[Illustration: "You can be worth a million ... Within a year"]

THE FORTUNE HUNTER

By

Louis Joseph Vance

Author Of "The Brass Bowl, ""The Bronze Bell, " Etc. 

_With illustrations by_Arthur William Brown

1910

ToGeorge Spellvin, Esq. , _This book is cheerfully dedicated_

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. FROM HIM THAT HATH NOT

II. TO HIM THAT HATH

III. INSPIRATION

IV. TRIUMPH OF MR. HOMER LITTLE JOHN

V. MARGARET'S DAUGHTER

VI. INTRODUCTION TO MISS CARPENTER

VII. A WINDOW IN RADVILLE

VIII. THE MAN OF BUSINESS IN EMBRYO

IX. SMALL BEGINNINGS

X. ROLAND BARNETTE'S FRIEND

XI. BLINKY LOCKWOOD

XII. DUNCAN'S GRUBSTAKE

XIII. THE BUSINESS MAN AND MR. BURNHAM XIV. MOSTLY ABOUT BETTY

XV. MANOEUVRES OF JOSIE

XVI. WHERE RADVILLE FEARED TO TREAD

XVII. TRACEY'S TROUBLES

XVIII. A BARGAIN IS A BARGAIN

XIX. PROVING THE PERSIPICUITY OF MR. KELLOGG

XX. ROLAND SHOWS HIS HAND

XXI. AS OTHERS SAW HIM

XXII. ROLAND'S TRIUMPH

XXIII. THE RAINBOW'S END

ILLUSTRATIONS

"You can be worth a million ... Within a year"

"You mean you're going to work here?"

"Four hundred dollars, Mr. Sheriff"

"Betty!"

"You're a thief with a reward out for you"

"Forever and ever and a day"

I

FROM HIM THAT HATH NOT

Receiver at ear, Spaulding, of Messrs. Atwater & Spaulding, importersof motoring garments and accessories, listened to the switchboardoperator's announcement with grave attention, acknowledging it with atoneless: "All right. Send him in. " Then hooking up the desk telephonehe swung round in his chair to face the door of his private office, andin a brief ensuing interval painstakingly ironed out of his face andattitude every indication of the frame of mind in which he awaited hiscaller. It was, as a matter of fact, anything but a pleasant one: hehad a distasteful duty to perform; but that was the last thing hedesigned to become evident. Like most good business men he nursed a petsuperstition or two, and of the number of these the first was that hemust in all his dealings present an inscrutable front, like apoker-player's: captains of industry were uniformly like that, Spaulding understood; if they entertained emotions it was strictly inprivate. Accordingly he armoured himself with a magnificentimperturbability which at times almost deceived its wearer. 

Occasionally it deceived others: notably now it bewildered Duncan as heentered on the echo of Spaulding's "Come!" He had apprehended thevisage of a thunderstorm, with a rattle of brusque complaints: heencountered Spaulding as he had always seemed: a little, urbane figurewith a blank face, the blanker for glasses whose lenses seemed alwaysto catch the light and, glaring, mask the eyes behind them; aprosperous man of affairs, well groomed both as to body and as to mind;a machine for the transaction of business, with all a machine'svivacity and temperamental responsiveness. It was just that quality inhim that Duncan envied, who was vaguely impressed that, if he himselfcould only imitate, however minutely, the phlegm of a machine, he mightlearn to ape something of its efficiency and so, ultimately, provehimself of some worth to the world--and, incidentally, to NathanielDuncan. Thus far his spasmodic attempts to adapt to the requirementsand limitations of the world of business his own equipment of misfitinclinations and ill-assorted abilities, had unanimously turned outsignal failures. So he envied Spaulding without particularly admiringhim. 

Now the sight of his employer, professionally bland and capable, andwith no animus to be discerned in his attitude, provided Duncan withone brief, evanescent flash of hope, one last expiring instant ofdignity (tempered by his unquenchable humour) in which to face hisfate. Something of the hang-dog vanished from his habit and for alittle time he carried himself again with all his one-time grace andconfidence. 

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Spaulding, " he said, replying to a nod as hedropped into the chair that nod had indicated. A faint smile lightenedhis expression and made it quite engaging. 

"G'dafternoon. " Spaulding surveyed him swiftly, then laced his fatlittle fingers and contemplated them with detached intentness. "Justget in, Duncan?"

"On the three-thirty from Chicago.... "

There was a pause, during which Spaulding reviewed his fingernails withimpartial interest; in that pause Duncan's poor little hope died anatural death. "I got your wire, " he resumed; "I mean, it gotme--overtook me at Minneapolis.... So here I am. "

"You haven't wasted time. "

"I fancied the matter might be urgent, sir. "

Spaulding lifted his brows ever so slightly. "Why?"

"Well, I gathered from the fact that you wiredme to come home that you wanted my advice. "

A second time Spaulding gestured with his eyebrows, for once fairlysurprised out of his pose. "_Your_ advice!... "

"Yes, " said Duncan evenly: "as to whether you ought to give up yourcustomers on my route or send them a man who could sell goods. "

"Well.... " Spaulding admitted. 

"Oh, don't think I'm boasting of my acuteness: anybody could haveguessed as much from the great number of heavy orders I have not beensending you. "

"You've had bad luck.... "

"You mean you have, Mr. Spaulding. It was good luck for me to bedrawing down my weekly cheques, bad luck to you not to have a man whocould earn them. "

His desperate honesty touched Spaulding a trifle; at the risk of notseeming a business man to himself he inclined dubiously to relent, togive Duncan another chance. The fellow was likeable enough, hisemployer considered; he had good humour and even in dejection, distinction; whatever he was not, he was a man of birth and breeding. His face might be rusty with a day-old stubble, as it was; hisshirt-cuffs frayed, his shoes down at the heel, his baggy clothingweirdly ready-made, as they were: there remained his air. You'd thinkhe might amount to something, to somewhat more than a mere something, given half a chance in the right direction. Then what?... Spauldingsought from Duncan elucidation of this riddle. 

"Duncan, " he said, "what's the trouble?"

"I thought you knew that; I thought that waswhy you called me in with my route half-covered. "

"You mean--?"

"I mean I can't sell your line. "

"Why?"

"God only knows. I want to, badly enough. It's just generalincompetence, I presume. "

"What makes you think that?"

Duncan smiled bitterly. "Experience, " he said. 

"You've tried--what else?"

"A little of everything--all the jobs open to a man with a knowledge ofLatin and Greek and the higher mathematics: shipping clerk, time-keeper, cashier--all of 'em. "

"And yet Kellogg believes in you. "

Duncan nodded dolefully. "Harry's a good friend. We roomed together atcollege. That's why he stands for me. "

"He says you only need the right opening--. "

"And nobody knows where that is, except my unfortunate employers: it'sthe back door going out, for mine every time.... Oh, Harry's been aprince to me. He's found me four or five jobs with friends of his--likeyourself. But I don't seem to last. You see I was brought up to beornamental and irregular rather than useful; to blow about in motorcars and keep a valet busy sixteen hours a day--and all that sort ofthing. My father's failure--you know about that?"

Spaulding nodded. Duncan went on gloomily, talking a great deal morefreely than he would at any other time--suffering, in fact, from thatspecies of auto hypnosis induced by the sound of his own voicerecounting his misfortunes, which seems especially to affect a man downon his luck. 

"That smash came when I was five years out of college--I'd neverthought of turning my hand to anything in all that time. I'd always hadmore coin than I could spend--never had to consider the worth of moneyor how hard it is to earn: my father saw to all that. He seemed not towant me to work: not that I hold that against him; he'd an idea I'dturn out a genius of some sort or other, I believe.... Well, he failedand died all in a week, and I found myself left with an extensivewardrobe, expensive tastes, an impractical education--and not so muchof that that you'd notice it--and not a cent.... I was too proud tolook to my friends for help in those days--and perhaps that was aswell; I sought jobs on my own.... Did you ever keep books in afish-market?"

"No. " Spaulding's eyes twinkled behind his large, shiny glasses. 

"But what's the use of my boring you?" Duncan made as if to rise, suddenly remembering himself. 

"You're not. Go on. "

"I didn't mean to; mostly, I presume, I've been blundering round anexplanation of Kellogg's kindness to me, in my usual ineffectualway--felt somehow an explanation was due you, as the latest to sufferthrough his misplaced interest in me. "

"Perhaps, " said Spaulding, "I am beginning to understand. Go on: I'minterested. About the fish-market?"

"Oh, I just happened to think of it as a sample experience--and thelast of that particular brand. I got nine dollars a week and earnedevery cent of it inhaling the atmosphere. My board cost me six and theother three afforded me a chance to demonstrate myself a captain offinance--paying laundry bills and clothing myself, besides buyinglunches and such-like small matters. I did the whole thing, youknow--one schooner of beer a day and made my own cigarettes: nevercould make up my mind which was the worst. The hours were easy, too:didn't have to get to work until five in the morning.... I lasted fiveweeks at that job, before I was taken sick: shows what a greatconstitution I've got. "

He laughed uncertainly and paused, thoughtful, his eyes vacant, fixedupon the retrospect that was a grim prospect of the imminent future. 

"And then--?"

"Oh--?" Duncan roused. "Why, then I fell in with Kellogg again; hefound me trying the open-air cure on a bench in Washington Square. Since then he's been finding me one berth after another. He's asure-enough optimist. "

Spaulding shifted uneasily in his chair, stirred by an impulse whoseunwisdom he could not doubt. Duncan had assuredly done his case no goodby painting his shortcomings in colours so vivid; yet, somehowstrangely, Spaulding liked him the better for his open-heartedconfession. 

"Well.... " Spaulding stumbled awkwardly. 

"Yes; of course, " said Duncan promptly, rising. "Sorry if I tired you. "

"What do you mean by: 'Yes, of course'?"

"That you called me in to fire me--and so that's over with. Only I'd besorry to have you sore on Kellogg for saddling me on you. You see, hebelieved I'd make good, and so did I in a way: at least, I hoped to. "

"Oh, that's all right, " said Spaulding uncomfortably. "The trouble is, you see, we've nothing else open just now. But if you'd really likeanother chance on the road, I--I'll be glad to speak to Mr. Atwaterabout it. "

"Don't you do it!" Duncan counselled him sharply, aghast. "He might sayyes. And I simply couldn't accept; it wouldn't be fair to you, Kellogg, or myself. It'd be charity--for I've proved I can't earn my wages; andI haven't come to that yet. No!" he concluded with determination, andpicked up his hat. 

"Just a minute. " Spaulding held him with a gesture. "You're forgettingsomething: at least I am. There's a month's pay coming to you; thecashier will hand you the cheque as you go out. "

"A month's pay?" Duncan said blankly. "How's that? I've drawn up to theend of this week already, if you didn't know it. "

"Of course I knew it. But we never let our men go without a month'snotice or its equivalent, and--"

"No, " Duncan interrupted firmly. "No; but thank you just the same. Icouldn't. I really couldn't. It's good of you, but ... Now, " he brokeoff abruptly, "I've left my accounts--what there is of them--with thebook-keeping department, and the checks for my sample trunks. There'llbe a few dollars coming to me on my expense account, and I'll send youmy address as soon as I get one. "

"But look here--" Spaulding got to his feet, frowning. 

"No, " reiterated Duncan positively. "There's no use. I'm grateful toyou for your toleration of me--and all that. But we can't do anythingbetter now than call it all off. Good-bye, Mr. Spaulding. "

Spaulding nodded, accepting defeat with the better grace because of aninnate conviction that it was just as well, after all. And, furthermore, he admired Duncan's stand. So he offered his hand: anunusual condescension. "You'll make good somewhere yet, " he asserted. 

"I wish I could believe it. " Duncan's grasp was firm since he felt moreassured of some humanity latent in his late employer. "However ... Good-bye. "

"Good luck to you, " rang in his ears as the door put a period to theinterview. He stopped and took up the battered suitcase and rustyovercoat which he had left outside the junior partner's office, thenwent on, shaking his head. "Much obliged, " he said huskily to himself. "But what's the good of that. There's no room anywhere for aprofessional failure. And that's what I am; just a ne'er-do-well. Inever realised what that meant, really, before, and it's certainlytaken me a damn' long time to find out. But I know now, all right.... "

Outside, on the steps of the building, he paused a moment, fascinatedby the brisk spectacle afforded by lower Broadway at the hour when thecave-like offices in its cliff-like walls begin to empty themselves, when the overlords and their lieutenants close their desks and turntheir faces homewards, leaving the details of the day's routine to bewound up by underlings. In the clear light of the late spring afternoona stream of humanity was high and fluent upon the sidewalks. Duncan hadglimpses of keen-faced men, bright-faced women, eager boys, quickenedall by that manner of efficiency and intelligence which seems sointegrally American. A well-dressed throng, well-fed, amiable andanimated, looking ever forward, the resistless tide of affairs thatgave it being bore it onward; it passed the onlooker as a strongcurrent passes flotsam in a back-eddy, with no pause, no turning aside. Acutely he felt his aloofness from it, who had no part in its interestsand scarcely any comprehension of them. The sunken look, the leannessof his young face, seemed suddenly accentuated; the gloom in hisdiscontented eyes deepened; his slight habitual stoop became morenoticeable. And a second time he nodded acquiescence to his unspokenthought. 

"There, " said he, singling out a passer-by upon whose complacentfeatures prosperity had set its smug hall-mark--"there, but for thegrace of God, goes Nat Duncan!" He rolled the paraphrase upon histongue and found it bitter--not, however, with a tonic bitterness. "Lord, what a worthless critter I am! No good to myself--nor to anybodyelse. Even on Harry I'm a drag--a regular old man of the mountains!"

Despondently he went down to the sidewalk and merged himself with thecrowd, moving with it though a thousand miles apart from it, andpresently diverging, struck across-town toward the Worth Street subwaystation. 

"And the worst of it is, he's too sharp not to find it out--if hehasn't by this time--and too damn' decent by far to let me know if hehas! ... It can't go on this way with us: I can't let him ... Got tobreak with him somehow--now--to-day. I won't let him think me ... WhatI've been all along to him.... Bless his foolish heart!... "

This resolution coloured his reverie throughout the uptown journey. Andhe strengthened himself with it, deriving a sort of acrid comfort fromthe knowledge that henceforth none should know the burden of hismisfortunes save himself. There was no deprecation of Kellogg'sgoodness in his mood, simply determination no longer to be a chargeupon it. To contemplate the sum total of the benefits he had receivedat Kellogg's hands, since the day when the latter had found him ill andhalf-starved, friendless as a stray pup, on the bench in WashingtonSquare, staggered his imagination. He could never repay it, he toldhimself, save inadequately, little by little--mostly by gratitude andsuch consideration as he purposed now to exhibit by removing himselfand his distresses from the other's ken. Here was an end to comfort forhim, an end to living in Kellogg's rooms, eating his food, busying hisservants, spending his money--not so much borrowed as pressed upon him. He stood at the cross-roads, but in no doubt as to which way he shouldmost honourably take, though it took him straight back to that fromwhich Kellogg had rescued him. 

There crawled in his mind a clammy memory of the sort of housing he hadknown in those evil days, and he shuddered inwardly, smelling again theeffluvia of dank oilcloth and musty carpets, of fish-balls and friedham, of old-style plumbing and of nine-dollar-a-week humanity in theunwashen raw--the odour of misery that permeated the lodgings to whichhis lack of means had introduced him. He could see again, and with apainful vividness of mental vision, the degenerate "brownstone fronts"that mask those haunts of wretchedness, with their flights of crumblingbrownstone steps leading up to oaken portals haggard with flakingpaint, flanked by squares of soiled note-paper upon which inexperthands had traced the warning, not: "Abandon hope all ye who enterhere, " but: "Furnished rooms to let with board. " And pursuing this grimtrail of memory, whether he would or no--again he climbed, wearily atthe end of a wearing day, a darksome well of a staircase up and up toan eyrie under the eaves, denominated in the terminology of landladiesa "top hall back"--a cramped refuge haunted by pitiful ghosts of thehopes and despairs of its former tenants. And he remembered withreminiscently aching muscles the comfort of such a "single bed" as ispeculiar (one hopes) to top hall backs, and with a qualm what it was tocook a surreptitious meal on a metal heater clamped to the gas-bracket(with ears keen to catch the scuffle of the landlady's feet as sheskulked in the hall, jealous of her gas bill). 

And to this he must return, to that treadmill round of blighted daysand joyless nights must set his face.... 

Alighting at the Grand Central Station he packed the double weight ofhis luggage and his cares a few blocks northward on Madison Avenue ereturning west toward the bachelor rooms which Kellogg had established inthe roaring Forties, just the other side of _the_ Avenue--FifthAvenue, on a corner of which Duncan presently was held up for a time bya press of traffic. He lingered indifferently, waiting for the mountedpoliceman to clear a way across, watching the while with lack-lustreeyes the interminable procession of cabs and landaus, taxis andtown-cars that romped by hazardously, crowding the street from curb tocurb. 

The day was of young June, though grey and a little chill with thediscouraged spirit of a retarded season. Though the hegira of thewell-to-do to their summer homes had long since set in, still thereremained in the city sufficient of their class to keep the Avenuepopulous from Twenty-third Street north to the Plaza in the eveninghours. The suggestion of wealth, or luxury, of money's illimitablepower, pervaded the atmosphere intensely, an ineluctable influence, toan independent man heady, to Duncan maddening. He surveyed the paradewith mutiny in his heart. All this he had known, a part of it hadbeen--upon a time. Now ... The shafts of his roving eyes here and theredetected faces recognisable, of men and women whose acquaintance he hadonce owned. None recognised him who stood there worn, shabby and tired. He even caught the direct glance of a girl who once had thought himworth winning, who had set herself to stir his heart and--had beensuccessful. To-day she looked him straight in the eyes, apparently, with undisturbed serenity, then as calmly looked over and through andbeyond him. Her limousine hurried her on, enthroned impregnably abovethe envious herd. 

He sped her transit with a mirthless chuckle. "You're right, " he said, "dead right. You simply don't know me any more, my dear--you musn't;you can't afford to any more than I could afford to know you. "

None the less the fugitive incident seemed to brim his disconsolatecup. In complete dejection of mind and spirit he pushed on to Kellogg'squarters, buoyed by a single hope--that Kellogg might be out of town ordelayed at his office. 

In that event Duncan might have a chance to gather up his belongingsand escape unhandicapped by the immediate necessity of justifying hiscourse. At another time, surely, the explanation was inevitable; sayto-morrow; he was not cur enough to leave his friend without a word. But to-night he would willingly be spared. He apprehended unhappily theinterview with Kellogg; he was in no temper for argumentation, feltscarcely strong enough to hold his own against the fire of objectionswith which Kellogg would undoubtedly seek to shake his stand. Kelloggcould talk, Heaven alone knew how winningly he could talk! with all thesound logic of a close reasoner, all the enthusiasm of youth andself-confidence, all the persuasiveness of profound conviction singularto successful men. Duncan had been wont to say of him that Kelloggcould talk the hind-leg off of a mule. He recalled this now with a sourgrin: "That means me... "

The elevator boy, knowing him of old, neglected to announce hisarrival, and Duncan had his own key to the door of Kellogg's apartment. He let himself in with futile stealth: as was quite right and proper, Kellogg's man Robbins was in attendance--a stupefied Robbins, thunderstruck by the unexpected return of his master's friend andguest. "Good Lord!" he cried at sight of Duncan. "Beg your pardon, sir, but--but it can't be you!"

"Your mistake, Robbins. Unfortunately it is. " Duncan surrendered hisluggage. "Mr. Kellogg in?"

"No, sir. But I'm expecting him any minute. He'll be surprised to seeyou back. "

"Think so?" said Duncan dully. "He doesn't know me, if he is. "

"You see, sir, we thought you was out West. "

"So you did. " Duncan moved toward the door of his own bedroom, Robbinsfollowing. 

"It was only yesterday I posted a letter to you for Mr. Kellogg, sir, and the address was Omaha. "

"I didn't get that far. Fetch along that suitcase, will you please? Iwant to put some clean things in it. "

"Then you're not staying in town over night, Mr. Duncan?"

"I don't know. I'm not staying here, anyway. " Duncan switched on thelights in his room. "Put it on the bed, Robbins. I'll pack as quicklyas I can. I'm in a hurry. "

"Yes, sir, but--I hope there's nothing wrong?"

"Then you lose, " returned Duncan grimly: "everything's wrong. " Hejerked viciously at an obstinate bureau drawer, and when it yieldedunexpectedly with the well-known impishness of the inanimate, dumpedupon the floor a tangled miscellany of shirts, socks, gloves, collarsand ties. 

"Didn't you like the business, sir?"

"No, I didn't like the business--and it didn't like me. It's the sameold story, Robbins. I've lost my job again--that's all. "

"I'm very sorry, sir. "

"Thank you--but that's all right. I'm used to it. "

"And you're going to leave, sir?"

"I am, Robbins. "

"I--may I take the liberty of hoping it's to take another position?"

"You may, but you lose a second time. I've just made up my mind I'm notgoing to hang round here any longer. That's all. "

"But, " Robbins ventured, hovering about with exasperatingsolicitude--"but Mr. Kellogg'd never permit you to leave in this way, sir. "

"Wrong again, Robbins, " said Duncan curtly, annoyed. 

"Yes, sir. Very good, sir. " With the instinct of the well-trainedservant, Robbins started to leave, but hesitated. He was really verymuch disturbed by Duncan's manner, which showed a phase of hischaracter new in Robbins' experience of him. Ordinarily reverses suchas this had seemed merely to serve to put Duncan on his mettle, toinfuse him with a determination to try again and win out, whatever theodds; and at such times he was accustomed to exhibit a madirresponsibility of wit and a gaiety of spirit (whether it were a maskor no) that only outrivalled his high good humour when thingsostensibly were going well with him. 

Intermittently, between his spasms of employment, he had been Kellogg'sguest for several years, not infrequently for months at a time; and soRobbins had come to feel a sort of proprietary interest in the youngman, second only to the regard which he had for his employer. Like mostpeople with whom Duncan came in contact, Robbins admired him from arespectful distance, and liked him very well withal. He would have beenmuch distressed to have harm happen to him, and he was very muchconcerned and alarmed to see him so candidly discouraged and sick atheart. Perhaps too quick to draw an inference, Robbins mistrusted hisintentions; his dour habit boded ill in the servant's understanding:men in such moods were apt to act unwisely. But if only he mightcontrive to delay Duncan until Kellogg's return, he thought the formermight yet be saved from the consequences of folly of some insensatesort. And casting about for an excuse, he grasped at the most sovereignsolace he knew of. 

"Beg pardon, sir, " he advanced, hesitant, "but perhaps you're justfeeling a bit blue. Won't you let me bring you a drop of something?"

"Of course I will, " said Duncan emphatically over his shoulder. "Andget it now, will you, while I'm packing.... And, Robbins!"

"Sir?"

"Only put a little in it. "

"A little what, sir?"

"Seltzer, of course. "

II

TO HIM THAT HATH

It had been a forlorn hope at best, this attempt of his to escapeKellogg: Duncan acknowledged it when, his packing rudely finished, hestarted for the door, Robbins reluctantly surrendering the suit-caseafter exhausting his repertoire of devices to delay the young man. Butat that instant the elevator gate clashed in the outer corridor andKellogg's key rattled in the lock, to an accompanying confusion ofvoices, all masculine and all very cheerful. 

Duncan sighed and motioned Robbins away with his luggage. "No hopenow, " he told himself. "But--O Lord!"

Incontinently there burst into the room four men: Jim Long, LarryMiller, another whom Duncan did not immediately recognise, and Kellogghimself, bringing with them an atmosphere breezy with jubilation. Before he knew it Duncan was boisterously overwhelmed. He got hisbreath to find Kellogg pumping his hand. 

"Nat, " he was saying, "you're the only other man on earth I was wishingcould be with me tonight! Now my happiness is complete. Gad, this islucky!"

"You think so?" countered Duncan, forcing a smile. "Hello, you boys!"He gave a hand to Long and Miller. "How're you all?" He warmed to theirfriendly faces and unfeigned welcome. "My, but it's good to see you!"There was relief in the fact that Kellogg, after a single glance, forbore to question his return; he was to be counted upon for tact, wasKellogg. Now he strangled surprise by turning to the fourth member ofthe party. 

"Nat, " he said, "I want you to meet Mr. Bartlett. Mr. Bartlett, Mr. Duncan. "

A wholesome smile dawned on Duncan's face as he encountered the blankblue stare of a young man whose very smooth and very bright red facewas admirably set off by semi-evening dress. "Great Scott!" he cried, warmly pressing the lackadaisical hand that drifted into his. "WillyBartlett--after all these years!"

A sudden animation replaced the vacuous stare of the blue eyes. "Duncan!" he stammered. "I say, this is rippin'!"

"As bad as that?" Duncan essayed an accent almost English and noddedhis appreciation of it: something which Bartlett missed completely. 

He was very young--a very great deal younger, Duncan thought, than whenthey had been classmates, what time Duncan shared his rooms withKellogg: very much younger and suffering exquisitely fromover-sophistication. His drawl barely escaped being inimitable; his airdid not escape it. "Smitten with my old trouble, " Duncan appraised him:"too much money... Heaven knows I hope he never recovers!"

As for Willy, he was momentarily more nearly human than he had seemedfrom the moment of his first appearance. "You know, " he blurted, "thisis simply extraordinary. I say, you chaps, Duncan and I haven't met foryears--not since he graduated. We belonged to the same frat, y'know, and had a jolly time of it, if he was an upper-class man. No side abouthim at all, y'know--absolutely none whatever. Whenever I had to go outon a spree, I'd always get Nat to show me round. "

"I was pretty good at that, " Duncan admitted a trifle ruefully. 

But Willy rattled on, heedless. "He knew more pretty gels, y'know... Isay, old chap, d'you know as many now?"

Duncan shook his head. "The list has shrunk. I'm a changed man, Willy. "

"Ow, I say, you're chawfin', " Willy argued incredulously. "I don'tbelieve that, y'know--hardly. I say, you remember the night you showedme how to play faro bank?"

"I'll never forget it, " Duncan told him gravely. "And I remember what aplug we thought my room-mate was because he wouldn't come with us. " Henodded significantly toward the amused Kellogg. 

"Not him!" cried Willy, expostulant. "Not really? Why it cawn't be!"

"Fact, " Duncan assured him. "He was working his way through college, you see, whereas I was working my way through my allowance--and thensome. That's why you never met him, Willy: he worked--and got thehabit. We loafed--with the same result. That's why he's useful andyou're ornamental, and I'm--" He broke off in surprise. "Hello!" hesaid as Robbins offered a tray to the three on which were slim-stemmedglasses filled with a pale yellow, effervescent liquid. "Why the blondwaters of excitement, please?" he inquired, accepting a glass. 

From across the room Larry Miller's voice sounded. "Are you ready, gentlemen? We'll drink to him first and then he can drink to his royallittle self. To the boy who's getting on in the world! To the juniormember of L. J. Bartlett and Company!"

Long applauded loudly: "Hear! Hear!" And even Willy Bartlett chimed inwith an unemotional: "Good work!" Mechanically Duncan downed the toast;Kellogg was the only man not drinking it, and from that the meaning waseasily to be inferred. With a stride Duncan caught his hand and crushedit in his own. 

"Harry, " he said a little huskily, "I can't tell you how glad I am!It's the best news I've had in years!"

Kellogg's responsive pressure was answer enough. "It makes it doublyworth while, to win out and have you all so glad!" he said. 

"So you've taken him into the firm, eh?" Duncan inquired of Bartlett. 

The blue eyes widened stonily. "The governor has. I'm not in thebusiness, y'know. Never had the slightest turn for it, what?" Willy setaside his glass. "I say, I must be moving. No, I cawn't stop, Kellogg, really. I was dressin' at the club and Larry told me about it, so Ijust dropped round to tell you how jolly glad I am. "

"Your father hadn't told you, then?"

"Who, the governor?" Willy looked unutterably bored. "Why, he gave uptryin' to talk business with me long ago. I can't get interested in it, 'pon my word. Of course I knew he thought the deuce and all of you, butI hadn't an idea they were goin' to take you into the firm. What?"

Long and Miller interrupted, proposing adieus which Kellogg vainlycontended. 

"Why, you're only just here--" he expostulated. 

"Cawn't help it, old chap, " Willy assured him earnestly. "I must go, anyway. I've a dinner engagement. "

"You'll be late, won't you?"

"Doesn't matter in the least; I'm always late. 'Night, Kellogg. Congratulations again. "

"We just dropped round to take off our hats to you, " Long continued, pumping Kellogg's hand. 

"And tell you what a good fellow we think you are, " added Miller, following suit. 

"You don't know how good you make me feel, " Kellogg told them. 

Under cover of this diversion Duncan was making one last effort to slipaway; but before he could gather together his impedimenta and get tothe door Willy Bartlett intercepted him. 

"I say, Duncan--"

"Oh, hell!" said Duncan beneath his breath. He paused ungraciouslyenough. 

"We've got to see a bit of one another, now we've met again, y'know. Wish you'd look me up--Half Moon Club'll get me 'most any time. We'llhave to arrange to make a regular old-fashioned night of it, just formemory's sake. "

Duncan nodded, edging past him. "I've memories enough, " he said. 

"Right-oh! Any reason at all, y'know, just so we have the night. "

"Good enough, " assented Duncan vaguely. He suffered his hand to bewrung with warmth. "I'll not forget--good-night. " Then he pulled up andgroaned, for Willy's insistence had frustrated his design: Kellogg hadsuddenly become alive to his attitude and hailed him over the heads ofLong and Miller. 

"Nat, I say! Where the devil are you going?"

"Over to the hotel, " said Duncan. 

"The deuce you are! What hotel?"

"The one I'm stopping at. "

"Not on your life. You're not going just yet--I haven't had half achance to talk to you. Robbins, take Mr. Duncan's things. "

Duncan, set upon by Robbins, who had been hovering round for just thatpurpose, lifted his shoulders in resignation, turning back into theroom as Miller and Long said good-night to him and left at Bartlett'sheels, and smiled awry in semi-humorous deprecation of the way in whichhe let Kellogg out-manoeuvre him. When it came to that, it was hard torefuse Kellogg anything; he had that way with him. Especially if oneliked him... And how could anyone help liking him?

Kellogg had him now, holding him fast by either shoulder, at arm'slength, and shaking a reproving head at his friend. "You big duffer!"he said. "Did you think for a minute I'd let you throw me down likethat?"

Duncan stood passive, faintly amused and touched by the other's show ofaffection. "No, " he said, "I didn't really think so. But it was worthtrying on, of course. "

"Look here, have you dined?"

'At this suggestion Duncan stiffened and fell back. "No, but--"

Kellogg swept the ground from under his feet. "Robbins, " he told theman, "order in dinner for two from the club, and tell 'em to hurry itup. "

"Yes, sir, " said Robbins, and flew to obey before Duncan could get achance to countermand his part in the order. 

"And now, " continued Kellogg, "we've got the whole evening before us inwhich to chin. Sit down. " He led Duncan to an arm-chair and gently butfirmly plumped him into its capacious depths. "We'll have a snug littledinner here and--what do you say to taking in a show afterwards?"

"I say no. "

"You dassent, my boy. This is the night we celebrate. I'm feelingpretty good to-night. "

"You ought to, Harry. " Duncan struggled to rouse himself to share inthe spirit of gratulation with which Kellogg was bubbling. "I'm mightyglad, old man. It's a great step up for you. "

"It's all of that. You could have knocked me over with a feather whenBartlett sprang it on me this morning. Of course, I was expectingsomething--a boost in salary, or something like that. Bartlett knewthat other houses in the Street had made me offers--I've been prettylucky of late and pulled off one or two rather big deals--but apartnership with L. J. Bartlett--! Think of it, Nat!"

"I'm thinking of it--and it's great. "

"It'll keep me mighty busy, " Kellogg blundered blindly on; "it means alot of extra work--but you know I like to work.... "

"That's right, you do, " agreed Duncan drearily. "It's queer to me--itmust be a great thing to like to work. "

"You bet it's a great thing; why, I couldn't exist if I couldn't work. You remember that time I laid off for a month in the country--for myhealth's sake? I'll never forget it: hanging round all the time with myhands empty--everyone else with something to do. I wouldn't go throughwith it again for a fortune. Never felt so useless and in the way--"

"But, " interrupted Duncan, knitting his brows as he grappled with thisproblem, "you were independent, weren't you? You had money--could payyour board?"

"Of course; nevertheless, I felt in the way. "

"That's funny.... "

"It's straight. "

"I know it is; it wouldn't be you if you didn't love work. It wouldn'tbe me if I did.... Look here, Harry; suppose you didn't have any moneyand couldn't pay your board--and had nothing to do. How'd you feel inthat case?"

"I don't know. Anyhow, that's rot--"

"No, it isn't rot. I'm trying to make you understand how I feelwhen--when it's that way with me.... As it generally is. " He raised onehand and let it fall with a gesture of despondency so eloquent that itroused Kellogg out of his own preoccupation. 

"Why, Nat!" he cried, genuinely sympathetic. "I've been so taken upwith myself that I forgot.... I hadn't looked for you till to-morrow. "

"You knew, then?"

"I met Atwater at lunch to-day. He told me; said he was sorry, but--"

"Yes. Everybody is always sorry, _but_--"

Kellogg let his hand fall on Duncan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, too, oldman. But don't lose heart. I know it's pretty tough on a fellow--"

"The toughest part of it is that you got the job for me--and I_had_ to fall down. "

"Don't think of that. It's not your fault--"

"You're the only man who believes that, Harry. "

"Buck up. I'll stumble across some better opening for you before long, and--"

"Stop right there. I'm through--"

"Don't talk that way, Nat. I'll get you in right somewhere. "

"You're the best-hearted man alive, Harry--but I'll see you damnedfirst. "

"Wait. " Kellogg demanded his attention. "Here's this man Burnham--youdon't know him, but he's as keen as they make 'em. He's on the track ofsome wonderful scheme for making illuminating gas from crude oil; if itgoes through--if the invention's really practicable--it's bound to worka revolution. He's down in Washington now--left this afternoon to lookup the patents. Now he needs me, to get the ear of the Standard Oilpeople, and I'll get you in there. "

"What right've you got to do that?" demanded Duncan. "What the dickensdo I know about illuminating gas or crude oil? Burnham'd never thankyou for the likes o' me. "

"But--thunder!--you can learn. All you need--. "

"Now see here, Harry!" Duncan gave him pause with a manner not to bedenied. "Once and for all time understand I'm through having yourecommend an incompetent--just because we're friends. "

"But, Harry--"

"And I'm through living on you while I'm out of a job. That's final. "

"But, man--listen to me!--when we were at college--"

"That was another matter. "

"How many times did you pay the room-rent when I was strapped? How manytimes did your money pull me through when I'd have had to quit andforfeit my degree because I couldn't earn enough to keep on?"

"That's different. You earned enough finally to square up. You don'towe me anything. "

"I owe you the gratitude for the friendly hand that put me in the wayof earning--that kept me going when the going was rank. Besides, theconditions are just reversed now; you'll do just as I did--make good inthe world and, when it's convenient, to me. As for living here, you'reperfectly welcome. "

"I know it--and more, " Duncan assented a little wearily. "Don't think Idon't appreciate all you've done for me. But I know and you mustunderstand that I can't keep on living on you, --and I won't. "

For once baffled, Kellogg stared at him in consternation. Duncan methis gaze steadily, strong in the sincerity of his attitude. At lengthKellogg surrendered, accepting defeat. "Well.... " He shruggeduncomfortably. "If you insist ... "

"I do. "

"Then that's settled. "

"Yes, that's settled. "

"Dinner, " said Robbins from the doorway, "isserved. "

III

INSPIRATION

"Look here, Nat, " demanded Kellogg, when they were half way through themeal, "do you mind telling me what you're going to do?"

Duncan pondered this soberly. "No, " he replied in the end. 

Kellogg waited a moment, but his guest did not continue. "What doesthat kind of a 'No' mean, Nat?"

"It means I don't mind telling you. "

Again an appreciable pause elapsed. 

"Well, then, what do you mean to do?"

"I'm sure I don't know. "

Kellogg regarded him sombrely for a moment, then in silence returnedhis attention to his plate; and in silence, for the most part, theremainder of the dinner was served and eaten. Duncan himself hadcertainly enough to occupy his mind, while Kellogg had altogetherforgotten his own cause for rejoicing in his concern for the fortunesof his friend. He was entirely of the opinion that something would haveto be done for Nat, with or without his consent; and he sounded theprofoundest depths of romantic impossibilities in his attempts todiscover some employment suited to Duncan's interesting butimpracticable assortment of faculties and qualifications, natural andacquired. But nothing presented itself as feasible in view of the factthat employment which would prove immediately remunerative wasrequired. And by the time that Robbins, clearing the board, left themalone with coffee and cigars and cigarettes, Kellogg was fain toconfess failure--though the confession was a very private one, confinedto himself only. 

"Nat, " he said suddenly, rousing that young man out of the dreariest ofmeditations, "what under the sun _can_ you do?"

"Me? I don't know. Why bother your silly old head about that? I'll makeout somehow. "

"But surely there's something you'd rather do than anything else. "

"My dear sir, " Duncan told him impressively, "the only walk of life inwhich I am fitted to shine is that of the idle son of a rich andfoolish father. Since I lost that job I've not been worth my salt. "

"That's piffle. There isn't a man living who hasn't some talent orother, some sort of an ability concealed about his person. "

"You can search me, " Duncan volunteered gloomily. 

His unresponsiveness irritated Kellogg; he thought a while, thendelivered himself of a didactic conclusion:

"The trouble with you is you were brought up all wrong. "

"Well, I've been brought down all right. Besides, that's a platitude inmy case. "

"Let's see: I've know you--er--nine years. "

"Is it that long?" Duncan looked up from a gloomy inspection of theinterior of his demitasse, displaying his first gleam of interest inthis analysis of his character. "You are a long-suffering old duffer. Any man who'd stand for me for nine years--"

"That'll be all of that, " Kellogg cut in sharply. "I was going on tosay that you can't room with a man for four terms at college and thenknow him, off and on, for five years more, pretty intimately, withoutforming a pretty clear estimate of what he's worth in your own mind. "

"And I don't mind telling you, Harry, I think you're the best littlebusiness man as well as the finest sort of an all-round good-fellow onthis continent. "

"Thanks awfully. I presume that's why you're determined to throw medown just at the time you need me most.... What I was trying to get atis the fact that I've never doubted your ultimate success for aninstant. "

"You'd be a mighty lonesome minority in a congress of my employers, Harry. "

"Given the proper opportunity--"

"Hold on, " Duncan interrupted. "I know just what you're going to say, and it's all very fine, and I'm proud that you want to say it of me. But you're dead wrong, Harry. The truth is I haven't got it in me--thecapacity to succeed. Just as much as you love work, I hate it. I oughtto know, for I've had a good, hard try at it--several tries, in fact. And you know what they came to. "

"But if you persist in this way, Nat, --don't you know what it means?"

"None better. It means going back to what you helped me out of--thelife that nearly killed me. "

"And you'd rather--"

"I'd rather that a thousand years before I'd sponge on you anotherday.... But, on the level, I'd as lieve try the East River or turn onthe gas.... What's the use? That's the way I feel. "

"That's fool talk. Brace up and be a man. All you need is a way to earnmoney. "

"No, " Duncan insisted firmly: "get it. I'll never be able to earnit--that's a cinch. "

Kellogg laughed a little mirthlessly, absorbed in revolving somethingwhich had popped into his head within the last few moments. "There areways to get it, " he admitted abstractedly, "if you're not tooparticular. "

"I'm not. I only wish I understood the burglar business. "

This time Kellogg laughed outright. He sat up with a new spirit in hismanner. "You mean you'd steal to get money?"

"Oh, well ... " Duncan smiled a trace sheepishly. "I can't think ofanything hardly I wouldn't do to get it. "

"Very well, my son. Now attend to uncle. " Kellogg leaned across thetable, fixing him with an enthusiastic eye. "Here, have a smoke. I'mgoing to demonstrate high finance to your debased intelligence. " Hethrust the cigarette case over to Duncan, who helped himselfmechanically, his gaze held in wonder to Kellogg's face. 

"Fire when ready, " he assented. 

"I know a way, " said Kellogg slowly, "by which, if you'll discard ascruple or two, you can be worth a million dollars--orthereabouts--within a year. "

Duncan held a lighted match until it singed his fingertips, the whilehe stared agape. "Say that again, " he requested mildly. 

"You can be worth a million in a year. "

"Ah!" Duncan nodded slowly and comprehendingly. He turned aside in hischair and raked a second match across the sole of his shoe. "Let himrave, " he observed enigmatically, and began to smoke. "No, I'm not dippy; and I'm perfectly serious. "

"Of course. But what'd they do to me if I were caught?"

"This is not a joke; the proposition's perfectly legal; it's being doneright along. "

"And I could do it, Harry?"

"A man of your calibre couldn't fail. "

"Would you mind ringing for Robbins?" Duncan asked abruptly. 

"Certainly. " Kellogg pressed a button at his elbow. "What d'you want?"

"A straight-jacket and a doctor to tell which one of us needs it. "

Kellogg, chagrined as he always was if joked with when expounding oneof his schemes, broke into a laugh that lasted until Robbins appeared. 

"You rang, sir?"

"Yes. Put those decanters over here, and some glasses, please. "

"Yes, sir. "

The man obeyed and withdrew. Kellogg filled two glasses, handing one toDuncan. 

"Now be decent and listen to me, Nat. I've thought this thing overfor--oh, any amount of time. I'll bet anything it will work. What d'yousay? Would you like to try it?"

"Would I like to try it?" A conviction of Kellogg's earnestness forceditself upon Duncan's understanding. "Would I--!" He lifted his glassand drained it at a gulp. "Why, that's the first laugh I've had for amonth!"

"Then I'll tell you--"

Duncan placed a pleading hand on his forearm. "Don't kid me, Harry, " heentreated. 

"Not a bit of it. This is straight goods. If you want to try it andwill follow the rules I lay down, I'll guarantee you'll be a rich maninside of twelve months. "

"Rules! Man, I'll follow all the rules in the world! Come on--I'mgetting palpitation of the heart, waiting. Tell it to me: what've I gotto do?"

"Marry, " said Kellogg serenely. 

"Marry!" Duncan echoed, aghast. 

"Marry, " reaffirmed the other with unbroken gravity. 

"Marry--who?"

"A girl with a fortune.... You see, I can't guarantee the precise sizeof her pile. That all depends on luck and the locality. But it'll runanywhere from several hundred thousand up to a million--perhaps more. "

Duncan sank back despondently. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Harry, " he said dully; "you had me all excited, for a minute. "

"No, but honestly, I mean what I say. "

"Now look here: do you really think any girl with a million would takea chance on me?"

"She'll jump at it. "

Duncan thought this over for a while. Then his lips twitched. "What'sthe matter with her?" he inquired. "I'm willing to play the game as itlies, but I bar lunatics and cripples. "

"There's no particular her--yet. You can take your pick. I've no moreidea where she is than you have. "

"Now I know you're stark, staring, gibbering----"

"Not a bit of it. I'm inspired--that's all. I've solved yourproblem--you only can't believe it. "

"How could I? What the devil are you getting at, anyhow?"

"This pet scheme of mine. Lend me your ears. Have you ever lived in aone-horse country town--a place with one unspeakable hotel and abouttwenty stores and five churches?"

"No ... "

"I have; I was born in one of 'em.... Have you any idea what becomes ofthe young people of such towns?"

"Not a glimmering. "

"Then I'll enlighten your egregious density. ... The boys--those who'vegot the stuff in them--strike out for the cities to make theireverlasting fortunes. Generally they do it, too. "

"The same as you. "

"The same as me, " assented Kellogg, unperturbed. "But the yaps, theJaspers, stay there and clerk in father's store. After office-hoursthey put on their very best mail-order clothes and parade up and downMain Street, talking loud and flirting obviously with the girls. Thegirls haven't much else to do; they don't find it so easy to get away. A few of 'em escape to boarding-schools and colleges, where they meetand marry young men from the cities, but the majority of them have tostay at home and help mother--that's a tradition. If there are twochildren or more, the boys get the chance every time; the girls stayhome to comfort the old folks in their old age. Why, by the timethey're old enough to think of marrying--and they begin young, forthat's about the only excitement they find available--you won't find asmall country town between here and the Mississippi where there aren'tabout four girls to every boy. "

"It's a horrible thought ... "

"You'd think so if you knew what the boys were like. There isn't one inten that a girl with any sense or self-respect could force herself tomarry if she ever saw anything better. Do you begin to see my drift?"

"I do not. But go on drifting. "

"No? Why, the demand for eligible males is three hundred per cent. Inexcess of the supply. Don't you know--no, you don't: I got to thatfirst--that there are twenty times as many old maids in small countrytowns as there are in the cities? It's a fact, and the reason for it isbecause when they were young they couldn't lower themselves to acceptthe pick of the local matrimonial market. Now, do you see--?"

"You're as interesting as a magazine serial. Please continue in yournext. I pant with anticipation. "

"You're an ass.... Now take a young chap from a city, with a goodappearance, more or less a gentleman, who doesn't talk like a yap orwalk like a yap or dress like a yap or act like a yap, and throw himinto such a town long enough for the girls to get acquainted with him. He simply can't lose, can't fail to cop out the best-looking girl withthe biggest bank-roll in town. I tell you, there's nothing to it!"

"It's wonderful to listen to you, Harry. "

"I'm talking horse sense, my son. Now consider yourself: down on yourluck, don't know how to earn a decent living, refusing to acceptanything from your friends, ready (you say) to do almost anything toget some money.... And think of the country heiresses, with plenty ofmoney for two, pining away in--in innocuous desuetude--hundreds ofthem, fine, straight, good girls, girls you could easily fall in lovewith, sighing their lives away for the lack of the likes of you.... Now, why not take one, Nat--when you come to consider it, it's yourduty--marry her and her bank-roll, make her happy, make yourself happy, and live a contented life on the sunny side of Easy Street for the restof your natural born days? Can't you see it now?"

"Yes, " Duncan admitted, half-persuaded of the plausibility of thescheme. "I see--and I admire immensely the intellect that conceived thenotion, Harry. But ... I can't help thinking there must be a catch init somewhere. "

"Not if you follow my instructions. You see, having come from just sucha hole-in-the-ground, I know just what I'm talking about. Believe me, everything depends on the way you go about it. There are a lot ofthings to contend with at first; you won't enjoy it at all, to beginwith. But I can demonstrate how it can be managed so that you'll winout to a moral certainty. "

Duncan drew a deep breath, sat back and looked Kellogg over verycritically. There was not a suspicion of a gleam of humour in his face;to the contrary, it blazed with the ardour of the instinctive schemer, the man who, with the ability to originate, throws himself heart andsoul into the promotion of the product of his imagination. Kellogg wasnot sketching the outlines of a gigantic practical joke; he believedimplicitly in the feasibility of his project; and so strongly that hecould infuse even the less susceptible fancy of Duncan with some of hisfaith. 

"If I didn't know you so well, Harry, " said Duncan slowly, "I'd becertain you were mad. I'm not at all sure that I'm sane. It's ravingidiocy--and it's a pretty damned rank thing to do, to startdeliberately out to marry a woman for her money. But I've been througha little hell of my own in my time, and--it's not alluring tocontemplate a return to it. There's nothing mad enough nor bad enoughto stop me. What've I got to do?"

Kellogg beamed his triumph. "You'll try it on, then?"

"I'll try anything on. It's a contemptible, low-lived piece ofbusiness--but good may come of it; you can't tell. What've I got todo?"

Slipping back, Kellogg knitted his fingers and stared at the ceiling, smiling faintly to himself as he enumerated the conditions that firstappealed to his understanding as essentials toward success. 

"First, pick out your town: one of two or three thousandinhabitants--no larger. I'd suggest, at a hazard guess, some place inthe interior of Pennsylvania. Most of such towns have at least one richman with a marriageable daughter--but we'll make sure of that before wesettle on one. Of course any suburban town is barred. "

"How so?"

"Oh, they don't count. The girls always know people in the city--canget there easily. That spoils the game. "

"How about the game laws?"

"I'm coming to them. Of course there isn't an open or close season, andthe hunting's always good, but there are a few precautionary measuresto be taken if you want to be sure of bagging an heiress. You won'tlike most of 'em. "

"Like 'em! I'll live by them!"

"Well, here come the things you mustn't do. You mustn't swear or useslang; you mustn't smoke and you mustn't drink--"

"Heavens! are these people as inhuman as all that?"

"Worse than that. It might be fatal if you were ever seen in the hotelbar. And to begin with, you must refuse all invitations, of any sort, whether to dances, parties, church sociables, or even Sunday dinners. "

"Why _Sunday_ dinners?"

"Because Sunday's the only day you'll be invited. Dinner on week-daysis from twelve to twelve-thirty, and it's strictly a businessmatter--no time for guests. But you needn't fret; they won't ask youtill they've sized you up pretty carefully. "

"Oh!... "

"Moreover, you must be very particular about your dress; it must beabsolutely faultless, but very quiet: clothing sober--dark greys andblacks--and plain, but the very last word as to cut and fit. Andeverything must be in keeping--the very best of shirts, collars, ties, hats, socks, shoes, underwear--. " Kellogg caught Duncan's look andlaughed. "Your laundress will report on everything, you know; so youmust be impeccable. "

"I'll be even that--whatever it is. "

"Be very particular about having your shoes polished, shave daily andmanicure yourself religiously--but don't let 'em catch you at it. "

"Would they raid me if they did?"

"And then, my son, you must work. "

Kellogg paused to let his lesson sink in. After a time Duncan observedplaintively: "I knew there was a catch in it somewhere. What kind ofwork?"

"It doesn't make any difference, so long as you get and hold some jobin the town. "

"Well, that lets me out. You'll have to sic some other poor devil onthis glittering proposition of yours. I couldn't hold a job in--"

"Wait! I'll tell you how to do it in just a minute. "

"I don't mind listening, but--"

"You'll cinch the whole business by going to church without a break. Don't ever fail--morning and evening every Sunday. Don't forget that. "

"Why?"

"It's the most important thing of all. "

"Does going to church make such a hit with the young femaleJasper--the Jasperette, as it were?"

"It'll make you more solid than anything else with her popper andmommer, and that's very necessary when you're a candidate for theirducats as well as their daughter. You must work and you must go tochurch. "

"That can't be all. Surely you can think of something else?"

"Those are the cardinal rules--church and work until you've landed yourheiress. After that you can move back to civilisation.... Now as soonas you strike your town you want to make arrangements for board andlodging in some old woman's house--preferably an old maid. You'll besure to find at least half a dozen of 'em, willing to take boarders, but you want to be equally sure to pick out the one that talks themost, so that she'll tell the neighbours all about you. Don't worryabout that, though, they all talk. When you've moved In, stock up yourroom with about twenty of the driest-looking books in the world--lawbooks look most imposing; fix up a table with lots of stationery--pensand pencils, red and black ink and all that sort of thing; make theroom look as if you were the most sincere student ever. And by no meansneglect to have a well-worn Bible prominently in evidence: you can buyone second-hand at some book-store before you start out. "

"I'd have to, of course. I thank you for the flattery. Proceed with theprogramme of the gay, mad life I must lead. I'm going to have a swelltime: that's perfectly plain. "

"As soon as you're shaken down in your room, make the rounds of thestores and ask for work. Try and get into the dry-goods emporium if youcan: the girls all shop there. But anything will do, except a groceryor a hardware store and places like that. You mustn't consider anyemployment that would soil your clothes or roughen your lily-whitehands. "

"You expect me to believe I'd have any chance of winning amillionaire's daughter if I were a ribbon-clerk in a dry-goods store?"

"The best in the world. The ribbon-clerk is her social equal; he callsher Mary and she calls him Joe. "

"Done with you: me for the ribbon counter. Anything else?"

"The storekeepers aren't apt to employ you at first; they'll besuspicious of you. "

"They will be afterwards, all right. However--?"

"So you must simply call on them--walk in, locate the boss and tellhim: 'I'm looking for employment. ' Don't press it; just say it and getout. "

"No trouble whatever about that; it's always that way when I ask forwork. "

"They'll send for you before long, when they make up their minds thatyou're a decent, moral young man; for they know you'll draw trade. Andevery Sunday--"

"I know: church!"

"Absolutely.... Pick out the one the rich folks go to. Go in quietlyand do just as they do: stand up and kneel, look up the hymns and sing, just when they do. Be careful not to sing too loud, or anything likethat: just do it all modestly, as if you were used to it. Better go tochurch here two or three times and get the hang of it.... "

"Here, now--"

"Nearly all the wealthy codgers in such towns are deacons, you see, andthough they may not speak to you for months on the street, it's theirbusiness to waylay you after the service is over and shake hands withyou and tell you they hope you enjoyed the sermon and ask you to comeagain. And you can bank on it, they'll all take notice from the first. "

"It's no wonder Bartlett made you a partner, Harry. "

"Now behave. I want you to get in right. ... If you follow the rulesI've outlined, not only will all the girls in town be falling overthemselves to get to you first, but their fond parents will be eggingthem on. Then all you've got to do is to pick out the one with thebiggest bundle and--"

"Make a play for her?"

"Not on your life. That would be fatal. Your part is to put yourself inher way. She'll do all the courting, and when she scents thepsychological moment she'll do the proposing. "

"It doesn't sound natural, but you certainly seem to know what you'redrooling about. "

"You can anchor to that, Nat. "

"And are you finished?"

"I am. Of course I'll probably think of more things to wise you to, before you go. "

Duncan laughed shortly and tilted back in his chair, selecting anothercigarette. "And you're the chap who wanted me to go to some bromidicold show to-night! Harry, you're immense. Why didn't you ever let mesuspect you had all this romantic imagination in your system?"

"Imagination be blowed, son. This is business. " Kellogg removed thestopper from the decanter and filled both glasses again. "Well, what doyou say?"

"I've just said my say, Harry. It's amazing; I'm proud of you. "

"But will you do it?"

"Everything else aside, how can I? I've got to live, you know. "

"But I propose to stake you. "

Duncan came down to earth. "No, you won't; not a cent. I'm in earnestabout this thing: no more sponging on you, Harry. Besides--"

"No, seriously, Nat: I mean this, every word of it. I want you to doit--to please me, if you like; I've a notion something will come of it. And I believe from the bottom of my heart there's not the slightestrisk if you'll play the cards as they fall, according to Hoyle. "

"Harry, I believe you do. "

"I do, firmly. And I'll put the proposition on a business basis, if youlike. "

"Go on; there's no holding you. "

"You start out to-morrow and order your war kit. Get everything youneed, and plenty of it, and have the bills sent to me. You can be readyinside a fortnight. The day you start I'll advance you five hundreddollars. When you're married you can repay me the amount of theadvances with interest at ten per cent, and I'll consider it a mightygood deal for myself. Now, will you?"

"You mean it?"

"Every word of it. Well?"

For a moment longer Duncan hesitated; then the vision of what he mustreturn to, otherwise, decided him. In desperation he accepted. "It's adrowning man's straw, " he said, a little breathlessly. "I'm sure Ishouldn't. But I will. "

Kellogg flung a hand across the table, palm uppermost. 

"Word of honour, Nat?"

Duncan let his hand fall into it. "Word of honour! I'll see itthrough. "

"Good! It's a bargain. " Kellogg lifted his glass high in air. "To thefortune hunter!" he cried, half laughing. 

Duncan nervously fingered the stem of his glass. "God help the futureMrs. Duncan!" he said, and drank. 

IV

TRIUMPH OF MR. HOMER LITTLEJOHN

The twenty-first of June was a day of memorable triumph to me, a day ofmemorable events for Radville. 

Only the evening previous Will Bigelow and I had indulged inacrimonious argument in the office of the Bigelow House, the subject ofcontention being the importance of the work to which I am devoting mydeclining years, to wit, the recording of _The History of RadvilleTownship, Westerly County, Pennsylvania_; Will maintaining with thatobstinacy for which he is famous, that nothing ever had happened, doeshappen, can or will happen in our community, I insisting gently butfirmly that it knows no day unmarked by important occurrence (for itwould ill become me, as the only literary man in Radville, to yield apoint in dispute with the proprietor of the town tavern). Besides, hewas wrong, even as I was indisputably right--only he had not the graceto admit it. We ended vulgarly with a bet, Will wagering me the bestfive-cent Clear Havana in the Bigelow House sample-room that nothingworth mentioning would take place in Radville before sundown of thefollowing day. 

I left him, returning to my room at Miss Carpenter's (Will and I areold friends, but I refuse to eat the food he serves his guests), warmedby the prospect of certain triumph if a little appalled by the prospectof winning the stake; and sympathising a little with Will, who, for allhis egregious stubborness, has some excuse for upholding hisunreasonable and ridiculous views. He knows no better, having never hadthe opportunity to find out for himself how utterly absurd are hisclaims for the outside world. Whereas I have. 

He's an adventurer at heart, Will Bigelow, a romantic soul crustedheavily with character--like a volcano smouldering beneath its lava. For many years he has managed the Bigelow House, with his thoughtsapart from it, his eyes ever seeking the horizon that recedes beyondthe soaring rim of our encircling cup of hills, his heart foreveryearning forth to the outer world; which he erroneously conceives to bea theatre of events--as if outside of Radville only could there bethings worth seeing, considering, or doing, or matters of any sort thatmove momentously! As long as I've known the man (and we played truanttogether fifty years ago--hookey, we called it then) he's had his heartset on going forth from Radville, "for to admire and for to see, for toview this wide world o'er"; always he has presented himself to me asone poised on the pinnacle of purpose, ready the next instant to diveand strike out into the teeming unknown beyond the barrier hills. Butthis promise he has never fulfilled. He still maintains that he willsurely go--next week--after the hayin's over--as soon as the ice isin--the minute Mary graduates from High School. ... But I know he neverwill. 

So to Will Radville is as dull as ditchwater to a teamster; to me it'sas fascinating as that same ditchwater to a biologist with amicroscope. I see nothing going on in the world outside of Radvillemore important than our daily life. Too long I have lived away from it, a stranger in strange lands, not to appreciate its relativesignificance in the scheme of things. It makes all the difference--theview-point: Will sees Radville from its homely heart outwards, I standon its boundaries, a native but yet, somehow in the local esteem (byreason of my long residence in the East) an outlander. Thus I get aperspective upon the place, to Will and his ilk denied. 

It seems curious that things should have fallen out thus for the two ofus: that Will Bigelow, all afire with the lust for travel, should neverhave mustered up enterprise enough to break his home ties, whilst Iwhose dearest desire had always been to live no day of my alloted spanaway from Radville, should have been, in a manner which I'm boundpresently to betray, forced out into the world; that he, the rebelliousstay-at-home, cursing the destiny which chained him, should haveprospered and become the man of substance he is, while I, mutinouslyventuring, should have returned only to watch my sands run out inpoverty--what's little better. 

Not that I would have you think me whining: I have enough, little butample for my simple needs, if inadequate for my ambitions or myneighbours' necessities. My editorial work for the _RadvilleCitizen_ is quite remunerative, while my weekly column of localgossip for the _Westerly Gazette_ brings me in a little, and I'veone or two other modest sources of still more modest income. ButRadville folks are poor, many of them, many who are very dear to me forold sake's sake. There's Sam Graham.... Though I wouldn't have youunderstand that as a community we are not moderately prosperous andcontented, comfortable if not energetic and advanced. This is not apushing town: it has never known a boom. That I'm sure will some daycome, but I hope not in my time. I have faith in the mountains thatfold us roundabout; they are rich with the possibilities of coal andiron, and year by year are being more and more widely opened up anddeveloped; year by year the ranks of flaming, reeking coke ovens pushfarther on beside the railway that penetrates our valley. But as yettheir smoke does not foul our skies, nor does their refuse pollute ourriver, nor their soot tarnish our vegetation. And as I say, I hope thisis not to be while I live, though sometimes I have fears: BlinkyLockwood made a fortune selling the coal that was discovered beneathhis father's old farm over Westerly way, and ever since that there'sbeen more or less quiet prospecting going on in our vicinity. I shallbe sorry to see the day when Radville is other than as it is: thequiet, peaceful, sleepy little town, nestling in the bosom of thehills, clean, sweet and wholesome.... 

But this is rambling far from the momentous twenty-first of June, myday of triumph. 

I shall try to set down connectedly and coherently the events whichculminated in the humbling of Will Bigelow to the dust. 

To begin with, we were early startled by the rumour that Hiram Nutt, theretofore deemed unconquerable, had been disastrously defeated atcheckers in Willoughby's grocery--and that by Watty the tailor, of allmen in Radville. The rumour was confirmed by eleven in the forenoon, and in itself should have provided us with a nine days' wonder. 

As it happened, an event happening almost simultaneously confused ourminds. At eleven-fifteen Miss Carpenter's household was thrown intoconsternation by the scandalous behaviour of her black cat, Caesar, whochose suddenly to terminate a long and outwardly respectable career asMiss Carpenter's familiar by having kittens under the horse-hair sofain the parlour. Incidentally this indelicate and ungentlemanlybehaviour temporarily unloosed the hinges of Miss Carpenter's reason, so that my supper suffered that evening, and for several days shewandered round the house with blank and witless eyes. Perhaps I shouldhave warned her, for I had latterly come to suspect Caesar of leading adouble life; but for reasons which seemed sufficient I had refrained. 

By the noon train Roland Barnette received his new summer suit fromChicago. I did not see it till evening, but heard of it before one, since Roland donned it immediately and wore it to the bank that veryafternoon. I understand it caused something very near a run on thebank; people came in to draw a dollar or so or get change and lingeredto feast their outraged visions, so that Blinky Lockwood, thepresident, had to send Roland home to change before closing-time. Hechanged back, however, as soon as off duty, and spent the rest of theafternoon and evening hours in Sothern and Lee's, at the soda-fountain;which Sothern and Lee did not object to, since it drew trade. 

Pete Willing established a record by getting drunk at Schwartz's bar bythree in the afternoon, his best previous time being four-thirty; andMrs. Willing chased him up Centre Street until, at the corner of Main, he blundered into the arms of Judge Scott; who ordered him to arrestand lock himself up; which Pete, being the sheriff, solemnly did, saying that it was preferable to a return to home and wife. 

At five o'clock there was a dog-fight in front of Graham's drug-store. 

At five-forty-five the evening train lurched in, bearing The MysteriousStranger. 

Tracey Tanner saw him first, having driven down to the station with hisfather's surrey on the off-chance of picking up a quarter or so fromsome drummer wishing to be conveyed to the Bigelow House. Onlyoutlanders pay money for hacks in Radville; everybody else walks, ofcourse. Naturally Tracey took The Mysterious Stranger for a drummer; hehad three trunks and a heavy packing-box, so Tracey's misapprehensionwas pardonable. Instinctively he drove him to the Bigelow House; Willnow and again makes Tracey a present of a bottle of sarsaparilla orlemon-pop, with the result that Tracey calls Tannehill, who runs theopposition hotel, a skinflint and never takes strangers there except ontheir express desire. The Mysterious Stranger merely asked to be drivento the best hotel. This is not like most commercial travellers, who asa rule know where they want to go, even in a strange town, having madeinquiry in advance from their brothers of the road. Tracey made a noteof this, and is further on record as having observed that this strangerwas rather better dressed than the run of drummers, if not so nobbily. Moreover, he was reticent under the cross-fire of Tracey'sirrepressible conversation, and failed to ask the name of the firstpretty girl they passed; who happened to be Angle Tuthill. Finally TheMysterious Stranger actually tipped Tracey a whole quarter for carryinghis suit-case into the hotel office. 

With these incitements it would have been unreasonable to expect Traceyto do otherwise than linger around for the good health of his sense ofinquisitiveness, which would else have been severely sprained. 

Will Bigelow was dozing behind the desk, lulled by the sound of HiNutt's voice in the barroom, as he explained to all and sundry just howhe had inadvertently permitted Watty the tailor to best him at checkersthat morning. Otherwise the office was deserted. Tracey wakened Will bystamping heavily across the floor, and Will mechanically pushed downhis spectacles and dipped a pen in ink, slewing the register round forthe guest's signature. He says he knew at a glance that The MysteriousStranger was no travelling man, but this is a moot point, Tracey'smemory being minutely accurate and at variance with Will's assertion. 

The Mysterious Stranger was a young man, rather severely clothed in adark suit which excited no interest in Bigelow's understanding, although I, when I saw him later, had no difficulty in realising thatit had never been made by a tailor whose place of business was morethan five doors removed from Fifth Avenue. He was tallish, but notreally tall, and carried himself with a slight stoop which took wayfrom his real height. Tracey says he had a way of looking at you as ifhe was smiling inside at some joke he'd heard a long time ago; and Idon't know but that's a fairly apt description of his ordinaryexpression. He had a way, too, of nodding jerkily at you--just once--toshow he recognised you or understood what you were driving at; at othertimes he carried his head a trifle to one side and slightly forward. Hewas a man you wouldn't forget, somehow, though what there was about himthat was remarkable nobody seemed to know. 

He nodded that jerky way in answer to Will Bigelow's "G'devenin', " andwithout saying anything took the pen and started to register. He had tostop, however, for Tracey was pressing him so close upon the right thathe couldn't get any play for his elbow, and after a minute or two heasked Tracey politely would he mind stepping round to the left, wherehe could see just as well. So Tracey did. Then he wrote his name in agood round hand: "Nathaniel Duncan, N. Y. "

"I'd like a room with a bath, " he told Will: "something simple andchaste, within the means of a man in moderate circumstances. "

Will thought he was joking at first, but he didn't smile, so Willexplained that there was a bathroom on the third floor at the end ofthe hall, though there wasn't much call for it. "I could give you aroom next to that, " he said, "but you wouldn't want it, I guess. "

"Why not?" asked The Mysterious Stranger. 

"Because, " said Will, "'taint near the sample-room. "

"That doesn't make any difference; I'm on the wagon. "

The only sense Will could get out of that was that the young man wastravelling for a buggy house and hadn't brought any samples with him. "I thought, " he allowed, "as how you'd be wantin' a place to displayyour samples, but of course if you're in the wagon business--"

"Oh, " said Mr. Duncan, "I thought you meant the 'sample-room' overthere. " He nodded toward the bar. "That's what you call thedispensaries of intoxicating liquors in this part of the country, is itnot?"

Will made a noise resembling an affirmative, and as soon as he got hisbreath explained that travelling men generally wanted a sort of ashowroom next to theirs and that that was called a sample-room, too. 

"But I'm not a travelling man, " said The Mysterious Stranger. "So Ishall have as little use for the one as the other. "

"Then the room on the third floor'll do for you, " said Will. "How longdo you calculate on stayin'?"

"That will depend, " said Mr. Duncan: "a day or so--perhaps longer;until I can find comfortable and more permanent quarters. "

In his amazement Will jabbed the pen so hard into the potato beside theink-well that he never could get the nib out and had to buy a new one. "You don't mean to say you're thinkin' of coming here to live?" hegasped. 

"Yes, I do, " said the young man apologetically. "I don't think you'llfind me in the way. I shall be very quiet and unobtrusive. I'm astudent, looking for a quiet place in which to pursue my studies. "

"Well, " said Will, "you've found it all right. There ain't no quieterplace in Pennsylvany than Radville, Mr. Duncan. I hope you'll like it, "he said, sarcastic. 

"I shall endeavour to, " said the young man. 

"And now may I go to my room, please? I should like to renovate mytravel-stained person to some extent before dinner. "

"You'll have time, " said Will; "dinner's at noon to-morrow. I guessyou're thinkin' about supper. That's ready now. Here, Tracey, you carrythis gentleman's things up to number forty-three. "

But Tracey had already gone, and such was his haste to spread the newsthat he forgot to take the horse and surrey back to the stable, butleft it standing in front of the hotel till eight o'clock; for whichoversight, I am credibly informed, his father justly dealt with himbefore sending him to bed. 

I have never been able to understand how we failed to hear of it atMiss Carpenter's before seven o'clock. That was the hour when, havingfinished supper and my first evening pipe, I started down-town to the_Citizen_ office, intending to stop in at the Bigelow House on theway and confound Will with the list of the day's happenings. MainStreet was pretty well crowded for that hour, I remember noticing, andmost of the townsfolk were grouped together on the corners, underneaththe lamps, discussing something rather excitedly. I paid no particularattention, realising that between Caesar, Pete Willing, RolandBurnette's suit and the checker game, they had enough to talk about. Soit wasn't until I walked into the Bigelow House office that I eitherheard or saw anything of The Mysterious Stranger. 

Will Bigelow was in his usual place behind the desk, and looked, Ithought, rather disgruntled. His reply to my "Howdy, Will?" soundedsomewhat snappish. But he got out of his chair and moved round the endof the desk just as the young man came out of the dining-room door. Then Will pulled up and I realised that he was calling my attention tothe stranger. 

So far as I could see, he seemed an ordinary, everyday, good-looking, good-natured young man, whose naturally sunny disposition had beeninsulted by the food recently set before him. He wandered listlesslyout upon the porch and stood there, with his hands in his pockets, looking up and down Centre Street, just then being shadowed into thewarm, purple June dusk, beneath its double row of elms. We've alwaysthought it a rather attractive street, and that night it seemedespecially lively with its trickle of girls and boys strolling up anddown, and the groups of grown folks on the corners, and RolandBurnette's summer suit conspicuous through Sothern and Lee'splate-glass windows; and I supposed the young man was admiring it all. But now I know him better. He felt just the same about Main Street, corner of Centre, Radville, as I should have about Broadway andForty-second Street, New York, if you had set me down there and told meI'd got to get accustomed to the idea that I must live there. He wassaying, deep down in his heart: "O _Lord_!"--with the risinginflection. 

Will grabbed my arm, without saying anything, and pulled me into thebar. 

"Hello!" I said, as he went round behind and opened the cigar-case, "what's up?"

He took out two boxes of the finest five-centers in town and placedthem before me. "Them's up, " he said. "You win. Have one. "

It staggered me to have him give in that way; I had been lookingforward to a long and diverting dispute. "I guess you've heardeverything worth hearing about to-day's history, " I said, disappointed, as I selected the least unpleasant looking of the cigars. 

"No, I haven't, " he said. "I didn't have to hear anything. What earnedyou that smoke took place right here in this office.... Here, " he said, striking a match for me. 

I had been trying to put the cigar away so that I might dispose of itwithout hurting Will's feelings, but he had me, so I recklessly pokedthe thing into the automatic clipper and then into my mouth. "What doyou mean?" I asked, puffing. 

"Come 'long outside, " said Will; and we went out on the porch just intime to see Mr. Duncan going wearily upstairs to his room. "I mean, "said Will, _"him"_. And then he told me all about it. 

"But things like that don't happen every day, " he wound up defensively. "I'll go you another cigar on to-morrow. "

"No, you won't, " I said indignantly; and furtively dropped the infamousthing over the railing. 

I am never successful in my little attempts at deception, even inself-defence. In all candour I believe my disposition of that cigarwould have gone undetected but for my notorious bad luck. Of courseBigelow's setter, Pompey, had to be asleep right under the spot where Idropped the cigar, and equally of course the burning end had to makeinstantaneous connection with his nerve centres, via his hide, with sucheffect that he arose in agony and subsequently used coarse language. Investigation naturally discovered my empty-handed perfidy. To no oneelse in Radville would this have happened. 

On the other hand, no one else in Radville would have thrown away thecigar. 

V

MARGARET'S DAUGHTER

Discomfort roused Duncan from his rest at an early hour, the morningfollowing his arrival in Radville. I must confess that the beds in theBigelow House are no better than they should be; in fact, according toDuncan, not so good. Duncan ought to know; he has slept in one of them, or tried to; a trial thus far to me denied. From what he has said, however, I shudder to think what will become of me should I ever losethe shelter of Miss Carpenter's second-story front and be thrown outinto a heartless world to choose between the Bigelow House and FrankTannehill's Radville Inn.... 

Duncan arose and consulted the two-dollar watch which he had left onthe pine washstand by the window. It was half-past seven o'clock, andthat seemed early to him. He was tired and would willingly have turnedin again, but a rueful glance at the couch of his night-long vigilsufficed him. He lifted a hand to Heaven and vowed solemnly: "Neveragain!"

As he bent over the washstand and poured a cupful of water into thechina basin, thus emptying the pitcher, he was conscious of a pain inhis back; but a thought cheered him. "They must have decent stables inthis town, " he considered, brightening. "The haymows for mine, afterthis. "

He dressed with scrupulous care, mindful of Kellogg's parting words, the sense of which was that first impressions were most important. "Allthe same, " Duncan thought, "I don't believe they count in a dead-and-alive place like this. There's no one here with sufficient animation torealise I'm in town. " This shows how little he understood our littlecommunity. A day of enlightenment was in store for him. 

Pansy Murphy was scrubbing out the office when he came down forbreakfast. She is large, of what is known as a full complexion, good-hearted and energetic. His pause at the foot of the stairs, as hesurveyed in dismay the seven seas of soapy water that occupied thefloor, aroused her. She sat back suddenly on her heels and looked herfill of him, with her blue Irish eyes very wide, and her mouth a trap. He bowed politely. Pansy saved herself from falling over backwards by asupreme effort, scrubbed her hair out of her eyes with a very wet hand, and gave him "Good-marrin', Misther Dooncan, " in a brogue as rich asyou could wish for. 

He started violently. "Heavens!" he said. "I am discovered!"

"Make yer moind aisy about thot, " Pansy assured him. "'Tis known allover town who ye arre, what's yer name, how manny troonks ye've broughtwid ye, and th' rayson f'r yer comin' here. "

"A comforting thought, thank you, " he commented: "to awake to findone's self grown famous over-night!... "

"Now ye know, " she returned, emboldened, "what it is to be a big toadin a small puddle. "

"I thank you. " He nodded again, with a comprehensive survey of thereeking floor. "I'm afraid I do. " With which he slipped and slid overto and through the swinging wicker doors of the dining-room. 

It was deserted. From the negligée of the tables, littered with theplates and dishes, dreary survivors of a dozen breakfasts, he divinedthat he was the tardiest guest in the household. A slatternly youngwoman in a soiled shirt-waist--the waitress--received him with greatcalm and waved him toward a table by the window, where an unused coverwas laid. He went meekly, dogged by her formidable presence. She stoodover him and glared down. 

"Haman neggs, " she said defiantly, "steakan nomlette. "

"I'll be a martyr, " he told her civilly. "Me for the steak. "

She frowned gloomily and tramped away. He folded his hands and, cheeredby an appetising aroma of warm water and yellow soap from the office, considered the prospect from the window by his side. Three children anda yellow dog came along and watched him do it, dispassionatelyreviewing his points in clear young voices. Tracey Tanner ambled intoview on the other side of the street and beamed at him generously, hisround red face resembling, Duncan thought, more than anything else asummer sun rising through mist. Josie Lockwood (he was to discover hername later) passed with her pert little nose ostentatiously pointedaway from him; none the less he detected a gleam in the corner of hereye.... Others went by, singly or in groups, all more or less openlyinterested in him. 

He tried to look unconscious, but with ill success. There was nothingparticularly engaging in the view: the broad, dusty street lined withcommonplace structures of "frame" and brick, glowing in the morningsunshine. There were, to be sure, cool shadows beneath the trees, butthe suggestion was all of summer heat. There was a watering-trough andhitching-rail directly opposite, a little to one side of Hemmenway'sfeed-store, and there a well-fed mare stood, drooping dejectedlybetween the shafts of a dilapidated buggy. On the corner was atwo-storey brick building with large plate-glass windows on the groundfloor for the display of intimate articles of feminine apparel. Theblack and gold sign above proclaimed it: "The Fair. Dry Goods &Notions. Leonard & Call. " Duncan considered it with grave respect. "Thescene of my future activities, " he observed. 

By this time his audience had become too large and friendly for hisendurance. He rose and retired to a less public table. 

In her own good time the waitress returned with a plate, and a smalloval platter in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She placedthem before him with a manner that told him plainly he could never makehimself the master of her affections. The small oval platter wasdiscovered to contain a small segment of dark-brown ham and two friedeggs swimming in grease. 

Duncan questioned the woman with mute, appealing eyes. 

"Steak's run out, " she told him curtly. 

"Leaving no address?" he inquired with forced gaiety. 

A suppressed smile softened her austerity, and she turned away to hideit. "To think, " he wondered, "that a sense of humour should inhabitthat!" He broke a roll and munched it gloomily, pondering thisrevelation. "And such humour !" he added, with justice. 

After an interval the woman returned. He had refrained from the stapledish. She indicated it with a grimy forefinger. 

"Please!" he begged plaintively. "I'm never very hungry in themorning. "

"I guess you don't like the table here, " she observed icily, clearingaway. 

"Do you?"

"I don't have to; I live home. "

He stared. Could it be possible... ?

"I know a good old one, too, " he ventured hopefully. "Now here. " Hedrew his coffee cup toward him and began to stir with energy. "You say:'It looks like rain'; and I'll say: 'Yes, but it tastes a little likecoffee. '"

She clattered away indignantly. He rose, depressed, and sighing soughtthe outer air. 

In the course of a forenoon's stroll Radville discovered itself to himin all its squalor and its loveliness. It sits in the centre of a broadvalley of rolling meadow-land, studded with infrequent homesteads, broken into rather extensive farms, threaded by a shallow silver streamthat gives its all in tribute to the Susquehanna far in the south. Thebarrier mountains rise about it like the sides of a bowl, with a greatV-shaped piece chipped out of the southern wall. This break we call theGap; through it the railroad comes to us, through it the river escapes. The hills rear high and steep, their swelling flanks cloaked in sombregreen and grey, with here and there a bald spot like a splash of ochrewhere there's been a landslide, climbing directly from the plain, withno foothills. A recluse, I have thought, must have chosen this spot fora town site; sickened of the world, he sought seclusion--and found ithere to his heart's content. Until the coke-ovens come, following theminers, with their attendant hordes of Slovaks, Poles and Hungarians, we shall be near to God, for we shall know peace.... 

The town has been laid out with great rectangularity; the river dividesit unequally. On the western bank is the larger community--locally, theOld Town, retaining its characteristics of sobriety, quiet and comfort;here, also, is the business centre--such business as there is. HereDuncan found homely residences sitting back from the street in amplegrounds--grounds, perhaps, not very carefully groomed, but in spite ofthat attractive and pleasant to the eye. With one or two exceptions, none were strongly suggestive of wealth. He detected a trace ofostentation, and no taste whatever, in Lockwood's new villa (I'm toldthat's the polite designation for the edifice he caused to be erectedwhat time the plague of riches smote him and the old home on CherryStreet became too small for the collective family chest), and there wasquiet dignity in the quaintly columned façade of the Bohun mansion, nowoccupied solely by old Colonel Bohun, lonely and testy, reputed therichest as well as the most miserable man in the county. But as to hiswealth, I doubt if rumour runs by more than tradition; BlinkyLockwood's new-found hundred-thousands are growing rapidly toward themillion mark, unless Blinky's a worse business man than the town takeshim to be. 

An old stone arch (whereon lovers linger in the moonlight) spans thestream and links the Old Town with the new, which we sometimes term theFlats, but more often simply Over There. It is a sordid huddle of dingyand down-at-the-heel tenements, housing the poorer working classes andthe frankly worthless and ruffianly riff-raff of the neighbourhood. There are eight gin-mills Over There as against two sample-rooms in theOld Town, and of the local constabulary two-thirds lead exciting livespatrolling the Flats; the remaining third is ordinarily to be founddozing in the backroom of Schwartz's, and if roused will answer to thename and title of Pete Willing, Sheriff and Chief of Police. 

Duncan reviewed both sides of the municipal face with fineimpartiality--the Flats last; and turned back to the Old Town. "There'sone thing, " he communed as he reached the bridge: "If these people everfind me out they'll run me across the river--sure. "

He paused there, looking up and down the valley with contemplativegaze; and it was there I found him. 

As is my custom, I had devoted the earlier morning hours to thecompilation of that work which is to gain for the name of Littlejohn atrifle more respect than, I fear, it owns in Radville nowadays; andafterwards, again in accordance with habit, had started out for mymorning constitutional. As I was about to leave the house MissCarpenter waylaid me and, in a voice still tremulous from the shock ofyesterday, asked me to hunt up Jake Sawyer in the Flats and tell him tocome and cut the grass. 

I was not in the least unwilling, for the walk was not long, and themorning very pleasant--not too warm, and bright with the smiling spiritof June. I don't remember feeling more cheerful and at peace with theworld than when I marched off on my mission. The cloud I might, ofcourse, have anticipated: clouds always come, and a lifetime has taughtme to be sceptical of that tale about the silver lining. And even whenit came it seemed no more depressing, of no more significant moment, than the cloud shadow that scurries across a wheat-field with no effectother than to enhance the beauty of the sunshine that pursues it. 

Old Colonel Bohun was the cloud-shadow of that morning. I met himturning into Main Street from Mortimer--at the head of which hismansion stands. He came down the sidewalk, but with a hint of haste inhis manner: a tall old man, bending beneath the burden of his years, his fierce old face and iron-grey hair shaded as always by the blackslouch hat with the flapping brim, his rounded shoulders cloaked withthe black Inverness cape he wore summer and winter. In spite of his ageand evident decrepitude, he bodied forth the spirit of what he hadbeen, and none could pass him without knowledge of his presence; hedrew eyes as a magnet draws filings, and drawing, held them in respect. I doubted if there were a man in Radville who could meet the oldcolonel with anything but a mingling of fear and deference--with one ortwo exceptions. For myself I hated him heartily, and he, looking downat me from the peak of pride whereon his iron soul perched, despised mewith equal intensity. So we got along famously at our infrequentencounters. 

This morning I caught a flash of fire from his red-rimmed old eyes, andtold myself I was sorry for whoever crossed his path before he returnedto his lonely castle. It was his habit at odd intervals to foray downthe village streets with one grievance or another rankling in hisbosom, seeking some unlucky one upon whose head to wreak hisresentment. We had come to recognise the heavy, slow tapping of histhick cane as a harbinger of trouble, even as you might prognosticate athunderstorm from the rumbling beneath the horizon. 

I saw he recognised me and gave him a civil salute, which he returnedwith a brusque nod and a sharper, "Good-morning, Littlejohn, " as hepassed. Then he swung into Main Street, paralleling my course on theopposite sidewalk, and went _thump-thumping_ along, darting quickglances hither and yon beneath his heavy brows, like some darkincarnation of perverse pride and passion. 

Partly because the sight of him sensibly influenced my mood, and partlybecause inevitably he made me think of Sam Graham, I turned off atBeech Street, leaving him to pursue his way toward the centre of town. Graham's one-horse drug-store stood on Beech, a block south of Main. That being the least promising location in town for a business of anysort, Sam had naturally selected it when he concluded to set up shop. If Sam had ever in his life displayed any symptoms of businesssagacity, Radville would never have recovered from the shock. I believeit was Legrand Gunn, our only really certificated village wit, whocoined the epigram: "As useless as to take a prescription to Graham's. "The implication being that Graham didn't carry sufficient stock tofill any prescription; which was largely true; he couldn't; he hadn'tthe money to stock up with. What little he took in from time to timewent in part to the support of Betty and himself, but mainly to payinterest on his debts and buy raw materials for models of histhousand-and-one inventions. Most Radvillians firmly believed that Samhas at some time or other in his busy, worthless career inventedeverything under the sun, practicable or impracticable--the formeralways a few days after somebody else had taken out patents for theidentical device. But at that time no one believed he would ever make acent out of any one of the children of his ingenious brain; nor was I, in this respect, more credulous than any of my fellow-townsmen. 

I lingered a moment outside the shop, thinking of the change that hadcome over it since the death of Margaret Graham, Betty's mother. For, despite its out-of-the-way location, the shop had not always beenunprofitable; while Margaret lived (my heart still ached with thememory of her name) Sam's business had prospered. She had been one ofthose woman who can rise to any emergency in the interest of her lovedones; the first to realise Sam's improvidence and lack of executiveability, she had taken hold of the business with a firm hand and madeit pay--while she lived. It has never ceased to be a source ofwondering speculation to me, that she, with her gentle training, sowholly aloof from every thought of commerce or economy, should haveproven herself so thorough and level-headed a business woman. There'sno accounting for it, indeed, save on the theory that she conceived ita woman's function to make up for man's deficiencies; Sam needed her, so she become his wife; he needed a manager, so she had became thatalso.... 

During Margaret's régime, as I say, the shop had thrived. Sam had fewill-wishers in Radville; the trade came his way. Then Betty was bornand Margaret died.... 

Most of this I have on hearsay. I left Radville shortly after theirmarriage and did not return until some months after Margaret's burial. By that time the shop had begun to show signs of neglect; its stock wasdecimated, its trade likewise. Sam was struggling with his inventionsmore fiercely than ever--seeking forgetfulness, I always thought. Thebusiness was allowed to take care of itself. He had always a serenefaith in his tomorrows. 

Now the little shop had been far distanced by the competition ofSothern and Lee. It was twenty years behind the times, as the sayingis. Small, darksome, dreary and dingy, it served chiefly as aliving-room for Sam, his daughter, and his cronies, as well as for hisworkshop. He had a bench and a ramshackle lathe in one corner, whereyou might be sure to find him futilely pottering at almost any hour. Heowned the little building--or that portion in it which it were a farceto term the equity above the mortgage--and Betty kept house for him inthree rooms above the store. 

I saw nothing of him as I stepped across the street, and was wonderingif he were at home when, through the small, dark panes of glass in hisshow windows I discerned his white old head bobbing busily oversomething on the rear counter. I pushed the door open and entered. Helooked up with his never-failing smile of welcome and a wave of hishand. 

"Howdy, Homer? Come in. Well, well, I'm glad to see you. Sit down--Ithink that chair there by the stove will hold together under you. "

"What are you doing, Sam?" I asked. 

"Fixin' up the sody fountain. 'Meant to get it working last month, Homer, but somehow I kind of forgot. "

He rubbed away briskly at the single faucet which protruded above thecounter, lathering it briskly with a metal polish that smelt to Heaven. 

"Do much sody trade, Sam?"

He paused, passing his worn old fingers reflectively across a chinsnowy with a stubble of neglected beard. "No, " he allowed thoughtfully, "not so much as we used to, now that Sothern and Lee've got thisnew-fangled notion of puttin' ice cream in a nickel glass of sody. Mostof the young folks go there, now, but still I get a call flow andthen--and every little bit helps. " He rubbed on ferociously for amoment. "'Course, I'd do more, likely, if I carried a bigger line offlavours. "

"How many do you carry?"

"One, " he admitted with a sigh, "vanilly. "

While I filled my pipe he continued to rub very industriously. 

"Why don't you get more?"

He flashed me one of his pale, genial smiles. "I'm thinkin' of it, Homer, soon's I get some money in. Next week, mebbe. There's a man inN'York that mebbe can be int'rested in one of my inventions, RolandBarnette says. Mebbe he'd be willin' to put a little money in it, Roland says, and of course if he does, I'll be able to stock upconsiderable. "

I sighed covertly for him. He rubbed, humming a tuneless rhythm tohimself. 

"Roland's goin' to write to him about it. "

"What invention?" I asked, incredulous. 

Sam put down his bottle of polish and came round the counter, beaming;nothing pleases him better than an opportunity to exhibit some one ofhis innumerable models. "I'll show you, Homer, " he volunteeredcheerfully, shuffling over to his work-bench. He rasped a match overits surface and applied the flame to a small gas-bracket fixed to thewall. A strong rush of gas extinguished the match, and he turned theflow half off before trying again. This time the vapour caught andsettled to a steady, brilliant flame as white as and much softer thanacetylene. 

"There!" he said in triumph. "What d'ye think of that, Homer?"

"Why, " I said, "I didn't know you had an acetylene plant. "

"No more have I, Homer. "

"But what is that, then?" I demanded. 

"It's my invention, " he returned proudly. 

"I've been workin' on it two years, Homer, and only got it goin'yestiddy. It's going to be a great thing, I tell you. "

"But what _is_ it, Sam?"

"It's gas from crude petroleum, Homer. See ... " he continued, indicating a tank beneath the bench which seemed to be connected withthe bracket by a very simple system of piping, broken by a smaller, cylindrical tank. "Ye put the oil in there--just crude, as it comes outof the wells, Homer; it don't need refinin'--and it runs through thisand down here to this, where it's vaporised--much the same's theyvaporise gasoline for autymobile engines, ye know--and then it justnaturally flows up to the bracket--and there ye are. "

"It's wonderful, Sam, " said I, wondering if it really were. 

"And the best part of it is the economy, Homer. A gallon will run onejet six weeks, day in and out. And simple to install. I tell ye--"

"Have you got it patented yet?"

"Yes, siree! took out patents just as soon as it struck me how simpleit 'ud be--more than two years ago. Only, of course, it took time towork it out just right, 'specially when I had to stop now and then'cause I needed money for materials. But it's all right now, Homer, it's all right now. "

"And you say Roland Barnette's writing to some one in New York aboutit?"

"Yes; he promised he would. I explained it to Roland and he seemed realint'rested. He's kind, very kind. "

I was inclined to doubt this, and would probably have said something tothat effect had not a shadow crossing the window brought me to my feetin consternation. But before I could do more than rise, Colonel Bohunhad flung open the door and stamped in. He stopped short at sight ofme, misguided by his near-sighted eyes, and singled me out with athreatening wave of his heavy stick. 

"Well, sir!" he snarled. "I've come for my answer. Have you senseenough in your addled pate to understand that, man? I've come for myanswer!"

"And may have it, whatever it may be, for all of me, " I told him. 

His face flushed a deeper red. "Oh, it's only you, is it, Littlejohn? Itook you for that fool Graham, in this damned dark hole. Where is he?"

I looked to Graham and he followed the direction of my gaze to thework-bench, where Sam stood with his back to it, his worn hands foldedquietly before him. He seemed a little whiter than usual, I thought;and perhaps it was only my fancy that made him appear to tremble everso slightly. For he was quite calm and self-possessed--so much so thatI realised for the first time there was another man in Radville besidesmyself who did not fear old Colonel Bohun. 

"I'm here, colonel, " he said quietly. "What is it you wish?"

The colonel swung on him, shaking with passion. But he held his tongueuntil he had mastered himself somewhat: a feat of self-restraint on hispart over which I marvel to this day. 

"You know well, Graham, " he said presently. "You got my letter--theletter I wrote you a week ago?"

"Yes, " said Sam, with a start of comprehension. "Yes, I got it. "

"Then why the devil, man, don't you answer it?"

Sam's apologetic smile sweetened his face. 

"Why, " he said haltingly--"I'm sure I meant no offence, but--you see, I'm a very busy man--I forgot it. "

"The hell you forgot it. D'ye expect me to believe that, man?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to. "

Bohun was speechless for a moment, stricken dumb by a second seizure offury. But again he calmed himself. 

"Very well. I'll swallow that insolence for the present--"

"It wasn't meant as such, I assure--"

"Don't interrupt me! D'you hear? ... I've come for my answer. Yes, I'vecome down to that, Graham. If you can't accord me the common courtesyof a written reply--I've come to hear it from your mouth. "

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Mebbe, " he said, "you forgot you have failedto accord me the common courtesy of any sort of a communicationwhatever for twenty years, Colonel Bohun. Even when my wife, yourdaughter, died, you ignored my message asking you to her funeral.... "

"Be silent!" screamed the colonel. "Do you think I'm here to bandywords with you, fool? I demand my answer. "

"And as for that, " continued Sam as evenly as if he had not beeninterrupted, "your proposition was so preposterous that it could havecome only from you, and deserved no answer. But since you want itformally, sir, it's no. "

For a moment I feared Bohun would have a stroke. The back of the chairI had just vacated and his stick alone supported him through that dumb, terrible transport. He shook so violently that I looked momentarily tosee the chair break beneath him. There was insanity in his eyes. Whenfinally he was able to articulate it was in broken gasps. 

"I don't believe it, " he stammered. "It's a lie. I don't believe it. It's madness--the girl wouldn't be so mad. ... "

"What is it, father?"

I don't know which of us three was the more startled by that simplequestion in Betty Graham's voice; Sam, at all events, showed the leastsurprise; the old colonel wheeled toward the back of the store, his jawdropping and his eyes protruding as though he were confronted with aghost. As, in a way, he was: even I had been struck by that strange, heartrending similarity to her mother's tone; and even I trembled alittle to hear that voice, as it seemed, from beyond the grave. 

Betty stood at the foot of the staircase; alarmed by the noise of thecolonel's raging, she had stolen down, unheard by any of us. And inthat moment I realised as never before that the girl had more of hermother in her than lay in that marvellous reproduction of MargaretGraham's voice. As she waited there one detected in her pose somethingof her mother's quiet dignity, in her eyes more than a little ofMargaret's tragedy. Of Margaret's beauty I saw scant trace, I own; butin those days my eyes were blinded by the signs of overwork andinsufficient nourishment that marred her young features, by thehopeless dowdiness of her garments. 

Abruptly she moved swiftly to her father's side and slipped her handinto his. "What is it, father?" she repeated, eyeing Colonel Bohuncoldly. 

I thought Sam's eyes filled. His lips trembled and he had to struggleto master his voice. He smiled through it all, tenderly at his girl, but there was in that smile the weakness of the child grown old, thedependence of the man whose womanfolk must ever mother him. 

"Why, Betty, " he said, tremulous--"why, Betty, your grandfather herehas been kind enough to offer to take you and educate you and make alady of you, and--and we were just talking it over, dear, just talkingit over. "

"Do you mean that?" she flung at Bohun. 

He straightened up and held himself well in hand. "Is it the first youhave heard of it?"

"Yes. " She looked inquiringly at her father. 

"Why didn't you tell her?" Bohun persisted harshly. "Were you afraid?"

"No. " Sam shook his head slowly. "I wasn'tafraid. But it was unnecessary.... You see, Betty, Colonel Bohun iswilling to do all this for you on several conditions. You must leave meand never see me again; you mustn't even recognise me should we meetupon the street; you must change your name to Bohun and never permityourself to be known as Betty Graham. Then you must--"

"Never mind, daddy dear, " said the girl. "That is enough. I know now--Iunderstand why you never told me. It's impossible. Colonel Bohun knewthat when he made the offer, of course; he made it simply to harassyou, daddy. It's his revenge.... "

She looked Bohun up and down with a glance of contempt that would havewithered another man, poor, wan, haggard little maid of all work thatshe was. 

"And that's your answer, miss?" he snapped, livid with wrath. 

"I would not, " she told him slowly, "accept a favour from you, sir, ifI were starving.... "

Bohun drew himself up. "Then starve, " he told her; and walked out ofthe shop. 

I gaped after his retreating figure. It seemed impossible, incredible, that he should have taken such an answer without yielding to a fit ofinsensate passion. And I was still marvelling when I heard Grahamsaying in a broken voice: "Betty! Betty, my little girl!"

Then I, too, went away, with a mist before my eyes to dim the goldengrace of June. 

VI

INTRODUCTION TO MISS CARPENTER

On my way back from the Flats I discovered Duncan sitting on the wallof the bridge, moodily donating pebbles to the water. His attitudesuggested preoccupation with unhappy reflections, a humour from whichthe sound of my footsteps roused him. He looked up and caught my eyewith an uncertain nod, as though he half recognised me--presumablyhaving casually noticed me at the Bigelow House the previous evening. 

"Good-morning, " said I cheerfully, with a slight break in my strideintended craftily to convey the impression that I was not altogetheraverse to a pause for gossip. 

He said "Good-morning, " sombrely. 

"A pleasant day, " I observed spontaneously, stopping. 

"Yes, " he agreed. "By the way, have you a match about you?"

I searched my pockets, found a box and handed it over. 

"I've been perishing for a ... " He slid his fingers into a waistcoatpocket, as one who should seek a cigarette-case; but the hand cameforth empty. He bit his remark off abruptly, with a blank look in hiseyes which was promptly succeeded by an expression of deepest chagrin. He got up and with a little bow returned the box. 

"I forgot, " he said, apologetic. 

"I'm afraid I can't help you out, " said I. 

"Oh, that's all right. I'd just forgotten that I don't smoke. "

I pretended not to notice his disconcertion. 

"You're to be congratulated; it's a shameful waste of time and money. "

"A filthy habit, " said he warmly. 

"Indeed, yes, " I chanted, finding my pipe and tobacco pouch. 

He caught my twinkle as I filled and lighted, and looked away, theshadow of a smile lurking beneath his small, closely clipped moustache. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said a moment later, regarding me with moreinterest, "but--do you live here?"

"Certainly. Why?"

"I was sure of it, " he replied soberly. "But don't you feel a bitlonesome, sometimes?"

"Not in the least. Radville's one of the most interesting places onthis side of the footstool. " He sighed. "Indeed, " I insisted, "youwon't feel any more lonely after you've lived here a while, than I donow, Mr. Duncan. "

He opened his eyes at my acquaintance with his name, but jerked hishead at me comprehendingly. 

"To be sure, " he said. "You would know. But I'm only beginning torealise what it feels like to be a marked man. "

"I hear you intend to make Radville your permanent residence, Mr. Duncan?"

"It's part of the system, " he said obscurely. "It may prove a lifesentence. "

"Don't you think you'll like it here?"

"Oh, I'm strong for Radville, " he declared earnestly. "It's all to themerry ... I beg your pardon. "

I stared curiously to see him colour like a school-girl. "What for?"

"My mistake, sir; I forgot myself again. I don't use slang. "

"Oh!" I commented, wondering. He was beginning to puzzle me. 

In the pause the air began to rock with the heavy clanging of the clockin the Methodist Church steeple. 

"That's noon, " I said. "We'll have to cut along: dinner's ready. "

Duncan immediately replanted himself firmly upon the parapet. "I knowit, " he said with some indignation. 

Again bewildered, I hesitated, but eventually advanced: "Our ways runtogether, Mr. Duncan, as far as the Bigelow House. My name isLittlejohn--Homer Littlejohn. "

He rose again to take my hand and assured me he was glad to make myacquaintance. "But, " he added morosely, "I'll be damned if I go back tothat hotel before dinner's over.... Great Scott! I forgot again. Idon't swear!"

"Have you any other unnatural accomplishments?" I inquired, chuckling. 

"I'm so full of 'em I can hardly stick, " he assented gloomily. "I don'tdrink or smoke or swear or play pool or cards, and on Sundays I go tochurch. "

I laughed outright. "You've come to the right place for such exemplaryvirtues to be fully appreciated, Mr. Duncan. "

"That's all right, " he said with a return of his indignation, "but itwasn't in the bargain that I should starve to death. Do you realise, Mr. Littlejohn, " he continued, warming, "that you behold in me a youngman in the prime of health actually on the point of wasting visiblyaway to a shadow of my former hardy self? It's a fact: I am. For thepast two days I've had nothing to eat except railway sandwiches andcoffee and the kind of fodder they pitchfork you at the Bigelow House. And I came here with a mind coloured with rosy anticipations of realold-fashioned country cooking. It's an outrage!"

"Look here, " said I: "why not come home with me for dinner? I'll beglad to have you, and Miss Carpenter won't mind your coming, I'm sure. "

He got up with alacrity. "Those are the first human words I've heard inRadville, sir! I accept with joy and gratitude. Come--lead me to it!"

Now, Miss Carpenter doesn't like her meals delayed; so I would havebeen inclined to hasten this Mr. Duncan; but he saved me the trouble. 

"Miss Carpenter?" he asked without warning, as we hurried up MainStreet. 

"My landlady, Mr. Duncan. "

"She takes boarders? An old maid?" he persisted eagerly. 

"An elderly spinster; boarders are her distraction as well as a sourceof income. "

"Do you think she'd take me in, Mr. Littlejohn?"

"I'm sure of it. There's a vacant room ... "

"Does she talk?"

"Moderately. "

"Not a regular walking newspaper--no?"

"Not exactly--"

"Then I'm afraid it's no use, " he sighed. 

I glanced up at his face, but it was inscrutable. 

"You--you want a landlady who talks?" I gasped, incredulous. 

"It's one of the rules, " he said, again obscurely. 

I could make nothing of him. And had I any right to introduce to HettyCarpenter a guest who came without credentials and talked more or lesslike a lunatic at large?

"Mr. Duncan--" I began, uncomfortable. 

"Don't say it, " he anticipated me. "I know you think I'm crazy--but I'mnot. You would think so, naturally, because you're the only man herewho's ever lived away from Radville long enough--not counting those whowent to the World's Fair--. "

"How did you know?"

"Bigelow told me last night; said you'd be glad to meet somebody fromNew York. I hope he's right. I'm glad, personally.... You see--May Irequest that you regard this as confidential?"

"Yes--yes!"

"I've come to Radville to make my fortune. "

The confession smote me witless: I could only gape. He noddedconfirmation, with a most serious mien. At length I found strength toarticulate. "From New York--?"

"Yes. It's a new scheme. You see, Mr. Littlejohn, matters have come to such a state that a city-bred boy practicallydoesn't stand any show on earth of making good in the cities; yourcountry-bred boys crowd him to the wall, nine times out of ten. Theyinvade us in hordes, fresh from the open, strong, vigorous, clear-headed, ambitious.... What chance have we got? ... I've beenfiguring it out, you see, and I've come to the conclusion that it's myonly salvation to get back to the country and improve some of theopportunities--the golden opportunities--that your boys have neglected, overlooked, in their mad desire to invade the commercial centres of thecountry. "

He seemed very much in earnest; I was watching him as closely as Imight without making my scrutiny offensive; and there seemed to be thering of conviction in his voice, while the expression of his eyesindicated concentrated thought. And how was I to know, then, that theconcentration was due to the necessity of invention?

"You follow me, Mr. Littlejohn?"

"I was here first, " I corrected. "Still, there's more in what you saythan perhaps you realise. "

"If I'd made this discovery originally I'd agree with you, sir. But, quite to the contrary, it was pointed out to me by one of the shrewdestbusiness minds in the United States--a man who'd been a country boy tobegin with. And I've come to the conclusion that he's right. "

"So you're here. "

"Here I am. "

"And what do you propose doing?"

"I'm reading law, Mr. Littlejohn; that I shall continue. In themeantime, I shall keep my eyes open. At any day, at any amount, theopportunity may present itself, the opportunity I'm looking for. "

"Probably you're right, " I assented, impressed, as we turned a corner. 

A young woman in a very attractive linen gown was strolling toward us, quite prettily engaged with a book which she read as she walked, herfair young head bowed beneath a sunshade which tinted her facebecomingly. She gave me a shy smile and a low-voiced greeting as wepassed. Only my knowledge of the young woman prevented me from beingblinded by her engaging appearance. 

"That, " said I, when we were out of earshot, "shows you what a furore agood-looking young man can create in a town like this. Josie Lockwoodhas put on her best bib-and-tucker to go walking in this afternoon, onthe off-chance of meeting you, Mr. Duncan. "

"Flattery note, " he commented. "Who's Josie Lockwood?"

"Daughter of Blinky Lockwood, the richest man in Radville. "

"Ah!" he said cryptically. 

We had come to Miss Carpenter's. I opened the gate for him, but hestood aside, refusing to precede me. And courtesy in the young folk ofto-day warms my old heart. 

He had as much for Hetty Carpenter. Within an hour he had insinuatedhimself into her good graces with a deftness, an ease, that astounded. Within three hours he was established, bag and baggage, in her verybest room. 

And thirty minutes after she had helped Duncan unpack, Hetty had to rundowntown to buy a spool of thread. 

VII

A WINDOW IN RADVILLE

A jealous secret, which has never heretofore been divulged, isresponsible for the prosperity of the Radville _Citizen_--atleast, in very great measure. As the discoverer of this recipe forcirculation, I have kept it carefully locked in my guilty bosom formany a year, and if I now betray it I do so without scruple, for the_Gazette_ is now established firmly in a groove of popularity fromwhich you'd find it hard to oust the paper. So here's letting the catout of the bag:

The policy of the _Citizen_ has long been to devote its columnsmainly to the exploitation of what is known in newspaper terminology as"the local story. " Of the news of the great outside world we'reparsimonious, recognising the fact that the coronation of King EdwardVII. Is a matter of much less import to our community than theholocaust which was responsible for the destruction of SirHigginbottom's new hen-house. Similarly a West Indian tornado involvinglosses running up into hundreds of thousands of dollars sinks intorelative insignificance as compared with the local weather forecast andits probable effect on crops not worth ten thousand; while the enforcedabdication of the Sultan of Turkey gets a "stick" (a space in anewspaper column about as long as your forefinger, if you have a smallhand) as contrasted with the column and a half assigned to the death ofold Colonel Bohun. 

Now, naturally, a paper in a small country town can't afford a largeand hustling staff of enthusiastic reporters; and very probably the_Citizen_ would overlook many items and stories of burning localinterest were it not for the fact that the population has beencunningly made to serve in a reportorial capacity without either pay orits own knowledge. We literally get our local news by wireless; andfrom dawn to dark there's a constant supply of it on tap. 

It's this way: our editorial rooms are in the second storey of abuilding overlooking Court House Square. The lower floor is occupied bythe Post Office, and in front of the Post Office are a hitching-postand two long, weather-scarred benches, while just across the road--Imean street--on the boundary of the square proper--is a near-bronzedrinking-fountain and watering-trough erected from the proceeds ofseveral fairs given by the local branch of the W. C. T. U. Naturally, indeed inevitably, all Radville gravitates to the Post Office, bringingthe news with it, and stops to discuss it on the steps or the benchesor by the fountain; and the acoustics are admirable. With a window openand scratch-pad handy, the keen-eared scribe at his desk in our officescan hardly fail to pick up every scrap of town information betweensunrise and dusk.... Of course, in winter the supply's not so good. Winter before last we all suffered with colds acquired through keepingthe windows open; and last winter our circulation fell off surprisinglythrough keeping them closed. This winter we contemplate cutting atrap-door through the floor for the ostensible purpose of ventilation. 

And thus it was that I managed to hear much of Mr. Duncan while Imyself was engaged in formulating an estimate of the young man. Heengaged the popular imagination no less than mine own, although I wasmore intimately associated with him--as a fellow-resident at HettyCarpenter's. My professional duties making their habitual demands uponmy time, I saw, it may be, less of him than many of our people. Certainly I learned less of his ways from first-hand knowledge. Butfrom my desk (it's the nearest to the window right above the PostOffice door) I was enabled to keep a pretty close line upon his habitsand movements, during the first fortnight of his stay in Radville. 

At home I saw him with unvarying regularity at meal-times and lessfrequently after supper. Between whiles he seemed to observe a fairlyregular routine: in the morning, after breakfast, he walked abroad forhis health's sake; in the afternoon and evening he sequestered himselfin his room for the pursuit of his legal studies. About the genuinenessof these latter I was long without a question: having been privilegedto inspect his room I found it redolent of an atmosphere of highlycommendable application. His writing table was a model of neatness, andhis store of legal treatises impressed one vastly. That no one, noteven Hetty Carpenter, ever saw the room without remarking the openvolume of "The Law of Torts, " with its numerous pages painstakinglyspaced by slips of paper by way of bookmarks, is an attested fact. Thatit was always the same volume is less widely known. 

Less directly (that is to say, via my window) I learned of himcompendiously from sources which would have been anonymous but for mylong acquaintance with the voices of the townspeople.... I write thesepages at my desk at home and, if truth's to be told, somewhatsurreptitiously; but with these voices ringing in my memory's ear Iseem still to be sitting at my erstwhile desk by the window, lookingout over Court House Square, chewing the rubber heel of my pencil thewhile I listen. It's summer weather and there's a smell in the air ofdust and heat; the square simmers and shimmers in unclouded sunshine, its many green plots of grass a trifle grey and haggard with dust, theflagstaff with its two flanking cannon by the bandstand in the middlewavering slightly in the haze of heat; there are two rigs, a farm-wagonand a buckboard, hitched to the post below, and some boys are squirtingwater on one another by holding their hands over the lips of thefountain across the way. Immediately opposite, on the far side of thesquare, the Court House rises proudly in all the majesty of itscolumned front and clapboarded sides; farther along there's theMethodist Church, very severe, with its rows of sheds to one side forthe teams of the more rural members. Behind them all bulk our hills, dim and purple against the overwhelming blue of the sky. It's veryquiet: there are few sounds, and those few most familiar: the raucouswar-cry of a rooster somewhere on the outskirts of town; anintermittent thudding of hoofs in the inch-deep dust of the roadway;Miles Stetson wringing faint but genuine shrieks of agony from hiscornet, in a room behind the Opery House on the next street;periodically a shuffle of feet on the sidewalk below; less frequentlythe whine of the swinging doors at Schwartz's place; above it all, perhaps, the shrill but not unpleasant accents of Angie Tuthill as shepauses on the threshold downstairs and injects surprising informationinto the nothing-reluctant ears of Mame Garrison. 

" ... He's got six suits of clothes, three for summer and three forwinter, and two others to wear to parties--one regular full-dress suitand another without any tails on the coat that he told Miss Carpenterwas a dinner-coat, but Roland Barnette says he must've meant a Tuxedo, because nobody wears that kind of clothes except at night; so how couldit be a dinner-coat?... And Miss Carpenter told Ma he's got twelvestriped shirts and eight white ones and dozens of silk socks and twodozen neckties and handkerchiefs till you can't count and.... "

Mame punctuates this monologue with a regular and excusable "My land!"and the young voices fade away into the mid-summer afternoon quiet. Iam free to resume my interrupted flight of fancy, but I refrain. Theatmosphere is soporiferous, hardly conducive to editorial inspiration, and I find the commingled flavours of red-cedar, glue and rubber quitenourishing. 

Presently Dr. Mortimer, the minister, comes down the street in companywith his deacon, Blinky Lockwood. They are discussing someone insubdued tones, but I catch references to a worthy young man and thevacancy in the choir. 

Josie Lockwood rustles into hearing with Bessie Gabriel in tow. Josieis rattling volubly, but with a hint of the confidential in her tone. She insists that: "Of course, I never let on, but every time we meet Ican just feel him looking and.... "

Bessie interposes: "Why, Tracey Tanner's just crazy for fear he'll takeon with Angie. "

I can see Josie's head toss at this. "I bet he don't know what AngieTuthill looks like. That's too absurd... "

"Absurd" is Josie's newest word. It's a very good word, too, butsometimes I fear she will wear it threadbare. It closes her remarks asthe two girls dart into the Post Office, and there is peace for a time;then they emerge giggling, and I hear Josie declare: "I'd get RolandBarnette to do it, but he's so jealous. He makes me tired. "

Bessie's response is inaudible. 

"Well, " Josie continues, "I'm simply not going to send them out until Imeet him. Father said I could give it a week from Saturday, but I won'tunless--"

Bessie interrupts, again inaudibly. 

"Of course I could do that, but ... If I just said 'Miss Carpenter andguests' that nosey old Homer Littlejohn'd think I meant him too, and ifI only said 'guest' it'd look too pointed. Don't you think so?"

To my relief they pass from hearing, and I feel for my pipe forcomfort. Anyway, I never did like Josie Lockwood.... Smoking, Imeditate on the astonishing power of personality. Here is Mr. NathanielDuncan no more than a fortnight in our midst (the phrase is usedcallously, as something sacred to country journalism) and, behold! notyet has the town ceased to discuss him. The control he has over thelocal mind and imagination is certainly wonderful: the more so since hehas apparently made no effort to attract attention; rather, I shouldsay, to the contrary. Quiet and unassuming he goes his way, minding hisown business as carefully as we would mind it for him, with all thegood will in the world, if only we could find out what it is. But wecan't leave him alone.... 

Tracey Tanner interrupts my musings. 

"Hello!" he twangs, like a tuneless banjo. 

"'Lo, Tracey. " This lofty and blase greeting can come from none otherthan Roland Barnette. 

"Where you goin'?"

"Over to the railway station. "

"What for?"

"To give you something to talk about. I'm going to send a telegram to afriend of mine in Noo York. "

"Aw, you ain't the only one can send telegrams. Sam Graham sent onejust now. "

"_He_ did!"

"Uh-huh. I was sort of hangin' round, when he came in, and I seen himsend it myself. "

"Sam Graham telegraphing! Do you know; who to, Tracey?" Roland'ssuperiority is wearing thin under contact with his curiosity. Thissurprising bit of news makes him distinctly more affable and inclinedto lower himself to the social level of the son of the livery-stablekeeper. 

As for myself, I am inclined to lean out of the window and call Traceyup, lest he get out of hearing before I hear the rest of it. Fortunately I am not thus obliged to compromise my dignity. The two areat pause. 

"Gimme a cigarette 'nd I'll tell you, " bargains Tracey shrewdly. "LewParker told me after Sam'd gone. "

The deal is put through promptly. 

"He was telegraphin' to--Got a match?"

For once I am in sympathy with Roland, whose tone betrays his desire towring Tracey's exasperating neck. 

"Aw, he was only telegraphing to Gresham an' Jones for some sody watersyrups. "

"Where'd he get the money?" There's fine scorn in Roland's comment. 

"I dunno, but he handed Lew a five-dollar bill to pay for the message. "

"Well, if Sam Graham's got any money he'd better hold on to it, insteadof buying sody-water syrups. I guess Blinky Lockwood'll get after himwhen he finds it out. He owes Blinky a note at the bank and it's comingdue in a day or two and Blinky ain't going to renew, neither. "

"Sam seemed cheerful 'nough. Anyhow, it ain't my funeral. "

I have now something to think about, indeed, and am more than halfinclined to stroll up to Graham's and find out what has happened, on myown account, when the voices of Hi Nutt and Watty the tailor drift upto me. The cronies are coming down for their regular afternoon sessionon the Post Office benches--a function which takes place daily, just assoon as the sun gets round behind the building, so that the seats areshaded. And I pause, true to the ethics of journalism; it's my duty notto leave just yet. 

Surprisingly enough these two likewise are discussing Sam Graham. Atleast I can deduce nothing else from Hiram's first words, though theirsubject is for the moment nameless. 

"Yes, sir; he's the poorest man in this town. "

"Yes, " Watty quavers; "yes, I guess he be. "

"An' he's got no more business sense _into_ him than God give agoose. "

"No, I guess he ain't. "

"Why, look at the way things has run down at his store since Margaretdied. She kept things a-runnin' while she was alive. " "Yes, she was a fine woman, Margaret Bohunwas. "

"An' they ain't no doubt about it, Sam had money into the bank when shedied. But ever sinst then it's been all go out and no come in with him. He keeps fussin' and fussin' with them inventions of his, but no oneever heard tell of his gettin' anything out of 'em. "

"And what'd he do with all the money he had when Margaret died?"

"Spent it, what he didn't lend and give away and lose endorsin' notesfor his friends and then havin' to pay 'em. An' speakin' of notes, Iheard Roland Barnette say, t'other day, that old Sam had a note comin'due to the bank, an' Blinky wasn't goin' to renew it any more. "

"'Course Sam can't pay it. "

"Certainly he can't. I was in his store day before yestiddy an' theywasn't nobody come in for nothin' while I was there. He don't do nobusiness to speak of. "

"How long was you there, Hi?"

"From nine o'clock to noon. "

"What doin'?"

"Nuthin'; jes' settin' round. "

"I seen him to-day goin' into the bank. Guess he must've gone to seeLockwood 'bout thet note. "

"Well, I don't envy him his call on Blinky Lockwood none. "

"Mebbe he went in to deposit his coupons, " Watty chuckled. 

Hiram snorted and there was silence while he filled and lit his pipe. 

"I hearn tell this mornin', " he resumed, "that Josie Lockwood's goin'to give a party next week. "

"Yes, I hearn it too. Angie Tuthill was talkin' 'bout it to MameGarrison up to Leonard and Call's. She said they was goin' to have thebiggest time this town ever see. Goin' to decyrate the grounds withlanterns an' have ice cream sent from Phillydelphy, and cakes, too. Can't make out what's come into Blinky to let that gal of his wastemoney like that. "

"I figger, " says Hiram after a sapient pause, "she must be gettin' itup for thet New York dood. "

"Duncan?"

"Uh-huh. "

"I didn't know he was 'quainted with the Lockwoods. "

"I didn't know he was 'quainted with nobody. "

"Nobody 'ceptin' Homer Littlejohn an' Hetty Carpenter, an' they don'tseem to know much about him. I call him darn cur'us. Hetty says heallus a-settin' in his room, a-studyin' an' a-studyin' an' a-studyin'. "

"He goes walkin' mornin's, Hetty told me. "

"Wal, he don't come downtown much. Nobody hardly ever sees him 'cept tochurch. "

Hiram ponders this profoundly, finally delivering himself of an opinionwhich he has never forsaken. "I claim he's a s'picious character. "

"Don't look to me as though he knew 'nough to be much of anythin'. "

"Wal, now, if he's a real student an' they ain't no outs 'bout him, what in tarnation's he doin' here? Thet's jest what I'd like to havesomebody tell me, Watty. "

"Hetty sez he sez he wants a quiet place to study. "

Hiram snorts with scorn. "Oh, fid-del! You don't catch no Noo Yorkyoung feller a-settlin' down in Radville unless he's crazy or somethin'worse. "

"'Tain't no use tellin' Hetty Carpenter thet. " "No; if anybody sez aword agin him she shets 'em right up. "

"'Tain't only Hetty, but all the wimmin's on his side. "

"Thet's proof enough to me he ain't right. " "Wimmin, " says Watty, asthe result of a period of philosophical consideration, "is all crazyabout clothes. When a feller's got good clothes you can't make them seeno harm into him, no matter what he is. I pressed some of Duncan's lastSatiddy. I never see clothes--such goods and linin's. They was made forhim, too--made by a tailor on Fifth Avenue, Noo York. I fergit the namenow. "

"Wal, Roland Barnette sez they ain't stylish. He sez they're too muchlike an undertaker's gitup. "

"Wal, Roland oughter know. He's the fanciest dressed-up feller in thecounty. "

"Yes, I guess he be. "

The subject apparently languishes, but I know that it still occupiestheir sage meditations; and presently this is demonstrated by Hiram, who expectorates liberally by way of preface. 

"When this cuss Duncan fust come here, " he says with a self-containedchuckle, "ev'rybody but me figgered he had stacks of money. Guess theybe singin' a different tune, now, sinst he's been goin' round askin'for work. "

This is news to me, and I sit up, sharing Watty's astonishment. 

"Be he a-doin' thet, Hiram?"

"That's what he's been a-doin'. "

"Funny I missed hearin' about it. "

"He only started this mornin'. He went to Sothern and Lee's and Leonardand Call's and Godfrey's--'nd then I guess he must 'ev quitdiscouraged. They wouldn't none of them give him nothin'. Leastways, thet's what they said after he'd gone out. He didn't give anybody areel chance to say anythin'. I was in Leonard and Call's and he came inan' asked for a job, but the minute Len looked at him he turned rightround and slunk out without a-waitin' for Len to say a word. " Hiramsmoked in huge enjoyment of the retrospect. "He's the curiousestcritter we ever had in this town. "

"Yes, " agrees Watty, "I guess he be. "

At this juncture comes an interruption; Tracey Tanner returns, hot-foot. Either he has been running, or his breathlessness is due toexcitement. Before the two upon the bench he pauses in agitated glee, abearer of tremendous tidings. 

"Hello, " he pants. 

"Now, you Tracey Tanner, " Hiram cuts in sharply, "you run 'long an'don't be a-botherin' round. Seems like a body never can git a chance torest, with you children allus a-buttin' in--"

"Aw, shet up, " says Tracey dispassionately. "I only wanted to tell youthe news. "

Watty quavers: "What news, Tracey?"

"Well, " says the boy, "I'll tell you, Watty, but I wouldn't 've toldhim after what he said. "

"But what's the news, Tracey?" There is suspense in the iteration. 

"Well, seein's it's you, Watty--"

"You Tracey Tanner, you run 'long and stop your jokin'!" interruptsHiram with authority. 

"'Tain't no joke; it's news, I'm tellin' you. Sa-ay, what d'ye think, Watty?"

"Yes, Tracey, yes? What is it, boy?"

"Thet--Noo--York--dood, " drawls Tracey, "is a-workin' for Sam Graham!"

A dramatic pause ensues. I rise and find my coat. 

"Tracey Tanner, " shrills Hiram, "be you a-tellin' the truth?"

"Kiss my hand and cross my heart and vow Honest Injun, I seen him upthere just now in the store, Watty, tendin' the sody fountain. "

"Wal, " says Hiram, rising, "I don't believe a word of it, but if it'strue we better be goin' round to see, Watty, 'cause it ain't a-goin' tolast long. He won't stay after he finds out Sam ain't got no money topay his wages with. "

VIII

THE MAN OF BUSINESS IN EMBRYO

There's no questioning the fact that two weeks of Radville had drivenDuncan to desperation; on the morning of the fifteenth day he wakenedin his room at Miss Carpenter's and lay for a time abed staringvacantly at the gaudily papered ceiling, not through laziness remainingon his back, but through sheer inertia. The prospect of rising toramble through another purposeless, empty day appalled his imagination;it had been all very well when the humour of his project intrigued him, when the village was a novelty and its inhabitants "types" to bestudied, watched, analysed and classified with secret amusement; butnow he felt that he had already exhausted its possibilities; he was aforeigner in thought and instinct, had as little in common withRadvillians as any newly imported Englishman would have had. In plainlanguage, he was bored to the point of extinction. 

"Why, " he reflected aloud, "it doesn't seem reasonable, but I'mactually looking forward to the delirious dissipation of church nextSunday!

"Me?... 

"If Kellogg could only see me now!"

He laughed mirthlessly. 

"I must have done something to deserve this in my misspent life... 

"Wonder if nothing ever happens here?.... I'd give a whole lot, if Ihad it, for a good rousing fire on Main Street--the Bigelow House, forchoice.... 

"And it's got me to the point of drooling to myself, like those fellowsyou read about who get lost in the desert.... 

"Come! Get out of this! And, my boy, remember to 'count that day lostwhose low descending sun sees nothing accomplished, nothing done. '... 

"Probably misquoted, at that. "

Sullenly he rose and dressed. 

He was late at the breakfast and silent and reserved throughout thatmeal. Poor Miss Carpenter thought him dissatisfied and hung round hischair, purring with a solicitude that almost maddened him. As soon aspossible he made his escape from the house. 

The walk he indulged in that morning took him in a wide circle: southon the road to the Gap, then eastwards, crossing the railroad and theriver, north through a smiling agricultural region, east to the Flats, and so across the stone bridge to the Old Town once more. He wastrudging up Street toward Centre shortly after eleven--hot, a littletired, and utterly disgusted. The exercise, instead of exhilarating, had depressed him; the quickened flow of blood through his veins, thevigour of the clean air he inhaled, demanded of him action of somesort; and he had nothing whatever to do with himself all afternoon savedrowse over "The Law of Torts. "

Recognition of Leonard and Call's familiar shop-front fired him with aspirit of adventure and enterprise. He stopped short, thoughtfullyrubbing his small moustache the wrong way, his vision glued to theembarrassingly candid window displays. 

"It'd be an awful thing for me to do.... 

"Think of yourself, man, jumping counters in and out amongst allhose--those _Things!_ like a lunatic monkey performing on a Mondaymorning's clothes line!... "

He thought deeply, and sighed. "It ain't moral.... 

"But it's one of the rules, it must be did. Henry said a ribbon clerkwas a social equal.... 

"Come, now! No more shennanigan! Brace up! Be a man!... 

"A man? That's the whole trouble: I am a man; I've got no business in aplace like that. "

He turned and moved away slowly. But the idea had him by the heels. Hestruggled against a growing resolution to return. Then enlightenmentcame to him suddenly. He paused again, grappling with this amazingrevelation of self. 

"Great Scott! Harry was right, damn him! He said this place wouldreconstruct me from the inside out and vice versa, and by jinks! ithas. I actually _want_ to work!... 

"Can you beat that--_me_!"

He swung back to Leonard and Call's, mentally reviewing hisinstructions. 

"Let's see. I was to wait at least a month, to let the shopkeepers getaccustomed to the sight of me.... _Hmm_.... Harry certainly has acute way of expressing his thought.... But it can't be helped; I can'twait. If I do, I'll throw up the job.... 

"I'm to walk in and say, politely: '_I'm looking for employment. Ifat any time you should have an opening here that you can offer me, Ishall endeavour to give satisfaction. Good-day_. '... 

"But be careful not to press it. Just say it and get right out.... "

With the air of a man who knows his own mind he pulled open the wirescreen-door and strode in. 

Two minutes later he emerged, breathing hard, but with the glitter ofdetermination in his eye. 

"I wouldn't 've believed I could get away with it. Here goes for thenext promising opening. "

He headed for Sothern and Lee's drug-store. 

"Wonder what that fellow would have said if I'd had the nerve to waitand listen.... "

In the drug-store he experienced less difficulty in making his speechand exit; he flattered himself that he accomplished both gracefully, even impressively. And indeed you may believe he left a gaping audiencebehind him. So likewise at Godfrey's notions and stationery shop. 

As he emerged from the latter the resonant clamour of the MethodistChurch clock drove him home for dinner, hungry and glowing withself-approbation. At all events, no one had refused him: he had notbeen set upon and incontinently kicked out. He felt that he was gettingon. 

"Now this afternoon, " he mused, "I'll wind up the job. By nighteveryone in town will know I want work. "

But if he had thought a moment he would have realised that he mighthave spared himself the trouble; the consummation he so earnestlydesired was already being brought about by resident and recognised, ifunofficial, agents for the dissemination of news. 

It was two o'clock or thereabouts, I gather, when, shaping his coursetoward Radville's commercial centre, Duncan hesitated on the corner ofBeech Street, cocking an incredulous eye up at the weather-worn signwhich has for years adorned the side of Tuthill's grocery: a handindicating fixedly:

THIS WAY TO GRAHAM'S DRUG STORE

"Two druggists in Radville!" he mused. "Is it possible?... Then it'sHarry's mistake if the scheme fails; he said this was a one-horsecountry town, but I'm blest if it isn't a thriving metropolis! Two!... Here, I'm going to have a look. "

He turned up Beech and presently discovered the object of his quest, atwo-storey building of "frame, " guiltless of the ardent caress of apaint-brush since time out of mind. On the ground floor the windowswere made up of many small square panes, several of which had beenrudely mended. Through them the interior glimmered darkly. In theforeground stood a broken bottle, shaped like a mortuary urn and halffull of pink liquid. Beside it reposed a broken packing-box in whichbleary camphor-balls nestled between torn sheets of faded blue paper. Of these a silent companion in misery stood on the far side of thewindow: a towering pagoda-like cage of wire in which (trapped, doubtless, by means of some mysterious bait known only to alchemists)three worn but brutal-looking sponges were apparently slumbering inexhaustion. Back of these a dusty plaster cast of a male figure lightlydraped seemed to represent the survival of the fittest over somestrange and deadly patent medicine. The recessed door bore aninscription in gold letters, tarnished and half obliterated:

AM GRAHAM RUGS & CHEM C LS

 R SCRIPTION CAREF LY C POUNDED

"Looks like the very place for one of my acknowledged abilities, " saidDuncan. He turned the knob and entered, advancing to the middle of thedingy room. There, standing beside a cold and rusty stove whose pipewandered giddily to a hole in the farthest wall (reminding him of someuncouth cat with its tail over its back), he surveyed with the singlerequisite comprehensive glance the tiers of shelves tenanted by abeggarly array of dingy bottles; the soda fountain with its company ofglasses and syrup jars; the flanking counters with their brokenshow-cases housing a heterogenous conglomeration of unsalable wares;the aged and tattered posters heralding the virtues of potent affrontsto the human interior--to say naught of its intelligence; the drabwalls and debris-littered flooring. 

A slight grating noise behind him brought Duncan round with a start. Ata work-bench near the window sat a white-haired man garbed baggily inan old crash coat and trousers. His head was bowed over somethingclamped in a vise, at which he was tinkering busily with a file. He didnot look up, but, as his caller moved, inquired amiably: "Well?"

"Good-morning, " stammered Duncan; "er--I should say afternoon. "

"So you should, " Sam admitted, still fussing with his work. "Anythingyou want?"

Duncan swallowed hard and mastered his confusion. "Would it be possiblefor me to speak to the proprietor a moment?"

"I should jedge it would. Go right along. " Sam filed vigorously. 

"Might I ask--are you Mr. Graham?"

"Yes, sir; that's me. "

The filing continued stridently. Duncan moved closer. There was scantencouragement to be gathered from Graham's indifferent attitude; yethis voice had been pleasant, kindly. 

"I--I'm looking for employment, " said Duncan hastily. "If--"

"Employment!"

Graham dropped his tools with a clatter and faced round. For a momenthis eyes twinkled and a wintry smile lightened his fine old features. "Well, I declare!" he said, rising. "You must be the stranger the wholetown's been talkin' about. "

"If at any time, " Duncan pursued hastily, "you should have an openinghere that you can offer me, I shall endeavour to give satisfaction. Good-day, sir. " And he made for the door. 

"Eh, just a minute, " said Graham. "Are you in a hurry?"

Duncan paused, smiling nervously. "Oh, no--only I mustn't press it, youknow--just say it and get right--I mean I don't want to take up yourvaluable time, sir. "

Graham chuckled. "Guess the folks haven't been talking much to youabout me, " he suggested. "You seem to have a higher opinion of thevalue of my time than anybody else in Radville. "

"Yes, but--that is to say--"

"But if you're really looking for a job, I'd like to give you one firstrate. "

Duncan started toward him in breathless haste. "You--you'd liketo!--You don't mean it!"

"Yes, " Graham nodded, smiling with enjoyment of his little joke. It washarmless; he didn't for a moment believe that Duncan really neededemployment; and on the other hand it tickled him immensely to thinkthat anyone should apply to him for work. 

"Well, " said Duncan, staring, "you're the first man I ever met thatfelt that way about it. "

Sam's amusement dwindled. "The trouble is, " he confessed--"the troubleis, my boy, my business is so small I don't need any help. There isn'tmuch of anything to do here. "

"That's just the sort of a place I'd like, " said Duncan impulsively. Then he laughed a little, uneasily. "I mean, I'm willing to take anyposition, no matter how insignificant. I mean it, honestly. "

"This might suit you, then--"

"I wish you'd let me try it, sir. "

"But you don't understand. " Graham was serious enough now; there wasn'tany joke in what he had to say. "To tell you the truth, I can't affordit. When your pay was due, I'm afraid I shouldn't have any money togive you. "

Duncan dismissed this paltry consideration with a princely gesture. "Idon't mind that part, " he insisted. "Mr. Graham, if you'll teach me thedrug business I'll work for you for nothing. "

He said it earnestly, for he meant it just a bit more seriously than hehimself realised at the moment; and I'm glad to think it was becauseSam's serene and gentle, guileless nature had appealed to the youngman. He had that in him, that instinct for decency and the right, thatmade him like this simple, sweet and almost childish old man atsight--like him and want to help him, though he was hardly conscious ofthis and believed his motive rather more than less selfish, that he wasgrasping at this opportunity for relief from the deadly ennui thatoppressed him as madly as a famished man at a crust. Indeed, the boywas eager to deceive himself in this respect, with youth's wholesomehorror of sentiment. 

"Between you and me, " he hurried on, "it's this way: I've been here fortwo weeks with nothing to do but look at a book, and it's got me crazyenough to want to work!"

But still I like to think it was for a better reason, that his conductthen bore out my theory that there are streaks of human kindliness andright-thinking in all of us--buried deep though they may be by many anacquired stratum of callousness and egoism: the sediment of life cakingupon the soul.... 

But as for Sam, as soon as he recovered he shook his head in thoughtfuldeprecation. "Well, I swan!" he said. "I guess you must find it prettyslow down here. But"--brightening--"if you feel that way about it, I'dbetter take you over to Sothern and Lee's. They'd be glad to get you atthe price. "

"And in a week they'd think they were over-paying me, " Duncan argued. "No--I've been there. Why not try me on here?"

"Well, I'm just a little bit afraid you wouldn't learn much, my boy. Idon't do business enough to give you a good idea of it. Sothern and Leeget all the trade nowadays. "

"But look here, sir: don't you think if I came in here perhaps we couldbuild up the business?"

"No, I'm afraid not, " Graham deprecated, pursing his lips and rubbingthe white stubble of his beard with a toil-worn thumb. 

Duncan eyed him in bitter humour. "No, of course not. You're right--butsomebody must have tipped you off. "

Graham paid little heed, whose mind was bent upon his own parlouscircumstances. "I haven't got capital enough to stock up the store, " heexplained; "that's the real trouble. Folks have got into the habit ofgoing to the other store because I'm out of so many things. "

"Well, to be sure, " said Duncan, a little dashed; "you can't expect todo business unless you've got things to sell.... "

"I don't expect it, my boy, " Sam assented dolefully. "'Twouldn't be inreason.... You see, " he added, hope lightening his gloom, "I'm workingon an invention of mine, and if that should work out I'd get some moneyand be able to get a fresh stock. Then I'd be glad to have you. "

Duncan brushed this impatiently aside. "How much business are you doinghere now?"

"Some days"--Graham reckoned it on his fingers--"I take in a dollar ortwo, and some days... Nothing.... There's my sody fountain, " he saidwith a jerk of a thumb toward it: "got that fixed up a little whileago, and it's bringing in a little. Not much. You see, I need moresyrups. I've only got vanilly now. "

"Soda water!" Duncan jumped at the idea. "Hold on! All the girls roundhere drink soda, don't they?"

"Oh, yes, " said Graham abstractedly. 

The thought infused new life into the younger man's waning purpose. "Mr. Graham, I wish you'd let me come in here for a while. I don't careabout wages. "

Graham lifted his shoulders resignedly. "Well, my boy, it don't seemright, but if you really want to work here for nothing, I'll be glad tohave you; and if things look up with me, I'll be glad to pay you. "

Abruptly he found his hand grasped and pumped gratefully. 

"That's mighty good of you, Mr. Graham. When can I start?"

"Why... Whenever you like. "

In a twinkling Duncan's hat and gloves were off. "I'd like to, now, " hesaid. "Where can we get more syrups?"

"Unfortunately... I'll have to buy them. "

"How much?" Duncan's hand was in his pocket in an instant. 

"Oh, no, you mustn't do that. " Sam backed away in alarm. "I couldn'tallow it, my boy. It's good of you, but... "

"Either, " Nat told himself, "I'm asleep or someone's refusing to takemoney from me. " He grinned cheerfully. "Oh, that's all right, " hecontended aloud. "I'll draw it down as soon as we begin to sell soda. "He selected a bill from his slender store. "Will five dollars beenough?"

"Oh, yes, but it wouldn't be right for me to--"

But by this time Duncan was pressing the bill into his hand. "Nonsense!" he insisted. "How can we build up trade without syrup?"

"But--but--"

"And how can I learn the business without trade?" He closed Graham'sunwilling fingers over the money and skipped away. 

Sighing, Graham gave over the unequal argument. "Well, if you'resatisfied, my boy.... But I'll have to write to Elmiry for it. "

"Telegraph. "

"Telegraph!" Graham laughed. "That'd kill Lew Parker, I guess. "

"Who's he?"

"Telegraph operator and ticket agent. "

"Well, he won't be missed much. Telegraph and tell 'em to send thegoods C. O. D. Please, Mr. Graham. We want to get things moving here, youknow; we've got to build up the business. We'll put out some signs and... And ... Well, we'll get the people in the habit of coming heresomehow. You'll see!"

He raked the poverty-stricken shelves with a calculating eye, all hisenergy fired by enthusiasm at the prospect of doing something. Grahamwatched him with kindling liking and admiration. His old lips quivereda little before he voiced his thought. 

"You--you know, my boy, you've got splendid business ability, " heasserted with whole-souled conviction. 

Duncan almost reeled. "What?" he cried. 

"I was just saying, you have wonderful business ability. "

"You're the first man that ever said that. I wonder if it's so. "

"I'm sure of it. "

"Well, " said Nat, chuckling, "I'll write that to my chum. He'll--"

"Oh, I can tell, " Graham interrupted. "Now, I ... Well, you see, I'vebeen a failure in business. So far as that goes, I've been a failure ineverything all my life. "

Duncan stared for a moment, then offered his hand. "For luck, " heexplained, meeting Graham's puzzled gaze as his hand was taken. 

Wondering, Graham shook his head; and gratitude made his old voicetremulous. He put a hand over Duncan's, patting it gently. 

"I want you to know, my boy, that I appreciate... " His voice broke. "It's mighty kind of you to buy the syrup--very kind--"

"Nothing of the sort; it's just because I've got great businessability. " Duncan laughed quietly and moved away. "We'll want to cleanup a bit, " said he; "got a broom? I'll raise the dust a bit whileyou're out sending that wire. "

"You'll find one in the cellar, I guess, but--your clothes--"

"Oh, that's all right. Where's the cellar?"

"Underneath, " Graham told him simply, taking down a battered hat from ahook behind the counter. 

"I know; but how do I get there?"

"By the steps; you go through that door there into the hall. The stepsare under the stairs to our rooms. I live above the store, you see. "

"Yes.... Good-bye, Mr. Graham. "

"Good-bye, my boy. "

Duncan watched the old man move slowly out of sight, then with a groansat down on the counter to think it over. "It wouldn't be me if Ididn't make a mess of things somehow, " he told himself bitterly. "Nowyou have gone and went and done it, Mr. Fortune Hunter. You stand aswell chance of getting away with the goods when you take a wagelessjob in a spavined country drug-store with no trade worth mentioning andnothing to draw it with... Just because that old duffer's the onlyhuman being you've spotted in this burg!... 

"Wonder what Harry would say if he heard about that wonderful businessability thing... 

"But what in thunder can we do to bring business to this bum joint?"

He raked his surroundings with a discouraged glance. 

"Oh, " he said thoughtfully, "hell!"

Five minutes later Ben Sperry found him in the same position, his headbent in perplexed reverie. Sperry had been travelling for Gresham andJones, a wholesale drug-house in Elmira, more years than I canremember. His friendship for Sam Graham, contracted during the dayswhen Graham's was the drug-store of Radville, has survived the decay ofthe business. He's a square, decent man, Sperry, and has wasted many anhour trying to persuade Sam to pay a little more attention to thebusiness. I suspect he suffered the shock of his placid life when hefound Sam absent and the shop in the care of this spruce, well set-upyoung man. 

"Anything I can do for you?" chirped Duncan cheerfully, dropping offthe counter as Sperry entered. 

"No-o; I just wanted to see old Sam. Is he upstairs?"

"No, Mr. Graham's not in at present, " Duncan told him civilly. 

Sperry wrinkled his brows over this problem. "You working here?" heasked. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, I'll be hanged!"

"Let us hope not, " said Duncan pleasantly. He waited a moment, a littleirritated. "Sure there's nothing _I_ can do for you?"

"No-o, " said Sperry slowly, struggling to comprehend. "Thank you justthe same. "

"Not at all. " Duncan turned away. 

"You see, " Sperry pursued, "I don't buy from drug-stores: I sell to'em. "

Duncan faced about with new interest in the man. "Yes?" he saidencouragingly. 

"My card, " volunteered Sperry, fishing the slip of pasteboard from hiswaistcoat pocket. He dropped his sample case beside the stove andplumped down in the chair, to the peril of its existence. "I don't makethis town very often, " he pursued, while Duncan studied his card. "Sothern and Lee are the only people I sell to here, but I never miss achance to chin a while with old Sam. So, having half an hour beforetrain time, I thought I'd drop in. "

"Mr. Graham doesn't order from your house, then?"

"Doesn't order from anybody, does he?"

"I don't know; I've just come here. He'll be sorry to have missed you, though. He's just stepped out to wire your house--I gather from thefact that it's in Elmira; he mentioned that town, not the firmname--for some syrups. "

"You don't mean it!" Sperry gasped. "What's struck him all of a sudden?He ain't put in any new stock for ten years, I reckon. "

"Well, you see, " Duncan explained artfully, "I've persuaded him, in away, to try to make something out of the business here. We're going todo what we can, of course, in a small way at first. "

Sperry wagged a dubious head. "I dunno, " he considered. "Sam's a niceold duffer, but he ain't got no business sense and never had; you cansee for yourself how he's let everything run to seed here. Sothern andLee took all his trade years ago. "

"Yes, I know; that's why he needs me, " said Duncan brazenly. In hissoul he remarked "O Lord!" in a tone of awe; his colossal impudencedazed even himself. "But don't you think he could get back some of thetrade if the store was stocked up?"

"No doubt about that at all, " Sperry averred; "he'd get the biggestpart of it. "

"You think so?"

"Sure of it. You see, everybody round here likes Sam, and Sothern andLee have always been outsiders. They'd swing to this shop in a minute, just on account of that. Fact is, I wasted a lot of talk on our firm acouple of years ago, trying to make our people give him some credit, but they couldn't see it. He owed them a bill then that was so old ithad grown whiskers. "

"And still owes it, I presume?"

"You bet he still owes it. Always will. It's so small that it ain'tworth while suing for----"

"Look here, Mr. Sperry, how much is this bill with the whiskers?"

"About fifty dollars, I think, " said the travelling man, fumbling forhis wallet. "I'm supposed to ask for payment every time I strike town, you know, so I always have it with me; but I haven't had the heart tosay a word to Sam for a good long time.... Here it is. "

Duncan studied carefully the memorandum: "To Mdse, as per billrendered, $47. 85. " "I wonder... " he murmured. 

"Eh?" said Sperry. 

"I was wondering:... Suppose you were to tell your people that there'sa young fellow here who'd like to give this store a boom.... Say hewants a little credit because--because Mr. Graham won't let him put inany cash----"

"Not a bit of use, " Sperry negatived. "I would, myself, but thehouse--no. "

"But suppose I pay this bill----"

"Pay it? You really mean that?"

"Certainly I mean it. " Duncan produced the wad of bills which Kellogghad furnished him the night before his departure from New York. Thusfar he had broken only one of the five-hundred-dollar goldcertificates, and of that one he had the greater part left; living isanything but expensive in Radville. 

"I'm beginning to understand that I was cut out for an actor, " he toldhimself as he thumbed the roll with a serious air and an assumedindifference which permitted Sperry to estimate its size prettyaccurately. 

"That's quite a stack of chips you're carrying, " Sperry observed. 

Duncan's hand airily wafted the remark into the limbo of thenegligible. "A trifle, a mere trifle, " he said casually. "I don'tgenerally carry much cash about me. Haven't for five years, " he addedirrepressibly. He extracted a fifty-dollar certificate from the sheaf, and handed it over. 

"I'll take a receipt, but you needn't mention this to Mr. Graham justnow. "

"No, certainly not. " Sperry scrawled his signature to the bill. 

"And about that line of credit?----"

"Well, with this paid, I guess you could have what you needed, inmoderation. Of course----"

"My name is Duncan--Nathaniel Duncan. " Sperry made a memorandum of iton the back of an envelope. "Any former business connections?"

"None that I care to speak about, " Duncan confessed glumly. 

Sperry's face lengthened. "No references?"

It took thought, and after thought courage; but Duncan hit upon thesolution at length. "Do you know L. J. Bartlett & Company, thebrokers?"

"Do I know J. Pierpont Morgan?"

"Then that's all right. Tell your people to inquire of Harry Kellogg, the junior partner. He knows all about me. "

Noting the name, Sperry put away the envelope. "That's enough. If hesays you're all right, you can have anything you want. " He consultedhis watch. "Hmm. Train to catch.... But let's see: what do you needhere?"

Duncan reviewed the empty shelves, his face glowing. "Pills, " he saidwith a laugh: "all kinds of pills and... Everything for a regular, sure-enough drug-store, Mr. Sperry: everything Sothern and Lee carriesand a lot of attractive things they don't.... Small lots, you know, until I see what we can sell. "

"I see. You leave it to me; I probably know what you need better thanyou do. I'll make out a list this afternoon and mail it to-night withinstructions to ship it at the earliest possible moment. "

"Splendid!" Duncan told him. "You do that, and don't worry about ourmaking good. I'm going to put all my time and energy into thisproposition and----"

"Then you'll make good all right, " Sperry assured him. "All anybody'sgot to do is look at you to see you're a good business man. " Hereturned Duncan's pressure and picked up his sample-case. "S'long, "said he, and left briskly, leaving Duncan speechless. 

As if to assure himself of his sanity he put a hand to his brow andstroked it cautiously. "Heavens!" he said, and sought the support ofthe counter. "That's twice to-day I've been told that in the sameplace!"... 

"It's funny, " he said, half dazed, "I never could have pulled that offfor myself!"

IX

SMALL BEGINNINGS

Presently Duncan moved and came out of his abstraction. "I'd better getthat broom, " he said slowly. "The place certainly needs some expertmanicuring before we get that new stock in.... By George, I reallybegin to believe we've got a chance to do something, after all!... 

"Or else I'm dreaming.... "

He opened the back door and entered a narrow and dark hallway, almoststumbling over the lowest step of a flight of stairs communicating withthe upper storey. From above he could hear a clatter of crockery, sounds of footsteps, a woman singing softly. 

"Graham's wife, I presume. Never struck me he might be married.... Well, I'll be quiet. If she catches me now, before we're introduced, she'll take me for a burglar. "

On tiptoes he found the descent to the cellar, where by the aid of amatch he discovered a floorbrush whose reasons for retirement fromactive employment were most evident even to his inexpert eye. None theless nothing better offered, and he took it back with him to the shop. 

Graham's tinkering was never of a cleanly sort; the floor was thickwith a litter of rubbish--shavings, old nuts and bolts, bits of scraptin and metal, torn paper, charred ends of matches: an indescribablemess. Duncan surveyed it ruefully, but with the will to do strong inhim, took off his coat, turned up his trousers, and fell to. Thedisposition of the sweepings troubled him far less than the dust heraised; obviously the only place to put it was behind the counters. 

"Nobody'll see it there, " he said in a glow of satisfaction, pausingwith the room half cleared. "I always wondered what they did with thatsort of truck--under the beds, I suppose. Funny Graham never thought ofthis, himself--it's so blame' easy. "

He resumed his labours, thrilled with the sensation of accomplishment. "One thing at least that I can do, " he mused; "never again shall I fearstarvation... So long as there's a broom handy. " Absorbed he brushedaway, raising a prodigious amount of dust and utterly oblivious to thefact that he was observed. 

Two shadows moved slowly athwart the windows, to which his back wasturned, paused, moved on out of sight, returned. It was only during apause for breath that he became aware of the surveillance. 

Straightening up, he looked, gasped and fled for the back of the store. "Heavens!" he whispered, aghast to recognise Josie Lockwood and AngieTuthill, of whose ubiquitous shadows in his way he had been consciousso frequently within the past several days. "I _thought_ I musthave made an impression.... Don't tell me they're coming in!"

Behind the counter he struggled furiously into his coat. "They are, " hesaid with a sinking heart; "and I'll bet a dollar my face is dirty!"

Notwithstanding these misgivings, it was a very self-possessed youngman, to all appearances, who moved sedately round the end of thecounter to greet these possible customers. His bow was a very passableimitation of the real thing, he flattered himself; and there's nomanner of doubt but that it flattered the two prettiest and mostforward young women in Radville of that day. 

"May I have the honour of waiting on you, ladies?" he inquired with allthe suavity of an accomplished salesman. 

Josie and Angie sidled together, giggling and simpering, quite overcomeby his manner. A muffled "How de do?" from Angie and a half-strangledecho of the salutation from the other were barely articulate. Buthearing them he bowed again, separately to each. 

"Good-afternoon, " said he, and waited in an inquiring pose. 

"This--'this is Mr. Duncan, isn't it?" inquired Josie, controllingherself. 

"Yes, and you are Miss Lockwood, if I'm not mistaken?"

Renewed giggles prefaced her: "Oh, how _did_ you know?"

"Could anyone remain two weeks in Radville and not hear of MissLockwood?"

The shot told famously. "How nice of you! Mr. Duncan, I want you tomeet my friend, Miss Tuthill. "

"I've had the honour of admiring Miss Tuthill from a distance, " Duncanassured the younger woman. And, "She'll burn up!" he feared secretly, watching the conflagration of blushes that she displayed. "Just thinkof getting away with a line of mush like that! Harry was right afterall: this is a country town, all right. "

"And--and are you working here, Mr. Duncan?" Josie pursued. 

"I'm supposed to be; I'm afraid I don't know the business very well, asyet. "

"Oh, that's awf'ly nice, " Angle thought. 

He thanked her humbly. 

"We didn't expect to see you here, " Josie assured him. "We just thoughtwe'd like some soda. "

"Soda!" he parroted, horrified. He cast a glance askance at the tawdryfountain. "Let's see: how d'you work the infernal thing?" he askedhimself, utterly bewildered. 

"Yes, " Angie chimed in; "it's so warm this afternoon, we----"

"I've got to put it through somehow, " he thought savagely. And aloud, "Yes, certainly, " he said, and smiled winningly. "Will you be pleasedto step this way?"

Out of the corners of his eyes he detected the amused look that passedbetween the girls. "Oh, very well!" he said beneath his breath. "Youmay laugh, but you asked for soda, and soda you shall have, my dears, if you die of it. " He put himself behind the counter with an air ofgreat determination, and leaned upon it with both hands outspread untilhe realised that this was the pose of a groceryman. "What'll you have?"he demanded genially. "Er--that is--I mean, would you prefer vanillaor--ah--soda?"

A chant antiphonal answered him:

"I hate vanilla. "

"And so do I. "

"Oh, don't say that!" he pleaded. "Of course you know there's--ah--vanilla and vanilla... , Ah... Some vanilla I know is detestable, butwhen you get a really fine vintage--ah--imported vanilla, it's quiteanother matter--ah--particularly at his season of the year----"

His confusion was becoming painful. 

"Oh, is it?" asked Josie helpfully. Her eyes dwelt upon his with aconfiding expression which he later characterised as a baby stare; andhe was promptly reduced to babbling idiocy. 

"Indeed it is; no doubt whatever, Miss Lockwood. Especially just now, you know--ah--after the bock season--ah--I mean, when the weather is--is--in a way--you might put it--vanilla weather. "

"But I like chocolate best, " Angle pouted. And he hated her consumedlyfor the moment. 

"Very well, " Josie told him sweetly, "I'll have the vanilla. "

He thanked her with unnecessary effusion and turned to inspect theglassware. There could be no mistake about the right jar, however;there was nothing but vanilla, and seizing it he removed the metal capand placed it before the girls. With less ease he discovered a whiskeyglass and put it beside the bottle, with a cordial wave of the hand. A pause ensued. Duncan was smiling fatuously, serene in the belief thathe had solved the problem: the way to serve soda was to make them helpthemselves. It was very simple. Only they didn't... With a start hebecame sensible that they were eyeing him strangely. 

"You--ah--wanted vanilla, did you not?"

"Yes, thanks, vanilla, " Josie agreed. 

"Well, that's it, " he said firmly, indicating the jar and the glass. 

Josie giggled. "But I don't want to drink it clear. You put the syrupin the glass, you know, and then the soda. "

"Oh, I see! You want to make a high-ba--ah--a long drink of it. Ah, yes!" He procured a glass of the regulation size. "Now I understand. " Apause. "If you'll be good enough to help yourself to the syrup. "

"No; you do it, " Josie pleaded. 

"Certainly. " He lifted the whiskey-glass and the jar and began to pour. "If you'll just say when. "

"What? Oh, that's enough, thank you. "

"If I ever get out of this fix, I'll blow the whole shooting match, " hepromised himself, holding the glass beneath the faucet and fiddlingnervously with the valves. For a moment he fancied the tank must beempty, for nothing came of his efforts. Then abruptly the fixtureseemed to explode. "A geyser!" he cried, blinded with the dash ofcarbonated water and syrup in his face, while he fumbled furiously withthe valves. 

As unexpectedly as it had begun the flow ceased. He put down the glass, found his handkerchief and mopped his dripping face. When able to seeagain he discovered the young women leaning against one of theshow-cases, weak with laughter but at a safe remove. 

"Our soda's so strong, you know, " he apologised. "But if you'll staywhere you are, I'll try again. "

Warned by experience, he worked at the machine gingerly, finallyproducing a thin, spluttering trickle. Beaming with triumph, he lookedup. "I think it's safe now, " he suggested; "I seem to have it undercontrol. "

Angie and Josie returned, torn by distrust but unable to resist thefascination of the stranger in our village. And there's no denying theboy was good-looking and a gentleman by birth: a being alien to theirexperience of men. 

He had filled one glass and was tincturing it with syrup when he caughtagain that confiding smile of Josie's, full upon him as the beams of anoon-day sun. 

"Haven't we seen you at church, Mr. Duncan?" she said prettily. 

"I think, perhaps, you may have, " he conceded. "I have seen you, both. "The second glass (for he was determined that Angie should not escape)took up all his attention for an instant. "Do you have to go, too?" heinquired out of this deep preoccupation. 

"What?"

"I mean, do you attend regularly?" he amended hastily. 

"Oh, yes, of course, " Josie simpered, accepting the glass he offeredher. "You make it a rule to go every Sunday, don't you, Mr. Duncan?"

He permitted himself an indiscretion, secure in the belief it wouldpass unchallenged: "It's one of the rules, but I didn't make it. "

"Did you know there was a vacancy in the choir?" Angle asked, taking upher glass. 

"Choir?"

"Yes, " Josie chimed in; "we were hoping you'd join. I want you to, awfully. "

"We're both in the choir, " Angie explained. 

"And all the girls want you to join. Don't they, Angie?"

"Oh, yes, indeed; they're all just dying to meet you. "

"I'll have to write and ask, " he said abstractedly. 

"Why, what do you mean by that?"

Josie's question struck him dumb with consternation. He made curiousnoises in his throat, and fancied (as was quite possible) that theyeyed him in a peculiar fashion. "It's--I mean--a little trouble with mythroat, " he managed to lie, at length. "I must ask my physician if Imay, first. "

"Oh, I see, " said Josie. 

"But, " he hastened to change the subject, "you're not drinking, eitherof you. I sincerely hope it's not so very bad. "

Angie replaced her glass, barely tasted. "Do you like it, Josie?"

To Josie's credit it must be admitted that she made a brave attempt todrink. But the mixture was undoubtedly flat, stale and unprofitable. She sighed, put it back on the counter, and rose to the emergency. 

"Mine's perfectly lovely"--with a ravishing smile--"but it's not verysweet. "

"I made them dry for you--thought you'd like 'em that way, " hestammered. "Perhaps you'd like 'em better if I put a collar on 'em?"

The chorus negatived this suggestion very promptly. 

"Why don't you try a glass, Mr. Duncan?" Angie added with malice. 

"I'm on the wagon--I mean, I don't drink at all, " he said wretchedly;and was deeply grateful for the diversion afforded by the entrance of athird customer. 

It was Tracey Tanner, as usual swollen with important tidings, as usualpropelling himself through the world at a heavy trot. It has alwaysbeen a source of wonderment to me how Tracey manages to keep so stoutwith all the violent exercise he takes. 

"Say, Angle, " he twanged at sight of her, "I've been lookin' for youeverywhere. Did you hear that----"

He stopped instantaneously with open mouth as he saw Duncan behind thecounter; and openmouthed he remained while the young man came round andadvanced toward him, with a bland smirk accompanied by a professionalbow and rubbing of hands. 

"May I have the pleasure of serving you, Mr. Tanner?"

"Huh?" bleated Tracey, dumbfounded. 

"Is there anything you wish to purchase?"

A violent emotion stirred in Tracey. Sounds began to emanate from hisheaving chest. "N-n-no, ma'am!" he breathed explosively. 

Duncan bowed again, his face expressionless. "Then will you be goodenough to excuse me?" He turned precisely and made his way back to thecounter. 

As if released from some spell of strong enchantment by the movement, Tracey swung on his heel and lunged for the door. 

"What was it you wanted to ask me, Tracey?" Angie called after him. 

As the boy disappeared at a hand-gallop his response floated back: "Ifergit. "

"I'm afraid I must have frightened him?" Duncan said inquiringly. 

"Oh, no, not at all, " Josie reassured him; "he's just gone to telleverybody you're here. "

"Come, Josie, we've been here ever so long. " Angie moved slowly towardthe door, but Josie inclined to linger. 

"Don't hurry, I beg of you, " Duncan interposed. 

"Oh, we haven't hurried, " she said with a gush of gratification thatstartled the man. "You'll remember what I said about the choir, won'tyou?"

He braced himself to take advantage of the opening. "I shall neverforget it, " he said impressively. 

She gave him her hand. "Then good-bye. "

"Not good-bye, I trust?" He retained the hand, despising himselfinexpressibly. 

"Oh, we'll be in again, won't we Angie?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. "

"My land, Angie! What do you think? I'd almost forgotten to pay for thesoda?"

"Please don't speak of it, Miss Lockwood--the pleasure--. "

"But I must, Mr. Duncan. How much is it?"

Josie fingered the contents of her purse expectantly, but Duncan hungin the wind. He had no least notion what might be the price of sodawater. "Two for a quarter?" he hazarded with his disarming grin. 

Angle choked with appreciation of this exquisite sally. "Ain't youfunny!"

"I'm afraid you're right, " he conceded; "still I'd rather you didn'tthink so. "

"It's ten cents, isn't it, Mr. Duncan?"

Josie was offering him a dime; he accepted it without question. 

"Thank you, very much, " said he. "Good afternoon, ladies. "

He was aware of Angle's fluttering farewells on the sidewalk. Josie waslingering on the doorstep in an agony of untrained coquetry. He loweredhis tone for her benefit, thereby adding new weight to his bombardmentof her amateur defences. 

"Remember you promised to call again. "

Her giggles tore his ear-drums. "Th-thank you, I'm sure, " shestammered, and fled. 

They disappeared. He wandered to the chair and threw himself limplyinto it. "That voice!" he said stupidly. "That giggle! I've got to wooand win... _that!_... 

"It serves me right, " he concluded. 

The most hopeless of humours assailed him, and he yielded to it withouta struggle. His attitude expressed his mood with relentless verity. Chin sunken upon his breast, eyes fairly distilling gloom, legsstretched out carelessly before him, he sat motionless, suffocating atthe bottom of a gulf of discontent. His lips moved, sometimesnoiselessly, again in whispers barely audible. 

"Years of this!... A matter of human endurance--no, superhuman!... Ifit wasn't for the bargain, I'd chuck it all and... 

"Well, the only way to forget your misery is to work, I suppose. "

He pulled himself together and stood up, wondering where he had lefthis broom, and simultaneously stiffened with surprise, aware that hewas not alone. A glance, however, established the connection betweenthe rear door, which stood ajar, and the young woman who stood staringat him in utterest stupefaction. This, he thought, must be the woman ofthe voice, upstairs. 

But she couldn't be Graham's wife. She was too young. Even beneath themask of care and weariness, the all too plain evidences of privation, spiritual and mental as well as physical, that Betty wore unceasinglyin those days, he could discern youth and grace and gentleness, and thenascent promise of prettiness that longed to be, to have the chance toshow itself and claim its meed of deference and love. He was quick tosee the intelligence in her mutinous eyes, and the sweet lines of hermouth, too often shaped in sullen mould, and no less quick to recognisethat she would carry herself well, with spirit and dignity, once shewere relieved of household toil and moil, once given the chance todiscard her shapeless, bedraggled and threadbare garments for thosedainty and beautiful things for which her starved heart must be sickwith longing.... 

"Good Lord!" he thought, pitiful, "it's worse here than I dreamed. OldGraham must need a keeper--and this child has been trying to be that, with nothing to keep him on. "

"Who are you?" the girl demanded sullenly, in a voice a little harshand toneless. "What are you doing here? Where's my father?"

"Mr. Graham has stepped out on business, " Duncan replied. "You are hisdaughter, I believe?"

"Yes, I'm his daughter, but----"

"My name is Nathaniel Duncan. Mr. Graham has been kind enough to takeme on as apprentice, so to speak. "

Her stare continued, intense, resentful, undeviating. 

"You mean you're going to work here?"

"That my intention, Miss Graham. " He nodded gravely. 

"What for?"

"To learn the drug business. "

"Oh-h!" She flung herself a pace away, impatiently. "I'm not a child, and I don't want to be talked to like one. "

"I didn't mean to annoy you----"

[Illustration: "You mean you're going to work here?"]

"Well, you do. You've got no business in a run-down place like this--you with your fine clothes and your fine airs. You didn't come here tolearn the drug business; you know as well as I do you've got some othermotive. "

There was a truth in that to sting him. He smarted under its lash, butheld his temper in check because he was sorry for the girl. "Perhapsyou're right, " he conceded; "perhaps I have some other motive. Butthat's neither here nor there. I'm here, and it is my present intentionto learn the drug business in your father's store. "

"I don't believe you, Mister Duncan--or whatever your name is. "

"I'm sorry, " he said patiently. 

Betty's lips twitched, contemptuous. "Well, saying you do mean to workhere----"

"I do. "

"Where do you think your pay's going to come from?"

"Heaven, perhaps. "

"I guess you think that's funny, don't you?"

"I confess, at the moment I did. But now I realise it's probably abitter truth. "

He was too much for her, she saw, and the knowledge only served to fanher indignation and suspicions. 

"You're making a mistake, " she snapped. "Father can't pay you nothing. "

"He'll pay me all I'm worth, " said Duncan meekly. 

She glared at him an instant longer, then mute for lack of asufficiently scornful retort, turned and ran back up the steps, slamming the door behind her. 

Duncan drew a rueful face, contemplating the place where she had been. 

"I didn't think this was going to be a bed of roses--and it isn't, " heconcluded. 

X

ROLAND BARNETTE'S FRIEND

Nat had a busy day or two after that, trying to set things to rights inthe store for the better reception and display of the new stock. Sperrydropped him a line saying that the goods would arrive on the third day, and there was much to do to make way for it. He managed to get the shopcleaned up thoroughly with Betty's not unwilling but distinctlysuspicious aid; the girl was apparently convinced that Duncan meantbusiness, and that this would ostensibly work for her father's benefit, but she was distinctly dubious as to the _deus ex machina_. Duncannow and again would catch her watching him, her eyes dark withspeculation; but when she detected his gaze her look would changeinstantly to one of hostility and defiance. He suspected that only herfather's wishes prevented an open break with her; as it was he wasconscious that there was no more than an armed truce between them. Andhe did not like it; it made him uncomfortable. He wasn't hardenedenough to have an easy conscience, and Betty's open doubts as to thereason for his coming to Radville disturbed Duncan more than he wouldhave cared to own. 

For all that, they worked together steadily, and accomplished a rathersensational transformation in the appearance of the place. The floor, counter and shelves were swept, washed, dusted and garnished withpaint; that is, all but the floor received the attention of thepaint-brush; Duncan managed to smuggle a quantity of oil-cloth into theshop and get it down before Graham could enter any protest: the effectapproximated tiling nearly enough to brighten the room up wonderfully. Aside from this the old stock was routed out and, for the greater part, donated to the rubbish-heap. Teddy Smart, the glazier, was commissionedto repair the broken window-panes and show-cases. A can of metal polishfreshened up the nickel and brass trimmings and rendered the singleupright of the soda fountain almost attractive. The stove was uprootedand stored away, and its aspiring pipes dispensed with. Finally, afterconsiderable argument, Graham consented to the removal of hiswork-bench to a shed in the back-yard. The model was suffered toremain, the tanks and burner being stored out of sight beneath one ofthe window-seats, more because Duncan considered it would be a goodthing to have the light than because he understood or attached muchimportance to the contrivance. For that matter, he hadn't the time tolisten to an exposition of its advantages, and Graham, recognisingthis, was content to abide his time, serene in the conviction that hewould presently find in his assistant a willing and sympatheticlistener. 

Between spasms of work Duncan had his hands full attending to the sodafountain. Soda water being practically the only salable thing in thestore, it had to serve as an excuse for the inquisitiveness of many ofmy fellow-citizens, to say nothing of--I should put it, butespecially--their wives and daughters. The consumption of vanilly sodyin those two days broke all known Radville records, and stands asingular tribute to the Spartan fortitude of Radville womanhood, particularly the young strata thereof. Duncan, after he had succeededin taming the fountain, seemed rather to enjoy than object todispensing sody, standing inspection and receiving adulation andnickels in unequal proportions. By the end of the second day he couldnot truthfully have told his friend Willy Bartlett: "The list hasshrunk. " It had swollen enormously. There isn't any doubt but that hehad a nodding acquaintance with every pretty girl in town, as well aswith most not considered pretty. 

From my window in the _Citizen_ office I was able to keep atolerably close account of events and obtain a consensus of publicopinion. So far as the latter bore upon Duncan, it was divided into tworather distinct parties, one of course favouring him; and this wasfeminine almost exclusively. Tracey Tanner, to be sure, confessedwithin my hearing to a predilection for the Noo York dood, but wasinclined to hedge and climb the fence when assailed by Roland'sstrictures. Roland, I suspect, was a wee mite jealous; he had beenpaying attention to--I mean, going with--Josie Lockwood for severalmonths. Instinctively he must have divined his danger; and it's not inreason to exact admiration of the usurper from the usurped, even whenthe act of usurpation has not yet been definitely consummated. Rolandwent to the length of labelling Duncan "sissy, " and professed tobelieve that Hiram Nutt was justified in calling him a "s'piciouscharacter"; Roland hinted darkly that Duncan knew New York no betterthan Will Bigelow. 

"And if he did come from there, " he asseverated, "I betcher he didn'tleave for no good purpose. "

His temper inspired me with the sapient reflection that it's a terriblething to be in love, even if only with an old man's millions. 

"There's goin' to be a real Noo Yorker here before long, " Rolandboasted; "he's comin' to see me on some 'special private bus'ness ofourn. "

"Huh, " commented Tracey, the sceptical. "What kind of a Noo Yorker'dcome all the way here to see you?"

"That's all right. You'll see when he gets here. He's a pro-motor. "

"A what?"

"A pro-motor, a financier. " Roland pronounced it "finnan seer, " thusbetraying symptoms of culture and bewildering Tracey beyond expression. 

"What's that?" he demanded aggressively. 

"That's a feller 't can take nothing at all and incorporate it and makemoney out of it, " Roland defined with some hesitancy. 

"And that's why he's coming down here to take a look at you?" inquiredTracey, skipping nimbly round the corner. 

Curiously enough in my understanding (for I own to no great faith inRoland's statements, taking them by and large) his friend from New Yorkput in an unheralded appearance in Radville that same night, on theevening train. The Bigelow House received him to its figurative bosomunder the name of W. H. Burnham. He sent for Roland promptly and treatedhim to a dinner at the hotel; something which I have always regarded asa punishment several sizes too large for the crime. Later, havingdisplayed him on the streets in witness to his good faith, Roland spentthe evening with Mr. Burnham mysteriously confabulating behind closeddoors in the hotel. Speculation ran rife through the town until nineo'clock, and land for several days basked in the heat of publicinterest. 

I happened accidentally to get a glimpse of Mr. Burnham after supper, although I had to miss my baked apple in order to get down town intime. He was a disappointment to some extent, although his mode ofdress attracted much comment as being far more sprightly than Duncan'sand less startling than Roland's. He had a self-confident air and a bitof swagger that filled the eye, but a face and a voice that detracted, the one too boldly good-looking, with eyes roving and predaceous, theother a suggestion too loud and domineering. ... I fear associationwith Duncan had vitiated my taste. 

However that may be, Roland got an hour off at the bank the followingmorning, and the pair of them, after wandering with evident aimlessnessround the town, drifted as it were on the tide of hap-chance intoGraham's drug-store. 

Duncan was at the station, superintending the transportation of the newstock, which had come by the early local; Betty was busy with herhousework upstairs; and only old Sam kept the shop. 

Sam wasn't in the best of spirits. His evergreen optimism seldomwithered, but in spite of all that had already been accomplished inbehalf of the store, in spite of the rosier aspect of his decliningfortunes and his confidence in and affection for Duncan, Sam wasworried. He had been over to the bank once, even at that early hour, but Blinky Lockwood had driven out of town to see about foreclosing oneof his numerous mortgages in the neighbourhood, and his note, whichfell due at the bank that day, was still a weight upon Sam's mind. 

Roland and Burnham found him wandering nervously round the store, alternately taking his hat down from the peg, as if minded to make asecond trip to the bank, and replacing it as he realised that patiencewas his part. He looked older and more worn than ordinarily, and seemeddistinctly pleased to be distracted by his callers. 

"Why, hello, Roland!" he cried cheerfully, hanging up his hat forperhaps the twentieth time. And, "How de doo, sir?" he greeted thestranger. 

"Good-morning, sir, " said Burnham pleasantly. 

"Say, Sam, " Roland blundered with his usual adroitness, "thisgentleman------"

Burnham's hand fell heavily on his forearm and he checked as ifthrottled. 

"What's that, Roland?" Sam turned curiously to them. 

"Oh, nothin'; I was--er--just going to say that this gentleman's myfriend from Noo York, Mr. Burnham. I was showin' him round the town andwe just happened to look in. "

"The friend you were going to write to about my burner?" inquired Sam. "Well, I'm right glad to meet you, sir. "

It was here that Roland got a look from Mr. Burnham that withered himcompletely. His further contributions to the conversation were somewhatspasmodic and ineffectual. 

"Why, no, Mr. Graham, " Burnham interposed deftly. "Mr. Barnette must'vebeen talking of someone else he knew in New York. I----"

"Didn't know he knew more'n one there, " Sam observed mildly. 

Burnham's glance jumped warily to Sam's face, but withdrew reassured, having detected therein nothing but the old man's kindly and simplenature. "At all events, " he continued, "I don't remember hearinganything about the matter (what did you call it? A burner, eh?) fromMr. Barnette. "

"I s'pose Roland forgot, " Sam allowed. "He's so busy courtin' ourpretty girls, Mr. Burnham----"

"Yes, that was it, " Roland put in hastily, seeing his chance to mendmatters. "I did intend to write you about it, Mr. Burnham, but it kindof slipped my mind. We've had a lot of important business over to thebank recently. "

"By the way, Roland, did you just come from the bank? Is Mr. Lockwoodback yet?"

"No; I got off this morning. I don't think he is, Sam. Did you want tosee him?"

"Well, yes, " Sam admitted. "I guess you know about that, Roland. "

"Mean business, sometimes, asking favours of these bankers, eh, Mr. Graham?" Burnham remarked, much too casually to have deceived anybodybut old Sam. 

Graham nodded, dolefully. "Yes, it is unpleasant, " he admittedconfidingly. "You see, there's a note of mine come due to-day, and I'mnot able to take care of it or pay the interest just now.... " Hethought it over gravely for a moment, then brightened. "But I guessit'll be all right. Mr. Lockwood's kind, very kind. "

"I'm afraid you're a little too sure, Sam, " Roland contributedtactfully. "When there's money due Lockwood, he wants it, and mosttimes he gets it or its equivalent. "

"Yes, " Sam assented sadly, "I guess he does, mostly. "

"But, " Burnham changed the subject adroitly, "what was this--burner, did you say?--that Mr. Barnette forgot to tell me about?"

"Oh, just one of my inventions, sir. "

"I understand you're quite an inventor?"

Sam's smile lightened his face like sunlight striking a snow-boundfield. He nodded slowly, thinking of his past enthusiasms, his hopesand discouragements. "I've spent most of my life at it, sir, butsomehow nothing has ever turned out well... Not so far, I mean. But Imean to hit it yet. "

"That's the way to talk, " Burnham cried heartily; "never give up, Isay!... But tell me about some of these inventions, won't you?"

"Wel-l"--Sam knitted his fingers and pursed his lips reflectively--"Ipatented a new type threshing machine, once, but I couldn't get anybodyto take hold of it. You see, I haven't any money, Mr. Burnham. "

"How would you like to talk it over with me, some time? I'm interestedin such things--as a sort of side issue. "

"Will you?" Sam's eagerness was not to be disguised. 

"Be glad to. Tell me, how did you get your power?"

"From gas, sir--though coal will do 'most as well. You see, I've gotthis burner patented, that makes gas from crude oil--no waste, no odournor trouble, and little expense. It'd be cheaper than coal, I thought;that's why I invented it. I could get steam up mighty quick with thatgas arrangement. I use it for lighting here in the store, now. "

"Do you, indeed?" Burnham's tone indicated failing interest, but suchdiplomacy was lost on Sam. 

"If you've got time, I could show you; it's right over here. "

A glance at his watch accompanied Burnham's consent to spare a fewminutes. "There's a telegram I must send presently, " he said. "But I'dlike to see this burner, if it won't take long. "

"No, not long; just a minute or two. " Sam was already dragging theaffair out from under the window box. "You see... "

He went on to expound its virtues with all the fond enthusiasm of afather showing off his firstborn, and wound up with a demonstration ofthe illuminating appliance. I'm afraid, though, he got littleencouragement from Mr. Burnham. He considered the machine with adispassionate air, it's true, and admitted its practical advantages, but wasn't at all disposed to take a roseate view of its future. 

"Yes, " he grudged, when Sam put a match to the jet, "that's certainly avery good light. "

"All right, ain't it?" chimed Roland, enthusiastic. 

"Oh, it may amount to something. It's hard to tell. Of course you know, sir, " he continued, addressing Graham directly, "you've got competitionto overcome. "

Sam's old fingers trembled to his chin. "No-o, " he said, "I didn't knowthat. I've got the patent----"

"Of course that's something. But the Consolidated Petroleum crowd hasanother machine, slightly different, which does the same work, and, Ishould say, does it better. "

"Is--is that so?" quavered Sam. "My patent----. "

"Now see here, Mr. Graham, " Burnham argued, "we're practical men, bothof us----"

"No; I shouldn't say that about myself, " Sam interrupted. "Now you, sir----I can see you're a man who understands such things. But I----"

"Nevertheless, you must know that a patent isn't everything. You said amoment ago a man had to have money to make anything out of hisinventions. "

"Did I?" Sam interjected, surprised. 

"Certainly you did; and dead right you are. A patent's all very well, but supposing you're up against a powerful competitor like theConsolidated Petroleum Company. They've got a patent, too. Granted itmay be an infringement of yours even--what can you do against them. "

"Why, if it's an infringement----"

"Sue, of course. But do you suppose they're going to lie down justbecause an unknown and penniless inventor sues them? Bless you, no!They'll fight to the last ditch, they'll engage the best legal talentin the country. You'll have to carry the case to the Supreme Court ofthe United States if you want a winning decision. And that's going tocost you thousands--hundreds of thou-sands--a million----"

"Never mind; a thousand's enough, " said Sam gently. "I see what youmean, sir. It's just another case where I've got no chance. "

"Oh, I wouldn't put it as strong as that------"

"But I have no money. "

"Still, you never can tell. I'll think it over, if I get time. "

"Why, that's kind of you, sir, very kind. "

It was at this point that Roland rose to the occasion like the nobleass he is. Roland never could see more than an inch beyond the end ofhis nose. 

"Say, Mr. Burnham, " he floundered, "don't you think you could help Samto----"

"I think, " said Mr. Burnham, with additional business of looking at hiswatch, "I'd like to send that wire I spoke of. "

"Yes, Roland, " Sam agreed meekly; "you mustn't keep your friend fromhis business. I'm glad you looked in, sir. You'll call again, I hope. "

"Thank you, " said Burnham, moving toward the door. 

It was too much for Roland's sense of opportunity. He rolled inBurnham's wake, sullenly reluctant. "Say, Mr. Burnham, " he exploded asthey got to the door, "if you'll just offer Sam five----"

_"That will do!"_ Roland collapsed as if punctured. Burnham turnedto Graham with a wave of his hand. "I'm leaving on the afternoon train, but if I get time I may drop in again and talk things over with you. There might be something in that threshing machine you mentioned. "

"I'll be glad to show you anything I've got here... "

"All right. Good-day. I'll see you again, perhaps. "

This cavalier snub was lost on Sam, an essential of whose serene soulis the quality of humility. He followed them to the door, as gratefulas a lost dog for a stray pat instead of a kick. "Good-day, sir. Good-day, Roland, " he sped their parting cheerfully. 

But it was a broken man who shut the door behind them and turned back, fingering his grey chin. There must have been a dimness in his eyes anda quiver to his wide-lipped, generous mouth. 

"Perhaps Mr. Burnham was right. Only I was kind of hopin'... Now Mr. Lockwood over there... "

He shook himself to throw off the spell of depression and somehowmanaged to quicken again his abiding faith in the essential goodness ofthe world. 

"Well, well! He's kind, very kind. "

He began to restore his model to its hiding place, musing upon theebb-tide in his affairs in his muddle-headed way, and in the processmanaged to convince himself that "it 'ud all come right. "

"With this young man in here, and everythin' gettin' fixed up, and newstock comin' in ... I'm sure Mr. Lockwood'll see it the right way ... For us.... He's kind, very kind. "

Thus it was that he presently called up the stairs in a very cheerfulvoice: "Betty, are you pretty near through up there?"

The girl's weary voice came down to him without accent: "Yes, father, almost. "

"Well, then, you keep an eye on the store, please. I'm goin' to stepout for a minute. "

"Yes, father. "

"And if--if anybody asks for me, I'll most likely be down to the depot, with Mr. Duncan. "

He didn't mention that he contemplated calling on Lockwood, because hefeared it might worry Betty. ... As if a woman doesn't alwaysunderstand when things are going wrong!

Betty knew, or rather divined. And she had no hope, no faith such asmade Sam what he was. She came down the steps listlessly, overborne byher knowledge of the world's wrongness. The glance with which shecomprehended the renovated shop was bitter with contempt. What was theworth of all this? Nothing good would come of it; nothing good came ofanything. Life was drab and dreary, made up of weary, profitless yearsand months and weeks and days, to each its appointed disappointment. 

Only her sense of duty sustained her. She owed something to old Sam forthe gift of life, dismal though she found it. He needed her; what shecould do for him she would. I have always thought that her affectionfor her father was less filial than maternal. He seemed such a child, she--so very old! She mothered him; it was her only joy to care forhim. Her care was constant, unfailing, omniscient. In return she gotonly his love. But it was almost enough--almost, not quite, dearly asshe prized it. There were other things a girl should have--indeed, musthave, if her life were to be rounded out in fulness. And these, sheunderstood, were forever denied her: apples of Paradise growing in hersight, heartrending in their loveliness so far beyond her reach.... 

Sighing, she went to work. In work only could she forget.... The sodaglasses needed cleaning, and the syrup jars replenishing (for the neworder of syrups had come in the previous evening). 

After a time, to a tune of pounding feet, Tracey Tanner pranced intothe shop with all the graceful abandon of a young elephant feeling itsoats. His face was fairly scarlet from exertion and his eyes bulgingwith a sense of importance. The girl looked up without interest, nodding slightly in response to his breathless: "'Lo, Betty. "

"Father's gone out, " she said, holding a glass to the light, suspiciousof the lint from her dish towel. 

"I know--seen him down the street. " The boy halted at the counter, producing a handful of square envelopes. "Note for you from theLockwoods, Betty, " he panted. "Josie ast me to bring it round. "

Betty put down her glass in consternation. From the Lockwoods?"

"Uh-huh. " Tracey offered it, but she withheld her hand, dubious. 

"For me, Tracey?"

"Uh-huh. It's a ninvitation. I got four more to take. " He thrust itinto her reluctant fingers. "Got five, really, but one of 'em's forme. "

"An invitation, Tracey!"

"Yeh. Hope you have a good time when it comes off. " Already he wasbouncing toward the door. "Goo'-bye. "

"But what is it, Tracey?"

"Aw, it tells in the ninvitation. S'long. "

"From the Lockwoods!" she whispered. 

Suddenly she tore it open, her hands unsteady with nervousness. 

The envelope contained a square of heavy cardboard of a creamy tintwith scalloped edges touched with gold. On the face of the card a roundand formless hand had traced with evident pains the information:

Miss Josephine Mae Lockwood

Requests the Pleasure of your Company at a Lawn Fête and Dance to beheld at the residence of her Parents, Mr. & Mrs. Geo. Lockwood, Saturday July 15, at 8 p. M. R. S. V. P. 

The envelope fluttered to the floor while the card was crushed betweenthe girl's hands. For a moment her face was transfigured with delight, her eyes blank with rapturous visions of the joys of that promisednight. 

"Oh!... It 'ud be grand!... "

Then suddenly the light faded. Her eyes clouded, her face settled intoits discontented lines. She stuffed the card heedlessly into the pocketof her dingy apron, and took up another glass. 

"But I can't go; I've got nothin' to wear.... "

XI

BLINKY LOCKWOOD

She was scrubbing blindly at the same glass when, a quarter of an hourlater, Blinky Lockwood strode into the store, his right eye twitchingmore violently than usual, as it always does in his phases of mentaldisturbance--as when, for instance, he fears he's going to lose adollar. 

Lockwood is that type of man who was born to grow rich. He inherited afarm or two in the vicinity of Radville and the one over Westerly way, to which I have referred, and ... Well, we've a homely paraphrase of anoted aphorism in Radville: "Them as has, gits. " Lockwood had, to beginwith, and he made it his business to get; and, as is generally the casein this unbalanced world of ours, things came to him to which he hadnever aspired. Fortune favoured him because he had no need of herfavours; the discovery of coal under his Westerly acres was whollyadventitious, but it made him far and away the richest man inRadville--with the possible exception of old Colonel Bohun'straditional millions. 

In person he is as beautiful as a snake-fence, as alluring as a stonewall. Something over six feet in height, he walks with a stoop (onehand always in a trouser-pocket jingling silver) that materiallydetracts from his stature. His face, like his figure, is gaunt andlanky, his nose an emaciated beak; his mouth illustrates his attitudetoward property--is a trap from which nothing of value ever escapes;his eyes are small and hard and set close together under loweringbrows. He's grizzled, with hair not actually white, but grey as the ironfrom which his heart was fashioned. Aside from these characteristics hisprincipal peculiarity is a nervous twitching of the right eye which hasearned him his sobriquet of Blinky. Legrand Gunn said he contracted theaffliction through squinting at the silver dollar to make sure none ofits milling had been worn off. ... I have never known the man to wearanything but a rusty old frock coat, black, of course, and black andshiny broadcloth trousers, with a hat that has always a coating of dustso thick that it seems a mottled grey. 

He grunts his words, a grunt to each. He grunted at Betty when he sawher. 

"Where's your father?"

She put down her glass and dish-rag. "I don't know, sir. "

"Don't know, eh?" he asked in an indescribably offensive tone. 

"I think he went to the bank to see you. "

"Oh, he did, eh? Did he have anything for me. "

The girl took up another glass. "I don't know, sir, " she said wearily. "I'm afraid not. "

"Well, if he didn't there's no use see in' me. It won't do him anygood. "

"I guess he knows that, " she returned with a little flash of spirit. 

Lockwood looked her up and down as if he had never seen her before, then summarised his resentful impression of her attitude in an opensneer. "Does, eh? Well, that's a good thing; saves talk. "

She contained herself, saying nothing. He glared round the place, remarking the improvements. 

"You don't do no business here, not to speak of, do ye?"

"No, " she admitted without interest, "not to speak of. "

"Then what's the good of all this foolishness, fixing up?"

"I don't know. "

"Costs money, don't it?"

"I guess so. "

"And that money belongs to me. "

"It's Mr. Duncan's doing. Father ain't paying for it. He can't. "

"What's he doin', then? Sittin' round foolin' with his inventions, ain't he?"

"Yes. "

"What's he inventin' now?""I don't know much about it. " She pointed to the model beneath thewindow. "That's the last thing, I guess. "

Blinky snorted and stamped over to the window, stooping to peer at themachine. "What's the good of that?" he demanded, disdainful; andwithout waiting for her response went on nagging. "Foolishness! That'swhat it is. Why don't you tell him not to waste his time this way?"

"Because he likes it, " said Betty hopelessly. "It's the only thing thatmakes life worth while to him. So I let him alone. "

"What difference does that make? It don't bring him in nothin', doesit?"

"No ... "

"Nor do any good?"

"No. "

"No, siree, it don't. He'd oughter stop it. What does he do with themthings when he gets 'em finished?"

"Patents them. "

"And then what?"

"Nothin' that I know of. "

"That's it; nothing--nor ever will. Well, he's been getting money fromme for those patents--I thought at fust there might be somethin' in'em--but he won't any more. I'd oughter had more sense. "

A little colour spotted the girl's sallow cheeks. "He'd never ha' gotmoney from you if he hadn't thought he could pay it back, " she toldBlinky hotly. 

"No, nor if I hadn't thought he could----"

She interjected a significant "Huh!" He broke off abruptly, pale withanger. 

"Well, I want to see him, and I want to see him before noon, " hesnapped. "I'm goin' over to the bank, an' if he knows what's good forhim he'll come there pretty darn quick. "

"I'll try to find him for you; he must be somewhere round, " sheoffered. 

"Well, you better. I ain't got much patience to-day. "

He swung on one heel and slouched out, as Betty turned to go upstairs. Presently she reappeared pinning on her sad little hat, and left thestore. 

It was upwards of an hour before she returned, walking quickly and veryerect, with her head up and shoulders back, her eyes suspiciouslybright, the spots of colour in her cheeks blazing scarlet, her mouthset and hard, the little work-worn hands at her sides clenched tightlyas if for self-control. Even old Sam, who had returned from the depôtafter missing Blinky at the bank--even he, blind as he ordinarily was, saw instantly that something was wrong with the child. 

"Why, Betty!" he cried in solicitude as she flung into thestore--"Betty, dear, what's the matter?"

For an instant she seemed speechless. Then she tore the hat from herhead and cast it regardlessly upon the counter. "Father!" she cried. "Father!"--and gulped to down her emotion. "Can you get me some money?"

"Money? Why, Betty, what--?"

Her foot came down on the floor impatiently. "Can you get me somemoney?" she repeated in a breath. 

"Well--er--how much, Betty?" He tried to touch her, to take her to hisarms, but she moved away, her sorry little figure quivering from headto feet. 

"Enough, " she said, half sobbing--"enough to buy a dress--a nicedress--a dress that will surprise folks--"

"But tell me what the matter is, Betty. Wanting a dress would neverupset you like this. "

She whipped the cracked and crumpled card from her pocket and pushed itinto his hand. "Look at that!" she bade him, and turned away, struggling with all her might to keep back the tears. 

He read, his old face softening. "Josie Lockwood's party, eh? And she'ssent you an invitation. Well, that was kind of her, very kind. "

She swung upon him in a fury. "No, it was not kind. It was mean... Itwas mean!"

"Oh, Betty, " he begged in consternation, "don't say that. I'm sure--"

"Oh, you don't know... I heard the girls talking in the post-office--Angle Tuthill and Mame Garrison and Bessie Gabriel... I was round bythe boxes where they couldn't see me, but I could hear them, and theywere laughing because I was invited. They said the reason Josie did itwas because she knew I didn't have anything to wear, and she wanted tohear what excuse I'd make for not going. Ah, I heard them!"

"Oh, but Betty, Betty, " he pleaded; "don't you mind what they say. Don't--"

"But I do mind; I can't help mindin'. They're mean. " She paused, herfeatures hardening. "I'm going to that party, " she declared tensely:"I'm goin' to that party and--and I'm goin' to have a dress to go in, too! I don't care what I do--I'm goin' to have that dress!"

Sam would have soothed her as best he might, but she would neither lookat nor come near him. 

"We'll see, " he said gently. "We'll see. I'll try--"

She turned on him, exasperated beyond thought. "That only means youcan't help me!"

"Oh, no, it doesn't. I'll do what I can--"

"Have you got any money now?"

He hung his head to avoid her blazing eyes. "Well, no--not at present, but here's this new stock and--. "

"That doesn't mean anything, and you know it. You owe that note to Mr. Lockwood, don't you? And you can't pay it?"

"Not to-day, Betty, but he'll give me a little more time, I'm sure. He's kind, very kind. "

"You don't know him. He's as mean--as mean as dirt--as mean as Josie. "

"Betty!"

"Then if you did get any money you'd have to give it to him, wouldn'tyou?"

"Yes, but--I'm sure--I think it'll come all right. "

"Ah, what's the use of talkin' that way? What's the use of talkin' atall? I know you can't do anything for me, and so do you!"

Sam had dropped into his chair, unable to stand before this storm; hestared now, mute with amazement, at this child who had so long, souncomplainingly, shared his poverty and privations, grown suddenly tothe stature of a woman--and a tormented, passionate woman, stung to thequick by the injustice of her lot. He put out a hand in a feeblegesture of placation, but she brushed it away as she bent toward him, speaking so quickly that her words stumbled and ran into one another. 

"I can't understand it!" she raged. "Why is it that I have to be moreshabby than any other girl in town? Why is it that the others have allthe fun and I all the drudgery? Why is it that I can't ever go anywherewith the boys and girls and laugh and--and have a good time like therest do?... "

Sam bent his head to the blast. In his lap his hands worked nervously. But he could not answer her. 

"It ain't that I mind the cookin' and doin' the housework and--all therest--but--why is it you can never give me anything at all? Why must itbe that everyone looks down on us and sneers and laughs at us? Why isit that half the time we haven't got enough to eat?... Other men manageto take care of their families and give their children things to wear. You've got only us two to look after, and you can't even do that. Itisn't right, it isn't decent, and if I were you I'd be ashamed ofmyself--!"

Her temper had spent itself, and with this final cry she checkedabruptly, with a catch at her breath for shame of what she had letherself say. But, childlike, she was not ready to own her sorrow; andshe turned her back, trembling. 

Sam, too, was shaken. In his heart he knew there was justification forher indictment, truth in what she had said. And he was heartbroken forher. He got up unsteadily and put a gentle hand upon her shoulder. 

"Why, Betty--I--I--"

A dry sob interrupted him. He pulled himself together and forced hisvoice to a tone of confidence. "Just be a little patient, dear. I'msure things will be better with us, soon. Just a little more patience--that's all... Why, there was a gentleman here this morning, from NooYork City, talkin' about an invention of mine. "

The girl moved restlessly, shaking off his hand. "Invention!" sheechoed bitterly. "Oh, father! Everybody knows they're no good. You'vebeen wastin' time on 'em ever since I can remember, and you've nevermade a dollar out of one yet. "

He bowed to the truth of this, then again braced up bravely. "But thisgentleman seemed quite interested. He's over to the Bigelow House now. I think I'll step over and have a talk with him--"

"You'd much better go and have a talk with Blinky Lockwood, " she toldhim brutally. "He's waitin' for you at the bank, and said he wasn'tgoin' to wait after twelve o'clock, neither!"

"Wel-l, perhaps you're right. I'll go there. It's after twelve, but... "He started to get his hat and stopped with an exclamation: "Why, Nat!I didn't know you'd got back!"

Duncan was at the back of the store, clearing the last remnants of theold stock from the shelves. "Yes, " he said pleasantly, without turning, "I've been here some time, cleaning up the cellar, to make room for thestuff that's coming in. I came upstairs just a moment ago, but you wereso busy talking you didn't notice me. "

He paused, swept the empty shelves with a calculating glance, and cameout around the end of the counter. "Everything's in tip-top shape, " hesaid. "I checked up the bill of lading myself, and there's not a thingmissing, not a bit of breakage. Mr. Graham, " he continued, dropping agentle hand on the old man's shoulder, "you're going to have the finestdrug-store in the State within six months. With the stuff that Sperryhas sent us we can make Sothern and Lee look like sixty-five cents onthe dollar.... We're going to make things hum in this old shop, anddon't you forget it. " He laughed lightly, with a note of encouragement. But he avoided Graham's eyes even as he did Betty's. He could not meetthe pitiful look of the former, any more than that stare of hostilityand defiance in the latter. 

"It's good of you, my boy, " Graham quavered. "I--but I'm afraid itwon't----"

"Now don't say that!" Duncan interposed firmly. "And don't let mekeep you. I think you said you were going out on business? And I'll bebusy enough right here. "

And without exactly knowing how it had come about, Graham found himselfin the street, stumbling downtown, toward the bank. 

When he had gone, Duncan would have returned to the shelves for a finalredding-up. He desired least of all things an encounter with Betty inher present frame of mind, and he tried his level best to seem as onewho had heard nothing, who was only concerned with his occupation ofthe moment. But from the instant that she had been made aware of hispresence Betty had been watching him with smouldering eyes, wonderinghow much he had heard and what he was thinking of her. The keenrepentance that gnawed at her heart, allied with shame that an alienshould have been private to her exhibition, half maddened the child. With a sudden movement she threw herself in front of Duncan, thrustingher white, drawn face before his, her gaze searching his half in anger, half in morose distrust. 

"So you were listening!"

"I'm sorry, " he said uncomfortably. 

She drew a pace away, holding herself very straight while she threw hima level glance of unqualified contempt. 

"I didn't mean to hear anything, " he argued plaintively. "I was inthe room before I understood, and by the time I did, it was too late--you had finished. "

"Oh, don't try to explain. I--I hate you!"

He held her eyes inquiringly. "Yes, " he said in the tone of one whosolves a puzzling problem, "I believe you do. "

She looked away, shaking with passion. "You just better believe it. "

"But, " he went on quietly, "you don't hate your father, too, do you, Miss Graham?"

She swung back to meet his stare with one that flamed with indignation. 

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Duncan?"

"I mean, " he said, faltering in where one wiser would have feared toventure--"I'm going to give you a bit of advice. Don't you talk to yourfather again the way you did just now. "

"What business is that of yours?"

"None, " he admitted fairly. "But just the same I wouldn't, if I wereyou. "

"Well, you ain't me!" she cried savagely. "You ain't me! Understandthat? When I want advice from you, I'll ask for it. Until I do, youlet me alone. "

"Very well, " he replied, so calmly that she lost her bearings for amoment. And inevitably this, emphasising as it did all that sheresented most in him--his education, wit, address, his advantages ofevery sort--only served further to infuriate the child. 

"Oh, I know why you talk that way, " she said, rubbing her poor littlehands together. 

"Do you?" he asked in wonder. 

"Yes, I do--you!... "

Suddenly she found words--poverty-stricken words, it's true, but thebest she had wherewith to express herself. And for a little they flowedfrom her lips, a scalding, scathing torrent. "It's because you go tochurch all the time and try to look like a saint and--and try to makeout you're too religious for anything, and like to hear yourself givin'Christian advice to poor miserable sinners--like me. You think that'sjust too lovely of you. That's why you said it, if you want to know.... Folks wonder what you're doing here, don't they? Guess you knowthat--and like it, too. It makes 'em look at you and talk about you, and that's what you like. _I_ could tell 'em. You're only here toshow off your good clothes and your finger-nails and the way you partyour hair and--and all the other things you do that nobody in Noo Yorkwould pay any attention to!"

He faced her soberly, attentively. She was a little fool, he knew, andmaking a ridiculous figure of herself. But--his innate honesty told him--she was right, in a way; she had hit upon his weakest point. He wasin Radville to "show off, " as she would have said, to make animpression and ... To reap the reward thereof. The way she spoke wasludicrous, but what she said was mostly plain truth. He noddedsubmissively. 

"A pretty good guess at that, " he acknowledged candidly. 

"Yes, it is, and I know it, and you know it. ... Oh, it's easy enoughto give advice when you've got plenty of money and fine clothes and ... But... "

"I understand, " he said when she paused to get a grip upon herself andfind again the words she needed. "You needn't say any more. The onlyreason I said what I did was because I'm strong for your father and ... Well, I wanted to do you a good turn, too. "

"I don't want any of your good turns!"

"Then I apologise. "

"And I don't want your apologies, neither!"

"All right, only ... Think over what I said, some time. "

"I had a good reason for saying what I did. "

"I know you had. "

"You know I had!" She looked at him askance. She had been on the pointof relenting a little, of calming, of being a bit ashamed of herself. But his quiet acquiescence rekindled her resentment. "How do you know?You!" she said bitterly. 

"Because I'm not what you think I am, altogether. "

"I guess you're not, " she observed acidly. 

"But I don't mean what you mean. I mean you think I'm conceited andrich and don't know what trouble is. Well, you're mistaken. I've beenup against it the worst way for five years, and I know just how itfeels to see other people getting up in the world when you're at thebottom of the heap with no chance of squirming out--to know that theyhave things you haven't got any chance of getting. I've been throughthe mill myself. Why, I've kept out of the way for days and days ratherthan let my prosperous friends see how shabby I was. Many's the timeI've dodged round corners to avoid meeting men I knew would invite meto have dinner or luncheon or a drink--of soda--or something, for fearthey'd find out that I couldn't treat in return. Many a time I've gonehungry for days and weeks and slept on park benches ... Until an oldfriend found me and took me home with him. "

The ring of sincerity in his manner and tone silenced the girl, impressed her with the conviction of his absolute sincerity. The tumultin her mind quieted. She eyed him with attention, even with interesttemporarily untinged with resentment. And seeing that he had succeededin gaining this much ground in her regard, Duncan dared further, pushing his advantage to its limits. 

"But it's your father I wanted to talk about, " he hurried on. "I'd beta lot he knows more than any other man in this town; and besides, he'sa fine, square, good-hearted old gentleman. Anybody can see that. Only, he's got one terrible fault: he doesn't know how to make money. And that's mighty tough on you--though it's just as tough on him. Butwhen you roast him for it, like you did just now ... You only make himfeel as miserable as a yellow dog ... And that doesn't help matters alittle bit. He can't change into a sharp business crook now; ... He'stoo old a man. ... Before long he ... He won't be with you at all and... When he's gone you'll be sore on yourself ... Sure! ... If you keepon throwing it into him the way I heard you. ... And that's on thelevel. "

He paused in confusion; the role of preacher sat upon him awkwardly, asadly misfit garment. He felt self-conscious and ill at ease, yet witha trace of gratulation through it all. For he felt he'd carried hispoint. He could see no longer any animus in the pale, wistful littleface that looked up into his--only sympathy, understanding, repentanceand (this troubled him a bit) a faint flush of dawning admiration. Presently she grew conscious of herself again, and looked aside, humbledand distressed. 

"I--I won't do it again, " she faltered, twisting her hands together. 

"Bully for you!" he cried, and with an abrupt if artificial resumptionof his business-like air turned away to a show-case--to spare her theembarrassment of his regard. 

"I didn't think, " said the voice behind him; "I didn't mean to--something happened that almost drove me wild and... "

"I know, " he said gently. 

After a bit she spoke again: "I'll go up and get dinner ready now. "

"That's all right, " he returned absently. "I'll tend the store. "

He heard her footsteps as she crossed to the door and opened it. Therefollowed a pause. Then she came hurriedly back. He faced about to meether eyes shining with wonder. 

"I wanted to ask you, " she said hastily, "if--was it this friend youspoke about--that found you in the park--who set you on the road tofortune?"

"That's what he said, " Duncan answered, twisting his brows whimsically. 

XII

DUNCAN'S GRUBSTAKE

Like almost all business Radville, Duncan went home for his middaymeal. It wasn't much of a walk from Sam Graham's store to MissCarpenter's, and he didn't mind in the least. 

On this particular day he was sincerely hungry, but he had much tothink about besides, and between the two he just bolted his food andmade off, hot-foot for the store, greatly to the distress of hislandlady. 

Naturally, knowing nothing about Sam's note, although he knew PeteWilling by sight as the sheriff and town drunkard in one, it didn'tworry him at all to discover that gentleman tacking toward the store ashe hurried up Beech Street, eager to get back to his job. The firstintimation that he had of anything seriously amiss was when he entered, practically on Pete's heels. 

Pete Willing is the best-natured man in the world, as a general rule;drunk or sober, Radville tolerates him for just that quality. On onlytwo occasions is he irritable and unmanageable: when his wife getsafter him about the drink (Mrs. Willing is an able-bodied lady of Irishdescent, with a will and a tongue of her own, to say nothing ofan arm a blacksmith might envy) and when he has a duty to perform inhis official capacity. It is in the latter instance that he risesmagnificently to the dignity of his position. The majesty of the law inhis hands becomes at once a bludgeon and a pandemonium. No one has everbeen arrested in Radville, since Pete became sheriff, without theentire community becoming aware of it simultaneously. Pete's voice inmoments of excitement carries like a cannonade. Legrand Gunn said thatPete had only to get into an argument in front of the Bigelow House tomake the entire disorderly population of the Flats, across the river, break for the hills. (This is probably an exaggeration. )

Tall, gaunt, gangling and loose-jointed, Duncan found Pete standing inthe middle of the floor, hands in pockets and a noisome stogie thrustinto a corner of his mouth, swaying a little (he was almost sober atthe moment) and explaining his mission to old Sam in a voice ofthunder. 

"I'm sorry about this, Sam, " he bellowed, "but there ain't no usewastin' words 'bout it. I'm here on business. "

"But what's the matter, Sheriff?" Graham asked, his voice breaking. 

"Ah, you know you got a note due at the bank, don't you?"

"Yes, but----"

"Well, it's protested. Y'un'erstand that, don't you?"

"Why, Pete!" Graham swayed, half-dazed. 

"An' I'm here to serve the papers onto you. "

"But--but there must be some mistake. " Sam clutched blindly for hishat. "I'll step over and see Mr. Lockwood. He'll arrange to give me alittle more time, I'm sure. He's always been kind, very kind. "

"Naw!" Pete bawled, "Mr. Lockwood don't want to see you unless you cansettle. Y'can save yourself the trouble. Y'gottuh put up or git out!"

"But, Pete--Mr. Lockwood said he didn't want to see me?"

"Yah, that's what he said, and I got orders from him, soon's I gotjudgment to close y'up. And that goes, see!"

"To--to turn me out of the store, Pete?" Graham's world had slippedfrom beneath his feet. He was overwhelmed, witless, as helpless as achild. And it was with a child's look of pitiful dismay and perplexitythat he faced the sheriff. 

The father who has fallen short of his child's trust and confidenceknows that look. To Duncan its appeal was irresistible. He had hishand in his pocket, clutching the still considerable remains of whatKellogg had termed his grubstake, before he knew it. 

"But--there must be some mistake, " Graham repeated pleadingly. "Itcan't be--Mr. Lockwood surely wouldn't----"

"Now there ain't no use whinin' about it!" Willing roared him intosilence. "Law is Law, and----" He ceased quickly, surprised to findDuncan standing between him and his prey. "What----!" he began. 

"Wait!" Duncan touched him gently on the chest with a forefinger, atthe same time catching and holding the sheriff's eye. "Are you, " heinquired quietly, "labouring under the impression that Mr. Graham isdeaf?"

"What----!"

Duncan turned to Sam, apologetically. "He said 'what. ' Did you hear it, sir?"

But by this time Pete was recovering to some degree. "What've you gotto say about this?" he demanded, crescendo. 

"I'll show you, " Duncan told him in the same quiet voice, "what I'vegot to say if you'll just put the soft pedal on and tell me the amountof that note. "

Pete struggled mightily to regain his vanished advantage, but try as hewould he could not escape Duncan's cool, inquisitive eye. Visibly helost importance as he yielded and dived into his pocket. "With interestand costs, " he said less stridently, "it figgers up three hundred 'n'eighty dollars 'n' eighty-two cents. "

There's no use denying that Duncan was staggered. For the moment hispoise deserted him utterly. He could only repeat, as one who dreams:_"Three hundred and eighty dollars!... "_

His momentary consternation afforded Pete the opening he needed. Theroom shook with his regained sense of prestige. 

"Yes, three hundred 'n' eighty dollars 'n'--say, you look a-here!----"

Again the calm forefinger touched him, and like a hypnotist's passchecked the rolling volume of noise. "Listen, " begged Duncan: "ifyou've got anything else to tell me, please retire to the opposite sideof the street and whisper it. Meanwhile, _be quiet!"_

Pete's jaw dropped. In all his experience no one had ever succeeded intaming him so completely--and in so brief a time. He experienced asensation of having been robbed of his spinal column, and before hecould pull himself together was staring in awe, while with one finaladmonitory poke of his finger Duncan turned and made for the sodacounter, beneath which was the till. His scanty roll of bills was inhis right hand, and there concealed. He stepped behind the counter (oldSam watching him with an amazement no less absolute than Pete's), pulled out the till, bent over it with an assured air, and pushed backthe coin slide. Then quite naturally, he produced--with his righthand--his four-hundred-and-odd dollars from the bill drawer, stood upand counted them with great deliberation. 

"One ... Two ... Three ... Four. "He smiled winningly at Pete. "Four hundred dollars, Mr. Sheriff. Nowwill you be good enough to hand over that note and the change and thenput yourself, and that pickle you're wearing in your face, on the otherside of the door?"

Pete struggled tremendously and finally succeeded in producing fromhis system a still, small voice:

"I ain't got the note with me, Mr. Duncan. "

"Then perhaps you won't mind going to the bank for it?"

Half suffocated, Pete assented. "Aw'right, I'll go and git it. Kin Ihave the money?"

"Certainly. " Duncan extended the bills, then on second thought withheldthem. "I presume you're a regular sheriff?" he inquired. 

Very proudly Pete turned back the lapel of his coat and distended thechest on which shone his nickel-plated badge of office. Duncan examinedit with grave admiration. 

"It's beautiful, " he said with a sigh. "Here. "

Gingerly, Pete grasped the bills, thumbed them over to make sure theywere real, and bolted as for his life, his coat-tails level on thebreeze. 

[Illustration: "Four hundred dollars, Mr. Sheriff"]

There floated back to Duncan and old Sam his valedictory: "Wal, I'll bedamned!"

With a short, quiet laugh Duncan made as though to go out to theback-yard, where the new stock was being delivered, having been cartedup from the station through the alley--thereby doing away with thenecessity of cluttering up the store with a débris of packing. Hisprimal instinct of the moment was to get right out of that with all theexpedition practicable. He didn't want to be alone with old Sam anothersecond. The essential insanity of which he had just done was patent;there was no excuse for it, and he was like to suffer severely as aconsequence. But he wasn't sorry, and he did not want to be thanked. 

"I'm going, " he said hurriedly, "to find me a hatchet and knock thestuffing out of some of those packing-cases. Want to get all that truckindoors before nightfall, you know----"

But old Sam wasn't to be put off by any such obvious subterfuge asthat. He put himself in front of Duncan. 

"Nat, my boy, " he said, tremulous, "I can't let this go through--Ican't allow you----"

"There, now!" Duncan told him, unconcernedly yet kindly, "don't sayanything more. It's over and done with. "

"But you mustn't--I'll turn over the store to you, if----"

"O Lord!" Duncan's dismay was as genuine as his desire to escapeGraham's gratitude. "No--don't! Please don't do that!"

"But I must do something, my boy. I can't accept so great a kindness--unless, " said Graham with a timid flash of hope--"you'll consider apartnership----"

"That's it!" cried Duncan, glad of any way out of the situation. "That's the way to do it--a partnership. No, please don't say any moreabout it, just now. We can settle details later. ... We've got to getbusy. Tell you what I wish you'd do while I'm busting open those boxes:if you don't mind going down to the station to make sure thateverything's----"

"Yes, I'll go; I'll go at once. " Sam groped for Duncan's hand, caughtand held it between both his own. "If--if fate--or something hadn'tbrought you here to-day--I don't know what would've happened to Bettyand me. ... "

"Never mind, " Duncan tried to soothe him. "Just don't you think aboutit. "

Graham shook his head, still bewildered. "Perhaps, " he stumbled on, "toa gentleman of your wealth four hundred dollars isn't much----"

"No, " said Duncan gravely, without the flicker of an eyelash:"nothing. " Then he smiled cheerfully. "There, that's all right. "

"To me it's meant everything. I--I only hope I'll be able to repayyou some day. God bless you, my boy, God bless you!"

He managed to jam his hat awry on his white old head and found his wayout, his hands fumbling with one another, his lips moving inaudibly--perhaps in a prayer of thanksgiving. 

Motionless, Duncan watched him go, and for several minutes thereafterstood without stirring, lost in thought. Then his quaint, deprecatorygrin dawned. He found a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. 

"Whew!" he whistled. "I wouldn't go through that again for a milliondollars. "

Gradually the smile faded. He puckered his brows and drew down thecorners of his mouth. Thoughtfully he ran a hand into his pocket andproduced the little crumpled wad of bills of small denominations, representing all he had left in the world. Smoothing them out on thecounter, he arranged them carefully, summing up; then returned them tohis pocket. 

"Harry, " he observed--"Harry said I couldn't get rid of that stake in ayear!... 

"He doesn't know what a fast town this is!"

XIII

THE BUSINESS MAN AND MR. BURNHAM

It was, perhaps, within the next thirty minutes that Betty (who hadbeen left in charge of the store while Duncan, with coat and collar offand sleeves rolled above his elbows, hacked and pounded and pried andbanged at the packing-cases in the backyard) sought him on the scene ofhis labours. 

She waited quietly, a little to one side, watching him, until he shouldbecome aware of her presence. What she was thinking would have beenhard to define, from the inscrutable eyes in her set, tired face of achild. There was no longer any trace of envy, suspicion or resentmentin her attitude toward the young man. You might have guessed that shewas trying to analyse him, weighing him in the scales of herimpoverished and lopsided knowledge of human nature, and wondering ifsuch conclusions as she was able to arrive at were dependable. 

In the course of time he caught sight of that patient, sad littlefigure, and, pausing, panting and perspiring under the July sun, cheerfully brandished his weapon from the centre of a widespreadarea of wreckage and destruction. 

"Pretty good work for a York dude--not?" he laughed. 

There was a shadowy smile in her grave eyes. "It's an improvement, " shesaid evenly. 

He shot her a curious glance. "_Ouch!_" he said thoughtfully. 

"I just came to tell you, " she went on, again immobile, "you're wantedinside. "

"Somebody wants to see _me?_" he demanded of her retreating back. 

"Yes. "

"But who--?"

"Blinky Lockwood, " she replied over her shoulder, as she went into thehouse. 

"Lockwood?" He speculated, for an instant puzzled. Then suddenly:"Father-in-law!" he cried. "Shivering snakes! he mustn't catch me likethis! I, a business man!"

Hastily rolling down his shirt-sleeves and shrugging himself into hiscoat, he made for the store, buttoning his collar and knotting his tieon the way. 

He found Blinky nosing round the room, quite alone. Betty haddisappeared, and the old scoundrel was having quite an enjoyable timepoking into matters that did not concern him and disapproving of themon general principles. So far as the improvements concerned old SamGraham's fortunes, Blinky would concede no health in them. But withregard to Duncan there was another story to tell: Duncan apparentlycontrolled money, to some vague extent. 

"You're Mr. Duncan, ain't you?" he asked with his leer, moving down tomeet Nat. 

"Yes, sir. Mr. Lockwood, I believe?"

"That's me. " Blinky clutched his hand in a genial claw. "I'm glad tomeet you. "

"Thank you, " said Duncan. "Something I can do for you, sir?"

"Wal, Pete Willin' was tellin' me you'd just took up this note ofGraham's?"

"Not exactly; the firm took it up. "

Blinky winked savagely at this. "The firm? What firm?"

"Graham and Duncan, sir. I've been taken into partnership. "

"Have, eh?" Blinky grunted mysteriously and fished in his pocket forsome bills and silver. "Wal, here's some change comin' to the firm, then; and here, " he added, producing the document in question, "isSam's note. "

"Thank you. " Duncan ceremoniously deposited both in the till, goingbehind the soda fountain to do so, and then waited, expectant. Blinkywas grunting busily in the key of one about to make an importantcommunication. 

"I'm glad you're a-comin' in here with Sam, " he said at length, with anacid grimace that was meant to be a smile. 

"Oh, it may be only temporary. " Nat endeavoured to assume a seraphicexpression, and partially succeeded. "I'm devoting much of my time tomy studies, " he pursued primly; "but nevertheless feel I should beearning something, too. "

"That's right; that's the kind of spirit I like to see in a youngman.... You always go to church, don't you?"

"No, sir--Sundays only. "

"That's what I mean. D'you drink?"

"Oh, no, sir, " Duncan parroted glibly: "don't smoke, drink, swear, andon Sundays I go to church. "

The bland smile with which he faced Lockwood's keen scrutiny disarmedsuspicion. 

"I'm glad to hear that, " Blinky told him. "I'm at the head of thetemp'rance movement here, and I hope you'll join us, and set an exampleto our fast young men. "

"I feel sure I could do that, " said Duncan meekly. 

Lockwood removed his hat, exposing the cranium of a bald-headed eagle, and fanned himself. "Warm to-day, " he observed in an endeavour to begenial that all but sprained his temperament. 

Indeed, so great was the strain that he winked violently. 

Duncan observed this phenomenon with natural astonishment not unmixedwith awe. "Yes, sir, very, " he agreed, wondering what it might portend. 

"I believe I'll have a glass of sody. "

"Certainly. " Duncan, by now habituated to the formulae of sodadispensing, promptly produced a bright and shining glass. 

"I see you've been fixin' this place up some. "

"Oh, yes, " said Nat loftily. "We expect to have the best drugstore inthe State. We're getting in new stock to-day, and naturally things area little out of order, but we'll straighten up without delay. We'll tryto deserve your esteemed patronage, " he concluded doubtfully, with ahazy impression that such a speech would be considered appropriateunder the circumstances. 

"You shall have it, Mr. Duncan, you shall have it!"

"Thank you, I'm sure.... What syrup would you prefer?"

"Just sody, " stipulated Lockwood. 

His spasmodic wink again smote Duncan's understanding a mighty blow. Unable to believe his eyes, he hedged and stammered. Could it be--?This from the leader of the temperance movement in Radville?

"I beg pardon----?"

His denseness irritated Blinky slightly, with the result that the rightside of his face again underwent an alarming convulsion. "I say, " heexplained carefully, "just--_plain_--sody. "

"On the level?"

"What?" grunted Blinky; and blinked again. 

A smile of comprehension irradiated Nat's features. "Pardon, " he said, "I'm a little new to the business. "

Blinky, fanning himself industriously, glared round the store whileDuncan, turning his back, discreetly found and uncorked the whiskeybottle. He was still a trifle dubious about the transaction, but on thesound principles of doing all things thoroughly, poured out a liberaldose of raw, red liquor. Then, with his fingers clamped tightly aboutthe bottom of the glass, the better to conceal its contents from anycasual but inquisitive passer-by, he quickly filled it with soda andplaced it before Blinky, accompanying the action with the sweetest ofchildlike smiles. 

Lockwood, nodding his acknowledgments, lifted the glass to his lips. Duncan awaited developments with some apprehension. To his relief, however, Blinky, after an experimental swallow, emptied the mixtureexpeditiously into his system; and smacked his thin lips resoundingly. 

"How, " he demanded, "can anyone want intoxicatin' likers whenthey can get such a bracin' drink as that?"

"I pass, " Nat breathed, limp with admiration of such astoundinghypocrisy. 

Blinky reluctantly pried a nickel loose from his finances and placed iton the counter. Duncan regarded it with disdain. 

"Ten cents more, please, " he suggested tactfully. 

"What for?"

"Plain sody. " The explanation was accompanied by a very passableimitation of Blinky's blink. 

Happily for Duncan, Blinky has no sense of humour: if he had he wouldexplode the very first time he indulged in introspection. 

"Not much, " said he with his sour smile. "I guess you're jokin'.... Well, good luck to you, Mr. Duncan. I'd like to have you come round andsee us some evenin'. "

"Thank you very much, sir. " Duncan accompanied Blinky to the door. "I've already had the pleasure of meeting your daughter, sir. She's acharming girl. "

"I'm real glad you think so, " said Blinky, intensely gratified. "Sheseems to've taken a great shine to you, too. Come round and get'quainted with the hull family. You're the sort of young feller I'dlike her to know. " He paused and looked Nat up and down captiously, as one might appraise the points of a horse of quality put up for sale. "Good-day, " said he, with the most significant of winks. 

"Oh, that's all right, " Nat hastened to reassure him. "I won't say aword about it. "

Blinky, on the point of leaving, started to question this (to him)cryptic utterance, but luckily had the current of his thoughts divertedby the entrance of Roland Barnette, in company with his friend Mr. Burnham. 

Roland's consternation at this unexpected encounter was, in the mildestterm, extreme. At sight of his employer he pulled up as if slapped. "Oh!" he faltered, "I didn't know you was here, sir. "

"No, " said Blinky with keen relish, "I guess you didn't. "

"I--ah--come over to see Sam about that note, " stammered Roland. 

"Wal, don't you bother your head 'bout what ain't your business, Roly. Come on back to the bank. "

"All right, sir. " Roland grasped frantically at the opportunity toemphasise his importance. "Excuse me, Mr. Lockwood, but I'd like tointerdoos you to a friend of mine, Mr. Burnham from Noo York. "

Amused, Burnham stepped into the breach. "How are you?" he said withthe proper nuance of cordiality, offering his hand. 

Lockwood shook it unemotionally. "How de do?" he said, perfunctory. 

"I brought Mr. Burnham in to see Sam----"

"Yes, " Burnham interrupted Roland quickly; "Barnette's been kind enoughto show me round town a bit. "

"Here on business?" inquired Lockwood pointedly. 

"No, not exactly, " returned Burnham with practised ease, "just lookinground. "

"Only lookin', eh?" Blinky's countenance underwent one of its erraticquakes as he examined Burnham with his habitual intentness. 

The New Yorker caught the wink and lost breath. "Ah--yes--that's all, "he assented uneasily. And as he spoke another wink dumbfounded him. "Why?" he asked, with a distinct loss of assurance. "Don't you believeit. "

"Don't see no reason why I shouldn't, " grunted Blinky. "Hope you'lllike what you see. Good day. "

"So long ... Mr. Lockwood, " returned Burnham uncertainly. 

Lockwood paused outside the door. "Come 'long, Roland. "

"Yes, sir; right away; just a minute. " Roland was lingeringunwillingly, detained by Burnham's imperative hand. "What d'you want? Igot to hurry. "

"What was he winking at me for?" demanded Burnham heatedly. "Haveyou----?"

"Oh!" Roland laughed. "He wasn't winking. He can't help doing that. It's a twitchin' he's got in his eye. That's why they call him Blinky. "

"Oh, that was it!" Burnham accepted the explanation with distinctrelief, while Duncan, who had been an unregarded spectator, suddenlyfound cause to retire behind one of the show-cases on importantbusiness. 

So that was the explanation!... 

After his paroxysm had subsided and he felt able to control his facialmuscles, Duncan emerged, suave and solemn. Roland had disappeared withBlinky, and Burnham was alone. 

"Anything you wish, sir?" asked Nat. 

"Only to see Mr. Graham. "

"He's out just at present, but I think he'll be back in a moment or so. Will you wait? You'll find that chair comfortable, I think. "

"Believe I will, " said Burnham with an air. He seated himself. "I can'twait long, though, " he amended. 

"Yes, sir. And if you'll excuse me----?"

Burnham's hand dismissed him with a tolerant wave. "Go right on aboutyour business, " he said with supreme condescension. 

And Duncan returned to his work in the backyard. It wasn't long beforehe found occasion to go back to the store, and by that time old Sam wasthere in conversation with Burnham. Neither noticed Nat as he entered, and to begin with he paid them little heed, being occupied with histask of depositing an armful of bottles without mishap and then placingthem on the shelves. The hum of their voices from the other side of thecounter struck an indifferent ear while he busied himself, butpresently a word or phrase caught his interest, and he found himselflistening, at first casually, then with waxing attention. 

"That's part of my business, " he heard Burnham say in his sleek, oleaginous accents. "Sometimes I pick up an odd no-'count contraptionthat makes me a bit of money, and more times I'm stung and lose on it. It's all a gamble, of course, and I'm that way--like to take a gamblingchance on anything that strikes my fancy--like that burner of yours. "

"Yes, " Graham returned: "the gas arrangement. "

"It's a curious idea--quite different from the one I told you about;but I kinda took to it. There might be something to it, and again theremightn't. I've been thinking I might be willing to risk a few dollarson it, if we could come to terms. "

"Do you mean it, really?" said old Sam eagerly. 

"Not to invest in it, so to speak; I don't think it's chances arestrong enough for that. But if you'd care to sell the patent outrightand aren't too ambitious, we might make a dicker. What d'you say?"

"Why, yes, " said Graham, quivering with anticipation. "Yes, indeed, if--"

"Well?"

"If you really think it's worth anything, sir. "

"Well, as I say, there's no telling; but I was thinking about it atdinner, and I sort of concluded I'd like to own that burner, so I madeout a little bill of sale, and I says to myself, says I: 'If Grahamwill take five hundred dollars for that patent, I'll give him spotcash, right in his hand, ' says I. "

With this Burnham tipped back in his chair, and brought forth a walletfrom which he drew a sheet of paper and several bills. 

"Five hundred dollars!" repeated Graham, thunderstruck by thismunificence. 

"Yes, sir: five hundred, cash! To tell you the truth--guess you don'tknow it--I heard at the bank that they didn't intend to extend the timeon that note of yours, and I thought this five hundred would come inhandy, and kind of wanted to help you out. Now what do you say?"

He flourished the bills under Graham's nose and waited, entirely atease as to his answer. 

"Well, " said the old man, "it is kind of you, sir--very kind. Everybody'sbeen good to me recently--or else I'm dreamin'. "

"Then it's a bargain?"

"Why, I hope it won't lose any money for you, Mr. Burnham, " Samhesitated, with his ineradicable sense of fairness and square-dealing. "Making gas from crude oil ought to--"

Duncan never heard the end of that speech. For some moments he had beenlistening intently, trying to recollect something. The name of Burnhamplucked a string on the instrument of his memory; he knew he had heardit, some place, some time in the past; but how, or when, or in respectto what he could not make up his mind. It had required Sam's referenceto gas and crude oil to close the circuit. Then he remembered: Kellogghad mentioned a man by the name of Burnham who was "on the track of" animportant invention for making gas from crude oil. This must be theman, Burnham, the tracker; and poor old Graham must be the tracked.... 

Without warning Duncan ran round and made himself an uninvited third tothe conference. 

"Mr. Graham, one moment!" he begged, excited. "Is this patent of yourson a process of making gas from crude oil?"

Burnham looked up impatiently, frowning at the interruption, but Grahamwas all good humour. 

"Why, yes, " he started to explain; "it's that burner over there that--"

"But I wouldn't sell it just yet if I were you, " said Nat. "It may beworth a good deal--"

"Now look here!" Burnham got to his feet in anger. "What business 'veyou got butting into this?" he demanded, putting himself between Duncanand the inventor. 

"Me?" Duncan queried simply. "Only just because I'm a business man. Ifyou don't believe it, ask Mr. Graham. "

"He's got a perfect right to advise me, Mr. Burnham, " interposedGraham, rising. 

"Well, but--but what objection 've you got to his making a little moneyout of this patent?" Burnham blustered. 

"None; only I want to look into the matter first. I think it might be--ah--advisable. "

"What makes you think so?" demanded Burnham, his tone withering. 

"Well, " said Nat, with an effort summoning his faculties to cope with amatter of strict business, "it's this way: I've got an _idea_, " hesaid, poking at Burnham with the forefinger which had proven soeffective with Pete Willing, "that you wouldn't offer five hundred ironmen for this burner unless you expected to make something big out ofit, and... It ought to be worth just as much to Mr. Graham as to you. "

"Ah, you don't know what you're talking about. "

"I know that, " Nat admitted simply, "but I do happen to know you'repromoting a scheme for making gas from crude oil, and if Mr. Grahamwill listen to me you won't get his patent until I've consulted myfriend, Henry Kellogg. "

"_Kellogg!_"

"Yes. You know--of L. J. Bartlett & Company. " Nat's forefinger continuedto do deadly work. Burnham backed away from it as from a fiery brand. 

"Oh, well!" he said, dashed, "if you're representing Kellogg"--and Nattook care not to refute the implication--"I--I don't want to interfere. Only, " he pursued at random, in his discomfiture, "I can't see why hesent you here. "

"I'd be ashamed to tell you, " Nat returned with an open smile. "Betterask him. "

Burnham gathered his wits together for a final threat. "That's what Iwill do!" he threatened. "And I'll do it the minute I can see him. Youcan bet on that, Mister What's-Your-Name!"

"No, I can't, " said Nat naïvely. "I'm not allowed to gamble. "

His ingenuous expression exasperated Burnham. The man lost control ofhis temper at the same moment that he acknowledged to himself hisdefeat. In disgust he turned away. 

"Oh, there's no use talking to you--"

"That's right, " Nat agreed fairly. 

"But I'll see you again, Mr. Graham--"

"Not alone, if I can help it, Mr. Burnham, " Duncan amended sweetly. 

"But, " Burnham continued, severely ignoring Nat and addressing himselfsquarely to Graham, "you take my tip and don't do any business withthis fellow until you find out who he is. " He flung himself out of theshop with a barked: "Good-day!"

"Well, Mr. Graham?" Duncan turned a little apprehensively to theinventor. But Sam's expression was almost one of beatific content. Hisweak old lips were pursed, his eyes half-closed, his finger tipsjoined, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels. 

"Margaret used to talk that way, sometimes, " he remarked. "She was thebest woman in the world--and the wisest. She used to take care of meand protect me from my foolish impulses, just as you do, my boy.... "

For a space Duncan kept silent, respecting the old man's memories, anda great deal humbled in spirit by the parallel Sam had drawn. Then: "Iwas afraid what I said would sound queer to you, sir, " he ventured--"that you mightn't understand that I'm not here to do you out of yourinvention... "

"There's nothing on earth, my boy, "--Graham's hand fell on Nat's arm--"could make me think that. But five hundred dollars, you see, wouldhave repaid you for taking up that note, and--and I could have boughtBetty a new dress for the party. But I'm sure you've done what's best. You're a business man--"

"Don't!" Nat pleaded wildly. "I've been called that so much of latethat it's beginning to hurt!"

XIV

MOSTLY ABOUT BETTY

Sam Graham said to me, that night: "I don't know when so many thingshave happened to me in so short a time. It don't seem hardly possibleit's only four days since that boy came in here asking for a job. It'swonderful, simply wonderful, the change he's made. "

He waved a comprehensive hand, and I, glancing round the transformedstore, agreed with him. Everything was spick and span and mightyattractive--clean and neat-looking--with the new stock in the shiningcases and arranged on the glistening white shelves: not all of it setout by any means, of course, but no unplaced goods in sight, clutteringup the counters or kicking round the floor. 

"The way he's worked----! You'd hardly believe it, Homer. He said hewanted to get home early so's to write a letter to a friend of his inNew York, a Mr. Kellogg, junior member of L. J. Bartlett & Company, about my invention. But he insisted on leaving everything to rights forbusiness to-morrow. And just look!"

"But I thought Roland Barnette----?" I suggested with guile. Ofcourse I'd heard a rumour of what had happened--'most everyone in townhad--and how Roland and his friend, Mr. Burnham, had sort of fallen outon the way from the Bigelow House to the train; but no one knewanything definite, and I wanted to get "the rights of it, " as Radvillesays. 

So I had dropped in at Graham's, on my way home from the office, as Ioften do, for an evening smoke and a bit of gossip: something I rarelyindulge in, but which I've found has a curious psychological effect onthe circulation of the _Citizen_--like a tonic. Sam was just atthe point of closing up. He was alone, Duncan having gone home about anhour earlier, and Betty being upstairs, while (since it was quitehalf-past nine) all the rest of Radville, with few exceptions (chieflyto be noted at Schwartz's and round the Bigelow House bar) was makingits final rounds of the day: locking the front door, putting out thelamp in its living-room, banking the fire in the range, ejecting thecat from the kitchen and wiping out the sink, and finally, odoriferouskerosene lamp in hand, climbing slowly to the stuffy upstairsbed-chamber. Indeed, the lights of Radville begin to go out abouthalf-past eight; by ten, as a rule, the town is as lively as acemetery. 

But I am by nature inexorable and merciless, a masterful man with suchas old Sam; and it was an hour later before I left him, drained ofthe last detail of the day. He was a weary man, but a happy one, whenhe bade me good-night, and I myself felt a little warmed by hischeerfulness as I plodded up Main Street through the thick oppressionof darkness beneath the elms. 

After a time I became aware that someone was overtaking me, and waited, thinking at first it would be one of my people. But it wasn't longbefore I recognised from the quick tempo of the approaching footfallsthat this was no Radvillian. There was just light enough--starlightstriking down through the thinner spaces in the interlacing foliage--tomake visible a moving shadow, and when it drew nearer I saluted it withconfidence. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Duncan. "

He stopped short, peering through the gloom. "Good-evening, but--Mr. Littlejohn? Glad to see you. " He joined me and we proceeded homeward, he moderating his stride a trifle in deference to my age. "Aren't youlate?"

"A bit, " I admitted. "I've been gossiping with Sam Graham. "

"Oh... ?"

"You're out late yourself, Mr. Duncan, for one of such regular, not tosay abnormal, habits. "

He laughed lightly. "Had a letter I wanted to catch the first morningtrain. "

"Then you're interested in Sam's burner?"

"No, I'm not, but I hope to interest others.... Oh, yes: Mr. Grahamtold you about it, of course.... It just struck me that if a man ofBurnham's stamp was willing to risk five hundred dollars on theproposition, he very likely foresaw a profit in it that might as wellbe Mr. Graham's. So I've sent a detailed description of the thing to afriend in New York, who'll look into it for me. "

He was silent for a little. 

"Who's Colonel Bohun?" he asked suddenly. 

"Why do you ask?"

"I saw him this evening. He was passing the store and stopped to glarein as if he hated it--stopped so long that I got nervous and asked MissLockwood (she'd just happened in for a parting glass--of soda) whetherhe was an anarchist or a retired burglar. She told me his name, but wasotherwise inhumanly reticent. "

"For Josie?" I chuckled; but he didn't respond. So I took up the taleof the first family of Radville. 

"The story runs, " said I, "that the Bohuns were one of the F. F. V. 's;that they sickened of slavery, freed their slaves and moved North, tosettle in Radville. I _believe_ they came from somewhere roundLynchburg; but that was a couple of generations ago. When the Civil Warbroke out the old Colonel up there"--I gestured vaguely in the generaldirection of the Bohun mansion--"couldn't keep out of it, andnaturally he couldn't fight with the North. He won his spurs underLee.... After the war had blown over he came home, to find that hisonly son had enlisted with the Radville company and disappeared atGettysburg. It pretty nearly killed the old man--though he wasn't soold then; but there's fire in the Bohun blood, and his boy's actionseemed to him nothing less than treason. "

"And that's what soured him on the world?"

"Not altogether. He had a daughter--Margaret. She was the mostbeautiful woman in the world.... " I suspect my voice broke a littlejust there, for there was a shade of respectful sympathy in themonosyllable with which he filled the pause. "He swore she should nevermarry a Northerner, but she did; I guess, being a Bohun, she had to, after hearing she must not. There were two of us that loved her, butshe chose Sam Graham.... "

"Why, " he said awkwardly--"I'm sorry. "

"I'm not: she was right, if I couldn't see it that way. They ran away--and so did I. I went East, but they came back to Radville. ColonelBohun never forgave them, but they were very happy till she died. Betty's their daughter, of course: Sam's not the kind that marries morethan once. "

Duncan thought this over without comment until we reached our gate. There he paused for a moment. 

"He's got plenty of money, I presume--old Bohun?"

"So they say. Probably not much now, but a great deal more than heneeds. "

"Then why doesn't somebody get after the old scoundrel and make him dosomething for that poor--for Miss Graham?" he asked indignantly. 

"He tried it once, but they wouldn't listen. His conditions wereimpossible, " I explained. "She was to renounce her father and take thename of Bohun------. "

"What rot!" Duncan growled. "What an old fiend he must be! Of course heknew she'd refuse. "

"I suspect he did. "

Duncan hesitated a bit longer. "Anyhow, " he said suddenly, "somebodyought to get after him and make him see the thing the right way. "

"S'pose you try it, Mr. Duncan?" I suggested maliciously, as we went upthe walk. 

He stopped at the door. "Perhaps I shall, " he said slowly. 

"I'd advise you not to. The last man that tried it has no desire torepeat the experiment. "

"Who was he?"

"An old fool named Homer Littlejohn. "

Duncan put out his hand. "Shake!" he insisted. "We'll talk this overanother time. "

We went in very quietly, lit our candles, and with elaborate careavoided the home-made burglar-alarm (a complicated arrangement ofstrings and tinpans on the staircase, which Miss Carpenter insists onmaintaining ever since Roland Barnette missed a dollar bill andinsisted his pocket had been picked on Main Street) and so mounted toour rooms. As we were entering (our doors adjoin) a thought delayed mygood-night. 

"By the way, did you get your invitation to Josie Lockwood's party, Mr. Duncan? I happened to see it on the hall table this evening. "

"Yes, " he assented quietly. 

"It's to be the social event of the year. I hope you'll enjoy it. "

"I'm not going. "

"Not going!... Why not?"

"It's against the rules at first--I mean, business rules. I'll be sobusy at the store, you know. "

"Josie'll be disappointed. "

"Thank you, " said he gratefully. "Good-night. "

Alone, I was fain to confess he baffled my understanding. 

The rush of business to Graham's began the following morning: Duncan'shands were full almost from the first, and he had to relegate suchmatters as making final disposition of his stock and getting acquaintedwith it to the intervals between waiting upon customers. Old Sam musthave put up more prescriptions in the next few days than he had withinthe last five years. Everybody wanted to take a look at the renovatedstore, shake Sam's hand, and see what the new partner was really like. Sothern and Lee's was for some days quite deserted, especially afterDuncan took a leaf out of their book, bought an ice-cream freezer andbegan to serve dabs of cream in the sody. I've always maintained thatour Radville folks are pretty thoroughly sot in their ways (the phraseis local), but the way they flocked to Graham's forced me to amend theaphorism with the clause: "except when their curiosity is aroused. "Every woman in town wanted to know what Graham and Duncan carried thatSothern and Lee didn't, and how much cheaper they were than the moreestablished concern; also they wanted to know Mr. Duncan. I suspect nodrug-store ever had so many inquiries for articles that it didn'tcarry, but might possibly, or ought to, in the estimation of theprospective purchasers, as well as that at no time had Radvillianshappened to think of so many things that they could get at adruggist's. People drove in from as far as twenty miles away, as soonas the news reached them, to buy notepaper and stamps--people whodidn't write or receive a letter a month. Will Bigelow, even, droppedround and bought samples of the tobacco stock, from two-fors up toten-centers--and smoked them with expressive snorts. Tracey Tanner'ssoda and cigarette trade was transferred bodily to Graham's from thefirst, and Roland Barnette gave it his patronage, albeit grudgingly, assoon as he found it impossible to shake Josie Lockwood's allegiance. Isay grudgingly, because Roland didn't like the new partner, and hadsaid so from the first. But everyone else did like him, almost withoutexception. His attentiveness and courtesy were not ungrateful after theway things were thrown at you at Sothern and Lee's, we declared. 

Duncan certainly did strive to please. No man ever worked harder in aRadville store than he did. And from the time that he began to believethere would be some reward for his exertions, that the business wassusceptible to being built up by the employment of progressive methods, he grew astonishingly prolific of ideas, from our sleepy point of view. The window displays were changed almost daily, to begin with, and weremade as interesting as possible; we learned to go blocks out of our wayto find out what Graham and Duncan were exploiting to-day. And dailybargain sales were instituted--low-priced articles of everyday use, such as shaving soap, tooth brushes, and the like, being sold at afew cents above cost on certain days which were announced in advance bymeans of hand-lettered cards in the show-windows; whereas formerly wehad always been obliged to pay full list-prices. An axiom of his creedas it developed was to the effect that stock must not be allowed tostand idle upon the shelves; if there were no call for a certain lineof articles, it must be stimulated. I remember that, some time along inAugust, he began to worry about the inactivity in cough-syrups. 

"No one wants cough-syrups in summer, " he told Graham; "that stuff'sbeen here six weeks and more. It's getting out of training. Needsexercise. Look at this bottle: it says: 'Shake well. ' Now it hasn'tbeen shaken at all since it was put on the shelves, and I haven't gottime to shake it every morning. We must either hire a boy to give itregular exercise, or sell it off and get in a fresh supply for thewinter. I'll have to think up some scheme to make 'em take it off ourhands. "

He did. Somehow or other he managed to convince us that forewarned wasforearmed, that it was better to have a bottle or two of cough-syrup inour medicine chests at home than on the shelves of the drug-store, whenthe chill autumnal winds began to blow, especially when you could buyit now for thirty-nine cents, whereas it would be fifty-four inOctober. 

Still earlier in his career as a business man he noticed that the localpractitioners wrote their prescriptions on odd scraps of paper. 

"That's all wrong, " he declared. "We'll have to fix it. " And by nextmorning the job-printing press back of the Court House was groaningunder an order from Graham and Duncan's, and a few days later everyphysician within several miles of Radville received half a dozen neatpads of blanks with his name and address printed at the top and theadvice across the bottom: "Go to Graham's for the best and purest drugsand chemicals. " The backs of the blanks were utilised to request peopleliving out of reach, but on rural free delivery routes, either to mailtheir prescriptions and other orders in, or have the physicianstelephone them, promising to fill and despatch them by the first post. 

For he had a telephone installed within the first fortnight, and thenext day advertised in the _Gazette_ that orders by telephonewould receive prompt attention and be delivered without delay. TraceyTanner became his delivery-boy, deserting his father's stables for theobvious advantages of three dollars a week with a chance to learn thebusiness.... Sothern and Lee were quick to recognise the advantage thetelephone gave Graham and Duncan, and promptly had one put in theirstore; but the delay had proven almost fatal: Radville had alreadygot into the habit of telephoning to Graham's for a cake of soap, orwhatnot, and it's hard to break a Radville habit. 

As business increased and the stock turned itself over at a profit, Duncan began to branch out, to make improvements and introduce newlines of goods. He it was who inoculated Radville with the habit ofbuying manufactured candies. Up to the time of his advent, we had beenaccustomed to and content with home-made taffies and fudges--and were, I've no doubt, vastly better off on that account. But Duncan, startingwith a line of five- and ten-cent packages of indigestible sweets, intime made arrangements with a big Pittsburgh confectionery concern toship him a small consignment of pound and half-pound "fancy" boxes ofchocolates and bonbons twice a week. And taffy-pulls and fudge partieslapsed into desuetude. 

Later, Sperry introduced him to an association of druggists, of whichhe became a member, for the maintenance and exploitation of the cigarand tobacco trade in connection with the drug business. They installedat Graham's a handsome show-case and fixtures especially for the saleand display of cigars, and thereafter it was possible to purchasesmokable tobacco in our town. 

Again, he treated Radville to its first circulating library, establishing a branch in the store. One could buy a book at a moderateprice, and either keep it or exchange it for a fee of a few cents. Idisputed the wisdom of this move, alleging, and with reason, thatRadville didn't read modern fiction to any extent. But Duncan arguedthat it didn't matter. "They're going to try it on as a novelty, tobegin with, " he said, "and it'll bring 'em into the store for a fewexchanges, at least. That's all I want. Once we get 'em in here, it'llbe hard if we can't sell them something else. You'll see. "

He was right. 

Undoubtedly he made the business hum during those first few months; andafter that it settled down to a steady forward movement. The storebecame a social centre, a place for people to meet. In time Tracey waspromoted to be assistant and another boy engaged to make deliveries.... And Duncan had never been happier; he had found something he couldunderstand and, understanding, accomplish; there was work for his handsto do, and they had discovered they could do it successfully. I don'tbelieve he stopped to think about it very much, but he was conscious ofthat glow of achievement, that heightening of the spirits, that comeswith the knowledge of success, be that success however insignificant, and it benefited him enormously.... 

But this chronicle of progress has run away altogether with a desultorypen, which started to tell why Duncan didn't want to go to JosieLockwood's party. I was long in finding out, but not so long as Duncanhimself, perhaps; by which I mean to say that he was conscious of thedesire not to go, and determined not to, without stopping to analysethe cause of that desire more than very superficially. 

It happened, toward the close of the eventful day already detailed atsuch length, that as Duncan was entering the house with a load of boxedgoods, he heard voices in the store--young voices, of which one wasalready too familiar to his ears. He paused, waiting for them to getthrough with their business and go; for he had no time to waste justthen, even upon the heiress of his manufactured destiny. Betty waskeeping shop at the time (old Sam having gone upstairs for a littlerest, who was overwrought and weary with the excitement of that day)and it was Duncan's hope that she would be able to serve the customerswithout his assistance. 

There were two of them, you see--Josie and Angle Tuthill--hunting asusual in couples; and while he waited, not meaning to eavesdrop butunwilling to betray his whereabouts by moving, he heard very clearlytheir passage with Betty. 

He overheard first, distinctly, Betty responding in expressionlessvoice: "Hello, Angie.... Hello, Josie. "

There ensued what seemed a slightly awkward pause. Then Josie, painfully sweet: "Did you get the invitation, Betty?"

Betty moved into Duncan's range of vision, apparently intending to comeand call him. She turned at the question, and he saw her small, thinlittle body and pinched face _en silhouette_ against the fadinglight beyond. He saw, too, that she was stiffening herself as if forsome unequal contest. 

"The invitation?" she questioned dully, but with her head up andsteady. 

"Why, " said Josie, "I sent you one. To the party, you know--my lawnfeet next week. "

I give the local pronunciation as it is. 

"Did you?"

"I gave it to Tracey for you, " persisted the tormentor. "Didn't you getit?"

Betty caught at her breath, inaudibly; only Duncan could see the littlespasm of mortification and anger that shook her. 

"Oh, perhaps I did, " she said shortly. "I--I'll ask Mr. Duncan to waiton you. "

She swung quickly out into the hallway, slamming the door behind herand so darkening it that she didn't detect Duncan's shadowed figure. And if she had meant to call him, she must have forgotten it; for aninstant later he heard her stumbling up the stairs, and as shedisappeared he caught the echo of a smothered sob. 

He waited, motionless, too disturbed at the time to care to enter thestore and endure Josie's vapid advances; and through the thin partitionthere came to him their comments on Betty's ungracious behaviour. 

"Well!... _did_ you ever!"

That was Angle; Josie chimed in the same key: "Oh, what did you expectfrom that kind of a girl?"

"_Ssh!_ maybe he's coming!"

After a moment's silence, Josie: "Oh, come on. Don't let's wait anylonger. I don't think it's healthy to drink sody so soon before dinner, anyway. "

"And, besides, we only wanted to hear--"

Their voices with their footsteps diminished. Duncan allowed a prudentinterval to elapse, entered the store and began to bestow the goods hehad brought in. 

While he was at work the light failed. He stopped for lack of it justas Betty came downstairs. 

"Hello!" he said cheerfully. "Know where the matches are?"

"Yes. " She moved behind a counter and fetched him a few. "Are you 'mostdone?" she inquired, not unfriendly, as he took down from its bracketone of the oil lamps. 

"Hardly, " he responded, touching a light to the wick and replacing thechimney. "It's a good deal of a job. "

"Yes... "

He replaced the lamp, and in the act of turning toward another caught aglimpse of the girl's face, pale and drawn, her eyes a trifle reddened. And with that commonsense departed from him, leaving him wholly a preyto his impulse of pity. "Oh, thunder!" he told himself, thrusting ahand into his pocket. "I might as well be broke as the way I am now. "He produced the scanty remains of his "grubstake. "

"Miss Graham... "

"Yes?" she asked, wondering. 

"Could you get a party dress for thirty-four dollars?"

"Thirty-four dollars!" she faltered. 

He discovered what small change he had in his pocket: it was like himto be extravagant, even extreme. "And fifty-three cents?" he pursued, with a nervous laugh. 

"Heavens!" the girl gasped. "I should think so!"

"Then go ahead!" He offered her the money, but she could only stare, incredulous. "I'll stake you. "

"Oh... _no_, Mr. Duncan, " she managed to say. 

"Oh, yes!" He tried to catch one of the hands that involuntarily hadrisen toward her face in a gesture of wonder. "Please do, " he begged, his tone persuasive, "as a favour to me. "

But she evaded him, stepping back. "I couldn't take it; I couldn'treally. "

"Yes, you can. Just try it once, and see how easy it is, " he persisted, pursuing. 

"No, I can't. " She looked up shyly and shook her head, that smile ofher mother's for the moment illuminating her face almost with theradiance of beauty. "But I--I thank you very much--just the same. "

"But I want you to go to that party... "

"You're awful' kind, " she said softly, still smiling, "but I don't careto go, now. I--"

"Don't care to! Why, you were insisting on going, a little while ago. "

"Yes, " she admitted simply, "I know I was. But ... I've been thinkingover what you said, since then, and I ... I've made up my mind I'd beout of place there. "

"Out of place!" he echoed, thunderstruck. 

"Yes. I've concluded I belong here in the store with father. " She halfturned away. "And I guess folks is better off if they stay where theybelong.... "

She went slowly from the room, and he remained staring, stupefied. 

"You never can tell about a woman, " he concluded with all the gravityof an original philosopher. 

XV

MANOEUVRES OF JOSIE

Nat didn't go to the Lockwood lawn fête, and did excuse himself on theplea of being unable to leave the store. I'm afraid the young man had afaint, fond hope that Josie would be offended; but his excuse wasaccepted without remonstrance. And, indeed, it was at that time quite areasonable one. Tracey had not been added to the staff, althoughbusiness was booming, and Saturday night is, as everyone who has livedin a Radville knows, the busiest of the week; all the stores keep openlate on Saturday--some as late as eleven--and frequently take in halfthe week's income between noon and the closing hour. Duncan reallycouldn't be spared; so it's probable that Josie cloaked herdisappointment and comforted herself with the assurance that herselection of the day had been an error in judgment, of which she wouldnot again be guilty. 

But the party came off, without fail, and that on a wonderful, still, moonlit night; and everybody voted it a splendid success. The_Citizen_ in its next issue recorded the event to the extent of acolumn and a half of reading matter, called it a social function, anddescribed the gowns of the leading ladies of society present inbewildering phrases. I was not invited, but the owner of the paper was, and his wife wrote the description with the assistance of the entireeditorial and reportorial force, a dictionary and some evil ifsuppressed language from the foreman of the composing-room. I readthe proofs with an admiration strongly tinctured with awe, and foundit lacking in one particular only: no mention was made of RolandBarnette's first open-faced suit. 

Roland had ordered it from a clothing-house in Chicago, and it arrivedjust in time. Having heard all about it from Roland's own lips (theydilated upon the matter to Watty the tailor, just beneath my window), Isort of hung round downtown Saturday evening in the hope of catchinga glimpse of it, and was not disappointed. I was loitering in Graham'swhen Roland sauntered nonchalantly in at about a quarter to eight andcalled for a pack of "Sweets. " Sam served him, and Duncan, happily forhim disengaged at the moment, after one look at Roland retiredprecipitately behind the prescription counter--overcome, I judged fromRoland's triumphant smirk, by deepest chagrin. Well, thought I, mighthe have been: he could never, by whatever wildest endeavour, haveapproximated Roland's splendour. 

The coat was bob-tailed (at least, so Watty described it within myhearing) and curiously double-breasted, caught together at the waistwith a single button, thus revealing a shining expanse of very stiffshirt-bosom; which creaked, for some reason. With this Roland wore aribbed white-silk waistcoat, very brilliant low-cut patent leathershoes, and white-silk socks. The trousers were strikingly cut, as toeach leg, after the physical configuration of the domestic pear, andthe effect of the whole was measurably enhanced by an opera-hat--oneof those tall and striking contraptions that you can shut up bypressing gently but firmly upon the human midriff and lookingunconscious, but which is apt to open with a resounding report ifyou're not careful... I am glad to be able to report that Roland failedto commit the solecism of wearing a red string tie; his tie was asober black, firmly knotted at the factory. I'm glad too, for thesartorial honour of Radville, that Roland knew how to wear suchfixin's: that is to say, with an expression of proud defiance. 

After he had departed, stepping high, Sam called me behind the counterto assist in reviving Duncan. We found him leaning upon the counter, his forehead resting upon a mortar, very red in the face and breathingstertorously; and when Sam addressed him, to learn what was the matter, he seemed unable to speak, but choked and beat the air feebly with hishands. Sam concluded he had swallowed something, and was, I think, right; he was plainly half strangled, and only recovered after we hadbeaten his back severely. Then he refused any explanation, beyondsaying that he was subject to such seizures. 

After the party the town's excitement simmered down and subsided; wehad become moderately accustomed to the presence of Duncan in our midst(strange as this may sound), and for some time nothing happened germaneto the fate of the Fortune Hunter. 

On his part, he fell into a routine without the least evidence ofdiscontent. He was early to rise and early to work, and rarely left thestore save at meal hours and closing-up time. And in the course of ourserene days, I began to notice in him an increasing interest in theaffairs of the church; he seemed to look forward with a not uneageranticipation to the fixtures of its calendar. He attended withadmirable regularity both morning and evening services, on Sunday, themid-weekly prayer-meeting, and Friday evening choir practice. For inthe course of time he had been won over to join the choir, and modestlydiscovered to our edification a barytone voice, wholly untrained butnot unpleasing. Mrs. Rogers, our organist, averred his superiority toPacky Soule, whom he superseded, and was supported in this estimate bythe remainder of the choir, with the exception of Roland Barnette, who helped with his reedy tenor. Josie Lockwood sang contralto and BessGabriel what we were informed was soprano--only Radville called it atreble. Tracey Tanner pumped the organ and puffed audibly in thepauses--a singular testimony to his devotion to Angie Tuthill, who"just sang" with the others, chiefly because she was Josie's nearestfriend. 

I remember that, one Sunday night after evening service, Duncanconfided to me, quite seriously, "that the church thing was getting tohim. " He seemed somewhat surprised, to a degree indignant, as if hesuspected religion of having taken an advantage of him in someroundabout, underhand way.... He wondered audibly what Harry wouldthink if he could see him now. 

He had settled down to a pretty steady correspondence with Kellogg, chiefly on business matters. Kellogg was investigating old Sam'sburner, and seemed quite impressed with its possibilities. He hadquarrelled with Roland's friend, Burnham, on Duncan's representations, and ordered him out of the offices of L. J. Bartlett & Company, itseemed. Later he opened up negotiations with a corporation known as theModern Gas Company, I believe, a competitor of Consolidated Petroleum, and in due course representatives of both concerns came to Radville, examined the burner, and retired, non-committal. Then Bartlett senta requisition for a model, and supplied the funds for making it--thusdemonstrating his confidence. Sam never had such a good time in hislife as when occupied with that model, and in his elation was inspiredto invent two notable improvements on the machine--which were promptlypatented. Then the model was despatched, receipt acknowledged, andnothing ensued for three or four months. Radville, which had beenwatching and wondering with open incredulity and dissatisfaction (thislatter because neither Graham nor Duncan would talk about the matter), concluded that the whole business had gone up in smoke, said "I told yeso, " and forgot it completely. Roland Barnette, I believe, drove thelast nail in the coffin of our expectations that anything would evercome of it, by writing to Burnham that Duncan's negotiations hadfailed, and inviting him to renew his offer if he thought it worthwhile. Presumably he didn't, for Roland received no reply, and told thetown so.... 

I don't remember just how soon it was, but it was shortly after theformation of the firm of Graham and Duncan that the young man receivedhis first invitation to dinner at the Lockwoods'. He accepted, ofcourse, whether he wanted to or not, for there could be no excuse forhis refusing a Sunday bid, and the Lockwoods made quite an event ofit. The Soules were invited, because they were Araminta Lockwood'sbrother and sister-in-law, and the Godfreys came over from Westerly tograce the board as representatives of the Lockwood strain. Also BenLockwood attended--Blinky's first cousin and senior. 

Duncan described the function in a letter to Kellogg as the time of hisyoung life. Undoubtedly it was in certain respects singular in hisexperience. The entire party walked home from church through a hotAugust noon, with that air of chastened joy common to a gathering ofrelations--an atmosphere of festive gloom and funeral baked meatspainfully enlivened by exhilarating jests from old Ben, who was aconnoisseur of vintages when it came to jokes. Duncan wishedfervently, first that he might expire; secondly, and with greaterintensity of feeling, that they all might die. Minta Lockwood, he felt, was slowly but expertly greasing him with adulation--as a pythonprepares its prey before dining (or is it a python?)--and he knew hewas presently to be swallowed alive. 

They dined protractedly. The meal, consisting of baked chicken, mashedpotatoes, boiled onions with cream sauce, boiled beets and green corn, followed by rhubarb pie and ice cream, was served by an independent, bony and red-faced specimen of the "help" genus. The atmosphere wasstifling, with the heat of the day thickened by the steam and odour ofcooked food. Duncan was seated consciously beside Josie--a circumstanceof which, in fact, everyone else seemed tolerantly aware. He writhed inimpotent agony, confronted alone by the consciousness he had broughtthis thing upon himself: it was a part of his punishment. 

At the conclusion of the meal, which endured throughout twointerminable hours, the elder menfolk withdrew to the garden and thelawn, where they strolled about, sleepy eyes glistening with repletion, until finally they disappeared, to each his doze. The ladiesforegathered in the parlour, conversing in undertones, with significantglances and liftings of their eyebrows. Nat was left to Josie, whoconducted him to the side porch, out of sight of everybody, and plantedherself in the baggy hammock there. She was gay, even brilliant withinher limitations, arch, naïve, coquettish, shy, petulant, by turns:animated by a sense of conquest. She supplied the major part of theconversation, chatting volubly on the thousand subjects she didn'tunderstand, the dozen she did. In the most ingenuous manner imaginableshe laid herself open to advances, not once, but a score of times; andwhen he failed to respond according to the code of Radville, had thewit to mask her chagrin, did she feel any: very probably she laid hislack of responsiveness at the door of his shyness (a quality he waswholly without) and liked him the better for it. 

It was on this day that she extracted from him his promise to join thechoir; he acceded through apathy alone. 

"I don't care whether you can sing or not, " she confessed, with a look. "But I do want somebody to walk home with me that ... I like. "

"That's a nice way of putting it, " Duncan considered without emphasis. 

"Roland Barnette's always walked home with me, but I think he's justtiresome. "

"Why?" inquired the young man, with some interest. 

She averted her head, plucking at the strands of the hammock. "Oh, _you_ know, " she said diffidently. 

"Oh?" Nat was enlightened. "Then I'm sorry for Roland. "

"Why?"

"I can't blame him, you know. " He couldn't help this: the time, theplace, the girl inspired, indeed incited, one to banality. 

"Why?" she persisted. 

"Oh, _you_ know. " He caught the intonation of her previous wordsprecisely. 

She had the grace to blush and hang her head; but he received athrilling sidelong glance. 

"Ah... Aren't you awful to talk that way, Mr. Duncan?"

"Yes, " he admitted meekly. 

"Then you will join the choir?" she pursued, failing to fathom themeaning of that humble acquiescence. Any other boy or man of heracquaintance would have taken her remark as openly provocative. 

"Oh, yes, " he agreed listlessly. 

"I'm so glad... "

He thanked her, but avoided her eye. 

"We might's well begin to-night, " she suggested presently, withdiffident, downcast eyes. 

"What--the choir?" He was startled. "Oh, I couldn't without arehearsal--"

"No, I didn't mean that... "

"No?"

"I mean about Roland. " She was paying minute attention to the laceinsertion of her skirt. From this circumstance he divined that he wason dangerous ground, but could not, in his stupidity, understand justwhat made it dangerous. 

"About Roland--?"

"Yes; I mean... You know what I mean, Mr. Duncan?"

"I assure you I do not, Miss Lockwood. "

"About not walking home with him any more. I don't want to. I wishyou'd commence to-night, instead of choir practice night. I'd muchrather walk home with you. "

"After evening service, you mean?" She nodded. "It'll be a greatpleasure. "

"Really?" She gave him her eyes now. 

"Really, " he assured her. 

"Ah, I don't believe you mean that!"

"But indeed I do.... "

It was not until nearly five o'clock that he was given a chance toescape. He had, even then, to refuse inflexibly an invitation to stayto supper. 

Minta Lockwood--an expansive woman, generously convex--almostsmothered him with appreciation of his thanks. She held his hand in alarge, moist palm and beamed upon him, saying: "Now't you know the way, Mr. Duncan.... "

"Yes, " Blinky insisted, blinking roguishly, "drop in any time. Take potluck. We're plain people, Mr. Duncan, but allus glad to see ourfriends. Drop in any time. "

Josie accompanied him to the front gate, where etiquette required himto linger for a parting chat.... 

"Good-bye. " The girl gave him her hand. "I'm real glad you came--atlast. "

"The pleasure has been all mine, " insisted the gallant bromide, fishingthe trite phrase desperately from the grey vacuity of his thoughts. "You won't forget?"

"Forget what?"

"About to-night?"

"Do you imagine I could?... "

Josie returned to the family conclave, to interrupt a symposium onDuncan's qualities. He was unanimously approved, on every point. Shetook no part in the conversation, but listened, aglow with the pride oftriumph, until old Ben chose to observe:

"He seems to've taken a right smart set for Josie. "

Then she rose, blushing, and tossed her pretty, pert head. "How you alldo talk!" she cried. "I'm not thinking about Mr. Duncan that way. " Andshe left the gathering. 

"You might's well begin now as later, " pursued her, accompanied bychucklings; and she tossed her head, but wasn't at all displeased, besure. 

Duncan wrote to Kellogg in his room that night after church: "I don'twant to sound immodest, but it looks as if you were right, old man:apparently there's nothing to it... 

"Probably I should have stayed on for supper, but I couldn't; I shouldhave choked. As it was, my soul was curdling. Another ten minutes and Ishould have jumped down on the lawn and run round the house on allfours, yapping and foaming at the mouth, and have wound up bybiting old Blinky.. 

"The worst of it all is, I know I'm ungrateful: I know they mean well. But why is it that people who mean well almost invariably grate uponyour sensibilities like the screeching of a slate-pencil?

"In this case, I suspect it's a case of when Snob meets Snob. A snob, Itake it, is a fellow who holds himself your superior because he looksat things in a different way. That counts me a snob in my mentalattitude toward the Lockwoods. I don't understand their conception oflife--wasn't brought up to understand it. And yet I know they're not abad sort, though they bore me to death what time I'm not laughing in mysleeve at them. Blinky, for instance, is an old screw, but he can'thelp that; he was born that way; and aside from the fact that money hasmade him snobbish toward his neighbours, he's a simple, honest, square-dealing (according to his lights) old Jasper. He's not snobbishtoward me, because I've got something he admires but can't understandand never can acquire; but he's a snob of the first water when it comesto somebody like this old prince I'm working for--Graham--and hisdaughter. And so is Josie.... 

"But I mustn't say mean things about my future spouse, I presume.... That is the great trouble with your infernal scheme, Harry: it seemsto be working like a charm, and now that I've got something to do I'mnot so strong for it as I was. But I gave you my word. ... Only, mindthis: if the rules prescribe a perpetual course of Sunday dinners, _en famille_, it's going to break down and turn out a natural-bornflivver. There are limits to human endurance, and I'm human, whateverelse I am not.... "

XVI

WHERE RADVILLE FEARED TO TREAD

Summer slumbered to its close, a drowsy autumn settled upon our valley, in which its traditional peace seemed but the more profound. The skiesdarkened to an ineffable intensity of blue; the livery of the fieldswas changed, green giving place to gold; the woodlands and lower slopesof our hills flamed with the scarlet of dying sumach, with the russetand orange and crimson of a foliage making merry against its moribundto-morrows; a drought parched the land, and our little river lessenedto a mere trickle of water. The daylight hours became sensiblyabbreviated; while they endured they were golden and warm and hazy:faint veils of purple shrouded the distances. Twilight fell early, itsair sweet with the tang of dead leaves raked into heaping bonfires bythe children of the town. The nights were long and cool, with a hint offrosts to come. Day dissolved into day almost imperceptibly. ... 

Josie Lockwood announced that she was going away to school in New Yorkfor the winter. Pete Willing took the pledge and kept it almost amonth. Will Bigelow secured time-tables and laboriously mapped out hissemi-annually contemplated trip to the East: like the othersdestined never to come off. Tracey Tanner went to work for Graham andDuncan. The _Citizen_ gained eighteen subscribers; four old onespaid up their accounts. Babies were born, people married and died, loved and hated, lived in striving or sloth, accomplished or failed. Roland Barnette paid ostentatious attentions to Bess Gabriel, whotolerated him simply because she didn't much like Josie; but, blightedby Josie's supreme indifference, this budding passion drooped andfailed by mutual consent of both parties concerned. Angie Tuthillbecame more conspicuously than ever the orb of Tracey's universe. Duncan walked home with Josie on two weekday evenings and twice onSundays, and learned how to play Halma and Parcheesi, as well as howlong to linger at the front gate in the gloaming, saying good-night. Eight young women of the town set their caps for him, at one time oranother and... Set them back again, because he was too blind to see. Asa body they united with the female element in Radville in condemningJosie for a heartless flirt, and sympathising with Nat, behind hisback, for being so nice and at the same time so easily taken in. Mrs. Lockwood gave a Bridge party which failed as such because Radville knewnot Bridge; but everybody went and played progressive euchre, instead. The drug-store prospered in moderation, Sothern and Lee vainlycontesting its conquering campaign. And Duncan grew thoughtful. 

One has more time to think unselfishly in Radville than in a greatcity, where there's rarely more time than enough to think of one's ownconcerns. And Duncan was making time to think about others--notably, Betty Graham. The girl was, as usual, shy, reticent, reserved; she kepther thoughts to herself, sharing the most intimate not even with oldSam, who _would_ talk; but Duncan divined that she was unhappy. The easier circumstances of the family had provided her with a fewsimple frocks, adequate clothing which she had gone without for years, and with a sufficiency of wholesome and appetising food: with these, peace of mind should likewise have come to her, and content. But Duncanthought they hadn't. Relieved, on Tracey's engagement, of any share inthe store service, she had only the housework for herself and father tooccupy her; her associations with the girls of her age were distant andconstrained. Usage wears into tradition in the Radvilles of our land;even with the young folks this is so; and in Betty's case, the girl hadfor so long been "out of it, " debarred by her unfortunate circumstancesfrom participation in the pastimes, pleasures and duties of hergeneration, that by common consent, unspoken but none the lessabsolute, she remained an outsider. You might say that she relied onher father alone for companionship. Duncan she avoided, unobtrusivelybut with pains; he consorted with those with whom she had nothing incommon, and she would not thrust herself upon him or seem to seek hisnotice. Her early suspicion and sullen resentment of his intrusion intotheir affairs had vanished; there remained only a gnawing consciousnessthat to him she was little or nothing, that his vision ranged above herhumble head. She was not the sort to take this ill; she was reasonableenough to believe it natural. But she would not willingly intrude uponhis thoughts--who little knew how much she did occupy his leisuremoments. 

He saw her go and come, a wistful shadow on the borders of hisoccupations, self-contained, a little timid, but at the same time bravein her own quiet, uncomplaining fashion. And the distant look in thosesoft eyes he divined to be one of longing for that which she might notpossess--the advantages that other girls had, socially andeducationally, the pleasures they contrived, the attentions theyreceived, the thousand and one slight things that make existence lifefor a woman. He saw her drooping insensibly day by day, growing alittle paler, a shade more aloof and listless. And he became infinitelyconcerned for her. 

He told himself he had solved the problem of her disease, but itsremedy remained beyond his reach. The business was doing very wellindeed, but it was still young and must be subjected to as fewfinancial drains as possible; as it ran, there was an income sufficientto board, lodge and clothe the three of them, maintain the credit ofthe partnership, and now and again admit of a slight but advantageousaddition to the stock or fixtures. Things would certainly be better inthe course of time, but... Kellogg he would not beg another dollar of, the bank was an equally impossible resource; there wasn't a chance in ahundred that Lockwood would refuse to accommodate the growing concernwith money in reason, but the concern, individually and collectively, would never ask it of him. There remained--?

It came to pass that he left the store early one evening, excusinghimself on the plea of some slight indisposition, and lost himself forthe space of two hours. I mean to say, that no one knew where he wentuntil long after. When he came home some time after ten he told me hehad been for a walk.... 

He found himself shortly after eight at pause by the gate to the Bohunplace. The night was dark and murmurous with a sibilant wind that sentthe leaves drifting, softly clashing one with another. At the far endof the straight brick walk, up through the formal grounds, he couldjust see the glimmer of the stately columns, and, between them, to oneside, a little twinkling light. The gate was closed, but he tried itand found it on the latch. He entered and scuffled up the walk, ankledeep in fallen leaves. His footfalls as he crossed the porch soundedstartlingly loud by contrast; he even fancied a note of indignation inthe cavernous echoes of the knocker on the front door. He waited with athumping heart, aware that he was venturing where even fools would fearto tread. 

An aged negro butler, one of the freed slaves brought from Virginia bythe Bohuns, admitted him to the hall and took his card, smothering hisown wonderment. For in those days nobody disturbed the silence and thepeace of decay of the Bohun mansion save its master. And Duncan hadlong to wait in the wide, gloomy, musty hall before the servantreturned. 

"Cunnul Bohun will see yo', suh, " he said, and ushered him into thelibrary--a great, high-ceiled, shadowy room illuminated by a singlelamp, tenanted by the old colonel alone. 

Bohun received the young man standing: he was as courteous beneath hisown roof as he was impossible away from it. A quaint old figure, withhis grey hair tousled and his dressing-gown draped grotesquely from hisshoulders, he stood by the fireplace, Duncan's card between hisfingers, and bowed ceremoniously. 

"Mr. Duncan, I believe?"

Nat returned the bow. "Yes, sir, " he said. "Will you be good enough topardon this intrusion, Colonel Bohun, and spare me five minutes of yourtime?"

The colonel nodded. "At your service, sir, " he replied, and waitedgrimly--perhaps not unsuspicious of the nature of his visitor's errand, since he could not have been ignorant of his place in Radville. 

Duncan had his own way of getting at things--generally more circuitousthan now, though he struck on a tangent sufficiently acute momentarilyto puzzle Bohun. 

"May I inquire, sir, if you are acquainted with the firm of L. J. Bartlett & Company of New York?"

"I have heard of it, Mr. Duncan, through the newspapers. "

"You know that it ranks pretty high, then, I presume?"

"I understand that such is the case. "

"Then would you mind doing me the favour of writing to Mr. HenryKellogg, the junior partner, and asking him about me?"

The colonel stiffened. "May I ask why I should do anything souncalled-for?"

"Because it isn't uncalled-for, sir. I mean, you won't think so afterI've explained. "

Bohun inclined his head, searching Nat's face with his keen, brighteyes. 

"You see, sir, it's this way: I want you to entrust me with aconsiderable sum of money, and naturally you wouldn't do that withoutknowing something about me. "

"I incline very much to doubt that I should do it in any event, Mr. Duncan. "

"Oh, don't say that. You don't know the circumstances, as yet. " Natjerked his head earnestly at the colonel. "You see, you're said to beone of the richest men in town, and I'm certainly one of the poorest, so of course I turn to you in a case like this. "

"In a case like what, Mr. Duncan?" Something in the young man's mannerseemed to tickle the colonel; Duncan could have sworn that the eyeswere twinkling beneath the savagely knitted brows. 

"Well, you must understand I'm in business here in Radville--a partnerin a growing and prospering concern--ah--doing--very well, in point offact. "

"Yes?"

"But we haven't any spare capital; in fact, we haven't got any capitalworth mentioning. But the business is entirely sound and solvent. "

"I congratulate you, sir. "

"Thank you very much.... Now I'm interested in a rather singularcase: that of a young woman--a girl, I should say--daughter of mypartner. She's a good girl and wonderfully sweet and fine, sir. Shecomes of one of the best families in these parts--"

"On her mother's side, " suggested the colonel drily. 

"So I'm told, sir. But she's been neglected. Circumstances have beenagainst her. She hasn't had a real chance in life, but she ought tohave it, and I'm going to see that she gets it, one way or another. "

"You haven't finished?" said the colonel coldly, as he paused forbreath and thought. 

"Not quite, sir, " said Duncan. "Good sign!" he told himself: "he hasn'tordered me thrown out yet. " And he hurried on, speaking quickly in thesemi-humorous style he had, more arresting to the attention thanabsolute gravity would have been. 

"To come down to cases, sir, she ought to be sent to a goodboarding-school for a few years. It'll make a new woman of her--a womanto be proud of. She's got that in her--it only needs to be broughtout. "

"And before you leave, sir, " said the colonel with significantprecision, "will you be so kind as to inform me why you think thisshould interest me?"

"No, " said Duncan candidly; "I haven't got the nerve to. But what Iwanted to propose was this: that you lend me five hundred dollars tocover the expense of the first year, on condition that I represent themoney as coming from the profits of the business and, in short, keepthe transaction between ourselves absolutely quiet. If you'll inquireof Mr. Kellogg he'll tell you I can be trusted to keep my word. Furthermore"--he galloped, suspecting that his time was perilouslyshort and desiring to get it all out of his system--"I'll guarantee yourepayment within a year, and that you shan't be annoyed this way asecond time. "

Bohun looked him over from head to foot, bowed in silence, andturning--both had stood throughout this passage--grasped a bell-rope bythe chimney, and pulled it violently. 

Duncan turned to the door, hat in hand, realising that he had hisanswer and was lucky to get away with one so mild. Only the emergencycould have spurred him to the point of so outrageous an impertinence. 

In the desolate fastnesses of that dreary house somewhere a belltinkled discordantly. A moment later the white-headed darky butleropened the door. 

"Suh?" he said. 

Colonel Bohun essayed to speak, cleared his throat angrily, andindicated Duncan with a courteous gesture. 

"Scipio, " said he, "this gentleman will have a glass of wine with me. "

"Yassuh!" stammered the negro, overcome with astonishment. 

Bohun turned to his guest. "Won't you be seated, Mr. Duncan?" he said. "You have interested me considerably, sir, and I should be glad todiscuss the matter with you. "

Speechless, Duncan gasped incoherently and moved toward a chair as theservant reappeared with a tray on which was a decanter of sherry andtwo old-fashioned, thin-stemmed crystal glasses. He placed this on thelibrary table, filled the glasses, and at a sign from Bohun retired. 

"Sir, " said the colonel, indicating the tray, "to you. "

"I--I thank you, sir. " Duncan lifted one of the glasses. Bohun took upthe one remaining, and held it toward his guest with the graciousgesture of a bygone day. 

"I hold it a privilege, sir, " he said, "to drink to the only gentlemanof spirit it's been my good fortune to meet this many a year. "

By way of an aside, it should be mentioned that this was the first andonly drink Duncan took while he lived in Radville. 

XVII

TRACEY'S TROUBLES

Probably nothing ever gave rise to more comment in Radville than BettyGraham's departure to spend the winter at a boarding-school nearPhiladelphia. Hardly anyone knew anything about it--in fact, the rumourof it was just being noised about and contemptuously discredited on allhands--when Tracey galloped down Main Street Monday morning with thenews that she had left on the early train. He himself had remained inignorance of the impending event until requested to carry Betty's bagdown to the station.... 

She left under convoy of a certain Mrs. Hamilton, who lived inPhiladelphia and had been visiting her cousin, Mrs. Will Bigelow. Duncan had met this lady at a church sociable and, apparently, taken aliking to her; for he prevailed upon her, via Sam Graham and WillBigelow, to see the girl safely to her school, after superintending thepurchase of a suitable wardrobe in Philadelphia. 

So Betty was gone--herself, I believe, no less surprised andincredulous than the rest of us. 

Radville was at first stupefied, then clamorous; but there was littleinformation to be got out of old Sam. I found him busy working on hisnew model and much preoccupied with that. When interrogated and givento understand that I would not be put off, he roused a bit, but beyondbeing unquestionably a very happy man, seemed himself slightly dazed bythe amazing circumstances. I learned from him that Nat had evidentlymade all his plans in advance, but had withheld his announcement ofthem until the Saturday prior to that Monday; and then he had fairlywhirled Betty and her father off their feet and left them no time tothink or to raise objections. 

"There's no use at all arguing with that boy, " Sam told me, with thefond smile that I was beginning to recognise as the invariableaccompaniment of his thoughts about Nat; "when he says a thing mustbe, it must. When he first came here I told him he was a wonderfulbusiness man, and he laughed at me, but now I know he is. Why, he gaveBetty a hundred dollars to buy clothes with in Philadelphia, and saidhe'd have more for her by Christmas, besides paying all the expenses ofthat school--which must be considerable. I don't see how the store'sgoing to stand the strain--though it's doing splendidly since he camein, splendidly!--but he says it's all right, and so it must be.... "

Duncan himself refused to be interviewed. He told everybody who hadthe impudence to mention the matter to him, that it was Mr. Graham'saffair: Mr. Graham was a substantial business man, he said, and if hechose to send his daughter away to school he had a perfect right to doso. I don't believe even Josie Lockwood got more than that out of him, for if she had we would have heard of it; and Josie was unmistakably alittle jealous, and undoubtedly questioned Nat. 

One direct result of it all was to hasten Josie's own leave-taking. Itwould never do to let the Grahams eclipse the Lockwoods, you see. Josiehad been talking of going to a school in Maryland, but Betty's move toa fashionable centre like Philadelphia made her change her mind; andarrangements were made by which Josie was able to go Betty one better:a young ladies' seminary in New York City itself received Josie. Sheleft us bereaved about a week after Betty vanished from our ken, butpromised to be back for the Christmas holidays--an announcement whichDuncan received with expressions of chastened joy, as he did herpromise to write to him regularly, in return for his covenant torespond promptly.... Betty, by the way, had made no such arrangement;but she wrote twice a week to old Sam, and I understand she neverfailed to include a message to Nat. 

Betty was happy, she protested in every communication, and whollycontent. She was getting along. The other girls liked her and she likedthem (these statements being made in the order of their relativeimportance). Lots of them, of course, were frightfully swell (Bettyannexed "frightfully" at school, by the by) and had all sorts ofclothes; but Betty was perfectly content with her modest outfit, andnone of the other girls seemed to mind how she dressed. They were allkind and nice, and she'd never had such a good time.... I quote theseexpressions from memory of Sam's digest of her letters. 

Of Josie I heard less; I know that Graham and Duncan's mail seldomlacked a personal communication to Duncan, postmarked at New York; ourpostmaster told me so. But Duncan was reticent, and the Lockwoods saidlittle. I gathered an impression that Josie was not altogether happyin her new surroundings.... One inferred there was a difference betweenNew York and Philadelphia, that one was less friendly and sociablethan the other. 

Josie kept her promise and came home for Christmas. She was reticent asto her impressions of the New York seminary, but seemed extremely gladto be home, notwithstanding the fact that Nat had apparently contractedno disturbing alliances with the other belles of our village. AndRoland remained true--a reliable second string to Josie's bow. Rolandwas working hard at the bank, with an application that earned BlinkyLockwood's regard and outspoken approbation; and his Christmas raimentproved the sensation of the season. But none of us believed he had anychance against Duncan: Josie's attitude toward the latter was suchthat we confidently anticipated the announcement of their engagementbefore she went away again. But it didn't come, for some reason. Webore up under the disappointment bravely, all things considered, sustained by a very secure feeling that the proclamation couldn't belong deferred. 

In passing, I should mention that Betty didn't come home oncethroughout the entire school term. The Christmas and Easter holidaysshe spent with a girl friend at her Philadelphia home. 

Meanwhile, life in our town simmered gently. Things went on much asthey might have been expected to. I don't recall much essential to thisnarrative, in the way of events; and part of the ground I've covered onearlier pages. Duncan continued to make progress: for one thing, Irecall that he put in hot soda with whipped cream, which helped a lotto hold the trade regained in the summer from Sothern and Lee. And hebought a new soda fountain, a very magnificent affair, installing it inthe early spring. Graham and Duncan's, in short, became a towninstitution: to it Radville pointed with pride.... 

He remained reserved, retiring, inconspicuous, and puzzling to ourunderstanding. In his effort (never very successful) to strike off theshackles of modern slang, he fell into a way of speech that bewilderedthose unable to realise what an abiding sense of humour underlay it--aswater runs beneath ice--more, I think, a matter of intonation andsignificant silences, than a mere play upon words and phrases; which, coupled with an unshakable sobriety of demeanour, furnished us withwonder and some admiration, but no resentment. We liked him prettywell and mostly unanimously: he was a good fellow, if queer; entitledto his idiosyncrasy, if he chose to keep one.... 

There was a certain night, by way of illustration--a bitter night, along toward the first of January--when trade was dull, as it always isafter Christmas, and there was nobody in the store save Nat and Tracey. Each had their task, whatever it may have been, and each was busiedwith it, but of the two Tracey seemed the more restless. His ample, iflow, forehead was decidedly corrugated; his always rosy face owned anadded trace of scarlet--a flush of perturbation; his chubby hands wereinexpert, clumsy. He stumbled, fumbled, forgot and (in our homelyphrase) flummoxed generally; his mind was elsewhere, and his hands andfeet went anywhere but where they should have gone: a condition whicheventually excited Duncan's attention. 

He broke a long silence in the store. "What's the trouble, Tracey?"

Tracey pulled up with a stare of confusion. "I--I dunno, Mr. Duncan; Iwas thinkin', I guess. "

"Anything gone wrong?"

"Not yet. " Niobe would have made the response with a greater show ofcheer. 

Duncan looked up curiously, struck by the boy's tone. "Somebody beendemonstrating that your doll's stuffed with sawdust, Tracey?"

"No-o, but... "

"Well?"

"Say, Mr. Duncan--" Tracey's confusion became terrific. 

"Say on, Mr. Tanner. "

The interjection diverted Tracey's train of thought to aninconsiderable siding. "I only called you Mr. Duncan, " he said, aggrieved, "'cause you're my boss. "

"That's a poor excuse, Tracey. You call Mr. Graham 'Sam, ' and he'slikewise your boss. "

"I know. But it's diff'runt. "

"I don't see it. Even Nats have their place in the cosmic system, Tracey. "

"I dunno what that is, but you ain't like Sam. "

"The loss is mine, Tracey. Proceed. "

"But, Mr. Duncan... "

"I beg of you, speak to me as to a friend. "

Tracey struggled perceptibly. The words, when they came, were blurted. "Ah... I was only thinkin' 'bout Angie. "

"Do you ever think about anything else?"

"No, " Tracey admitted honestly, "not much. But I was wonderin'--"

"Well?"

"Are you stuck on Angie, Mr. Duncan?" demanded Tracey desperately. 

"Great snakes! I hope not!" Duncan cast an anxious glance about him, and discovered the poster depicting the gentleman in strange attirevainly endeavouring to free his overcoat (I believe it's his overcoat)from the bench upon which a pot of glue has been spilled. He lifted areverent hand to the card. "Tracey, " he said solemnly, "I swear to youthat not even that indispensable article of commerce could stick me onAngie. "

The boy sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Duncan. I was only worryin' because youand Angie is singin' together in the choir, now Josie Lockwood's goneto school, an'--an' Angie's the purtiest girl in town--and I was 'fraid't you might like her best, when Josie's away. An' I wanted to ask youto pick out s'mother girl. "

Duncan chuckled silently. "Tracey, " he said presently, "it strikes meyou must be in love with Angie. "

The boy gulped. "I--I am. "

"And I think she's rather partial to you. "

"Do you, really, Mr. Duncan?"

"I do. Do you want to marry her?"

"Gee! I can't hardly wait!... Only, " Tracey continued, disconsolate, "it ain't no use, really. She's so purty and swell and old manTuthill's so rich--not like the Lockwoods, but rich, all the same--an'I'm only the son of the livery-stable man, an' fat an'--all that--an'--"

"Nonsense, Tracey!" Nat interrupted firmly. "If you really want her andwill follow the rules I give you, it's a cinch. "

"Honest, Mr. Duncan?"

"I guarantee it, Tracey. Listen to me.... " And Duncan expoundedKellogg's rules at length, adapting them to Tracey's circumstances, ofcourse; and throughout maintained the gravity of a graven image. "Youtry, and you'll see if I'm not right, " he concluded. 

"Gosh! I b'lieve you are!" Tracey cried admiringly. "I'm just going tosee how it works. "

"Do, if you'd favour me, Tracey. "

Tracey was quiet for a time, working with the regularity of a mindrelieved. But presently he felt unable to contain himself. Gratitudesurged in his bosom, and he had to speak. 

"Sa-y, lis'en.... "

"Proceed, Tracey. "

"Say, Mist--Nat, you've treated me somethin' immense. "

"Your mistake, Tracey. I haven't treated anybody since I've been here:I'm on the wagon. "

"I mean just now, when we was talkin' 'bout me an' Angie. I'd--I'd liketo help you the same way, if I could. "

"You would?" Duncan eyed the boy apprehensively, wondering what wascoming. 

"Yes, indeedy, I would. An' p'rhaps I kin tell you somethin' thatwill. " "Speak, I beg. "

"You--er--you're tryin' to court Josie Lockwood, ain't you?"

"Oh!" said Nat. "So that was it! That's a secret, Tracey, " he averred. 

"All right. Only, if you are, she's your'n. "

"Just how do you figure that out?"

"Oh, I kin tell. She was in here to-night with Roland. "

"To-night?"

"Yes, just afore you come home from prayer-meetin'. She was lookin'for you, and when she seen you wasn't here, she wouldn't wait for nosoda nor nothin'. Said she had a headache an' was goin' home. Rolandwent with her, but she didn't want him to. You just missed seein'her. "

"Heavens, what a blow!"

"But Roland's takin' her home needn't upset you none. "

"Thank you for those kind words, Tracey. " Nat sighed and passed atroubled hand across his brow. "You're a true friend. "

"I'm tryin' to be, Nat, same's you are to me. " Tracey thought thisover. "But you ain't foolin' me, are you?" he asked presently. "I mean'bout bein' a true friend?"

"Why should I?"

"Ah, I dunno. You're so cur'us, sometimes. I ain't never sure whetheryou mean what you're sayin' or not. "

"Oh, don't say that. "

"Well, I ain't the only one. Everybody in town says they don'tunderstand you, half the time. "

Duncan left his counter and moved over to that at which Tracey wasoccupied. His face was entirely serious, his manner deeplysympathetic. "Tracey, " he said, dropping a hand on the boy's shoulder, "do you know, nothing in life is harder to bear than not to beunderstood?"

Tracey wrestled with this for a moment, but it was beyond him. 

"Then why the hell don't you talk so's folks'll know what it's about?"he demanded heatedly. 

"Because... _Hm_. " Duncan hesitated, with his enigmatic smile. "Well, because the rules don't require it. "

"What d'you mean by _that_?" Tracey exploded. 

Nat couldn't explain, so he countered neatly. "This is one of yourAngie... Evenings, isn't it, Tracey?"

"Yep, but--"

"Well, you hurry along. I'll close up the shop. "

Tracey had slammed on his hat and was struggling into his overcoatalmost as soon as the words were out of Nat's mouth. 

"Kin I?" he cried excitedly. 

"Yes, " said Nat, watching the boy turn up his collar and button hisovercoat to the throat, "I haven't got the heart to keep you. "

"Ah, thanks, Mr. Duncan. "

"But, Tracey... "

The boy paused at the door. "What?"

"Remember what I told you. Don't you make too much love. Let Angie dothat. "

"Gosh, that'll be the hardest rule of all for me!" A shadow cloudedTracey's honest eyes. "But I got to do it that way, anyway. I can'task her to marry me yit. I can't afford to get married. "

"It's a contrary world, Tracey, a contrary world!" sighed Nat in a toneof deepest melancholy. 

"What makes you say that? You kin git married's soon's you want to. "

"You think so, Tracey?"

"All you got to do's ask Josie--"

"I'm almost afraid you're right. "

"Why? Don't you want to git married?"

"Well"--Nat smiled--"no. Don't believe I do. Not just now, at anyrate. "

"Well, you don't have to if you don't want to.... G'd-night. "

"Yes, I do, " Nat told Tracey's back. "The rules say so. If the girlasks me, I must. "

He grimaced ruefully beneath his wisp of a moustache. "Anyhow, I've gota few months left.... "

XVIII

A BARGAIN IS A BARGAIN

So the winter wore away.... And as spring drew nigh upon our valley, Duncan seemed to grow perturbed, even as he had been in the autumnbefore Betty went away. He was pondering another scheme for thebetterment of the condition of those he cared for, and gave it ampleconsideration before he broached it to old Sam, after swearing him tosecrecy. 

He had to propose nothing more or less than an abandonment of the oldGraham housekeeping quarters above the store and a removal of the_ménage_ bodily to a vacant house on Beech Street, near the store, which could be rented, partly furnished, at a moderate rate. 

To begin with (thus ran his argument) the store itself was growing toosmall for the volume of business it commanded. More room was needed, both for storage and laboratory purposes, to say nothing ofaccommodation for Sam's models and work-bench. The latter had alreadybeen moved upstairs for the winter, the shed in the backyard being toocold to work in; and the laboratory end of the business was growing atsuch a rate that it was crowding the prescription counter to thewall--so to speak. You see, there really wasn't a more cleveranalytical chemist in the northern part of the State than Sam Graham, and now that the drug-store was becoming an influence in theneighbourhood he was receiving commissions from physicians operating indistricts as far as fifty miles away. So a room was needed for thatbranch of the business alone. 

Moreover, a separate residence distinctly befitted the dignity of aman who was at once a prominent inventor and one of Radville's leadingmerchants (vide a "Personal" in the late issue of the Radville_Citizen_), to say nothing of the social position of hisdaughter--meaning Betty. And the house Duncan had his metaphorical eyeupon was large enough to shelter Nat himself in addition to the Grahamfamily. Thus they might pool their living expenses to the economicaladvantage of each. 

Finally, it would be a great and glad surprise for Betty on herhomecoming. 

Graham fell in with the scheme without a murmur of dubiety or dissent. Whatever Nat proposed in Sam's understanding was right and feasible;and even if it wasn't really so, Nat would make it so.... They engagedthe house and moved. Miss Ann Sophronsiba Whitmarsh, a maiden lady offorty-five or thereabouts, popularly known as "Phrony, " had been comingin by the day to "do for" old Sam in the rooms above the shop. She wasengaged as resident housekeeper for the new establishment, and enteredupon her duties with all the discreet joy of one whose maternalinstincts have been suppressed throughout her life. She mothered Samand she mothered Nat and she panted in expectation of the day when shewould have Betty to mother. Incidentally, she was one of the besthousekeepers in Radville, and cooperated with all her heart with Natin the task of making a home out of the new house. They arranged anddisarranged and rearranged and discarded old furniture and bought newwith almost the abandon of a newly married couple fitting out theirfirst home.... It was surprising what they managed to accomplish withit; when they were finished, there wasn't a prettier nor a morehome-like residence in all Radville--and Phrony Whitmarsh was Nat'sslave, even as Miss Carpenter had been. She gave him all the credit foreverything praiseworthy about the place: and with some reason; for, asa matter of fact, he had spared himself not at all in the business ofscheming and contriving to make the new home suitable for thereception of Betty Graham.... 

It's interesting when one has come to my time of life, to sit andspeculate on the singular mental blindness of mortal man, such as thatwhich kept Nat unaware of the real, rock-bottom reason why he wasworking so hard on the Beech Street house. I daresay the young idiotthought his motives as much selfish as anything else--told himself thathe wanted a comfortable home--and this was his way of securing one--andall that rot. At all events, he told me as much, quite seriously--seemed to believe it himself; and this, in spite of the fact that MissCarpenter had done everything imaginable to make him comfortable.... 

Josie Lockwood came home again for the Easter holidays, but didn'treturn to finish her term in the New York school. Just why, we neverdiscovered: the Lockwoods furnished us with no really satisfyingexplanation; they said that Josie didn't like New York, but I've alwaysdoubted that, especially since Josie married and insisted on movingstraightway to that metropolis. I suspect she didn't get along withthe class of young women with whom she was thrown at school, and I'mpretty certain she was uneasy about Nat all the time she was so faraway from him. Anyway, she elected to remain in Radville and keep theyoung man dancing attendance on her day in and out. Which he did, as induty bound; he liked the game less and less all the time, but Kelloggheld his promise.... 

It was during this period, between the Easter vacation and the end ofthe spring school term, that Roland Barnette's animosity toward Duncanbecame virulent. Looking back, I can recall the symptoms of his waxinghostility--as, for instance, the evening he spent in the_Citizen_ office, poring over back files of our exchanges. Thatseemed innocent enough at the time, a harmless freak on the part of theyoung man, and no one paid much attention to it; but it led to greatthings, in the end, and incidentally did Duncan a service whichprobably could have been accomplished through no other agency. This, however, is something that Roland doesn't realise to this day; and I'minclined to doubt if you could ever make him understand it. 

Josie, of course, was prompt to oust Angie Tuthill from her place inthe choir. After that she sang with Nat on Friday nights as well asWednesdays and twice per Sunday. Between whiles she was a prettyconstant patron of the store. There was no longer the least doubt inthe collective mind of the town as to the inclination of Josie'saffections. Nat himself gave evidence of his appreciation of thegravity of the situation, managing by some admirable diplomacy to evadethe issue until the very last moment. But with the three--Roland, Nat, and Josie--so involved, we sensed a storm below the horizon, andawaited its breaking, if not with avidity, at least with quickenedapprehension. 

The culmination came the day before Betty was to return--a day late inMay, I remember, and a Friday at that. 

It began along toward evening. Duncan, alone in the store, was busybehind the prescription counter. The day had been humid, warm andsultry, and the doors and windows were open. The air was bland andstill, and sound travelled easily. He could hear the musical clankingof hammers in Badger's smithy, on the next block, the deep-throated_hoot-toot_ of the late afternoon train as it rushed down thevalley, sounds of fierce altercation from the home of Pete Willing nearby, a boy rattling a stick along palings down on Main Street.... But hedid not hear anybody enter the store: absorbed with his task, hethought himself quite alone until a well-kenned voice reached his ear. 

"Well!" it said, unctuous with appreciation of the sight of him. "_Old_ Doctor Duncan!"

He let the pestle fall from his hand and jumped as if he had been stuckwith a pin. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. "Great Scott!" hecried; and in a twinkling was round the counter, throwing himself intothe arms of a man whom he hailed ecstatically: "Harry, by all that'swonderful!" He fairly danced with delight. "Henry Kellogg, Esquire!"he cried, holding him at arms' length and looking him over. "What inthunderation are you doing here?"

Kellogg freed himself, only to seize both Nat's hands and squeeze themviolently. "Wanted to see you, " he replied, beaming. "On my way toCincinnati on business--thought I'd drop off for a night and size youup. My, but it's good to get a look at you! How are you?"

"Me? Look at me--picture of health. Harry, you've made a new man ofme. " Duncan pranced round his friend in a mild frenzy. "No booze--nosmokes--no swears--work! I feel like a two-year-old: I could do aMarathon without turning a hair. Watch me kick up my heels and neigh!"He paused for breath. "And you?"

"Fine as silk--but you've got it on me, Nat, physically. You're a sightto heal the blind. "

"And listen!" Nat crowed: "I'm a business man. Didn't you believe it?Pipe my shop!"

Kellogg checked to obey the admonition of Duncan's gesticulations, andtook a long look round the store. "Gad!" said he. "I'm blowed if itisn't true! It _was_ hard to credit your letters. But it's great, old man. I congratulate you, with all my heart. "

"Just wait and I'll tell you all about it. But first tell me how longyou're going to be here. "

"Well, I plan to hang around with you a couple of days. My business inthe West isn't pressing. "

"Good!"

"Which is the least worst hotel?"

"There ain't no such thing in the whole giddy town.... No, none of thathotel stuff, now I I'm going to put you up--and I'll do it in style, too. I wrote you about taking a new place for the Grahams?"

"Yes, and I'm mighty keen to meet 'em. The girl here?"

"Betty? No; she's coming home to-morrow. But Graham himself is upstairsin the laboratory. Take you up in a minute, but not before I've had agood look at you. "

Kellogg found himself a chair. "Well, " he inquired, twinkling, "how'sthe scheme working out? Are you really living up to all the rules?"

"Every singletary one. "

"You have got a strong constitution.... Even prayer-meetings?"

"The church thing? Honest, Harry, I _own_it. "

"Bully for you, Nat. But how does it work? Was I right?"

"I should say you were. It's so easy it's a shame to do it. If thisthing ever should get into the papers there'd be a swarm of city menlighting out for the Rube centres so thick you wouldn't be able to seethe sky. "

"I knew it! Trust your Uncle Harry. " Kellogg waited a time for furtherparticulars, but Duncan seemed stuck; his transports of the fewminutes just gone were sensibly abated; and the sidelong look he gaveKellogg was both uneasy and rueful--apprehensive, indeed. So Kellogghad to pump for news. "And you've made a strong play for the fondaffections of Lockwood's daughter?"

"Certainly not!"

"Not--?"

"You forget your rules. " Nat grinned, whimsical. "I let her to make aplay for me. "

"Of course. My mistake.... But how has it worked?"

"Oh! immense. " Duncan's tone, however, was wholly destitute ofenthusiasm. He stuck his hands in his trousers' pockets and half turnedaway from his friend, looking out of the window. 

Kellogg smiled secretly. "You mean you've won her already?"

"Oh, there's nothing to it, " said Duncan, shaking his head and meaningjust the exact opposite of what his words conveyed, for of such is ourmodern slang. 

"Then you're engaged?" Kellogg had understood perfectly, you see. 

"No, not _yet_. I've got two months left--almost. "

"So you have. And since she's so strong for you, there's no hurry: lether take her time. "

"I only wish she would. " Duncan removed one hand from the pocket thebetter to tug at his moustache. "It's got beyond that--to the pointwhere I have to keep dodging her. "

"You don't mean it! That's splendid. " Kellogg got up and slapped Nat'sshoulder heartily. "But don't overdo the dodging. She might get herback up. "

"Not she. She'd eat out of my hand, if I'd let her. You don'tunderstand. "

"What's the matter, then? Aren't you strong for her?"

"I wish I were. "

"But why? Is there another----?"

"No. " Nat shook his head, honestly believing he was telling the truth. "Only ... I don't look at things the way I did once. "

"Just what do you mean by that?"

Nat, squaring himself to face Kellogg, was very serious, now, andtroubled. "See here, Harry, " he said: "do you really want me to carryout the rest of the agreement?"

"Most certainly I do. Why not?"

"Because I'm pretty well fixed here. The business is making good--andso am I. It won't be long before I can pay you back, with interest, aswe agreed, without having to marry that poor girl and ... And draw onher money to make good to you. "

"You want to go back on our agreement?" demanded Kellogg, with a showof disappointment and disgust. 

"Yes and no. I won't break faith with you, if you insist, but I'd givea lot if you'd let me off--let me pay back what you advanced and cryquits.... When you outlined this scheme I was down and three timesout--willing to take a chance at anything, no matter how contemptible. Now... Well, it's different. "

"Good heavens! You don't mean you'd be willing to _live_ here?"

Nat smiled, but not mirthfully. "I don't know, " he hesitated; "I'mafraid I'm beginning to like it. "

"You, Nat?" Kellogg's amazement was unfeigned. "You, ready to spendyour life here slaving away in this measly store?"

Duncan grunted indignantly. "Hold on, now. Don't you call this a measlystore. There isn't a more complete drug-store in the State!"

"Do you hear that?" Kellogg appealed vehemently to the universe atlarge. "Is it possible that this is Nat Duncan, the fellow who hatedwork so hard he couldn't earn a living?... Gad, I believe I've arrivedjust in time!"

"In time for what?"

"To save you from yourself, old man. Here's the heiress you came hereto cop out, ready and anxious, everything else coming your way and ... And you're more than half inclined to back out.... You make me tired. "

"I suppose I must. But I can't help it. I can't make you see how thething looks to me. You know--I've written you all about everything--what this place has meant to me. Until I came here I never realised itwas in me to make good at anything. But here I have; I'm doing so wellthat I'd actually have some self-respect if I wasn't bound to play thislow-down trick on Josie Lockwood. I've worked and succeeded and beenof some service to people who were worth it----"

"Who? Sam Graham?"

"He and his daughter----"

"Oh, his daughter!"

"Now get that foolish idea out of your head; there's nothing in it. Betty's just a simple, sweet little girl, who's had a pretty hard timeand never a real chance in life--until I managed to give it to her. AndI'd feel pretty good about that if ... Oh, there's no use talking toyou!"

"No; go on; you're very entertaining. " Kellogg laughed mockingly. 

"Well, I have tried to keep to the terms of our understanding; Isingled out this Lockwood girl and worked all the degrees--didn't saymuch, you know--no love-making--just let her catch me looking sadlyat her once in a while... "

"That's the way to work it. "

"Yes, that's the way, " Nat assented gloomily. "But the longer I keep itup the meaner I feel and... I wish you'd agree to call it off. ... These Rubes at first struck me as being nothing but a lot of jayfreaks, but when I got to know them I realised they were just as humanas we are. I like them now and... On the level, I'm getting kind ofstuck on church.... As for work, why, I eat it up!"

Kellogg laughed with delight "Nat, " he cried, "my poor crazy friend, listen to me: This working and church-going and helping old Graham isall very noble and fine, and I'm glad you've done it. This drug-storeis a monument to the business ability that I always knew was latent inyou. And clean living hasn't done you any harm.... But now you're dueto come down to earth. This place pays you a neat profit. Well andgood! That's all it'll ever do. It's new to you now and you like thenovelty and you're having the time of your life finding out you're goodfor something. But pretty soon it'll begin to stale on you, and beforelong you'll find yourself hating it and the town--and then you'll beback where you started. Now, I'm going to hold you to our bargain foryour own sake. If you're stuck on the town and the work you can keepright on just as well after you're married; but when you do begin totire of it, you'll want that fortune to fall back on and do what youlike with. Don't let this chance slip--not on your life!"

"But, " Nat argued feebly, "think of the injustice to the girl. Fromthe way I've behaved since I struck this burg she thinks I'm closelyrelated to the saints. "

"Very well, then; I'll concede a point. If you really think you'retaking a mean advantage of her, when she proposes to you tell her allabout yourself--just the sort of a chap you've been. You needn'tmention our agreement, however. Then if she wants to drop you, I'llhave nothing to say. "

"Thank you for nothing, " said Duncan bitterly. "A bargain's a bargain. I gave you my word of honour I'd go through with this thing, and I'llstick to it. But I tell you now, I don't like it. "

"Oh, I know how you feel, Nat. But I _know_ that some day you'llcome to me and say: 'Harry, if you had let me back out, I'd never haveforgiven you. '"

"All right, " said Nat impatiently. "I presume you know best. "

"You can bet I do. And now I'd like to meet old Graham. "

"I'll take you right up--no, I can't. Here comes a customer. But youjust go through that door and upstairs; he'll be in the laboratory--thefront room--and he knows all about you. I'll join you just as soon asTracey gets back. "

XIX

PROVING THE PERSPICUITY OF MR. KELLOGG

A customer came and went, and then Nat noticed that twilight wasbeginning to darken the store. Though the hour wasn't late and theevenings were long at that season, the windows faced the east, andthere were huge, overshadowing elms outside--just then heavy withluxuriant foliage; so dusk was always early in the room. 

It was one of Nat's axioms that a store, to be successful, should bealways brilliantly lighted. It was a bit expensive, perhaps, but in thelong run it paid. For that reason he installed electric light as soonas he felt the business could afford it. 

Now he moved to the windows and switched on the bulbs behind the hugeglass jars filled with tinted water. Returning, he was about to connectup the remainder of the illuminating system, when Josie, entering, stayed him. Later he was glad of this. 

"Nat... "

He knew that voice. "Why, Josie!" he exclaimed in surprise, swingingabout to discover her standing on the threshold--very dainty andfetching, indeed, in one of the summery frocks she had brought backfrom New York. 

She moved over to him, holding out her hand. He took it with disguisedreluctance. "Where's Tracey?" she asked with a look that first held hiseyes, then reviewed the store. 

"This is his afternoon off, " Nat reminded her. 

"Then you're all alone?" she deduced archly. 

"Oh, quite.... "

"I'm so glad. " She sighed and dropped into a chair by the soda-watercounter. "I wanted to see you--to talk to you alone. "

He bit his lip in his annoyance, shivering with a presentiment. "Whatabout, Josie?"

"About Wednesday night--after prayer meeting. Why didn't you wait forme?"

"Why--ah--I had to get back to the store, you know--there were somecheques to be made out and sent off, and I'd forgotten them. Besides, "he added on inspiration, "you were talking with Roland and I didn'twant to interrupt you. "

"So you left me to go home with him?"

"Why, what else--"

"You're making me awful' unhappy. " Her voice trembled. 

"_I_, Josie?"

"Yes. You knew I didn't want to walk home with Roland. "

"How could I know that?"

"I should think you ought to know it, Nat, unless you're blind. Besides, I told you once. "

"True, " he fenced desperately, "but that was a long time ago; and howcould I be sure you hadn't changed your mind? Besides, you know, Imustn't monopolise you. If I do.... "

"Well?" she inquired sweetly as he paused on the lip of a break. 

"Why, if I do--ah--"

"If you're afraid people will talk about us, seeing us so muchtogether, you needn't worry. They're doing that now. "

"Why, Josie!"

"Yes, they are. We've been going together so long, and then suddenlyyou don't seem to care about--care to be alone with me at all. Thisis the first chance I've had to talk to you, when there wasn't somebodyelse round, for I don't know how long. And even now you don't seem gladto see me. "

"You should _know_ I am.... "

"You don't act like it. "

"It's so unexpected, " he muttered wretchedly. 

"You didn't really think I wanted Roland Barnette to go home with meWednesday night, did you, Nat?"

"It seemed so, but ... That's all right. Why shouldn't you?"

She turned to him, trembling a little. "Must I tell you, Nat?"

"O, no!" he cried in dismay. "Please don't----!"

"I see I must, " she persisted. "You're so blind. It----"

"Josie, don't say anything you'll be sorry for, " he entreated wildly. 

"I can't help it: I've got to. It was--it was because I wanted to bewith you.... There!" she gasped, frightened by her own forwardness. 

"Now I've said it!"

Duncan grasped frantically at straws. "But you don't really mean it, Josie: you know you don't, " he floundered. "You're just saying thatbecause you--you have such a kind heart and--ah--don't want to hurtme--ah--because----"

She stemmed the flood of his protestations with a hand on his arm. "Nat, " she said gently, looking up into his face, "would it make youhappy to know I really meant it?"

"Why--ah--why shouldn't it, Josie?"

"Then please believe me, when I say it. "

"But I do believe it. I... " He stammered and fell still. 

"Because I do like you, Nat, very much, and--and it's very hard for meto know that folks think I'm pursuing you and that you're trying toavoid me. "

"Josie!" he exclaimed reproachfully. 

"Well, that's the way it looks, " she affirmed plaintively. "You don'twant it to, do you?"

"Why, no; of course I don't. "

"Then why don't you stop it?" She watched his face, her manner coy andyielding. "Nat, " she said in a softer voice, "if you like me as well asI like you----"

He moved away a pace or two. "Ah, child!" he said, with a feeling thatthe term was not misapplied, somehow, "you don't know what you'resaying. "

"Yes, I do. " She pouted. "I don't believe you... Care anything aboutme. "

"Oh, Josie, please----"

"Well, anyway, you've never told me so. " She turned an indignantshoulder to him. 

"How could I?"

"Why couldn't you?"

"But don't you see that I shouldn't, Josie?" He turned back to herside, looked down at her, pleaded his defence with the fire ofdesperation. 

"Just think: you are an only daughter. " Just what this had to do withthe case was not plain even to him. "An only daughter, " he repeated--"ah--not only your father's only daughter, but your mother's onlydaughter. Your father--ah--is my friend. How unfair it would be to him. "

But the girl interrupted with decision. "But papa wants you to... Hetold me so. "

He could only pretend not to understand. "But consider, Josie: you arerich, an heiress: I'm a poor man. Would you like it to be said I wasafter your money?"

"No one would dare say such a thing, " she asserted with profoundconviction. 

"Oh, yes, they would. You don't know the world as I do. And for all youknow, they might be right. How do you know that------"

"Nat!" A catch in her voice stopped him. "Don't say such horrid things!I could tell: a woman always can. I know you would be incapable of sucha thing. Papa knows it, too. No one has ever got ahead of papa, and_he_ says you are a fine, steady, Christian man, and he wouldrather see me your wife than any------"'

"Josie!"

The interjection was so imperative that she was silenced. "Why, what, Nat?" she asked, rising. 

"The time has come, " he declared; "you must know the truth. "

"Oh, Nat!"

"I'm _not_ what you think me, " he continued, dramatic. 

_"Oh, Nat!"_

"Nor what your father thinks me, nor what anybody else in this townthinks me. I'm not a regular Christian--it's all a bluff: I didn'tknow anything about a church till I came here. I smoke and I drink andI swear and I gamble, and I only cut them all out in order to trick youinto caring for me!"

"Oh, Nat, I don't believe it. "

"Alas, Josie!" he protested violently, "it's true, only too true!"

"But you did it to win my love, Nat?"

"Ye-es. " He saw suddenly that he had made a fatal mistake. 

"Then, Nat, I will be your wife in spite of all!"

He found himself suddenly caught about the neck by the girl's arms. Hishead was drawn down until her cheek caressed his and he felt her lipswarm upon his own. 

"Josie!" he gasped. 

"Nat, my darling!"

With a supreme effort he pulled himself together and embraced the girl. "Josie, " he said earnestly, "I--I'm going to try to be a good husbandto you.... And that, " he concluded, _sotto voce_, "wasn't in theagreement!"

She held him to her passionately. "Dearest, I'm so glad!"

"It makes me very happy to know you are, Josie, " he murmured miserably. And to himself, while still she trembled in his embrace: "What a curyou are!... But I won't renege now; I'll play my hand out on thesquare, with her.... "

Upon this tableau there came a sudden intrusion. The back door openedand Graham came in, Kellogg at his heels. It was the voice of thelatter that told the two they were discovered: a hearty "Hello! What'sthis?" that rang in Nat's ears like the trump of doom. 

In a flash the girl disengaged herself, and they were a yard apart bythe time that Graham, blundering in his surprise, managed to turn onthe lights at the switchboard. But even in the full glare of them heseemed unable to credit his sight. 

"Why, Nat!" he quavered, coming out toward the guilty pair. "Why, Nat... !"

Duncan took a long breath and Josie's hand at one and the same time. "Mr. Graham, " he said coolly, "I'm glad you're the first to know it. Josie has just ask--agreed to be my wife. "

Old Sam recovered sufficiently to take the girl's hand and pat it. "I'mmighty glad, my dear, " he told her. "I congratulate you both with allmy heart. "

"And so will I, when I have the right, " Kellogg added, smiling. 

"Oh, I forgot. " Nat hastened to remedy his oversight. "Josie, this ismy dearest friend, Mr. Kellogg; Harry, this is Miss Lockwood. "

Josie gave Kellogg her hand. "I--I, " she giggled--"I'm pleased to meetyou, I'm sure. "

"I'm charmed. I've heard a great deal of you, Miss Lockwood, from Nat'sletters, and I shall hope to know you much better beforelong. "

"It's awful' nice of you to say so, Mr. Kellogg. "

"And, Nat, old man!" Kellogg threw an arm round Duncan's shoulder. "Icongratulate you! You're a lucky dog!"

"I'm a dog, all right, " said Nat glumly. 

"But we mustn't disturb these young people, Mr. Kellogg, " Graham brokein nervously. 

"They'll--they'll have a lot to say to one another, I'm sure; so we'lljust run along. I'm taking Mr. Kellogg up to the house, Nat. You'llfollow us as soon as you can, won't you?"

"Yes--sure. "

"I've got some news for you, too, that'll make you happy. "

"Never mind about that; it'll keep till supper, Mr. Graham. " Kellogglaughed, taking the old man's arm. "Good-bye, both of you--good-bye fora little while. "

"Good-bye... "

"Wasn't that terrible!" Josie turned back to Nat when they were alone. "I think it was real mean of Mr. Graham to turn on all the lightsthat way, " she simpered. "Somebody else might've seen. "

"Yes, " agreed the young man, half distracted; "but of course I daren'tturn them off again. "

"Never mind. We can wait. " Josie blushed. 

"I'll just sit here and wait--we can talk till Tracey comes, and thenyou can walk home with me. "

"Yes, that'll be nice, " he agreed, but without absolute ecstasy. 

Fortunately for him, in his temper of that moment, Pete Willing reeledinto the shop, two-thirds drunk, with his face smeared with blood froma cut on his forehead. 

"'Scuse me, " he muttered huskily. "Kin I see you a minute, Doc?"

He reeled and almost fell--would have fallen had not Duncan caught hisarm and guided him to a chair. "Great Scott, Pete!" he cried. "What'shappened to you?"

"M' wife... " Pete explained thickly. 

XX

ROLAND SHOWS HIS HAND

"Perhaps I'd better go. " Josie, fluttering with alarm and a littlepale, went quickly to the door. 

Duncan followed her a pace or two. "I can't leave just now, " hestammered. 

"I don't mind one bit. I don't want to be in the way. I'll telephonefrom home.... Good-night, dearest!" On tiptoes she drew his face downto hers and kissed him. "I'm so happy... "

Half dazed, Nat stared after her until her lightly moving figure mergedwith the shadows beneath the trees and was lost. Then, with a sigh, heturned back to Pete. 

The sheriff had undoubtedly suffered at the hands of that militantperson, Mrs. Willing. "Great Scott!" Duncan exclaimed as he examinedthe two-inch gash in his head. "That's a bird, Pete. "

"M' wife done it, " Willing muttered huskily. "Sh' threw side 'r th'house at me, I think. "

"Wife, eh?" The coincidence smote Duncan with redoubled force. Heshivered "Well, she certainly gave it to you good. " He went behind thecounter to prepare a dressing for the wound, which, if wide, wasneither deep nor serious and gave him little concern for Pete. 

The latter ruminated on the event, breathing stertorously, while Duncanwas fixing up a wash of peroxide. "She'll kill me some day, " heannounced suddenly, with intense conviction in his tone. 

"Oh, don't say that.... "

Opposition roused Pete to a fury of assertion. "Yes, she will, sure!"he bawled. Then his emotion quieted. "But I'd 'bout as soon be dead'slive with her, anyway. "

"_Um_. " Nat got some absorbent cotton and adhesive plaster. "Beendrinking again, hadn't you?"

"Yesh, " Pete admitted with a leer of drunken cunning. "But she druv meto it. " He was quiet for a moment. "Mish'r Duncan, " he volunteeredcheerfully, "you ain't got _no_ idee how lucky y'are y'aint married. "

"Is that so?" Nat returned with the dressings. 

"No idee'tall. " Pete surrendered his head to Nat's ministrations. "'NdI hope y' won't never have. "

"But I'm going to be married, Pete. "

The sheriff assimilated this information and became abruptlyintractable. He jerked his head away and swung round in his chair toargue the matter. 

"Oh, no!" he expostulated. "Don't, Mish'r Duncan. Don't never do it. Take warnin' from me. "

"But I'm engaged, Pete. "

"Maksh no diff'runsh--break it off. " His voice rose to a howl of alarm. "F'r Gaw's sake, break it off!--now, before it's too late! Do anythin'rather'n that: drink--lie--steal--murder--c'mit suicide--don't carewhat--only _keep single!_" "Here, " said Duncan, laughing, "sit backthere and let me'tend to your head. " He began to wash the wound withthe peroxide. "There: that'll sting a bit, but not long.... Butsuppose, Pete, I'd get a lot of money by marrying?"

"No matter how mush y'get, 'tain't enough!"

"I'm inclined to think you're about right, Pete. "

"You bet I'm right. I'm married 'nd _I know_. "

Nat finished dressing the cut, smoothed down the ends of the adhesivetape, and stood back. "That's all right, now. Go home, wash your face, and sleep it off. Let me see you sober in the morning. "

"Huh!" Pete chuckled derisively. "Ain't goin' home t'night. "

"You've got to get some sleep: that's the only way for you tostraighten up. "

"Well, " agreed Pete, rising, "then I'll go over to the barn 'nd sleepwith the horse. "

"Aren't you afraid he'll step on you?" asked Nat, amused. 

"Maybe he will, " Pete replied fairly, "but I'd ruther risk that 'n m'wife. "

He swerved and lurched toward the door. "Thanks, doc, 'nd g'night, " hemumbled, and incontinently collided with Roland Barnette. 

Roland was working under a full head of steam, apparently; hisnaturally sanguine complexion was several shades darker than thenormal, and he was seething with repressed emotion--excitement, anticipated triumph, jealousy, envy and hatred: all centring upon thehapless head of Nat Duncan. Plunging along with his head down, histhoughts wholly preoccupied with his grievance and its remedy, hebumped into Willing and cannoned off, recognising him with an angrygrowl. The result of this was to stay Pete's departure; he graspedthe frame of the door and steadied himself, glaring round at theaggressor. 

"'Lo, Roland, " he said, focussing his vision. "Whash masser?"

Roland disregarded him entirely. "Say, you!" he snorted, catching sightof Nat. "I want to see you. "

"Oh?" Nat drawled exasperatingly. He had never had much use for Roland, and now with hidden joy he read the signs of passion on the boy'sinflamed countenance. Happy he would be, thought Nat, if Roland were tobe delivered into his hands that night. He owed the world a grudge, just then, and needed nothing more than an object to wreak hisvengeance upon. "Well, I'll stake you to a good long look, " he addedsweetly. 

"Ah-h! don't you try to be so funny; you might get hurt. "

Pete seemed to be suddenly electrified by Ro-land's matter. "Here!" heinterposed. "Whajuh mean by that?" And relinquishing his grasp on thedoor, he reeled between the two and thrust his face close to Roland's. "Who're you talkin' to, an'way?" he demanded, truculent. 

Nat stepped forward quickly and grabbed Pete's arm. "That's all right, Pete, " he soothed him. "Don't get nervous. Roly won't hurt anybody. "

The diminutive stung Roland to exasperation. "Why, damn you----!" hescreamed, and promptly became inarticulate with rage. 

"Ah! ah! ah!" Nat wagged a reproving forefinger. "Naughty word, Roly!Careful, or you'll sour your chewing gum. "

"Now, say! Do you think----"

At this juncture Pete drowned his words with an incoherent roar, havingapparently reached the conclusion that the time had now arrived when itwould be his duty and pleasure to eat Roland alive. Nat saved the youngman by the barest inch; he grappled with Pete and drew himself asidejust in time. 

"Steady, Pete!" he said quietly. "Steady, old man. Let Roland alone. "

"Awrh, I ain't 'fraid of him!" spluttered Pete. 

"Neither am I. Get out, won't you, and leave him to me. "

"Aw'right. " Pete became more calm. "I'll leave him 'lone, but all thesame I wan' it 'stinctly un'erstood I kin lick any man in town 'ceptin'm' wife. G'night, everybody. "

He gathered himself together and by a supreme effort lunged through thedoor and into the deepening dusk. 

"Well, Roly?" Nat asked, turning back. 

His ironic calm gave Roland pause. For a moment he lost his bearingsand stammered in confusion. "I come in to tell you that me and you'sapt to have trouble, " he concluded. 

"Oh? And are you thinking of starting it?"

"You bet I'll start it, and I'll start it damn' quick if you don'tleave Josie Lockwood alone. "

"So that's the trouble, is it?" commented Nat thoughtfully. 

"Yes, that's the trouble. From now on I want you to let her alone, andyou'll do it, too, if you know what's best for you. "

A suggestion of menace in his manner, unconnected with any hint ofphysical correction, caught Nat's attention. He frowned over it. 

"Just what do you mean by this line of talk?" he inquired blandly, stepping nearer. 

"I'll tell you what I mean. " Roland clenched both fists and thrust hischin out pugnaciously. "I'd been a-goin' steady with Josie Lockwood formore'n a year before you come here and thought that, on account of hermoney, you could sneak in and cut me out.... "

"Was her money the reason you were after her, Roly?"

"What----?" The question brought Roland momentarily up in the wind. "'Tain't none of your business if it was!" he snapped, recovering. "Buthere's what I'm gettin' at. " He tapped his breast-pocket with a sneerof bucolic triumph. "Just about ten months ago, " he continuedmeaningly, "they was a cashier skipped out of the Longacre NationalBank in Noo Yawk, and they ain't got no track of him yet. "

So this was why Roland had been so assiduous a student of the backfiles in the Citizen office!

"Indeed?"

"Yes, indeed. I had my suspicions all along, but didn't say nothin', but just to-day I got a description of him, and the description justfits, Mr. Mortimer Henry. "

"Just fits Mr. Mortimer Henry? But what has that----?"

"Ah, don't you try to seem too darn' innocent, " Roland snarled. "Youcan't fool me!"

A light dawned upon Nat, and laughter flooded his being, althoughoutwardly he remained imperturbable--merely mildly curious. But hisfingers were itching. 

"So you think I'm the absconding cashier, eh, Roly?"

"You keep away from Josie 'r you'll find out what I think. " Nat'splacidity deceived Roland, who drew the wholly erroneous conclusionthat he had succeeded in frightening his rival, and consequently dareda few lengths further in his tirade. "Why, if I was to go to Mr. Lockwood and tell him you're Mortimer Henry, alias Nat Duncan----"

Duncan's temper suddenly snapped like a taut violin string. 

"That will do, " he said icily. "That will be all for this evening, thanks. "

"Ah... Are you going to quit chasin' after Josie?"

"I'll begin chasing after you if you don't clear out of here. "

"You better agree----"

[Illustration: "Betty!"]

Just there the storm burst. Ten seconds later Roland, with a confusedimpression of having been kicked by a mule, picked himself up out ofthe dust in the middle of the street and stared stupidly back at thestore. Nat was waiting in the doorway for a renewal of hostilities, ifany such there were to be. Seeing, however, that Roland had apparentlysated his appetite for personal conflict, he picked up a dark object athis feet and held it out. 

"Here's your hat, Roly, " he called. 

Roland spat out a mouthful of dust and swore beneath his breath. "Throwit out here, " he replied prudently. 

Tossing him the hat, Nat turned contemptuously. "Come in again, anytime you want to apologise, " he shouted over his shoulder, as anafterthought. 

He paused in the middle of the store and felt of his necktie. It provedto be a little out of place, but otherwise he was as immaculate as washis wont. He reviewed the encounter and laughed quietly. 

"There's no cure for a fool, " he mused.... 

The telephone bell roused him from his reverie. He went over to theinstrument, sat down, and put the receiver to his ear. 

"Hello?" he said.... "Oh, hello, Josie! ... What's that?... That'sright, but I'm not used to it yet, you know.... Well, I'll try again. Now--ready?"

He schooled his voice to a key of heartrending sentiment: "Hello, darling.... How's that? ... Told your father? Told him what?... Oh, about the engagement! Was he angry? ... Oh, he wasn't, eh? What did hesay? ... Wasn't that nice of him!... "

Conscious of a slight noise in the store he looked up. A young womanhad just entered. She paused just inside the door, smiling at him alittle timidly. 

Without another word to his fiancee Nat put down the telephone andhooked up the receiver. 

"Betty!" he cried wonderingly. 

XXI

AS OTHERS SAW HIM

If Nat's cry of recognition had been wondering, it was no less one ofdelight. The surprise he felt was perfectly natural; Betty wasn't tohave returned until the morrow, and was therefore the last person hehad expected to see when he looked up from the telephone desk. But itwas the change in the girl that most stirred him: the change he hadprophesied, planned for, anticipated eagerly throughout the long sevenmonths of her absence; to have his expectations so wonderfullyfulfilled, and more than fulfilled, pleased him beyond expression. Andit's curious to speculate upon the fact that he fancied his greatestpleasure came from the knowledge that old Sam would be so overjoyed.... 

It was really only a paraphrase of the old story of the grub and thebutterfly. The little, starveling drudge who had found him in thestore, that first day, had completely vanished; it was as if she hadnever been. In her place he discovered a girl all grace and loveliness, her slender figure ripening into gracious womanhood; a girl of mind andheart and understanding, all fire and tenderness; demure, intelligent, with a pretty pose of independence and sureness of herself moderated bymodesty and reserve. Her travelling dress of sober colouring and severelines became her bewitchingly. Beneath the brim of her dainty hat, withveil thrown back, her dark hair waved back, glossy with the sheen ofperfect well-being, from a face serenely charming--the more so for herslightly deepened flush; and the eyes that shone into Nat's danced withthe light of enjoyment, bred of his supreme astonishment.... 

"Nat, I'm so glad to see you again!"

He was speechless. 

She laughed, put down her suit-case, and moved toward him, offering himboth her hands. He took them, stammering. 

"It's such a surprise, Betty----!"

"I knew it would be. I just couldn't wait, Nat, when I found I couldget here by the night train instead of tomorrow morning. I haven't beenhome, you know, but I couldn't resist the temptation to stop in hereand see--what the store looked like after all these months. Besides, Ithought that you or father----" Her eyes fell and she faltered, withdrawing her hands. 

By now he had himself in hand. "Why, " he laughed, "you nearly took mybreath away. Even now I can hardly believe it... "

"Believe what, Nat?" she asked quickly. 

"That you're the same little Betty Graham. I never saw such a change. "

"It's a change for the better, isn't it, Nat?" she asked with a smilehalf wistful. 

"I should think it was. It's just marvellous!"

"Did I seem so very awful, then?"

"Nonsense. You know you didn't, only, now... "

"Then you think father will be pleased?"

"If he isn't, I'm blind!"

She looked away, embarrassed, and touched by his interest and hisfeeling. "And does it make you a little proud, Nat?"

"Proud!" he exclaimed blankly. 

"Because you know you've done it all. If there's any improvement inBetty Graham to-day, it's because of you. If it hadn't been foryou----"

"Never in the world; you don't know what you're talking about, Betty. Nobody but yourself could have brought about this change. It had to bein you before it could come out. You know that. "

She shook her head very decidedly, seating herself on one of the chairsby the soda-fountain. "Oh, no, " she contradicted calmly and sincerely. "Why, Nat, don't you suppose I have any memory? You began making me abetter girl the very first day we met here in the store, by the thingsyou said to me. And ever since I've been watching you, while you weremaking life a Heaven for father and me, and thinking that if I were aman I'd try to be as near like you as I could. "

"Oh, don't say that, " he pleaded wretchedly. 

"It's true.... And when you sent me away to school I promised myselfI'd try to repay you for the sacrifice you must be making for me; thatI'd follow your example as nearly as ever I could; that I'd work hardand try to treat people the way you do--kindly, Nat, and considerately, and bravely and tenderly and honestly----"

He dropped into a chair near her and buried his head in his hands. "Don't!" he begged huskily. "Please, Betty, don't!"

But she wouldn't stop, little guessing how she was racking his heart inher innocent desire to make him understand how deeply she appreciatedall he had done for her. "And, O Nat, it's worked so wonderfully! It'smade all the girls at school like me, and it's made me understand andlike everybody else better; and now, what's ten thousand times the bestof all, you notice an improvement the minute you see me! And I--I neverwas so happy in all my life. " She bent forward and took one of hishands, patting it softly. "Nat, I think you're the very best man in thewhole world!"

"Don't!" he groaned. "Don't, for Heaven's sake!"

"Oh, I know, Nat--I know you don't like me to say this, but I must, just the same, tell you the truth about yourself. It's so splendid tolive the life you do. You're all unconscious of it, but I want you torealise it and know that I do, too. You've made everybody love youand... "

But confusion silenced her, and she gently replaced his hand. Forseveral moments neither spoke. Then Nat broke the tension with a short, hard laugh. 

"That's right, " he said inscrutably; "that was the idea.... "

"Nat, what do you mean?"

He turned to her. "Betty, does it make you--feel that way toward me?"

She coloured divinely. "Why, Nat, of course ... Why, everyone... "

"That's why I came here, Betty, " he pursued, blind to herembarrassment. "I came here with the idea... Of getting married.... "

He was staring gloomily at the floor and could not see the light thatdawned upon the girl's face. Absorbed in the struggle with hisconscience he had no least suspicion of how his words were affectingher. He knew only that he must somehow make a confession to her, thatto own her regard and gratitude on the terms that then existed betweenthem was utterly intolerable. 

"You never guessed that, did you?"

"No, " she breathed brokenly. "No, Nat, I--"

"Well, it's the truth and.... " He rose and moved away. "But I can'ttell you just now--not now.... "

"No, not now, Nat. " Betty, too, got up. "I think I'd better go home andsee father--I mustn't forget--" she faltered, half blinded by the mistof the happiness before her eyes. 

"No--wait. " She stopped to find his gaze full upon her; for the firsttime he comprehended that she had not understood, that, worst of all, she had misunderstood. "I must tell you, " he blurted desperately, "Imust. "

Instinctively she moved a step toward him. He hung his head. 

"To-night, Betty--this evening, just a little while ago, I becameengaged to Josie Lockwood. "

She stood as if petrified throughout a wait that seemed to bothinterminable. Then he heard her catch her breath sharply. He looked up, frightened, but she was smiling steadily into his face. Somehow hefound her hand in his. 

"Oh, Nat dear, " she said, "I'm so glad for you.... I wish you all thehappiness in the world. I ... Good-night. "

The hand slipped out of Nat's. He did not move, but waited there withhis empty palm outstretched, despair in his eyes and hell in his heart, while she walked quietly from the store. 

After some time he awoke to the knowledge that she was gone. 

"Blithering fool!" he growled. "Why didn't I know I loved her likethis?" He took a turn to and fro, distracted. "And now I've made a messof everything! Good Lord! what can I do? I must do something or gomad!" He swung round behind the soda-fountain counter and seized abottle. "I know what! The rules are off! I can have a drink! I can havetwo drinks! I can have a million drinks if I want 'em!"

Pouring a generous dose of raw whiskey into the glass he lifted it tohis lips and threw back his head. But the heavy bouquet of the liquorwas stifling in his nostrils, and the first mouthful of it almostchoked him. In a fury he flung the glass from him, so that it crashedand splintered upon the floor. "Great Heavens!" he cried. "I don't likethe stuff any more.... But"--his gaze fell upon the cigar case--"I canhave a smoke. That'll help some!"

With feverish haste he snatched a cigar from the nearest box, gnawedoff one end, and thrusting the other into the alcohol lighter, puffedvigorously. But to his renovated palate the potent fumes of the tobaccowere no less repugnant than the whiskey had been. Half strangled, heplucked the cigar from his mouth and stamped on it. 

"Oh, " he cried wildly, "I'll be--I'll be damned!"

He paused, staring vacantly at nothing. "And even that doesn't do anygood! God help me, I've forgotten how to swear!"

To him, in this overwrought state, came Tracey, lumbering cheerfullyin, his mouth shaped for a whistle. At sight of Nat he pulled up as ifhit by a club. 

"'Evenin', Mister Duncan. What's the matter?"

By an effort Nat brought his gaze to bear upon the boy and comprehendedhis existence. 

"Ain't you feeling well, Mr. Duncan?"

"No--rotten!"

"What's the matter?"

"_Nothing_!" Nat shouted ferociously. 

"Anything I kin----"

"_No_!"

At that instant Kellogg appeared. "Hello, Nat! What's been keeping you?I came down to bring you home to supper. "

"Go to blazes with your supper! Keep away from me! Don't talk to me! Idon't want anything to do with you, d'you understand? You and yourconfounded systems have got me into all this----"

He caught sight of his hat abruptly, ceased talking, grabbed the hatand jammed it on his head, muttering; then started on a run for thedoor. 

"But what's the matter?" demanded Kellogg, thunderstruck. "Here! Holdon! Where are you going?"

"To the only place I can get any consolation--church!"

XXII

ROLAND'S TRIUMPH

But at the doorstep of the Methodist Church Nat hesitated. The buildingwas dimly lighted, for it was choir practise night, and the door wasajar; but he couldn't bring himself to enter. He would not long havepeace and quiet in which to think, there; presently would come Angleand Josie and Roland and... 

"I couldn't stand it; I'd probably murder Roland.... 

"Besides, I've no right there--an impostor--a contemptible low-livedpup like me!... 

"Why the thunderation did I ever allow myself to be persuaded to comehere? Why was I ever such a fool?... 

"How _could_ I be such a fool?... "

He was walking, now, striding swiftly through the silent villagestreets, meeting few wayfarers and paying them no heed, whether theyknew and greeted him or not. His entire consciousness was obsessed byregret, repentance and remorse. He had ruined everything, deceivedeverybody--even himself for a time--played the cad and the bounder withconsummate address. There were no bounds to the contempt he felt forthe man who had tricked these simple, kindly folk into believing himimmaculate, impeccable; who had hoodwinked "that old prince, Graham, "and under false pretences gained his confidence and affection; who haddeliberately set out to snare an innocent and trusting girl for thesake of the filthy money her father owned; who had made another and abetter girl love him, though that he had done so unconsciously, only tobreak her heart; who had sacrificed everything, honour and decency andself-respect, to his greed for money. 

But it should go no further. He'd given what he called his word ofhonour to a despicable compact; there could be no dishonour so great asholding by that word, sticking to his bargain, maintaining thedeception and--ruining the life of one woman--perhaps two: JosieLockwood's, for he could never love her; and possibly Betty Graham's, for she was of that sort that loves once and once only. If she trulyloved him... 

But by his own act he had placed himself forever beyond the joy of herlove. He could never accept it, desire it as passionately as hemight--and did. He could never consent to drag her down to his baselevel... 

To-morrow--no, to-night, that very night, he would unmask himself, declare his character to them all, pillory himself that all might seehow low a man could fall. And to-morrow he would go, leave Radville, lose himself to all that had come to be so dear to him, forever.... 

So, raving and ranting with the extravagance of youth, he passedthrough the village, out into the open country, and in the course of anhour and a half, back--all blindly: circling back to the store, in thecourse of his wanderings, as instinctly as a carrier pigeon shapes itscourse for home. 

It was with incredulity that he found himself again in that cheerful, cherished, homely place. But there he was when he came out of hisabstraction: there in those familiar surroundings, with Tracey's roundred face beaming at him over the cigar-stand like a lively counterfeitof the round red moon he had watched lift up into the skies, back therein the still countryside, just as he paused to turn back to town. 

He recollected his faculties and resumed command of himselfsufficiently to acknowledge Tracey's greeting with a moody word. 

"All right, Tracey, " he said abruptly. "You may go, now. I'll shut upthe store. "

He looked at his watch, and was surprised to discover that it was nolater than half-past eight. He seemed to have lived a lifetime in thelast few hours. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Tracey with a gush of gratitude. "I'll be gladto get off. Angle's waiting. "

"Angle----?"

"Good-evening, Mr. Duncan. "

"Oh, Miss Tuthill!" Nat discovered that little rogue, all smiles anddimples and blushes, not distant from his elbow. "I didn't see you--Iwas thinking. "

"Guess we know what you was thinkin' about, " observed Tracey, bringinghis hat round the counter. "Everybody in town's talkin' about it. "

"About what?"

"Ah, you know about what, and we're mighty glad of it, and we want tocongratulate you, don't we, Angie. "

"Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Duncan. It's just too sweet for anything. "

"O Lord!" groaned Nat. 

"I'm awful glad you done it when you did, " pursued Tracey, oblivious toNat in his own ecstatic temper. "I guess I wouldn't never 've got upthe spunk to--to tell Angie what I did to-night, 'f it hadn't been wewas talkin' 'bout your engagement to Josie. Then, somehow, it justseemed to bust right out of me, like I couldn't hold it no longer. Didn't it, Angie?"

"Oh, Tracey, how can you talk so!"

"Then you're engaged, too?" Nat inquired, rousing himself a little andsmiling feebly upon them. 

"Yes, sir. "

"I'm glad to hear it. It's great news. Now run along, both of you, anddon't forget you'll never be so happy again. " With what he thought anexpiring flash of humour he raised his hands above their heads. "Blessyou, my children!" he said solemnly. "Now, for Heaven's sake, beat it!"

Alone he went to the prescription desk and opening one of the drawerstook out the firm's books. After that for some fifteen minutes therewas nothing to be heard in the store save Nat's breathing and thescratching of his pen as he figured out a trial balance.... 

Brisk footfalls disturbed him. He sighed and moved out into the storeto find Kellogg there, suave and easy as always, yet with that in hismanner, perceptible perhaps only to a friend of long-standing like Nat, to betray a mind far from complacent. 

"Oh, you're here!" he cried, with a distinct start of relief. "I'vebeen looking all over for you. "

"I just got in. " Nat brushed aside explanations curtly, intent upon hispurpose. "Harry, I've got something to say to you: I'm not goingthrough with this thing. "

"You're not?"

"No; and that's final. I was just on the point of drawing you a chequefor three-hundred; that's all my share of the profits of this concern, so far; and my note for the balance. I'll pay that up as soon as I'mable--and I'll work like a terrier until I do. But as for the rest ofit, I'm through. "

"Oh, you are?" Kellogg took a chair and tipped back, frowning gravely. "But what about your word to me?"

"Damn that, " said Duncan without heat. "The word of honour of a manwho'd stoop to a trick as vile as I have doesn't amount to acontinental shinplaster. I'll rather be dishonoured by breaking it thanby ruining a woman's life. "

"Very well, if you feel that way about it, " said Kellogg as coolly. "And you may keep your cheque and note: I wouldn't take them. You canpay me back when it's convenient--I don't care when. But what I want toknow is what you mean to do?"

"I mean to do the only thing left to do. I'm going to shut up here andthen see Lockwood and Josie and tell them the whole story. "

"Hm, " Kellogg reflected, quizzical. "You've got a pleasant little jobahead of you. "

"I don't care about that: I deserve all that's coming to me. I oweJosie a duty. Why, it's awful, Harry, to trick a girl into caring foryou and then to--to----"

"Break her heart?" Kellogg's tone was sardonic. 

"That's what I meant. "

"Don't flatter yourself, my boy. Josie Lockwood doesn't love you; shejust set herself to win you because you're the best chance she's seen. "Kellogg laughed quietly. "The system would have worked just as well ifanyone else had tried it. "

"Do you think so--honest?" Nat's eagerness to believe him wasundisguised. 

"I'm sure of it. The trouble is that people will say you've thrown herover--there isn't anyone in Radville who hasn't heard the news by thistime; and that's going to make the girl feel pretty cheap. But only fora while: she'll get over it and solace herself with the next bestthing.... And don't forget; you lose a fortune. "

"No, I don't, " Duncan disclaimed. "I never had it and now I don't wantit. "

"That's true enough, " Kellogg admitted evenly. "And I hope you'llalways feel that way about it; but, believe me, you'll find plenty ofmoney a great help if you want to live a happy life. "

"There are better things than money to make a man happy; I'll pass upthe money and try for the others. "

"That's true, too; but when did you find it out?"

"Here--this last year.... You know I had everything my heart desireduntil the governor cashed in; and I used to think I was a pretty happykid in those days. But now I've learned that you can beat that kind ofhappiness to death. Harry"--Duncan was growing almost sententious--"thereal way to be happy is to work and have your work amount to somethingand--and to have someone who believes in you to work for. "

"Is this a sermon, Nat?"

"Call it what you like: it goes, just the same. ... That's what I'vefound out this year. "

Kellogg let his chair fall forward and rose, imprisoning Nat'sshoulders with two heavy but kindly hands. "And you're right!" he criedheartily. "I'm glad you had the backbone to back out, Nat. It was alow-down trick and I'm ashamed of myself for proposing it. I did it, Ipresume, simply because I'm a schemer at heart, and I knew it wouldwork. It did work, but it's worked a finer way than I dreamed of: it'smade a man of you, Nat, and I'm mightly glad and proud of you!"

Nat swayed with amazement. "What's changed you all of a sudden?" hedemanded blankly. 

Releasing him, Kellogg resumed his seat, laughing. "Well, a number ofthings. Among others, I've talked with Graham and I've met hisdaughter. "

"Oh-h!"

"And that reminds me, " Kellogg changed the subject briskly; "Iunderstood from you that Graham was sole owner of that patent burner. "

"So he is. "

"He says not. I had a proposition to make him from the Mutual people, and he referred me to you, saying that you controlled the matter. "

"I've not the slightest interest in it!" Nat protested. 

"I know you haven't, but Graham insisted you owned the whole thing. Ipressed him for an explanation, and he finally furnished one in hisrambling, inconsequent, fine old way. He admitted that there wasn't anysort of an existing contract or agreement of any sort, even oral, between you, but just the same you'd been so good to him and his girlthat he'd made up his mind--some time ago, I gather--to make you apresent of the burner; but naturally he forgot to tell you about aninsignificant detail like that. "

"Of course that's nonsense; I wouldn't and shant accept. "

"Of course you won't. I did you the honour to discount that. But hewouldn't say a word about the offer--yes or no--just left it all up toyou. He says you're a business man, and that he's often thought what ahelp you must have been to me before you left New York. "

Nat laughed outright. "Can you beat that? ... But what is the offer?"

"Fifty thousand cash and ten thousand shares of preferredstock--hundred dollars par. "

"What's that worth?"

"At the market rate when I left town, seventy-eight. " Kellogg waited amoment. "Well, what do you say?"

"Say? Great Caesar's Ghost! What is there to say? Wire 'em anacceptance before they get their second wind.... You don't know howgood this makes me feel, Harry; I can't thank you enough for whatyou've done. This'll square me with Graham to some extent, and I canclear out----"

"No, you can't, Mr. Smarty! You ain't been 'cute enough. "

Both men, startled by the interruption, wheeled round to discoverRoland Barnette dancing with excitement in the doorway, the while hebeckoned frantically to an invisible party without. "Come on!" heshouted. "Here he is!"

"What's eating you, Roly-Poly?" inquired

Nat, too happy for the money to cherish animosity even toward hisone-time rival. 

"You'll find out soon enough, " snarled Roland. "Mr. Lockwood's gotsomething to say to you, I guess. "

And on the heels of this announcement Lockwood strode into the store, Josie clinging to his arm, Pete Willing--a trifle more sanely drunkthan he had been some hours previous--bringing up the rear. 

"So!" snarled Blinky, halting and transfixing Nat with the stare of hiscold blue eyes. "So we've found you, eh?"

"Oh? I didn't know I was lost. "

"No nonsense, young man. I ain't in the humour for foolin'. " Blinky wasunquestionably in no sort of a humour at all beyond an evil one. "Icome here to have a word with you. "

"Well, sir?" Nat's tone and attitude were perfectly pacific. 

"Ah, there ain't no use beatin' 'round the bush. You've behavedyourself ever since you come to Radville, and insinooated yourself intoour confidence, 'spite of the fact that nobody in town knows who youwere before you came. But now Roland's laid a charge again' you, and Iwant to know the rights to it. "

"Well, " Roland interposed cockily, "I accused him of it to-night and hedidn't deny it. "

[Illustration: "You're a thief with a reward out for you!"]

"What's more, " Lockwood continued with rising colour, "Roland says hecan prove it?"

"Prove what?" Nat insisted. "Get down to facts, can't you?"

"That you're a thief with a reward out for you, " said Roland. "You'rethat Mortimer Henry what absconded from the Longacre National Bank inNoo York. "

There fell a brief pause. Nat bowed his head and tugged at hismoustache, his shoulders shaking with emotion variously construed bythose who watched him. Presently he looked up again, his featuresgravely composed. 

"Roly, " said he, "Balaam must miss you terribly. "

"That ain't no answer. " Lockwood put himself solidly between Nat andthe object of his obscure remark--who was painfully digesting it. "Iwant to know about this. You got my daughter to say she'd marry youthis evenin', and you've got to explain to me about this bank businessbefore it goes any further. "

"Yes?" commented Nat civilly. 

"Yes!" thundered Blinky. "Do you deny it? ... Answer me. "

To Kellogg's huge diversion, Nat struck an attitude, "I refuse toanswer, " said he. 

"Aha! What'd I tell you?" This was Roland's triumphant crow. 

"Nat!" Josie advanced, trembling with excitement. "Tell me, what doesthis mean?"

Duncan perforce avoided her gaze. "Don't ask, " he said sadly. 

"Is it true?" she insisted. 

"You heard what Roly said, " he replied, with a chastened expression. 

"Then you admit it?"

"I admit nothing. "

"Oh-h!" The girl drew away from him as from defilement. "I--I hateyou!" she cried in a voice of loathing

"That's all right, " he told her serenely; "I've despised myself allevening. "

The girl showed him a scornful back. "Papa----" she began. 

"Don't thank me, Josie. Roland done it all: he got onto him. " Lockwoodcontinued to watch Duncan with the air of a cat eyeing a mouse. 

Impulsively Josie moved to Roland's side and caught his arm. He drewhimself up proudly. 

"I do thank you, Roland; I can never be grateful enough. I've been sofoolish. 

"That's all right. " Roland tucked the girl's hand beneath his arm andpatted it down. "You wasn't to blame. I never seen anyone from Noo Yorkyet that wasn't a crook. "

"Won't you please take me away from this--place, Roland?" she appealed. 

"I'll be mighty glad to see you home, Josie, " he assured hergenerously, turning. 

In the act of leaving, Josie caught Nat's eye. She hung back for aninstant, withering him with a glare. "Oh-h!" she cried. "How did youdare pretend to care for me?"

He bowed politely. "It was one of the rules, Josie. "

"There's no need to tell you, I guess, that the engagement is broken. "

"None whatever, Miss Lockwood. Good-evening. "

"Come, Roland!"

Arm in arm they left, with the haughty tread of the elect, while PeteWilling lurched to Duncan's side and caught his arm. 

"Come 'long to jail, Mish'r Duncan, " he said with sympathy. "Mushbessher. "

"You look after him, Pete. " Lockwood turned to leave with a final shotfor Duncan. "I'll 'tend to your case in the mornin', young man, andI'll make you wish you never came to this town. "

"You needn't trouble. I feel that way about it already. _Good_-night. "

Lockwood left them, snarling. Nat caught Kellogg's eye and began togiggle. But Pete was still holding him fast, partially, beyond doubt, for support. 

"You've been saved just in time, Mish'r Duncan, " he commented; "y'aremighty lucky man. Now lissen: you better make tracks. I ain't got nowarrant to hold you, 'nd I wouldn't if I had. "

"You're a good fellow, Pete; but you needn't worry. I'm not the manthey think me, and it'll be easy to prove. "

"Wal, " said Pete, "jus' the same, you better git out, 'r you may haveto marry her aft'all. "

"No, I won't. "

"Thank Gawd f'r that!" Pete exclaimed in maudlin gratitude. He swungwidely toward the door, and by a miracle found it. "G'night, Mish'rDuncan. I feel s' good 'bout thish I'm goin' try goin' home 'nd face m'wife. G'night. "

"Good-night, Pete. "

"Well!" said Kellogg after a pause, "that was a bit of luck!"

"Luck!" Nat seized his hat and began to turn off the lights. "It's moreluck than I thought there was in the whole world. Come along. "

"Where are you going?"

"First, to see Lockwood and have it out with him. "

"No, you aren't, " Kellogg laughed as Nat locked the door. "You're goingto leave Lockwood to me; I'll manage to ease his mind. You've gotinfinitely more important matters to attend to--and the sooner you findher, the better, Nat!"

XXIII

THE RAINBOW'S END

The air was heavy with moisture and very still and warm; a headyfragrance of precocious blooms flavoured the air, vying with the scentof rain. The silence was profound, but shaken now and then by a grumbleof distant thunder. The world hung breathless on the issue of the night. 

Since evenfall a wall of cloud, massive and portentous, had beenclimbing up over the western hills, slowly but with ominous steadinessobscuring the moon-swept sky with its far, pale wreaths of stars, blotting it out with monstrous folds and convolutions of impenetrablepurple-black. Along its crest fire played like swords in the sunlight, and now and again sheeted flame lightened the monstrous expanse so thatit glowed with the pale phosphorescence of a summer sea. 

As Duncan hurried homeward over sidewalks chequered in silver and ink, the advance of the cloud army seemed to become accelerated. Withincreasing frequency gusts of air set the trees a-shiver until theirsibilant whispers of warning filled the valley. The rolling of thethunder grew more sharp, more instant upon the flashes.... When therewas no wind the air seemed to quiver with terror--as a dog cringes tothe whip.... 

But of this Duncan was barely conscious. 

He gained the gate in the fence of wood paling, opened it, and entered. The lawn and house were lit with the unearthly radiance of moonlightthreatened by eclipse. He could see the light in Graham's study and, through the open doors, the faint glow of the hall-lamp. But there wasno one visible. 

He hurried up the path, tortured by impatience, fear, longing, despair.... 

Then he saw what seemed at first a pale shadow detach itself fromdarker shades in the shrubbery and move toward him. 

"Nat, is it you?"

"Betty!"

His whole heart was in that cry; the girl thrilled to its timbre asthough a master hand had struck a chord upon her heart-strings. 

"Nat, what--what is it?"

"Betty, I want to tell you something. "

She came very slowly toward him, torn alternately by fear and hope. What did he mean?

"Do you happen to remember that I told you a while ago I was engaged toJosie Lockwood?"

[Illustration: "Forever and ever and a day"]

"Nat! Could I forget? ... Why?"

"Because ... It's broken off, Betty. "

"Broken off! ... How? Why?"

"Because it had to be, sweetheart: because I love you. "

She was very close to him then. Her uplifted face shone like marble inthe fading light. "Nat, I ... I don't understand. "

"Then, listen--I must tell you. It was all a plan, a scheme, my cominghere, Betty. Everything I did, said, thought, was part of acontemptible trick.... I meant to marry Josie Lockwood, whom I'd neverseen, for her money. ... Now you know what I was, dear.... But it'sdifferent, now. I'm not the same man who came to Radville ten monthsago. I've learned a little to understand the right, I hope: I'velearned to love and reverence goodness and purity and unselfishness and... And I want to be a man, the kind of a man you thought me: a manworthy of you and your love, Betty.... Because I love you. I want youto be my wife. ... And, O Betty, Betty, I need you to help me!"

His voice broke. He waited, every nerve and fibre of him tense for heranswer. While he had been speaking, the onrush of the storm had blottedout the moon. There was only darkness there in the garden--deep, densedarkness, so thick he could not even see the shimmer of her dress.... 

Then suddenly she was in his arms, shaking and sobbing, straining himto her. 

"Oh, Nat, my Nat! I've loved you from the first day I ever saw you! Youknow I have. " "Betty! ... Sweetheart... "

There came an abrupt, furious patter of heavy drops of water, beatingupon the foliage, splashing and rebounding from the house. 

"Forever and ever, Nat?"

"Forever and ever and a day, my dear ... My dear!"