THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR A NOVEL BY GUY WETMORE CARRYL [Illustration: Publishers symbol] BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1903 Copyright, 1902 BY THE ESS ESS PUBLISHING CO. Copyright, 1903 BY GUY WETMORE CARRYL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED _Published March, 1903_ TO M. R. B. IN MEMORY OF THE RESCUE OF A MAN AT SEA CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 1 II. THE ODDS AGAINST YOUNG NISBET 21 III. A FACE IN THE CROWD 40 IV. AS BETWEEN FRIENDS 60 V. A BRAND FROM THE BURNING 80 VI. MCGRATH LAUGHS 98 VII. THE MIRAGE OF POWER 117 VIII. THE GOVERNOR UNMASKS 137 IX. THE NINTH PASSES IN REVIEW 156 X. A QUESTION AND AN ANSWER 177 XI. YOUNG NISBET FINDS HIS TONGUE 196 XII. DIOGENES 215 XIII. THE INSTRUMENT OF FATE 234 XIV. THE VOICE OF ALLEGHENIA 252 THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR I THE FLY ON THE WHEEL The offices of the Governor and the Lieutenant-Governor adjoined. Eachhad its ante-room, in which a private secretary wrote eternally at aroll-top desk, an excessively plain-featured stenographer rattled thekeys of his typewriter, and a smug-faced page yawned over a newspaper, or scanned the cards of visitors with the air of an official censor. Atintervals, an electric bell whirred once, twice, or three times; and, according to the signal, one of the trio disappeared into the presenceof the august personage within. A door connected the office of the chief executive with that of hislieutenant, but this was rarely opened by either, and then only after aformal tap and permission to enter had been given. It was a matter ofgeneral knowledge that the Governor and the Lieutenant-Governor were notin sympathy; but few, even among the intimates of either, were aware howdeep, and wide, and hopelessly impassable was the gulf which lay betweenthem. This was due not alone to disparity in age, though twenty-eightyears separated the white-haired Governor from his handsome subordinate, who had been nominated to this, his first public office, on histhirtieth birthday; nor was it wholly a difference between theexperience of the one and the inexperience of the other. The point ofview of the veteran is, naturally, not that of the novice, particularlyin politics. That the enthusiasms of Lieutenant-Governor Barclay shouldhave been the disillusions of Governor Abbott, and his pitfalls hissenior's stepping-stones, --this was to be expected. The root of theirdissimilarity lay deeper. It was nothing less than mutual distrust whichkept the connecting door closed day after day, and clogged the channelof coöperation with the sharp-pointed boulders of antagonism. The convention which nominated the successful ticket of the precedingyear had been a veritable chaos of contending factions. The labordelegates, encouraged by the unexpected strength of theirrepresentation, were not content with such nominal plums as had fallento their share in former conventions. Led by Michael McGrath, anagitator whose native Irish eloquence, made keener and more persuasiveby practice in bar-room forensics, brought him naturally to the fore, they threatened, at one stage of the proceedings, to carry all beforethem. The more conservative faction, its strength sapped by theformation, in its very ranks, of a reform party determined upon the fallof the "machine, " was forced to yield ground. The reformers themselves, young men for the most part, distinguished by great ideals but smallability, were too few to impose their individual will upon theiropponents, yet sufficiently numerous to make their support necessary tothe success of either party. The usual smooth course of the convention, upset by this unlooked-for resistance from two quarters, staggeredhelplessly, and was on the point of coming to a deadlock. It was MichaelMcGrath's shrewd perception of the situation which solved the problem. In a brief, impassioned speech he laid the claims of his faction beforethe delegates, winding up with a stirring picture of the coöperation oflabor and reform, now possible, which held the convention in spellboundsilence for ten seconds after he had closed, and then set the hallringing to cheers and vigorously plied hands and feet. For an instant hepaused, with his arms folded, and his keen blue eyes sliding over thefaces before him, and then played his trump card. At his signal, abanner, hastily prepared, was borne, slowly revolving, down the centralaisle, and on this were boldly lettered the words which at the samemoment McGrath was thundering from the platform:-- LABOR AND REFORM! FOR GOVERNOR, ELIJAH ABBOTT. FOR LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR, JOHN HAMILTON BARCLAY. McGrath had no need to look toward the labor faction for support. Heknew what the name of Elijah Abbott meant in that quarter. His shiftingglance was fixed upon the seats of the reform delegates, and a littlesmile twitched at the corners of his mouth, as he saw them rise with acheer. Barclay was the chief spirit of their movement. They had notexpected this recognition. But if, in the enthusiasm of unlooked-forvictory, they did not perceive how little, in reality, was their gain, McGrath was far from being unaware how great was his own. Before thecheering of the now allied forces of labor and reform had fairly diedaway, he had moved that nominations were in order, and, ten minuteslater, while the partisans of the "machine" were still endeavoring tocollect their wits, the main business of the convention was anaccomplished fact, and Abbott and Barclay were declared the regularDemocratic nominees for Governor and Lieutenant-Governor of the state. In six weeks followed their election by a small plurality, and on thefirst of January the two men moved into their adjoining rooms, in theinexcusably unlovely state capitol, on the main hill of Kenton City, wherein they were, thenceforward, separated, one from the other, by twoinches of Georgia pine and a practically infinite diversity of principleand prejudice. From the first their relationship had been no better than an armedtruce. Both were courteous men, the one because such was his policy, theother because he was to this manner born. There was no need for them todiscuss their individual creeds. They tacitly accepted the fact thatthere was not a parallel between the two. From the moment when hiselection was assured by the returns, Abbott was candidly the man of theLabor--nay, more--of the Socialist party. McGrath and his associatesmanipulated him as readily as a marionette. The promises and pledges ofthe campaign were ruthlessly jettisoned. If Governor Abbott did notstand for anarchy, it was only because, for the moment, anarchy was notthe demand of his party. Withal, he was dignified and self-possessed, robed in an agreeable suavity which became him at functions andceremonials, and assured his popularity with those--and they were, asalways, in the majority--who did not look below the surface. Lieutenant-Governor Barclay had not been ten days in office before herealized the futility of resistance to the established order, asrepresented in his superior. He had accepted his nomination, andwelcomed his election, with an almost Quixotic elation in theopportunity thus opened to him. He would accomplish--oh, there was notelling what Lieutenant-Governor Barclay would _not_ accomplish! He was standing at his office window now, staring out disconsolatelyover the sloping lawns of the capitol grounds, mottled with thinpatches of snow, which had contrived to withstand the recent thaw, andhe was telling himself, for the thousandth time, the dispiriting factthat, as a force for good or evil in the destiny of his state, he was nomore significant than his stenographer's Remington or his secretary'sroll-top desk. With all his ideals, with all those pledges which areinfinitely more vital when made in private to one's conscience than whenmade in public to one's party, he found himself merely a cog in thestate machinery--a cog, too, that, seemingly, might be skipped at any orevery time, without in the least degree disturbing the progress ofroutine. On the few occasions, in the early days of their officialrelation, when he had ventured to set his will in opposition to that ofthe Governor, there had not been manifest in the latter's attitude eventhat spirit of resistance which spurs men to more active and resoluteendeavor. Governor Abbott had smiled pleasantly upon him, and thenquietly shifted the conversation into other channels, with an air ofselecting a topic more suited to his companion's comprehension. Finally, on one occasion, when Barclay had voiced his opinion with anenergy which savored of rebuke, the Governor had gone further, and hadasked calmly--"And what were you proposing to do about it?" After thatBarclay had relinquished the unequal struggle, and resigned himself tothe unavoidable conclusion of his impotency. It is a situation which tries men's souls, this of utter helplessness inthe face of plain duty. He could have no hope of making his positionclear to the constituency to which he was responsible. Debarred on theone side from taking an active part in the administration of stateaffairs, and bitterly arraigned on the other on the grounds ofinefficiency, laxity, and indifference to duty, the second month ofoffice found John Barclay in a fair way to be ground to powder betweenthe millstones of impuissance and hostile criticism. The men of hisparty who had, both in private conviction and public statement, basedtheir hopes of political reform upon the frankly avowed platform of hisprinciples, now passed him coldly, with a bare nod, sometimes with nonewhatever; the labor element jeered joyously at his attitude; the"machine" pointed to him as proof of the fallacy of the reform creed. Itis easy to expect great performances from great promises, easier stillto outline the duties and condemn the delinquencies of another, and noteven Barclay's knowledge of his own good faith was sufficientcompensation for the sneers of press and public which fell to his share. As he surveyed the dispiriting prospect from his office window, on thatlate February afternoon, he was near to resigning his position, and withit all further pretension to political prominence. In the opinion of those competent to judge, the state of Alleghenia wasgoing to the dogs. A press distinguished alike for the amplitude of itsheadlines and the pitiable paucity of its principles; a legislature ofwhich practically every member had, not only a price, but such a priceas the advertisements describe as being "within the reach of all;" aGovernor who avowedly stood ready to sanction the most extremepretensions of the notoriously corrupt party which had secured him hiselection, --here, surely, were good and sufficient reasons for thegenerously bestowed disapproval of Alleghenia's sister states. In allthe _personnel_ of her government there was but one man sincerelydevoted to her advancement on the lines of integrity andnon-partisanship. And that man was Lieutenant-Governor Barclay, whoseinfluence on the trend of affairs was approximately that of theproverbial fly on the hub of the revolving wheel. The Lieutenant-Governor had turned back to his desk, and was arranginghis papers, preparatory to departing for the day, when his ears weregreeted by the unusual and unwelcome sound of a rap upon thecommunicating door. Instinctively he braced himself for an unpleasantencounter before replying. It was his experience that the Governor'sroom was like to Nazareth of old, in that no good might be expected toissue therefrom. Nevertheless, as Governor Abbott entered, in responseto Barclay's "Come!" it was difficult to believe that he was aught butwhat he appeared to be, --a courteous, conspicuously well-dressed andwhite-haired gentleman, of sixty or thereabouts, smooth-shaven save forchop side-whiskers of iron gray, with a habit of rubbing his hands, andan inclination from the hips forward which suggested a floor-walker. Inbrief, the Governor of Alleghenia seemed the type of a man who turnssideways and slips through narrow places, rather than run the risk ofbarking his elbows by a face-front advance. In reality he was somewhatless pliable than a steel rail. "You are going?" he asked, seeing how Barclay was employed. "I was thinking of it, " replied the Lieutenant-Governor. "Of course, ifthere is anything"-- Governor Abbott seated himself on the edge of the desk, holding a lapelof his coat in each hand, and surveyed his subordinate from under hisdrooping eyelids, with his head cocked on one side. "I believe you know Peter Rathbawne, " he said. "I do. I am engaged to his elder daughter. " "Ah! That is what I thought. " The Governor looked contemplatively at the ceiling, closing his righteye, and nibbling behind his pursed lips. "Peter Rathbawne, " he said, "is the second most obstinate man in KentonCity, if not in Alleghenia. I'm afraid he thinks he is the _most_obstinate. If so, he does me an injustice. His mills are the largest inthe state. I am told that when they are running full strength theyemploy over four thousand hands. " "Something like that number, I believe, " put in Barclay, as the Governorseemed to expect a reply. "Ah! It is a pity for such an industry as that to be tied up on accountof one man's obstinacy. " "I had not heard"--began Barclay; but Governor Abbott continuedsteadily, disregarding the interruption. "Yesterday morning Mr. Rathbawne discharged fifteen employees on theground of incompetency. It is hard to see exactly what Mr. Rathbawnemeans by 'incompetency. ' These men were not newcomers. Some of them hadbeen in the mills for as much as eighteen months. It seems as if hemight have discovered the alleged incompetency long ago. It is more orless arbitrary, one might say, this discharging men by wholesale, as itwere. " "I suppose, " commented Barclay, "that a man may do as he will with hisown. " "Ah!" said the Governor, lifting his hands from his lapels with a littlegesture of deprecation, but immediately replacing them. "But _can_ he? Aman in Peter Rathbawne's position has a responsibility to fulfill towardthe community. He cannot beggar men for a caprice--because his horse hasgone lame, or his breakfast has not agreed with him. He must showreasons--give an accounting. He must be fair. " "Oh, when it comes to fairness, " laughed the other, "I assure you, Governor Abbott, you won't find Mr. Rathbawne's equal this side of thePacific. He's famous for square dealing. " "He _has_ been, " corrected the Governor. "In the present instance heseems to have fallen below standard. He has declined to reconsider hisdecision in the case of the discharged men. What's worse, he has flatlyrefused to see the committee appointed by the Union. " "I'm not surprised at that, " said Barclay slowly, fingering apaper-cutter on the desk before him. "Mr. Rathbawne is peculiar in onerespect; he supports and considers the Union in every other. But he hasalways insisted upon his right to discharge the hands at will, andwithout giving reasons. Incompetency is only a word which is used tocover more serious causes. " "Well, he's wrong, " said the Governor, with a heat unusual to him. "He's dead wrong, Mr. Barclay, and he will find it out before he's a dayolder. " "Do you mean"-- "I mean that if the men in question are not taken back before to-morrownoon, every man, woman, and child in the employ of the Rathbawne Millswill be out on strike. The question is, what is Peter Rathbawne preparedto do?" The silence that followed was broken only by the tap, tap, tap of theLieutenant-Governor's paper-cutter on the silver-mounted blotter. Presently he looked up and met the Governor's eye. "If you want _my_ opinion, sir, " he answered, "it is that Mr. Rathbawnewould fight such a point to a standstill. He's sole owner of the mills, and he's a rich man. He has always treated his employees as if they werehis own children. If they turn on him now for something which, fromtheir experience of his character, they must know was fair andjustifiable"-- "But _was_ it?" interrupted the Governor. "I don't know the facts, sir, but I know Peter Rathbawne, " said Barclay, throwing back his head, "and I can say, with clear conviction, that it_must_ have been. If, as you suggest, the hands go out, I think he wouldclose down the mills for a year, and go abroad. He's a man who doesn'targue; he simply acts. I fancy there wouldn't be much opposition left bythe time he wanted to reopen. " "Provided always that there were anything left to reopen, " suggested theGovernor softly. "The state troops have more than once proved their ability to assure thesanctity of property, " answered his subordinate, with a touch of the oldpride with which he had assumed office. "Hum!" said Governor Abbott. "But calling out the militia is a seriousmatter, Mr. Barclay, to say nothing of the expense entailed. Consideringthat the difficulty would be due entirely to the obstinacy of oneman--er--one might not feel justified"-- He hesitated briefly under the Lieutenant-Governor's keen glance, andthen swerved from this line of suggestion. "What I wanted to say was this: You are a friend of Mr. Rathbawne's, --something more than a friend, indeed. No doubt he has arespect for your opinion, as you have for his. Now, if in the course ofa quiet chat--it will have to be to-night--you should point out thesituation that threatens him, the distress that a strike will cause, theprobable destruction of his property, perhaps he might consent toreinstate the discharged men to-morrow morning. " "It would be a surrender of principle, to which he would never consent, "said Barclay firmly. "Of that I am sure. Moreover, sir, I should bespeaking against my convictions were I to advise him to adopt such acourse. " The Governor's lip wrinkled slightly. "The Union is prepared to do the right thing by the man who settles thisquestion, " he said. "I hope you don't mean that!" exclaimed Barclay. "You are the first manto make such a suggestion to me. Pardon me, Governor Abbott, but Icannot but think the executive chamber of the capitol of Alleghenia asingular place for it to be mentioned. " The Governor held up his hand. "You misunderstand me, " he said. "One would suppose I had offered you apurse! I mean simply that the popularity of the man who averts thisstrike will be an assured fact. He would be the idol of the workingpeople, and hardly less esteemed by the element of capital. Moreover, hewould be doing a humane and merciful thing. You are the only man who isin a position to approach Rathbawne, and, if you will excuse thesuggestion, I think you can hardly afford to throw away the chance. Asit is, you--er--you are not what might be called popular, Mr. Barclay. " This time the silence was broken by a single sharp littleclick--the latch of the connecting door slipping into place. TheLieutenant-Governor sank slowly into his revolving chair, tipped back, swung round a half circle, and stared out disconsolately over thesloping lawns of the capitol grounds, mottled with thin patches ofsnow. II THE ODDS AGAINST YOUNG NISBET Young Nisbet leaned forward in his chair. "And I've been thinking, " he added, "that perhaps--that perhaps"-- "That perhaps what?" asked the junior Miss Rathbawne, leaning forward inhers. "If I don't have tea _instantly_, " said her mother, with profoundconviction, as she came ponderously through the portières, tugging ather gloves, "I shall expire! How de do, Mr. Nisbet. _Do_ sit upstraight, Dorothy, my dear. " She sank heavily into a low chair, which brought her within the radiusof lamp-light at the tea-table, and was thus revealed as a lady ofgenerous proportions, with a conspicuous absence of features, and noobservable lap. In speaking, she displayed a marked partiality for undueemphasis. Sublimely unconscious of the depression induced by heradvent, she continued to talk, as she pulled off her gloves, which werea size too small, and came away with reluctance, leaving imprints of thestitching on her pudgy pink hands. Young Nisbet surveyed her with a kind of mute despair. He was a veryaverage young American, very conventionally in love, and the triflingremnant of self-assertiveness which had triumphed over the crescenthumility natural to his condition inevitably evaporated into thin air atthe approach of Mrs. Rathbawne; and always, as he was doing now, heturned in his toes excessively when she was present, hitched at hisright trouser-leg, where the crease passed over his knee, and lookedfirst at her, and then at the floor, and then at her again, with thepurposeless regularity of a mechanical toy. There was a tremendous and highly significant rattling of cups, saucers, and silver spoons, as Dorothy Rathbawne prepared her mother's tea. Allthings considered, one found something very admirable about Dorothy atsuch a time as this. It was not complete submission, still less was itopen revolt, but savored of both, and was incomparable as an attitudetoward Mrs. Rathbawne. On some occasions it was almost as impossible toget on with Mrs. Rathbawne as it would have been, on others, to get onwithout her. The which, nowadays, is more or less true of all parents. And children. "Natalie and your Aunt Helen got out at the florist's, " went on the goodlady, "but I came straight on, and sent the carriage back for them. Ifelt that I _couldn't_ exist an _instant_ longer without my tea. I'msure I don't see how Natalie _stands_ it. She was out all morning in thebrougham, too. You had best make enough for three cups, Dorothy--and_do_ sit up straight, my dear!--and order Thomas to bring in some moretartines. They are _sure_ to be hungry, and they are apt to come in at_any_ moment. " "That is a family failing, " said Dorothy venomously, from behind thekettle. "Well, I'm _sure_, my dear, " said Mrs. Rathbawne innocently, as shestraightened her rings, and picked an imaginary speck out of one of herround, flat nails, "there is no disgrace at all in a healthy appetite. I'm thankful we all have it--though as for your Aunt Helen, _hers_ isabout like that of a fly. " "Flies have very good appetites--judging from all I've seen, that is, "said Dorothy, "so I don't think she is to be commiserated on thataccount. " "That was only a figure of speech, my dear, " replied Mrs. Rathbawne, with engaging placidity. "Mercy! but I'm glad to get home. We've had apositively _exhausting_ day with Natalie's shopping, and the _worst_ ofit is to think what a _lot_ more there is to do. A wedding certainly_is_ an undertaking, Mr. Nisbet. " "Is it?" answered young Nisbet, perceptibly startled at being thusabruptly included in the conversation. "Decidedly!" asseverated Mrs. Rathbawne. "Of course, in the case of an _ordinary_ man"-- "Two lumps, mother?" "_Always_ two lumps, Dorothy, my dear. Surely you must know that, bythis time! As I was _saying_, Mr. Nisbet, the fact that my elderdaughter is to marry Mr. Barclay"-- Dorothy's eyebrows went up resignedly as she bent with affectedsolicitude over the alcohol lamp, than which none ever burned moreblamelessly. There was no stopping Mrs. Rathbawne now! "One has to keep his position in mind, " she was saying. "It isn't likethe _usual_ marriage, which interests only the families and friends ofthe persons concerned, you know. It isn't even as if only Kenton Citywere looking on. _All_ Alleghenia will be on the _qui vive_, Mr. Nisbet, _all_ the state of Alleghenia. I shouldn't wonder if _some_ notice weretaken of the event, even at Washington. Marrying a statesman, yousee, --a Lieutenant-Governor! Oh, it's _quite_ different--_quite_! _Do_sit up straight, Dorothy, my dear!" She continued to prattle of the momentous marriage impending, until hercomplacent chatter was interrupted by the entrance of her half-sister, Mrs. Wynyard, and the elder Miss Rathbawne. The two newcomers were both beautiful, in widely dissimilar ways. HelenWynyard, Mrs. Rathbawne's junior by nearly a score of years, retained atthirty the transparent brilliancy of complexion which, at eighteen, hadmade her the most admired _débutante_ of her season in San Francisco. Her marriage with Ellery Wynyard had caused a great to-do among thegossips, and, later, had defrauded them pitilessly of theirself-promised "I told you so's, " by reason of the death of the handsomeyoung rake, before the rose-color of the honeymoon had begun to fade. Beauty, wit, and infallible tact she inherited from her mother, shrewdbusiness ability and a keen insight into men and things from her father, and wealth and a certain attractive audacity of speech from herhusband; and five years of widowhood only served to develop andemphasize the promise of her first season. There were numerous feetwhich aspired to be shod with Ellery Wynyard's discarded shoes, but noone pair, said the world, so much as an inch in advance of the rest. Mrs. Wynyard was spending the winter with her half-sister, and theRathbawnes, whom the circumstance of widely distant residence had alwayskept from coming into close touch with her, were equally at a loss whenthey wondered how they had formerly contrived to exist without her, andin what manner they should resign themselves to giving her up. She was awoman who came amazingly near to being indispensable. For the moment, Natalie Rathbawne, in reality the beauty which Dorothyby a fraction fell short of being, suffered by comparison with hersister. She was desperately tired--that was in her smile. But there wassomething else: a singular preoccupation which was nearly akin tolistlessness. That was in the droop of her eyelids, in the eloquentlyinattentive gesture with which she touched a bowl of Gloire de Dijonroses as she passed, and in her conventionally courteous acknowledgmentof young Nisbet's greeting. And, too, as she seated herself beside hersister on the divan, there was perceptible purpose in her avoidance ofthe lamp-light, her withdrawal into the dark, deep corner. To theconversation which followed she contributed only such brief remarks aswere made necessary by those occasionally addressed to her. The two women brought with them a delicious, indefinite atmosphere ofout-of-doors: that commingled smell of cold flowers, and cold flesh, andcold fur, which is to a drawing-room in winter what a whiff of salt airis in summer to a sun-baked hillside; and this proved almost too muchfor the self-possession, already tottering, of young Nisbet. He hadalways been accustomed to have the things he desired, had young Nisbet, but these, until now, had been either creature comforts, readilyobtainable when one's father is a multi-millionaire, or athletic honors, equally easy of attainment when one measures forty-two around the chest, and can do one's quarter in something under fifty. Again, the Nisbetslived on a ranch, and when one does not know people in New York onespends the Sundays in New Haven, so that neither the terms nor thevacations incidental to his four years at Yale had equipped him, in thesense in which they equipped his fellows, for dealing with society. Now that he was in Kenton City, representing his father's interests, young Nisbet was painfully self-conscious of multitudinous shortcomings, totally unsuspected hitherto. His speech was apparently hopelesslyincrusted with slang, his legs were too long, his ears protrudedabominably, his hair was desperately unruly, his freckles and hiscapacity for blushing were inexhaustible. He was as much at ease in suchsurroundings as these in which he now found himself as a trout in asandpile. The great room, with its costly furnishings, the tea-tablecrowded with silver and fragile porcelain, the kettle purringcontentedly above the iridescent flame of the alcohol lamp, --above all, the subtle, indefinable suggestion of femininity which unknowablypervaded his surroundings, --all these enthralled young Nisbet beyondexpression, and awed him immeasurably, into the bargain. He was, asusual, very clear in his own mind as to what he wanted, and that was theyounger Miss Rathbawne, but, for the first time in his experience, themeans at his command did not seem to be sufficient unto the end. For theyounger Miss Rathbawne was, very evidently, not the sort of triumphwhich is achieved by recourse to an imposingly ample bank-account, noryet by two months' loyalty to the exigencies of the training-table. Andthis was February, and he had known her since July, and, altogether, itwas highly discouraging. Unwittingly, young Nisbet heaved a sigh soprofound and so pitiable that Mrs. Wynyard immediately proffered hersympathy. "Poor, dear Mr. Nisbet! I never heard a more pathetic sigh. Whatever isthe matter?" "He's sleepy, " put in Dorothy. "He always is, after talking with me fora whole hour. " "I was just thinking, " protested young Nisbet helplessly. "Oh!" exclaimed Dorothy, "that's it, is it? Then pray don't discouragehim, Aunt Helen. He's really getting into some very good habits, oflate. " "Why, _Dorothy_!" said Mrs. Rathbawne, digging her chin reproachfullyinto her black velvet collar, "how _can_ you say such things? Mr. Nisbetwill think you have had _no_ bringing up at all. And _do_ sit upstraight, my dear!" "And if you don't stop nagging, O most conscientious of parents, "retorted Dorothy, with her nose in the air, "Mr. Nisbet will think youbring people up by throwing them down!" "And slang! _Dorothy!_" "I always think, " said Mrs. Wynyard, "that Dorothy should have had afairy godmother, to promise that every time she uttered a word of slanga pearl should pop out of her mouth. We should have all been wearingtriple strings down to our knees within a week after she learned totalk. " "That settles it!" exclaimed Dorothy. "If you are going to side with theenemy, Aunt Helen, there is nothing left for me to do but to beat aretreat. Come on, Mr. Nisbet, there is rest for the weary in theconservatory--that is, unless you want another cup of tea?" In the conservatory the air was heavy with the moist, sweet smell ofearth and moss, and faintly vibrant with the tiny plash of water, dripping from a pile of rocks into the circular central pool, whereinfat gold-fish went idly to and fro, nuzzling floating specks upon thesurface. Through the polished green of the surrounding palms andrubber-plants stared gardenias and camelias; below, between maidenhairand sword-ferns, winked the little waxen blossoms of fuchsias andbegonias: at intervals poinsettia flared audaciously among its morequietly dressed neighbors; and, in the far corners the golden sphereswere swelling to fairly respectable proportions on the branches of dwarforange-trees. Dorothy installed herself on a bench, and young Nisbet perched upon therim of the pool, and stared at vacancy. "It's corking, in here, " he said, after a moment. "Isn't it, though?" agreed Dorothy, with a nod of approval. "It's myfavorite part of the house. You can't imagine how many hours I spendhere, sewing, or reading, or fiddling with the fish and all those funnylittle plants under the palms. " "You bet!" said young Nisbet, with enthusiasm, if not much relevancy. "I've just got a picture of that, you know. Besides, we've spent a goodmany of those hours together in here, these past few months. " "Oh, not a tenth of them!" exclaimed Dorothy, "and then only the veryshortest. " "Oh!" said young Nisbet gloomily. His fertile imagination wasimmediately peopled with the forms and faces of those who had shared theother hours, a score of eligible and attractive young men, his moral, mental, and physical superiors in every conceivable particular, faultlessly arrayed, scintillating with wit, and surpassingly skilled inthe way to win a woman. The conservatory was full of them. He saw themin every imaginable posture: feeding the gold-fish, watering thebegonias, looking up into Dorothy's eyes as they sat at her feet, looking down at her slender fingers, as she pinned gardenias to theirlapels. And these had been granted the long hours, he only the short. Inwardly, young Nisbet groaned; aloud, as was his wont, he said thewrong thing. "They seemed long enough to me. " "_Well!_" said Dorothy. "Oh, hang it all! I didn't mean that. What an oaf I am!" "Never mind, " said Dorothy consolingly. "I know you well enough tounderstand you, by this time. " She smoothed her skirt reflectively. "Let me see, " she added, "what were we talking about when we wereswamped by the family?" "I think, " answered young Nisbet, with one of his illogical blushes, "that I had just asked you what sort of a man you thought you would liketo marry. I remember I was on the point of saying that I thought perhapsyou had ideas like--er--like your mother's. " Dorothy raised her eyebrows. "Like the Mater's?" "About a man being big and prominent, and all that, you know, "floundered young Nisbet. "She always makes such a point of Barclay'sbeing Lieutenant-Governor--I thought you might be for the same kind ofthing. " Dorothy looked him over, with a whimsical smile, as he was speaking. There was a deep bronze light in his close-cropped, ruddy hair, and hisskin was very smooth and clean. His eyes were appealing, with thatunspeakable eloquence of simple honesty which is almost pathetic. Underhis blue cloth coat, the great muscles of his shoulders and chest stoodout magnificently, rippling the fabric as he stirred, as if eager tothrow off their trammels, and be given free play. About him there was adistinct suggestion of sane living and regular exercise. For all hisfreckles, and his nose that was too little, and his mouth that was toolarge, "the ugliest of the Nisbet boys"--he had often been calledthat!--was very emphatically good to look upon. "A big man?" answered Dorothy. "Yes, I think I should like to marry abig man. I want him very clean, too--_very_ clean!--morally, as well asotherwise. And honest as the day is long. And not _too_ bright! I don'twant to be continually trying to live up to his brain, and continuallyfailing. It is fatal to one's self-respect, that sort of thing. Then, hemust be heels over head in love with me--for keeps! And then--oh, hemust be a _man_, a man through and through, who wouldn't think anythinghe didn't dare to say, nor say anything he didn't dare to do! That'swhat I want, and if I can get it, all the prominence in the world maygo hang!" "That's just about John Barclay, though, " said young Nisbet, "with theprominence thrown in. " "Well, I'm not saying I wouldn't have married John Barclay, if I'd hadthe chance. He comes pretty close to being all I would ask for, in theway of a man. But, unfortunately, there's only one John Barclay, and, like the rest of the world, he looked directly over poor little Me'sshoulders, and saw only Natalie. Good gracious! Who could blame him?She's the loveliest little thing in the world! But, at all events, shenabbed him, so all that is left for me to do is to grin and bear thedisappointment as best I may. He's very much of a man, John Barclay is!" "Yes, " assented young Nisbet, somewhat mournfully. "I can see that wouldbe the kind of a chap that the dames would stand for everlastingly. " "But, as I said before, " continued Dorothy, "it's not because he'sLieutenant-Governor, whatever the Mater may think about it, that Iadmire him. It's just because he's so big, and earnest, and loyal, and--and"-- "White, " said young Nisbet. "Yes, _isn't_ he? That's it--white!" "I can understand a man like that getting spliced, " observed youngNisbet very earnestly. "He has so much to offer a girl. But as for therest of us"-- "Oh, as to that, " broke in Dorothy airily, "John Barclay isn't the onlyman in the world, by any manner of means! Besides, Natalie havingalready bagged him, it is plain I shall have to look elsewhere. " There was a long pause, broken only by the plash of the water, whichseemed, as the seconds slipped by, to grow amazingly loud. Then youngNisbet raised his eyes, and looked at her, blushing deplorably. "I wish"--he said, "I wish"-- "Dorothy! _Do_ excuse me, Mr. Nisbet, but _really_--dinner at seven, youknow, and this child _must_ be thinking about dressing. She takes_ages_!" Mrs. Rathbawne folded her fat hands, and stood waiting, at theconservatory door. Young Nisbet rose. "Of course!" he said. "I'm always so stupid about these things. Good-by, Miss Rathbawne. I'm off to New York to-morrow on some confoundedbusiness, so I probably won't see you for a week or so. Good-by. " "_Would_ you mind going out by the hall, Mr. Nisbet?" suggested Mrs. Rathbawne. "Mr. Barclay is in the drawing-room with my elder daughter, and he is so _greatly_ occupied with affairs of state that they have_very_ little time together. I _hate_ to have them interrupted. One cando _so_ much harm sometimes, you know, by thoughtlessly interruptingpeople who are in love with each other. Thank you _so_ much; good-by. _Do_ try to stand a little straighter, Dorothy, my dear. " III A FACE IN THE CROWD At the sound of the Lieutenant-Governor's voice at the front door, Mrs. Rathbawne had beaten a hasty retreat, dragging her immensely edifiedhalf-sister in her wake, so that when he stepped through the curtaineddoorway Barclay found Natalie alone. "I'm so glad you could come early, " she said, from the corner of thedivan. "Now we can have a talk before dinner. I seem to see so little ofyou. I suppose that's the penalty attached to being engaged to thesecond biggest man in the state. I'm sometimes jealous, Johnny boy, ofAlleghenia's place in your affections. " "You're the only person in the world who has no need to be, " laughedBarclay. "What is the news?" "Probably, " said Natalie, "the only interesting items are that you arecold and a little cross, and that you want a big chair and a cup of teaand some hot toast. " "Your summary of the situation is so exhaustive, " said Barclay, "thatthere seems to be nothing left for me to say, except that you are themost beautiful girl in the world, and that I think I must stand still amoment and just look at you, before I accept any of the luxuries yousuggest. " "I can't imagine how you know that I'm so beautiful. You can't possiblysee me in this dark corner. But I see I've made one mistake! You aredistinctly _not_ cross. " "Why should I be?" asked the Lieutenant-Governor, standing before thetable, with his long legs far apart, and rocking from his toes to hisheels and back again. "When a man has been walking for half an hourthrough a gnawing February air, and suddenly, out of all proportion tohis deserts, comes full upon a rose in bloom, is that a reason for beingcross?" She was very small, and deliciously delicate, was Natalie Rathbawne, like a little Dresden image, with an arbutus-pink complexion, brownhair, and deep-blue eyes, now clouded thoughtfully, but oftener alightwith humor, or dilating and clearing under the impetus of conversation. A doll-like daintiness of tiny pleats and ruffles, fresh bows, and finestitching pervaded everything she wore, and if her voice inspired thehackneyed comparison of running water, it was of water running undermoss, the sound whereof is as different from that of an open brook as ismusic from discord. To John Barclay's thinking the barely believablefact that this little miracle of beauty--this pocket-Venus, as he waswont to call her--actually belonged to him remained one of the insolublemysteries of life. He could not, in the thraldom of his present Elysium, be expected to remember, even if he had ever fully realized, that hehimself was tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut, and clean-lived, with theunmistakable stamp of the American gentleman on his linen and hissimple, well-fitting clothes, and the evidences of a sane, regularexistence in his steady hands and his clear eyes and his firm mouth, --aman of whom any woman might be, and of whom this particular woman was, extravagantly proud. For the first tribute which a lover lays at thefeet of his lady is, in ordinary, the stamped-upon and abused summary ofhis personal attributes, which, in his own mind, he has taken remarkablepains to render as despicable as possible, and which, in hers, herimagination contrives not only to rehabilitate, but to imbue with apreposterously exaggerated splendor. "I wonder, " added the Lieutenant-Governor presently, "whether whengentlemen are invited to tea they are supposed to kiss the hostess onentering. " "If you are in any doubt about it, " observed Natalie, with an air ofsuperb indifference, "I advise you to write for advice to the etiquetteeditor of the 'Kenton City Record. ' She is probably sixty-two years old, looks like an English walnut, has never had a proposal in her life, andso knows all about"-- What the lady in question was supposed to know all about was forsufficient reasons never made clear. There are occasions, despite themanuals of polite behavior, when interruption cannot with any approachto justice be regarded as rudeness. Barclay heaved a long sigh of satisfaction as he took his tea and twothin slices of toast and settled himself in his chair. "Do you think it possible, " he asked, "for a man to be asleep for sixweeks, dreaming that he is in another garden of Eden, with an Eve in aFrench frock, who has no partiality for apples"-- "I _adore_ apples!" said the girl. "And then wake up, " he continued, disregarding the interruption, "andfind that the dream was only a dream, after all, --that he's only a poordog of a politician, that the garden is only a dingy office, and theflower-beds full of briers and pitfalls?" "You've been eating pie for lunch again, " said Natalie severely, "and italways makes you morbid. No; I don't think it possible at all. If I did, I should hang on to your coattails like fury and keep you in dreamland, whether you wanted to wake up or not. " "It's all too good to be true! How _dare_ you be so beautiful?" "John"-- "It's gospel truth!" Barclay paused for a moment, and then went on more seriously. "You're tired, littlest and most lovely in the world, and troubled aboutsomething. " Natalie laughed shortly, with evident effort. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "Why not? Don't you suppose I know? Do you think you could say a hundredwords without my perceiving that? It almost seems to me that theknowledge that you were unhappy would make its way to me, no matter whatdistance separated us, and that I should come to you at top-speed to setthings right. I've hardly seen your face, and yet I know your dear, deepeyes are troubled; I had barely heard your voice before I felt itsweariness. " Natalie bent forward until her face came under the light. "Yes, I'm tired, " she said; "or, rather, I was tired when I first camein. I'm better now, since I've had my tea. But you're right, Johnnyboy, --there's something more. I'm troubled, desperately troubled andheartsick. I've been trying to make myself believe that it's allimagination, that I have no reason for feeling as I do; but I'm afraid Ican't manage it. John, I thought I saw Spencer Cavendish to-day. " "Spencer Cavendish? Are you sure? I had almost forgotten hisexistence!--Of course, it's not impossible; but I imagined he had takenroot in some South Sea island long ago. That's what he was alwaysexpecting to do, you remember. How I have hated that man!" "You were good friends once. " "Yes, and should be yet, if I had not been the most suspicious mortalthat ever breathed, and he the most hot-blooded. There was a reason, youknow, --a little reason, but the most important in the world! I wasjealous, Natalie, insanely jealous. I could forgive him everything now. " "That hurts me, John. I'm so happy, boy dear, that I want everybody elseto be happy as well. Oh, why is it that a girl must always have that onethought on her mind, which is so hard, so hard?--I mean the thought ofthe good men, the true, brave, loyal men, whom she has cared for, whohave been her best friends perhaps, and yet whom she has been forced tohurt bitterly because they asked her for something she was not able togive. A man has so much easier a road! His happiness, when it comes tohim, isn't clouded by the thought of those to whom it means the loss oftheir last remnant of hope. They are there, the disappointed ones, buthe doesn't know, he doesn't know! He hasn't on his conscience the memoryof hearts cruelly wounded, --wounded even to death. He doesn't in memorysee the eagerness in a good friend's eyes die to disillusion, tohopelessness, to bitter, bitter sorrow. He doesn't have to remember howthe life died suddenly out of a voice that had been tender and eloquent. He doesn't sicken with the thought that his hand has given a blow somerciless, so unmerited, and yet so inevitable. Worst of all, for thegirl, is the after-discovery that her decision has made a difference--ahideous, irreparable difference, --that the man can never be the sameagain, --that she has wrecked a life with a word! Oh, there ought to besome way! The man ought not to ask unless he is sure of the reply! It'stoo much responsibility to force upon the girl! "So with Spencer Cavendish, " she went on after a moment. "In spite ofall--in spite of all, John!--I can't forget that he loved me. I think awoman never forgets that. " "Until the man marries another woman!" "Ah, " said Natalie, with a faint smile, "then least of all, John! Andbesides, Spencer never married. He knew I loved you, long before youdid! I felt that it was due to him that he should know; he was myoldest and best friend then, and so I told him! And then he went out ofmy life--out of his own--into darkness. I can't forget it! I can'tforget that I broke up your friendship"-- "Dearest!" "I did, John! It wasn't my fault, perhaps, nor any one's, for thatmatter, but I did, just the same. Besides, it wasn't only the questionof your friendship. What hurt me most was the wilful wreck of his life. And yet, how could I have known what was going to happen? What could Ido when it did happen? He was beyond my reach. He didn't even answer theletter I wrote, asking him to come and see me. I thought, if he caredfor me, I could save him. But it was just as he had said, --he must haveeverything, or he would have nothing at all. And so he went wrong--oh, so terribly, terribly wrong!--he who might have been anything, if ithadn't been for me. I can never forget it--never! I can never forget thepity of it, the tragedy of its awful publicity, the newspapers, thescandal, people's sneers, his mother dying of a broken heart--_and I didit_! Think of it! Think of a man like Spencer Cavendish in the policecourts, not once, but a dozen times. Think of what Justice Meyer calledhim at last, and what was printed in the papers, --'a common drunk!' Oh, John!" "Natalie, Natalie!" broke in the Lieutenant-Governor. "Why should youthink of such things, brood over them, above all, blame them onyourself? How could it possibly have been your fault? how could youpossibly have helped it? He was a reckless, hot-headed chap--brilliant, of course, but a slave to his impulses and his nerves. If Lochinvarscould act with impunity nowadays, he'd have ridden up to your door on ablack horse, killed Thomas, and carried you off across his pommel. As itwas, he let himself go, and disgraced himself. I tried to talk to him, just as you did, but he wouldn't have it--called me 'an insolent cub'and--er--worse. I had to give it up. It was all very distressing, Iadmit, but then, dear, it was all so long ago. He hasn't been in KentonCity for two years and more, and I've no doubt he pulled himselftogether long since, and is leading a straight life somewhere. He hadlots in him, with all his recklessness. A chap like that, with no familyhanging about his neck, and with his brains, and only his own living tomake, could forge ahead almost anywhere. " "But John, I'm _sure_ I saw him to-day, and suppose I should tell youthat he was--begging?" Barclay almost smiled at her earnest, troubled face, as he replaced hiscup on the table. "Begging?" he answered. "I'm afraid I couldn't bring myself to believeyou, violet-eyes. Even granting that he has fallen as low as that, whichI should think one of the most unlikely things in the world, it wouldhardly be in Kenton City, would it?--a place where his face is known toa thousand people. Tell me about it. What makes you think you saw him?" "I was shopping this morning, " said Natalie, "all alone; and as I cameout of Kendrick's and was just about to get into the brougham, I sawthat some one was holding the door open for me. I looked up carelessly, as one naturally would under the circumstances, and, John--I know it washe! At first I thought so, and then I didn't, because he was so changed, so thin and pale, and because he had a beard. So, before I thought whatI was doing, I stepped into the brougham, and put my hand on the door toclose it. Then I looked up again, and saw his face, peering in at methrough the glass, and that time there couldn't be any mistake. It_was_! I was going to speak, but he was gone in a flash. I saw himdisappearing in the crowd before the shop--_slinking_, John!--with thatdreadfully pathetic air which all beggars have, his shoulders allhunched up, and his head bent, and his hands in his pockets. He wascold, John, I could see that, and, no doubt, hungry! And there I was, inthat dreadful little brougham, with my hateful furs, as warm as toast, and I didn't even speak to him. I could have died of shame!" She buried her face in her hands, bending low over the tea-table. Barclay was leaning forward in his chair, his lips set. "It's impossible, " he murmured, "impossible!" The girl looked up suddenly, a white spot in the centre of each cheek, where the pressure of her thumbs had left its mark in the tender, pinkflesh. "Improbable--yes!" she said, "but not impossible. Oh, I wish I couldbelieve otherwise, but I'm sure, I'm sure! Oh, John! You are so big, sostrong, so powerful now! Think of it--Lieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia!You can do anything. And if he _is_ here in Kenton City, homeless, cold, starving, you must find and help him--for me, Johnny boy, for me!" The Lieutenant-Governor had risen, and was pacing up and down the room, with his brows knit, and his strong, white hands chafing slowly againsteach other, palm to palm. It seemed impossible, indeed! SpencerCavendish, the last of one of Alleghenia's proudest families; SpencerCavendish, the brilliant young society pet and sportsman; SpencerCavendish, the wit, the _viveur_--a beggar in the street? And yet-- The scandal of Cavendish's sudden and reckless plunge into sodden, opendissipation, two years before, freshly called to Barclay's mind byNatalie's words, had pointed to almost any finale, however debased, however sordid. Barclay mentally invoked the face of his former friend, as he had seen it on the occasion of their last meeting, flushed, swollen-eyed, insolent, the fine patrician mouth hideously contorted andmaundering insults, filth, banality. "And I did it!" the girl was saying. "Don't forget that, John. Unwittingly, ignorantly, helplessly, if you will, I did it, just thesame. If I could have loved him, I could have saved him. As it was, Ihad to send him away, and he has come to--to this! Oh, don't you see?Don't you understand that something more than chance has crossed my pathwith his, just at this moment of my supremest happiness, and of hisutter degradation? My duty is plain. It is to help him, to uplift him, to make a man of him once more--to undo what I have done! I'mresponsible--and I'm helpless! What can I do? What can any girl do insuch a case? I can't go out into the streets and search for him. I canonly turn to you, Johnny boy, and rely upon your aid. " "But, Natalie dearest, " said the Lieutenant-Governor slowly, "don't yousee that it is impossible, all this? I cannot allow such an affair tocome into your pure, sweet life, bringing with it the knowledge of thedepths to which men may fall, and the shadow of misery and degradation. I cannot bear that, in even the remotest way, you should blame yourselffor that which it was never in your power to prevent or remedy. Aman--this man--has no business to cast on you the blight of his ownweakness and folly, to establish a relation of cause and effect betweenyour refusal of him and the subsequent transformation of a gentlemaninto a common drunkard. " "John!" "Ah, don't think me bitter, dearest! If the man you saw was actuallyCavendish, I pity him from the bottom of my heart. But it was his handswhich built up the barrier between his life and ours, and it must be histhat tear it down. It is intolerable that in his degradation he shouldcome into your life again, and have, even in your imagination, thesmallest claim upon you--intolerable! The paths of my love for you andmy duty toward you are identical in this respect. There can be noalternative--no quibbling. At least until he has redeemed himself, ifredemption is still possible, the thought of him, his presence, hismisdoings, must not and shall not contaminate the atmosphere in whichyou live and move. " Natalie had risen suddenly, her eyes ablaze. "Ah, John!" she said. "Am I then a toy, a sugar figure, that I must bepacked in cotton, and shielded from all knowledge of the evil in theworld? Is that what it means to be a woman? Ah, _no_! It is bad enoughto be hemmed in by the wretched conventionalities which prevent my doingopenly what I conceive to be my duty, without adding to the restrictionsthat actually exist the imaginary one that I must not even think of themisery, the wretchedness, the sordid vice which abound just across theborders of the comfortable little world in which I live. And see, boydear!--with all the force of my conviction that things should beotherwise, yet I am reasonable. I don't ask to see Spencer, or to havean active hand in his redemption. I realize that the time for that haspassed, and that you are just in saying that he must come to me, not Ito him--and come to me another than the man he is to-day. Anything elseis impossible: that I see and accept. But the hideous fact remains. Aman who loved me once, who offered me all that a man can offer a woman, is walking the streets of Kenton City, cold, hungry, homeless--abeggar! What business is it of yours or mine what his past follies andweaknesses were? His temptations may have been beyond our understanding, but his present plight is not. He is begging--begging at our verydoors--a man whom we have called by the name of friend! I can't helphim. All I can do, as I said before, is to turn to you, whom I lovebetter than all the world, and ask you to save him, in my stead. Ah, boy, boy!--I've given you all I refused to him, taken at your hands allI put away at his. You can afford to be generous!" The Lieutenant-Governor came slowly toward her, and, placing his handsupon her shoulders, looked her in the eyes. "Dearest and Most Beautiful, " he said tenderly, "you are right. Ihope--I believe--that you were overwrought, fanciful, that it is nottrue. But if it is, if Cavendish is begging in our streets, then, sosurely as I am Lieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia, I will pull him out ofthem, and make a man of him, if it takes a month and every policeofficer and detective in Kenton City to find him. And that not alone foryour sake, tenderest-hearted, but for mine. I _can_ afford to begenerous, God bless your sweet face, I can indeed!" And he bent over reverently, and kissed her hand. IV AS BETWEEN FRIENDS There were but two guests at the Rathbawnes' dinner-table that night, the Lieutenant-Governor and Colonel Amos Broadcastle, a veteran of theRebellion, brevetted Major for conspicuous gallantry at LookoutMountain, and now commanding officer of the Ninth Regiment, N. G. A. , the crack militia organization of Kenton City. Colonel Broadcastle hadseen his sixty-five, but his broad, square shoulders, his rigidcarriage, and his black hair, even now only slightly touched with gray, clipped twenty years from his appearance. His eye was one that wasfamous throughout the Alleghenia Guard, --an eye accustomed to control, not a single man, or two, or three, but a thousand, moving as one at hiscommand; an eye enforcing obedience immediate, machine-like, andunquestioning. It had been a momentous day for the Ninth when Amos Broadcastle, retiring from the staff of a former Governor, had accepted, first amajority therein, and then, three months later, its colonelcy. He foundten companies, in no one instance exceeding twenty files front. He founda field and staff vain, incompetent, and jealous; company officersdeficient alike in their knowledge of tactics and in their conception oftheir responsibilities; sergeants, corporals, and lances chosen withoutany view to fitness, and ignorant and tyrannical in their positions; andfinally, the rank and file lazy, untidy, and frankly contemptuous of theschool of the soldier. Some one had once said of the Ninth that therewas consolation to be found in the mortifying knowledge that the mencomposing it were there with the unique view of escaping jury duty. Theconsolation lay in the probability that such infernally bad soldierswould have made jurors quite as infernally bad. But Broadcastle, a born disciplinarian and a trained tactician, was nowin a position to echo, albeit in a different spirit, the arrogance ofLouis: "_Nous avons changé tout cela!_" Ten years had sufficed to changethe indolent and incompetent Ninth of Alleghenia into a regimentrivaling in prestige the Seventh of New York. The commissioned officerswere thrust upon, rather than achieved by, their companies, but, onceestablished in their respective positions, proceeded without exceptionto justify, by their energy and ability, their selection from the bestelement of Kenton City. Among the enlisted men the exponents of the oldspirit of sloth, indifference, and laxity were weeded out as fast astheir terms of service expired, and their places filled from the samesources whence the company officers were drawn. Colonel Broadcastle wasa diplomat as well as a disciplinarian. By some unknowable system ofsuggestion and example it came, little by little, to be regarded inKenton City as "the thing" to belong to the Ninth. Before the capitalwas aware of the transformation, every company roster read 103, thefield and staff had been reorganized and perfected, and the NinthRegiment, N. G. A. , was what it remained thereafter: a magnificentfighting machine, ably drilled, perfectly equipped, a credit to thestate, to the credit of which there stood so little else. Thedeclaration of war with Spain brought it suddenly into prominence by theastonishing readiness with which it went into camp twenty hours afterthe Adjutant-General of Alleghenia published the President's call forvolunteers; and although it never saw active service, it attracted atChickamauga, and later at Tampa, the admiring attention of the regulararmy, and was spoken of as the most perfect body among the volunteerforces. The citizens of Kenton City were not accustomed to discovering things inwhich they could take pride. The exact contrary was more apt to be thecase. When, therefore, they discovered the rehabilitated Ninth, and itsredeemer in the person of its commanding officer, they had a deal tosay, and said it with unexampled arrogance and satisfaction. Thenceforward, Alleghenia meant much to Colonel Broadcastle, andColonel Broadcastle considerably more than much to Alleghenia. Something of all this went through the Lieutenant-Governor's mind duringthe progress of the dinner. He sat at Mrs. Rathbawne's right, than whichnothing in the world could have been more cheerless, unless it wassitting at Mrs. Rathbawne's left. But the good lady's habitualcomplacency was plainly in abeyance, her customary volubility replacedby a fidgety reserve. The dinner, as a social achievement, was adistinct failure, save in so far as Mrs. Wynyard and Colonel Broadcastlewere concerned. Several months before, Mrs. Wynyard had franklyannounced that she had designs upon the Colonel. Latterly, Barclay hadbegun to suspect the Colonel of having designs upon Mrs. Wynyard. Thirtyand sixty-five that looked forty-five--a widow and a widower! Morewonderful things had happened. "If I were thirty years younger, " Broadcastle was saying even now, as hedid full justice to the celery mayonnaise, "I should say we were madefor each other. " "Since two single people may be made for each other, " laughed Mrs. Wynyard, "I wonder if two married people can't be unmade for each other. Perhaps that is just what has happened to us!" "I'll think that over, " replied the Colonel with mock gravity. "I don'twant to commit myself on so serious a hypothesis, without duereflection. " They were the only ones who were thoroughly at ease. Barclay andNatalie, unstrung by the events of the day, ate little and talkedlistlessly. Dorothy, victim to an inward excitement which was halfhappiness and half disappointment, chattered feverishly. Rathbawne waswrapped in his own thoughts, and his wife, innocently unobservant ofemotional manifestations in any and every other, but patheticallysensitive to the slightest evidence of mental perturbation in thisstern, kind man, between herself and whom existed a devotion dog-like inits silence and intensity, watched his clouded face with an anxietywhich she made no effort to conceal. The dinner dragged hopelessly, until she shook herself into a bewildered realization that it was over, folded her napkin scrupulously, dusted a few crumbs from the black-satinslope of her obsolete lap, and, followed by her daughters and Mrs. Wynyard, left the men to their cordials and cigars. The latter drew their chairs nearer, as the door closed, made littleclearings in the wilderness of finger-bowls, silver, and discardednapkins, for the accommodation of their coffee-cups and cordial glasses, and, lighting the long Invincibles which were Rathbawne's soleextravagance, inhaled that first matchless whiff of smoke which makes awhole day of anxiety and vexation seem to have been worth the while. It is a moment apart and _sui generis_, this, and is rivaled only bythat of early morning realization that one is awake--and not obliged toget up. It is apt to pass in silence, for a newly lit cigar is like anewly married wife: a man is deliberately oblivious to all else. Themoment, too, is one of readjustment, of hasty mental survey of thechatter that has passed, and of preparation for the essentiallydissimilar talk to come. With men of the mental calibre of the threehere assembled this opportunity is sacred to some of the gravest andmost vital thoughts which they exchange. Peter Rathbawne, in particular, whenever he reviewed the paramount conversations of his life, seemed tofind their significance indissolubly fused with the fragrance of Havanacigars and the taste of kümmel or yellow Chartreuse. His eyes dwelt thoughtfully upon his companions during the pause whichfollowed. First, on Broadcastle. He could depend upon him as he coulddepend upon no other man on earth. They had fought side by side in manya tight place in the black days of '62, and in many another, full astight, since then, on battlefields commercial and political. It isdoubtful whether so much as a single word of admiration or affection hadever passed between them. It is equally doubtful whether anything couldhave been more entirely superfluous than such a voicing of self-evidentsentiments. John Barclay, too! Peter Rathbawne, with what had been naturalshrewdness at the outset now sharpened almost to clairvoyance by hisyears of dealing with a multiplicity of men and things, understood theLieutenant-Governor absolutely, and admired him with all the force ofhis rugged nature. And Rathbawne was not given to admiring people. Hisbusiness experience had not fostered the spirit of hero-worship. He hadseen too much for that. But in the two men before him he recognizedqualities so unusual, and in many ways so similar, that he was proud tocount them friends. For the moment, however, as he took stock of them, he was measuring themby a new standard, more rigid, more severe than he had hitherto hadreason to apply. It is one thing to trust a man implicitly, and anotherthing entirely to try to tell him so. For silence is most golden in thespecification of friendship, and when employed in the particularizing ofintimate emotion the silver of speech is apt to turn to veriest tinsel. Yet the occasion was one which demanded speech. Moreover, and in directopposition to his inclinations and the precedents he had established, hewas forced not only to give practical expression to his feeling forBroadcastle and Barclay, but, what humiliated as well as annoyed him, toconfess himself incapable of dealing with a question which confrontedhim. It was the first time within his recollection when he hadmistrusted his own judgment. But Peter Rathbawne was not the man to procrastinate, and presently hebegan to speak, in a low but curiously intense voice, from which theothers instinctively took their cue. He was a short man, inclined tostoutness, but with the clear, sharp eye and the underhang of jaw whichtell of right principle and indomitable perseverance. It was a questionwhether in calling him the second most obstinate man in Alleghenia, Governor Abbott had given him the full measure of his due. "Gentlemen, " he said, with the somewhat stilted formality which was partof his manner, "I will say to you what I wouldn't say to others, --I'm ina hole, and I want your advice. I'll be as brief as possible, and I'llcome right to the point. For thirty years I've been building up theRathbawne Mills, giving them every hour of my thought, every particle ofmy strength, every atom of my ability. I've seen them grow from a littleshanty on the outskirts of Kenton City to a collection of buildingscovering four solid squares, filled with modern machinery, and employingfour thousand, two hundred and odd hands. I've been a business man, I'vebeen a rigid man, but I've been a fair man, too. No one can say that Iever clipped wages, even when I had to run the mills at a loss, as I'vehad to do more than once. I gave my people an eight-hour day long beforethe law of Alleghenia jammed it down the throats of other mill-owners. I swallowed the Union, though it was a bitter mouthful. There has neverbeen a just complaint from one of my employees that wasn't attended toin short order, if it was in my power to do so. There's many an oldfossil on my pay-rolls to-day who isn't worth his salt, but he staysthere, and will continue to stay there, because he did his best when hecould, and it's not his fault that he's dead wood now. I've given in, over and over again, in one way or another, sometimes against myconvictions, and oftener against my will. But one thing I've stuck to, and that's my right to discharge a hand when I see fit, withoutdictation from the Union or anybody else. In the past, this has beencomparatively easy sailing. One man, now and again, isn't a ripple onthe surface of four thousand employees. Besides, there was always a goodreason. The others saw that, and there was never a finger raised. Theybelieved in me, through and through, and it has been my pride to knowthat they did, and that they had good cause to. But now it's different. There has been a band of young good-for-nothings in Shop 22, who werefull, chock-a-block, of socialism, and equality, and workingmen'srights, and God knows what-not! They've talked enough poisonous gas tothe other hands to blow up a state. They distributed pamphlets, and madespeeches, and organized clubs, and fomented discord, till I got sick andtired of it. There wasn't one square day's work in the whole fifteen ofthem put together. So, when I'd stood them as long as I could--which wasat ten o'clock yesterday morning--I discharged them all in a bunch, andif there'd been a steep place handy, I'd have expected to see them allrun violently down it into the sea--like the other swine, in Scripture. For if ever there was a band of devils made incarnate, it was that samefifteen who were sowing anarchy broadcast through the Rathbawne Mills! "Now--what? Lo and behold, they are all henchmen and disciples ofMichael McGrath, whom we in Kenton City know to our cost, and regularand loyal members--save the mark!--of his Union. Well, gentlemen, I'vegot that Union about my ears like a nest of hornets, with McGrath at thehead, and unless those fifteen men are reinstated by noon to-morrow, myfour thousand hands will be out on strike, and the Rathbawne Mills willbe tied up as tight as a drum!" "Fight 'em!" said Colonel Broadcastle curtly, as the other paused. "That's what I meant to do--but where am I going to come out? If Ithought, for instance, that I was going to have your regiment to back meup, Broadcastle, or even the Kenton City police, why, well and good! But_am_ I? No, sir! _No_, sir! Not with Elijah Abbott in the Governor'schair, I'm not! You know that as well as I. Why, Broadcastle, I'd rathersee McGrath himself at the capitol than that smooth-spoken skunk!" He paused to relight his cigar, and then continued. "The Rathbawne Mills are like the fruit of my own body to me. I lovethem! I love every stone and brick of them, that I've put in place, asit were, with my own hands. I've often thought that if they should burndown it would come close to killing me. And yet I could watch them gowith a lighter heart, God knows, than that with which I foresee themisery that's coming to these people of mine, who are going to starve atthe bidding of a band of black-legs, and that not even because theythink their cause a just one, but simply because they can't helpthemselves. It isn't only that ruin's staring me in the face, thoughthere's that possibility in the situation, too, but that privation, bitter misery, and despair are lying in wait for them. God!--what aniniquity! "But I _can't_ give in, Broadcastle--I _can't_ give in, John Barclay! Itmeans the sacrifice of a principle I've held out for, and that I know isright. What's more, it isn't as if I were yielding one point. It wouldonly be the beginning. If I give in now, I might as well turn over themills to McGrath at once, and let him run them according to his ownblackguardly will. You know how such things go. Give them an inch"-- "And they raise a hell!" put in Colonel Broadcastle. "Exactly! It's commercial suicide. And yet, if I _don't_ yield, I'mprecipitating disorder, and bloodshed, and the untold suffering of fourthousand souls. What am I to do?" "Fight 'em!" said Colonel Broadcastle, with a sharp nod of his head. Rathbawne turned from him to the Lieutenant-Governor, and to the latter, knowing the man he had been, there was something indescribablyheart-rending in the sudden, irresolute trembling of his half-raisedhands, the slow shake of his head, and the pathos of his raised eyebrowsand drooping lips. "John, " he said, "I'm an old man, and you're a young one, but I'm aplain citizen, and you're the Lieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia. Youknow how things stand. Now, I've given you my girl, and after that it'snot much to put myself into your hands as well. I'm getting on. Mystrength isn't what it was. I'm not as fit to stand such a struggle asthis is bound to be, as I was thirty years ago. I look strong, but, inreality, I'm not. My doctor has warned me, more than once. A suddenshock--you know what these medical chaps say about sudden shocks! I'velaughed at him, of course, and yet--I know there is truth in it. I'vebeen up against hard propositions, but never one as hard as this. I'vehad big responsibilities, but never a responsibility that I felt as Ifeel this one. If I hold out, I know what people and the newspapers willsay, --how they'll blackguard me, --but I'm not afraid of that. I'm noteven thinking of it. No, and I'm not thinking of what the strain maymean to me. Every man's turn is sure to come--why not one way as well asanother? But what I _am_ thinking of is the result upon the lives ofthese people whom I've made, as surely as if I were another Creator. AndMcGrath's another Beelzebub! There's a fight on between us for thesalvation of a little world of four thousand souls! But I'm not God! Ican't act with the conviction of omniscience. I've been the mostindependent of men. I've made my own fortune with my own brains. I'vedone as I saw fit, and the results have seemed to indicate that I'vebeen oftener right than wrong. But now, I'm at a loss. It's not the menI'm thinking of so much. They ought to be able to make their own way, asI've made mine. It's the women and children dependent upon them--thewomen and children who have no voice in the matter, and yet who arebound to suffer most by a strike. I've got to think for them. I'vereached a crisis--a cross-ways--and I've got to choose which course totake--and I can't! All my experience counts for nothing. I've never--youprobably know it--asked for advice before. But now I must have theunprejudiced, the outside point of view. I've always thought there was aclear, unmistakable boundary between right and wrong, but now there'ssome right in the wrong, and a big sight more of wrong in the right!I've heard Broadcastle's opinion, and I want yours. If you agree, I'llgo by what you say. As I said before, John, in this matter I'm theindividual--you're the state. I'll go by what you say. What shall I do?" Peter Rathbawne's words had wrought tremendously upon theLieutenant-Governor. He answered slowly, looking down, and with aperceptible tremor in his voice. "Mr. Rathbawne, you and the Colonel know how high-sounding my title is, and how little, in reality, it means. There is no need to go intodetails. I'm Lieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia, yes!--and as helpless inthe cause of right as a new-born baby! If I could by any means, in anymanner, support the advice I gave you, I would give it willingly. " "John!" said Peter Rathbawne, "I don't mean that. I've put the casewrongly. Give me your counsel, not as Lieutenant-Governor, but as myfriend, and the man who loves my daughter!" The Lieutenant-Governor raised his eyes from the finger-tips with which, as the other was speaking, he had been plucking at the cloth. "Fight them, Mr. Rathbawne, " he said, "and may God help you--because Ican't!" V A BRAND FROM THE BURNING More heartsick than he cared to confess, even to himself, theLieutenant-Governor left the Rathbawnes' earlier than his wont, despitethe fact that his host and Colonel Broadcastle were still engaged indiscussing the impending situation, and that Natalie, with a batch ofnew music, was waiting for him at the piano. He pleaded an unusuallybusy day and his consequent fatigue as an excuse, and so, at half afternine, found himself about to light a second cigar, on the steps of theRathbawne residence, and shivering a little in the night air, whichstung the inside of his nostrils and set his eyes watering. Raw as theday had been, it had turned colder now, but the night was superblyclear. The sky seemed to have drawn nearer to the earth, and the starstwinkled so sharply and clearly against its deep blue-black that theyresembled in form their conventionally five-pointed counterfeits ofsilver paper. A brisk wind whirled a few dried leaves in whisperingeddies across the smooth asphaltum of the driveway, but beyond this andthe peevish sputtering of the arc-light on the opposite corner there wasno sound. It was the kind of night which, with its crystal clearness andits steely intensity, stirs the normal pulse to keen exhilaration: yetnever had John Barclay felt more hopelessly dispirited, more utterly ata loss to see the way before him. That anxiety, distress, possiblyactual disaster should be impending over this house where lay his heart, his happiness, and his hope, was sufficiently disturbing in itself. Thathe should not be able, despite his position, to raise a hand to avertthe calamity was worse. But that the battle was to be a battle for theright, and yet, as it seemed, foredoomed from the start to end indisaster, since no aid could be expected from the strong arm of the lawto which the partisans of principle turn naturally for support: thiswas worst of all. For out of dangerous surroundings he felt himself ableto snatch away the littlest and most lovely woman in the world. She, atleast, should not suffer. And out of this nightmare of powerlessprominence, of impotent position, he himself could retire into privatelife, and be no less a man than he had been before. But from thereproach of corruption which had fallen upon her, and the impending slurof anarchy, who was to rescue Alleghenia? The Lieutenant-Governor sethis lips and drove his nails into his palms, as he stood in the shadowof the Rathbawnes' doorway, looking up at the sky of the February night. He was not a religious man--as the term goes--but in that moment he saida better prayer for the welfare of his state than had ever lain upon thelips of any priest in Kenton City! He was about to strike his match when an instinct rather than an actualperception of movement arrested his hand. Bradbury Avenue, upon whichstood the Rathbawne house, was situated in one of the quieter residencedistricts which prided itself on the turfed spaces between itsdwellings, pretentious enough for the most part, and the double rows oftrees which lined its thoroughfares. It was one of these trees which, atthe moment, attracted Barclay's attention. It lay in a direct linebetween himself and the arc-light on the corner, and its trunk, in somemiraculous manner, had abruptly developed an elbow, and then an arm. TheLieutenant-Governor was still staring at this phenomenon when it was asabruptly explained by the sudden emergence from shadow of a man, who hadapparently been standing on the side of the tree nearest to the house. He was crossing the avenue obliquely when something about his bearingcaused the Lieutenant-Governor to lean forward and follow him intentlywith his eyes. It was all there, as Natalie had said--the liftedshoulders, the bent head, the unmistakable, pathetic air of the beggar. Then, as he neared the light, he gave a short upward strain to his neckand chin, the impatient movement of a man whose collar annoys him. Thetrick was too familiar to have been forgotten. The next moment Barclay'sheels were pounding on the asphaltum behind him, and then Barclay's handfell upon his shoulder and whirled him round. In the oddly intense radiance of the arc-light above, which cut sharplyacross the surface of forehead, cheek, and chin, and left heavy shadowslike those in a roughly blocked-out carving, under brow, nose, and lowerlip, the two men faced each other briefly, in silence. Then theLieutenant-Governor voiced the other's name, hardly above a whisper. "Spencer Cavendish!" And the other, echoing the tone, if not the words, replied:-- "Bar-clay!" A square away, the lights of a hansom winked into the avenue, and thehoof-beats of the horse clonked on the pavement, unaccompanied by anysound from the smoothly trundling, rubber-tired wheels. Barclay steppedto the kerb, and hailed the driver with his stick. The cab drew in, stopped, and threw the divisions of its apron wide, like two black handsextended in cordial welcome. The Lieutenant-Governor turned to his companion. "Get in, " he said. "I want to have a talk with you. " The drive of a mile and more from Bradbury Avenue to Barclay's quartersin the new bachelor apartment-house "Rockingham" was accomplishedwithout the exchange of a word. Once, he felt his companion shiver, anddragging a rug from under them, he spread it across their knees. Thatwas the only movement on the part of either. They sat, side by side, looking straight before them over the horse's bobbing crupper, until thehansom pulled up sharply before the broad and brilliantly illuminatedentrance of the "Rockingham. " As they passed in, Cavendish had a passingimpression of tiled floors, columns of green marble, and attendants intightly fitting green uniforms with brass buttons. Then an elevatorwhirled them up to the eighth floor, deposited them in a square hallway, and vanished again, with the little page in charge wrinkling his noseand biting the thumb of his cotton glove. "Wot's the Loot'nt-Guvnor up to now, Sawed-Off?" inquired the doorkeepergenially, as the elevator returned to the ground floor. "Ide'no!" replied the little page with equal affability. "Goin' in ferpol'tics, I guest. Jeest! Wot a slob it wuz--wot?" The Lieutenant-Governor unlocked the door of his apartment, touched anelectric button which flooded the little hall and the drawing-roombeyond with light, and, entering the latter, went directly to a closetin the wall. Unlocking this, he took out a jar of biscuits and adecanter, and setting them upon the table, turned once more to hiscompanion. "Put away a couple of those biscuits and a glass of sherry, " he said, "and then we'll talk. " "I'm past biscuits, " said the other, almost sullenly. "I'll see to that, " replied Barclay. "They are only by way of astarter. " He passed into the hall as he spoke, and presently Cavendish heard theclick of a telephone receiver slipping from its crotch, and Barclay'svoice speaking, to some one below, of a steak, vegetables, salad, andcoffee. He stepped to the table, devoured two or three of the biscuitsravenously, poured himself a glass of sherry, sipped, and then swallowedit, and flung himself down upon a wide divan. "Have you a cigarette?" he asked, as Barclay reëntered. "I haven'tsmoked in three days. That's worse than mere hunger, you know. " "I believe you!" Barclay pushed a silver box across the table, and seating himselfopposite, touched a match to the cigar which he had been about to lightat the Rathbawnes' door, and which he still held between his lips. "Help yourself, " he added. "Your supper will be up presently. Meanwhile, shall I fire away, or will you?" Cavendish let the first smoke from his cigarette curl slowly up hischeek before replying. In the full light now first resting upon it, hisface showed as that of a man approximately Barclay's age, but pinched bywant, and deeply lined by dissipation. His under lids were puffy anddiscolored, and a dozen heavy creases ran, fan-like, from the corners ofhis eyes. Hair already turning white and an unkempt mustache and beardcompleted the picture. His clothes were faded and frayed, no linen wasvisible, and his boots were cracked and soggy. There was nothing abouthim to suggest the former estate of gentleman save his hands, which, while thin and tremulous, were clean and well-kept, in singular contrastto the slovenliness of his attire. "Age before respectability, " he said in reply to Barclay's question, with a shrug. "I'll go first. It will save your asking questions. Weparted in anger, Barclay. " "Let that pass, " put in the Lieutenant-Governor, briefly. "Two yearswipe out all scores as petty as was the cause of our quarrel. " "Well, then, " continued Cavendish more easily, "when I left Kenton City, it was with the best intention in the world of making a fresh start insome place where my story wasn't known. I went to New York. I had alittle money, but only a very little, and not the most remote idea ofhow difficult it is for a man to make his way in a place where he isunknown, particularly if he has no credentials and is too proud to askfor any from his old associates. Moreover, I'd been drinking hard forsix months and there was no such thing as clipping it short all at once. I had an idea of tapering off, and perhaps, if I had found a job, Imight have done so. As it was I climbed up one step and fell down two, and that went on indefinitely. It wasn't as if I'd had a distinct aim oranything in my life which made it seem worth living. I didn't half care. I'd set my heart on something which I couldn't get, and--well, nevermind that. It is all as long ago as the Flood! I got work now and again, tried reporting, and teaching, and copying. But each time it was a gradelower, and I stuck to nothing but the whiskey--except when I had alittle more money than usual, and then it was absinthe. " He touched his eyes, and then raised his hand to the level of his chin, with the fingers held wide apart and rigid, and watched it tremble foran instant in silence. "I haven't seen a mirror in weeks, " he went on, "but I know the signsare all there. That's the story. I could string it out for an hour, butit would all be in the same key. I've simply been going down, down, down. I'm what the old judge called me--do you remember it came out inthe 'Record?'--I'm a common drunk, Barclay. And I don't care! I've beenon the point of putting an end to it many a time--but I always held outfor another drink! Now, even my pride's gone. It stuck to me longer thananything else, but it's taken itself off at last. I've been feelinglately that I'm pretty near the end, and I wanted to see Kenton Cityagain before it came. That's the reason I walked all the way fromPittsburg, and I've been begging on the streets since I got in. Ithought nobody would recognize me. " "But _I_ did, " said Barclay. "Yes, and--and"-- "Yes, and _she_ did! She saw you this morning, but before she took infully that it was you, you were gone in the crowd. She was halfheart-broken over it, and made me promise to look you up. I was going todo so, when I tumbled against you by chance to-night. You were watchingthe house?" "Yes, for the last time. I saw she had recognized me and that KentonCity was no place for me. So I was off again to-night. Is she"-- "She is well, and, I am glad to say, happy. We are to be married in theautumn. " A smile hovered for an instant on Cavendish's lips. "God bless her!" he said slowly. "I'm glad of it. But don't let's talkof that. She's as far above me as the stars!" "And as far above me, too, for that matter!" answered Barclay. "Here'syour supper. While you're eating, I'll take my turn at the talk. " A bell-boy arranged the tray on the table, removed the covers, and in amoment the two men were again alone. With a deep sigh of satisfactionCavendish drew a chair to the table and set to work on the steamingdishes before him. "Jupiter!" he said, with the first mouthful poised on his fork, "youdon't know what this means, Barclay, and you can thank God you don't. Iwon't attempt to thank you. Go on, and tell me about yourself. " "I've no intention of doing that just at present, " replied theLieutenant-Governor, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. "Iwant to talk about you. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to preach! But I_am_ going to say that while I understand a good deal of what you'vesaid, the last part is pure rot! You're a bit of a wreck, of course, butit isn't your pride or your self-respect or whatever you choose to callit, that's gone. It's only your nerve. Now you've had your experience, and you're back where you belong, and you've friends who like you, andwho can help you, and who will. I'm in a position to do so myself, and Idon't expect you to make any bones about accepting my assistance, andwhatever money you need for the moment. It will be a loan, of course, tobe repaid when you're on your feet again. We'll have you there in notime. When you've made way with the grub, you can bunk down on thatdivan for the night, and in the morning I'll tog you out in one of myoutfits, and you can set about getting back on _terra firma_. You'llhave to shake the drink, that goes without saying. " Cavendish straightened himself suddenly, laid down his knife and fork, and laughed shortly. "It sounds well, " he said bitterly, "but you don't understand, Barclay. It's too late! I don't care, and if I did, I couldn't shake the drink tosave my immortal soul. I'm steady enough for the time being, because I'mhungry and because I'm being fed. But I've tried the other game toooften. I know what it means. I wouldn't promise you to quit, because Idon't want to lie to you, and that's all it would be. When the cravingcomes back, I'll go down before it like a row of tenpins. No, Barclay, it won't do. " "Nonsense, man! Do you want to tell me you're as weak as that?" "Every bit!" said Cavendish, attacking the steak again. "Well, I don't believe it, that's all. In the morning you'll be adifferent man. I'll give you a bromide when you're ready for bed. You'reshaky, as it is, but that's all a matter of nerves. Now we'll drop thesubject, and talk of other things. " It was midnight when they separated. Barclay brought out sheets andblankets for the divan, produced pajamas for his guest, put the bath athis disposal, and mixed a strong dose of bromide for him to take uponretiring. Half an hour later, when he reëntered the drawing-room to see whetherCavendish was in need of anything further, he found him standing by thetable in his pajamas, trembling, wide-eyed, and very pale. "What is it?" he asked. "Are you ill?" "No, " answered Cavendish, striving in vain to control the trembling ofhis lips, "only damnably nervous. Could you--could you give me a drop ofbrandy, Barclay?" "Certainly not!" said the Lieutenant-Governor. "Pull yourself together, man! There's your bromide. Take that. It's better than a thousandbrandies. " Cavendish turned, lifted the glass, spilling a little as he did so, andswallowed the sedative at a gulp. Then he stretched himself upon thedivan and drew the covers close up about his chin. Presently, from thebedroom, Barclay heard him breathing deeply and regularly, and turningon his side, fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. He awoke with a start, as the dawn was showing gray through the chinksof his window curtains, with a vague, uneasy sense of something wrong, and lay listening, every nerve strained taut. From the adjoining roomcame the sound of Cavendish's breathing, but now it was more raucous, more like groan following groan. The Lieutenant-Governor strove in vainto put off the foreboding which lay heavy upon him, until, finally, unable to resist the impulse, he rose, slid his feet into his slippers, and going noiselessly into the drawing-room, stepped to the windows andput the curtains softly aside. What first met his eye as he turned wasthe door of his little wine-closet in the wall. It was standing wideopen, and about the lock the wood was hacked and hewed away in greatsplinters. On a chair near by lay a rough knife with the blade open anda sliver of wood yet sticking to the point. Then he looked toward thedivan. Cavendish was lying face down upon it, outside the blankets, with his head lolling sharply over the edge. His left arm was extendedfull length toward the ground, where his fingers just touched a bottleof French absinthe, overturned upon its side, and uncorked, with thethick, gummy liquid spread from its mouth in a circular pool on thewaxed floor. VI McGRATH LAUGHS The clock on the huge central tower of the Capitol marked nine, as theLieutenant-Governor passed rapidly through the lofty entrance halltoward the corridor leading to his office and that of Governor Abbott. Already his promptness was proverbial, and there were those in thegreat, grim building who looked forward to the moment of his arrival, each morning, with a kind of eagerness. These were the simpler folk ofthe official world with which circumstance housed him for eight hoursdaily, --bootblacks, elevator-boys, porters, doormen. For to the big, clean, wholesome personality which appeals irresistibly to these humblerpeople, Barclay added an astonishing memory for faces, and for the namesand circumstances connected with them. It was a gift which counted as anunspeakably important factor in the establishment and maintenance ofunusually cordial relations with all those with whom he came in contact. No one brought within the radius of his personal magnetism long resistedit. It was only those who judged him from a distance, as did the pressand the rank and file of his party, or those who deliberatelymisinterpreted him, as did his political enemies, who permittedthemselves anything short of enthusiasm for John Barclay. And thisfaculty for attracting admiration and commanding respect, thisinfallible kindness and this inherent dignity, were never made manifestto so great advantage as in his attitude toward his inferiors. Theseadored him. He accumulated, bit by bit, a remarkable store of intimateinformation relating to them, and employed it in his intercourse withthem, with a tact and a frank sincerity of interest which never failedof their effect. The response thus elicited was strongest of the minorpleasures in his life. He was aware--none better--of the shrewdnessnative to those who have no claim upon one's recognition, theirappreciation of notice that is unfeignedly interested, theirsensitiveness to open indifference, their resentment of the simulatedconsideration which is mere impertinence; and he was conscious of alittle inward thrill of satisfaction at the difference of attitude inthe employees at the Capitol as toward Governor Abbott and himself. Where the former's suavity elicited only formal respect, manifestlyobligatory, his own whole-heartedness lined his way with smiles andkindly greetings. His official existence, beset with annoyance, mortification, and disappointment, was, as he often reflected, madetolerable only by this friendliness which he, almost unconsciously, inspired. Dogs, children, and his subordinates--the three mostintuitively critical classes of beings--were all his friends. Thepathway to and from the daily routine, which he was coming to regard asmoral martyrdom, was a pathway illumined with sunlight and strewn withflowers! As the Lieutenant-Governor passed through his ante-room, with a wink atthe boy, a nod to the stenographer, and a word of greeting to hisprivate secretary, and entered his office, he was surprised to find thecommunicating door open, and to hear the sound of a vaguely familiarvoice in the Governor's room beyond. In an effort to place the speaker, he hesitated briefly before advancing to a point which would bring himwithin range of the Governor's eye. Almost immediately, the memory ofthe convention rushed over him, and he recognized the voice as that ofMichael McGrath. "And it won't be a strike like other strikes, " he was saying, "not solong as I'm running it, that is. It's going to mean business from theword go! There's been too much shilly-shallying in the strikes I'veknown anything about, too much talk, and too much wasting of Unionfunds. You know what I mean. It isn't enough to tie up a mill, and thenhang around on street-corners for two months, waiting for the other sideto give in. The only place to hit a man like Rathbawne is in his pocket, and by that I don't mean simply cutting off his income, but choppinginto his capital as well. He's got to understand"-- The Lieutenant-Governor walked over to his desk, laid his hat and stickon a chair, and, before removing his overcoat, began turning over thepile of letters which awaited his attention. As he did so, GovernorAbbott's voice broke in suavely upon the other's. "I deprecate any resort to violence, " he said. "You must proceed withdiscretion if you expect the state to maintain an attitude ofneutrality. Otherwise, the police or the militia"-- "Oh, to hell with the police and the militia!" broke in McGrathimpatiently. "What's the use"-- "There is the Lieutenant-Governor now, " interrupted the other. "Perhapshe has some news for us. Mr. Barclay, will you kindly step in here for amoment?" McGrath was standing on the opposite side of the Governor's table asBarclay entered the room. He acknowledged the latter's curt nod with anironical bow, slipped his hands into the pockets of his checkedtrousers, and stood waiting, with his square head thrust forward, forwhat was to follow. "Mr. McGrath has called, " continued the Governor, "to explain theattitude of the Union in the impending strike at the Rathbawne Mills. I've been telling him of our conversation of yesterday afternoon, andthat, as you were to see Mr. Rathbawne last night, you would probablyhave something to tell us in regard to his position. Were you able topersuade him to a more reasonable view of the situation?" "I have nothing to add, sir, to what I said yesterday, " replied Barclay. "I told you then that I had no intention of endeavoring to influence Mr. Rathbawne's judgment. " "He spoke to you about it?" "Yes. " "And asked your advice?" "He did. " "And you replied?" The Lieutenant-Governor flushed. "I beg to suggest, sir, " he answered, "that this is hardly the time forme to commit myself as to that. I conceive it to be a matter of officialprivacy. Mr. McGrath"-- "You have my authority to speak, Mr. Barclay, " said the Governor. "Indeed, I desire it. Since one side knows your views, there is noreason why the other should not be informed as well. Mr. McGrath is thepresident of the Union. It is best that he should know the attitude ofthe state authorities in this controversy. " "I am not in a position to question your wishes, sir. You should knowbest. " "One cannot pretend to be infallible, Mr. Barclay, " answered theGovernor, rubbing his hands. "One can only do what seems to be right andproper under the circumstances. By our conversation of yesterday, I in ameasure put the negotiations with Mr. Rathbawne into your hands. " "It is a task I did not seek, sir. Pardon me if I say that it is alsoone which I should hardly have accepted, had I been aware that inspeaking as you did you were actually asking me to assume it. Mr. Rathbawne is my friend, and, moreover, my personal convictions"-- The Governor held up his hand. "There can be no question of friendship or of personal conviction, Mr. Barclay, in the case of a duty imposed upon a state official. I realizethat what you--or I, for that matter--must do in the performance of ourobligations, is oftentimes disagreeable, oftentimes at variance with ourwishes. But that is unavoidable. " Barclay moved uneasily. The intrusion of this pedantry, so conspicuouslyinsincere, with its implied rebuke, chafed him unspeakably, in view ofthe presence of McGrath. The Governor had adopted the tone, halfauthoritative, half reproachful, of a teacher reproving a refractorychild. "My time, as you must know, is inadequate to the demands made upon it. Iam forced, on occasions, to turn more or less important matters over toothers. To whom more naturally than to you, Mr. Barclay?" "May I suggest, sir, that there can be no profit in prolonging thisdiscussion? I appreciate the position perfectly, and I am quite preparedto state what I know of Mr. Rathbawne's attitude toward the demands ofthe Union. " "Ah, " said the Governor, "that is as it should be, and as satisfactoryas possible. Let me remind you, Mr. Barclay, that it was not I, butyourself, who introduced this digression. " He turned to the president of the Union. "You will understand from what I have said, Mr. McGrath, " he added, "both to the Lieutenant-Governor and to you, that in the matter of theproposed strike, he is, to all intents and purposes, acting in my stead. He was in a position to approach Mr. Rathbawne, and I was not. Now, Mr. Barclay, if you please"-- The Lieutenant-Governor straightened himself instinctively, as, for thefirst time, he addressed himself to the agitator. "Mr. McGrath, " he said, "my confidence in Mr. Rathbawne's fairness andintegrity would have led me to approve any course which he might haveseen fit to take. As you have already heard me say, I had absolutely nointention of endeavoring to influence his judgment. Greatly to mysurprise, Mr. Rathbawne himself consulted me in the matter, without anysuggestion on my part, and asked for my advice. " "That's fortunate, " put in McGrath, "very fortunate. You've been able tosidetrack a lot of trouble. " Barclay's eyes hardened at the hypocrisy of the sneer. "I have pleasure in informing you, " he continued, "that, in reply, Iadvised him to fight the Union in the present dispute to the utmost ofhis means and ability. I should have counseled him further to hold outuntil he had spent his last cent and shed his last drop of blood, exceptthat, knowing him as I do, I conceived such a recommendation to bewholly superfluous. Mr. Rathbawne has his character and his recordbehind him. There is about as much chance of his yielding you an inch ofground as if he were standing with his back against the Capitol!" McGrath shrugged his shoulders. "It's a damned funny way you have of not influencing people's judgment, "he said. "I mis-stated my attitude in saying that, " retorted theLieutenant-Governor coolly. "I should have said, what, after all, isself-evident, that I had no intention of trying to influence Mr. Rathbawne in favor of the Union, at least so long as it is acting underyour dictation. Its present character is well known--almost as wellknown as yours, in fact--and I believe its position in this matter to beentirely untenable, unjustifiable, and iniquitous. I may add that if itis, indeed, Governor Abbott's resolve that I am to deal, in his stead, with the question of your proposed strike, you may confidently rely uponhaving to put the entire state force of Alleghenia out of businessbefore you can even so much as begin to bully Peter Rathbawne intosubmission!" "If that's your opinion of the Union, " said McGrath sullenly, "it mightbe interesting to hear your opinion of me. " "You are perfectly welcome to it, " replied the Lieutenant-Governoreasily. "I consider you an unmitigated blackguard!" Governor Abbott tipped back his chair and looked at McGrath. "That's pretty plain talk, " he said. "You see how it is, Mr. McGrath. You'll have to go ahead on your own responsibility, and you mustn't besurprised if the State steps in at the first evidence of disorder. " McGrath rose, flecked some specks of dust from his waistcoat, and walkedtoward the door without a word. On the threshold he turned, looked fromthe Governor to the Lieutenant-Governor, and back again, and laughed. Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him. At the Rathbawne Mills it was usual for a huge whistle to give one longblast at noon as a signal for the lunch hour. On that day, however, following McGrath's instructions, the single blast was replaced by fiveshort ones in rapid succession, and three minutes later the employeeswere pouring through half a dozen gates into the streets surrounding themills, in laughing, chattering, excited streams. A majority of the men went directly to a hall in the neighborhood whereMcGrath had called a mass-meeting for half-past twelve. A minority ofthem crowded into the saloons of the vicinity, where they pounded on thebars, and filled the close, smoke-grayed air with heated discussion. Several of the discharged hands were in evidence, each surrounded by anattentive group, and expounding more or less inflammatory views. Thewomen gathered in gossiping throngs on the sidewalks, laughing, andpulling each other about by the arms. The boys played ball and leap-frogin the streets, shouting, and whistling through their fingers. In brief, the great strike was on, but, for the time being, it was masqueradingin the guise of a public holiday. At one o'clock the whistle blew again, and a thousand voices whooped aderisive accompaniment, but no one of the throng in the streets made amove toward the mills. Half an hour later, watchmen swung to and boltedthe gates, and, issuing presently from a small side entrance, incompany, were received with cheers, handshakes, and slaps upon the back. Then the crowd gradually thinned, --many going to the already well-filledhall where McGrath was delivering an address, and others to theirhomes, --and a silence descended upon the neighborhood, broken only bythe voices of the men about the saloon doorways. At two, Peter Rathbawne, attended by his private secretary, came out ofthe side entrance and walked slowly away in the direction of his home. He held his head high, and his eyes straight to the front, and paid noattention to the respectful greetings of those of the strikers whosaluted him, touching their hats. There were many among them whosehearts sank at this attitude in a man who had made it his boast that heknew every hand in his mills by sight, and who, in the past, had had anod or a friendly word for each and all of them. For the first time apremonition settled upon them of what this strike, which had beenwelcomed principally for novelty's sake, might mean. It was the firstthe Rathbawne Mills had ever known. Some of those who saw the face ofPeter Rathbawne that afternoon were already hoping that it might be thelast. The Lieutenant-Governor returned to his apartment for lunch. Cavendishwas still sleeping as he had left him, with a stalwart negro porter, summoned from the Capitol by telephone early that morning, watching in achair. Under Barclay's orders, a carpenter had already removed thesplintered door of the wine-closet, and an upholsterer had replaced itby a slender brass rod from which swung a velvet curtain. With his ownhands the Lieutenant-Governor had taken away the fallen bottle, moppedup the pool of absinthe, and put the room to rights. Now he dismissedthe negro, took from his pocket a little box of strychnine tablets, obtained from his physician on his way from the Capitol, and, after abrief survey of his surroundings to see that all was in order, went overto the divan and shook the sleeping man by the shoulders. "Come, lazy-bones!" he said, with a laugh. "You've slept over twelvehours. That will do--even for a nervous wreck. " Cavendish opened his swollen eyes slowly, looked at him, and then closedthem again with a murmured "Oh, God!" which was like a groan. To this the Lieutenant-Governor paid no heed. Passing into the bathroom, he turned on the cold water in the tub, poured a half glass of vichyfrom a syphon, and then returned, carrying the tumbler in his hand. Cavendish had raised himself on one elbow, and was looking stupidlyabout the room. "Here you are, " said Barclay cheerfully. "Stow this pill, and here'svichy to wash it down. Your bath's running. By the time you've had it, there'll be some clothes ready for you. " Cavendish gulped down the tablet, and sat upright. "Last night"--he faltered. For the first time in his life, the Lieutenant-Governor called him byhis first name. "Last night, Spencer, " he said, looking him fairly in the eye, "belongsto the past, and is taboo. I won't hear a word about it. This is to-day. Get up, and we'll set about putting wrong right. You're a man again. Don't forget that. And I'm your friend. Don't forget that, either. " His hand rested for an instant on the other's shoulder with a firmpressure, and then he passed into his bedroom and shut the door. They had lunch together in the dining-room of the "Rockingham, " and thenwent up again to Barclay's rooms. At the door, Cavendish came to a halt. "I can't stand this, " he said. "You'll have to, " replied the Lieutenant-Governor, "so shut up!" "You've made a change, " said Cavendish obstinately, pointing to thecurtained cupboard. Barclay's eyes did not follow the gesture. "So have you!" he answered. "Now, look here. There are twenty dollars inthe waistcoat of that suit, and a letter to Payson of the 'Kenton CitySentinel. ' Go down and see him this afternoon, and I think he'll giveyou a job at reporting, which will fix you up for the present. Inanother pocket you'll find a box, with three tablets like the one youhad before lunch. Take one of them every two hours. In still anotherpocket there's a key to these rooms. I'm going to be busy till about teno'clock, so you'll have to shift for yourself. Make yourself at home, and if you're awake I'll see you when I come in. " Taking him suddenly by the shoulders, he twisted him about, facing thechimney piece, on which stood a photograph of Natalie Rathbawne, smilingout of a silver frame. "I'll leave you to talk it out with her, " he added simply. In the hall, as he passed out, he caught a reflection of Cavendish in amirror. His hands were resting on the mantel-edge, and he was leaningforward with his haggard face close to the photograph. Barclay looked athis watch. "Two o'clock, " he said to himself, "and all's well!" VII THE MIRAGE OF POWER Barclay was conscious of a feeling of exhilaration such as he had notknown for many weeks, as he swung into Bradbury Avenue late thatafternoon on his way to the Rathbawne residence. The duties of the dayhad been inordinately petty and vexatious, but he had dispatched themone and all with something approaching enthusiasm, --a touch of the oldQuixotic energy with which he had taken office. The morning conversationin Governor Abbott's room had braced and toned him. He forgot itsinauspicious opening, and even his distress at the attempt to force himinto the position of mediator between Peter Rathbawne and the Union, inthe solid satisfaction of having been able to speak his mind to McGrath, and call that worthy a blackguard to his face. He was a man whodespised a quarrel, but, for its own sake, loved a square, hard fight. Back, however, of this somewhat inadequate excuse for cheerfulness laythe Governor's assurance that in the matter of the strike his lieutenantwas to have free rein. It was the first time since the beginning oftheir official association that Elijah Abbott had placed an actualresponsibility in Barclay's hands. A corner-stone laying, a banquet hereand there, the opening of a trolley line, or a library, or asewer, --these were the major calls upon the Lieutenant-Governor's time. The main current of routine was a hopeless monotony of officialcorrespondence, investigations, statistics, reading and reporting on theinterminable and flatulent maunderings of the Legislature, --dutiesheart-breaking in their desperate tedium and maddening inutility. But at last here was responsibility, actual and deeply significant, calling for the exercise of tact, courage, and immutable firmness. Theparticular task was not one which he would have coveted, and yet hewelcomed it. Anything, --anything to assuage in him that sense ofineptitude, of being ignored, a titled nonentity! With this vast lightening of spirit came, not only gratitude, but asense of lenity toward Governor Abbott. He encouraged himself to believethat the note between them had been one of misunderstanding merely. Itmight not be too late, after all! Gradually, he began to form a mentalpicture of a growing sympathy and affiliation between them, large withpossibilities of improvement for Alleghenia. As he turned into theRathbawnes' gateway, he could have laughed aloud for very lightness ofheart. His optimism was not even impaired by running, in the hall, fullagainst Mrs. Rathbawne. "_Good_ gracious! Lieutenant-Governor, is that you?" Repeated and earnest endeavor on Barclay's part had never dissuaded herfrom this form of address. "What _is_ the use of _having_ such a title, if one can't _call_ you byit?" she would say, when he remonstrated. "Do _you_ suppose that, ifNatalie were engaged to a _prince_, I should be going around, callinghim Tom, Dick, or Harry, instead of 'Your Royal _Highness_'? You oughtto be _proud_ of your title. _I_ am!" "But, Mrs. Rathbawne"-- "Now, _please_ not, Lieutenant-Governor, _please_ not! I like it bestthat way. " The north wind was attentive and amenable to the voice of persuasion, incomparison with Josephine Rathbawne. "Of _course_ you know the _strike_ is on!" she continued now, withoutwaiting for an assurance from Barclay that he was indeed none other thanhimself. "Isn't it _awful_? I expect to hear the roar of the mob at_any_ moment! Come into the drawing-room. Natalie _was_ there, only_half_ an hour ago. " And she swept through the doorway, Barclay following. "Natalie, " she began, "here's the Lieu--why, _Dorothy_! I took you forNatalie. And--er--oh! Why, Mr. --er--how de do? I didn't see you atfirst. Oh, _do_ turn on the switch, my dear. The place is as black aspitch. " The electric light, flooding the room, revealed young Nisbet, one vast, consuming blush, and Dorothy, with a dangerous light in her eyes, andher lips tightly compressed. It was plain that Mrs. Rathbawne had fallenfoul of Dan Cupid's machinery once more! "Why, Mr. _Nisbet_! I thought you were in New York. " "I had a telegram this morning, calling the date off, " said young Nisbetin pitiable confusion; "that is, I didn't have to go, you know. So Ijust fell in here to explain. I thought some of you might spot me on thestreet, and after I'd said"-- He began to flounder hopelessly, and cast a glance of mute appeal atDorothy. That facile young lady marched directly into the breach. "If you and John are looking for Natalie, " she said, "you'll find her inthe library with Dad. How do you do, John?" "Pretty well, I thank you, Flibbertigibbet. It is really your husbandwhom I came to see, Mrs. Rathbawne. I've a little business with him, so, for the moment, I'll have to give Natalie the cold shoulder. " "Oh!" said Mrs. Rathbawne, lifting her fat hands. "Of _course_, Lieutenant-Governor! I understand _perfectly_. Business before pleasure, _always_. Go right in, won't you, and send Natalie here to me. _I'll_stay here. Aren't we going to have tea, Dorothy? Oh, _do_ try to sit upstraight, my dear!" Natalie and her father were bending low over a great portfolio, theirheads close together in the yellow glow of the table-lamp, which was theonly light in the room. Rathbawne looked up with a grim smile, as theLieutenant-Governor entered. "Pottering over my autographs, again, you see, " he remarked. "I've beenneglecting them shamefully, of late--eh, Natalie? Didn't have the time. It looks just now as if I wouldn't have to complain again of lack ofleisure for quite a while!" "It was that I dropped in to see you about, " said Barclay, striving, with only partial success, to keep the exultation out of his voice. "Youmay not be in for so much leisure as you imagine, Mr. Rathbawne. You maynot get much of a holiday, after all. " Without for an instant losing the Lieutenant-Governor's eye, Rathbawnereached out and touched his daughter on the arm. "Oh, Dad!" she said reproachfully. "There's no need for her to go, sir, " added Barclay, "unless you wishit. I bring only good news. " Acquiescing, Rathbawne drew Natalie close to him, passing one arm acrossher shoulders, so that his gnarled hand rested firmly on the delicatefabric of her sleeve. Between these two there had always lain asympathy, an affection, a mutuality of comprehension, more like therelation of husband and wife than that of child and parent. "Nothing but good news?" answered Rathbawne. "Go on. What is it?" "News not so much of actual happenings as of potentialities, " said theLieutenant-Governor. "Last night I had to say to you that in the causeof right I was as powerless to aid you as a baby. To-night, I have cometo tell you that I am in a position to see justice done, and that Iwill. " In detail, his voice ringing with enthusiasm and confidence, hedescribed the interview of that morning, his statement of Rathbawne'sposition, his passage at arms with McGrath, finally, the Governor'sannouncement that the strike was to be supervised by his lieutenant inhis stead. "I had almost lost hope, " he concluded. "I thought my opportunity wouldnever come, and here it is, after all--the chance to act! And, somehow, I feel that it is only the beginning--that, as he gets to understand mebetter"-- Rathbawne suddenly left his daughter's side, and in three steps wasdirectly before the Lieutenant-Governor. As he interrupted him, hisfingers closed upon the lapels of the other's coat, and he punctuatedhis words with little tugs at these, his knuckles coming together withtiny muffled thuds. He spoke with a gravity that was vibrant withsuppressed anger and slow with sincere regret. "My boy, " he said, "it's not a gracious thing to do to spoil anenthusiasm like yours, but don't deceive yourself. Elijah Abbott as atrickster is alone in his class. You were never more powerless to actfor the right than you are at this moment. " "But I have his assurance"-- "Oh, _his_ assurance! It isn't worth the ash off your cigar. What, giveyou a chance to interfere with the will of the Union which made him, andowns him, body and soul? Never in God's world! Listen to me. I spent anhour in his office this very afternoon, discussing the strike--_and henever so much as mentioned your name_!" The Lieutenant-Governor winced as if the words had been the touch of alancet. Then he closed his eyes. "And I was in the next room, " he said, almost as if tohimself, --"planning--my--control--of the situation! Good God!" "I went directly to him, " continued Rathbawne, "because I knew that itwould be purely and simply a waste of time to parley with the lesserofficials who are either helpless or frankly his tools. I knew, too, that no satisfactory result would come of appealing to him, but I wantedto give him the chance. All I asked of him was an assurance that themills would have proper police protection, and that, if necessary, themilitia would be called out in support of order. The outcome was exactlywhat I expected. Governor Abbott rubbed his hands, and smiled, and said:'All in good time, Mr. Rathbawne, all in good time. When the conditionsseem to warrant it, we can discuss these measures. ' That means that theyare free to blow the mills to kingdom come, before a finger will beraised by the authorities to prevent them. And what's more, they'll doit! Do you think I don't know McGrath?" As he had intended it should, this speech had given the other a chanceto recover himself. The Lieutenant-Governor's habitual poise wasalready restored, and his voice, as he answered, was quite steady, buteloquent of his desperate discouragement and weariness. "I hope it's not as bad as all that, Mr. Rathbawne. It's not necessaryto tell you, that for me there can never again be such a thing astrusting the word of Governor Abbott; but, at the same time, I canhardly bring myself to believe that he would openly countenance thepractical existence of anarchy in the capital city of Alleghenia. " "Well, I can, then!" declared Rathbawne. "I can believe anything of him!Mark my words, John, he's as sleek a scoundrel as you'll find outside ofthe State's Prison. He cares less for Alleghenia and her capital citythan you do for one of the hairs on his rascally head. I tell you, theUnion has bought him, body and soul, and unless a miracle comes downfrom heaven, I'm a beaten man!" Barclay bit his lips without replying. In his heart of hearts, he knewthat Peter Rathbawne's words were true. "He'll be impeached, sooner or later, " continued the old man, "ifthere's a speck of decency left in the Legislature--which I doubt. Butlong before that, John, long before that, I'll be down and out. I wouldto God you were Governor of Alleghenia, my boy. You're the only ray ofhope I can see for her. " The Lieutenant-Governor fell back a step, and covered his face with hishands. For a full minute there was absolute silence. Rathbawne hadreturned to the table, and, with his fore-arms across the back of achair, and one foot on the lower cross-bar, was staring vacantly at hisautographs, his hands moulding and remoulding each other into aninfinity of forms. Natalie was at the window, her face in the crevicebetween the curtains. The same impulse had prompted both father anddaughter. There are some things which it is better not to watch. They turned at the sound of his voice, to find him with his head flungback, his hands clenched at his sides, his right foot planted firmly inadvance of his left, his whole bearing one of passionate earnestness. And, though he was seemingly addressing Rathbawne, there was that in hisvoice and in his words which was meant for every ear in the state! "Governor of Alleghenia!" he said, "I would to God I were! Sometimes Ialmost--yes, sometimes I wholly despair. I love this state, Mr. Rathbawne, as I love nothing else on earth--not even my girl there, noteven Natalie. You two are the only ones in the world who can understandwhat it means when I say that. It has always been so, ever since I wasbig enough to know what Alleghenia meant, and more than ever since Ihave come to understand her shame, and her vital peril, and her direneed. I've never tried to explain the feeling; I've never found any onewho seemed to share it with me. I hear other men talk of nationalpatriotism, and the flag, and all that, and I understand it, and honorthem for it. But--while it may be only a fancy of mine--for me KentonCity comes even before Washington, and even before these United Statesof America the sovereign state of Alleghenia! I would have her courtsincorruptibility itself, her government the perfect commingling ofequity and mercy; her press the vehicle of verity, intelligence, andwatchfulness; her public servants the faithful exponents of loyalty anddiligence; her people, one and all, whatever is best in ourinterpretation of the word American--and then, somethingmore!--Alleghenians!--citizens, not only of the Republic, but of thestate which I would have shine brightest in the field of stars, and bequoted, from Maine to California, and from Florida to Washington, as thesynonym for law and order, truth, integrity, and justice. You know howfar the dream is from the reality. We are held up to ridicule andcontempt as law-breakers, time-servers, and bribe-takers--and we deserveit! I can't see help on any hand. I don't believe our people, as aclass, are actually vicious and corrupt--only callous and indifferent, accustomed so long to the spectacle of political chicanery and depravitythat they have lost their ability to appreciate its significance. But, so far as results are concerned, it all amounts to the same thing. Once, I hoped I should be able to do something. But now--I'm a nonentity, Mr. Rathbawne, as you know, and not only that, but a man who has taken afalse step, from which he can never recover. I'm dead, politicallyspeaking--as dead as Benjamin Butler!" He paused, drawing a deep breath. "We were speaking of your interview, " he added, more evenly. "What wasthe result?" "Nothing, beyond what I've told you, " answered Rathbawne, shaking hishead. "All I can do is to keep my mouth shut, await developments, andtrust in a Providence which it takes a good bit of obstinacy to believehasn't deserted the state of Alleghenia for good and all. It isn't formy own sake alone, John, that I pray the Union will give in before mypeople begin to think of violence. You remember '94 in Chicago? Well, we don't want anything like that in Kenton City. It would be the laststraw! Alleghenia has a big enough burden of disgrace to carry, as itis. " A servant entered, even as he was speaking, to summon him to thetelephone, and with an exclamation of impatience he left the room. Immediately, Natalie stepped from her post at the window, and cametoward Barclay with outstretched hands. "Oh, Johnny boy, " she said, "I'm _so_ sorry. How you've been hurt, dear, and disappointed, and cruelly wronged!" The Lieutenant-Governor's hands clenched again at the sound of sorrow inher voice, and he strove in vain to control the tremor of his lip. Tenderly he put his arms about her. "I'm sorry, too, little girl--sorry you were here to see me make a foolof myself and then squeal when I got hurt as I deserved. I shouldn'thave done that. But I was so proud--so grateful--I thought I was goingto be able"-- "_Johnny--Johnny!_" They held to each other rigidly for an instant, her face against hissleeve, in an agony which no tears came to soothe. "There!" said Barclay presently. "I'm better already. It does one goodto blow off steam, now and again. " His tone lightened perceptibly. "And look here, " he added, "what's most important, after all, is that Ihave news for you, and ought to be delivering it. " As yet, they did not dare to meet each other's eyes, but Natalie tookthe cue. "You can spare yourself the trouble, my lord, " she retorted, sweepinghim a curtsy. "I can guess what it is, without your aid. You've foundhim!" "How did you know?" "I didn't. But you will remember that I asked you to find him. Theinference is as plain as a pikestaff. " "Arrogance! But you're right. I have. He has been at my rooms since lastnight. He was frightfully shaky, and utterly despondent, but he's takingsomething to settle his nerves, and I've no doubt a week or so of goodfood and straight living will bring him around into something like hisold form. " "Boy dear! And you're taking care of him?" "Oh, just directing the cure, that's all! I'll tell you more when I canreport definite progress. Do you suppose there is a single secludedcorner in all this mansion which has not already been preëmpted byDorothy and Nisbet?" He slipped his arm about her again, and together they went out, acrossthe wide hall, toward the drawing-room. Rathbawne was standing at thetelephone under the stairway, but, as they approached him, he replacedthe receiver, and stepped forth under the light of the chandelier. Theyboth halted, shocked into speechlessness by the look on his face. Thepast ten minutes seemed to have added a decade to his age. His cheekswere white and drawn, and with his hands he groped before him, as if hehad been stricken blind. As he came close to them, he lifted his head, and peered first at his daughter, and then at Barclay, seeming barely torecognize them. "Dad! What _is_ it?" said the girl, in a voice just above a whisper. Rathbawne raised his hand, and pushed back the hair from his forehead. "A message--from Payson--of the 'Sentinel, '" he mumbled. "It seemsthere's a fire--a fire on Charles Street--near the mills--one of mybuildings--a shop--a shop. Some one in the crowd--threw atorch in at the window--there is a great crowd--a throng ofstrikers--watching--cheering the flames--hissing the firemen. They'vebegun early--and this is only the beginning! My people--my people"---- He stumbled forward, and would have fallen, but that his daughter caughthim. To his dying day Barclay remembered how, as he sprang to aid her, her hands gleamed, white and slender, against the black of PeterRathbawne's coat. The hush that followed was broken presently by the sound of the oldman's choking sobs, and the low, soothing tones of Natalie, murmuringagainst his ear. From the drawing-room came indeterminate scraps of Mrs. Wynyard's gay chatter, as she regaled Mrs. Rathbawne with the gossipgleaned in a round of calls. She herself was partly visible, drawing offher gloves before the fire. From the music-room beyond issued the chordsof Dorothy's none-too-sure accompaniment, and young Nisbet's superb, full tenor:-- "'Ah, love, could you and I with fate conspire To grasp the sorry scheme of things entire'"-- But, in the Lieutenant-Governor's imagination, another sound mingledwith and dominated these, --the voice of Michael McGrath, as he had heardit that morning, through the open door of Governor Abbott's room:-- "It won't be a strike like other strikes, not so long as I'm running it, that is. It's going to mean business from the word go!" VIII THE GOVERNOR UNMASKS One spotted peach will contaminate an entire basket, one drop of inkcloud a full glass of clear water. It was so in the case of the strikersat the Rathbawne Mills. Their unwonted idleness, the long succession ofempty hours, already, among the more improvident, the preliminarypressure of privation's teeth, --all these made them easy prey for thesophistries of men like McGrath and his associates. At first they simplylaughed at the arraignments of Peter Rathbawne as a plutocrat, aslave-master, and an oppressor of the poor, knowing better in theirhearts. But the memory of past kindness is too apt to be the mostfleeting of human impressions. On the one side the gates of theRathbawne Mills remained obstinately closed, and, though Rathbawnehimself manifested no intention of resorting to the intolerableimportation of "scab" labor, he persisted in his refusal to treat withthe Union so long as the discharge of the fifteen men remained a subjectproposed for debate. On the other hand, the denunciations of McGrath andthe other Union orators were constant, unavoidable, and sufficientlyplausible to produce an impression, and linger in the mind. And, meanwhile, to and fro among the strikers, stalked, arm in arm, thespectres of idleness and starvation, the one smirking openly, the other, as yet, half-veiled. Altogether it was fertile ground. After the burning of Mr. Rathbawne's shop, on the first night of thestrike, ensued a week of comparative quiet. The outrage had beenflagrant, the source, if not the very author, of it was known, and thepolice did--nothing. For three days the press of Kenton City blazed withindignation, excepting only the "Record, " which openly favored thestrikers, and then all the papers alike suddenly ceased to refer to theincident at all. For, while McGrath was not in favor of wasting thefunds of the Union, he was as well aware as the next man that a dollar, as well as a stitch, in time, saves nine. Herein lay the cardinal peril of Alleghenia. As John Barclay had said, it was not that her people, as a class, were corrupt or criminal, butmerely that they viewed with easy tolerance evidences of laxity andlawlessness which would have set the citizens of another state by theears, and filled the newspaper columns and the public forums withindignation and protest. In this respect, the papers of Kenton City werethe most flagrant offenders. Even the most reputable, the "Sentinel, "could be silenced at practically any moment by those cognizant of themethod, and in a position to command the price, of manipulation. As awhited sepulchre it was a conspicuous success, being irreproachablyscholarly, dignified, and didactic in tone, and wholly destitute ofprinciple. Michael McGrath, demagogue though he was, knew his public as thephysician knows the pulse he feels. It was a feature of the strike atthe Rathbawne Mills that no attempt was made to justify the cause of thestrikers in the eye of the disinterested public of Kenton City. McGrathhimself was fully alive to the slenderness of his pretext, and alive, aswell, to the strength of Peter Rathbawne's case, if it should come to adiscussion of the rights and wrongs involved, wherein his businessprobity and his justice to, and consideration for, his employees, wouldfurnish arguments well-nigh unanswerable. He contented himself, therefore, with standing upon a simple declaration of the will of theUnion, which was, in effect, his own; and, strong in his reliance, ifnot upon the support, at least upon the non-interference of the stateauthorities, devoted his attention to holding the press in check, bymethods long since found effectual, and confidently left the public tothink and act as it saw fit. There could have been no more contemptuous comment upon the moral andintellectual status of the community than this insolent assumption ofits indifference to the commonest principles of justice, but for a timehis confidence had the appearance of being amply justified. The strikewent its way, characterized by an infinity of petty outrages and aconstant and consistent vilification of Peter Rathbawne, while--with theexception of that first and promptly quashed protest on the part of thepress--no voice was raised in opposition. Reduced to its lowest terms, the struggle was one between Rathbawne andMcGrath, and that, not as representatives the one of a great industrial, the other of a great socialistic organization, but as individuals. Thesource of the stream which had thus reached its rapids, and was plungingon toward its annihilating cataract, lay far back in the early days ofRathbawne's commercial career. McGrath was a man who practiced neitherthe vice of forgetfulness nor the virtue of forgiveness. As plain as theevent of a yesterday lay upon his memory his contemptuous dismissal fromRathbawne's employ, charged in particular with a petty peculation, andin general with the indisputable fact of being a bad influence in themills. His case had been in many ways identical with that of the menwhose cause he was now, for reasons of his own, espousing. But Peter Rathbawne, then less shrewd in estimating men than now, hadreckoned without due credit to the vindictiveness and pertinacity of theman before him. McGrath--brutally handsome in those days, idle, insolent, and independent--later had developed qualities of which at thetime there was little evidence. He had smiled and shrugged hisshoulders--a habit which had grown upon him--as Rathbawne gave hisverdict, and had instinctively resisted the temptation to threatenrevenge. For that inspiration he had been devoutly grateful ever since. It had enabled him to work in silence and unseen, like a mole, towardthe goal at which he aimed. He was a poker player, was Michael McGrath, of the class which pulls victory out of defeat by the aid of its ownpersonality and a low pair. The calm indifference with which he hadreceived his dismissal from the employ of Peter Rathbawne seemed to him, on reflection, to have been the unconscious forerunner of the elaborate_nonchalance_ with which he now viewed the unexpected filling of abroken straight. It was certain that the other player had not guessedthe strength of his cards. He had never forgiven, never forgotten. It had taken a quarter-centuryof unremitting effort, of indomitable perseverance, of calculatedingenuity, to secure to him the position which he now felt to beassured--that of being able to cope with the man who had been hisadversary, and so overwhelmingly his superior. The fight was on atlast, --a fight in which the odds were not only equal, but, if anything, in favor of the former mill-hand, thus become one of the most powerfulmen in Alleghenia; a fight to be fought to the bitter finish, with analmost certain triumph as his reward. Added to these motives was another, --newer, it is true, but none theless potent, --his hatred for the Lieutenant-Governor. He had been ableto laugh within a half-minute after the words "unmitigated blackguard"had smitten his ears; but they had rankled for all that. It was not somuch the insult, as the knowledge that it was justified. He wasremarkably candid with himself, was Michael McGrath. Hence the unparalleled venom of the strike at the Rathbawne Mills. McGrath's dual sense of wounded vanity prescribed a course of surpassingvindictiveness. His personal resentment, reinforced by consummateappreciation of the adversaries with whom he had to deal, dictated asafe road to revenge, which enabled him to fling wide the floodgates ofhis long-stored animosity, secure in his knowledge of having the upperhand. Disorder, calumny, outrage, even open anarchy--he could ventureupon them unafraid. A corrupt Governor, whom he had created, stoodbehind him, smiling tolerantly. An indifferent community would let himhave his will. Only he must proceed by degrees, and be ready at anymoment to take one backward step for the sake of being able presentlythereafter to take two in advance. Here precisely lay the weak point in his plan of campaign. With thefatuity incidental on occasions to even the shrewdest minds, he had notcounted upon independence in the host which he believed slave to him, inthought and word and deed. He rated himself the dictator, the prompterwithout whose suggestion no one of all the players in this gigantictragedy could speak his line. As a matter of fact, like all leaders ofhis class, he could drive his followers forward at will, while totallyunable to hold them back. He was wholly master so long as he used thespur. The peril lay in the fancied efficacy of the curb. In short, hewas discovering already that he had unwittingly created a monster besidewhich Frankenstein's was the veriest doll. Thus, shortly, the strain began to tell upon the four thousandunemployed sets of nerves around the Rathbawne Mills. Meetings becamemore frequent and more turbulent; drinking and disorder were observablyon the increase; and at the end of another four weeks one of the gatesof the mills was beaten down, and several hundred men and boys paradedaround shop after shop, breaking windows and singing ribald songs. Itwas not a very serious demonstration in itself. Its ominous feature layin the fact that the police made no attempt to check it. There wassomething else about it, to the thinking of McGrath. It was not so muchthat events were moving too fast, but that they were moving withoutintelligent control. Two nights later, another building belonging to Peter Rathbawne, andsituated only a half-block from the mills, was burned in the same manneras the first, watched by an enormous crowd of strikers, who applaudedeach fresh burst of flame, as if the fire had been a circus or a play. Still there was no move on the part of the police. Then it was that the business men of Kenton City sat up in their officechairs and began to think. This was an eventuality entirely outside thecalculations of McGrath. But the pachydermatous inertia of the citizensof Alleghenia had yet its vulnerable spot, where the weapon might enter. Vaguely these men had known that the state was rotten, but the fact hadnever been brought to their attention in a manner so poignantlysuggestive before. Unwittingly McGrath had aroused the suspicion that itwas not the purse of Peter Rathbawne alone which was in danger. If itwas possible for disorder to go to such extremes in the very streets ofKenton City without fear of interference or rebuke, then no man'sproperty was safe. That thought was the Achilles' heel of the community. So it was that a Citizens' Committee, composed of presidents of twoinsurance companies, directors from five banks, representatives from theChamber of Commerce and the Board of Trade, and, finally, Colonel AmosBroadcastle, was appointed to wait upon the Mayor. That gentleman, aswas entirely to be expected, referred them to the Governor, and to theGovernor they went. Barclay was present at the interview. For his own reasons GovernorAbbott had kept his immediate subordinate well to the fore in allmatters pertaining to the strike since the latter's rebuke toMcGrath, --in all matters, that is to say, not involving the exercise ofactual authority. Of that, indeed, the Lieutenant-Governor had had nohope after the conversation in Peter Rathbawne's library. He met therepresentatives of the press, conducted the correspondence withmill-owners and other negatively interested parties, and at theGovernor's request made what was palpably a farcical inspection of theentire state militia--to judge of their readiness for strike service!--atask which consumed a fortnight in constant travel, and visits toarmories all alike in insufficient equipment and utter slovenliness. TheNinth Regiment alone remained, and this command was to parade forinspection by the Governor himself that very evening. The coincidenceflashed through Barclay's mind as the Citizens' Committee entered, withBroadcastle, in his capacity as spokesman, at its head. The dignity and air of command habitual to the Colonel of the Ninth weredoubly apparent as he advanced toward the Governor's table. Both Barclayand Abbott rose to receive him, but the latter reseated himself, as soonas Broadcastle had introduced his fellow-members of the Committee. Helistened to what followed with an air of thoughtfulness, tinged with afaint and exasperating suggestion of amusement. At a neighboring table, his official stenographer took down every word which fell. Colonel Broadcastle was not accustomed to mince matters, when theoccasion demanded brevity and conciseness. Now, he stepped to within afew feet of the Governor's table, and stood rigidly confronting him, with his hands clasped before him on the head of his stick, in theposition of parade-rest. "Governor Abbott, " he said, in his curt, dry voice, "these gentlemen andmyself form a Committee appointed by a meeting of the business men ofKenton City, to protest against the state of affairs now existing inconnection with the strike at the Rathbawne Mills. It is only generousto presume that other matters have diverted your attention from anappreciation of these conditions. The situation is without parallel inthe annals of Alleghenia. Disorder is rampant, and destruction ofproperty is freely indulged in by the strikers without any apparent fearof molestation. Despite the fact that there is a large police-force, itmakes no effort to check these operations. The sole reply of ChiefPendle to the protests of those interested in the promotion of law andorder has been that he will not suffer any outside interference in thecontrol of his department--the which, in view of his responsibility tothe public, can only be regarded as sheer and intolerable insolence! Anappeal to Mayor Goadby has elicited the response that the whole matterlies in the Governor's hands. " The Colonel paused. The Governor, leaning back in his chair, andfingering a pencil, smiled slightly and nodded his head. "I suppose that is so, " he said. "Continue, continue, ColonelBroadcastle. " "It is the sense of the law-abiding element of Kenton City, " went on theColonel, flushing at the condescension of his tone, "that the limit ofendurance has been reached. If, willfully or otherwise, the police donot act, my regiment is prepared to act as substitute. I have alreadyplaced it at the service of the Adjutant-General. His reply, like theMayor's, was to refer me to you for orders. I am here to receive them, sir. " "Your offer is appreciated, " said the Governor suavely. "We of KentonCity have reason to be proud of the Ninth, Colonel Broadcastle. Icongratulate myself upon my privilege of reviewing it, to-night. And wehave reason to be proud, as well, of the intelligence which has madesuch an organization possible. Your disinterested devotion"-- Broadcastle flung up his chin. "I am not here to receive compliments, sir!" he said abruptly. "Nor I to bestow them, " answered the Governor, unruffled. "Ascommander-in-chief of the state forces, I believe it is not outside myprovince to render deserved commendation to a subordinate. " "Oh, do not let us juggle with words, Governor Abbott! It is preciselyas commander-in-chief of the state forces that the time has come for youto act; it is precisely as your subordinate that I am here to receiveyour orders. Assume the responsibility which confronts you, issue thecommands proper to the emergency, and you will have no more tirelessexecutor of them than I. My regiment can be on duty at the RathbawneMills inside of six hours"-- "But, my good Colonel Broadcastle, " broke in the Governor, "the statehas no need of your regiment for the moment! Calling upon the militia isno light matter, sir. You talk about my ordering out the Ninth as youwould advise me to ring for a messenger-boy!" "The welfare of the municipality, if not that of the commonwealth, "replied Colonel Broadcastle firmly, "demands that an immediate stop beput to this lawlessness. We are dealing with extremities, sir!" The Governor swung forward, and placed his elbows on the table. "You will permit me to be the best judge of what the welfare of thecommonwealth may be, " he retorted. "Whatever lawlessness exists--and Ithink you have grossly exaggerated its extent, Colonel Broadcastle--isdue to the selfish obstinacy of one man. In my opinion, Mr. Rathbawne isentirely in the wrong. He had fair warning, which he did not choose toheed. If his property suffers at the hands of the strikers, he has onlyhimself to blame. " "It is not a question of Mr. Rathbawne, or of any other individual, "said Broadcastle, "but of the integrity of the state of Alleghenia!" "The integrity of the state of Alleghenia, " answered the Governor dryly, "has been intrusted, by the vote of her citizens, to me, as chiefexecutive. " "An action, " exclaimed the Colonel, "which I venture to predict theywill shortly have reason most bitterly to regret!" Governor Abbott rose abruptly to his feet. "This interview is at an end, Colonel Broadcastle, " he said, bringinghis fist down upon the table with a thud. "I take exception to yourremarks, from first to last. I consider myself fully competent to dealwith the situation, and you may depend, sir, I shall do so at my owntime, and in my own way. If Mr. Peter Rathbawne supposes that he candefy reason and justice at will, and that the state authorities areprepared to support him, he is grossly and fatally mistaken. Gentlemen, I have the honor to bid you good-day!" For a quarter-minute, the two men stood facing each other, withoutspeaking. It was observable that the eyes of neither flinched. Then-- "It is my earnest hope, Elijah Abbott, " said the Colonel slowly, "to seeyou impeached by a righteously indignant community, and committed for aterm of years to the State's Prison at Mowberly, for rank malfeasancein office!" The Governor shrugged his shoulders. "Your record and your position protect you, Colonel Broadcastle, " hesaid, with something of his usual suavity. "Will you have the goodnessto retire?" As the Citizens' Committee left the room the Lieutenant-Governor turnedon his heel, passed into his office, and closed the door. For a long time he sat motionless at his desk, with his temples in hishands, staring at a frame upon the opposite wall, which contained theemblazoned arms of Alleghenia. These were a hand holding even balances, upon a circular shield, supported by the nude figures of two young men, representing Art and Labor. Above, upon a scroll, were the words, "_Justitia. Lex. Integritas. _" It was not only bad heraldry, but indifferently appropriate symbolism. IX THE NINTH PASSES IN REVIEW The huge armory of the Ninth, transformed, by the same system which hadmetamorphosed the _personnel_ of the regiment itself, from a gaunt, barn-like structure, ill-fitted to its purpose in all but size, to themost cheerful, as well as the most completely equipped, of Alleghenianarsenals, was blazing with light and echoing to the sound of manyvoices. A steady stream of people poured in at the heavy doors, nowstanding wide, but significant, with their great timbers, elaboratelocks and bolts, and precautionary peep-holes, of the possibility of anattitude less hospitable. Threading their way at a rapid pace throughthe more sluggish main current of the crowd, the members of theregiment, in an infinite variety of civilian attire, --from tweeds andknickerbockers to top-hats and evening-dress, --sought their respectivecompany-rooms, vanished therein, and, presently, reappeared in uniform. It was as if behind those ten doors which lined the upper corridor therewere as many moulds, identical in form, where-into this perplexingdiversity of raw material was plunged on entering, to be drawn forthagain in a constant reduplication of militiamen. As the hour for the review drew near, the proportion of these to thethrong with which they mingled, perceptibly increasing, seemed, littleby little, to leaven the whole lump. The dress-uniform of the Ninth waseverywhere, the black shakos and epaulettes, white pompons, cross-beltsand gloves, and multiplicity of brass buttons, lending the immenseassemblage a singular spirit and vivacity. On the floor of the drill-room the people spread in all directions, fan-like, from the main doorway, the multitudinous footfalls mountingmurmurously into the spaces of the lofty roof, where forty arc-lightshung, dizzily suspended, pallid in the thin haze of dust swung upwardsfrom the hurrying feet of the thousands below. "Precisely like an army of ants--and every one of them with an uncle ortwo, and a round dozen of nephews and nieces!" said Mrs. Wynyard. She and the Rathbawne girls were looking down upon the drill-floorfrom the balcony of the Colonel's room. Broadcastle and theLieutenant-Governor were deep in conversation inside, having seized thedelay in the arrival of Governor Abbott as an opportunity for a fewwords in private. "How funny they are, scuttling along, all of them!" said Dorothy. "Andhow immensely pleased the favored ones are, who have a soldier to showthem the way. I see a distinct difference in their walk from that of theothers, don't you, Natalie? They seem to be saying '_We_ were_invited_--and by this splendiferous creature at our side!' See how theystrut! And look at the soldierless ones, how timidly they go--just as ifthey had found their tickets in the street, or had crept in through thebasement windows. 'Please, kind Mr. Soldier-man, let us stay and see theshow. We'll be _awf'ly_ good!'" "How preposterous you are, Dorothy!" answered Mrs. Wynyard. "Look! Thepeople are taking to the sides of the room already, and the companiesare forming. What astonishing method and precision there is to it all!Do you suppose each man has a little circle marked on the floor, to showjust where he is to stand?" "I haven't the most remote doubt of it, " said Natalie, with asmile, --"and his name neatly lettered inside it with gilt paint!" The long, enclosed racks at the ends of the drill-room were open now, and the electric light winked upon the barrels of the Springfields, asbusy, white-gloved hands plied the polishing cloths along them. Theenormous drill-floor, cleared as if by magic from the disorderlyweed-growth which had encumbered it, began to make manifest its propercrop--long lines of gray and white, like sprouting sage, at first but adot here and there, to indicate the direction, then a scattering, thendistinct clumps, finally a thick, serried row. In the distance, a buglesounded, followed by a long ruffle of drums, and Colonel Broadcastlestepped quickly to the window of the balcony. "There's the Governor, " he said. "Will you come in? I'll send my orderlyto show you to your seats. " At the same moment, the door from the corridor opened, and the orderlyentered, his hand at his shako. "Sir, the Governor has arrived. " Then, as the trio on the balcony stepped in through the window, heturned suddenly and superlatively scarlet. As has been said, youngNisbet was accustomed to getting what he wanted. In this instance whathe had wanted happened to be that the Adjutant should choose him fromthe guard detail as Colonel's orderly. To be thus chosen was to beadmittedly the most immaculate of thirty men, all more immaculate than athousand immaculate others. The thing was not easy of achievement, butDorothy Rathbawne was to be present at the review, and so--there was nosecond way about it--it simply had to be done. Young Nisbet's way ofdoing it was an absolutely new uniform and gold-plated buttons andaccoutrements. Extravagance? Vanity? Perhaps! But at the present moment, he was wearing one cross-belt where his thousand and odd comrades werewearing two. There was no answer to such an argument as that. Colonel Broadcastle had reserved seats for the party on the temporaryreviewing stand, and, five minutes after they had taken their places, the bugles sang again, a curt order--"'shun! 'shun!"--ran in varyingintonations from company to company, and the slack gray ranks beforethem stiffened into absolute rigidity. Then from the broad hallwaybeyond came a tremendous burst of sound, and, to the strains of thefamous old march of the Ninth, the regimental band swung into view, followed by Governor Abbott and Colonel Broadcastle and the former'sstaff. To the Lieutenant-Governor, but newly returned from his wearisome roundof the state armories, much of what followed was so stale as to be nomore than a constantly increasing strain upon nerves already overtaxed. He deliberately allowed his attention to wander, until he felt ratherthan actually perceived the steady tramp-tramp of the men, swinging, fours right, into column, the occasional "hep! hep!" of an officiousfile-closer, the endless succession of fours winking past him, like thepalings of a gray fence seen from the window of a train, the intervalsnarrowed by short-step, widening again at the "Forward--_march_!" theblare of the band, lessening as it approached the further end of thebuilding, then suddenly bursting into its former volume at theright-about. He endured it all listlessly. It was tediously familiar, stamped upon his brain by repetition after repetition. Moreover, he was completely fagged, and unutterably oppressed by hisburden of discouragement. The old wounds, in part healed by his recentabsence from the immediate vicinity of his constant discomfiture, hadbeen re-opened and set bleeding afresh by Governor Abbott's treatment ofthe Citizens' Committee. Whatever lingering hope had remained in hismind of peace with honor for the troubled capital of Alleghenia, seemedto have been effectually dispelled by that interview. The most enduringcharity, the most fatuous credulity, the blindest partisanship--eventhese could not have preserved a last spark of confidence in ElijahAbbott. Still less was Barclay's indeterminate hope of the ultimatetriumph of right able to stand against such crushing evidence of itsinstability. It was no longer a question of suspicions, of precedents, of deductions from the significance of a host of former misdoings. Outof his own mouth was the Governor convicted. "At my own time, and in myown way, " he had said. It was a phrase, nothing more, and could beboiled down until its whole purport was contained in one word--Never! "Fours _left_--_March_! Compan_ee_--_halt_!" The entire regiment, as one man, swung from column of fours intobattalion front, halted, and then--cr-r-rick! boooo-m-m-m!--came toorder arms. The sides of the room were lined with a solid rampart ofwhite and gray and gold. Barclay was aware of the First Sergeants, scurrying from their positions to report, of their voices, and those ofthe Majors and the Adjutant, and, finally the Colonel:-- "Take your post, sir!" But his thoughts were anywhere and everywhere else. What a farce it allwas, this life which he was leading, this mental and moral martyrdom toan impossible hope, this eternal and heart-sickening ordeal of hopedeferred, this waiting, waiting, waiting, for something which neverwould and never could happen! Rotten, rotten to the core, this state forwhich he would have given his heart's blood, and not only rotten, butnot caring a whit for her rottenness--glorying rather, in her owndegradation. The chief executive had flung back into their very facesthe appeal to his conscience of the most influential men in KentonCity; the police, even now seated about their station stoves, weresniggling at the predicament of the public which paid them for itsprotection against precisely the kind of thing which they openlytolerated and encouraged; yes, and even the militia, the guarantee oflaw and order, Broadcastle's own command, were decked out in tinsel andpipeclay, strutting to music in a palpable bid for applause andadmiration. And yonder--the tide of anarchy was slowly but surely risingabout the Rathbawne Mills, presaging riot, bloodshed, God alone knewwhat!--but one thing, inevitably, --the absolute downfall of dignity androut of decency in Alleghenia! Suddenly, his old intrepid spirit of resolution reasserted itself, butdoubtfully, like the flame of a lamp flaring once out of dimness beforeit dies forever. Was it for this that he had devoted the best thought ofhis youth and his earlier manhood to plans for the betterment of hisstate? Should he now, at this, the hour of her supremest political andmoral peril, desert her as irredeemable, and join the ranks of those whosneered at her, and pointed mocking fingers at her shame and nakedness? "Your loquacity faintly suggests that of a mummy, " said Natalie, at hisside. "I was alone with my thoughts, " answered the Lieutenant-Governor, turning to her with an attempt at a smile, "and pretty black ones theywere, at that!" "Alleghenia again?" "Alleghenia again--and always. This business is becoming an obsessionwith me. I haven't had a chance to tell you, and I can't very wellexplain now. I'll have to leave it till I see you to-morrow. Butsomething happened to-day which drove another nail--and one of thelast!--into the coffin of my faith. There's not a gleam of hopeanywhere. " "Don't you see hope in all this?" asked Natalie, with a little, indicative gesture toward the scene before them. "Somehow, it isimpressing me tremendously to-night--more than ever before. I seem tounderstand better what it means, what it stands for. " "It's a stale enough story with me, " said Barclay. "Remember, I've beendoing just about nothing but watch this kind of thing for the past twoweeks. After all, what does it amount to but a thousand possibilitiesparading like peacocks?" "How unlike you, that speech! It amounts to a vast deal more than that, Johnny boy, --oh, infinitely more! I don't speak of the other regimentsyou have seen. This is different. Well, what _does_ it amount to? Whoand what are these thousand peacocks of yours? Aren't they the veryflower of Kenton City, the youngest and best blood in our veins, gathered by one good man's will into an organization of sterlingloyalty, with one great aim in view, and that the support and protectionand preservation of all that is best in Alleghenia? The very fact thatsuch a body of men exists among us is in the nature of a guarantee, itseems to me, that we shall come out all right in the end. Have younoticed their faces?--many of them so absurdly boyish, all of them sohonest, and manly, and--and--_American_, John! They are thepersonifications of your ideal of that afternoon in thelibrary--Americans, and something more--Alleghenians! And, to prove it, they are freely giving a portion of their time and their strength, inorder that there may be at least one thing in Kenton City which iswithout fear and without reproach. I wonder--I wonder, John, whether itisn't the old story, after all: whether you haven't been wandering allover the world, like the prince in the fairy-book, looking for the magictalisman that is to save the state you love, while, all the time, it hasbeen lying at your very door? Oh, this means something--I'm too stupidto interpret it as you could--but I know it's there, and that it wouldhelp you and encourage you. Let me try. Look there! A single purposeanimates them all--the maintenance of the standard which ColonelBroadcastle set for them, and the record they have made for themselves. " Colonel Broadcastle's voice was sweeping the armory, as he put theregiment through the manual of arms. "One has only to hear one of them--Mr. Nisbet, for example--say 'theNinth' to find the hope of which you are in search. These men say it asothers say 'God' or 'my mother'--as you yourself, Johnny boy, say'Alleghenia. '" "Charge--_bay'n'ts_!" With a single click, a thousand rifles fell into position, a thousandleft feet smote the floor in unison, and the light rippled and twinkledalong a solid line of flashing steel. "There! A single voice, --a single, mighty response! Don't you see thewonderful suggestiveness of it? Don't you feel the presence of theenormous reserve force which lies behind all this? Oh, believe me, John, this is a weapon too mighty to lie unused, and too intelligent to bemisused, if the worst come to the worst. After all, as no one knowsbetter than yourself, it's not your own advancement you're looking for, it's that of the state. Well, there may be other agencies, perhapsentirely independent of you or of your influence, but none the lessinvaluable. For example, you are close upon despair--and yet, beforeyour fears come true, the forces of wrong will have to fight their way, step by step, through this rampart of American manhood!" Barclay touched her hand lightly, as she ceased speaking. In the midstof the thousands about them, they were alone as they had never beenbefore. "Thank you, " he said simply. "Thank you, littlest and wisest in theworld!" The regiment was in motion again, skirting the room in column of fours, preparatory to the march-past: but now the Lieutenant-Governor surveyedit from a new, and a dual point-of-view, --as a thousand individuals, that is, each a potential factor for immeasurable good in the comingrehabilitation of the state; and, then, as a vast fighting-machineperfect in every detail, resistless and awe-inspiring in its veryintegrity. He noted the faces as they passed--stern, intelligent faces, young, for the most part, and curiously refined, intent upon correctperformance of the present duty, and touched, almost without exception, with an enthusiasm born of the martial music and the rhythmic tramp ofadvancing feet. He saw the quick, reciprocal glance of the pivot andflank men, as the fours, in perfect alignment, swept round intocompany-front; the long, easy compression and give of the compact lines, acquiring correct adjustment; the rigid tenure of chests and shoulders;the firm fling of slender gray legs, as regularly intervaled as theteeth of a giant comb. Company by company, the regiment fell into thecadence of full-step. Midway, the standards of the Republic andAlleghenia rippled side by side. And so, with blare of brass and sharpstaccato of snare-drums, with sheen of rifles and accoutrements, withflash of slender swords, raised in salute, --above all and always, withthat magnificent unanimity, that mighty pulse of the thunderousadvance, the Ninth swept past its Governor and its Colonel in review. And then, in an instant, as it seemed, the vast square was formed again, a sharp command rang out, the rifles snapped to a present-arms, thestandards dipped, and the strains of the "Star-Spangled Banner" mountedtriumphantly to the great girders of the lofty roof. The multitude ofspectators rose at the sound, and the Lieutenant-Governor rose withthem, his heart aglow with new inspiration, new hope, and new resolve. The band was almost speaking the words of the anthem on the dust-grayedair:-- "Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?" To the accompaniment of a myriad clapping hands, the Lieutenant-Governorresumed his seat, shaken by a novel, tremendous emotion. Yes! a thousandtimes yes! The star-spangled banner, symbol of loftiest ideals andpurest purposes, mute memorial and reminder of devotion incalculable andsacrifice without bound, guarantee of liberty and brotherhood, mercy, equality, and justice--yet waved! And, part and indissoluble portion ofits inspiring memories and illustrious destinies, the star of Allegheniayet blazed upon its azure field! He had been living in a world ofunrealities, in a valley of shadow, grayed by portents of failure anddespair. His eyes had been narrowed to see the pitfalls which lined hispath, to the stumbling-blocks, the briers, the indescribable sordidnessof his personal position and his immediate surroundings. Now, he lookedup and horizonward. The thunder-clouds of official depravity andduplicity which darkened the way of his endeavor--were they able, afterall, to blot out the memory of the clear, high sky above? As this thought came to him, it was almost as if, in actuality, abrooding heaven had been rent asunder, revealing the steel-blue of theinfinite ether permeated with the supreme radiance of noon; and at theincursion of this illuminating element the host of his discouragementsdwindled and disappeared, like noisome little prowlers of the night, scuttling to cover at the abrupt break of a tropical day. For a moment, he strove to realize whence the light had come, and in what consistedthis sovereign ally, hitherto uncalculated, of his optimism. As hetracked his thought, it led him undeviatingly back to its directinspiration, the words of Natalie Rathbawne. "Before your fears come true"--she had said. Before his fears came true--well, what? The revelation leaped at himfull and fair now, and every nerve sang like a taut wire in answer toits touch. Before his fears came true, this wretched little world ofpetty chicanery and official corruption which surrounded and sickenedhim would be wiped out of existence. Abbott--McGrath--their machinationsand their misdeeds--their lies and their ambitions--their power andtheir pride, --they were newts that fouled a pool, gnats in the sunshine, cinders on the snow. Towering above them, ready, at an instant'snotice, to crush them out of being, was the rock of ages, the righteousspirit of Alleghenia, integral and indestructible, illumined by theancient, undimmed, and eternal sense of rectitude inherent in theAmerican people! Not by his agency, perhaps--perhaps not even in his day, --neverthelessand infallibly, the right was bound to conquer in the end. The cleareyes and the firm mouths of the men of the Ninth spoke it, their rifles, their broad shoulders, and their precision confirmed and guaranteed it, and back of these stood the great, taciturn figure of the People, asmile upon its calm and silent lips. When those lips should speak, asspeak they would, their words would be the annihilation of Elijah Abbottand of all his kind! Meanwhile--the bitterness--the disappointments--the humiliations--ah, ina moment, how they had grown shrunken, and wizened, and old! For out ofthe radiance of revelation, as Christ of old spoke to His disciples, sonow the spirit of Alleghenia spoke to her Lieutenant-Governor. "_What is that to thee? Follow thou Me!_" Like a woman, the spirit of her cried unto him, and, like a man, thespirit of John Barclay answered. X A QUESTION AND AN ANSWER Much to Barclay's satisfaction, Cavendish had obtained his appointmentas a city reporter on the staff of the "Sentinel. " Even the first weekof the new life thus entered upon had produced a vast change in hismanner and appearance. Though the Lieutenant-Governor had seen him butonce, when he came to repay the loan made him--in itself, of all signsof restoration to a normal attitude, the most significant--he found thathis complexion had cleared and softened, and his eye perceptiblybrightened. He was clean-shaven once more, and his dress, while ofstrict simplicity, was yet suggestive of the old days when he had beencalled the most fastidious man in Kenton City. He held himselfstraighter, too, with his shoulders thrown back and his head up; andBarclay had noted, with quiet gratification, that there was not atremor about the hands which unfolded and smoothed the bills he had cometo return. One evidence alone remained of the desperate ordeal throughwhich he had passed. His voice, formerly firm and vibrant with a spiritthat was half gayety, half arrogance, was now indescribably modulated, and touched with a melancholy which was not that of servility, stillless of shame. Rather, it was an unspeakably appealing regret, amonotonous listlessness, a suggestion of hopeless surrender to somethingtragic and inevitable. Barclay was puzzled by it. It seemed illogical, and evaded him, like a melody with a dimly familiar _motif_ which he wasunable to place or even fully recall. It haunted him singularly, whenCavendish had left, and afterwards, in his leisure moments, came back tohim, striving, as he fancied, to make itself understood. Intimatelycandid as their recent relation had been, here was somethingunexplained, which he could not come at, and which was yet eloquent ofvitality, of the need of comprehension. Since that time, three weeks before, the two men had not met. For thisthere were several reasons. Barclay knew from a brief note thatCavendish had taken a small room in a boarding-house, not far from the"Rockingham, " and that the pressure of his work for the "Sentinel" sethim afoot so early, and sent him home at night so brain and body weary, that he had neither the strength nor the inclination for other things. Added to this, had been the Lieutenant-Governor's absorption in his ownduties, and, in particular, his absence from Kenton City, on his roundof inspection of the state militia. But, just before the dinner hour, onthe evening following that of the review, Cavendish called, as Barclaywas in the act of dressing. "I had a suspicion I'd catch you just about this time, " he said, dragging a chair to the door of the bedroom, where he could watch theLieutenant-Governor struggling with a refractory white tie. "I'm gettingon famously, and I wanted you to know it. " "That's right!" said Barclay, scowling into the mirror. "But then, Iknew you would. Your pessimism didn't produce much effect on me. I'veheard men talk like that before. And, of course, when a chap gets intothe condition you were in, back there, there's no such thing as makinghim believe he can ever pull out. You talked like an ass, that firstnight, Spencer. " "And acted like a blackguard! I suppose you will allow me to refer tothat now?" "Now less than ever, my good sir. As I've told you already, all thatbelongs to the past. You're yourself again. What's the use of dwellingon a time gone by, when you were in reality somebody else--or, rather, nobody at all? When are you going to call at the Rathbawnes'? The oldman is pretty ill, I'm afraid, but I think the rest would like to seeyou again. They were speaking of you only the other day--that is, one ofthem was!" "Not till this strike trouble is over, at all events; they have all theycan attend to at present, without being bothered by reformed drunkards. And perhaps I sha'n't call at all. I haven't decided yet what would bebest. " Then, before Barclay had time to speak, he added:-- "By the way, I'm to take up the strike to-morrow, for the 'Sentinel. '" "Are you?" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Governor, in a tone of the liveliestinterest. "That's good news. It must be about the most importantassignment they could give you, just now. Well, I wonder if you aredestined to be the only conscientious reporter in Kenton City, orwhether you will simply be like all the rest. Are you going to have thecourage of your convictions--which I think I can surmise, though youhaven't as yet confided them to me--or are you going to wear theslave-chains of your fellows, and distort, and misrepresent, and truckleand kow-tow to the policy of the most venal press in America?" "_On fait ce qu'on peut_, " said Cavendish, with a shrug. "Orders areorders, John. If the orders of the editor don't go, the orders on thecashier don't come. That's about all there is to it. It would be ratherfutile to attempt the Don Quixote act, if only for the reason that onewould never get into print. One can't do more than follow instructions. The reporter's best policy is his paper's best honesty. " "Honesty?" repeated the Lieutenant-Governor. "Where does the honestycome in? Of course I understand your position. In a way, it is identicalwith mine--subservience to a principle that you despise, acquiescence inmethods that you know to be utterly false and wrong! How sick I am of itall! It's the old experience, all over again, which I used to have as achild with the Tom Smith paper crackers. You are fascinated by thetinsel, and the colored paper, and the gaudy label. You think that whenyou've dissected one, and pulled it all to pieces, you'll find a bugleand a gold crown inside--because that's what it says on the box. But, the first thing you know, you'll find yourself blowing on a tin whistleand wearing a fool's cap of green paper! Lord! how the press of KentonCity needs a _man_--a man with the courage and the power to show up thescoundrels who are responsible for all this--McGrath and his associates, I mean. I'm sick and tired of reporters whose rascality is self-evident, of editors who are bought and sold like chattels, of a state of affairs, in general, so infamous as to surpass expression! You have my sympathy, Spencer--the sympathy of a fellow-victim. To be a reporter on anewspaper which dictates dishonesty; to be the lieutenant of a Governorwho enjoins duplicity--it's all just about one and the same thing!" "It's curious, " commented Cavendish, "that it wasn't until about a weekafter--after that night, that I knew you were Lieutenant-Governor. Then, your name happened to be mentioned in the office, and somebody asked meif I knew you. " "Whereupon, " said Barclay, conquering the tie at last, and turning fromthe mirror, "you had the inexpressible privilege of saying that you knewme intimately. " "Whereupon, " repeated Cavendish, in that so singular tone which had lainheavy upon the other's memory, "I had the inexpressible privilege ofsaying that I used to know you, but that we had quarreled, and werenow--strangers. " "Why?" demanded the Lieutenant-Governor, wheeling abruptly upon him. "What possessed you to say such a silly thing as that?" Cavendish leaned forward in his chair, with his elbows on his knees, andhis forehead against his interlaced fingers, staring at the floor. "I'm glad, in a way, to have you ask that question, " he said slowly. "Weare wary of mock heroics, or even real heroics, men like you and me. Andyet there are things which must be explained, things not easy toexplain, because they come so close at times to melodrama. I've alwayshad a horror of emotional situations; and, from what I know of you, I'msure you have, as well. I'd avoid this explanation, if I could--indeed, I've deliberately avoided it, thus far. Yet if I were a Romanist in thepresence of my priest, I think I should feel more at liberty to evadeconfession than I do now. For both our sakes, I'll try to be as brief, as simple, as lucid, as I can. And I'll trust you to understand, as wellas may be. Don't think there's any pose, any aim at effect, in what I'mgoing to say. You've asked me a question, and I'm going to answer it, that's all! I don't think, in my present frame of mind, I could bear tohave you entertain the suspicion that the answer was affected or lackingin candor. _Allons!_ Already I'm growing too verbose!" He looked up with a wan smile. "Let's get down to facts. You ask me why I told my questioner that we nolonger knew each other. Well, then, let's have at it! It was because, John Barclay, there is likely--no, there is sure--to come a time whenyou won't care to acknowledge me as your friend. Oh, wait!" he added, asthe Lieutenant-Governor held up his hand in protest. "Hear me out. Yousay I talked like an ass, that first night. Perhaps. But the factremains that I've been a drunkard--and that I'm bound to be one again!I've been fighting against temptation for several weeks. It hasn't beenvery strong, for some reason, and so I've managed to ground it so far. But you remember the chap with whom old Hercules wrestled? Every time hetouched earth his strength was multiplied. Well, that's the way withdrink. I can throw the temptation for a while, but every time I do so itrises, stronger many-fold. Sooner or later, I'm forced to give in. Iknow it, as I know I'm sitting here. I'm doing my best now, because, inthe future, when the wrong that for a time you've righted goes wrongagain, I want you to remember that I made the effort--for you--and forher--for the Fairy Princess. The end is as plain as day! It was born inme, this. I think I've never told you that my father died of it, butthat's the truth. And the next time I drop, it will be for good and all. I shall never make another effort to conquer the inevitable. If I can'tdo it now, with the hope of redemption thus made plain, with a newstart, and a fresh chance, and--thanks to you, John--the past wiped offthe slate and a new sum set to solve, with the incentive of yourfriendship and confidence, and the interest, so undeserved, of the FairyPrincess, into the bargain, --if I can't do it now, I say, why surely Ican never do it. John, you can't know what I've been through. You, who've never had the temptation, can't conceive of what it means. It's aliving actuality, this lust for drink. When your nerves go wrong, evenat the end of a day, or a week, or a year, during which you've keptstraight, when you're tired, discouraged, and, above all, _alone_!--thenit comes at you like a live thing, --speaks--grips your arm--drags youwherever it wills! I've laughed at it, scoffed at it, in its absence, tried to make myself believe it a fragment of an otherwise forgottendream, many and many and many a time. _But it always came back!_ Oh, John Barclay, you others will never understand! A man has to have beenthrough it, in order to know, and that not once, but, as I have, ahundred times. " "I can well believe it to be a tremendous temptation, " said theLieutenant-Governor gravely. "Temptation? It's more than that! A temptation gives you _some_ chance, doesn't it? You may yield to it, but, at least, you've had yourfighting-chance. Well, in that sense, this is no temptation, though I'vebeen using the word myself to describe it. Why, John, it's madness, sheer insanity. You probably remember that I never used to touch alcoholat all. I promised my poor mother to let it alone until I reached mymajority. Of course, I didn't realize about the dear old man; he diedwhen I was too young for that. But her one great fear, and naturally, was that the curse had descended to me--just as it had! Well, I stuck tomy promise till I was twenty-one, and kept along in the same way forsome time afterwards, just because there didn't seem to be anyparticularly good reason for taking up something which I had managed toget along very well without, all my life. Then came that time, youknow--three years ago--and out of mere recklessness, bravado, God knowswhat, I began to drink. John, I was a doomed man from the first swallow!That demon had been hiding inside me, without sound or movement or otherhint of his presence, for twenty-eight years--just waiting his chance!You know the rest. The fight has been going on ever since, and the thinghas beaten every time. I've resisted. I've struggled. I've even prayed. It's all useless. " He pointed significantly to the curtain which hung where the door of thewine-closet had been. "As I did that night, " he continued, "I shall do again, and still again, until the end. It's insanity, nothing more or less. It lurks at the backof my brain--always--always--and then, suddenly, when I am leastexpecting it, it comes forward with a rush, and I might as well try tocheck the north wind or the incoming tide. I feel it tingling in myfingers, scorching my throat, tearing at my reason. I swear I won't givein, and, in the very act of so swearing, I get up and go out to meet it. I could break down iron doors to get at the drink when it calls to me. And, though I seem to be going straight enough now, the moment is comingwhen it _will_ call and when I shall obey! Then you won't want to thinkyou've ever known me, John Barclay, still less to remember that the nameof the Fairy Princess has passed between us. And, in the midst of mydamnation, it will be a drop of cold water on my tongue to know thatI've left you a loophole through which to escape the acknowledgment ofthese last few weeks. So far, no one but the 'Rockingham' people, andPayson, and--and the Fairy Princess--know that we've been togetherrecently. The 'Rockingham' people don't even know my name. Payson won'tspeak. And _she_ certainly won't. So far, so good. Further, I've come tosay good-by. Hereafter, we mustn't see each other"-- "Stop--stop!" broke in the Lieutenant-Governor. "What is all this rotyou're talking? Chuck it, will you? Look here! If you go back onme--which is bad--and on your Fairy Princess--which is worse--and onyourself--which is the worst of all"-- "Yes, yes, " answered Cavendish, "that's all true. But I'm not talkingabout _if_ I go back, I'm talking about _when_ I go back! As I said whenI began, there's no use trying to explain this thing to a man whodoesn't understand it, and no man _can_ understand it except through hisown experience. In this respect, if in no other, you and I talkdifferent languages, belong on different planets. Could I expect you tocomprehend with me that first give of self-control which lets the demonloose, and the meaning of the sight or smell of drink at that exactmoment when the will is weakest--the first glass, hastily swallowed, asa brute, long thirsty, gulps down the water it has craved--the secondand third, taken more slowly--and then, that slackening of every nerve, that jettisoning of all the moral cargo, that sudden love andappreciation of the sensuous side of life? Don't you see? It's anotherworld, that, which you simply can't understand, unless you travel to itby the road by which I have come--which God forbid!" "In all this, " said Barclay, "I can see no reason why our presentfriendship should not continue, and should not be known. " "Simply this, " answered Cavendish: "I'm--nothing! You're theLieutenant-Governor, --who is spoken of, if you care to know it, in theoffice of the 'Sentinel' as the only honest official in the state ofAlleghenia. You mustn't tie up to me, nor I to you. I've told you whatmy end is going to be. You don't believe it, perhaps, but it's none theless true. And yours--do you know that the law-abiding element looks upto you as a kind of Messiah? Do you know that you are the dawn of honorand integrity which lies behind the present black cloud of lawlessness?I tell you, John, the promise of your future is such as might nerve abeaten Napoleon to renewed endeavor. In your hands lies the salvation ofthe state. " "I wish I could think so, " said the Lieutenant-Governor. "God knows I'dwillingly cut one of them off, if I thought its loss could benefit thecommonwealth. But, as I've had occasion to say to others, in the presentemergency I'm as helpless as a babe unborn. You see how things aregoing--one might as well appeal, so far as any hope of success isconcerned, to McGrath himself as to Governor Abbott. There's no gettingaround it, Spencer. It's a declaration of anarchy pure and simple, andwith the official seal of Alleghenia at the bottom of the document. Iniquitous wrong is being done, not only to Mr. Rathbawne in refusinghim the protection of the law to which he is entitled, but to the causeof the strikers themselves, if they can justly be said to have a cause. Nothing ever was or ever will be gained for the benefit of the many bythe violence of the few. It can only end in one way: by theinterposition of the federal troops. You know what happened at Chicago. It will be the same thing here; and before it is over we shall seepeople shot down like rats in the streets of Kenton City. " "I hope it won't come to that, " said Cavendish; "but even so, all's wellthat ends well. Provided that order is finally restored"-- "But what credit is it, " broke in Barclay, "to the state of Allegheniato have her law-breakers suppressed by the national government? Don'tyou see that it would be only a final proof that she is too incompetentor too indifferent to do it herself? From the point of view of thestate's good name, I doubt which is worst, her present attitude or theinterference of federal force. " "Will it come to the latter in any event?" "Undoubtedly. They've already tried to prevent the delivery of Mr. Rathbawne's mail, both at the mills and at his house. You know whatthat means, don't you? One carrier interfered with in the performance ofhis duty is sufficient excuse for mobilizing a brigade. " "But the Governor"-- Barclay came forward, laid his hand on Cavendish's shoulder, and lookeddown at him, slowly nodding his head. "The Governor of Alleghenia is a dyed-in-the-wool scoundrel, my goodsir, " he said. "It is his manifest duty to enforce the law rigidly andat once, and if the police of Kenton City cannot or will not assist him, to summon the militia to his aid. In that way only can the honor ofAlleghenia be saved. And that is what Elijah Abbott will never do. Thereis anarchy open and flagrant in the streets of Kenton City--there isanarchy silent and sneering in the Governor's chair. God save thestate!" XI YOUNG NISBET FINDS HIS TONGUE "I have promised to marry Colonel Broadcastle, " announced Mrs. Wynyardwhen the silence had lasted twenty minutes. Dorothy flung round from the window against which she had beenmercilessly pressing her pretty nose. "Why, Aunt Helen!" she exclaimed. "You really are the most startlinglyabrupt person I ever knew. Are you in earnest? What under the sunpossessed you to do that?" "I think it must have been Colonel Broadcastle, " answered Mrs. Wynyard, with an air of reflection. "It was last night when he was showing usover the armory, after the review. He not only asked me, but appeared tohave quite set his heart upon my giving him an affirmative answer. Andhe had been so extremely civil, Dorothy, about our seats and all that, that I thought it would seem rather ungracious to refuse the first favorhe had ever asked of me. So I said yes. " "Aunt Helen, Aunt Helen! One of these fine days you will be the death ofme. Did any one _ever_ hear of such a reason for accepting a man?" "I couldn't think of a better one for refusing him, " said Mrs. Wynyardserenely. "So there you are!" "Talk about logic!" said Dorothy. She came across the room, and seatedherself beside her aunt. "I never heard anything so exciting in mylife!" she added. "Do you really mean it? Are you really going to marryhim?" "That is the arrangement, as I understand it, " replied Mrs. Wynyard. "Ofcourse, I haven't his promise in writing, but I think I can trust him. Ionce looked him up in your father's business guide, and he had three A'safter his name. I'm sure I don't know what they can stand for, if it'snot Acquaintance, Appeal, and Acceptance. I don't really see what elseI could have done. It seems to have all been arranged without consultingme at all. One can't very well set one's self up in opposition to abusiness guide, you know. " "But he's old enough to be your father, Aunt Helen!" "That's precisely the reason why there wouldn't have been any sense inmy promising to be a sister to him. You see, I was quite helpless in thematter from start to finish. " "And it was only last night that you called me preposterous!" laughedDorothy. "Really, Aunt Helen, people who live in glass houses shouldn'tthrow stones. I think you are the most absurd creature in the world. Doyou love him?" "I can even go so far as to say that I think I do, " said Mrs. Wynyard, without a break in her gravity. "I have all the symptoms, --palpitationof the heart, a morbid craving for Shelley and chocolate caramels, atendency to wake up singing, and a failing for flattening my noseagainst the window-pane for twenty minutes at a stretch without saying aword to my poor old aunt, on the mere chance that he may be coming downthe avenue. " The blush which Dorothy paid as tribute to this subtle innuendo camenear to rivaling one of young Nisbet's celebrated performances in thesame line. "You're making fun of me, " she said reproachfully. "I, my dear?--not the least in the world. It's all as true as the gospelaccording to St. Valentine. I've told you first because we're not onlyaunt and niece, but the very best friends possible besides, and I knewyou would like to hear the news before any one else. Colonel Broadcastleis by all odds the finest man I know, --I won't even except John Barclay, much as I admire him. He has paid me a very great honor. I respect himtremendously; I trust him absolutely. These alone are good reasons; butthere's a better one, --so much better that nothing else really has anybearing on the subject. Can you guess?" "Yes, " said Dorothy softly, "you just love him. Isn't that it?" "Exactly. It's a curious thing, this love. There may be every reason whyone should marry a man, his own wish included, and yet one doesn't. There may be no reason at all, so far as outsiders can see, and yet onedoes! I've known a woman to throw over one suitor who had everything inhis favor--money, character, position--and accept another who had noneof these advantages--because she liked the way he parted his hair!That's the way it goes. It's the most illogical thing in the world, ifwe except the stock market and other women's gowns. And then, when it'sall arranged, his friends wonder what she could have seen in him, andher friends what he could have seen in her! But I'm wandering from thesubject. Seriously, Dorothy dear, I love him very sincerely, and I havebeen more happy than I can say ever since I found out that it wasn'tgoing to be one of those one-sided love-affairs which assure the incomesof the poets and the lawyers. And now, --confidence for confidence, Dorothy!" "Aunt Helen! I don't know what you mean. " "Oh, Dorothy! 'I don't know what you mean' is one of those phrases like'Not at home' and 'Yours very sincerely, ' which are white lies on theface of them. I don't want to force your confidence. We all have whatour friends recognize as our private affairs, with the accent--worseluck!--on the _pry_! But this is very different. I'm very fond of you, as you know, and my interest is far from being vulgar curiosity. Of awoman's five cardinal failings--inquisitiveness, extravagance, vanity, vacillation, and loquacity--I'm guiltless of all except the last andmost innocent. But don't we all need to talk at times? Don't we all longfor a trustworthy _confidante_? Aren't our little secrets often likeprecious liquors?--if we don't make use of them, share them with ourfriends, they either ferment and sour, or else lose all their sweetnessand significance by slow evaporation. " "You would draw confidence from a stone, " said Dorothy, with a littlesmile, "but what have I to tell you?" "How should I know? Perhaps nothing--as yet; perhaps everything. Takeyour time about it, dear. I'm not trying to get you to commit yourself. I only want you to know that I'm ready to share your secret when it'sready to be shared, and to help and counsel you in any way I can. I knowthe main great fact already. Because, you see, Dorothy, one may concealan infinite amount, even from one's nearest and dearest, when they don'tunderstand--and they are so _apt_ not to understand, one's nearest anddearest! And the financier may hide his schemes from his partners, orthe general his plan of campaign from his fellow-officers, or thepolitician his ambitions from his most ardent supporters--but I doubt, my dear, if a woman in love was ever able to hide very much fromanother woman in the same lamentable condition! "If it were not, " she added, taking Dorothy's hand in hers, "for thegreat happiness which has come into my life, do you think that I shouldhave been able to divine that other great happiness which seems to behovering over yours? I am the physician afflicted with the disease whichit becomes his duty to study and to cure. Only, it's not a disease, Dorothy, but a great, a beautiful revelation. I should have comparedmyself, instead, to the prophet who is enabled to interpret the dreamsof others because they are identical with his own. There's my littlespeech. And when you are prepared to answer it, you'll find me ready. " As she was speaking the last words, the butler flung back the curtainsat the doorway of the drawing-room. "Mr. Nisbet, " he announced imperturbably. Dorothy looked at her aunt, and then, with her frank laugh:-- "If there _is_ an answer, " she said, "that's it!" As young Nisbet entered, Mrs. Wynyard was the first to greet him. "So, " she observed, looking him over approvingly, "you've beaten yourswords into walking-sticks, and your spears into top-hats, as my friendIsaiah so aptly observes! That's very commendable, but I almost think Ilike you better in your war-paint. Do you know, a Colonel's orderly isthe spickest-and-spanest object upon which I've ever laid, or hope tolay, my eyes?" "He just naturally has to be, " said young Nisbet, with a grin. Somehow, he was always more at his ease with Mrs. Wynyard than with other women. "You see, " he added, "if it wasn't that way, he wouldn't be it. " Which was as near as he had ever come to making an epigram. "Well, I shall leave you to the tender mercies of Dorothy, " said Mrs. Wynyard. "I've promised to take a walk with your--what is it you callhim--instead of commanding officer, you know?" "K. O. , " said young Nisbet. "Yes, that's it. How deplorably you militiamen spell! Well, at allevents, I'm going to walk with your K. O. , and it's time I was gettingready. Good-by. " "Good-by, Mrs. Wynyard. " "Day-day!" said Dorothy, from the divan. "She's a crack-a-jack!" exclaimed young Nisbet, after she had gone. "Mercy!" said Dorothy. "I never knew you to be so enthusiastic over anyone before. If you have any intention of falling in love with AuntHelen, I feel it to be my duty, as a friend and well-wisher, to warn youin advance that there isn't the most remote show in the world for you. " "Oh, it's not that!" protested young Nisbet with that stupendousearnestness which made people want to hug him. "Why, Mrs. Wynyard wouldhave me talked to a standstill in two or seven minutes! Imagine metrying to make love to a dame like that! She'd lose me so quick youcouldn't see me for the dust. Besides"-- "Besides what?" asked Dorothy with an elaborate air of unconcern, as hehesitated. Young Nisbet was quite crimson now, and twitched at the creases in histrousers where they passed over his knees, and turned in his toesexcessively. "There's somebody else in the running!" he blurted out desperately. There! It was out--a part of it, at least--not at all, to be sure, inanything even remotely resembling one of the thousand manners he hadproposed to himself as effective, during long hours of wakefulness, whenthere was nothing in the world but his crowding thoughts and the tickingof his clock--but still, out! The ice was broken. It was impossible thatshe should not understand. The rest would be easier. Alas for young Nisbet! He was, as he himself acknowledged, not "up onwomen!" "Somebody else?" repeated Dorothy. "How ever did you find that out? Sheonly told _me_ about it twenty minutes ago. " Alas, alas, for young Nisbet! He had thought his feet upon the beach atlast, whereas they had but touched a sand-bar in passing over. Theunder-tow of embarrassment was worse than ever now, and threatened todrag him down. "Oh, I don't mean Mrs. Wynyard. I wasn't talking of her--that is, I was, at first--but afterwards--anyhow, I'm not talking of her now! When I saythere's somebody else, I mean--I mean"-- "I am going out for a moment, Dorothy--just over to the _doctor's_. _How_ de do, Mr. Nisbet? _Wretched_ weather, _isn't_ it? Natalie's withyour father, my dear, and _I'll_ be back _almost_ immediately. Er--_ahem_!" Mrs. Rathbawne went through a kind of rudimentary calisthenic exercise, which consisted of squaring her shoulders and drawing in her chin. Itwas accompanied by a meaning glance at her daughter, and was designed asan inconspicuous substitute for the frank injunction to "sit upstraight, my dear, " upon which Dorothy had finally placed a ban. "And _won't_ you feed the gold-fish, my dear?" she added. "I've been _so_occupied, and the poor things haven't had a _crumb_ for three days. I'vejust told Thomas to take a plate of bread in at _once_. I'm sure Mr. _Nisbet_ won't mind: get him to _help_ you. Er--_ahem_! And I'll be backin about fifteen minutes, or so. " For a time there was silence in the big, warm conservatory. Young Nisbethad taken the dish from Dorothy's hands, and, after seating himself onthe low marble parapet surrounding the pool, devoted his energies tofeeding the gold-fish. He was thinking that it was all to be done overagain, and that it was harder than ever, if such a thing were possible, to do. What was there about those few words which seemed to choke him?For the moment, he took refuge in a commonplace question. "Is it one of your duties to feed these persons?" Dorothy laughed shortly, like a little chord of music. "No--it's the Mater's peculiar privilege, " she answered. "She adores thestupid little beasts. Don't give them such large pieces, Mr. Nisbet. Shefeeds them regularly herself, --or did, until Dad began to require somuch of her time. But lately, the house has been so upset, and she hasbeen doing such a lot of going out, and coming in"-- "Yes, " put in young Nisbet dryly, "I've noticed the coming in part. " "So Natalie has been doing it for her, " went on Dorothy, more rapidly. "I suppose Natalie herself hasn't had the time, these last three days. They _are_ hungry, aren't they? _Don't give them such large pieces, Mr. Nisbet!_ Don't you see the poor things have only button-holes formouths?" There was another long pause, before either spoke again. "What defeats me about your mother, " said young Nisbet slowly, "is theway she manages to come in just at the wrong moment. At interruption, she's the most star performer I've ever run up against. You don't mindmy saying that, do you? I'm not throwing any asparagus. I wouldn't bedisrespectful about her for the world. But really, for chopping into aconversation, she's a dazzler!" "She _is_ a little inopportune at times, " admitted Dorothy. "Inopportune? Yes, --she's all of that. When she marches in, I feelexactly as if the boat had gybed, and the boom come over and knocked meinto thirty fathoms of water. Lord!" "Why, how ridiculous!" said Dorothy. "There's nothing about the Mater tobe afraid of. She's the dearest, most innocent old thing in the world!She just blunders along like that, and nobody is less aware of hermistakes than she is. And, after all, why shouldn't she interrupt us, solong as we're not saying anything in particular? And if we _were_saying--anything in particular, we could always pick up theconversation where we dropped it. " "That's just what I find it so hard to do!" confessed young Nisbet. "I'ma stupid sort of lout, you know, Miss Rathbawne. I've never had half achance to practice talking to dames, and where other lads fuss likeexperts, I just can't make good. I foozle every stroke. I'm anass--that's all!" "You're nothing of the sort!" said Dorothy indignantly. "You're anextremely attractive young man!" "As good as the average in some ways, perhaps. But--how can I explainwhat I mean?--there always comes a day when a chap wants to be more, wants to be the best ever, in every way! That's the proposition I'm upagainst now. I seem to be just a bundle of misfits, and--and--oh, shucks! my line of talk is all crooked, and I can't tell you what thetrouble is, but"-- "Your liver's out of kilter, " interpolated Dorothy. "No, sir!" protested young Nisbet. "Nothing is ever out of kilterinside me! If I'm nothing else, I'm blue-ribbon boy on the healthquestion. No, it's something I want, and that I'm pretty sure I can'tget. " "I know perfectly well what it is, " said Dorothy, "and you haven't evenasked for it!" Young Nisbet looked up suddenly. "Do you mean?"--he stammered, "do you mean?"-- Outside, the front door slammed, and Mrs. Rathbawne's voice becameaudible, inquiring Dorothy's whereabouts of the butler. The girllaughed. "There's the Mater back again, " she said. "Oh, Mr. _Nisbet_!" For young Nisbet had dropped dish and bread-crumbs into the pool with agreat splash, electrifying the gold-fish into unheard-of activity, andhad risen, at the same moment, to his feet. He stood before her, hishonest face blazing, his hands outstretched. "I love you!" he said. "Will you marry me?" And whether or not he received an audible reply to this question henever knew, --only she was in his arms, and gold-fish might feast orstarve, for all he cared about them. The wide doors of perfect blissswung open before him, and young Nisbet passed within. He was gazing ruefully into the water, as Mrs. Rathbawne entered. Forthe first time in his experience, her presence did not embarrass him. "I've dropped a dish into your pool, Mrs. Rathbawne, " he said, "andscared the gold-fish into blue conniption fits. Look how they arescurrying around. I hope I haven't done them any harm. " "Oh, no, " answered Mrs. Rathbawne placidly. "They are getting _so_ fatthat I should _think_ a little exercise, _now_ and again, would be_good_ for them. We _might_ drop a dish into the pool every week or so, Dorothy, just to stir them up. " "It might go for a while, " said young Nisbet, "but any old footballplayer like myself, Mrs. Rathbawne, will tell you that you can't workthe same trick more than just a certain number of times. " "Interruption, for example!" added Dorothy, and laughed across at him, deliciously, with her eyes. XII DIOGENES It was during the tenth week of the strike at the Rathbawne Mills thatthe "Kenton City Record" made its long-remembered attack uponLieutenant-Governor Barclay. The arraignment was one unparalleled forvenom, even in the columns of that most notoriously scurrilous journalin the state, and, withal, there was about it a devilish ingenuity, adistortion of facts so slight as to defy refutation, and so plausible asto carry conviction. It was the last blow in the long series ofdiscouragements which Barclay had suffered since his inauguration, andfor the moment he was completely unmanned. He was at no loss, however, to trace the source from which the ingeniously perverted facts had beenobtained. Not even McGrath, with his intimate knowledge of all that wentforward at the capitol, could have supplied information so detailed. The hand of Elijah Abbott was traceable in every line of the attack. Their conversation, on the afternoon when he had first spoken to Barclayof the impending strike, was reproduced almost word for word, as well asthat on the occasion when McGrath had been present, and therefrom the"Record" went on to deduce that not even Peter Rathbawne, with all hisobstinacy, all his blindness to the welfare of his employees, wasresponsible for their present destitution in the same sense as was theLieutenant-Governor, who might have avoided the strike by a conciliatoryword, and who, instead, had advised Mr. Rathbawne to fight theworking-people until the last cent of their money should be exhaustedand the last drop of their blood should be shed. "Incompetency, " said the article in part, "is what we long since learnedto expect from John Hamilton Barclay. Gross neglect of public duty, flagrant callousness to responsibility, contemptuous indifference to theinterests of the citizens whose votes placed him where he is, --allthese have been part and parcel of his attitude since the unfortunatemoment of his election. But even in him we had not looked for theincredible spectacle of a public official deliberately precipitating theincalculable distress which has followed in the wake of the strike atthe Rathbawne Mills. Overburdened with the cares of office, in a singleinstance the Governor of Alleghenia turned over a question of vitalsignificance to the lieutenant from whom he had every reason to expectcompliance and support. Even so, he was careful to point out a line ofaction by which the impending calamity might readily have been avoided. And what was the result? Not only in total disregard of plain duty, butin direct disobedience of the orders of his superior, theLieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia threw his influence into the scale tooutweigh law and order, and brought about the deplorable destitution nowfacing the families of four thousand martyrs to principle. When men aredriven to desperation, when women turn to shame in order to maintainlife, when children are heard crying in our streets for bread, to whomshall we point as the author of it all? To Peter Rathbawne, a poor, doddering old man, barely responsible now, if rumor is to be believed, for what he does? No! To John Hamilton Barclay, Lieutenant-Governor ofAlleghenia!" This, and much more in the same strain, while passed over as sensationalbombast by the better element, did not fail of its effect upon thestrikers. A mass-meeting, held that morning, denounced Barclay in a setof resolutions, as a traitor to his office and as the avowed enemy oflabor, and demanded his impeachment on the ground of neglect of duty. During the day, half a score of threatening letters came to his office. But what hurt him most, though he almost smiled at his ownsensitiveness, was that the doormen and porters at the Capitol greetedhis morning nod with a stare, and even the little office-boy, bendinglow over his table in the ante-room, did not look up for the customarywink. For his mother was a trimmer at the Rathbawne Mills. Once in his office, the Lieutenant-Governor found it impossible toconcentrate his mind upon the work before him. Sentence after sentence, the words of his arraignment marched through his mind, as he sat withhis elbows on the desk and his chin in his doubled fists. A singlereading seemed to have stamped them indelibly and forever upon hismemory. Baffled by conflicting reflections he began, for the first time, to doubt whether his had been the course of conscience, or merely thatof pride and perversity. Was not the "Record" right, perhaps, after all?If it was true that the strike was driving men to crime and women to thestreets--and if it was not, as yet, true, it soon must be--who, indeed, was to blame if not he himself, who had said "Fight them!" when he mighthave kept peace by a word? Suddenly, the Lieutenant-Governor rose, and, crossing the room to wherethe arms of Alleghenia hung upon the wall, took down the frame, laidit, face up, upon the table, and, bending down, studied it intently. Thebeautifully executed nude figures of Art and Labor stared steadfastlyback at him, their muscular hands grasping the circular shield, strengthand endurance in every line of their necks, shoulders, and thighs, purity and purpose in their blue eyes and square-cut jaws. He was asmotionless as they for full five minutes. Presently his finger movedslowly across the frame, and he said, quite softly: "_Justitia--Lex--Integritas. _" Then he looked up, straight before him, out of the open window, where anencircling wistaria was dotted with minute sprouts of green, and up atthe clear, wide sky. "I'm right!" he said aloud. "I'm right!" * * * * * At five that afternoon, Spencer Cavendish set out upon the mostunpleasant assignment which had ever fallen to his lot. When Payson hadtold him that he was to procure an interview with Peter Rathbawne forthe "Sentinel, " with a special eye to the mill-owner's failing health, as reported in the morning's "Record, " he had shrunk back instinctivelyfrom a task so distasteful, and was on the point of refusing. But twoconsiderations checked this impulse. If the thing were to be done atall, he thought, surely it had better be the work of one friendly to theRathbawnes and with their interests at heart than that of a bunglingoutsider, with it in his power to hurt them beyond expression. Theargument was plausible, but behind its logic, at the back of Cavendish'sbrain, there lay another reason, without which the first had beeninsufficient to persuade him. He wanted to see Natalie again--to meether under the shield of some compatible excuse, so that he should notseem to have sought her of his own will. He was thirsty for a word fromher, thirsty with the pitiable thirst of the shipwrecked sailor whoknows a swallow of salt water will but increase his torture, and whocraves it, none the less. Long since, he had forfeited his right to herfriendship--no sophistry could blind him to that. Moreover the ocean ofdegradation not only lay behind him; it lay in front as well. It was ashe had told Barclay. He stood upon an island, not the mainland, ofredemption, and another plunge was inevitable. What he expected to gain by a word with Natalie Rathbawne, Cavendishhimself could hardly have told. At most, he was conscious of a fainthope that in some turn or twist of the conversation he might have achance of thanking her, of telling her that he rejoiced in herhappiness, and of bidding her good-by. For paramount in his mind lay thethought of his approaching downfall, inevitable, utter, and final. Hedid not attempt to deceive himself. He knew what was coming. It had comebefore. When Cavendish had sent in his card, a servant showed him through thelibrary into the conservatory, where Peter Rathbawne was seated in adeep rattan chair watching his daughter, who stood at his side tossingbread-crumbs to the gold-fish in the circular central pool. They bothturned at the sound of his footsteps, and Natalie held out her hand. "So you've come at last!" she said. "I should think it was quite time. Dad, you remember Mr. Cavendish, don't you?" "Yes, " answered her father. "Oh, yes!" Rathbawne's voice was without life, his face almost wholly void ofexpression. Though he glanced at Cavendish, it was with the blank stareof a delirious person whose attention is unconsciously caught by anunusual noise rather than with any evidence of direct interest, and hetook no further part in the conversation, nor even seemed to realizethat his companions were speaking. When he had answered his daughter'squestion and looked at Cavendish, he leaned back in his chair, andwearily closed his eyes. "He is very much changed since you saw him, " said the girl in a lowertone, turning again to the pool, "and it's all come about in the pastsix weeks. The strike has had a most curious, a most pathetic effectupon him. Even the doctor is at a loss to account for it. I think thatI am, perhaps, the only one who really understands. He has always beenso proud of his mills and of his people, so loyal to them, so like afather to them, one and all, that to have them turn against him likethis, and, what is worse, get to drinking and rioting, has almost brokenhis heart. The doctor says only one thing can save him, and that is tosee the mills going again and the people happy and prosperous, as theywere before. And who knows when that will be? For, feeble and broken ashe is, he will never give in to the Union. Of that I'm sure. " "I'm very sorry, " said Cavendish softly. One look at Rathbawne had beenenough to show him that the interview for which he had been sent was animpossibility. One look at Natalie sufficed to banish from his mindevery thought save that of her pitiful pallor and the pathetic quiver ofher lips. "I had no idea it was as bad as this, " he continued. "Can't anything bedone? You are far from being in good shape yourself, Miss Rathbawne. " "Tired and dispirited, that's all, " she answered, trying to smile. "AndI fear nothing can be done as long as our fate lies in Governor Abbott'shands. There's no use in harping on that, though. You know as well as Iwhat we have to expect from him. Did you see the attack on Mr. Barclaythis morning?" "An infamous libel!" exclaimed Cavendish hotly. Miss Rathbawne crumbled the bread between her fingers, and resumed herfeeding of the gold-fish. "You must know that I am the last person in the world to need thatassurance, " she said slowly. "It is only another thread in all thehideous tissue of injustice and iniquity which has been wrapped about uslike a pall. What a shame, is it not, that such a man as he should bepowerless to do the work I think God intended for him? And what a shamethat Alleghenia, needing his clear head and his strong arm and hisloyal heart as she does in this hour of emergency, should only besneering at him as a coward and a cad!" "I cannot believe, " answered Cavendish, "that the venom of the 'Record'is to be taken as the sentiment of the state. There must be many--theremust be a majority of Alleghenians who know, as we know, that no betterman breathes than John Barclay. " "Thank you, " said the girl. In the open spaces of water between the lily-pads the fat indolentgold-fish mouthed at the crumbs, stirring the silence with littlesucking sounds, and sending tiny ripples widening on all sides. Onealone, dingy yellow in color, moped apart from his fellows, and took nointerest in the banquet. "That one's a cynic, " said Miss Rathbawne presently. "My subtlestcajoleries never win him from that attitude of sneering contempt. Theothers get all the tid-bits, and he doesn't seem to care. He isn't evenornamental--he's in a class by himself. I call him Diogenes, and I'mthinking of buying him a tub all for himself, where he can sulk insolitary grandeur to his heart's content. " "Perhaps not altogether in a class by himself, " said Cavendish. "Thereare others, you know, who make no use of their opportunities, and whocan never hope to be anything but ugly and useless, while their fellowsare getting all the good things of life, and enjoying them, and givingpleasure of one kind or another into the bargain. " Something in his tone caused Natalie to look at him suddenly. "I'm not enough of a pessimist, " she answered firmly, "to believe thattrue in anything beyond appearances. We are all apt, no matter howconceited we may be, to underestimate at times the extent of our ownusefulness--or, rather, we are unconscious of the direction in which itis most productive. If what you say is so, then all that is lacking isthe opportunity, and that is sure to come. We may squander manyopportunities, and, hardly less probably, actually turn to account in away we do not perceive many which we seem to ourselves to squander. Inany event, others will come. A woman once said to me that the good inher was not cultivated nor exercised with a view to _individualimmortality_. That seemed to me to mean so much that I've built up quitea little creed on it. It's the principle, isn't it, upon which the wholescheme of the world hinges? A million leaves fall and decay to enrichthe soil wherefrom two million more may spring. An infinity of littleshell-fish die, and the ages grind their shells to powder to make thesands and the chalk cliffs. Countless raindrops sacrifice their identityto maintain that of one great river. And why should it not be so withus? If only we can contribute in the smallest degree to the uplifting ofour kind, to the advancement of the race, to the maintenance of what weknow to be right, what possible difference can it make whether, in theeffort to be of such service, we live or succumb? We were put here, itseems to me, very much as separate notes are put into one great harmony. Each note is struck at the proper time, serves its purpose, and goesinto nothingness. Each plays its part, however small. We can't all beincluded in the wonderful final chords. Our place may seem trivial tous, and yet in some sense we may be sure we are all contributors to theunity and perfection of the whole. That ought to be enough. No one noteachieves individual immortality, but each does something to assure theimmortality of the composition of which it forms a part. If we don'tbelieve that, if we are not content to have it so, how is it possible tobelieve in any divine purpose, any scheme of justice at all? Look at theindescribable waste of life on all sides of us. If only in the case ofhumanity, people are dying by hundreds every minute, unheeded, unlamented, unrecorded. Human life is such a little thing!--as little asthe life of the leaf or the raindrop. And yet in the death of these lastwe are able to perceive the working of a vast system which must be theoutcome of a direct purpose, and whereby the best interest of eachspecies is furthered. And so, the human race. Why should it be lessthan lesser things? One man dies in order that two may live. Aconfederacy--as in the case of our own Rebellion--perishes in order thata nation may endure. Everywhere, in short, the individual sacrifices hisindividual existence in order that it may contribute to and fertilizethe growth of his species. So far as I am concerned, I am perfectlycontent to have it so. I should ask nothing better, when my own timecomes, than the assurance that, in one way or another, my death had asignificance, --that it was for a person or a principle, and not merely anatural phenomenon. I may not be able to believe that; but there is onebelief possible to all of us, --I mean that, if not in death, thenassuredly in life, we have been of service to our race and time. We areoften told that the indispensable thing does not exist. I think the samemay be said of the useless one. I don't believe even the humblest ofGod's creatures goes out of life without having been at one time oranother an influence for good. I even have hopes of Diogenes. Some daythere will be a scrap of refuse or an ugly little bug which mars thesymmetry of the pool, and Diogenes will eat it, --and perhaps die ofindigestion as a martyr to principle!" The silence which followed her words was broken by a hoarse sob from Mr. Rathbawne, and, turning, they saw that his head had fallen back againstthe chair, with his eyes, wide and staring, fixed upon the glass roof, and his breath coming in short, thick gasps from between his partedlips. In an instant Natalie was on her knees by his side, with her armsabout him. "Don't be frightened, " she said, looking up at Cavendish with a bravelittle smile. "It's his heart. He has had these attacks frequently oflate. Will you get me the whiskey decanter and a glass? You'll find themin the dining-room--on the sideboard--to the left. " Decanter in hand, Cavendish stood watching her, as she tenderly poured alittle of the raw spirit between her father's lips. The effect wasalmost instantaneous. Rathbawne choked, swallowed the restorative, andpresently raised his head and looked at her, patting her handtremulously with his own. They were so absorbed in each other thatneither noted a sudden, strange transformation in Cavendish'sexpression. From the wide-mouthed decanter in his hand, the faint acridodor of Peter Rathbawne's fine old Scotch whiskey crept upward, stunghis nostrils, and, of a sudden, set him all a-quiver, like a startledanimal. The smell was almost that of pure alcohol, and set his mouthwatering, and drove his breath out in a little shuddering gasp that waslike a revulsion from some sickening medicine, just swallowed. But heknew it, none the less, for something which belonged to and was part ofhim. For weeks he had avoided it. Now it assailed him like that foe ofHercules, of whom he had spoken to Barclay, whose strength wasmultiplied a hundred-fold for every time his opponent trod him underfoot. As he told the Lieutenant-Governor, at the moment when least heexpected it, the demon touched his arm. For a minute he foughtdesperately against the suggestion, with his eyes closed, and his teethcutting into his inner lip. He clung madly to the thought of thepresence in which he was, conscious that the girl's words haduplifted him immeasurably, given him a clearer insight into theessential significance of life than he had ever known. It wasuseless--useless--useless! There was nothing left in the world but thesmell of the liquor that he loathed and that he loved! "If you were to leave us alone"-- At the suggestion, Cavendish bowed and went slowly back toward thedining-room. Once out of sight of the others, he paused, glanced backover his shoulder, and then, abruptly, supporting himself with one handagainst the side-post of the doorway, raised the decanter in the otherto his lips, and drank. XIII THE INSTRUMENT OF FATE The day had been deliciously warm and still, one of those eloquentheralds of spring that are touched with a peculiar beauty rivaling herown. As Cavendish came out of the Rathbawne residence, Bradbury Avenuewas splashed with huge blotches of dazzling yellow, where the light ofthe westwardly sun poured between the houses and was spilled upon thesmooth pavement. The man choked slightly at the after-taste of the rawwhiskey he had just swallowed, but almost immediately he smiled. "I knew it would come, " he said to himself as he turned out into theavenue, "and here it is. I'm not surprised. I'm glad, God help me--I'm_glad_!" His mouth was watering, and he felt, as it were, every inch of thestimulant's progress through his veins, warming him with its familiarglow. When he had left the conservatory, he had been tremblingpitifully. Now he was calm, and as steady as if his nerves had beencords of steel. Responsibility, resolution, remorse--they had fallenfrom him like so many discarded garments. He was sharply alive to thepleasure of the moment, keenly appreciative of the sunlight, the softair, the laughter of the children romping in the streets. Of a singularlanguor which had been wont to come over him toward the close of eachbusy day of the past six weeks there was now no hint. He walked rapidly, with his shoulders thrown back, and his chin well elevated, but hiscourse was not in the direction of his home, nor yet in that of the"Sentinel" office. Instinctively, he had turned toward that part of thecity where were the large restaurants, the playhouses, and the morepretentious saloons. At a corner, he wheeled abruptly into one of these last, and, seatinghimself at a small table, called for an absinthe. The place was alreadylighted, and each glass in the pyramids behind the bar twinkled with atiny brilliant reflection of the nearest incandescent globes. The airwas faintly redolent of lemon and the mingled odors of many liquors. ToCavendish it was all very familiar, and all very pleasant. Again he toldhimself that he was glad, glad that the restraint he had been exercisingwas at an end. He was free, he thought, free to accomplish his owninevitable damnation. He had no patience for the tedious operation ofdripping the water into his absinthe over a lump of sugar, but orderedgum, and stirring the two rapidly together, filled the glass to the brimfrom a little pitcher at his side. Then he drank, slowly but steadily, barely touching the glass to the table between his sips. Presently, he was conscious of a slight numbness at his wrists, a barelyperceptible tingling in his knees and knuckles. His heart wasfluttering, and his temples pulsed pleasurably. He glanced toward theglittering pyramids of glasses, and for a fraction of time they seemedto shift in unison a foot to the right, returning immediately to theiroriginal position with a jerk. Then he rose, and went toward the door, catching sight of his face in a mirror as he passed. It was very pale, and he crinkled his nose at it derisively, and then smiled at thewhimsical oddity of his reflected expression. On the threshold hepaused, looking toward the west, blazing with the red and saffron of thedeparted sun. "Oof!" he said, with a downward tug at his waistcoat. "It comes quickly. That's what it is to be out of practice. " He dined alone in a corner of an unfrequented restaurant, eating little, but drinking steadily, absinthe at first, then whiskey, fourhalf-goblets of it, barely diluted with water. Then he found himselfonce more in the streets, now brilliantly lighted, going on and onwithout purpose, save when the blazing colored glass of a saloon swervedhim from his path. He knew that he was walking steadily, avoidingobstacles as if by instinct, stepping from and on to kerbs without anyactual perception of them. Faces swam past him, staring. Men, particularly those at the bars he leaned against, were talking loudly, but, as it seemed to him, brilliantly. He often smiled involuntarily, and sometimes spoke to one of them, drank with him, and presently wasalone again, walking on and on. Occasionally a white-faced clock bulgedat him out of the night; and then he noticed that time was galloping. Itwas close upon one when he found himself in a quarter which his recentemployment had made familiar--the neighborhood of the Rathbawne Mills. Here, suddenly, his mind emerged from a mist, and every detail of hissurroundings stood out sharp and clear-cut. The street wasinsufficiently illuminated, but the light of a full moon cut across thebuildings on one side, half way between roof and sidewalk. Cavendishperceived, with a kind of dull surprise, that the pavements werethronged, and that almost every window framed a figure or two. A hoarsemurmur pulsed in the air, and his quickened ear was greeted on everyside by foul jests and grumbled oaths, broken now and again by drunkenimprecations, scuffles, or the shrill invective of women invisible inthe throng. Once a girl touched his arm, and he found her face close tohis, thin, haggard, and imploring. He shook her off, and turnedunsteadily into the doorway of a saloon; stumbling, as he did so, over alittle boy crying on the step. Inside, the air was reeking with rank smoke and the fumes of stale beer. The floor was strewn with sawdust, streaked and circled by shufflingfeet; the mirror backing the bar was covered with soiled gauze dottedwith tawdry roses, and an indescribable dinginess seemed to have laidits sordid fingers on all the fittings. The room was crowded, nevertheless--crowded not only with the menthemselves, but, to the stifling point, with their voices and theirgestures and the spirit of their unrest and discontent. Cavendish, leaning against the end of the bar, looked wearily down the line offlushed faces and backward at the disputing groups which rocked andswayed, as the men argued and swore, grasping the lapels of each others'coats, and spilling the liquor from their glasses as they gesticulated. He was wholly sober now. It was the stage of dissipation whichexperience had taught him to dread the most--the emergence from dulledsensibility into a nervous tension upon which stimulant had no apparenteffect. He was trembling again, too, and his face, as he saw it in themirror through the clouding gauze, was as that of a stranger, a strangerof whom he was afraid. He swallowed the whiskey he had ordered, and, supporting himself by the bar, swung back and gave his attention to whatthe men about him were saying. It did not need his sharpened perceptionto appreciate the fact that he was in the thick of the worst element ofthe Rathbawne strikers, or that the situation was a crisis. What littlerestraint had characterized the earlier stages of the strike was now, most evidently, at an end. Starvation was no longer a mere possibility, or violence a mere threat. The men raved like wild creatures againstRathbawne and John Barclay, recounting maudlinly the destitution oftheir families, and, anon, flaming forth into cries for vengeance. Howlong the babel lasted Cavendish could not have said. Long since, thedoors had been closed, and the lights half lowered, in mock deference toa supposedly vigilant police, when suddenly a hush fell upon theassemblage. A side door had opened, and Michael McGrath stood in themidst of his followers, with his arms folded and a thin smile upon hislips. There was not a whisper as he began to speak. The men leanedtoward him breathlessly, their mouths open, their eyes starting glassilyout of their sodden faces. "And how long is _this_ going to go on?" demanded their leader, with asneer. "Talk--talk--talk! That's always the way, and nothing done, afterall. Well, there's been about enough of it, and that's flat. You'vebeen living on the Union, and I suppose you think you can go on livingon it till hell freezes over. Now listen to me. When the strike began wehad plenty of funds, and more came to us from the Central Federation. The funds are gone, d' you hear, and the Federation is asking what wemean to do. There is six hundred and odd dollars in the treasury. Noneed to tell you how far that much will go, is there? Not one day! Andwith all your talk, you've everything your own way, if only you knewit--a police that doesn't dare lift a finger against you, and a Governorthat won't budge an inch till I give the word! Well, to-morrow I givethe word, understand me? To-morrow I throw you over, and you can get outof this the best way you can. I'm sick of your talk. I'm sick of yourdoing nothing. Your daughters are on the streets, your wives and yourchildren are starving, and _you_--by God! _you_ are boozing in a bartill daylight, and _talking_! So that's enough. To-morrow, the strike'sat an end. To-morrow, the Governor comes down on you like ten thousandof brick! And I'm the man that gives the word! Unless"-- He paused and cast a keen glance at the faces which surrounded him. Hislast words had been greeted by a low growl. "Unless, " he continued, "you know your business, and make a move that'sworth the name. " The hush of attention seemed to deepen into the leaden silence ofexpectancy. "There are two men who must be put out of the way, " said McGrath slowly, "and that before another midnight. I don't care how it's done, but doneit must be, for the sake of example. It's easy enough to manage it, asthings are. There'll be a howl, but we have the authorities fixed. Andthose two men must go!" In the tense silence which followed, a man's voice whispered two wordshoarsely:-- "Mr. Rathbawne!" "Ay, _Mr. _ Rathbawne!" echoed McGrath, flashing into that passionatemanner of his which carried all before it. "_Mr. _ Rathbawne, who'sstarving you! _Mr. _ Rathbawne, who's making your sons drunkards! _Mr. _Rathbawne, who's debauching your daughters! _Mr. _ Rathbawne, who'skilling your wives by inches! _Mr. _ Rathbawne, and _Mr. _ John HamiltonBarclay, Lieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia!" For a moment it seemed as if he would be swept off his feet by a torrentof enthusiasm. The men crowded about him, slapping him upon theshoulders, shouting their approval, reaching for his hand. Onebrandished a revolver under his nose, with a shrill cry of "This'll doit, Mac! This'll do it, by God!" The rest had turned to each other, embracing frantically, and repeating his words in a kind of frenzy. Presently McGrath raised his hand, and, as silence was restored at thesignal, turned to the bar-tender with his thin smile. "Set 'em up, Dick, " he said composedly. "It's on me, this time, andwe'll drink to better days. " In the confusion Cavendish made his way to the side-door, and passingthrough it into the street, hesitated, dazzled by a brilliant light. Itwas broad day. * * * * * As the Lieutenant-Governor entered his ante-room that morning his eyescontracted suddenly, and he stopped, with his hand upon the knob of thedoor. There could be no mistaking the look in the face of the man whosat facing him, gripping desperately at the arms of his chair. Cavendishwas as white as chalk, with the hunted look of despair which lay sovividly on Barclay's remembrance of the night when they had met onBradbury Avenue. He rose as the Lieutenant-Governor appeared and drewhimself up with an effort at steadiness, conscious that the otherspresent were observing him narrowly. But Barclay's hesitation was asbrief as it had been involuntary. With a bare glance at hissubordinates, he came forward cordially to take Cavendish's hand, andthen, opening the door of his private office, motioned him to enterfirst. "Glad to see you, " he said steadily, as their hands met. Once inside, the manner of both men changed as abruptly as it had beenassumed. The Lieutenant-Governor went slowly toward his desk, with hishead bent, and Cavendish, throwing himself into the nearest chair, and, with no attempt at concealment, drew a flask from his pocket and drank along draught. He looked up to find that the Lieutenant-Governor hadwheeled at the desk, and was standing with his eyes fixed upon him. "Wait a minute, " said Cavendish, as Barclay seemed about to speak. "Wewon't discuss this, for the moment, if you please. " He held up the flask with a shrug. "In fact we needn't discuss it at all, " he continued. "I've simply goneto hell, that's all there is about it. I knew I would. I told you solong ago. I didn't come here to make excuses--or to receive rebukes, John Barclay. I've a means here of settling the problem which can givecards and spades to all your projects of reform. " And he tapped hispocket, where the cloth bulged slightly, with a smile. TheLieutenant-Governor made no attempt to interrupt him. "What I did come to say, " went on Cavendish, more steadily, "is thatyour life and Mr. Rathbawne's are in danger. You're to be put out of theway, both of you, before twelve to-night. McGrath's determined on it, and there's no lack of men to carry out his orders. The strikers aredesperate. I overheard their talk, while--well, while I was gettingdrunk! _What's that?_" He stopped, with his hand to his ear. Some one was tapping at thecommunicating door. "Put up that flask!" said Barclay under his breath, adding aloud, asCavendish obeyed: "Come in!" The door swung open softly, and Governor Abbott, smiling and rubbing hishands, appeared upon the threshold. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Barclay, " he said. "I did not know you wereengaged. We have the pleasure of another visit from the Citizens'Committee, and, by a singularly opportune coincidence, Mr. McGrath hascalled at the same time. Can you spare us a few moments of your time?" With a bow, and a glance at Cavendish, Barclay followed his superiorsilently from the room. In the Governor's office he found a dozen men, all standing. McGrath, with his back to the others, was examining with an elaborate air ofinterest a map of Alleghenia which hung upon the wall. ColonelBroadcastle and his fellow-members of the Citizens' Committee, stoodclose to, and facing, the Governor's desk. The air was electric withsuggestion of a crisis about to come. When the Governor began to speak, it was in his habitually suave voice, yet he was visibly nervous. "Colonel Broadcastle has been good enough to observe, " he said, "that ifI do not call out the militia within three hours, to protect theinterests of Mr. Peter Rathbawne, his committee will appeal for aid tothe federal government. Now--er--now, in my place, and in such asituation, Mr. Barclay--er--what would you do?" The Lieutenant-Governor's nerve, strained beyond endurance by the eventsof the past twenty-four hours, snapped like a dry twig at thecontemptuous hypocrisy of the other's tone. "_Do!_" he thundered--"_do?_ Why, as God is my witness, Elijah Abbott, if I were in your place I would do what any honest man would do! I woulddo what my oath demanded of me! I would clap that man McGrath into jailfor iniquitous inciting to riot, and place Colonel Broadcastle, at thehead of his regiment, in charge of the city to restore order and thereign of law, and to redeem Alleghenia from the disgrace that isoverwhelming her. _Do?_ Before God, the Republic, and the state, Governor Abbott, I would do my duty as a man!" "_Then do it!_" The words, spoken from the threshold of Barclay's office, rent thesilence like a thunderclap, and before those present had time to turn, there came the sound of a pistol-shot, and Governor Abbott, wheelingslowly on his heels, crashed headforemost through the plate-glass windowbehind him, and lay, limp and motionless, across the sill. "Then do it, by God, _Governor Barclay_!" repeated Cavendish, and flunghis revolver into the centre of the room. The apartment was already filled with those attracted from the corridorsand adjacent offices by the sound of the shot. Several seized Cavendish, who stood without movement, smiling. Barclay, Colonel Broadcastle, andthe other members of the committee lifted the Governor's body from theposition in which it had fallen, and laid it upon a couch. After a briefexamination, the Colonel looked up into Barclay's eyes. "He's dead, sir, " he said. "The assassin was right. You are Governor ofAlleghenia. " For an instant, Barclay returned his glance with one of earnest inquiry. "Even in the face of this tragedy, " added Colonel Broadcastle in a lowvoice, "I trust you will not forget the exigencies of the situation. Itis for you to act, sir. " Barclay suddenly raised himself to his full height, and faced the silentgathering. "Gentlemen, " he said firmly, "the Governor is dead. For the moment, atleast, I act in his stead. Kenton City is under martial law. Those whohave the assassin in charge will see that he is immediately turned overto the chief of police. Mr. McGrath, you will consider yourself underarrest. Colonel Broadcastle, you will immediately assemble your regimentat its armory, issue three days' rations, and twenty rounds of ballcartridge, and hold yourself and your command in readiness for riotduty, subject to my orders. " Then he faced Cavendish. "There's a message I'd like to have delivered, to the Fairy Princess, "said the latter, still smiling. "It is that Diogenes has eaten the uglylittle bug. " XIV THE VOICE OF ALLEGHENIA As Barclay had foreseen, the adoption of stringent measures was all thatwas needed to break the back-bone of the strike at the Rathbawne Mills. The presence of the Ninth Regiment, under command of that noteddisciplinarian, Colonel Broadcastle, and terribly in earnest, as wasevinced by the ball cartridges gleaming in their belts, was sufficientto discourage any further attempts at disorder; the sudden shift of baseof the newspapers which had formerly supported the rioters, and now, taking their cue from the policy of the new Governor, counseledimmediate surrender; above all, the trial, conviction, and sentence oftheir moving spirit, McGrath, to a term of years for inciting toriot--all were irresistible factors in the Union's capitulation. Twoweeks after the death of Governor Abbott, the Rathbawne Mills wererunning once more, and Peter Rathbawne himself, though whiter of hairand but a shadow of his old self, was, nevertheless, on the high road torecovery. The trial and conviction of Spencer Cavendish were accomplished withunexampled celerity. He would admit of no defense, although the lawyerappointed for him by the court was strenuous for a plea of insanity, based upon the singular remark which he had made upon the announcementof Elijah Abbott's death, and which was construed by those who heard itas ample proof of irresponsibility. Called upon in court to give hisdefense, Cavendish stated in a loud, clear voice that he was strictlyaccountable for his act, that he was in full possession of his senses atthe time, and that he had killed the Governor in the firm convictionthat he was a menace to the safety of the community, and that thelatter's sole salvation lay in his removal, and the succession of theLieutenant-Governor to the position of chief executive. "I desire, " he concluded, with the same odd smile that he had worn atthe moment of the Governor's death, "nothing but the full penalty of thelaw. " The next day Spencer Cavendish was sentenced to be executed on thethirtieth of the following month at the State's Prison at Mowberly. Then followed the most remarkable manifestation of popular sentimentever known in Alleghenia. As Barclay had once said of them, the citizensof his long degraded state were less vicious than callous, and theircallousness was effectively cured by the dramatic event which hadremoved a corrupt official from the head of the state government, andput in his place a man whose first acts were proofs positive ofstrength, integrity, and singleness of purpose. The revulsion of feelingwas overwhelming. Even the press which had sneered at and cried downJohn Barclay was forced to the other extreme. Relieved from the burdenof lawlessness which had lain on Kenton City for close upon threemonths, the citizens went over in a body to the support of their newGovernor. He was cheered on his every appearance in public asassiduously as he had been ignored before, and, responding with thewhole force of his sensitive nature to this longed-for and unexpectedpopularity, he devoted himself more and more earnestly, day by day, tothe welfare of the state which was his idol. But following in the wake of this revulsion of feeling in favor ofBarclay came one, hardly less complete, in favor of Spencer Cavendish. While strictly speaking there could be no condoning his act, it was nonethe less evident to even the most rigid adherents of law that by it hehad conferred an indisputable benefit upon the state of Alleghenia, andhis open statement of his reasons at the time of his trial militated forrather than against him. So it was that a public petition was framed andcirculated, asking, at the hands of Governor Barclay, the commutation ofthe death sentence to one of life imprisonment. Little by little thelist of signatures grew, until, a week before the date fixed forCavendish's execution, they were numbered by tens of thousands. Then thepetition, rolled into a cylinder, was presented to the Governor by acommittee, and left for his consideration. To Barclay the intervening time had passed with almost incrediblerapidity. His days, filled as they were to overflowing with numberlessand complex duties, were yet the pleasantest he had ever known. At last, he was what he had dreamed of being--an active factor, the most activeof all factors, in the advancement of his state. Redeemed, as if by amiracle, from the disgrace which had laid her low, Alleghenia arose, inhis eyes, like a phoenix, throwing off the ashes of her reproach, andblazing, with new wings of burnished beauty, in the sunlight of hope andpeace. Barclay had retained his old office, not caring to make use of a room sopermeated with associations of recent tragedy as was that which hadformerly been Governor Abbott's. Now, with the windows open and thesoft May air stirring the papers on his desk, he sat, looking vacantlyacross the room, with the huge petition spread out before him. Hisattention, long absorbed by the problem in hand, was diverted by a tapon the ante-room door, and, in answer to his call, Natalie Rathbawnestood before him, smiling out of the exquisite daintiness of a freshspring frock. "You've forgotten!" she said immediately, at sight of his knit brows. "Forgotten what?" inquired the Governor inadvisedly. The girl's little foot stamped almost noiselessly upon the thick carpet. "Upon my word!" she exclaimed, "if there's one thing worse than beingengaged to the Lieutenant-Governor, it's being engaged to the Governorhimself! Forgotten, of course, that we are to lunch together, and lookat wall-papers afterwards! Do you know, John Barclay, I don't believeyou mean to marry me, after all? We'll be just approaching the altar, when"-- She was interrupted in characteristic fashion, and disengaged herself, with a great air of indignation, from Barclay's arms. "If you want to take lunch in the company of a rag carpet, " she saidseverely, "that's the very best way to go about it. Get your hat. " There was a little pause as Barclay filed some papers in his privatesafe, and then one startled word from the girl. "_John!_" Wheeling abruptly, he saw her standing at the desk, with her hand on thepetition, and her eyes, wide and wonderstruck, searching his face. "Dearest!" he said impulsively, "I wish you hadn't. " But Natalie only laughed joyfully. "But I'm glad, Johnny boy, " she answered, "glad--glad--glad! What awonderful thing it is to be Governor, boy dear! I don't think I everreally understood before. Think of it! To have the power of life anddeath--to be able to right the wrongs of justice with a single stroke ofthe pen. Oh, John! Sign it now--before we go. I shall be so muchhappier. " The Governor made no reply. He stood, with his head bent, smoothing hishat with the fingers of his right hand. Gradually the expression ofeager expectation on her face changed to one of anxiety. "John, " she said in a half whisper, "you _are_ going to sign it, aren'tyou, boy dear?" "I'm not sure, " faltered the Governor. "I'm not quite sure, dearest. Itis the hardest problem I've ever had given me to solve. I can understandnow the meaning of something your father said to me just before thestrike, --that, for the first time in his life, he didn't know what todo, because right seemed to be hopelessly entangled with wrong, andwrong with right. When a man does evil in order that good may come, onetries to find an excuse for him, tries to palliate his offense in anyreasonable way. That is human instinct. That is what accounts for thepetition there, with the signatures of many of the most conscientiousmen in Alleghenia attached. They have managed to find the excuse, orthey think they have, which, so far as their personal convictions areconcerned, amounts to about the same thing. And I've been saying tomyself that when public opinion points out a course as justifiable itcan hardly be possible for a single individual to say that it is not. And yet the wrong is there, isn't it? No matter how confused a questionmay seem to us, there must absolutely, when we come to think of it, besome one great elemental principle upon which it not only can, but must, be decided--some boundary line between justice and injustice which wemay be too blind to see, but which exists, and calls for observance, none the less. Right is right, wrong is wrong. No confusion between thetwo can possibly exist except in appearance. Strive to elude truth as wewill, it remains eternal truth, and cannot be evaded in the end. Andwhere it seems to be beyond us, all we can do is to strive to find thesilken thread which will surely lead us out of the labyrinth into thesearching light of day. It is that clue which I have been groping for. What is it? How am I to know it when I see it? What am I to do? At firstI thought the case was clear--what he said, you know--about Diogenes--itseemed so odd--every one thought so--it might be construed as--asinsanity"-- "Oh, _no_, John! Why, _we_ know what that meant! No--no! The best partof it all was his sanity, his wonderful courage, his braving of almostcertain death for what he believed--and knew, John--_knew_ to be rightand best. Think what he did for Alleghenia, Johnny boy. He has beenalmost as great an instrument in her salvation as you. Think what he hasdone for all of us--for you, in giving you this opportunity--for me--forDad! John, how _can_ you hesitate?" The Governor shook his head. "Dearest, " he said, "you're on the wrong track, just as I have been, adozen times since the petition came. Don't you suppose I've thought ofall that? Its significance, not only to me, but, as you say, to thestate, is so tremendous that, at the first glance, it seems to be anunanswerable argument. But--don't you see?--no sophistry, nocontemplation of the results achieved, can ever make it justifiable fora man to arrogate to himself the power of taking human life, which isthe prerogative of God and the law alone. The peculiar circumstances ofCavendish's crime plead eloquently, almost irresistibly, for his pardon. He has saved the state--yes! But the case is one in a million, and it isnot an individual case alone which hangs upon my decision, --it is theestablishment of a precedent, the maintenance of a principle. " "But, John, " broke in Natalie eagerly, "what you've just said--isn'tthat the clue for which you have been groping? He saved the state! I'veheard you talk of Alleghenia too often, of what you hoped for her, andwhat you despaired of ever bringing to pass, not to know what those fourwords must mean to you. Think of it! _He saved the state!_ Without anypossibility of selfish object he did this extraordinary thing--made itpossible for Alleghenia to win back the honor and respect she had sonearly lost forever! He killed the man who had no thought of her purityand dignity, who used the power the people had given him for thefurtherance of his own selfish and wicked ends, who made her justice amockery, who played with her law as if"-- "Stop!" exclaimed the Governor. "Stop--I must think. Wait a moment. Imust think--I must think!" After a minute he began to speak again, this time in a lower tone, atone which suggested self-communion rather than direct address to thegirl before him. "Yes, that's it. Wait now, --let me be sure! He killed the man who had nothought of Alleghenia's purity, who used his power to serve his ownends, who made her justice"--he was speaking very slowly, dwelling oneach word as it left his lips--"her _justice_ a mockery, who played withher law--her law--her _Law_"-- He paused once more, his brows knit, his firm hand slowly stroking hischin. Then, of a sudden, he drew a deep breath, flung back hisshoulders, and looked at her. His eyes were blazing, his voice touchedwith a new meaning, an eloquence deep, firm, conclusive. "Natalie, " he said, "come here. " "You've struck the keynote, " he added, when they stood face to face, afoot or two apart. "It isn't what you thought, or what you meant, but itis the keynote, just the same. The Law!" He wheeled slowly, and stepped forward, until he was directly before theemblazoned arms of Alleghenia which hung upon his wall. "_Justitia--Lex--Integritas!_" he said. "Many a time, when the wayseemed darkest, I've read those words over to myself, and found hope inthem. Events changed, crises came and went, portents loomed thick, despair seemed omnipotent, failure and disgrace inevitable--but themotto of Alleghenia remained the same. Steadfast, purposeful, andcommanding, it has endured through the trivial changes of politicalsignificance which have been as impotent to sully the actuality of herfair fame as are sun-spots to dim the radiance of the sun. It is onlynatural, perhaps, that the discouragements which were but transientshould have seemed to me to be vital, damning, irremediable. Just as theIsraelites of old turned from the promises of God to worship Baal, sohave I turned from the assurance given me by these arms of Alleghenia, to prostrate myself before false idols of doubt and despair. I shouldhave remembered how they called me, in the first instance, from a lifeof idleness and ease, to fight my way through the desert of difficulty, toward the promised land of honor. I should have remembered how in mydarkest hours they went before me as a pillar of fire, how in the famineof my soul these words were the manna of encouragement, how in my thirstthey struck clear water from the rock of adverse circumstance. But theIsraelites came back to their true God at last; so I, little girl, to mytrue ideal. The Law!--you said the word--the Law is the clue, thekeynote, the boundary between right and wrong!" She was at his side, and he slipped one arm around her, and held herclose to him as with his finger he traced again the motto of Alleghenia. "Do you know what this means?" he asked. "_Justitia_, --to be just to allmen, without fear or favor, lenient to our enemies, rigid andunyielding, if need be, to our friends; putting aside personalconsiderations, striving so far as in us lies to be impartial, mercifulin the face of prejudice, relentless in that of conviction--fair!_Lex_, --to abide by the law, in spirit only if our inmost convictionwarrants that course, but in letter absolutely where there is thesmallest hint of doubt; secure in the knowledge that, however fallibleit be, it is the best that man has yet been able to do in imitation ofthe immutable decrees of God. _Integritas_, --to be true to the oaths wehave sworn, faithful to the promises we have made, loyal to the officeintrusted to us by the people, to whom and for whom we are responsible. Dearest, I am no mere man. Were I that, were I to consult my will alone, and it lay, as now it lies, in my power to accomplish, Spencer Cavendishshould go free to-day. I know what he has done; I appreciate hissacrifice; I see that by a single act he has accomplished what the restof us were powerless to cure; I admire his courage; I condone his crime;I could forget all his weaknesses for the sake of this one greatevidence of his strength. And yet--listen to me, dearest!--in what hestrove to do he has failed utterly, if in removing a corrupt officialwho made a mockery of Alleghenia's law he has not replaced him by onewho with all the force of his conscience and all the power of hisinfluence will see that law administered. And whatever we may say of hiscrime, whatever its causes, whatever its wonderful results, it was andis a crime. 'Thou shalt not kill!' God has said it; Alleghenia by thevoice of her law has ratified it. And not even the fact that Cavendishhas made possible all my fondest and worthiest hopes, the fact that hehas rescued from suffering all I hold most dear"-- Barclay suddenly covered his face with his free hand, as he had coveredit on that afternoon in Peter Rathbawne's library, weeks before; then helooked up again, his lips trembling. "Dearest, " he said, "I am Governor of Alleghenia, and as such owe anallegiance, an obedience, which personal prejudice cannot impugn. Onthe day when you spoke to me of meeting Cavendish you pointed out thecourse of a gentleman and a friend. On the night of the Ninth'sreview you taught me the creed of an American and an Alleghenian. To-day--unconsciously perhaps, but none the less surely--you have madeclear the duty of a public servant. God bless you, my life, my heart, myconscience! May I be worthy of you and of the commonwealth I serve. Where I doubted before, now I am sure. It is hard--God only knows howhard--but listen to Alleghenia's bidding! _Justitia_, _Lex_, _Integritas_, --equity, the code, and good faith, in the sight of God andman, heaven and earth, the American people and the commonwealth ofAlleghenia. God save the state!" "John, " whispered the girl brokenly, --"John, you're right. God save thestate!" Slowly, tenderly, the Governor of Alleghenia led her back to the table, and taking up a pen, with a firm hand wrote five words, heavilyunderscored, at the head of the Cavendish petition. And these were:-- "_Disapproved. _ _John Hamilton Barclay_, _Governor. _" Then, turning to the girl who loved him, he took her in his arms.