youare going to win. That's straight. He knows. It's only a question ofthe size of your majority. So pull yourself together, Mr. Hull, andput the ginger back into your speeches, and stir up that there gang ofdudes. What a gang of Johnnies and quitters they are!"

Hull was looking directly and keenly at the secret messenger. Upon hislips was a question he dared not ask. Seeing the impudent, disdainfulsmile in Wellman's eyes, he hastily shifted his glance. It was mostuncomfortable, this suspicion of the hidden meaning of the Kellymessage--a suspicion ALMOST confirmed by that mocking smile of themessenger. Hull said with embarrassment:

"Tell Mr. Kelly I'm much obliged. "

"And you'll begin to make a fight again?"

"Certainly, " said Davy impatiently. 

When he was alone he became once more involved in one of those internalstruggles to prevent himself from seeing--and smelling--a hideous andmalodorous truth. These struggles were painfully frequent. The onlyconsolation the young reformer found was that they were increasinglyless difficult to end in the way such struggles must be ended if ahigh-minded young man is to make a career in "practical" life. 

On election day after he had voted he went for a long walk in the woodsto the south of the town, leaving word at his headquarters whatdirection he had taken. After walking two hours he sat down on a login the shade near where the highroad crossed Foaming Creek. He becameso absorbed in his thoughts that he sprang to his feet with a wild lookwhen Selma's voice said, close by:

"May I interrupt a moment, Mr. Hull?"

He recovered slowly. His cheeks were pale and his voice uncertain ashe replied:

"You? I beg your pardon. This campaign has played smash with mynerves. "

He now noted that she was regarding him with a glance so intense thatit seemed to concentrate all the passion and energy in that slim, nervous body of hers. He said uncomfortably:

"You wished to see me?"

"I wonder what you were thinking about, " she said in her impetuous, direct way. "It makes me almost afraid to ask what I came to ask. "

"Won't you sit?" said he. 

"No, thanks, " replied she. 

"Then you'll compel me to stand. And I'm horribly tired. "

She seated herself upon the log. He made himself comfortable at itsother end. 

"I've just come from Victor Dorn's house, " said she. "There was aconsultation among the leaders of our party. We have learned that yourpeople--Kelly and House--are going to steal the election on the countthis evening. They are committing wholesale frauds now--sending roundgangs of repeaters, intimidating our voters, openly buying votes at thepolling places--paying men as much not to vote as they usually pay forvotes. "

Davy, though latterly he had grown so much older and graver that no onenow thought of him as Davy, contrived to muster a smile of amusement. "You oughtn't to let them deceive you with that silly talk, MissGordon. The losers always indulge in it. Your good sense must tellyou how foolish it is. The police are on guard, and the courts ofjustice are open. "

"Yes--the police are on guard--to protect fraud and to drive us awayfrom the polls. And the courts are open--but not for us. "

David was gentle with her. "I know how sincere you are, Selma, " saidhe. "No doubt you believe those things. Perhaps Dorn believes them, also--from repeating them so often. But all the same I'm sorry to hearyou say them. "

He tried to look at her. He found that his eyes were more comfortablewhen his glance was elsewhere. 

"This has been a sad campaign to me, " he went on. "I did notappreciate before what demagogery meant--how dangerous it is--howwicked, how criminally wicked it is for men to stir up the lowerclasses against the educated leadership of the community. "

Selma laughed contemptuously. "What nonsense, David Hull--and fromYOU!" she cried. "By educated leadership do you mean the traction andgas and water and coal and iron and produce thieves? Or do you mean theofficials and the judges who protect them and license them to rob?"Her eyes flashed. "At this very moment, in our town, those thieves andtheir agents, the police and the courts, are committing the mostfrightful crime known to a free people. Yet the masses are submittingpeaceably. How long the upper class has to indulge in violence, andhow savagely cruel it has to be, before the people even murmur. But Ididn't come here to remind you of what you already know. I came to askyou, as a man whom I have respected, to assert his manhood--if there isany of it left after this campaign of falsehood and shifting. "

"Selma!" he protested energetically, but still avoiding her eyes. 

"Those wretches are stealing that election for you, David Hull. Are yougoing to stand for it? Or, will you go into town and force Kelly tostop?"

"If anything wrong is being done by Kelly, " said David, "it must be forSawyer. "

Selma rose. "At our consultation, " said she quietly and even with nosuggestion of repressed emotion, "they debated coming to you and layingthe facts before you. They decided against it. They were right; I waswrong. I pity you, David Hull. Good-by. "

She walked away. He hesitated, observing her. His eyes lighted upwith the passion he believed his good sense had conquered. "Selma, don't misjudge me!" he cried, following her. "I am not the scoundrelthey're making you believe me. I love you!"

She wheeled upon him so fiercely that he started back. "How dare you!"she said, her voice choking with anger. "You miserable fraud! Youbellwether for the plutocracy, to lead reform movements off on a falsescent, off into the marshes where they'll be suffocated. " She lookedat him from head to foot with a withering glance. "No doubt, you'llhave what's called a successful career. You'll be their traitor leaderfor the radicals they want to bring to confusion. When the people cryfor a reform you'll shout louder than anybody else--and you'll be madeleader--and you'll lead--into the marshes. Your followers will perish, but you'll come back, ready for the next treachery for which theplutocracy needs you. And you'll look honest and respectable--andyou'll talk virtue and reform and justice. But you'll know what youare yourself. David Hull, I despise you as much as you despiseyourself. "

He did not follow as she walked away. He returned to the log, andslowly reseated himself. He was glad of the violent headache that madethought impossible. 

Remsen City, boss-ridden since the Civil War, had experienced many aturbulent election day and night. The rivalries of the two bosses, contending for the spoils where the electorate was evenly divided, hadmade the polling places in the poorer quarters dangerous all day andscenes of rioting at night. But latterly there had been a notableimprovement. People who entertained the pleasant and widespreaddelusion that statute laws offset the habits and customs of men, restrain the strong and protect the weak, attributed the improvement tosundry vigorously worded enactments of the legislature on the subjectof election frauds. In fact, the real bottom cause of the change wasthe "gentlemen's agreement" between the two party machines whereunderboth entered the service of the same master, the plutocracy. 

Never in Remsen City history had there been grosser frauds than thoseof this famous election day, and never had the frauds been so open. Aday of scandal was followed by an evening of shame; for to overcome theLeague the henchmen of Kelly and House had to do a great deal ofcounting out and counting in, of mutilating ballots, of destroyingboxes with their contents. Yet never had Remsen City seen so peacefulan election. Representatives of the League were at every pollingplace. They protested; they took names of principals and witnesses ineach case of real or suspected fraud. They appealed to the courts fromtime to time and got rulings--always against them, even where theletter of the decision was in their favor. They did all this in thequietest manner conceivable, without so much as an expression ofindignation. And when the results were announced--a sweeping victoryfor Hull and the fusion ticket, Hugo Galland elected by five hundredover Falconer--the Leaguers made no counter demonstration as thedrunken gangs of machine heelers paraded in the streets with bands andtorches. 

Kelly observed and was uneasy. What could be the meaning of this meekacceptance of a theft so flagrant that the whole town was talking aboutit? What was Victor Dorn's "game"?

He discovered the next day. The executive committee of the Leagueworked all night; the League's printers and presses worked from sixo'clock in the morning until ten. At half-past ten Remsen City wasflooded with a special edition of the New Day, given away by Leaguersand their wives and sons and daughters--a monster special edition paidfor with the last money in the League's small campaign chest. Thisspecial was a full account of the frauds that had been committed. Noindictment could have been more complete, could have carried withinitself more convincing proofs of the truth of its charges. The New Daydeclared that the frauds were far more extensive than it was able toprove; but it insisted upon, and took into account, only those fraudsthat could be proved in a "court of justice--if Remsen City had a courtof justice, which the treatment of the League's protectors at theCourthouse yesterday shows that it has not. " The results of theLeague's investigations were tabulated. The New Day showed:

First, that while Harbinger, the League candidate for Mayor, hadactually polled 5, 280 votes at least, and David Hull had polled lessthan 3, 950, the election had been so manipulated that in the officialcount 4, 827 votes were given to Hull and 3, 980 votes to Harbinger. 

Second, that in the actual vote Falconer had beaten Hugo Galland by1, 230 at least; that in the official count Galland was declared electedby a majority of 672. 

Third, that these results were brought about by wholesale fraudulentvoting, one gang of twenty-two repeaters casting upwards of a thousandvotes at the various polling places; also by false counting, the numberof votes reported exceeding the number cast by between two and threethousand. 

As a piece of workmanship the document was an amazing illustration ofthe genius of Victor Dorn. Instead of violence against violence, instead of vague accusation, here was a calm, orderly proof of theLeague's case, of the outrage that had been done the city and itscitizens. Before night fell the day after the election there was noone in Remsen City who did not know the truth. 

The three daily newspapers ignored the special. They continued tocongratulate Remsen City upon the "vindication of the city's fame forsound political sense, " as if there had been no protest against theofficial version of the election returns. Nor did the press of thestate or the country contain any reference to the happenings at RemsenCity. But Remsen City knew, and that was the main point sought byVictor Dorn. 

A committee of the League with copies of the special edition andtranscripts of the proofs in the possession of the League went insearch of David Hull and Hugo Galland. Both were out of town, "restingin retirement from the fatigue of the campaign. " The prosecutingattorney of the county was seen, took the documents, said he would lookinto the matter, bowed the committee out--and did as Kelly counted onhis doing. The grand jury heard, but could not see its way clear toreturning indictments; no one was upon a grand jury in that countyunless he had been passed by Kelly or House. Judge Freilig and JudgeLansing referred the committee to the grand jury and to the countyprosecutor. 

When the League had tried the last avenue to official justice and hadfound the way barred, House meeting Kelly in the Palace Hotel cafe', said:

"Well, Richard, I guess it's all over. " Kelly nodded. "You've got awaywith the goods. "

"I'm surprised at Dorn's taking it so quietly, " said House. "I ratherexpected he'd make trouble. "

Kelly vented a short, grunting laugh. "Trouble--hell!" ejaculated he. "If he'd 'a' kicked up a fight we'd 'a' had him. But he was too 'cutefor that, damn him. So next time he wins. "

"Oh, folks ain't got no memories--especially for politics, " said Houseeasily. 

"You'll see, " retorted Kelly. "The next mayor of this town'll be aLeaguer, and by a majority that can't be trifled with. So make haywhile the sun shines, Joe. After this administration there'll be along stretch of bad weather for haying. "

"I'm trying to get hold of Hull, " said House, and it was not difficultto read his train of thought. "I was a LEETLE afraid he was going tobe scared by that document of Dorn's--and was going to do somethingcrazy. "

Again Kelly emitted his queer grunting laugh. "I guess he was a LEETLEafraid he would, too, and ran away and hid to get back his nerve. "

"Oh, he's all right. He's a pushing, level-headed fellow, and won'tmake no trouble. Don't you think so?"

"Trouble? I should say not. How can he--if he takes the job?"

To which obvious logic no assent was necessary. 

Davy's abrupt departure was for the exact reason Mr. Kelly ascribed. And he had taken Hugo with him because he feared that he would say ordo something to keep the scandal from dying the quick death of allscandals. There was the less difficulty in dissuading him from stayingto sun himself in the glories of his new rank and title because hiswife had cast him adrift for the time and was stopping at the house ofher father, whose death was hourly expected. 

Old Hastings had been in a stupor for several weeks. He astonishedeverybody, except Dr. Charlton, by rousing on election night and askinghow the battle had gone. 

"And he seemed to understand what I told him, " said Jane. 

"Certainly he understood, " replied Charlton. "The only part of himthat's in any sort of condition is his mind, because it's the only partof him that's been properly exercised. Most people die at the topfirst because they've never in all their lives used their minds whenthey could possibly avoid it. "

In the week following the election he came out of his stupor again. Hesaid to the nurse:

"It's about supper time, ain't it?"

"Yes, " answered she. "They're all down at din--supper. Shall I callthem?"

"No, " said he. "I want to go down to her room. "

"To Miss Jane's room?" asked the puzzled nurse. 

"To my wife's room, " said Hastings crossly. 

The nurse, a stranger, thought his mind was wandering. "Certainly, "said she soothingly. "In a few minutes--as soon as you've rested awhile. "

"You're a fool!" mumbled Hastings. "Call Jinny. "

The nurse obeyed. When he repeated his request to Jane, she hesitated. The tears rolled down his cheeks. "I know what I'm about, " he pleaded. "Send for Charlton. He'll tell you to let me have my way. "

Jane decided that it was best to yield. The shrunken figure, weighingso little that it was terrifying to lift it, was wrapped warmly, andput in an invalid chair. With much difficulty the chair was got outinto the hall and down the stairs. Then they wheeled it into the roomwhere he was in the habit of sitting after supper. When he wasopposite the atrocious crayon enlargement of his wife an expression ofsupreme content settled upon his features. Said he:

"Go back to your supper, Jinny. Take the nurse woman with you. I wantto be by myself. "

The nurse glanced stealthily in from time to time during the next hour. She saw that his eyes were open, were fixed upon the picture. WhenJane came she ventured to enter. She said:

"Do you mind my sitting with you, father?"

He did not answer. She went to him, touched him. He was dead. 

As a rule death is not without mitigations, consolations even. Where itis preceded by a long and troublesome illness, disrupting the routineof the family and keeping everybody from doing the things he or shewishes, it comes as a relief. In this particular case not only was thedeath a relief, but also the estate of the dead man provided all thechief mourners with instant and absorbing occupation. If he had left awill, the acrimony of the heirs would have been caused bydissatisfaction with his way of distributing the property. Leaving nowill, he plunged the three heirs--or, rather, the five heirs, for thehusband of Martha and the wife of the son were most importantfactors--he plunged the five heirs into a ferment of furious dispute asto who was to have what. Martha and her husband and thedaughter-in-law were people of exceedingly small mind. Trifles, therefore, agitated them to the exclusion of larger matters. The threefell to quarreling violently over the division of silverware, jewelryand furniture. Jane was so enraged by the "disgusting spectacle" thatshe proceeded to take part in it and to demand everything which shethought it would irritate Martha Galland or Irene Hastings to have togive up. 

The three women and Hugo--for Hugo loved petty wrangling--spent dayafter day in the bitterest quarrels. Each morning Jane, ashamedovernight, would issue from her room resolved to have no part in thevulgar rowdyism. Before an hour had passed she would be the angriestof the disputants. Except her own unquestioned belongings there wasn'ta thing in the house or stables about which she cared in the least. But there was a principle at stake--and for principle she would fightin the last ditch. 

None of them wished to call in arbitrators or executors; why go to thatexpense? So, the bickering and wrangling, the insults and tears andsneers went on from day to day. At last they settled the whole matterby lot--and by a series of easily arranged exchanges where the resultsof the drawings were unsatisfactory. Peace was restored, but notliking. Each of the three groups--Hugo and Martha, Will and Irene, Jane in a group by herself--detested the other two. They felt thatthey had found each other out. As Martha said to Hugo, "It takes athing of this kind to show people up in their true colors. " Or, asJane said to Doctor Charlton, "What beasts human beings are!"

Said he: "What beasts circumstance makes of some of them sometimes. "

"You are charitable, " said Jane. 

"I am scientific, " replied he. "It's very intelligent to go aboutdistributing praise and blame. To do that is to obey a slightly higherdevelopment of the instinct that leads one to scowl at and curse thestone he stumps his toe on. The sensible thing to do is to look at thecauses of things--of brutishness in human beings, for example--and toremove those causes. "

"It was wonderful, the way you dragged father back to life and almostsaved him. That reminds me. Wait a second, please. "

She went up to her room and got the envelope addressed to Charltonwhich she had found in the drawer, as her father directed. Charltonopened it, took out five bank notes each of a thousand dollars. Sheglanced at the money, then at his face. It did not express the emotionshe was expecting. On the contrary, its look was of pleased curiosity. 

"Five thousand dollars, " he said, reflectively. "Your father certainlywas a queer mixture of surprises and contradictions. Now, who wouldhave suspected him of a piece of sentiment like this? Pure sentiment. He must have felt that I'd not be able to save him, and he knew my billwouldn't be one-tenth this sum. "

"He liked you, and admired you, " said Jane. 

"He was very generous where he liked and admired. "

Charlton put the money back in the envelope, put the envelope in hispocket. "I'll give the money to the Children's Hospital, " said he. "About six months ago I completed the sum I had fixed on as necessaryto my independence; so, I've no further use for money--except to use itup as it comes in. "

"You may marry some day, " suggested Jane. 

"Not a woman who wishes to be left richer than independent, " repliedhe. "As for the children, they'll be brought up to earn their ownindependence. I'll leave only incubators and keepsakes when I die. But no estate. I'm not that foolish and inconsiderate. "

"What a queer idea!" exclaimed Jane. 

"On the contrary, it's simplest common sense. The idea of givingpeople something they haven't earned--that's the queer idea. "

"You are SO like Victor Dorn!"

"That reminds me!" exclaimed Charlton. "It was very negligent of me toforget. The day your father died I dropped in on Victor and toldhim--him and Selma Gordon--about it. And both asked me to take youtheir sympathy. They said a great deal about your love for yourfather, and how sad it was to lose him. They were really distressed. "

Jane's face almost brightened. "I've been rather hurt because I hadn'treceived a word of sympathy from--them, " she said. 

"They'd have come, themselves, except that politics has made a veryugly feeling against them--and Galland's your brother-in-law. "

"I understand, " said Jane. "But I'm not Galland--and not of thatparty. "

"Oh, yes, you are of that party, " replied Charlton. "You draw yourincome from it, and one belongs to whatever he draws his income from. Civilization means property--as yet. And it doesn't mean men andwomen--as yet. So, to know the man or the woman we look at theproperty. "

"That's hideously unjust, " cried Jane. 

"Don't be utterly egotistical, " said Charlton. "Don't attach so muchimportance to your little, mortal, WEAK personality. Try to realizethat you're a mere chip in the great game of chance. You're a chip withthe letter P on it--which stands for Plutocracy. And you'll be playedas you're labeled. "

"You make it very hard for any one to like you. "

"Well--good-by, then. "

And ignoring her hasty, half-laughing, half-serious protests he tookhimself away. She was intensely irritated. A rapid change in heroutward character had been going forward since her father's death--achange in the direction of intensifying the traits that had always beenreally dominant, but had been less apparent because softened by othertraits now rapidly whithering. 

The cause of the change was her inheritance. 

Martin Hastings, remaining all his life in utter ignorance of the showyuses of wealth and looking on it with the eyes of a farm hand, hadremained the enriched man of the lower classes, at heart a member ofhis original class to the end. The effect of this upon Jane had beento keep in check all the showy and arrogant, all the upper class, tendencies which education and travel among the upper classes of theEast and of Europe had implanted in her. So long as plain old Martinlived, she could not FEEL the position she had--or, rather, would someday have--in the modern social system. But just as soon as he passedaway, just as soon as she became a great heiress, actually inpossession of that which made the world adore, that which would buyservility, flattery, awe--just so soon did she begin to be anupper-class lady. 

She had acquired a superficial knowledge of business--enough to enableher to understand what the various items in the long, long schedule ofher holdings meant. Symbols of her importance, of her power. She hadstudied the "great ladies" she had met in her travels and visitings. She had been impressed by the charm of the artistic, carefullycultivated air of simplicity and equality affected by the greatest ofthese great ladies as those born to wealth and position. To be gentleand natural, to be gracious--that was the "proper thing. " So, she nowadopted a manner that was if anything too kindly. Her pose, her mask, behind which she was concealing her swollen and still swelling prideand sense of superiority, as yet fitted badly. She "overacted, " asyouth is apt to do. She would have given a shrewd observer--one notdazzled by her wealth beyond the power of clear sight--the impressionthat she was pitying the rest of mankind, much as we all pity andforbear with a hopeless cripple. 

But the average observer would simply have said: "What a sweet, natural girl, so unspoiled by her wealth!"--just as the hopelesscripple says, "What a polite person, " as he gets the benefit ofeffusive good manners that would, if he were shrewd, painfully remindhim that he was an unfortunate creature. 

Of all the weeds that infest the human garden snobbishness, thecommonest, is the most prolific, and it is a mighty cross breeder, too--modifying every flower in the garden, changing colors from rich toglaring, changing odors from perfumes to sickening-sweet or tostenches. The dead hands of Martin Hastings scattered showers ofshining gold upon his daughter's garden; and from these seeds wasspringing a heavy crop of that most prolific of weeds. 

She was beginning to resent Charlton's manner--bluff, unceremonious, candid, at times rude. He treated women exactly as he treated men, andhe treated all men as intimates, free and easy fellow travelers afootupon a dusty, vulgar highway. She had found charm in that manner, sonatural to the man of no pretense, of splendid physical proportions, ofthe health of a fine tree. She was beginning to get into the state ofmind at which practically all very rich people in a civilized societysooner or later arrive--a state of mind that makes it impossible forany to live with or near them except hirelings and dependents. Thehabit of power of any kind breeds intolerance of equality of levelintercourse. This is held in check, often held entirely in check, where the power is based upon mental superiority; for the verysuperiority of the mind keeps alive the sense of humor and the sense ofproportion. Not so the habit of money power. For money power isbrutal, mindless. And as it is the only real power in any and allaristocracies, aristocracies are inevitably brutal and brutalizing. 

If Jane had been poor, or had remained a few years longer--until hercharacter was better set--under the restraining influence of herunfrilled and unfrillable father, her passion for power, forsuperiority would probably have impelled her to develop her mind into asource of power and position. Fate abruptly gave her the speediest andeasiest means to power known in our plutocratic civilization. Shewould have had to be superhuman in beauty of character or a genius inmind to have rejected the short and easy way to her goal and struggledon in the long and hard--and doubtful--way. 

She did not herself appreciate the change within herself. She fanciedshe was still what she had been two weeks before. For as yet nothinghad occurred to enable her to realize her changed direction, herchanged view of life. Thus, she was still thinking of Victor Dorn asshe had thought of him; and she was impatient to see him. She was nowfree FREE! She could, without consulting anybody, have what shewanted. And she wanted Victor Dorn. 

She had dropped from her horse and with her arm through the bridle wasstrolling along one of the quieter roads which Victor often took in hisrambles. It was a tonic October day, with floods of sunshine upon thegorgeous autumnal foliage, never more gorgeous than in that fall of thehappiest alternations of frost and warmth. She heard the pleasantrustle of quick steps in the fallen leaves that carpeted the byroad. She knew it was he before she glanced; and his first view of her facewas of its beauty enhanced by a color as delicate and charming as thatin the leaves about them. 

She looked at his hands in which he was holding something halfconcealed. "What is it?" she said, to cover her agitation. 

He opened his hands a little wider. "A bird, " said he. "Some hunterhas broken its wing. I'm taking it to Charlton for repairs and a fairstart for its winter down South. "

His eyes noted for an instant significantly her sombre riding costume, then sought her eyes with an expression of simple and friendlysympathy. The tears came to her eyes, and she turned her face away. She for the first time had a sense of loss, a moving memory of herfather's goodness to her, of an element of tenderness that had passedout of her life forever. And she felt abjectly ashamed--ashamed of herrelief at the lifting of the burden of his long struggle against death, ashamed of her miserable wranglings with Martha and Billy's wife, ashamed of her forgetfulness of her father in the exultation over herwealth, ashamed of the elaborately fashionable mourning she waswearing--and of the black horse she had bought to match. She hoped hewould not observe these last flauntings of the purely formal characterof a grief that was being utilized to make a display of fashionableness. 

"You always bring out the best there is in me, " said she. 

He stood silently before her--not in embarrassment, for he was rarelyself-conscious enough to be embarrassed, but refraining from speechsimply because there was nothing to say. 

"I haven't heard any of the details of the election, " she went on. "Did you come out as well as you hoped?"

"Better, " said he. "As a result of the election the membership of theLeague has already a little more than doubled. We could have quadrupledit, but we are somewhat strict in our requirements. We want only thosewho will stay members as long as they stay citizens of Remsen City. But I must go on to Charlton or he'll be out on his rounds. "

She caught his glance, which was inclined to avoid hers. She gave hima pleading look. "I'll walk with you part of the way, " she said. 

He seemed to be searching for an excuse to get away. Whether becausehe failed to find it or because he changed his mind, he said: "You'llnot mind going at a good gait?"

"I'll ride, " said she. "It's not comfortable, walking fast in theseboots. "

He stood by to help her, but let her get into the saddle alone. Shesmiled down at him with a little coquetry. "Are you afraid to touchme--to-day?" she asked. 

He laughed: "The bird IS merely an excuse, " he admitted. "I've gotback my self-control, and I purpose to keep it. "

She flushed angrily. His frankness now seemed to her to be flavoredwith impertinent assurance. "That's amusing, " said she, with anunpleasant smile. "You have an extraordinary opinion of yourself, haven't you?"

He shrugged his shoulders as if the subject did not interest him andset off at a gait that compelled her horse to a rapid walk. She saidpresently:

"I'm going to live at the old place alone for the present. You'll cometo see me?"

He looked at her. "No, " he said. "As I told you a moment ago, that'sover. You'll have to find some one else to amuse you--for, Iunderstand perfectly, Jane, that you were only doing what's calledflirting. That sort of thing is a waste of time--for me. I'm notcompetent to judge whether it's a waste for you. "

She looked coldly down at him. "You have changed since I last sawyou, " she said. "I don't mean the change in your manner toward me. Imean something deeper. I've often heard that politics makes a mandeteriorate. You must be careful, Victor. "

"I must think about that, " said he. "Thank you for warning me. "

His prompt acceptance of her insincere criticism made her straightwayrepentant. "No, it's I that have changed, " she said. "Oh, I'mhorrid!--simply horrid. I'm in despair about myself. "

"Any one who thinks about himself is bound to be, " said hephilosophically. "That's why one has to keep busy in order to keepcontented. " He halted. "I can save a mile and half an hour bycrossing these fields. " He held the wounded bird in one hand verycarefully while he lifted his hat. 

She colored deeply. "Victor, " she said, "isn't there any way that youand I can be friends?"

"Yes, " replied he. "As I told you before, by becoming one of us. Those are impossible terms, of course. But that's the only way bywhich we could be of use to each other. Jane, if I, professing what Ido profess, offered to be friends with you on any other terms, you'd bevery foolish not to reject my offer. For, it would mean that I was afraud. Don't you see that?"

"Yes, " she admitted. "But when I am with you I see everything exactlyas you represent it. "

"It's fortunate for you that I'm not disposed to take advantage ofthat--isn't it?" said he, with good-humored irony. 

"You don't believe me!"

"Not altogether, " he confessed. "To be quite candid, I think that forsome reason or other I rouse in you an irresistible desire to pose. Idoubt if you realize it--wholly. But you'd be hard pressed just whereto draw the line between the sincere and the insincere, wouldn'tyou--honestly?"

She sat moodily combing at her horse's mane. 

"I know it's cruel, " he went on lightly, "to deny anything, howeversmall, to a young lady who has always had her own way. But inself-defense I must do it. "

"Why DO I take these things from you?" she cried, in suddenexasperation. And touching her horse with her stick, she was off at agallop. 

IX

From anger against Victor Dorn, Jane passed to anger against herself. This was soon followed by a mood of self-denunciation, by astonishmentat the follies of which she had been guilty, by shame for them. Shecould not scoff or scorn herself out of the infatuation. But at leastshe could control herself against yielding to it. Recalling andreviewing all he had said, she--that is, her vanity--decided that themost important remark, the only really important remark, was hisdeclaration of disbelief in her sincerity. "The reason he has repulsedme--and a very good reason it is--is that he thinks I am simply amusingmyself. If he thought I was in earnest, he would act very differently. Very shrewd of him!"

Did she believe this? Certainly not. But she convinced herself thatshe believed it, and so saved her pride. From this point she proceededby easy stages to doubting whether, if Victor had taken her at herword, she would have married him. And soon she had convinced herselfthat she had gone so far only through her passion for conquest, that atthe first sign of his yielding her good sense would have asserteditself and she could have retreated. 

"He knew me better than I knew myself, " said she--not so thoroughlyconvinced as her pride would have liked, but far better content withherself than in those unhappy hours of humiliation after her last talkwith him. 

From the beginning of her infatuation there had been only a few days, hardly more than a few hours, when the voice of prudence and good sensehad been silenced. Yes, he was right; they were not suited to eachother, and a marriage between them would have been absurd. He didbelong to a different, to a lower class, and he could never haveunderstood her. Refinement, taste, the things of the life of luxuryand leisure were incomprehensible to him. It might be unjust that themany had to toil in squalor and sordidness while the few wereprivileged to cultivate and to enjoy the graces and the beauties; but, unjust or in some mysterious way just, there was the fact. Her lifewas marked out for her; she was of the elect. She would do well toaccept her good fortune and live as the gods had ordained for her. 

If Victor had been different in that one respect! . .. Theinfatuation, too, was a fact. The wise course was flight--and she fled. 

That winter, in Chicago and in New York, Jane amused herself--in theways devised by latter day impatience with the folly of wasting aprecious part of the one brief life in useless grief or pretense ofgrief. In Remsen City she would have had to be very quiet indeed, under penalty of horrifying public sentiment. But Chicago and New Yorkknew nothing of her grief, cared nothing about grief of any kind. People in deep mourning were found in the theaters, in the gayrestaurants, wherever any enjoyment was to be had; and very sensible itwas of them, and proof of the sincerity of their sorrow--for sinceresorrow seeks consolation lest it go mad and commit suicide--does it not?

Jane, young, beautiful, rich, clever, had a very good time indeed--sogood that in the spring, instead of going back to Remsen City to rest, she went abroad. More enjoyment--or, at least, more of the things thatfill in the time and spare one the necessity of thinking. 

In August she suddenly left her friends at St. Moritz and journeyedback to Remsen City as fast as train and boat and train could take her. And on the front veranda of the old house she sat herself down andlooked out over the familiar landscape and listened to the katydidslulling the woods and the fields, and was bored and wondered why shehad come. 

In a reckless mood she went down to see Victor Dorn. "I am cured, " shesaid to herself. "I must be cured. I simply can't be small and sillyenough to care for a country town labor agitator after all I've beenthrough--after the attentions I've had and the men of the world I'vemet. I'm cured, and I must prove it to myself . "

In the side yard Alice Sherrill and her children and several neighborgirls were putting up pears and peaches, blackberries and plums. Theair was heavy with delicious odors of ripe and perfect fruit, and thelaughter, the bright healthy faces, the strong graceful bodies in allmanner of poses at the work required made a scene that brought tears toJane's eyes. Why tears she could not have explained, but there theywere. At far end of the arbor, looking exactly as he had in the sameplace the year before, sat Victor Dorn, writing. He glanced up, sawher! Into his face came a look of welcome that warmed her chilled heart. 

"Hel-LO!" he cried, starting up. "I AM glad to see you. "

"I'm mighty glad to be back, " said she, lapsing with keen pleasure intoher native dialect. 

He took both her hands and shook them cordially, then looked at herfrom head to foot admiringly. "The latest from the Rue de la Paix, Isuppose?" said he. 

They seated themselves with the table between them. She, under coverof commonplaces about her travels, examined him with the utmostcalmness. She saw every point wherein he fell short of the men of herclass--the sort of men she ought to like and admire. But, oh, how dulland stale and narrow and petty they were, beside this man. She knewnow why she had fled. She didn't want to love Victor Dorn, or to marryhim--or his sort of man. But he, his intense aliveness, his keen, supple mind, had spoiled her for those others. One of them she couldnot marry. "I should go mad with boredom. One can no more liveintimately with fashion than one can eat gold and drink diamonds. And, oh, but I am hungry and thirsty!"

"So you've had a good time?" he was saying. 

"Superb, " replied she. "Such scenery--such variety of people. I loveEurope. But--I'm glad to be home again. "

"I don't see how you can stand it, " said Victor. 

"Why?" inquired she in surprise. 

"Unless I had an intense personal interest in the most active kind oflife in a place like this, I should either fly or take to drink, "replied he. "In this world you've either got to invent occupation foryourself or else keep where amusements and distractions are thrust atyou from rising till bed-time. And no amusements are thrust at you inRemsen City. "

"But I've been trying the life of being amused, " said Jane, "and I'vegot enough. "

"For the moment, " said Victor, laughing. "You'll go back. You've gotto. What else is there for you?"

Her eyes abruptly became serious. "That's what I've come home to findout, " said she. Hesitatingly, "That's why I've come here to-day. "

He became curiously quiet--stared at the writing before him on thetable. After a while he said:

"Jane, I was entirely too glad to see you to-day. I had----"

"Don't say that, " she pleaded. "Victor, it isn't a weakness----"

His hand resting upon the table clenched into a fist and his brows drewdown. "There can be no question but that it is a weakness and afolly, " he pushed on. "I will not spoil your life and mine. You arenot for me, and I am not for you. The reason we hang on to this isbecause each of us has a streak of tenacity. We don't want each other, but we are so made that we can't let go of an idea once it has gotteninto our heads. "

"There is another reason, " she said gently. "We are, both of us, alone--and lonesome, Victor. "

"But I'm not alone. I'm not lonesome----" And there he abruptlyhalted, to gaze at her with the expression of awakening andastonishment. "I believe I'm wrong. I believe you're right, " heexclaimed. "I had never thought of that before. "

"You've been imagining your work, your cause was enough, " she went onin a quiet rational way that was a revelation--and aself-revelation--of the real Jane Hastings. "But it isn't. There's awhole other side of your nature--the--the--the private side--that's theexpression--the private side. And you've been denying to it itsrights. "

He reflected, nodded slowly. "I believe that's the truth, " he said. "It explains a curious feeling I've had--a sort of shrivelingsensation. " He gazed thoughtfully at her, his face gradually relaxinginto a merry smile. 

"What is it?" asked she, smiling in turn. 

"We've both got to fall in love and marry, " said he. "Not with eachother, of course--for we're not in any way mated. But love andmarriage and the rest of it--that's the solution. I don't need itquite as much as you do, for I've got my work. But I need it. Nowthat I see things in the right light I wonder that I've been sostupidly blind. Why do we human beings always overlook the obvious?"

"It isn't easy to marry, " said Jane, rather drearily. "It isn't easyto find some one with whom one would be willing to pass one's life. I've had several chances--one or two of them not entirely mercenary, Ithink. But not one that I could bring myself to accept. "

"Vanity--vanity, " said Victor. "Almost any human being is interestingand attractive if one will stop thinking about oneself and concentrateon him or her. "

She smiled. "It's evident you've never tried to fall in love. "

"The nearest I ever came to it was with you, " replied he. "But thatwas, of course, out of the question. "

"I don't admit that, " said she, with an amusing kind of timid obstinacy. 

"Let's be honest and natural with each other, " urged he. "Now, Jane, admit that in your heart of hearts you feel you ought not to marry me. "

Her glance avoided his. 

"Come--own up!" cried he. 

"I have thought of that side of it, " she conceded. 

"And if I hadn't piqued you by thinking of it, too, you'd never havelingered on any other side of it, " said he. "Well! Now that we'vecleared the ground--there's Davy. He's to be nominated by theRepublicans for Governor next week. "

"Davy? I had almost forgotten him. I'll think of Davy--and let youknow . .. And you? Who is there for you?"

"Oh--no one you know. My sister has recommended several girls fromtime to time. I'll see. "

Jane gave the freest and heartiest laugh that had passed her lips inmore than a year. It was thus free and unrestrained because he had notsaid what she was fearing he would say--had not suggested the womannearest him, the obvious woman. So eager was she to discover what hethought of Selma, that she could hardly restrain herself fromsuggesting her. Before they could say anything more, two men came totalk with him. Jane could not but leave. 

She dined that night at Mrs. Sherlock's--Mrs. Sherlock was Davy'soldest sister. Davy took her in, they talked--about hiscareer--through dinner, and he walked home with her in the moonlight. He was full of his approaching nomination. He had been making what isknown as a good record, as mayor. That is, he had struck out boldly atsundry petty abuses practised by a low and comparatively uninfluentialclass of exploiters of the people. He had been so busy with theseshowy trifles that there had been no time for the large abuses. True, he had publicly warned the gas company about its poor gas, and thewater company about its unwholesome water for the low-lying tenementdistricts, and the traction company about the fewness and filthiness ofits cars. The gas company had talked of putting in improved machinery;the water company had invited estimates on a filtration plant; thetraction company had said a vague something about new cars as soon ascar manufacturers could make definite promises as to delivery. Butnothing had been done--as yet. Obviously a corporation, a largeinvestment of capital, must be treated with consideration. It wouldnot do for a conservative, fair minded mayor to rush into demagogery. So, Davy was content to point proudly to his record of having "made thebig corporations awaken to a sense of their duty. " An excellentrecord, as good as a reform politician, with a larger career inprospect, could be expected to make. People spoke well of Mayor Hulland the three daily papers eulogized him. Davy no longer had qualms ofconscience. He read the eulogies, he listened to the flatteries of theconservative leading citizens he met at the Lincoln and at theUniversity, and he felt that he was all that he in young enthusiasm hadset out to be. 

When he went to other cities and towns and to county fairs to makeaddresses he was introduced as the man who had redeemed Remsen City, asa shining example of the honest SANE man in politics, as a man thebosses were afraid of, yet dared not try to down. "You can't fool thepeople. " And were not the people, notably those who didn't live inRemsen City and had only read in their newspapers about the reformRepublican mayor--weren't they clamorous for Mayor Hull for governor!Thus, Davy was high in his own esteem, was in that mood of profoundresponsibility to righteousness and to the people wherein a man can getthe enthusiastic endorsement of his conscience for any act he deems itexpedient to commit in safeguarding and advancing his career. Hisperson had become valuable to his country. His opponents weretherefore anathema maranatha. 

As he and Jane walked side by side in the tender moonlight, Jane said:

"What's become of Selma Gordon?"

A painful pause; then Davy, in a tone that secretly amused Jane:"Selma? I see her occasionally--at a distance. She still writes forVictor Dorn's sheet, I believe. I never see it. "

Jane felt she could easily guess why. "Yes--it is irritating to readcriticisms of oneself, " said she sweetly. Davy's self-complacence hadbeen most trying to her nerves. 

Another long silence, then he said: "About--Miss Gordon. I supposeyou were thinking of the things I confided to you last year?"

"Yes, I was, " confessed Jane. 

"That's all over, " said Mayor and prospective Governor Hull. "I found Iwas mistaken in her. "

"Didn't you tell me that she refused you?" pressed Jane, most unkindly. 

"We met again after that, " said Davy--by way of proving that even themost devoted apostle of civic righteousness is yet not without hisshare of the common humanity, "and from that time I felt differentlytoward her. .. . I've never been able to understand my folly. .. . Iwonder if you could forgive me for it?"

Davy was a good deal of a bore, she felt. At least, he seemed so inthis first renewing of old acquaintance. But he was a man of purpose, a man who was doing much and would do more. And she liked him, and hadfor him that feeling of sympathy and comprehension which exists amongpeople of the same region, brought up in much the same way. Instead ofcutting him off, she temporized. Said she with a serenely carelesslaugh that might have let a man more expert in the ways of women intothe secret of how little she cared about him: "You mean forgive youfor dropping me so abruptly and running after her?"

"That's not exactly the way to put it, " objected he. 

"Put it any way you like, " said Jane. "I forgive you. I didn't careat the time, and I don't care now. "

Jane was looking entrancing in that delicate light. Davy wasnoting--was feeling--this. Also, he was reflecting--in a high-mindedway--upon the many material, mental and spiritual advantages of amarriage with her. Just the woman to be a governor's wife--a senator'swife--a president's wife. Said he:

"Jane, my feeling for you has never changed. "

"Really?" said Jane. "Why, I thought you told me at one time that youwere in love with me?"

"And I always have been, dear--and am, " said Davy, in his deepest, tenderest tones. "And now that I am winning a position worthy ofyou----"

"I'll see, " cut in Jane. "Let's not talk about it tonight. " She feltthat if he kept on she might yield to the temptation to say somethingmocking, something she would regret if it drove him away finally. 

He was content. The ice had been broken. The Selma Gordon businesshad been disposed of. The way was clear for straight-away love-makingthe next time they met. Meanwhile he would think about her, would getsteam up, would have his heart blazing and his words and phrases all inreadiness. 

Every human being has his or her fundamental vanity that must be keptalive, if life is to be or to seem to be worth living. In man thisvanity is usually some form of belief in his mental ability, in womansome form of belief in her physical charm. Fortunately--or, rather, necessarily--not much is required to keep this vanity alive--or torestore it after a shock, however severe. Victor Dorn had beencompelled to give Jane Hastings' vanity no slight shock. But itrecovered at once. Jane saw that his failure to yield was due not tolack of potency in her charms, but to extraordinary strength of purposein his character. Thus, not only was she able to save herself from anysense of humiliation, but also she was without any feeling ofresentment against him. She liked him and admired him more than ever. She saw his point of view; she admitted that he was right--IF it weregranted that a life such as he had mapped for himself was better forhim than the career he could have made with her help. 

Her heart, however, was hastily, even rudely thrust to the backgroundwhen she discovered that her brother had been gambling in wheat withpractically her entire fortune. With an adroitness that irritated heragainst herself, as she looked back, he had continued to induce her todisregard their father's cautionings and to ask him to take full chargeof her affairs. He had not lost her fortune, but he had almost lostit. But for an accidental stroke, a week of weather destructive tocrops all over the country, she would have been reduced to an income ofnot more than ten or fifteen thousand a year--twenty times the incomeof the average American family of five, but for Miss Hastingsstraitened subsistence and a miserable state of shornness of all theradiance of life. And, pushing her inquiries a little farther, shelearned that her brother would still have been rich, because he hadtaken care to settle a large sum on his wife--in such a way that if shedivorced him it would pass back to him. 

In the course of her arrangings to meet this situation and to preventits recurrence she saw much of Doctor Charlton. He gave her excellentadvice and found for her a man to take charge of her affairs so far asit was wise for her to trust any one. The man was a bank cashier, Robert Headley by name--one of those rare beings who care nothing forriches for themselves and cannot invest their own money wisely, buthave a genius for fidelity and wise counsel. 

"It's a pity he's married, " said Charlton. "If he weren't I'd urge youto take him as a husband. "

Jane laughed. A plainer, duller man than Headley it would have beenhard to find, even among the respectabilities of Remsen City. 

"Why do you laugh?" said Charlton. "What is there absurd in a sensiblemarriage?"

"Would you marry a woman because she was a good housekeeper?"

"That would be one of the requirements, " said Charlton. "I've senseenough to know that, no matter how much I liked a woman beforemarriage, it couldn't last long if she were incompetent. She'd irritateme every moment in the day. I'd lie awake of nights despising her. And how she would hate me!"

"I can't imagine you a husband, " laughed Jane. 

"That doesn't speak well for your imagination, " rejoined Charlton. "Ihave perfect health--which means that I have a perfect disposition, foronly people with deranged interiors are sour and snappy and moody. AndI am sympathetic and understanding. I appreciate that women arerottenly brought up and have everything to learn--everything that'sworth while if one is to live comfortably and growingly. So, Ishouldn't expect much at the outset beyond a desire to improve and acapacity to improve. Yes, I've about all the virtues for a modelhusband--a companionable, helpful mate for a woman who wants to be moreof a person every day she lives. "

"No, thanks, " said Jane, mockingly. "The advertisement reads well, butI don't care to invest. "

"Oh, I looked you over long ago, " said Charlton with a coolness thatboth amused and exasperated her. "You wouldn't do at all. You are veryattractive to look at and to talk with. Your money would be useful tosome plans I've got for some big sanatoriums along the line ofSchulze's up at Saint Christopher. But---" He shook his head, smilingat her through a cloud of cigarette smoke. 

"Go on, " urged Jane. "What's wrong with me?"

"You've been miseducated too far and too deeply. You KNOW too muchthat isn't so. You've got the upper class American woman habit ofthinking about yourself all the time. You are an indifferenthousekeeper, and you think you are good at it. You don't know thepractical side of life--cooking, sewing, house furnishing, marketing. You're ambitious for a show career--the sort Davy Hull--excuse me, Governor David Hull--is making so noisily. There's just the man foryou. You ought to marry. Marry Hull. "

Jane was furiously angry. She did not dare show it; Charlton wouldmerely laugh and walk away, and perhaps refuse to be friends with her. It exasperated her to the core, the narrow limitations of the power ofmoney. She could, through the power of her money, do exactly as shepleased to and with everybody except the only kind of people she caredabout dominating; these she was apparently the less potent withbecause of her money. It seemed to put them on their mettle and ontheir guard. 

She swallowed her anger. "Yes, I've got to get married, " said she. "And I don't know what to do about it. "

"Hull, " said Charlton. 

"Is that the best advice you can give?" said she disdainfully. 

"He needs you, and you need him. You like him--don't you?"

"Very much. "

"Then--the thing's done. Davy isn't the man to fail to seize anopportunity so obviously to his advantage. Not that he hasn't a heart. He has a big one--does all sorts of gracious, patronizing, kindthings--does no end of harm. But he'd no more let his emotions rulehis life than--than--Victor Dorn--or I, for that matter. "

Jane colored; a pathetic sadness tinged the far-away expression of hereyes. 

"No doubt he's half in love with you already. Most men are who knowyou. A kindly smile and he'll be kneeling. "

"I don't want David Hull, " cried Jane. "Ever since I can rememberthey've been at me to marry him. He bores me. He doesn't make merespect him. He never could control me--or teach me--or make me lookup to him in any way. I don't want him, and I won't have him. "

"I'm afraid you've got to do it, " said Charlton. "You act as if yourealized it and were struggling and screaming against manifest destinylike a child against a determined mother. "

Jane's eyes had a look of terror. "You are joking, " said she. "But itfrightens me, just the same. "

"I am not joking, " replied he. "I can hear the wedding bells--and socan you. "

"Don't!" pleaded Jane. "I've so much confidence in your insight that Ican't bear to hear you saying such things even to tease me. .. . Whyhaven't you told me about these sanatoriums you want?"

"Because I've been hoping I could devise some way of getting themwithout the use of money. Did it ever occur to you that almost nothingthat's been of real and permanent value to the world was built withmoney? The things that money has done have always been badly done. "

"Let me help you, " said Jane earnestly. "Give me something to do. Teach me how to do something. I am SO bored!--and so eager to have anoccupation. I simply can't lead the life of my class. 

"You want to be a lady patroness--a lady philanthropist, " saidCharlton, not greatly impressed by her despair. "That's only anotherform of the life of your class--and a most offensive form. "

"Your own terms--your own terms, absolutely, " cried Jane in desperation. 

"No--marry Hull and go into upper and middle class politics. You'll bea lady senator or a lady ambassador or cabinet officer, at least. "

"I will not marry David Hull--or anybody, just yet, " cried Jane. "Whyshould I? I've still got ten years where there's a chance of my beingable to attract some man who--attracts me. And after that I can buy asgood a husband as any that offers now. Doctor Charlton, I'm indesperate, deadly earnest. And I ask you to help me. "

"My own terms?"

"I give you my word. "

"You'll have to give your money outright. No strings attached. Nochance to be a philanthropist. Also, you'll have to work--have toeducate yourself as I instruct you. "

"Yes--yes. Whatever you say. "

Charlton looked at her dubiously. "I'm a fool to have anything to dowith this, " he said. "You aren't in any way a suitable person--anymore than I'm the sort of man you want to assist you in your schemes. You don't realize what tests you're to be put through. "

"I don't care, " said Jane. 

"It's a chance to try my theory, " mused he. "You know, I insist we areall absolutely the creatures of circumstance--that character adaptsitself to circumstance--that to change a man or a town or a nation--ora world--you have only to change their fundamental circumstances. "

"You'll try me?"

"I'll think about it, " said Charlton. "I'll talk with Victor Dornabout it. "

"Whatever you do, don't talk to him, " cried Jane, in terror. "He has nofaith in me--" She checked herself, hastily added--"in anybody outsidehis own class. "

"I never do anything serious without consulting Victor, " said Charltonfirmly. "He's got the best mind of any one I know, and it is foolishto act without taking counsel of the best. "

"He'll advise against it, " said Jane bitterly. 

"But I may not take his advice literally, " said Charlton. "I'm not inmental slavery to him. I often adapt his advice to my needs instead ofadopting it outright. "

And with that she had to be content. 

She passed a day and night of restlessness, and called him on thetelephone early the following morning. As she heard his voice she said:

"Did you see Victor Dorn last night?"

"Where are you?" asked Charlton. 

"In my room, " was her impatient answer. 

"In bed?"

"I haven't gotten up yet, " said she. "What IS the matter?"

"Had your breakfast?"

"No. I've rung for it. It'll be here in a few minutes. "

"I thought so, " said Charlton. 

"This is very mysterious--or very absurd, " said Jane. 

"Please ring off and call your kitchen and tell them to put yourbreakfast on the dining-room table for you in three-quarters of anhour. Then get up, take your bath and your exercises--dress yourselffor the day--and go down and eat your breakfast. How can you hope toamount to anything unless you live by a rational system? And how canyou have a rational system unless you begin the day right?"

"DID you see Victor Dorn?" said Jane--furious at his impertinence butrestraining herself. 

"And after you have breakfasted, " continued Charlton, "call me upagain, and I'll answer your questions. "

With that he hung up his receiver. Jane threw herself angrily backagainst her pillow. She would lie there for an hour, then call himagain. But--if he should ask her whether she had obeyed his orders?True, she might lie to him; but wouldn't that be too petty? Shedebated with herself for a few minutes, then obeyed him to the letter. As she was coming through the front hall after breakfast, he appearedin the doorway. 

"You didn't trust me!" she cried reproachfully. 

"Oh, yes, " replied he. "But I preferred to talk with you face to face. "

"DID you see Mr. Dorn?"

Charlton nodded. "He refused to advise me. He said he had a personalprejudice in your favor that would make his advice worthless. "

Jane glowed--but not quite so thrillingly as she would have glowed inthe same circumstances a year before. 

"Besides, he's in no state of mind to advise anybody about anythingjust now, " said Charlton. 

Jane glanced sharply at him. "What do you mean?" she said. 

"It's not my secret, " replied Charlton. 

"You mean he has fallen in love?"

"That's shrewd, " said Charlton. "But women always assume a loveaffair. "

"With whom?" persisted Jane. 

"Oh, a very nice girl. No matter. I'm not here to talk aboutanybody's affairs but yours--and mine. "

"Answer just one question, " said Jane, impulsively. "Did he tell youanything about--me?"

Charlton stared--then whistled. "Are YOU in love with him, too?" hecried. 

Jane flushed--hesitated--then met his glance frankly. "I WAS, " saidshe. 

"WAS?"

"I mean that I'm over it, " said she. "What have you decided to doabout me?"

Charlton did not answer immediately. He eyed her narrowly--anexamination which she withstood well. Then he glanced away and seemedto be reflecting. Finally he came back to her question. Said he:

"To give you a trial. To find out whether you'll do. "

She drew a long sigh of relief. 

"Didn't you guess?" he went on, smilingly, nodding his round, prize-fighter head at her. "Those suggestions about bed andbreakfast--they were by way of a beginning. "

"You must give me a lot to do, " urged she. "I mustn't have a minute ofidle time. "

He laughed. "Trust me, " he said. 

While Jane was rescuing her property from her brother and wassafeguarding it against future attempts by him, or by any of thatnumerous company whose eyes are ever roving in search of the mostinviting of prey, the lone women with baggage--while Jane was thusoccupied, David Hull was, if possible, even busier and more absorbed. He was being elected governor. His State was being got ready to say tothe mayor of Remsen City, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Thouhast been faithful over a few things; I will make thee ruler over many. "

The nomination was not obtained for him without difficulty. TheRepublican party--like the Democratic--had just been brought back under"safe and sane and conservative" leadership after a prolonged debauchunder the influence of that once famous and revered reformer, AaronWhitman, who had not sobered up or released the party for its soberinguntil his wife's extravagant entertaining at Washington had forced himto accept large "retainers" from the plutocracy. The machine leadershad in the beginning forwarded the ambitions of Whitman under theimpression that his talk of a "square deal" was "just the usual dope"and that Aaron was a "level-headed fellow at bottom. " It haddeveloped--after they had let Aaron become a popular idol, not to betrifled with--it had developed that he was almost sincere--as sincereas can be expected of an ambitious, pushing fellow. Now came DavidHull, looking suspiciously like Whitman at his worst-and a morehopeless case, because he had money a plenty, while Whitman was luckilypoor and blessed with an extravagant wife. True, Hull had the backingof Dick Kelly--and Kelly was not the man "to hand the boys a lemon. "Still Hull looked like a "holy boy, " talked like one, had the popularreputation of having acted like one as mayor--and the "reform game" wascertainly one to attract a man who could afford it and was in politicsfor position only. Perhaps Dick wanted to be rid of Hull for the restof his term, and was "kicking him upstairs. " It would be a shabbytrick upon his fellow leaders, but justifiable if there should be somebig "job" at Remsen City that could be "pulled off" only if Hull wereout of the way. 

The leaders were cold until Dick got his masters in the Remsen Citybranch of the plutocracy to pass the word to the plutocracy's generalagents at Indianapolis--a certain well-known firm of political bankers. Until that certification came the leaders, having no candidate whostood a chance of winning, were ready to make a losing campaign andthrow the election to the Democrats--not a serious misfortune at a timewhen the machines of the two parties had become simply friendly rivalagents for the same rich master. 

There was a sharp fight in the convention. The anti-machine element, repudiating Whitman under the leadership of a shrewd and honest youngman named Joe Bannister, had attacked Hull in the most shocking way. Bannister had been reading Victor Dorn's New Day and had got a notionof David Hull as man and mayor different from the one made current bythe newspapers. He made a speech on the floor of the convention whichalmost caused a riot and nearly cost Davy the nomination. Thatcatastrophe was averted by adjournment. Davy gave Dick Kelly's secondlieutenant, Osterman, ten thousand in cash, of which Osterman saidthere was pressing need "for perfectly legitimate purposes, I assureyou, Mr. Mayor. " Next day the Bannister faction lost forty and oddsturdy yeomen from districts where the crops had been painfully short, and Davy was nominated. 

In due time the election was held, and Mayor Hull became Governor Hullby a satisfactory majority for so evenly divided a State. He hadspent--in contributions to the machine campaign fund--upwards of onehundred thousand dollars. But that seemed a trifling sacrifice to makefor reform principles and for keeping the voice of the people the voiceof God. He would have been elected if he had not spent a cent, for theDemocratic machine, bent on reorganizing back to a sound basis with allreal reformers or reformers tainted with sincerity eliminated, hadnominated a straight machine man--and even the politicians know thatthe people who decide elections will not elect a machine man if theyhave a chance to vote for any one else. It saddened David Hull, in themidst of victory, that his own town and county went against him, preferring the Democrat, whom it did not know, as he lived at the otherend of the State. Locally the offices at stake were all captured bythe "Dorn crowd. " At last the Workingmen's League had a judge; at lastit could have a day in court. There would not be a repetition of thegreat frauds of the Hull-Harbinger campaign. 

By the time David had sufficient leisure to reopen the heart departmentof his ambition, Jane was deep in the effort to show Doctor Charltonhow much intelligence and character she had. She was serving anapprenticeship as trained nurse in the Children's Hospital, where hewas chief of the staff, and was taking several extra courses with hisyoung assistants. It was nearly two weeks after David's first attemptto see her when her engagements and his at last permitted this meeting. Said he:

"What's this new freak?"

"I can't tell you yet, " replied she. "I'm not sure, myself. "

"I don't see how you can endure that fellow Charlton. They say he's asbig a crank in medicine as he is in politics. "

"It's all of a piece, " said Jane, tranquilly. "He says he gets hispolitical views from his medicine and his medical ideas from hispolitics. "

"Don't you think he's a frightful bounder?"

"Frightful, " said Jane. 

"Fresh, impudent--conceited. And he looks like a prize fighter. "

"At some angles--yes, " conceded Jane. "At others, he's almosthandsome. "

"The other day, when I called at the hospital and they wouldn't take myname in to you--" David broke off to vent his indignation--"Did youever hear of such impertinence!"

"And you the governor-elect, " laughed Jane. "Shall I tell you whatDoctor Charlton said? He said that a governor was simply a publicservant, and anything but a public representative--usually a publicdisgrace. He said that a servant's business was attending to his ownjob and not hanging round preventing his fellow servants from attendingto their jobs. "

"I knew he had low and vulgar views of public affairs, " said David. "What I started to say was that I saw him talking to you that day, across the court, and you seemed to be enjoying his conversation. "

"ENJOYING it? I love it, " cried Jane. "He makes me laugh, he makes mecold with rage, he gives me a different sensation every time I see him. "

"You LIKE--him?"

"Immensely. And I've never been so interested or so happy in my life. "She looked steadily at him. "Nothing could induce me to give it up. I've put everything else out of my mind. "

Since the dismal end of his adventure with Selma Gordon, David hadbecome extremely wary in his dealings with the female sex. He neveragain would invite a refusal; he never again would put himself in aposition where a woman might feel free to tell him her private opinionof him. He reflected upon Jane's words. They could have but the onemeaning. Not so calmly as he would have liked, but without anyembarrassing constraint, he said:

"I'm glad you've found what suits you, at last. It isn't exactly theline I'd have thought a girl such as you would choose. You're sure youare not making a mistake?"

"Quite, " said Jane. 

"I should think you'd prefer marriage--and a home--and a socialcircle--and all that, " ventured David. 

"I'll probably not marry. "

"No. You'd hardly take a doctor. "

"The only one I'd want I can't get, " said Jane. 

She wished to shock David, and she saw with pleasure that she hadsucceeded. Indeed so shocked was he that in a few minutes he tookleave. And as he passed from her sight he passed from her mind. 

Victor Dorn described Davy Hull's inaugural address as "anuninteresting sample of the standard reform brand of artificial milkfor political infants. " The press, however, was enthusiastic, andsubstantial people everywhere spoke of it as having the "right ring, "as being the utterance of a "safe, clean man whom the politicians can'tfrighten or fool. " In this famous speech David urged everybody who wasdoing right to keep on doing so, warned everybody who was doing wrongthat they would better look out for themselves, praised those who weretrying to better conditions in the right way, condemned those who weretrying to do so in the wrong way. It was all most eloquent, mostearnest. Some few people were disappointed that he had not explainedexactly what and whom he meant by right and by wrong; but these carpingmurmurs were drowned in the general acclaim. A man whose fistsclenched and whose eyes flashed as did David Hull's must "meanbusiness"--and if no results came of these words, it wouldn't be hisfault, but the machinations of wicked plutocrats and their politicalagents. 

"Isn't it disgusting!" exclaimed Selma, reading an impassionedparagraph aloud to Victor Dorn. "It almost makes me despair when I seehow people--our sort of people, too--are taken in by such guff. Andthey stand with their empty picked pockets and cheer this man, who'snothing but a stool pigeon for pickpockets. "

"It's something gained, " observed Victor tranquilly, "when politicianshave to denounce the plutocracy in order to get audiences and offices. The people are beginning to know what's wrong. They read into ourfriend Hull's generalities what they think he ought to mean--what theybelieve he does mean. The next step is--he'll have to do something orthey'll find him out. "

"He do anything?" Selma laughed derisively. "He hasn't the courage--orthe honesty. "

"Well--'patience and shuffle the cards, ' as Sancho Panza says. We'rewinning Remsen City. And our friends are winning a little ground here, and a little there and a little yonder--and soon--only too soon--thiscrumbling false politics will collapse and disappear. Too soon, Ifear. Before the new politics of a work-compelling world for theworking class only is ready to be installed. "

Selma had been only half attending. She now said abruptly, with afluttering movement that suggested wind blowing strongly across openprairies under a bright sky:

"I've decided to go away. "

"Yes, you must take a vacation, " said Victor. "I've been telling youthat for several years. And you must go away to the sea or themountains where you'll not be harassed by the fate of the human racethat you so take to heart. "

"I didn't mean a vacation, " said Selma. "I meant to Chicago--to workthere. "

"You've had a good offer?" said Victor. "I knew it would come. You'vegot to take it. You need the wider experience--the chance to have apaper of your own--or a work of your own of some kind. It's beenselfishness, my keeping you all this time. "

Selma had turned away. With her face hidden from him she said, "Yes, Imust go. "

"When?" said Victor. 

"As soon as you can arrange for some one else. "

"All right. I'll look round. I've no hope of finding any one to takeyour place, but I can get some one who will do. "

"You can train any one, " said Selma. "Just as you trained me. "

"I'll see what's to be done, " was all he said. 

A week passed--two weeks. She waited; he did not bring up the subject. But she knew he was thinking of it; for there had been a change in hismanner toward her--a constraint, a self-consciousness theretoforeutterly foreign to him in his relations with any one. Selma waswretched, and began to show it first in her appearance, then in herwork. At last she burst out:

"Give that article back to me, " she cried. "It's rotten. I can'twrite any more. Why don't you tell me so frankly? Why don't you sendme away?"

"You're doing better work than I am, " said he. "You're eager to beoff--aren't you? Will you stay a few days longer? I must get away tothe country--alone--to get a fresh grip on myself. I'll come back assoon as I can, and you'll be free. There'll be no chance for vacationsafter you're gone. "

"Very well, " said she. She felt that he would think this curtnessungracious, but more she could not say. 

He was gone four days. When he reappeared at the office he wasbronzed, but under the bronze showed fatigue--in a man of his youth andstrength sure sign of much worry and loss of sleep. He greeted heralmost awkwardly, his eyes avoiding hers, and sat down to opening hisaccumulated mail. Although she was furtively observing him she startedwhen he abruptly said:

"You know you are free to go--at any time. "

"I'll wait until you catch up with your work, " she suggested. 

"No--never mind. I'll get along. I've kept you out of all reason. .. . The sooner you go the better. I've got to get used to it, and--I hatesuspense. "

"Then I'll go in the morning, " said Selma. "I've no arrangements tomake--except a little packing that'll take less than an hour. Will yousay good-by for me to any one who asks? I hate fusses, and I'll be backhere from time to time. "

He looked at her curiously, started to speak, changed his mind andresumed reading the letter in his hand. She turned to her work, satpretending to write. In fact she was simply scribbling. Her eyes wereburning and she was fighting against the sobs that came surging. Herose and began to walk up and down the room. She hastily crumpled andflung away the sheet on which she had be scrawling; he might happen toglance at her desk and see. She bent closer to the paper and began towrite--anything that came into her head. Presently the sound of hisstep ceased. An uncontrollable impulse to fly seized her. She wouldget up--would not put on her hat--would act as if she were simply goingto the street door for a moment. And she would not return--wouldescape the danger of a silly breakdown. She summoned all her courage, suddenly rose and moved swiftly toward the door. At the threshold shehad to pause; she could not control her heart from a last look at him. 

He was seated at his table, was staring at its litter of letters, papers and manuscripts with an expression so sad that it completelytransformed him. She forgot herself. She said softly:

"Victor!"

He did not hear. 

"Victor, " she repeated a little more loudly. 

He roused himself, glanced at her with an attempt at his usual friendlysmile of the eyes. 

"Is there something wrong that you haven't told me about?" she asked. 

"It'll pass, " said he. "I'll get used to it. " With an attempt at themanner of the humorous philosopher, "Man is the most adaptable of allthe animals. That's why he has distanced all his relations. I didn'trealize how much our association meant to me until you set me tothinking about it by telling me you were going. I had been taking youfor granted--a habit we easily fall into with those who simply workwith and for us and don't insist upon themselves. "

She was leaning against the frame of the open door into the hall, herhands behind her back. She was gazing out of the window across theroom. 

"You, " he went on, "are as I'd like to be--as I imagined I was. Yoursense of duty to the cause orders you elsewhere, and you go--like agood soldier, with never a backward glance. "

She shook her head, but did not speak. 

"With never a backward glance, " he repeated. "While I--" He shut hislips together firmly and settled himself with fierce resolution to hiswork. "I beg your pardon, " he said. "This is--cowardly. As I saidbefore, I shall get myself in hand again, and go on. "

She did not move. The breeze of the unseasonably warm and brilliantday fluttered her thick, loosely gathered hair about her brow. Herstrange, barbaric little face suggested that the wind was blowingacross it a throng of emotions like the clouds of a driven storm. 

A long silence. He suddenly flung out his arms in a despairing gestureand let them fall to the table. At the crash she startled, gazedwildly about. 

"Selma!" he cried. "I must say it. I love you. "

A profound silence fell. After a while she went softly across the roomand sat down at her desk. 

"I think I've loved you from the first months of your coming here towork--to the old office, I mean. But we were always together--everyday--all day long--working together--I thinking and doing nothingwithout your sharing in it. So, I never realized. Don'tmisunderstand. I'm not trying to keep you here. It's simply that I'vegot the habit of telling you everything--of holding back nothing fromyou. "

"I was going, " she said, "because I loved you. "

He looked at her in amazement. 

"That day you told me you had decided to get married--and asked myadvice about the girls among our friends--that was the day I began tofeel I'd have to go. It's been getting worse ever since. "

Once more silence, both looking uneasily about, their glances avoidingeach other. The door of the printing room opened, and Holman, theprinter, came in, his case in his grimy hand. Said he:

"Where's the rest of that street car article?"

"I beg your pardon, " said Selma, starting up and taking some manuscriptfrom her desk and handing it to him. 

"Louis, " said Victor, as Holmes was retreating, "Selma and I are goingto be married. "

Louis paused, but did not look round. "That ain't what'd be callednews, " said he. "I've known it for more than three years. "

He moved on toward his room. "I'll be ready for that leading articlein half an hour. So, you'd better get busy. "

He went out, closing the door behind him. Selma and Victor looked ateach other and burst out laughing. Then--still laughing--they tookhold of hands like two children. And the next thing they knew theywere tight in each other's arms, and Selma was sobbing wildly. 

X

When Jane had finished her apprenticeship, Doctor Charlton asked her tomarry him. Said Jane:

"I never knew you to be commonplace before. I've felt this coming forsome time, but I expected it would be in the form of an offer to marryme. "

She promptly accepted him--and she has not, and will not regret it. Sofar as a single case can prove a theory, Jane's case has provedCharlton's theory that environment determines character. Hisalternations of tenderness and brusqueness, of devotion to her anddevotion to his work, his constant offering of something new and hisunremitting insistence upon something new from her each day make itimpossible for her to develop the slightest tendency toward thatsleeping sickness wherewith the germ of conventionality inflicts anymind it seizes upon. 

David Hull, now temporarily in eclipse through over caution in radicalutterance, is gathering himself for a fresh spurt that will doubtlessplace him at the front in politics again. He has never married. Thebelief in Remsen City is that he is a victim of disappointed love forJane Hastings. But the truth is that he is unable to take his mind offhimself long enough to be come sufficiently interested in another humanbeing. There is no especial reason why he has thus far escaped themany snares that have been set for him because of his wealth andposition. Who can account for the vagaries of chance?

The Workingmen's League now controls the government of Remsen City. Itgives an honest and efficient administration, and keeps the publicservice corporations as respectful of the people as the laws willpermit. But, as Victor Dorn always warned the people, little can bedone until the State government is conquered--and even then there willbe the national government to see that all the wrongs of vested rightsare respected and that the people shall have little to say, in themanagement of their own affairs. As all sensible people know, anycorrupt politician, or any greedy plutocrat, or any agent of either isa safer and better administrator of the people's affairs than thepeople themselves. 

The New Day is a daily with a circulation for its weekly edition thatis national. And Victor and Selma are still its editors, though theyhave two little boys to bring up. 

Jane and Selma see a great deal of each other, and are friendly, andtry hard to like each other. But they are not friends. 

Dick Kelly's oldest son, graduated from Harvard, is the leader of theRemsen City fashionable set. Joe House's only son is a professionalgambler and sets the pace among the sports.