THE PIT

A STORY OF CHICAGO

By

FRANK NORRIS

NEW YORK

1903

Dedicated to My Brother

Charles Tolman Norris

In memory of certain lamentable tales of the round (dining-room) tableheroes; of the epic of the pewter platoons, and the romance-cycle of"Gaston Le Fox, " which we invented, maintained, and found marvellous ata time when we both were boys. 

Principal Characters in the Novel

 CURTIS JADWIN, capitalist and speculator. SHELDON CORTHELL, an artist. LANDRY COURT, broker's clerk. SAMUEL GRETRY, a broker. CHARLES CRESSLER, a dealer in grain. MRS. CRESSLER, his wife. LAURA DEARBORN, protege of Mrs. Cressler. PAGE DEARBORN, her sister. MRS. EMILY WESSELS, aunt of Laura and Page. 

The Trilogy of The Epic of the Wheat includes the following novels:

 THE OCTOPUS, a Story of California. THE PIT, a Story of Chicago. THE WOLF, a Story of Europe. 

These novels, while forming a series, will be in no way connected witheach other save only in their relation to (1) the production, (2) thedistribution, (3) the consumption of American wheat. When complete, they will form the story of a crop of wheat from the time of its sowingas seed in California to the time of its consumption as bread in avillage of Western Europe. 

The first novel, "The Octopus, " deals with the war between the wheatgrower and the Railroad Trust; the second, "The Pit, " is the fictitiousnarrative of a "deal" in the Chicago wheat pit; while the third, "TheWolf, " will probably have for its pivotal episode the relieving of afamine in an Old World community. 

The author's most sincere thanks for assistance rendered in thepreparation of the following novel are due to Mr. G. D. Moulson of NewYork, whose unwearied patience and untiring kindness helped him to thebetter understanding of the technical difficulties of a Verycomplicated subject. And more especially he herewith acknowledges hisunmeasured obligation and gratitude to Her Who Helped the Most of All. 

F. N. 

NEW YORK June 4, 1901. 

I

At eight o'clock in the inner vestibule of the Auditorium Theatre bythe window of the box office, Laura Dearborn, her younger sister Page, and their aunt--Aunt Wess'--were still waiting for the rest of thetheatre-party to appear. A great, slow-moving press of men and women inevening dress filled the vestibule from one wall to another. A confusedmurmur of talk and the shuffling of many feet arose on all sides, whilefrom time to time, when the outside and inside doors of the entrancechanced to be open simultaneously, a sudden draught of air gushed in, damp, glacial, and edged with the penetrating keenness of a Chicagoevening at the end of February. 

The Italian Grand Opera Company gave one of the most popular pieces ofits repertoire on that particular night, and the Cresslers had invitedthe two sisters and their aunt to share their box with them. It hadbeen arranged that the party should assemble in the Auditoriumvestibule at a quarter of eight; but by now the quarter was gone andthe Cresslers still failed to arrive. 

"I don't see, " murmured Laura anxiously for the last time, "what can bekeeping them. Are you sure Page that Mrs. Cressler meant here--inside?"

She was a tall young girl of about twenty-two or three, holding herselferect and with fine dignity. Even beneath the opera cloak it was easyto infer that her neck and shoulders were beautiful. Her almost extremeslenderness was, however, her characteristic; the curves of her figure, the contour of her shoulders, the swell of hip and breast were all low;from head to foot one could discover no pronounced salience. Yet therewas no trace, no suggestion of angularity. She was slender as a willowshoot is slender--and equally graceful, equally erect. 

Next to this charming tenuity, perhaps her paleness was her mostnoticeable trait. But it was not a paleness of lack of colour. LauraDearborn's pallour was in itself a colour. It was a tint rather than ashade, like ivory; a warm white, blending into an exquisite, delicatebrownness towards the throat. Set in the middle of this paleness ofbrow and cheek, her deep brown eyes glowed lambent and intense. Theywere not large, but in some indefinable way they were important. It wasvery natural to speak of her eyes, and in speaking to her, her friendsalways found that they must look squarely into their pupils. And allthis beauty of pallid face and brown eyes was crowned by, and sharplycontrasted with, the intense blackness of her hair, abundant, thick, extremely heavy, continually coruscating with sombre, murkyreflections, tragic, in a sense vaguely portentous, --the coiffure of aheroine of romance, doomed to dark crises. 

On this occasion at the side of the topmost coil, a white aigrettescintillated and trembled with her every movement. She wasunquestionably beautiful. Her mouth was a little large, the lips firmset, and one would not have expected that she would smile easily; infact, the general expression of her face was rather serious. 

"Perhaps, " continued Laura, "they would look for us outside. " But Pageshook her head. She was five years younger than Laura, just turnedseventeen. Her hair, dressed high for the first time this night, wasbrown. But Page's beauty was no less marked than her sister's. Theseriousness of her expression, however, was more noticeable. At timesit amounted to undeniable gravity. She was straight, and her figure, all immature as yet, exhibited hardly any softer outlines than that ofa boy. 

"No, no, " she said, in answer to Laura's question. "They would come inhere; they wouldn't wait outside--not on such a cold night as this. Don't you think so, Aunt Wess'?"

But Mrs. Wessels, a lean, middle-aged little lady, with a flat, pointednose, had no suggestions to offer. She disengaged herself from anyresponsibility in the situation and, while waiting, found a vagueamusement in counting the number of people who filtered in single filethrough the wicket where the tickets were presented. A great, stoutgentleman in evening dress, perspiring, his cravatte limp, stood here, tearing the checks from the tickets, and without ceasing, maintaining acontinuous outcry that dominated the murmur of the throng:

"Have your tickets ready, please! Have your tickets ready. "

"Such a crowd, " murmured Page. "Did you ever see--and every one youever knew or heard of. And such toilettes!"

With every instant the number of people increased; progress becameimpossible, except an inch at a time. The women were, almost withoutexception, in light-coloured gowns, white, pale blue, Nile green, andpink, while over these costumes were thrown opera cloaks and capes ofastonishing complexity and elaborateness. Nearly all were bare-headed, and nearly all wore aigrettes; a score of these, a hundred of them, nodded and vibrated with an incessant agitation over the heads of thecrowd and flashed like mica flakes as the wearers moved. Everywhere theeye was arrested by the luxury of stuffs, the brilliance and delicacyof fabrics, laces as white and soft as froth, crisp, shining silks, suave satins, heavy gleaming velvets, and brocades and plushes, nearlyall of them white--violently so--dazzling and splendid under the blazeof the electrics. The gentlemen, in long, black overcoats, and satinmufflers, and opera hats; their hands under the elbows of theirwomen-folk, urged or guided them forward, distressed, preoccupied, adjuring their parties to keep together; in their white-gloved fingersthey held their tickets ready. For all the icy blasts that burstoccasionally through the storm doors, the vestibule was uncomfortablywarm, and into this steam-heated atmosphere a multitude of heavy odoursexhaled--the scent of crushed flowers, of perfume, of sachet, andeven--occasionally--the strong smell of damp seal-skin. 

Outside it was bitterly cold. All day a freezing wind had blown fromoff the Lake, and since five in the afternoon a fine powder of snow hadbeen falling. The coachmen on the boxes of the carriages that succeededone another in an interminable line before the entrance of the theatre, were swathed to the eyes in furs. The spume and froth froze on the bitsof the horses, and the carriage wheels crunching through the dry, frozen snow gave off a shrill staccato whine. Yet for all this, a crowdhad collected about the awning on the sidewalk, and even upon theopposite side of the street, peeping and peering from behind the broadshoulders of policemen--a crowd of miserables, shivering in rags andtattered comforters, who found, nevertheless, an unexplainablesatisfaction in watching this prolonged defile of millionaires. 

So great was the concourse of teams, that two blocks distant from thetheatre they were obliged to fall into line, advancing only atintervals, and from door to door of the carriages thus immobilised rana score of young men, their arms encumbered with pamphlets, shouting:"Score books, score books and librettos; score books with photographsof all the artists. "

However, in the vestibule the press was thinning out. It was understoodthat the overture had begun. Other people who were waiting like Lauraand her sister had been joined by their friends and had gone inside. Laura, for whom this opera night had been an event, a thing desired andanticipated with all the eagerness of a girl who had lived fortwenty-two years in a second-class town of central Massachusetts, wasin great distress. She had never seen Grand Opera, she would not havemissed a note, and now she was in a fair way to lose the whole overture. 

"Oh, dear, " she cried. "Isn't it too bad. I can't imagine why theydon't come. "

Page, more metropolitan, her keenness of appreciation a little lost bytwo years of city life and fashionable schooling, tried to reassure her. 

"You won't lose much, " she said. "The air of the overture is repeatedin the first act--I've heard it once before. "

"If we even see the first act, " mourned Laura. She scanned the faces ofthe late comers anxiously. Nobody seemed to mind being late. Even someof the other people who were waiting, chatted calmly among themselves. Directly behind them two men, their faces close together, elaborated aninterminable conversation, of which from time to time they couldoverhear a phrase or two. 

"--and I guess he'll do well if he settles for thirty cents on thedollar. I tell you, dear boy, it was a _smash!"_

"Never should have tried to swing a corner. The short interest was toosmall and the visible supply was too great. "

Page nudged her sister and whispered: "That's the Helmick failurethey're talking about, those men. Landry Court told me all about it. Mr. Helmick had a corner in corn, and he failed to-day, or will failsoon, or something. "

But Laura, preoccupied with looking for the Cresslers, hardly listened. Aunt Wess', whose count was confused by all these figures murmured justbehind her, began over again, her lips silently forming the words, "sixty-one, sixty-two, and two is sixty-four. " Behind them the voicecontinued:

"They say Porteous will peg the market at twenty-six. "

"Well he ought to. Corn is worth that. "

"Never saw such a call for margins in my life. Some of the housescalled eight cents. "

Page turned to Mrs. Wessels: "By the way, Aunt Wess'; look at that manthere by the box office window, the one with his back towards us, theone with his hands in his overcoat pockets. Isn't that Mr. Jadwin? Thegentleman we are going to meet to-night. See who I mean?"

"Who? Mr. Jadwin? I don't know. I don't know, child. I never saw him, you know. "

"Well I think it is he, " continued Page. "He was to be with our partyto-night. I heard Mrs. Cressler say she would ask him. That's Mr. Jadwin, I'm sure. He's waiting for them, too. "

"Oh, then ask him about it, Page, " exclaimed Laura. "We're missingeverything. "

But Page shook her head:

"I only met him once, ages ago; he wouldn't know me. It was at theCresslers, and we just said 'How do you do. ' And then maybe it isn'tMr. Jadwin. "

"Oh, I wouldn't bother, girls, " said Mrs. Wessels. "It's all right. They'll be here in a minute. I don't believe the curtain has gone upyet. "

But the man of whom they spoke turned around at the moment and cast aglance about the vestibule. They saw a gentleman of an indeterminateage--judged by his face he might as well have been forty asthirty-five. A heavy mustache touched with grey covered his lips. Theeyes were twinkling and good-tempered. Between his teeth he held anunlighted cigar. 

"It is Mr. Jadwin, " murmured Page, looking quickly away. "But he don'trecognise me. "

Laura also averted her eyes. 

"Well, why not go right up to him and introduce ourself, or recallyourself to him?" she hazarded. 

"Oh, Laura, I couldn't, " gasped Page. "I wouldn't for worlds. "

"Couldn't she, Aunt Wess'?" appealed Laura. "Wouldn't it be all right?"

But Mrs. Wessels, ignoring forms and customs, was helpless. Again shewithdrew from any responsibility in the matter. 

"I don't know anything about it, " she answered. "But Page oughtn't tobe bold. "

"Oh, bother; it isn't that, " protested Page. "But it's just because--Idon't know, I don't want to--Laura, I should just die, " she exclaimedwith abrupt irrelevance, "and besides, how would that help any?" sheadded. 

"Well, we're just going to miss it all, " declared Laura decisively. There were actual tears in her eyes. "And I had looked forward to itso. "

"Well, " hazarded Aunt Wess', "you girls can do just as you please. OnlyI wouldn't be bold. "

"Well, would it be bold if Page, or if--if I were to speak to him?We're going to meet him anyways in just a few minutes. "

"Better wait, hadn't you, Laura, " said Aunt Wess', "and see. Maybehe'll come up and speak to us. "

"Oh, as if!" contradicted Laura. "He don't know us, --just as Page says. And if he did, he wouldn't. He wouldn't think it polite. "

"Then I guess, girlie, it wouldn't be polite for you. "

"I think it would, " she answered. "I think it would be a woman's place. If he's a gentleman, he would feel that he just couldn't speak first. I'm going to do it, " she announced suddenly. 

"Just as you think best, Laura, " said her aunt. 

But nevertheless Laura did not move, and another five minutes went by. 

Page took advantage of the interval to tell Laura about Jadwin. He wasvery rich, but a bachelor, and had made his money in Chicago realestate. Some of his holdings in the business quarter of the city wereenormous; Landry Court had told her about him. Jadwin, unlike Mr. Cressler, was not opposed to speculation. Though not a member of theBoard of Trade, he nevertheless at very long intervals took part in a"deal" in wheat, or corn, or provisions. He believed that all cornerswere doomed to failure, however, and had predicted Helmick's collapsesix months ago. He had influence, was well known to all Chicago people, what he said carried weight, financiers consulted him, promoters soughthis friendship, his name on the board of directors of a company was anall-sufficing endorsement; in a word, a "strong" man. 

"I can't understand, " exclaimed Laura distrait, referring to the delayon the part of the Cresslers. "This was the night, and this was theplace, and it is long past the time. We could telephone to the house, you know, " she said, struck with an idea, "and see if they've started, or what has happened. "

"I don't know--I don't know, " murmured Mrs. Wessels vaguely. No oneseemed ready to act upon Laura's suggestion, and again the minutespassed. 

"I'm going, " declared Laura again, looking at the other two, as if todemand what they had to say against the idea. 

"I just couldn't, " declared Page flatly. 

"Well, " continued Laura, "I'll wait just three minutes more, and thenif the Cresslers are not here I will speak to him. It seems to me to beperfectly natural, and not at all bold. "

She waited three minutes, and the Cresslers still failing to appear, temporised yet further, for the twentieth time repeating:

"I don't see--I can't understand. "

Then, abruptly drawing her cape about her, she crossed the vestibuleand came up to Jadwin. 

As she approached she saw him catch her eye. Then, as he appeared tounderstand that this young woman was about to speak to him, she noticedan expression of suspicion, almost of distrust, come into his face. Nodoubt he knew nothing of this other party who were to join theCresslers in the vestibule. Why should this girl speak to him?Something had gone wrong, and the instinct of the man, no longer veryyoung, to keep out of strange young women's troubles betrayed itself inthe uneasy glance that he shot at her from under his heavy eyebrows. But the look faded as quickly as it had come. Laura guessed that he haddecided that in such a place as this he need have no suspicions. Hetook the cigar from his mouth, and she, immensely relieved, realisedthat she had to do with a man who was a gentleman. Full of trepidationas she had been in crossing the vestibule, she was quite mistress ofherself when the instant came for her to speak, and it was in a steadyvoice and without embarrassment that she said:

"I beg your pardon, but I believe this is Mr. Jadwin. "

He took off his hat, evidently a little nonplussed that she should knowhis name, and by now she was ready even to browbeat him a little shouldit be necessary. 

"Yes, yes, " he answered, now much more confused than she, "my name isJadwin. "

"I believe, " continued Laura steadily, "we were all to be in the sameparty to-night with the Cresslers. But they don't seem to come, andwe--my sister and my aunt and I--don't know what to do. "

She saw that he was embarrassed, convinced, and the knowledge that shecontrolled the little situation, that she could command him, restoredher all her equanimity. 

"My name is Miss Dearborn, " she continued. "I believe you know mysister Page. "

By some trick of manner she managed to convey to him the impressionthat if he did not know her sister Page, that if for one instant heshould deem her to be bold, he would offer a mortal affront. She hadnot yet forgiven him that stare of suspicion when first their eyes hadmet; he should pay her for that yet. 

"Miss Page, --your sister, --Miss Page Dearborn? Certainly I know her, "he answered. "And you have been waiting, too? What a pity!" And hepermitted himself the awkwardness of adding: "I did not know that youwere to be of our party. "

"No, " returned Laura upon the instant, "I did not know you were to beone of us to-night--until Page told me. " She accented the pronouns alittle, but it was enough for him to know that he had been rebuked. How, he could not just say; and for what it was impossible for him atthe moment to determine; and she could see that he began to experiencea certain distress, was beating a retreat, was ceding place to her. Whowas she, then, this tall and pretty young woman, with the serious, unsmiling face, who was so perfectly at ease, and who hustled him aboutand made him feel as though he were to blame for the Cresslers'non-appearance; as though it was his fault that she must wait in thedraughty vestibule. She had a great air with her; how had he offendedher? If he had introduced himself to her, had forced himself upon her, she could not be more lofty, more reserved. 

"I thought perhaps you might telephone, " she observed. 

"They haven't a telephone, unfortunately, " he answered. 

"Oh!"

This was quite the last slight, the Cresslers had not a telephone! Hewas to blame for that, too, it seemed. At his wits' end, he entertainedfor an instant the notion of dashing out into the street in a searchfor a messenger boy, who would take a note to Cressler and set himright again; and his agitation was not allayed when Laura, in frigidtones, declared:

"It seems to me that something might be done. "

"I don't know, " he replied helplessly. "I guess there's nothing to bedone but just wait. They are sure to be along. "

In the background, Page and Mrs. Wessels had watched the interview, andhad guessed that Laura was none too gracious. Always anxious that hersister should make a good impression, the little girl was now in greatdistress. 

"Laura is putting on her 'grand manner, '" she lamented. "I just knowhow she's talking. The man will hate the very sound of her name all therest of his life. " Then all at once she uttered a joyful exclamation:"At last, at last, " she cried, "and about time, too!"

The Cresslers and the rest of the party--two young men--had appeared, and Page and her aunt came up just in time to hear Mrs. Cressler--afine old lady, in a wonderful ermine-trimmed cape, whose hair waspowdered--exclaim at the top of her voice, as if the mere declarationof fact was final, absolutely the last word upon the subject, "Thebridge was turned!"

The Cresslers lived on the North Side. The incident seemed to be closedwith the abruptness of a slammed door. 

Page and Aunt Wess' were introduced to Jadwin, who was particular toannounce that he remembered the young girl perfectly. The two young menwere already acquainted with the Dearborn sisters and Mrs. Wessels. Page and Laura knew one of them well enough to address him familiarlyby his Christian name. 

This was Landry Court, a young fellow just turned twenty-three, who was"connected with" the staff of the great brokerage firm of Gretry, Converse and Co. He was astonishingly good-looking, small-made, wiry, alert, nervous, debonair, with blond hair and dark eyes that snappedlike a terrier's. He made friends almost at first sight, and was one ofthose fortunate few who were favoured equally of men and women. Thehealthiness of his eye and skin persuaded to a belief in thehealthiness of his mind; and, in fact, Landry was as clean without aswithin. He was frank, open-hearted, full of fine sentiments andexaltations and enthusiasms. Until he was eighteen he had cherished anambition to become the President of the United States. 

"Yes, yes, " he said to Laura, "the bridge was turned. It was animposition. We had to wait while they let three tows through. I thinktwo at a time is as much as is legal. And we had to wait for three. Yes, sir; three, think of that! I shall look into that to-morrow. Yes, sir; don't you be afraid of that. I'll look into it. " He nodded hishead with profound seriousness. 

"Well, " announced Mr. Cressler, marshalling the party, "shall we go in?I'm afraid, Laura, we've missed the overture. "

Smiling, she shrugged her shoulders, while they moved to the wicket, asif to say that it could not be helped now. 

Cressler, tall, lean, bearded, and stoop-shouldered, belonging to thesame physical type that includes Lincoln--the type of the MiddleWest--was almost a second father to the parentless Dearborn girls. InMassachusetts, thirty years before this time, he had been a farmer, andthe miller Dearborn used to grind his grain regularly. The two had beenboys together, and had always remained fast friends, almost brothers. Then, in the years just before the War, had come the great movementwestward, and Cressler had been one of those to leave an "abandoned"New England farm behind him, and with his family emigrate toward theMississippi. He had come to Sangamon County in Illinois. For a time hetried wheat-raising, until the War, which skied the prices of allfood-stuffs, had made him--for those days--a rich man. Giving upfarming, he came to live in Chicago, bought a seat on the Board ofTrade, and in a few years was a millionaire. At the time of theTurco-Russian War he and two Milwaukee men had succeeded in corneringall the visible supply of spring wheat. At the end of the thirtieth dayof the corner the clique figured out its profits at close upon amillion; a week later it looked like a million and a half. Then thethree lost their heads; they held the corner just a fraction of a monthtoo long, and when the time came that the three were forced to takeprofits, they found that they were unable to close out their immenseholdings without breaking the price. In two days wheat that they hadheld at a dollar and ten cents collapsed to sixty. The two Milwaukeemen were ruined, and two-thirds of Cressler's immense fortune vanishedlike a whiff of smoke. 

But he had learned his lesson. Never since then had he speculated. Though keeping his seat on the Board, he had confined himself tocommission trading, uninfluenced by fluctuations in the market. And hewas never wearied of protesting against the evil and the danger oftrading in margins. Speculation he abhorred as the small-pox, believingit to be impossible to corner grain by any means or under anycircumstances. He was accustomed to say: "It can't be done; first, forthe reason that there is a great harvest of wheat somewhere in theworld for every month in the year; and, second, because the smart manwho runs the corner has every other smart man in the world against him. And, besides, it's wrong; the world's food should not be at the mercyof the Chicago wheat pit. "

As the party filed in through the wicket, the other young man who hadcome with Landry Court managed to place himself next to Laura. Meetingher eyes, he murmured:

"Ah, you did not wear them after all. My poor little flowers. "

But she showed him a single American Beauty, pinned to the shoulder ofher gown beneath her cape. 

"Yes, Mr. Corthell, " she answered, "one. I tried to select theprettiest, and I think I succeeded--don't you? It was hard to choose. "

"Since you have worn it, it is the prettiest, " he answered. 

He was a slightly built man of about twenty-eight or thirty; dark, wearing a small, pointed beard, and a mustache that he brushed awayfrom his lips like a Frenchman. By profession he was an artist, devoting himself more especially to the designing of stained windows. In this, his talent was indisputable. But he was by no means dependentupon his profession for a living, his parents--long since dead--havingleft him to the enjoyment of a very considerable fortune. He had abeautiful studio in the Fine Arts Building, where he held receptionsonce every two months, or whenever he had a fine piece of glass toexpose. He had travelled, read, studied, occasionally written, and inmatters pertaining to the colouring and fusing of glass was cited as anauthority. He was one of the directors of the new Art Gallery that hadtaken the place of the old Exposition Building on the Lake Front. 

Laura had known him for some little time. On the occasion of her twoprevious visits to Page he had found means to see her two or threetimes each week. Once, even, he had asked her to marry him, but she, deep in her studies at the time, consumed with vague ambitions to be agreat actress of Shakespearian roles, had told him she could care fornothing but her art. He had smiled and said that he could wait, and, strangely enough, their relations had resumed again upon the formerfooting. Even after she had gone away they had corresponded regularly, and he had made and sent her a tiny window--a veritablejewel--illustrative of a scene from "Twelfth Night. "

In the foyer, as the gentlemen were checking their coats, Lauraoverheard Jadwin say to Mr. Cressler:

"Well, how about Helmick?"

The other made an impatient movement of his shoulders. 

"Ask me, what was the fool thinking of--a corner! Pshaw!"

There were one or two other men about, making their overcoats and operahats into neat bundles preparatory to checking them; and instantlythere was a flash of a half-dozen eyes in the direction of the two men. Evidently the collapse of the Helmick deal was in the air. All the cityseemed interested. 

But from behind the heavy curtains that draped the entrance to thetheatre proper, came a muffled burst of music, followed by a long salvoof applause. Laura's cheeks flamed with impatience, she hurried afterMrs. Cressler; Corthell drew the curtains for her to pass, and sheentered. 

Inside it was dark, and a prolonged puff of hot air, thick with themingled odours of flowers, perfume, upholstery, and gas, enveloped herupon the instant. It was the unmistakable, unforgettable, entrancingaroma of the theatre, that she had known only too seldom, but that in asecond set her heart galloping. 

Every available space seemed to be occupied. Men, even women, werestanding up, compacted into a suffocating pressure, and for the momenteverybody was applauding vigorously. On all sides Laura heard:

"Bravo!"

"Good, good!"

"Very well done!"

"Encore! Encore!"

Between the peoples' heads and below the low dip of the overhangingbalcony--a brilliant glare in the surrounding darkness--she caught aglimpse of the stage. It was set for a garden; at the back and in thedistance a chateau; on the left a bower, and on the right a pavilion. Before the footlights, a famous contralto, dressed as a boy, was bowingto the audience, her arms full of flowers. 

"Too bad, " whispered Corthell to Laura, as they followed the othersdown the side-aisle to the box. "Too bad, this is the second actalready; you've missed the whole first act--and this song. She'll singit over again, though, just for you, if I have to lead the applausemyself. I particularly wanted you to hear that. "

Once in the box, the party found itself a little crowded, and Jadwinand Cressler were obliged to stand, in order to see the stage. Althoughthey all spoke in whispers, their arrival was the signal for certainmurmurs of "Sh! Sh!" Mrs. Cressler made Laura occupy the front seat. Jadwin took her cloak from her, and she settled herself in her chairand looked about her. She could see but little of the house oraudience. All the lights were lowered; only through the gloom theswaying of a multitude of fans, pale coloured, like night-mothsbalancing in the twilight, defined itself. 

But soon she turned towards the stage. The applause died away, and thecontralto once more sang the aria. The melody was simple, the tempoeasily followed; it was not a very high order of music. But to Laura itwas nothing short of a revelation. 

She sat spell-bound, her hands clasped tight, her every faculty ofattention at its highest pitch. It was wonderful, such music as that;wonderful, such a voice; wonderful, such orchestration; wonderful, suchexaltation inspired by mere beauty of sound. Never, never was thisnight to be forgotten, this her first night of Grand Opera. All thisexcitement, this world of perfume, of flowers, of exquisite costumes, of beautiful women, of fine, brave men. She looked back with immensepity to the narrow little life of her native town she had just leftforever, the restricted horizon, the petty round of petty duties, therare and barren pleasures--the library, the festival, the few concerts, the trivial plays. How easy it was to be good and noble when music suchas this had become a part of one's life; how desirable was wealth whenit could make possible such exquisite happiness as hers of the moment. Nobility, purity, courage, sacrifice seemed much more worth while nowthan a few moments ago. All things not positively unworthy becameheroic, all things and all men. Landry Court was a young chevalier, pure as Galahad. Corthell was a beautiful artist-priest of the earlyRenaissance. Even Jadwin was a merchant prince, a great financialcaptain. And she herself--ah, she did not know; she dreamed of anotherLaura, a better, gentler, more beautiful Laura, whom everybody, everybody loved dearly and tenderly, and who loved everybody, and whoshould die beautifully, gently, in some garden far away--die because ofa great love--beautifully, gently in the midst of flowers, die of abroken heart, and all the world should be sorry for her, and would weepover her when they found her dead and beautiful in her garden, amid theflowers and the birds, in some far-off place, where it was always earlymorning and where there was soft music. And she was so sorry forherself, and so hurt with the sheer strength of her longing to be goodand true, and noble and womanly, that as she sat in the front of theCresslers' box on that marvellous evening, the tears ran down hercheeks again and again, and dropped upon her tight-shut, white-glovedfingers. 

But the contralto had disappeared, and in her place the tenor held thestage--a stout, short young man in red plush doublet and grey silktights. His chin advanced, an arm extended, one hand pressed to hisbreast, he apostrophised the pavilion, that now and then swayed alittle in the draught from the wings. 

The aria was received with furor; thrice he was obliged to repeat it. Even Corthell, who was critical to extremes, approved, nodding hishead. Laura and Page clapped their hands till the very last. But LandryCourt, to create an impression, assumed a certain disaffection. 

"He's not in voice to-night. Too bad. You should have heard him Fridayin 'Aida. '"

The opera continued. The great soprano, the prima donna, appeared anddelivered herself of a song for which she was famous with astonishingeclat. Then in a little while the stage grew dark, the orchestrationlapsed to a murmur, and the tenor and the soprano reentered. He claspedher in his arms and sang a half-dozen bars, then holding her hand, onearm still about her waist, withdrew from her gradually, till sheoccupied the front-centre of the stage. He assumed an attitude ofadoration and wonderment, his eyes uplifted as if entranced, and she, very softly, to the accompaniment of the sustained, dreamy chords ofthe orchestra, began her solo. 

Laura shut her eyes. Never had she felt so soothed, so cradled andlulled and languid. Ah, to love like that! To love and be loved. Therewas no such love as that to-day. She wished that she could loose herclasp upon the sordid, material modern life that, perforce, she musthold to, she knew not why, and drift, drift off into the past, faraway, through rose-coloured mists and diaphanous veils, or resignherself, reclining in a silver skiff drawn by swans, to the gentlecurrent of some smooth-flowing river that ran on forever and forever. 

But a discordant element developed. Close by--the lights were so lowshe could not tell where--a conversation, kept up in low whispers, began by degrees to intrude itself upon her attention. Try as shewould, she could not shut it out, and now, as the music died awayfainter and fainter, till voice and orchestra blended together in asingle, barely audible murmur, vibrating with emotion, with romance, and with sentiment, she heard, in a hoarse, masculine whisper, thewords:

"The shortage is a million bushels at the very least. Two hundredcarloads were to arrive from Milwaukee last night. "

She made a little gesture of despair, turning her head for an instant, searching the gloom about her. But she could see no one not interestedin the stage. Why could not men leave their business outside, why mustthe jar of commerce spoil all the harmony of this moment. 

However, all sounds were drowned suddenly in a long burst of applause. The tenor and soprano bowed and smiled across the footlights. Thesoprano vanished, only to reappear on the balcony of the pavilion, andwhile she declared that the stars and the night-bird together sang "Heloves thee, " the voices close at hand continued:

"--one hundred and six carloads--"

"--paralysed the bulls--"

"--fifty thousand dollars--"

Then all at once the lights went up. The act was over. 

Laura seemed only to come to herself some five minutes later. She andCorthell were out in the foyer behind the boxes. Everybody waspromenading. The air was filled with the staccato chatter of amultitude of women. But she herself seemed far away--she and SheldonCorthell. His face, dark, romantic, with the silky beard and eloquenteyes, appeared to be all she cared to see, while his low voice, thatspoke close to her ear, was in a way a mere continuation of the melodyof the duet just finished. 

Instinctively she knew what he was about to say, for what he was tryingto prepare her. She felt, too, that he had not expected to talk thus toher to-night. She knew that he loved her, that inevitably, sooner orlater, they must return to a subject that for long had been excludedfrom their conversations, but it was to have been when they were alone, remote, secluded, not in the midst of a crowd, brilliant electricsdazzling their eyes, the humming of the talk of hundreds assaultingtheir ears. But it seemed as if these important things came ofthemselves, independent of time and place, like birth and death. Therewas nothing to do but to accept the situation, and it was withoutsurprise that at last, from out the murmur of Corthell's talk, she wassuddenly conscious of the words:

"So that it is hardly necessary, is it, to tell you once more that Ilove you?"

She drew a long breath. 

"I know. I know you love me. "

They had sat down on a divan, at one end of the promenade; andCorthell, skilful enough in the little arts of the drawing-room, madeit appear as though they talked of commonplaces; as for Laura, exalted, all but hypnotised with this marvellous evening, she hardly cared; shewould not even stoop to maintain appearances. 

"Yes, yes, " she said; "I know you love me. "

"And is that all you can say?" he urged. "Does it mean nothing to youthat you are everything to me?"

She was coming a little to herself again. Love was, after all, sweeterin the actual--even in this crowded foyer, in this atmosphere of silkand jewels, in this show-place of a great city's society--than in amystic garden of some romantic dreamland. She felt herself a womanagain, modern, vital, and no longer a maiden of a legend of chivalry. 

"Nothing to me?" she answered. "I don't know. I should rather have youlove me than--not. "

"Let me love you then for always, " he went on. "You know what I mean. We have understood each other from the very first. Plainly, and verysimply, I love you with all my heart. You know now that I speak thetruth, you know that you can trust me. I shall not ask you to shareyour life with mine. I ask you for the great happiness"--he raised hishead sharply, suddenly proud--"the great honour of the opportunity ofgiving you all that I have of good. God give me humility, but that ismuch since I have known you. If I were a better man because of myself, I would not presume to speak of it, but if I am in anything lessselfish, if I am more loyal, if I am stronger, or braver, it is onlysomething of you that has become a part of me, and made me to be bornagain. So when I offer myself to you, I am only bringing back to youthe gift you gave me for a little while. I have tried to keep it foryou, to keep it bright and sacred and un-spotted. It is yours again nowif you will have it. "

There was a long pause; a group of men in opera hats and white glovescame up the stairway close at hand. The tide of promenaders set towardsthe entrances of the theatre. A little electric bell shrilled a note ofwarning. 

Laura looked up at length, and as their glances met, he saw that therewere tears in her eyes. This declaration of his love for her was thelast touch to the greatest exhilaration of happiness she had everknown. Ah yes, she was loved, just as that young girl of the opera hadbeen loved. For this one evening, at least, the beauty of life wasunmarred, and no cruel word of hers should spoil it. The world wasbeautiful. All people were good and noble and true. To-morrow, with thematerial round of duties and petty responsibilities and cold, calmreason, was far, far away. 

Suddenly she turned to him, surrendering to the impulse, forgetful ofconsequences. 

"Oh, I am glad, glad, " she cried, "glad that you love me!"

But before Corthell could say anything more Landry Court and Page cameup. 

"We've been looking for you, " said the young girl quietly. Page wasdispleased. She took herself and her sister--in fact, the whole schemeof existence--with extraordinary seriousness. She had no sense ofhumour. She was not tolerant; her ideas of propriety and the amenitieswere as immutable as the fixed stars. A fine way for Laura to act, getting off into corners with Sheldon Corthell. It would take less thanthat to make talk. If she had no sense of her obligations to Mrs. Cressler, at least she ought to think of the looks of things. 

"They're beginning again, " she said solemnly. "I should think you'dfeel as though you had missed about enough of this opera. "

They returned to the box. The rest of the party were reassembling. 

"Well, Laura, " said Mrs. Cressler, when they had sat down, "do you likeit?"

"I don't want to leave it--ever, " she answered. "I could stay herealways. "

"I like the young man best, " observed Aunt Wess'. "The one who seems tobe the friend of the tall fellow with a cloak. But why does he seem sosorry? Why don't he marry the young lady? Let's see, I don't rememberhis name. "

"Beastly voice, " declared Landry Court. "He almost broke there once. Too bad. He's not what he used to be. It seems he's terriblydissipated--drinks. Yes, sir, like a fish. He had delirium tremens oncebehind the scenes in Philadelphia, and stabbed a scene shifter with hisstage dagger. A bad lot, to say the least. "

"Now, Landry, " protested Mrs. Cressler, "you're making it up as you goalong. " And in the laugh that followed Landry himself joined. 

"After all, " said Corthell, "this music seems to be just the rightmedium between the naive melody of the Italian school and the elaboratecomplexity of Wagner. I can't help but be carried away with it attimes--in spite of my better judgment. "

Jadwin, who had been smoking a cigar in the vestibule during theentr'acte, rubbed his chin reflectively. 

"Well, " he said, "it's all very fine. I've no doubt of that, but I giveyou my word I would rather hear my old governor take his guitar andsing 'Father, oh father, come home with me now, ' than all thefiddle-faddle, tweedle-deedle opera business in the whole world. "

But the orchestra was returning, the musicians crawling out one by onefrom a little door beneath the stage hardly bigger than the entrance ofa rabbit hutch. They settled themselves in front of their racks, adjusting their coat-tails, fingering their sheet music. Soon theybegan to tune up, and a vague bourdon of many sounds--the subdued snarlof the cornets, the dull mutter of the bass viols, the liquid gurglingof the flageolets and wood-wind instruments, now and then pierced bythe strident chirps and cries of the violins, rose into the airdominating the incessant clamour of conversation that came from allparts of the theatre. 

Then suddenly the house lights sank and the footlights rose. From allover the theatre came energetic whispers of "Sh! Sh!" Three strokes, asof a great mallet, sepulchral, grave, came from behind the wings; theleader of the orchestra raised his baton, then brought it slowly down, and while from all the instruments at once issued a prolonged minorchord, emphasised by a muffled roll of the kettle-drum, the curtainrose upon a mediaeval public square. The soprano was seated languidlyupon a bench. Her grande scene occurred in this act. Her hair wasun-bound; she wore a loose robe of cream white, with flowing sleeves, which left the arms bare to the shoulder. At the waist it was caught inby a girdle of silk rope. 

"This is the great act, " whispered Mrs. Cressler, leaning over Laura'sshoulder. "She is superb later on. Superb. "

"I wish those men would stop talking, " murmured Laura, searching thedarkness distressfully, for between the strains of the music she hadheard the words:

"--Clearing House balance of three thousand dollars. "

Meanwhile the prima donna, rising to her feet, delivered herself of alengthy recitative, her chin upon her breast, her eyes looking out fromunder her brows, an arm stretched out over the footlights. The baritoneentered, striding to the left of the footlights, apostrophising theprima donna in a rage. She clasped her hands imploringly, supplicatinghim to leave her, exclaiming from time to time:

 "Va via, va via-- Vel chieco per pieta. "

Then all at once, while the orchestra blared, they fell into eachother's arms. 

"Why do they do that?" murmured Aunt Wess' perplexed. "I thought thegentleman with the beard didn't like her at all. "

"Why, that's the duke, don't you see, Aunt Wess'?" said Laura trying toexplain. "And he forgives her. I don't know exactly. Look at yourlibretto. "

"--a conspiracy of the Bears . .. Seventy cents . .. And naturally hebusted. "

The mezzo-soprano, the confidante of the prima donna, entered, and atrio developed that had but a mediocre success. At the end the baritoneabruptly drew his sword, and the prima donna fell to her knees, chanting:

"Io tremo, ahime!"

"And now he's mad again, " whispered Aunt Wess', consulting herlibretto, all at sea once more. "I can't understand. She says--theopera book says she says, 'I tremble. ' I don't see why. "

"Look now, " said Page, "here comes the tenor. Now they're going to haveit out. "

The tenor, hatless, debouched suddenly upon the scene, and furious, addressed himself to the baritone, leaning forward, his hands upon hischest. Though the others sang in Italian, the tenor, a Parisian, usedthe French book continually, and now villified the baritone, crying out:

 "O traitre infame O lache et coupable"

"I don't see why he don't marry the young lady and be done with it, "commented Aunt Wess'. 

The act drew to its close. The prima donna went through her "greatscene, " wherein her voice climbed to C in alt, holding the note so longthat Aunt Wess' became uneasy. As she finished, the house rocked withapplause, and the soprano, who had gone out supported by herconfidante, was recalled three times. A duel followed between thebaritone and tenor, and the latter, mortally wounded, fell into thearms of his friends uttering broken, vehement notes. The chorus--madeup of the city watch and town's people--crowded in upon the back of thestage. The soprano and her confidante returned. The basso, ablack-bearded, bull necked man, sombre, mysterious, parted the chorusto right and left, and advanced to the footlights. The contralto, dressed as a boy, appeared. The soprano took stage, and abruptly theclosing scene of the act developed. 

The violins raged and wailed in unison, all the bows moving togetherlike parts of a well-regulated machine. The kettle-drums, marking thecadences, rolled at exact intervals. The director beat time furiously, as though dragging up the notes and chords with the end of his baton, while the horns and cornets blared, the bass viols growled, and theflageolets and piccolos lost themselves in an amazing complication ofliquid gurgles and modulated roulades. 

On the stage every one was singing. The soprano in the centre, vocalised in her highest register, bringing out the notes with vigoroustwists of her entire body, and tossing them off into the air with sharpflirts of her head. On the right, the basso, scowling, could be heardin the intervals of the music repeating

 "Il perfido, l'ingrato"

while to the left of the soprano, the baritone intonedindistinguishable, sonorous phrases, striking his breast and pointingto the fallen tenor with his sword. At the extreme left of the stagethe contralto, in tights and plush doublet, turned to the audience, extending her hands, or flinging back her arms. She raised her eyebrowswith each high note, and sunk her chin into her ruff when her voicedescended. At certain intervals her notes blended with those of thesoprano's while she sang:

 "Addio, felicita del ciel!"

The tenor, raised upon one hand, his shoulders supported by hisfriends, sustained the theme which the soprano led with the words:

 "Je me meurs Ah malheur Ah je souffre Mon ame s'envole. "

The chorus formed a semi-circle just behind him. The women on one side, the men on the other. They left much to be desired; apparently scrapedhastily together from heaven knew what sources, after the manner of amanagement suddenly become economical. The women were fat, elderly, andpainfully homely; the men lean, osseous, and distressed, in misfittinghose. But they had been conscientiously drilled. They made all theirgestures together, moved in masses simultaneously, and, withoutceasing, chanted over and over again:

 "O terror, O blasfema. "

The finale commenced. Everybody on the stage took a step forward, beginning all over again upon a higher key. The soprano's voicethrilled to the very chandelier. The orchestra redoubled its efforts, the director beating time with hands, head, and body. 

 "Il perfido, l'ingrato"

thundered the basso. 

 "Ineffabil mistero, "

answered the baritone, striking his breast and pointing with his sword;while all at once the soprano's voice, thrilling out again, ran up anastonishing crescendo that evoked veritable gasps from all parts of theaudience, then jumped once more to her famous C in alt, and held itlong enough for the chorus to repeat

 "O terror, O blasfema"

four times. 

Then the director's baton descended with the violence of a blow. Therewas a prolonged crash of harmony, a final enormous chord, to whichevery voice and every instrument contributed. The singers strucktableau attitudes, the tenor fell back with a last wail:

 "Je me meurs, "

and the soprano fainted into the arms of her confidante. The curtainfell. 

The house roared with applause. The scene was recalled again and again. The tenor, scrambling to his feet, joined hands with the baritone, soprano, and other artists, and all bowed repeatedly. Then the curtainfell for the last time, the lights of the great chandelier clicked andblazed up, and from every quarter of the house came the cries of theprogramme sellers:

"Opera books. Books of the opera. Words and music of the opera. "

During this, the last entr'acte, Laura remained in the box with Mrs. Cressler, Corthell, and Jadwin. The others went out to look down uponthe foyer from a certain balcony. 

In the box the conversation turned upon stage management, and Corthelltold how, in "L'Africaine, " at the Opera, in Paris, the entiresuperstructure of the stage--wings, drops, and backs--turned when Vascoda Gama put the ship about. Jadwin having criticised the effect becausenone of the actors turned with it, was voted a Philistine by Mrs. Cressler and Corthell. But as he was about to answer, Mrs. Cresslerturned to the artist, passing him her opera glasses, and asking:

"Who are those people down there in the third row of the parquet--see, on the middle aisle--the woman is in red. Aren't those the Gretrys?"

This left Jadwin and Laura out of the conversation, and the capitalistwas quick to seize the chance of talking to her. Soon she was surprisedto notice that he was trying hard to be agreeable, and before they hadexchanged a dozen sentences, he had turned an awkward compliment. Sheguessed by his manner that paying attention to young girls was for hima thing altogether unusual. Intuitively she divined that she, on this, the very first night of their acquaintance, had suddenly interested him. 

She had had neither opportunity nor inclination to observe him closelyduring their interview in the vestibule, but now, as she sat andlistened to him talk, she could not help being a little attracted. Hewas a heavy-built man, would have made two of Corthell, and his handswere large and broad, the hands of a man of affairs, who knew how togrip, and, above all, how to hang on. Those broad, strong hands, andkeen, calm eyes would enfold and envelop a Purpose with tremendousstrength, and they would persist and persist and persist, unswerving, unwavering, untiring, till the Purpose was driven home. And the twolong, lean, fibrous arms of him; what a reach they could attain, andhow wide and huge and even formidable would be their embrace ofaffairs. One of those great manoeuvres of a fellow money-captain hadthat very day been concluded, the Helmick failure, and between thechords and bars of a famous opera men talked in excited whispers, andone great leader lay at that very moment, broken and spent, fightingwith his last breath for bare existence. Jadwin had seen it all. Uninvolved in the crash, he had none the less been close to it, watching it, in touch with it, foreseeing each successive collapse bywhich it reeled fatally to the final catastrophe. The voices of the twomen that had so annoyed her in the early part of the evening weresuddenly raised again:

"--It was terrific, there on the floor of the Board this morning. Bythe Lord! they fought each other when the Bears began throwing thegrain at 'em--in carload lots. "

And abruptly, midway between two phases of that music-drama, of passionand romance, there came to Laura the swift and vivid impression of thatother drama that simultaneously--even at that very moment--was workingitself out close at hand, equally picturesque, equally romantic, equally passionate; but more than that, real, actual, modern, a thingin the very heart of the very life in which she moved. And here he sat, this Jadwin, quiet, in evening dress, listening good-naturedly to thisbeautiful music, for which he did not care, to this rant and fustian, watching quietly all this posing and attitudinising. How small andpetty it must all seem to him!

Laura found time to be astonished. What! She had first met this manhaughtily, in all the panoply of her "grand manner, " and had promisedherself that she would humble him, and pay him for that firstmistrustful stare at her. And now, behold, she was studying him, andfinding the study interesting. Out of harmony though she knew him to bewith those fine emotions of hers of the early part of the evening, shenevertheless found much in him to admire. It was always just like that. She told herself that she was forever doing the unexpected thing, theinconsistent thing. Women were queer creatures, mysterious even tothemselves. 

"I am so pleased that you are enjoying it all, " said Corthell's voiceat her shoulder. "I knew you would. There is nothing like music such asthis to appeal to the emotions, the heart--and with your temperament. "

Straightway he made her feel her sex. Now she was just a woman again, with all a woman's limitations, and her relations with Corthell couldnever be--so she realised--any other than sex-relations. With Jadwinsomehow it had been different. She had felt his manhood more than herwomanhood, her sex side. And between them it was more a give-and-takeaffair, more equality, more companionship. Corthell spoke only of herheart and to her heart. But Jadwin made her feel--or rather she madeherself feel when he talked to her--that she had a head as well as aheart. 

And the last act of the opera did not wholly absorb her attention. Theartists came and went, the orchestra wailed and boomed, the audienceapplauded, and in the end the tenor, fired by a sudden sense of dutyand of stern obligation, tore himself from the arms of the soprano, andcalling out upon remorseless fate and upon heaven, and declaiming aboutthe vanity of glory, and his heart that broke yet disdained tears, allowed himself to be dragged off the scene by his friend the basso. For the fifth time during the piece the soprano fainted into the armsof her long-suffering confidante. The audience, suddenly rememberinghats and wraps, bestirred itself, and many parties were already upontheir feet and filing out at the time the curtain fell. 

The Cresslers and their friends were among the last to regain thevestibule. But as they came out from the foyer, where the firstdraughts of outside air began to make themselves felt, there wereexclamations:

"It's raining. "

"Why, it's raining right down. "

It was true. Abruptly the weather had moderated, and the fine, dry snowthat had been falling since early evening had changed to a lugubriousdrizzle. A wave of consternation invaded the vestibule for those whohad not come in carriages, or whose carriages had not arrived. Temperswere lost; women, cloaked to the ears, their heads protected only byfichus or mantillas, quarrelled with husbands or cousins or brothersover the question of umbrellas. The vestibules were crowded tosuffocation, and the aigrettes nodded and swayed again in alternategusts, now of moist, chill atmosphere from without, and now of stale, hot air that exhaled in long puffs from the inside doors of the theatreitself. Here and there in the press, footmen, their top hats in rubbercases, their hands full of umbrellas, searched anxiously for theirmasters. 

Outside upon the sidewalks and by the curbs, an apparently inextricableconfusion prevailed; policemen with drawn clubs laboured andobjurgated: anxious, preoccupied young men, their opera hats and glovesbeaded with rain, hurried to and fro, searching for their carriages. Atthe edge of the awning, the caller, a gigantic fellow in gold-faceduniform, shouted the numbers in a roaring, sing-song that dominatedevery other sound. Coachmen, their wet rubber coats reflecting thelamplight, called back and forth, furious quarrels broke out betweenhansom drivers and the police officers, steaming horses with jinglingbits, their backs covered with dark green cloths, plunged and pranced, carriage doors banged, and the roll of wheels upon the pavement was asthe reverberation of artillery caissons. 

"Get your carriage, sir?" cried a ragged, half-grown arab at Cressler'selbow. 

"Hurry up, then, " said Cressler. Then, raising his voice, for theclamour was increasing with every second: "What's your number, Laura?You girls first. Ninety-three? Get that, boy? Ninety-three. Quick now. "

The carriage appeared. Hastily they said good-by; hastily Lauraexpressed to Mrs. Cressler her appreciation and enjoyment. Corthell sawthem to the carriage, and getting in after them shut the door behindhim. They departed. 

Laura sank back in the cool gloom of the carriage's interior redolentof damp leather and upholstery. 

"What an evening! What an evening!" she murmured. 

On the way home both she and Page appealed to the artist, who knew theopera well, to hum or whistle for them the arias that had pleased themmost. Each time they were enthusiastic. Yes, yes, that was the air. Wasn't it pretty, wasn't it beautiful?

But Aunt Wess' was still unsatisfied. 

"I don't see yet, " she complained, "why the young man, the one with thepointed beard, didn't marry that lady and be done with it. Just as soonas they'd seem to have it all settled, he'd begin to take on again, andstrike his breast and go away. I declare, I think it was all kind offoolish. "

"Why, the duke--don't you see. The one who sang bass--" Page labouredto explain. 

"Oh, I didn't like him at all, " said Aunt Wess'. "He stamped aroundso. " But the audience itself had interested her, and the decolletegowns had been particularly impressing. 

"I never saw such dressing in all my life, " she declared. "And thatwoman in the box next ours. Well! did you notice that!" She raised hereyebrows and set her lips together. "Well, I don't want to sayanything. "

The carriage rolled on through the darkened downtown streets, towardsthe North Side, where the Dearborns lived. They could hear the horsesplashing through the layer of slush--mud, half-melted snow andrain--that encumbered the pavement. In the gloom the girls' wrapsglowed pallid and diaphanous. The rain left long, slanting parallels onthe carriage windows. They passed on down Wabash Avenue, and crossedover to State Street and Clarke Street, dark, deserted. 

Laura, after a while, lost in thought, spoke but little. It had been agreat evening--because of other things than mere music. Corthell hadagain asked her to marry him, and she, carried away by the excitementof the moment, had answered him encouragingly. On the heels of this shehad had that little talk with the capitalist Jadwin, and somehow sincethen she had been steadied, calmed. The cold air and the rain in herface had cooled her flaming cheeks and hot temples. She asked herselfnow if she did really, honestly love the artist. No, she did not;really and honestly she did not; and now as the carriage rolled onthrough the deserted streets of the business districts, she knew verywell that she did not want to marry him. She had done him an injustice;but in the matter of righting herself with him, correcting his falseimpression, she was willing to procrastinate. She wanted him to loveher, to pay her all those innumerable little attentions which hemanaged with such faultless delicacy. To say: "No, Mr. Corthell, I donot love you, I will never be your wife, " would--this time--be final. He would go away, and she had no intention of allowing him to do that. 

But abruptly her reflections were interrupted. While she thought it allover she had been looking out of the carriage window through a littlespace where she had rubbed the steam from the pane. Now, all at once, the strange appearance of the neighbourhood as the carriage turnednorth from out Jackson Street into La Salle, forced itself upon herattention. She uttered an exclamation. 

The office buildings on both sides of the street were lighted frombasement to roof. Through the windows she could get glimpses of clerksand book-keepers in shirt-sleeves bending over desks. Every office wasopen, and every one of them full of a feverish activity. The sidewalkswere almost as crowded as though at noontime. Messenger boys ran to andfro, and groups of men stood on the corners in earnest conversation. The whole neighbourhood was alive, and this, though it was close uponone o'clock in the morning!

"Why, what is it all?" she murmured. 

Corthell could not explain, but all at once Page cried:

"Oh, oh, I know. See this is Jackson and La Salle streets. Landry wastelling me. The 'commission district, ' he called it. And these are thebrokers' offices working overtime--that Helmick deal, you know. "

Laura looked, suddenly stupefied. Here it was, then, that other drama, that other tragedy, working on there furiously, fiercely through thenight, while she and all those others had sat there in that atmosphereof flowers and perfume, listening to music. Suddenly it loomedportentous in the eye of her mind, terrible, tremendous. Ah, this dramaof the "Provision Pits, " where the rush of millions of bushels ofgrain, and the clatter of millions of dollars, and the tramping and thewild shouting of thousands of men filled all the air with the noise ofbattle! Yes, here was drama in deadly earnest--drama and tragedy anddeath, and the jar of mortal fighting. And the echoes of it invaded thevery sanctuary of art, and cut athwart the music of Italy and thecadence of polite conversation, and the shock of it endured when allthe world should have slept, and galvanised into vivid life all thesesombre piles of office buildings. It was dreadful, this labour throughthe night. It had all the significance of field hospitals after thebattle--hospitals and the tents of commanding generals. The wounds ofthe day were being bound up, the dead were being counted, while, shutin their headquarters, the captains and the commanders drew the plansfor the grapple of armies that was to recommence with daylight. 

"Yes, yes, that's just what it is, " continued Page. "See, there's theRookery, and there's the Constable Building, where Mr. Helmick has hisoffices. Landry showed me it all one day. And, look back. " She raisedthe flap that covered the little window at the back of the carriage. "See, down there, at the end of the street. There's the Board of TradeBuilding, where the grain speculating is done, --where the wheat pitsand corn pits are. "

Laura turned and looked back. On either side of the vista in converginglines stretched the blazing office buildings. But over the end of thestreet the lead-coloured sky was rifted a little. A long, faint bar oflight stretched across the prospect, and silhouetted against this rosea sombre mass, unbroken by any lights, rearing a black and formidablefacade against the blur of light behind it. 

And this was her last impression of the evening. The lighted officebuildings, the murk of rain, the haze of light in the heavens, andraised against it the pile of the Board of Trade Building, black, grave, monolithic, crouching on its foundations, like a monstroussphinx with blind eyes, silent, grave, --crouching there without asound, without sign of life under the night and the drifting veil ofrain. 

II

Laura Dearborn's native town was Barrington, in Worcester County, Massachusetts. Both she and Page had been born there, and there hadlived until the death of their father, at a time when Page was readyfor the High School. The mother, a North Carolina girl, had died longbefore. 

Laura's education had been unusual. After leaving the High School herfather had for four years allowed her a private tutor (an impecuniousgraduate from the Harvard Theological School). She was ambitious, adevoted student, and her instructor's task was rather to guide than toenforce her application. She soon acquired a reading knowledge ofFrench, and knew her Racine in the original almost as well as herShakespeare. Literature became for her an actual passion. She delvedinto Tennyson and the Victorian poets, and soon was on terms ofintimacy with the poets and essayists of New England. The novelists ofthe day she ignored almost completely, and voluntarily. Onlyoccasionally, and then as a concession, she permitted herself a readingof Mr. Howells. 

Moderately prosperous while he himself was conducting his little mill, Dearborn had not been able to put by any money to speak of, and whenLaura and the local lawyer had come to close up the business, todispose of the mill, and to settle the claims against what the lawyergrandiloquently termed "the estate, " there was just enough money leftto pay for Page's tickets to Chicago and a course of tuition for her ata seminary. 

The Cresslers on the event of Dearborn's death had advised both sistersto come West, and had pledged themselves to look after Page during theperiod of her schooling. Laura had sent the little girl on at once, butdelayed taking the step herself. 

Fortunately, the two sisters were not obliged to live upon theirinheritance. Dearborn himself had a sister--a twin of Aunt Wess'--whohad married a wealthy woollen merchant of Boston, and this one, longsince, had provided for the two girls. A large sum had been set aside, which was to be made over to them when the father died. For years nowthis sum had been accumulating interest. So that when Laura and Pagefaced the world, alone, upon the steps of the Barrington cemetery, theyhad the assurance that, at least, they were independent. 

For two years, in the solidly built colonial dwelling, with its lowceilings and ample fireplaces, where once the minute-men had swungtheir kettles, Laura, alone, thought it all over. Mother and fatherwere dead; even the Boston aunt was dead. Of all her relations, AuntWess' alone remained. Page was at her finishing school at Geneva Lake, within two hours of Chicago. The Cresslers were the dearest friends ofthe orphan girls. Aunt Wess', herself a widow, living also in Chicago, added her entreaties to Mrs. Cressler's. All things seemed to point herwestward, all things seemed to indicate that one phase of her life wasended. 

Then, too, she had her ambitions. These hardly took definite shape inher mind; but vaguely she chose to see herself, at some far-distantday, an actress, a tragedienne, playing the roles of Shakespeare'sheroines. This idea of hers was more a desire than an ambition, but itcould not be realised in Barrington, Massachusetts. For a year shetemporised, procrastinated, loth to leave the old home, loth to leavethe grave in the cemetery back of the Methodist-Episcopal chapel. Twiceduring this time she visited Page, and each time the great grey citythrew the spell of its fascination about her. Each time she returned toBarrington the town dwindled in her estimation. It was picturesque, butlamentably narrow. The life was barren, the "New England spirit"prevailed in all its severity; and this spirit seemed to her averitable cult, a sort of religion, wherein the Old Maid was thepriestess, the Spinster the officiating devotee, the thing worshippedthe Great Unbeautiful, and the ritual unremitting, unrelentingHousework. She detested it. 

That she was an Episcopalian, and preferred to read her prayers ratherthan to listen to those written and memorised by the Presbyterianminister, seemed to be regarded as a relic of heathenish rites--a thingalmost cannibalistic. When she elected to engage a woman and a "hiredman" to manage her house, she felt the disapprobation of the entirevillage, as if she had sunk into some decadent and enervatingLower-Empire degeneracy. 

The crisis came when Laura travelled alone to Boston to hear Modjeskain "Marie Stuart" and "Macbeth, " and upon returning full of enthusiasm, allowed it to be understood that she had a half-formed desire ofemulating such an example. A group of lady-deaconesses, headed by thePresbyterian minister, called upon her, with some intention ofreasoning and labouring with her. 

They got no farther than the statement of the cause of this visit. Thespirit and temper of the South, that she had from her mother, flamed upin Laura at last, and the members of the "committee, " before they werewell aware, came to themselves in the street outside the front gate, dazed and bewildered, staring at each other, all confounded and stunnedby the violence of an outbreak of long-repressed emotion andlong-restrained anger, that like an actual physical force had sweptthem out of the house. 

At the same moment Laura, thrown across her bed, wept with a vehemencethat shook her from head to foot. But she had not the least compunctionfor what she had said, and before the month was out had said good-by toBarrington forever, and was on her way to Chicago, henceforth to be herhome. 

A house was bought on the North Side, and it was arranged that AuntWess' should live with her two nieces. Pending the installation Lauraand Page lived at a little family hotel in the same neighbourhood. TheCresslers' invitation to join the theatre party at the Auditorium hadfallen inopportunely enough, squarely in the midst of the ordeal ofmoving in. Indeed the two girls had already passed one night in the newhome, and they must dress for the affair by lamplight in theirunfurnished quarters and under inconceivable difficulties. Only thelure of Italian opera, heard from a box, could have tempted them tohave accepted the invitation at such a time and under suchcircumstances. 

The morning after the opera, Laura woke in her bed--almost the onlyarticle of furniture that was in place in the whole house--with thedepressing consciousness of a hard day's work at hand. Outside it wasstill raining, the room was cold, heated only by an inadequate oilstove, and through the slats of the inside shutters, which, pending thehanging of the curtains they had been obliged to close, was filtering agloomy light of a wet Chicago morning. 

It was all very mournful, and she regretted now that she had not abidedby her original decision to remain at the hotel until the new house wasready for occupancy. But it had happened that their month at the hotelwas just up, and rather than engage the rooms for another four weeksshe had thought it easier as well as cheaper to come to the house. Itwas all a new experience for her, and she had imagined that everythingcould be moved in, put in place, and the household running smoothly ina week's time. 

She sat up in bed, hugging her shoulders against the chill of the roomand looking at her theatre gown, that--in default of a cleancloset--she had hung from the gas fixture the night before. From thedirection of the kitchen came the sounds of the newly engaged "girl"making the fire for breakfast, while through the register a thin wispof blue smoke curled upward to prove that the "hired man" was tinkeringwith the unused furnace. The room itself was in lamentable confusion. Crates and packing boxes encumbered the uncarpeted floor; chairswrapped in excelsior and jute were piled one upon another; a roll ofcarpet leaned in one corner and a pile of mattresses occupied another. 

As Laura considered the prospect she realised her blunder. 

"Why, and oh, why, " she murmured, "didn't we stay at the hotel till allthis was straightened out?"

But in an adjoining room she heard Aunt Wess' stirring. She turned toPage, who upon the pillows beside her still slept, her stocking aroundher neck as a guarantee against draughts. 

"Page, Page! Wake up, girlie. It's late, and there's worlds to do. "

Page woke blinking. 

"Oh, it's freezing cold, Laura. Let's light the oil stove and stay inbed till the room gets warm. Oh, dear, aren't you sleepy, and, oh, wasn't last night lovely? Which one of us will get up to light thestove? We'll count for it. Lie down, sissie, dear, " she begged, "you'reletting all the cold air in. "

Laura complied, and the two sisters, their noses all but touching, thebedclothes up to their ears, put their arms about each other to keepthe warmer. 

Amused at the foolishness, they "counted" to decide as to who shouldget up to light the oil stove, Page beginning:

"Eeny--meeny--myny--mo--"

But before the "count" was decided Aunt Wess' came in, already dressed, and in a breath the two girls implored her to light the stove. Whileshe did so, Aunt Wess' remarked, with the alacrity of a woman whoobserves the difficulties of a proceeding in which she has no faith:

"I don't believe that hired girl knows her business. She says now shecan't light a fire in that stove. My word, Laura, I do believe you'llhave enough of all this before you're done. You know I advised you fromthe very first to take a flat. "

"Nonsense, Aunt Wess', " answered Laura, good-naturedly. "We'll work itout all right. I know what's the matter with that range. I'll be rightdown and see to it so soon as I'm dressed. "

It was nearly ten o'clock before breakfast, such as it was, was over. They ate it on the kitchen table, with the kitchen knives and forks, and over the meal, Page having remarked: "Well, what will we do first?"discussed the plan of campaign. 

"Landry Court does not have to work to-day--he told me why, but I'veforgotten--and he said he was coming up to help, " observed Laura, andat once Aunt Wess' smiled. Landry Court was openly and strenuously inlove with Laura, and no one of the new household ignored the fact. AuntWess' chose to consider the affair as ridiculous, and whenever thesubject was mentioned spoke of Landry as "that boy. "

Page, however, bridled with seriousness as often as the matter came up. Yes, that was all very well, but Landry was a decent, hard-workingyoung fellow, with all his way to make and no time to waste, and ifLaura didn't mean that it should come to anything it wasn't very fairto him to keep him dangling along like that. 

"I guess, " Laura was accustomed to reply, looking significantly at AuntWess', "that our little girlie has a little bit of an eye on a certainhard-working young fellow herself. " And the answer invariably rousedPage. 

"Now, Laura, " she would cry, her eyes snapping, her breath coming fast. "Now, Laura, that isn't right at all, and you know I don't like it, andyou just say it because you know it makes me cross. I won't have youinsinuate that I would run after any man or care in the least whetherhe's in love or not. I just guess I've got some self-respect; and asfor Landry Court, we're no more nor less than just good friends, and Iappreciate his business talents and the way he rustles 'round, and hemerely respects me as a friend, and it don't go any farther than that. 'An eye on him, ' I do declare! As if I hadn't yet to see the man I'd somuch as look at a second time. "

And Laura, remembering her "Shakespeare, " was ever ready with the words:

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks. "

Just after breakfast, in fact, Landry did appear. 

"Now, " he began, with a long breath, addressing Laura, who wasunwrapping the pieces of cut glass and bureau ornaments as Page passedthem to her from the depths of a crate. "Now, I've done a lot already. That's what made me late. I've ordered your newspaper sent here, andI've telephoned the hotel to forward any mail that comes for you tothis address, and I sent word to the gas company to have your gasturned on--"

"Oh, that's good, " said Laura. 

"Yes, I thought of that; the man will be up right away to fix it, andI've ordered a cake of ice left here every day, and told the telephonecompany that you wanted a telephone put in. Oh, yes, and thebottled-milk man--I stopped in at a dairy on the way up. Now, what dowe do first?"

He took off his coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and plunged into theconfusion of crates and boxes that congested the rooms and hallways onthe first floor of the house. The two sisters could hear him attackinghis task with tremendous blows of the kitchen hammer. From time to timehe called up the stairway:

"Hey, what do you want done with this jardiniere thing? . .. Where doesthis hanging lamp go, Laura?"

Laura, having unpacked all the cut-glass ornaments, came down-stairs, and she and Landry set about hanging the parlour curtains. 

Landry fixed the tops of the window mouldings with a piercing eye, hisarms folded. 

"I see, I see, " he answered to Laura's explanations. "I see. Nowwhere's a screw-driver, and a step-ladder? Yes, and I'll have to havesome brass nails, and your hired man must let me have that hammeragain. "

He sent the cook after the screw-driver, called the hired man from thefurnace, shouted upstairs to Page to ask for the whereabouts of thebrass nails, and delegated Laura to steady the step-ladder. 

"Now, Landry, " directed Laura, "those rods want to be about threeinches from the top. "

"Well, " he said, climbing up, "I'll mark the place with the screw andyou tell me if it is right. "

She stepped back, her head to one side. 

"No; higher, Landry. There, that's about it--or a _little_ lower--so. That's just right. Come down now and help me put the hooks in. "

They pulled a number of sofa cushions together and sat down on thefloor side by side, Landry snapping the hooks in place where Laura hadgathered the pleats. Inevitably his hands touched hers, and their headsdrew close together. Page and Mrs. Wessels were unpacking linen in theupstairs hall. The cook and hired man raised a great noise of clankingstove lids and grates as they wrestled with the range in the kitchen. 

"Well, " said Landry, "you are going to have a pretty home. " He wasmeditating a phrase of which he purposed delivering himself whenopportunity afforded. It had to do with Laura's eyes, and her abilityof understanding him. She understood him; she was to know that hethought so, that it was of immense importance to him. It was thus heconceived of the manner of love making. The evening before thatpalavering artist seemed to have managed to monopolise her about all ofthe time. Now it was his turn, and this day of household affairs, oflittle domestic commotions, appeared to him to be infinitely moredesirous than the pomp and formality of evening dress and opera boxes. This morning the relations between himself and Laura seemed charming, intimate, unconventional, and full of opportunities. Never had sheappeared prettier to him. She wore a little pink flannel dressing-sackwith full sleeves, and her hair, carelessly twisted into great piles, was in a beautiful disarray, curling about her cheeks and ears. "Ididn't see anything of you at all last night, " he grumbled. 

"Well, you didn't try. "

"Oh, it was the Other Fellow's turn, " he went on. "Say, " he added, "howoften are you going to let me come to see you when you get settledhere? Twice a week--three times?"

"As if you wanted to see me as often as that. Why, Landry, I'm growingup to be an old maid. You can't want to lose your time calling on oldmaids. "

He was voluble in protestations. He was tired of young girls. They wereall very well to dance with, but when a man got too old for that sortof thing, he wanted some one with sense to talk to. Yes, he did. Someone with sense. Why, he would rather talk five minutes with her--

"Honestly, Landry?" she asked, as though he were telling a thingincredible. 

He swore to her it was true. His eyes snapped. He struck his palm withhis fist. 

"An old maid like me?" repeated Laura. 

"Old maid nothing!" he vociferated. "Ah, " he cried, "you seem tounderstand me. When I look at you, straight into your eyes--"

From the doorway the cook announced that the man with the last load offurnace coal had come, and handed Laura the voucher to sign. Then needsmust that Laura go with the cook to see if the range was finally andproperly adjusted, and while she was gone the man from the gas companycalled to turn on the meter, and Landry was obliged to look after him. It was half an hour before he and Laura could once more settlethemselves on the cushions in the parlour. 

"Such a lot of things to do, " she said; "and you are such a help, Landry. It was so dear of you to want to come. "

"I would do anything in the world for you, Laura, " he exclaimed, encouraged by her words; "anything. You know I would. It isn't so muchthat I want you to care for me--and I guess I want that bad enough--butit's because I love to be with you, and be helping you, and all thatsort of thing. Now, all this, " he waved a hand at the confusion offurniture, "all this to-day--I just feel, " he declared with tremendousearnestness, "I just feel as though I were entering into your life. Andjust sitting here beside you and putting in these curtain hooks, I wantyou to know that it's inspiring to me. Yes, it is, inspiring; it'selevating. You don't know how it makes a man feel to have thecompanionship of a good and lovely woman. "

"Landry, as though I were all that. Here, put another hook in here. "

She held the fold towards him. But he took her hand as their fingerstouched and raised it to his lips and kissed it. She did not withdrawit, nor rebuke him, crying out instead, as though occupied with quiteanother matter:

"Landry, careful, my dear boy; you'll make me prick my fingers. Ah--there, you did. "

He was all commiseration and self-reproach at once, and turned her handpalm upwards, looking for the scratch. 

"Um!" she breathed. "It hurts. "

"Where now, " he cried, "where was it? Ah, I was a beast; I'm soashamed. " She indicated a spot on her wrist instead of her fingers, andvery naturally Landry kissed it again. 

"How foolish!" she remonstrated. "The idea! As if I wasn't old enoughto be--"

"You're not so old but what you're going to marry me some day, " hedeclared. 

"How perfectly silly, Landry!" she retorted. "Aren't you done with myhand yet?"

"No, indeed, " he cried, his clasp tightening over her fingers. "It'smine. You can't have it till I say--or till you say that--someday--you'll give it to me for good--for better or for worse. "

"As if you really meant that, " she said, willing to prolong the littlesituation. It was very sweet to have this clean, fine-fibred young boyso earnestly in love with her, very sweet that the lifting of herfinger, the mere tremble of her eyelid should so perturb him. 

"Mean it! Mean it!" he vociferated. "You don't know how much I do meanit. Why, Laura, why--why, I can't think of anything else. "

"You!" she mocked. "As if I believed that. How many other girls haveyou said it to this year?"

Landry compressed his lips. 

"Miss Dearborn, you insult me. "

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Laura, at last withdrawing her hand. 

"And now you're mocking me. It isn't kind. No, it isn't; it isn't kind. "

"I never answered your question yet, " she observed. 

"What question?"

"About your coming to see me when we were settled. I thought you wantedto know. "

"How about lunch?" said Page, from the doorway. "Do you know it's aftertwelve?"

"The girl has got something for us, " said Laura. "I told her about it. Oh, just a pick-up lunch--coffee, chops. I thought we wouldn't botherto-day. We'll have to eat in the kitchen. "

"Well, let's be about it, " declared Landry, "and finish with thesecurtains afterward. Inwardly I'm a ravening wolf. "

It was past one o'clock by the time that luncheon, "picked up" thoughit was, was over. By then everybody was very tired. Aunt Wess'exclaimed that she could not stand another minute, and retired to herroom. Page, indefatigable, declaring they never would get settled ifthey let things dawdle along, set to work unpacking her trunk andputting her clothes away. Her fox terrier, whom the family, for obscurereasons, called the Pig, arrived in the middle of the afternoon in acrate, and shivering with the chill of the house, was tied up behindthe kitchen range, where, for all the heat, he still trembled andshuddered at long intervals, his head down, his eyes rolled up, bewildered and discountenanced by so much confusion and so many newfaces. 

Outside the weather continued lamentable. The rain beat down steadilyupon the heaps of snow on the grass-plats by the curbstones, meltingit, dirtying it, and reducing it to viscid slush. The sky was leadgrey; the trees, bare and black as though built of iron and wire, dripped incessantly. The sparrows, huddling under the house-eaves or ininterstices of the mouldings, chirped feebly from time to time, sittingdisconsolate, their feathers puffed out till their bodies assumedglobular shapes. Delivery wagons trundled up and down the street atintervals, the horses and drivers housed in oil-skins. 

The neighborhood was quiet. There was no sound of voices in thestreets. But occasionally, from far away in the direction of the riveror the Lake Front, came the faint sounds of steamer and tug whistles. The sidewalks in either direction were deserted. Only a solitarypoliceman, his star pinned to the outside of his dripping rubber coat, his helmet shedding rivulets, stood on the corner absorbed in thecontemplation of the brown torrent of the gutter plunging into a sewervent. 

Landry and Laura were in the library at the rear of the house, a smallroom, two sides of which were occupied with book-cases. They were busyputting the books in place. Laura stood half-way up the step-laddertaking volume after volume from Landry as he passed them to her. 

"Do you wipe them carefully, Landry?" she asked. 

He held a strip of cloth torn from an old sheet in his hand, and rubbedthe dust from each book before he handed it to her. 

"Yes, yes; very carefully, " he assured her. "Say, " he added, "where areall your modern novels? You've got Scott and Dickens and Thackeray, ofcourse, and Eliot--yes, and here's Hawthorne and Poe. But I haven'tstruck anything later than Oliver Wendell Holmes. "

Laura put up her chin. "Modern novels--no indeed. When I've yet to read'Jane Eyre, ' and have only read 'Ivanhoe' and 'The Newcomes' once. "

She made a point of the fact that her taste was the extreme ofconservatism, refusing to acknowledge hardly any fiction that was notalmost classic. Even Stevenson aroused her suspicions. 

"Well, here's 'The Wrecker, '" observed Landry, handing it up to her. "Iread it last summer-vacation at Waukesha. Just about took the top of myhead off. "

"I tried to read it, " she answered. "Such an outlandish story, no lovestory in it, and so coarse, so brutal, and then so improbable. Icouldn't get interested. "

But abruptly Landry uttered an exclamation:

"Well, what do you call this? 'Wanda, ' by Ouida. How is this formodern?"

She blushed to her hair, snatching the book from him. 

"Page brought it home. It's hers. "

But her confusion betrayed her, and Landry shouted derisively. 

"Well, I did read it then, " she suddenly declared defiantly. "No, I'mnot ashamed. Yes, I read it from cover to cover. It made me cry like Ihaven't cried over a book since I was a little tot. You can say whatyou like, but it's beautiful--a beautiful love story--and it does tellabout noble, unselfish people. I suppose it has its faults, but itmakes you feel better for reading it, and that's what all your'Wreckers' in the world would never do. "

"Well, " answered Landry, "I don't know much about that sort of thing. Corthell does. He can talk you blind about literature. I've heard himrun on by the hour. He says the novel of the future is going to be thenovel without a love story. "

But Laura nodded her head incredulously. 

"It will be long after I am dead--that's one consolation, " she said. 

"Corthell is full of crazy ideas anyhow, " Landry went on, stillcontinuing to pass the books up to her. "He's a good sort, and I likehim well enough, but he's the kind of man that gets up a reputation forbeing clever and artistic by running down the very one particular thingthat every one likes, and cracking up some book or picture or play thatno one has ever heard of. Just let anything get popular once andSheldon Corthell can't speak of it without shuddering. But he'll goover here to some Archer Avenue pawn shop, dig up an old brass stewpan, or coffee-pot that some greasy old Russian Jew has chucked away, andhe'll stick it up in his studio and regularly kow-tow to it, and talkabout the 'decadence of American industrial arts. ' I've heard him. Isay it's pure affectation, that's what it is, pure affectation. "

But the book-case meanwhile had been filling up, and now Laura remarked:

"No more, Landry. That's all that will go here. "

She prepared to descend from the ladder. In filling the higher shelvesshe had mounted almost to the topmost step. 

"Careful now, " said Landry, as he came forward. "Give me your hand. "

She gave it to him, and then, as she descended, Landry had theassurance to put his arm around her waist as if to steady her. He wassurprised at his own audacity, for he had premeditated nothing, and hisarm was about her before he was well aware. He yet found time toexperience a qualm of apprehension. Just how would Laura take it? Hadhe gone too far?

But Laura did not even seem to notice, all her attention apparentlyfixed upon coming safely down to the floor. She descended and shook outher skirts. 

"There, " she said, "that's over with. Look, I'm all dusty. "

There was a knock at the half-open door. It was the cook. 

"What are you going to have for supper, Miss Dearborn?" she inquired. "There's nothing in the house. "

"Oh, dear, " said Laura with sudden blankness, "I never thought ofsupper. Isn't there anything?"

"Nothing but some eggs and coffee. " The cook assumed an air ofaloofness, as if the entire affair were totally foreign to any interestor concern of hers. Laura dismissed her, saying that she would see toit. 

"We'll have to go out and get some things, " she said. "We'll all go. I'm tired of staying in the house. "

"No, I've a better scheme, " announced Landry. "I'll invite you all outto dine with me. I know a place where you can get the best steak inAmerica. It has stopped raining. See, " he showed her the window. 

"But, Landry, we are all so dirty and miserable. "

"We'll go right now and get there early. There will be nobody there, and we can have a room to ourselves. Oh, it's all right, " he declared. "You just trust me. "

"We'll see what Page and Aunt Wess' say. Of course Aunt Wess' wouldhave to come. "

"Of course, " he said. "I wouldn't think of asking you unless she couldcome. "

A little later the two sisters, Mrs. Wessels, and Landry came out ofthe house, but before taking their car they crossed to the oppositeside of the street, Laura having said that she wanted to note theeffect of her parlour curtains from the outside. 

"I think they are looped up just far enough, " she declared. But Landrywas observing the house itself. 

"It is the best-looking place on the block, " he answered. 

In fact, the house was not without a certain attractiveness. Itoccupied a corner lot at the intersection of Huron and North Statestreets. Directly opposite was St. James' Church, and at one time thehouse had served as the rectory. For the matter of that, it had beenbuilt for just that purpose. Its style of architecture was distantlyecclesiastic, with a suggestion of Gothic to some of the doors andwindows. The material used was solid, massive, the walls thick, thefoundation heavy. It did not occupy the entire lot, the originalbuilder seeming to have preferred garden space to mere amplitude ofconstruction, and in addition to the inevitable "back yard, " a lawnbordered it on three sides. It gave the place a certain air ofdistinction and exclusiveness. Vines grew thick upon the southernwalls; in the summer time fuchsias, geraniums, and pansies wouldflourish in the flower beds by the front stoop. The grass plat by thecurb boasted a couple of trees. The whole place was distinctive, individual, and very homelike, and came as a grateful relief to theendless lines of houses built of yellow Michigan limestone thatpervaded the rest of the neighbourhood in every direction. 

"I love the place, " exclaimed Laura. "I think it's as pretty a house asI have seen in Chicago. "

"Well, it isn't so spick and span, " commented Page. "It gives you theidea that we're not new-rich and showy and all. "

But Aunt Wess' was not yet satisfied. 

"_You_ may see, Laura, " she remarked, "how you are going to heat allthat house with that one furnace, but I declare I don't. "

Their car, or rather their train of cars, coupled together in threes, in Chicago style, came, and Landry escorted them down town. All the wayLaura could not refrain from looking out of the windows, absorbed inthe contemplation of the life and aspects of the streets. 

"You will give yourself away, " said Page. "Everybody will know you'refrom the country. "

"I am, " she retorted. "But there's a difference between just mere'country' and Massachusetts, and I'm not ashamed of it. "

Chicago, the great grey city, interested her at every instant and underevery condition. As yet she was not sure that she liked it; she couldnot forgive its dirty streets, the unspeakable squalor of some of itspoorer neighbourhoods that sometimes developed, like cancerous growths, in the very heart of fine residence districts. The black murk thatclosed every vista of the business streets oppressed her, and the sootthat stained linen and gloves each time she stirred abroad was anever-ending distress. 

But the life was tremendous. All around, on every side, in everydirection the vast machinery of Commonwealth clashed and thundered fromdawn to dark and from dark till dawn. Even now, as the car carried herfarther into the business quarter, she could hear it, see it, and feelin her every fibre the trepidation of its motion. The blackened watersof the river, seen an instant between stanchions as the car trundledacross the State Street bridge, disappeared under fleets of tugs, oflake steamers, of lumber barges from Sheboygan and Mackinac, of grainboats from Duluth, of coal scows that filled the air with impalpabledust, of cumbersome schooners laden with produce, of grimy rowboatsdodging the prows and paddles of the larger craft, while on all sides, blocking the horizon, red in color and designated by Brobdignagletters, towered the hump-shouldered grain elevators. 

Just before crossing the bridge on the north side of the river she hadcaught a glimpse of a great railway terminus. Down below there, rectilinear, scientifically paralleled and squared, the Yard discloseditself. A system of grey rails beyond words complicated opened out andspread immeasurably. Switches, semaphores, and signal towers stood hereand there. A dozen trains, freight and passenger, puffed and steamed, waiting the word to depart. Detached engines hurried in and out ofsheds and roundhouses, seeking their trains, or bunted the ponderousfreight cars into switches; trundling up and down, clanking, shrieking, their bells filling the air with the clangour of tocsins. Men invisored caps shouted hoarsely, waving their arms or red flags; drays, their big dappled horses, feeding in their nose bags, stood backed upto the open doors of freight cars and received their loads. A traindeparted roaring. Before midnight it would be leagues away boringthrough the Great Northwest, carrying Trade--the life blood ofnations--into communities of which Laura had never heard. Anothertrain, reeking with fatigue, the air brakes screaming, arrived andhalted, debouching a flood of passengers, business men, bringingTrade--a galvanising elixir--from the very ends and corners of thecontinent. 

Or, again, it was South Water Street--a jam of delivery wagons andmarket carts backed to the curbs, leaving only a tortuous path betweenthe endless files of horses, suggestive of an actual barrack ofcavalry. Provisions, market produce, "garden truck" and fruits, in aninfinite welter of crates and baskets, boxes, and sacks, crowded thesidewalks. The gutter was choked with an overflow of refuse cabbageleaves, soft oranges, decaying beet tops. The air was thick with theheavy smell of vegetation. Food was trodden under foot, food crammedthe stores and warehouses to bursting. Food mingled with the mud of thehighway. The very dray horses were gorged with an unending nourishmentof snatched mouthfuls picked from backboard, from barrel top, and fromthe edge of the sidewalk. The entire locality reeked with the fatnessof a hundred thousand furrows. A land of plenty, the inordinateabundance of the earth itself emptied itself upon the asphalt andcobbles of the quarter. It was the Mouth of the City, and drawn fromall directions, over a territory of immense area, this glut of crudesubsistence was sucked in, as if into a rapacious gullet, to feed thesinews and to nourish the fibres of an immeasurable colossus. 

Suddenly the meaning and significance of it all dawned upon Laura. TheGreat Grey City, brooking no rival, imposed its dominion upon a reachof country larger than many a kingdom of the Old World. For, thousandsof miles beyond its confines was its influence felt. Out, far out, faraway in the snow and shadow of Northern Wisconsin forests, axes andsaws bit the bark of century-old trees, stimulated by this city'senergy. Just as far to the southward pick and drill leaped to theassault of veins of anthracite, moved by her central power. Her forceturned the wheels of harvester and seeder a thousand miles distant inIowa and Kansas. Her force spun the screws and propellers ofinnumerable squadrons of lake steamers crowding the Sault Sainte Marie. For her and because of her all the Central States, all the GreatNorthwest roared with traffic and industry; sawmills screamed;factories, their smoke blackening the sky, clashed and flamed; wheelsturned, pistons leaped in their cylinders; cog gripped cog; beltingsclasped the drums of mammoth wheels; and converters of forges belchedinto the clouded air their tempest breath of molten steel. 

It was Empire, the resistless subjugation of all this central world ofthe lakes and the prairies. Here, mid-most in the land, beat the Heartof the Nation, whence inevitably must come its immeasurable power, itsinfinite, infinite, inexhaustible vitality. Here, of all her cities, throbbed the true life--the true power and spirit of America; gigantic, crude with the crudity of youth, disdaining rivalry; sane and healthyand vigorous; brutal in its ambition, arrogant in the new-foundknowledge of its giant strength, prodigal of its wealth, infinite inits desires. In its capacity boundless, in its courage indomitable;subduing the wilderness in a single generation, defying calamity, andthrough the flame and the debris of a commonwealth in ashes, risingsuddenly renewed, formidable, and Titanic. 

Laura, her eyes dizzied, her ears stunned, watched tirelessly. 

"There is something terrible about it, " she murmured, half to herself, "something insensate. In a way, it doesn't seem human. It's like agreat tidal wave. It's all very well for the individual just so long ashe can keep afloat, but once fallen, how horribly quick it would crushhim, annihilate him, how horribly quick, and with such horribleindifference! I suppose it's civilisation in the making, the thing thatisn't meant to be seen, as though it were too elemental, too--primordial; like the first verses of Genesis. "

The impression remained long with her, and not even the gaiety of theirlittle supper could altogether disperse it. She was a littlefrightened--frightened of the vast, cruel machinery of the city's life, and of the men who could dare it, who conquered it. For a moment theyseemed, in a sense, more terrible than the city itself--men for whomall this crash of conflict and commerce had no terrors. Those who couldsubdue it to their purposes, must they not be themselves more terrible, more pitiless, more brutal? She shrank a little. What could women everknow of the life of men, after all? Even Landry, extravagant as he was, so young, so exuberant, so seemingly innocent--she knew that he wasspoken of as a good business man. He, too, then had his other side. Forhim the Battle of the Street was an exhilaration. Beneath that boyishexterior was the tough coarseness, the male hardness, the callousnessthat met the brunt and withstood the shock of onset. 

Ah, these men of the city, what could women ever know of them, of theirlives, of that other existence through which--freed from the influenceof wife or mother, or daughter or sister--they passed every day fromnine o'clock till evening? It was a life in which women had no part, and in which, should they enter it, they would no longer recognise sonor husband, or father or brother. The gentle-mannered fellow, clean-minded, clean-handed, of the breakfast or supper table was oneman. The other, who and what was he? Down there in the murk and grimeof the business district raged the Battle of the Street, and therein hewas a being transformed, case hardened, supremely selfish, asking noquarter; no, nor giving any. Fouled with the clutchings and grapplingsof the attack, besmirched with the elbowing of low associates andobscure allies, he set his feet toward conquest, and mingled with themarchings of an army that surged forever forward and back; now inmerciless assault, beating the fallen enemy under foot, now in repulse, equally merciless, trampling down the auxiliaries of the day before, ina panic dash for safety; always cruel, always selfish, always pitiless. 

To contrast these men with such as Corthell was inevitable. Sheremembered him, to whom the business district was an unexploredcountry, who kept himself far from the fighting, his hands unstained, his feet unsullied. He passed his life gently, in the calm, stillatmosphere of art, in the cult of the beautiful, unperturbed, tranquil;painting, reading, or, piece by piece, developing his beautiful stainedglass. Him women could know, with him they could sympathise. And hecould enter fully into their lives and help and stimulate them. Of thetwo existences which did she prefer, that of the business man, or thatof the artist?

Then suddenly Laura surprised herself. After all, she was a daughter ofthe frontier, and the blood of those who had wrestled with a new worldflowed in her body. Yes, Corthell's was a beautiful life; the charm ofdim painted windows, the attraction of darkened studios with theirharmonies of color, their orientalisms, and their arabesques wasstrong. No doubt it all had its place. It fascinated her at times, inspite of herself. To relax the mind, to indulge the senses, to live inan environment of pervading beauty was delightful. But the men to whomthe woman in her turned were not those of the studio. Terrible as theBattle of the Street was, it was yet battle. Only the strong and thebrave might dare it, and the figure that held her imagination and hersympathy was not the artist, soft of hand and of speech, elaboratinggraces of sound and color and form, refined, sensitive, andtemperamental; but the fighter, unknown and un-knowable to women as hewas; hard, rigorous, panoplied in the harness of the warrior, whostrove among the trumpets, and who, in the brunt of conflict, conspicuous, formidable, set the battle in a rage around him, andexulted like a champion in the shoutings of the captains. 

They were not long at table, and by the time they were ready to departit was about half-past five. But when they emerged into the street, itwas discovered that once more the weather had abruptly changed. It wassnowing thickly. Again a bitter wind from off the Lake tore through thestreets. The slush and melted snow was freezing, and the north side ofevery lamp post and telegraph pole was sheeted with ice. 

To add to their discomfort, the North State Street cars were blocked. When they gained the corner of Washington Street they could see wherethe congestion began, a few squares distant. 

"There's nothing for it, " declared Landry, "but to go over and get theClarke Street cars--and at that you may have to stand up all the wayhome, at this time of day. "

They paused, irresolute, a moment on the corner. It was the centre ofthe retail quarter. Close at hand a vast dry goods house, built in theold "iron-front" style, towered from the pavement, and through itshundreds of windows presented to view a world of stuffs and fabrics, upholsteries and textiles, kaleidoscopic, gleaming in the fiercebrilliance of a multitude of lights. From each street doorway waspouring an army of "shoppers, " women for the most part; andthese--since the store catered to a rich clientele--fashionablydressed. Many of them stood for a moment on the threshold of thestorm-doorways, turning up the collars of their sealskins, settlingtheir hands in their muffs, and searching the street for their coupesand carriages. 

Among the number of those thus engaged, one, suddenly catching sight ofLaura, waved a muff in her direction, then came quickly forward. It wasMrs. Cressler. 

"Laura, my dearest girl! Of all the people. I am so glad to see you!"She kissed Laura on the cheek, shook hands all around, and asked aboutthe sisters' new home. Did they want anything, or was there anythingshe could do to help? Then interrupting herself, and laying a glove onLaura's arm:

"I've got more to tell you. "

She compressed her lips and stood off from Laura, fixing her with asignificant glance. 

"Me? To tell me?"

"Where are you going now?"

"Home; but our cars are stopped. We must go over to--"

"Fiddlesticks! You and Page and Mrs. Wessels--all of you are cominghome and dine with me. "

"But we've had dinner already, " they all cried, speaking at once. 

Page explained the situation, but Mrs. Cressler would not be denied. 

"The carriage is right here, " she said. "I don't have to call forCharlie. He's got a man from Cincinnati in tow, and they are going todine at the Calumet Club. "

It ended by the two sisters and Mrs. Wessels getting into Mrs. Cressler's carriage. Landry excused himself. He lived on the SouthSide, on Michigan Avenue, and declaring that he knew they had hadenough of him for one day, took himself off. 

But whatever Mrs. Cressler had to tell Laura, she evidently wasdetermined to save for her ears only. Arrived at the Dearborns' home, she sent her footman in to tell the "girl" that the family would not behome that night. The Cresslers lived hard by on the same street, andwithin ten minutes' walk of the Dearborns. The two sisters and theiraunt would be back immediately after breakfast. 

When they had got home with Mrs. Cressler, this latter suggested hottea and sandwiches in the library, for the ride had been cold. But theothers, worn out, declared for bed as soon as Mrs. Cressler herself haddined. 

"Oh, bless you, Carrie, " said Aunt Wess'; "I couldn't think of tea. Myback is just about broken, and I'm going straight to my bed. "

Mrs. Cressler showed them to their rooms. Page and Mrs. Wessels electedto sleep together, and once the door had closed upon them the littlegirl unburdened herself. 

"I suppose Laura thinks it's all right, running off like this for thewhole blessed night, and no one to look after the house but those twoservants that nobody knows anything about. As though there weren'theaven knows what all to tend to there in the morning. I just don'tsee, " she exclaimed decisively, "how we're going to get settled at all. That Landry Court! My goodness, he's more hindrance than help. Did youever see! He just dashes in as though he were doing it all, and messeseverything up, and loses things, and gets things into the wrong place, and forgets this and that, and then he and Laura sit down and spoon. Inever saw anything like it. First it's Corthell and then Landry, andnext it will be somebody else. Laura regularly mortifies me; a great, grown-up girl like that, flirting, and letting every man she meetsthink that he's just the one particular one of the whole earth. It'snot good form. And Landry--as if he didn't know we've got more to donow than just to dawdle and dawdle. I could slap him. I like to see aman take life seriously and try to amount to something, and not wastethe best years of his life trailing after women who are old enough tobe his grandmother, and don't mean that it will ever come to anything. "

In her room, in the front of the house, Laura was partly undressed whenMrs. Cressler knocked at her door. The latter had put on a wrapper offlowered silk, and her hair was bound in "invisible nets. "

"I brought you a dressing-gown, " she said. She hung it over the foot ofthe bed, and sat down on the bed itself, watching Laura, who stoodbefore the glass of the bureau, her head bent upon her breast, herhands busy with the back of her hair. From time to time the hairpinsclicked as she laid them down in the silver trays close at hand. Thenputting her chin in the air, she shook her head, and the great braids, unlooped, fell to her waist. 

"What pretty hair you have, child, " murmured Mrs. Cressler. She wassettling herself for a long talk with her protege. She had much totell, but now that they had the whole night before them, could affordto take her time. 

Between the two women the conversation began slowly, with detachedphrases and observations that did not call necessarily foranswers--mere beginnings that they did not care to follow up. 

"They tell me, " said Mrs. Cressler, "that that Gretry girl smokes tencigarettes every night before she goes to bed. You know theGretrys--they were at the opera the other night. "

Laura permitted herself an indefinite murmur of interest. Her head toone side, she drew the brush in slow, deliberate movements downwardunderneath the long, thick strands of her hair. Mrs. Cressler watchedher attentively. 

"Why don't you wear your hair that new way, Laura, " she remarked, "farther down on your neck? I see every one doing it now. "

The house was very still. Outside the double windows they could hearthe faint murmuring click of the frozen snow. A radiator in the hallwayclanked and strangled for a moment, then fell quiet again. 

"What a pretty room this is, " said Laura. "I think I'll have to do ourguest room something like this--a sort of white and gold effect. Myhair? Oh, I don't know. Wearing it low that way makes it catch so onthe hooks of your collar, and, besides, I was afraid it would make myhead look so flat. "

There was a silence. Laura braided a long strand, with quick, regularmotions of both hands, and letting it fall over her shoulder, shook itinto place with a twist of her head. She stepped out of her skirt, andMrs. Cressler handed her her dressing-gown, and brought out a pair ofquilted slippers of red satin from the wardrobe. 

In the grate, the fire that had been lighted just before they had comeupstairs was crackling sharply. Laura drew up an armchair and sat downin front of it, her chin in her hand. Mrs. Cressler stretched herselfupon the bed, an arm behind her head. 

"Well, Laura, " she began at length, "I have some real news for you. Mydear, I believe you've made a conquest. "

"I!" murmured Laura, looking around. She feigned a surprise, though sheguessed at once that Mrs. Cressler had Corthell in mind. 

"That Mr. Jadwin--the one you met at the opera. "

Genuinely taken aback, Laura sat upright and stared wide-eyed. 

"Mr. Jadwin!" she exclaimed. "Why, we didn't have five minutes' talk. Why, I hardly know the man. I only met him last night. "

But Mrs. Cressler shook her head, closing her eyes and putting her lipstogether. 

"That don't make any difference, Laura. Trust me to tell when a man istaken with a girl. My dear, you can have him as easy as that. " Shesnapped her fingers. 

"Oh, I'm sure you're mistaken, Mrs. Cressler. "

"Not in the least. I've known Curtis Jadwin now for fifteenyears--nobody better. He's as old a family friend as Charlie and Ihave. I know him like a book. And I tell you the man is in love withyou. "

"Well, I hope he didn't tell you as much, " cried Laura, promisingherself to be royally angry if such was the case. But Mrs. Cresslerhastened to reassure her. 

"Oh my, no. But all the way home last night--he came home with us, youknow--he kept referring to you, and just so soon as the conversationgot on some other subject he would lose interest. He wanted to know allabout you--oh, you know how a man will talk, " she exclaimed. "And hesaid you had more sense and more intelligence than any girl he had everknown. "

"Oh, well, " answered Laura deprecatingly, as if to say that that didnot count for much with her. 

"And that you were simply beautiful. He said that he never rememberedto have seen a more beautiful woman. "

Laura turned her head away, a hand shielding her cheek. She did notanswer immediately, then at length:

"Has he--this Mr. Jadwin--has he ever been married before?"

"No, no. He's a bachelor, and rich! He could buy and sell us. And don'tthink, Laura dear, that I'm jumping at conclusions. I hope I'm woman ofthe world enough to know that a man who's taken with a pretty face andsmart talk isn't going to rush right into matrimony because of that. Itwasn't so much what Curtis Jadwin said--though, dear me suz, he talkedenough about you--as what he didn't say. I could tell. He was thinkinghard. He was hit, Laura. I know he was. And Charlie said he spoke aboutyou again this morning at breakfast. Charlie makes me tired sometimes, "she added irrelevantly. 

"Charlie?" repeated Laura. 

"Well, of course I spoke to him about Jadwin, and how taken he seemedwith you, and the man roared at me. "

"_He_ didn't believe it, then. "

"Yes he did--when I could get him to talk seriously about it, and whenI made him remember how Mr. Jadwin had spoken in the carriage cominghome. "

Laura curled her leg under her and sat nursing her foot and lookinginto the fire. For a long time neither spoke. A little clock of brassand black marble began to chime, very prettily, the half hour of nine. Mrs. Cressler observed:

"That Sheldon Corthell seems to be a very agreeable kind of a youngman, doesn't he?"

"Yes, " replied Laura thoughtfully, "he is agreeable. "

"And a talented fellow, too, " continued Mrs. Cressler. "But somehow itnever impressed me that there was very much to him. "

"Oh, " murmured Laura indifferently, "I don't know. "

"I suppose, " Mrs. Cressler went on, in a tone of resignation, "Isuppose he thinks the world and all of _you?_"

Laura raised a shoulder without answering. 

"Charlie can't abide him, " said Mrs. Cressler. "Funny, isn't it whatprejudices men have? Charlie always speaks of him as though he were ahigher order of glazier. Curtis Jadwin seems to like him. .. . What doyou think of him, Laura--of Mr. Jadwin?"

"I don't know, " she answered, looking vaguely into the fire. "I thoughthe was a strong man--mentally I mean, and that he would be kindlyand--and--generous. Somehow, " she said, musingly, "I didn't think hewould be the sort of man that women would take to, at first--but then Idon't know. I saw very little of him, as I say. He didn't impress me asbeing a woman's man. "

"All the better, " said the other. "Who would want to marry a woman'sman? I wouldn't. Sheldon Corthell is that. I tell you one thing, Laura, and when you are as old as I am, you'll know it's true: the kind of aman that men like--not women--is the kind of a man that makes the besthusband. "

Laura nodded her head. 

"Yes, " she answered, listlessly, "I suppose that's true. "

"You said Jadwin struck you as being a kindly man, a generous man. He'sjust that, and that charitable! You know he has a Sunday-school over onthe West Side, a Sunday-school for mission children, and I do believehe's more interested in that than in his business. He wants to make itthe biggest Sunday-school in Chicago. It's an ambition of his. I don'twant you to think that he's good in a goody-goody way, because he'snot. Laura, " she exclaimed, "he's a fine man. I didn't intend to braghim up to you, because I wanted you to like him. But no one knows--as Isay--no one knows Curtis Jadwin better than Charlie and I, and we just_love_ him. The kindliest, biggest-hearted fellow--oh, well, you'llknow him for yourself, and then you'll see. He passes the plate in ourchurch. "

"Dr. Wendell's church?" asked Laura. 

"Yes you know--the Second Presbyterian. "

"I'm Episcopalian myself, " observed Laura, still thoughtfully gazinginto the fire. 

"I know, I know. But Jadwin isn't the blue-nosed sort. And now seehere, Laura, I want to tell you. J. --that's what Charlie and I callJadwin--J. Was talking to us the other day about supporting a ward inthe Children's Hospital for the children of his Sunday-school that gethurt or sick. You see he has nearly eight hundred boys and girls in hisschool, and there's not a week passes that he don't hear of some one ofthem who has been hurt or taken sick. And he wants to start a ward atthe Children's Hospital, that can take care of them. He says he wantsto get other people interested, too, and so he wants to start acontribution. He says he'll double any amount that's raised in the nextsix months--that is, if there's two thousand raised, he'll make it fourthousand; understand? And so Charlie and I and the Gretrys are going toget up an amateur play--a charity affair--and raise as much money as wecan. J. Thinks it's a good idea, and--here's the point--we were talkingabout it coming home in the carriage, and J. Said he wondered if thatMiss Dearborn wouldn't take part. And we are all wild to have you. Youknow you do that sort of thing so well. Now don't say yes or noto-night. You sleep over it. J. Is crazy to have you in it. "

"I'd love to do it, " answered Laura. "But I would have to see--it takesso long to get settled, and there's so much to do about a big houselike ours, I might not have time. But I will let you know. "

Mrs. Cressler told her in detail about the proposed play. Landry Courtwas to take part, and she enlisted Laura's influence to get SheldonCorthell to undertake a role. Page, it appeared, had already promisedto help. Laura remembered now that she had heard her speak of it. However, the plan was so immature as yet, that it hardly admitted ofvery much discussion, and inevitably the conversation came back to itsstarting-point. 

"You know, " Laura had remarked in answer to one of Mrs. Cressler'sobservations upon the capabilities and business ability of "J. , " "youknow I never heard of him before you spoke of our theatre party. Idon't know anything about him. "

But Mrs. Cressler promptly supplied the information. Curtis Jadwin wasa man about thirty-five, who had begun life without a sou in hispockets. He was a native of Michigan. His people were farmers, nothingmore nor less than hardy, honest fellows, who ploughed and sowed for aliving. Curtis had only a rudimentary schooling, because he had givenup the idea of finishing his studies in the High School in GrandRapids, on the chance of going into business with a livery stablekeeper. Then in time he had bought out the business and had run it forhimself. Some one in Chicago owed him money, and in default of paymenthad offered him a couple of lots on Wabash Avenue. That was how hehappened to come to Chicago. Naturally enough as the city grew theWabash Avenue property--it was near Monroe Street--increased in value. He sold the lots and bought other real estate, sold that and boughtsomewhere else, and so on, till he owned some of the best businesssites in the city. Just his ground rent alone brought him, heaven knewhow many thousands a year. He was one of the largest real estate ownersin Chicago. But he no longer bought and sold. His property had grown solarge that just the management of it alone took up most of his time. Hehad an office in the Rookery, and perhaps being so close to the Boardof Trade Building, had given him a taste for trying a little deal inwheat now and then. As a rule, he deplored speculation. He had no fixedprinciples about it, like Charlie. Only he was conservative;occasionally he hazarded small operations. Somehow he had nevermarried. There had been affairs. Oh, yes, one or two, of course. Nothing very serious, He just didn't seem to have met the right girl, that was all. He lived on Michigan Avenue, near the corner ofTwenty-first Street, in one of those discouraging eternal yellowlimestone houses with a basement dining-room. His aunt kept house forhim, and his nieces and nephews overran the place. There was always araft of them there, either coming or going; and the way they exploitedhim! He supported them all; heaven knew how many there were; such drabsand gawks, all elbows and knees, who soaked themselves with cologne andmade companions of the servants. They and the second girls were alwayssquabbling about their things that they found in each other's rooms. 

It was growing late. At length Mrs. Cressler rose. 

"My goodness, Laura, look at the time; and I've been keeping you upwhen you must be killed for sleep. "

She took herself away, pausing at the doorway long enough to say:

"Do try to manage to take part in the play. J. Made me promise that Iwould get you. "

"Well, I think I can, " Laura answered. "Only I'll have to see first howour new regime is going to run--the house I mean. "

When Mrs. Cressler had gone Laura lost no time in getting to bed. Butafter she turned out the gas she remembered that she had not "covered"the fire, a custom that she still retained from the daily round of herlife at Barrington. She did not light the gas again, but guided by thefirelight, spread a shovelful of ashes over the top of the grate. Yetwhen she had done this, she still knelt there a moment, lookingwide-eyed into the glow, thinking over the events of the lasttwenty-four hours. When all was said and done, she had, after all, found more in Chicago than the clash and trepidation of empire-making, more than the reverberation of the thunder of battle, more than thepiping and choiring of sweet music. 

First it had been Sheldon Corthell, quiet, persuasive, eloquent. ThenLandry Court with his exuberance and extravagance and boyishness, andnow--unexpectedly--behold, a new element had appeared--this other one, this man of the world, of affairs, mature, experienced, whom she hardlyknew. It was charming she told herself, exciting. Life never had seemedhalf so delightful. Romantic, she felt Romance, unseen, intangible, atwork all about her. And love, which of all things knowable was dearestto her, came to her unsought. 

Her first aversion to the Great Grey City was fast disappearing. Shesaw it now in a kindlier aspect. 

"I think, " she said at last, as she still knelt before the fire, looking deep into the coals, absorbed, abstracted, "I think that I amgoing to be very happy here. "

III

On a certain Monday morning, about a month later, Curtis Jadwindescended from his office in the Rookery Building, and turningsouthward, took his way toward the brokerage and commission office ofGretry, Converse and Co. , on the ground floor of the Board of TradeBuilding, only a few steps away. 

It was about nine o'clock; the weather was mild, the sun shone. LaSalle Street swarmed with the multitudinous life that seethed about thedoors of the innumerable offices of brokers and commission men of theneighbourhood. To the right, in the peristyle of the Illinois TrustBuilding, groups of clerks, of messengers, of brokers, of clients, andof depositors formed and broke incessantly. To the left, where thefacade of the Board of Trade blocked the street, the activity wasastonishing, and in and out of the swing doors of its entrance streamedan incessant tide of coming and going. All the life of theneighbourhood seemed to centre at this point--the entrance of the Boardof Trade. Two currents that trended swiftly through La Salle andJackson streets, and that fed, or were fed by, other tributaries thatpoured in through Fifth Avenue and through Clarke and Dearborn streets, met at this point--one setting in, the other out. The nearer thecurrents the greater their speed. Men--mere flotsam in the flood--asthey turned into La Salle Street from Adams or from Monroe, or evenfrom as far as Madison, seemed to accelerate their pace as theyapproached. At the Illinois Trust the walk became a stride, at theRookery the stride was almost a trot. But at the corner of JacksonStreet, the Board of Trade now merely the width of the street away, thetrot became a run, and young men and boys, under the pretence ofescaping the trucks and wagons of the cobbles, dashed across at averitable gallop, flung themselves panting into the entrance of theBoard, were engulfed in the turmoil of the spot, and disappeared with asudden fillip into the gloom of the interior. 

Often Jadwin had noted the scene, and, unimaginative though he was, hadlong since conceived the notion of some great, some resistless forcewithin the Board of Trade Building that held the tide of the streetswithin its grip, alternately drawing it in and throwing it forth. Within there, a great whirlpool, a pit of roaring waters spun andthundered, sucking in the life tides of the city, sucking them in asinto the mouth of some tremendous cloaca, the maw of some colossalsewer; then vomiting them forth again, spewing them up and out, only tocatch them in the return eddy and suck them in afresh. 

Thus it went, day after day. Endlessly, ceaselessly the Pit, enormous, thundering, sucked in and spewed out, sending the swirl of its mightycentral eddy far out through the city's channels. Terrible at thecentre, it was, at the circumference, gentle, insidious and persuasive, the send of the flowing so mild, that to embark upon it, yielding tothe influence, was a pleasure that seemed all devoid of risk. But thecircumference was not bounded by the city. All through the Northwest, all through the central world of the Wheat the set and whirl of thatinnermost Pit made itself felt; and it spread and spread and spreadtill grain in the elevators of Western Iowa moved and stirred andanswered to its centripetal force, and men upon the streets of New Yorkfelt the mysterious tugging of its undertow engage their feet, embracetheir bodies, overwhelm them, and carry them bewildered and unresistingback and downwards to the Pit itself. 

Nor was the Pit's centrifugal power any less. Because of some suddeneddy spinning outward from the middle of its turmoil, a dozen boursesof continental Europe clamoured with panic, a dozen Old-World banks, firm as the established hills, trembled and vibrated. Because of anunexpected caprice in the swirling of the inner current, somefar-distant channel suddenly dried, and the pinch of famine made itselffelt among the vine dressers of Northern Italy, the coal miners ofWestern Prussia. Or another channel filled, and the starved moujik ofthe steppes, and the hunger-shrunken coolie of the Ganges' watershedfed suddenly fat and made thank offerings before ikon and idol. 

There in the centre of the Nation, midmost of that continent that laybetween the oceans of the New World and the Old, in the heart's heartof the affairs of men, roared and rumbled the Pit. It was as if theWheat, Nourisher of the Nations, as it rolled gigantic and majestic ina vast flood from West to East, here, like a Niagara, finding its flowimpeded, burst suddenly into the appalling fury of the Maelstrom, intothe chaotic spasm of a world-force, a primeval energy, blood-brother ofthe earthquake and the glacier, raging and wrathful that its powershould be braved by some pinch of human spawn that dared raise barriersacross its courses. 

Small wonder that Cressler laughed at the thought of cornering wheat, and even now as Jadwin crossed Jackson Street, on his way to hisbroker's office on the lower floor of the Board of Trade Building, henoted the ebb and flow that issued from its doors, and remembered thehuge river of wheat that rolled through this place from the farms ofIowa and ranches of Dakota to the mills and bakeshops of Europe. 

"There's something, perhaps, in what Charlie says, " he said to himself. "Corner this stuff--my God!"

Gretry, Converse & Co. Was the name of the brokerage firm that alwayshandled Jadwin's rare speculative ventures. Converse was dead longsince, but the firm still retained its original name. The house was asold and as well established as any on the Board of Trade. It had areputation for conservatism, and was known more as a Bear than a Bullconcern. It was immensely wealthy and immensely important. Itdiscouraged the growth of a clientele of country customers, of smalladventurers, knowing well that these were the first to go in a crash, unable to meet margin calls, and leaving to their brokers theresponsibility of their disastrous trades. The large, powerful Bearswere its friends, the Bears strong of grip, tenacious of jaw, capableof pulling down the strongest Bull. Thus the firm had no considerationfor the "outsiders, " the "public"--the Lambs. The Lambs! Such a herd, timid, innocent, feeble, as much out of place in La Salle Street as apuppy in a cage of panthers; the Lambs, whom Bull and Bear did not somuch as condescend to notice, but who, in their mutual struggle of hornand claw, they crushed to death by the mere rolling of their bodies. 

Jadwin did not go directly into Gretry's main office, but instead madehis way in at the entrance of the Board of Trade Building, and going onpast the stairways that on either hand led up to the "Floor" on thesecond story, entered the corridor beyond, and thence gained thecustomers' room of Gretry, Converse & Co. All the more importantbrokerage firms had offices on the ground floor of the building, offices that had two entrances, one giving upon the street, and oneupon the corridor of the Board. Generally the corridor entranceadmitted directly to the firm's customers' room. This was the case withthe Gretry-Converse house. 

Once in the customers' room, Jadwin paused, looking about him. 

He could not tell why Gretry had so earnestly desired him to come tohis office that morning, but he wanted to know how wheat was sellingbefore talking to the broker. The room was large, and but for thelighted gas, burning crudely without globes, would have been dark. Allone wall opposite the door was taken up by a great blackboard coveredwith chalked figures in columns, and illuminated by a row of overheadgas jets burning under a tin reflector. Before this board files ofchairs were placed, and these were occupied by groups of nondescripts, shabbily dressed men, young and old, with tired eyes and unhealthycomplexions, who smoked and expectorated, or engaged in interminableconversations. 

In front of the blackboard, upon a platform, a young man inshirt-sleeves, his cuffs caught up by metal clamps, walked up and down. Screwed to the blackboard itself was a telegraph instrument, and fromtime to time, as this buzzed and ticked, the young man chalked upcabalistic, and almost illegible figures under columns headed byinitials of certain stocks and bonds, or by the words "Pork, " "Oats, "or, larger than all the others, "May Wheat. " The air of the room wasstale, close, and heavy with tobacco fumes. The only noises were thelow hum of conversations, the unsteady click of the telegraph key, andthe tapping of the chalk in the marker's fingers. 

But no one in the room seemed to pay the least attention to theblackboard. One quotation replaced another, and the key and the chalkclicked and tapped incessantly. The occupants of the room, sunk intheir chairs, seemed to give no heed; some even turned their backs;one, his handkerchief over his knee, adjusted his spectacles, andopening a newspaper two days old, began to read with peeringdeliberation, his lips forming each word. These nondescripts gatheredthere, they knew not why. Every day found them in the same place, always with the same fetid, unlighted cigars, always with the samefrayed newspapers two days old. There they sat, inert, stupid, theirdecaying senses hypnotised and soothed by the sound of the distantrumble of the Pit, that came through the ceiling from the floor of theBoard overhead. 

One of these figures, that of a very old man, blear-eyed, decrepit, dirty, in a battered top hat and faded frock coat, discoloured andweather-stained at the shoulders, seemed familiar to Jadwin. Itrecalled some ancient association, he could not say what. But he wasunable to see the old man's face distinctly; the light was bad, and hesat with his face turned from him, eating a sandwich, which he held ina trembling hand. 

Jadwin, having noted that wheat was selling at 94, went away, glad tobe out of the depressing atmosphere of the room. 

Gretry was in his office, and Jadwin was admitted at once. He sat downin a chair by the broker's desk, and for the moment the two talked oftrivialities. Gretry was a large, placid, smooth-faced man, stolid asan ox; inevitably dressed in blue serge, a quill tooth-pick behind hisear, a Grand Army button in his lapel. He and Jadwin were intimates. The two had come to Chicago almost simultaneously, and had risentogether to become the wealthy men they were at the moment. Theybelonged to the same club, lunched together every day at Kinsley's, andtook each other driving behind their respective trotters on alternateSaturday afternoons. In the middle of summer each stole a fortnightfrom his business, and went fishing at Geneva Lake in Wisconsin. 

"I say, " Jadwin observed, "I saw an old fellow outside in yourcustomers' room just now that put me in mind of Hargus. You rememberthat deal of his, the one he tried to swing before he died. Oh--howlong ago was that? Bless my soul, that must have been fifteen, yestwenty years ago. "

The deal of which Jadwin spoke was the legendary operation of the Boardof Trade--a mammoth corner in September wheat, manipulated by this sameHargus, a millionaire, who had tripled his fortune by the corner, andhad lost it by some chicanery on the part of his associate beforeanother year. He had run wheat up to nearly two dollars, had been inhis day a king all-powerful. Since then all deals had been spoken of interms of the Hargus affair. Speculators said, "It was almost as bad asthe Hargus deal. " "It was like the Hargus smash. " "It was as big athing as the Hargus corner. " Hargus had become a sort of creature oflegends, mythical, heroic, transfigured in the glory of his millions. 

"Easily twenty years ago, " continued Jadwin. "If Hargus could come tolife now, he'd be surprised at the difference in the way we do businessthese days. Twenty years. Yes, it's all of that. I declare, Sam, we'regetting old, aren't we?"

"I guess that was Hargus you saw out there, " answered the broker. "He'snot dead. Old fellow in a stove-pipe and greasy frock coat? Yes, that'sHargus. "

"What!" exclaimed Jadwin. "_That_ Hargus?"

"Of course it was. He comes 'round every day. The clerks give him adollar every now and then. "

"And he's not dead? And that was Hargus, that wretched, broken--whew! Idon't want to think of it, Sam!" And Jadwin, taken all aback, sat for amoment speechless. 

"Yes, sir, " muttered the broker grimly, "that was Hargus. "

There was a long silence. Then at last Gretry exclaimed briskly:

"Well, here's what I want to see you about. "

He lowered his voice: "You know I've got a correspondent or two atParis--all the brokers have--and we make no secret as to who they are. But I've had an extra man at work over there for the last six months, very much on the quiet. I don't mind telling you this much--that he'snot the least important member of the United States Legation. Well, nowand then he is supposed to send me what the reporters call "exclusivenews"--that's what I feed him for, and I could run a private steamyacht on what it costs me. But news I get from him is a day or so inadvance of everybody else. He hasn't sent me anything very importanttill this morning. This here just came in. "

He picked up a despatch from his desk and read:

"'Utica--headquarters--modification--organic--concomitant--within onemonth, ' which means, " he added, "this. I've just deciphered it, " and hehanded Jadwin a slip of paper on which was written:

"Bill providing for heavy import duties on foreign grains certain to beintroduced in French Chamber of Deputies within one month. "

"Have you got it?" he demanded of Jadwin, as he took the slip back. "Won't forget it?" He twisted the paper into a roll and burned itcarefully in the office cuspidor. 

"Now, " he remarked, "do you come in? It's just the two of us, J. , and Ithink we can make that Porteous clique look very sick. "

"Hum!" murmured Jadwin surprised. "That does give you a twist on thesituation. But to tell the truth, Sam, I had sort of made up my mind tokeep out of speculation since my last little deal. A man gets into thisgame, and into it, and into it, and before you know he can't pullout--and he don't want to. Next he gets his nose scratched, and he hitsback to make up for it, and just hits into the air and loses hisbalance--and down he goes. I don't want to make any more money, Sam. I've got my little pile, and before I get too old I want to have somefun out of it. "

"But lord love you, J. , " objected the other, "this ain't speculation. You can see for yourself how sure it is. I'm not a baby at thisbusiness, am I? You'll let me know something of this game, won't you?And I tell you, J. , it's found money. The man that sells wheat short onthe strength of this has as good as got the money in his vest pocketalready. Oh, nonsense, of course you'll come in. I've been laying forthat Bull gang since long before the Helmick failure, and now I've gotit right where I want it. Look here, J. , you aren't the man to throwmoney away. You'd buy a business block if you knew you could sell itover again at a profit. Now here's the chance to make really a fineBear deal. Why, as soon as this news gets on the floor there, the pricewill bust right down, and down, and down. Porteous and his crowdcouldn't keep it up to save 'em from the receiver's hand one singleminute. "

"I know, Sam, " answered Jadwin, "and the trouble is, not that I don'twant to speculate, but that I do--too much. That's why I said I'd keepout of it. It isn't so much the money as the fun of playing the game. With half a show, I would get in a little more and a little more, tillby and by I'd try to throw a big thing, and instead, the big thingwould throw me. Why, Sam, when you told me that that wreck out theremumbling a sandwich was Hargus, it made me turn cold. "

"Yes, in your feet, " retorted Gretry. "I'm not asking you to risk allyour money, am I, or a fifth of it, or a twentieth of it? Don't be anass, J. Are we a conservative house, or aren't we? Do I talk like thiswhen I'm not sure? Look here. Let me sell a million bushels for you. Yes, I know it's a bigger order than I've handled for you before. Butthis time I want to go right into it, head down and heels up, and get atwist on those Porteous buckoes, and raise 'em right out of theirboots. We get a crop report this morning, and if the visible supply isas large as I think it is, the price will go off and unsettle the wholemarket. I'll sell short for you at the best figures we can get, and youcan cover on the slump any time between now and the end of May. "

Jadwin hesitated. In spite of himself he felt a Chance had come. Againthat strange sixth sense of his, the inexplicable instinct, that onlythe born speculator knows, warned him. Every now and then during thecourse of his business career, this intuition came to him, this flair, this intangible, vague premonition, this presentiment that he mustseize Opportunity or else Fortune, that so long had stayed at hiselbow, would desert him. In the air about him he seemed to feel aninfluence, a sudden new element, the presence of a new force. It wasLuck, the great power, the great goddess, and all at once it hadstooped from out the invisible, and just over his head passed swiftlyin a rush of glittering wings. 

"The thing would have to be handled like glass, " observed the brokerthoughtfully, his eyes narrowing "A tip like this is public property intwenty-four hours, and it don't give us any too much time. I don't wantto break the price by unloading a million or more bushels on 'em all ofa sudden. I'll scatter the orders pretty evenly. You see, " he added, "here's a big point in our favor. We'll be able to sell on a strongmarket. The Pit traders have got some crazy war rumour going, andthey're as flighty over it as a young ladies' seminary over a great bigrat. And even without that, the market is top-heavy. Porteous makes meweary. He and his gang have been bucking it up till we've got anabnormal price. Ninety-four for May wheat! Why, it's ridiculous. Oughtto be selling way down in the eighties. The least little jolt would tipher over. Well, " he said abruptly, squaring himself at Jadwin, "do wecome in? If that same luck of yours is still in working order, here'syour chance, J. , to make a killing. There's just that gilt-edged, full-morocco chance that a report of big 'visible' would give us. "

Jadwin laughed. "Sam, " he said, "I'll flip a coin for it. "

"Oh, get out, " protested the broker; then suddenly--the gamblinginstinct that a lifetime passed in that place had cultivated inhim--exclaimed:

"All right. Flip a coin. But give me your word you'll stay by it. Headsyou come in; tails you don't. Will you give me your word?"

"Oh, I don't know about that, " replied Jadwin, amused at thefoolishness of the whole proceeding. But as he balanced the half-dollaron his thumb-nail, he was all at once absolutely assured that it wouldfall heads. He flipped it in the air, and even as he watched it spin, said to himself, "It will come heads. It could not possibly be anythingelse. I know it will be heads. "

And as a matter of course the coin fell heads. 

"All right, " he said, "I'll come in. "

"For a million bushels?"

"Yes--for a million. How much in margins will you want?"

Gretry figured a moment on the back of an envelope. 

"Fifty thousand dollars, " he announced at length. 

Jadwin wrote the check on a corner of the broker's desk, and held it amoment before him. 

"Good-bye, " he said, apostrophising the bit of paper. "Good-bye. Ine'er shall look upon your like again. "

Gretry did not laugh. 

"Huh!" he grunted. "You'll look upon a hatful of them before the monthis out. "

That same morning Landry Court found himself in the corridor on theground floor of the Board of Trade about nine o'clock. He had just comeout of the office of Gretry, Converse & Co. , where he and the other Pittraders for the house had been receiving their orders for the day. 

As he was buying a couple of apples at the news stand at the end of thecorridor, Semple and a young Jew named Hirsch, Pit traders for smallfirms in La Salle Street, joined him. 

"Hello, Court, what do you know?"

"Hello, Barry Semple! Hello, Hirsch!" Landry offered the halves of hissecond apple, and the three stood there a moment, near the foot of thestairs, talking and eating their apples from the points of theirpenknives. 

"I feel sort of seedy this morning, " Semple observed between mouthfuls. "Was up late last night at a stag. A friend of mine just got back fromEurope, and some of the boys were giving him a little dinner. He wasall over the shop, this friend of mine; spent most of his time inConstantinople; had some kind of newspaper business there. It seemsthat it's a pretty crazy proposition, Turkey and the Sultan and allthat. He said that there was nearly a row over the 'Higgins-Pasha'incident, and that the British agent put it pretty straight to theSultan's secretary. My friend said Constantinople put him in mind of alot of opera bouffe scenery that had got spilled out in the mud. Say, Court, he said the streets were dirtier than the Chicago streets. "

"Oh, come now, " said Hirsch. 

"Fact! And the dogs! He told us he knows now where all the yellow dogsgo to when they die. "

"But say, " remarked Hirsch, "what is that about the Higgins-Pashabusiness? I thought that was over long ago. "

"Oh, it is, " answered Semple easily. He looked at his watch. "I guessit's about time to go up, pretty near half-past nine. "

The three mounted the stairs, mingling with the groups of floor traderswho, in steadily increasing numbers, had begun to move in the samedirection. But on the way Hirsch was stopped by his brother. 

"Hey, I got that box of cigars for you. "

Hirsch paused. "Oh! All right, " he said, then he added: "Say, how aboutthat Higgins-Pasha affair? You remember that row between England andTurkey. They tell me the British agent in Constantinople put it prettystraight to the Sultan the other day. "

The other was interested. "He did, hey?" he said. "The market hasn'tfelt it, though. Guess there's nothing to it. But there's Kelly yonder. He'd know. He's pretty thick with Porteous' men. Might ask him. "

"You ask him and let me know. I got to go on the floor. It's nearlytime for the gong. "

Hirsch's brother found Kelly in the centre of a group of settlementclerks. 

"Say, boy, " he began, "you ought to know. They tell me there may betrouble between England and Turkey over the Higgins-Pasha incident, andthat the British Foreign Office has threatened the Sultan with anultimatum. I can see the market if that's so. "

"Nothing in it, " retorted Kelly. "But I'll find out--to make sure, byjingo. "

Meanwhile Landry had gained the top of the stairs, and turning to theright, passed through a great doorway, and came out upon the floor ofthe Board of Trade. 

It was a vast enclosure, lighted on either side by great windows ofcoloured glass, the roof supported by thin iron pillars elaboratelydecorated. To the left were the bulletin blackboards, and beyond these, in the northwest angle of the floor, a great railed-in space where theWestern Union Telegraph was installed. To the right, on the other sideof the room, a row of tables, laden with neatly arranged paper bagshalf full of samples of grains, stretched along the east wall from thedoorway of the public room at one end to the telephone room at theother. 

The centre of the floor was occupied by the pits. To the left and tothe front of Landry the provision pit, to the right the corn pit, whilefurther on at the north extremity of the floor, and nearly under thevisitors' gallery, much larger than the other two, and flanked by thewicket of the official recorder, was the wheat pit itself. 

Directly opposite the visitors' gallery, high upon the south wall agreat dial was affixed, and on the dial a marking hand that indicatedthe current price of wheat, fluctuating with the changes made in thePit. Just now it stood at ninety-three and three-eighths, the closingquotation of the preceding day. 

As yet all the pits were empty. It was some fifteen minutes after nine. Landry checked his hat and coat at the coat room near the northentrance, and slipped into an old tennis jacket of striped blueflannel. Then, hatless, his hands in his pockets, he leisurely crossedthe floor, and sat down in one of the chairs that were ranged in filesupon the floor in front of the telegraph enclosure. He scrutinisedagain the despatches and orders that he held in his hands; then, havingfixed them in his memory, tore them into very small bits, lookingvaguely about the room, developing his plan of campaign for the morning. 

In a sense Landry Court had a double personality. Away from theneighbourhood and influence of La Salle Street, he was"rattle-brained, " absent-minded, impractical, and easily excited, thelast fellow in the world to be trusted with any businessresponsibility. But the thunder of the streets around the Board ofTrade, and, above all, the movement and atmosphere of the floor itselfawoke within him a very different Landry Court; a whole new set ofnerves came into being with the tap of the nine-thirty gong, a wholenew system of brain machinery began to move with the first figurecalled in the Pit. And from that instant until the close of thesession, no floor trader, no broker's clerk nor scalper was more alert, more shrewd, or kept his head more surely than the same young fellowwho confused his social engagements for the evening of the same day. The Landry Court the Dearborn girls knew was a far different young manfrom him who now leaned his elbows on the arms of the chair upon thefloor of the Board, and, his eyes narrowing, his lips tightening, beganto speculate upon what was to be the temper of the Pit that morning. 

Meanwhile the floor was beginning to fill up. Over in the railed-inspace, where the hundreds of telegraph instruments were in place, theoperators were arriving in twos and threes. They hung their hats andulsters upon the pegs in the wall back of them, and in linen coats, orin their shirt-sleeves, went to their seats, or, sitting upon theirtables, called back and forth to each other, joshing, cracking jokes. Some few addressed themselves directly to work, and here and there theintermittent clicking of a key began, like a diligent cricket buskinghimself in advance of its mates. 

From the corridors on the ground floor up through the south doors camethe pit traders in increasing groups. The noise of footsteps began toecho from the high vaulting of the roof. A messenger boy crossed thefloor chanting an unintelligible name. 

The groups of traders gradually converged upon the corn and wheat pits, and on the steps of the latter, their arms crossed upon their knees, two men, one wearing a silk skull cap all awry, conversed earnestly inlow tones. 

Winston, a great, broad-shouldered bass-voiced fellow of somethirty-five years, who was associated with Landry in executing theorders of the Gretry-Converse house, came up to him, and, omitting anysalutation, remarked, deliberately, slowly:

"What's all this about this trouble between Turkey and England?"

But before Landry could reply a third trader for the Gretry Companyjoined the two. This was a young fellow named Rusbridge, lean, black-haired, a constant excitement glinting in his deep-set eyes. 

"Say, " he exclaimed, "there's something in that, there's something inthat!"

"Where did you hear it?" demanded Landry. 

"Oh--everywhere. " Rusbridge made a vague gesture with one arm. "Hirschseemed to know all about it. It appears that there's talk of mobilisingthe Mediterranean squadron. Darned if I know. "

"Might ask that 'Inter-Ocean' reporter. He'd be likely to know. I'veseen him 'round here this morning, or you might telephone theAssociated Press, " suggested Landry. "The office never said a word tome. "

"Oh, the 'Associated. ' They know a lot always, don't they?" jeeredWinston. "Yes, I rung 'em up. They 'couldn't confirm the rumour. 'That's always the way. You can spend half a million a year in leasedwires and special service and subscriptions to news agencies, and youget the first smell of news like this right here on the floor. Rememberthat time when the Northwestern millers sold a hundred and fiftythousand barrels at one lick? The floor was talking of it three hoursbefore the news slips were sent 'round, or a single wire was in. Suppose we had waited for the Associated people or the Commercialpeople then?"

"It's that Higgins-Pasha incident, I'll bet, " observed Rusbridge, hiseyes snapping. 

"I heard something about that this morning, " returned Landry. "But onlythat it was--"

"There! What did I tell you?" interrupted Rusbridge. "I said it waseverywhere. There's no smoke without some fire. And I wouldn't be a bitsurprised if we get cables before noon that the British War Office hadsent an ultimatum. "

And very naturally a few minutes later Winston, at that time standingon the steps of the corn pit, heard from a certain broker, who had itfrom a friend who had just received a despatch from some one "in theknow, " that the British Secretary of State for War had forwarded anultimatum to the Porte, and that diplomatic relations between Turkeyand England were about to be suspended. 

All in a moment the entire Floor seemed to be talking of nothing else, and on the outskirts of every group one could overhear the words:"Seizure of custom house, " "ultimatum, " "Eastern question, ""Higgins-Pasha incident. " It was the rumour of the day, and before verylong the pit traders began to receive a multitude of despatchescountermanding selling orders, and directing them not to close outtrades under certain very advanced quotations. The brokers began wiringtheir principals that the market promised to open strong and bullish. 

But by now it was near to half-past nine. From the Western Union desksthe clicking of the throng of instruments rose into the air in anincessant staccato stridulation. The messenger boys ran back and forthat top speed, dodging in and out among the knots of clerks and traders, colliding with one another, and without interruption intoning the namesof those for whom they had despatches. The throng of tradersconcentrated upon the pits, and at every moment the deep-toned hum ofthe murmur of many voices swelled like the rising of a tide. 

And at this moment, as Landry stood on the rim of the wheat pit, looking towards the telephone booth under the visitors' gallery, he sawthe osseous, stoop-shouldered figure of Mr. Cressler--who, though henever speculated, appeared regularly upon the Board everymorning--making his way towards one of the windows in the front of thebuilding. His pocket was full of wheat, taken from a bag on one of thesample tables. Opening the window, he scattered the grain upon thesill, and stood for a long moment absorbed and interested in thedazzling flutter of the wings of innumerable pigeons who came to settleupon the ledge, pecking the grain with little, nervous, fastidious tapsof their yellow beaks. 

Landry cast a glance at the clock beneath the dial on the wall behindhim. It was twenty-five minutes after nine. He stood in his accustomedplace on the north side of the Wheat Pit, upon the topmost stair. ThePit was full. Below him and on either side of him were the brokers, scalpers, and traders--Hirsch, Semple, Kelly, Winston, and Rusbridge. The redoubtable Leaycraft, who, bidding for himself, was supposed tohold the longest line of May wheat of any one man in the Pit, theinsignificant Grossmann, a Jew who wore a flannel shirt, and to whoseoutcries no one ever paid the least attention. Fairchild, Paterson, andGoodlock, the inseparable trio who represented the Porteous gang, silent men, middle-aged, who had but to speak in order to buy or sell amillion bushels on the spot. And others, and still others, veterans ofsixty-five, recruits just out of their teens, men who--some of them--inthe past had for a moment dominated the entire Pit, but who now werecontent to play the part of "eighth-chasers, " buying and selling on thesame day, content with a profit of ten dollars. Others who might atthat very moment be nursing plans which in a week's time would makethem millionaires; still others who, under a mask of nonchalance, strove to hide the chagrin of yesterday's defeat. And they were there, ready, inordinately alert, ears turned to the faintest sound, eyessearching for the vaguest trace of meaning in those of their rivals, nervous, keyed to the highest tension, ready to thrust deep into theslightest opening, to spring, mercilessly, upon the smallest undefendedspot. Grossmann, the little Jew of the grimy flannel shirt, perspiredin the stress of the suspense, all but powerless to maintain silencetill the signal should be given, drawing trembling fingers across hismouth. Winston, brawny, solid, unperturbed, his hands behind his back, waited immovably planted on his feet with all the gravity of a statue, his eyes preternaturally watchful, keeping Kelly--whom he had divinedhad some "funny business" on hand--perpetually in sight. The Porteoustrio--Fairchild, Paterson, and Goodlock--as if unalarmed, unassailable, all but turned their backs to the Pit, laughing among themselves. 

The official reporter climbed to his perch in the little cage on theedge of the Pit, shutting the door after him. By now the chanting ofthe messenger boys was an uninterrupted chorus. From all sides of thebuilding, and in every direction they crossed and recrossed each other, always running, their hands full of yellow envelopes. From thetelephone alcoves came the prolonged, musical rasp of the call bells. In the Western Union booths the keys of the multitude of instrumentsraged incessantly. Bare-headed young men hurried up to one another, conferred an instant comparing despatches, then separated, darting awayat top speed. Men called to each other half-way across the building. Over by the bulletin boards clerks and agents made careful memoranda ofprimary receipts, and noted down the amount of wheat on passage, theexports and the imports. 

And all these sounds, the chatter of the telegraph, the intoning of themessenger boys, the shouts and cries of clerks and traders, the shuffleand trampling of hundreds of feet, the whirring of telephone signalsrose into the troubled air, and mingled overhead to form a vast note, prolonged, sustained, that reverberated from vault to vault of the airyroof, and issued from every doorway, every opened window in one longroll of uninterrupted thunder. In the Wheat Pit the bids, no longerobedient of restraint, began one by one to burst out, like the firstisolated shots of a skirmish line. Grossmann had flung out an armcrying:

"'Sell twenty-five May at ninety-five and an eighth, " while Kelly andSemple had almost simultaneously shouted, "'Give seven-eighths for May!"

The official reporter had been leaning far over to catch the firstquotations, one eye upon the clock at the end of the room. The hour andminute hands were at right angles. 

Then suddenly, cutting squarely athwart the vague crescendo of thefloor came the single incisive stroke of a great gong. Instantly atumult was unchained. Arms were flung upward in strenuous gestures, andfrom above the crowding heads in the Wheat Pit a multitude of hands, eager, the fingers extended, leaped into the air. All articulateexpression was lost in the single explosion of sound as the traderssurged downwards to the centre of the Pit, grabbing each other, struggling towards each other, tramping, stamping, charging throughwith might and main. Promptly the hand on the great dial above theclock stirred and trembled, and as though driven by the tempest breathof the Pit moved upward through the degrees of its circle. It paused, wavered, stopped at length, and on the instant the hundreds oftelegraph keys scattered throughout the building began clicking off thenews to the whole country, from the Atlantic to the Pacific and fromMackinac to Mexico, that the Chicago market had made a slight advanceand that May wheat, which had closed the day before at ninety-three andthree-eighths, had opened that morning at ninety-four and a half. 

But the advance brought out no profit-taking sales. The redoubtableLeaycraft and the Porteous trio, Fairchild, Paterson, and Goodlock, shook their heads when the Pit offered ninety-four for parts of theirholdings. The price held firm. Goodlock even began to offerninety-four. At every suspicion of a flurry Grossmann, always with thesame gesture as though hurling a javelin, always with the samelamentable wail of distress, cried out:

"'Sell twenty-five May at ninety-five and a fourth. "

He held his five fingers spread to indicate the number of "contracts, "or lots of five thousand bushels, which he wished to sell, each fingerrepresenting one "contract. "

And it was at this moment that selling orders began suddenly to pour inupon the Gretry-Converse traders. Even other houses--Teller and West, Burbank & Co. , Mattieson and Knight--received their share. The movementwas inexplicable, puzzling. With a powerful Bull clique dominating thetrading and every prospect of a strong market, who was it who venturedto sell short?

Landry among others found himself commissioned to sell. His orders wereto unload three hundred thousand bushels on any advance over and aboveninety-four. He kept his eye on Leaycraft, certain that he would forceup the figure. But, as it happened, it was not Leaycraft but thePorteous trio who made the advance. Standing in the centre of the Pit, Patterson suddenly flung up his hand and drew it towards him, clutchingthe air--the conventional gesture of the buyer. 

"'Give an eighth for May. "

Landry was at him in a second. Twenty voices shouted "sold, " and asmany traders sprang towards him with outstretched arms. Landry, however, was before them, and his rush carried Paterson half way acrossthe middle space of the Pit. 

"Sold, sold. "

Paterson nodded, and as Landry noted down the transaction the hand onthe dial advanced again, and again held firm. 

But after this the activity of the Pit fell away. The tradinglanguished. By degrees the tension of the opening was relaxed. Landry, however, had refrained from selling more than ten "contracts" toPaterson. He had a feeling that another advance would come later on. Rapidly he made his plans. He would sell another fifty thousand bushelsif the price went to ninety-four and a half, and would then "feel" themarket, letting go small lots here and there, to test its strength, then, the instant he felt the market strong enough, throw a fullhundred thousand upon it with a rush before it had time to break. Hecould feel--almost at his very finger tips--how this market moved, howit strengthened, how it weakened. He knew just when to nurse it, tohumor it, to let it settle, and when to crowd it, when to hustle it, when it would stand rough handling. 

Grossmann still uttered his plaint from time to time, but no one somuch as pretended to listen. The Porteous trio and Leaycraft kept theprice steady at ninety-four and an eighth, but showed no inclination toforce it higher. For a full five minutes not a trade was recorded. ThePit waited for the Report on the Visible Supply. 

And it was during this lull in the morning's business that the idiocyof the English ultimatum to the Porte melted away. As inexplicably andas suddenly as the rumour had started, it now disappeared. Everyone, simultaneously, seemed to ridicule it. England declare war on Turkey!Where was the joke? Who was the damn fool to have started that old, worn-out war scare? But, for all that, there was no reaction from theadvance. It seemed to be understood that either Leaycraft or thePorteous crowd stood ready to support the market; and in place of theultimatum story a feeling began to gain ground that the expected reportwould indicate a falling off in the "visible, " and that it was quite onthe cards that the market might even advance another point. 

As the interest in the immediate situation declined, the crowd in thePit grew less dense. Portions of it were deserted; even Grossmann, discouraged, retired to a bench under the visitors' gallery. And aspirit of horse-play, sheer foolishness, strangely inconsistent withthe hot-eyed excitement of the few moments after the opening invadedthe remaining groups. Leaycraft, the formidable, as well as Paterson ofthe Porteous gang, and even the solemn Winston, found an apparentlyinexhaustible diversion in folding their telegrams into pointedjavelins and sending them sailing across the room, watching the courseof the missiles with profound gravity. A visitor in the gallery--nodoubt a Western farmer on a holiday--having put his feet upon the rail, the entire Pit began to groan "boots, boots, boots. "

A little later a certain broker came scurrying across the floor fromthe direction of the telephone room. Panting, he flung himself up thesteps of the Pit, forced his way among the traders with vigorousworkings of his elbows, and shouted a bid. 

"He's sick, " shouted Hirsch. "Look out, he's sick. He's going to have afit. " He grabbed the broker by both arms and hustled him into thecentre of the Pit. The others caught up the cry, a score of handspushed the newcomer from man to man. The Pit traders clutched him, pulled his necktie loose, knocked off his hat, vociferating all thewhile at top voice, "He's sick! He's sick!"

Other brokers and traders came up, and Grossmann, mistaking thecommotion for a flurry, ran into the Pit, his eyes wide, waving his armand wailing:

"'Sell twenty-five May at ninety-five and a quarter. "

But the victim, good-natured, readjusted his battered hat, and againrepeated his bid. 

"Ah, go to bed, " protested Hirsch. 

"He's the man who struck Billy Paterson. "

"Say, a horse bit him. Look out for him, he's going to have a duck-fit. "

The incident appeared to be the inspiration for a new "josh" that had agreat success, and a group of traders organized themselves into an"anti-cravat committee, " and made the rounds of the Pit, twitching thecarefully tied scarfs of the unwary out of place. Grossman, indignantat "t'ose monkey-doodle pizeness, " withdrew from the centre of the Pit. But while he stood in front of Leaycraft, his back turned, mutteringhis disgust, the latter, while carrying on a grave conversation withhis neighbour, carefully stuck a file of paper javelins all around theJew's hat band, and then--still without mirth and still continuing totalk--set them on fire. 

Landry imagined by now that ninety-four and an eighth was as high afigure as he could reasonably expect that morning, and so began to"work off" his selling orders. Little by little he sold the wheat"short, " till all but one large lot was gone. 

Then all at once, and for no discoverable immediate reason, wheat, amidan explosion of shouts and vociferations, jumped to ninety-four and aquarter, and before the Pit could take breath, had advanced anothereighth, broken to one-quarter, then jumped to the five-eighths mark. 

It was the Report on the Visible Supply beyond question, and though ithad not yet been posted, this sudden flurry was a sign that it was notonly near at hand, but would be bullish. 

A few moments later it was bulletined in the gallery beneath the dial, and proved a tremendous surprise to nearly every man upon the floor. Noone had imagined the supply was so ample, so all-sufficient to meet thedemand. Promptly the Pit responded. Wheat began to pour in heavily. Hirsch, Kelly, Grossmann, Leaycraft, the stolid Winston, and theexcitable Rusbridge were hard at it. The price began to give. Suddenlyit broke sharply. The hand on the great dial dropped to ninety-threeand seven-eighths. 

Landry was beside himself. He had not foreseen this break. There was noreckoning on that cursed "visible, " and he still had 50, 000 bushels todispose of. There was no telling now how low the price might sink. Hemust act quickly, radically. He fought his way towards the Porteouscrowd, reached over the shoulder of the little Jew Grossmann, who stoodin his way, and thrust his hand almost into Paterson's face, shouting:

"'Sell fifty May at seven-eighths. "

It was the last one of his unaccountable selling orders of the earlymorning. 

The other shook his head. 

"'Sell fifty May at three-quarters. "

Suddenly some instinct warned Landry that another break was coming. Itwas in the very air around him. He could almost physically feel thepressure of renewed avalanches of wheat crowding down the price. Desperate, he grabbed Paterson by the shoulder. 

"'Sell fifty May at five-eighths. "

"Take it, " vociferated the other, as though answering a challenge. 

And in the heart of this confusion, in this downward rush of the price, Luck, the golden goddess, passed with the flirt and flash of glitteringwings, and hardly before the ticker in Gretry's office had signalledthe decline, the memorandum of the trade was down upon Landry's cardand Curtis Jadwin stood pledged to deliver, before noon on the last dayof May, one million bushels of wheat into the hands of therepresentatives of the great Bulls of the Board of Trade. 

But by now the real business of the morning was over. The Pit knew it. Grossmann, obstinate, hypnotized as it were by one idea, still stood inhis accustomed place on the upper edge of the Pit, and from time totime, with the same despairing gesture, emitted his doleful outcry of"'Sell twenty-five May at ninety-five and three-quarters. "

Nobody listened. The traders stood around in expectant attitudes, looking into one another's faces, waiting for what they could notexactly say; loath to leave the Pit lest something should "turn up" themoment their backs were turned. 

By degrees the clamour died away, ceased, began again irregularly, thenabruptly stilled. Here and there a bid was called, an offer made, likethe intermittent crack of small arms after the stopping of thecannonade. 

"'Sell five May at one-eighth. "

"'Sell twenty at one-quarter. "

"'Give one-eighth for May. "

For an instant the shoutings were renewed. Then suddenly the gongstruck. The traders began slowly to leave the Pit. One of the floorofficers, an old fellow in uniform and vizored cap, appeared, gentlyshouldering towards the door the groups wherein the bidding andoffering were still languidly going on. His voice full ofremonstration, he repeated continually:

"Time's up, gentlemen. Go on now and get your lunch. Lunch time now. Goon now, or I'll have to report you. Time's up. "

The tide set toward the doorways. In the gallery the few visitors rose, putting on coats and wraps. Over by the check counter, to the right ofthe south entrance to the floor, a throng of brokers and tradersjostled each other, reaching over one another's shoulders for hats andulsters. In steadily increasing numbers they poured out of the northand south entrances, on their way to turn in their trading cards to theoffices. 

Little by little the floor emptied. The provision and grain pits weredeserted, and as the clamour of the place lapsed away the telegraphinstruments began to make themselves heard once more, together with thechanting of the messenger boys. 

Swept clean in the morning, the floor itself, seen now through thethinning groups, was littered from end to end with scatteredgrain--oats, wheat, corn, and barley, with wisps of hay, peanut shells, apple parings, and orange peel, with torn newspapers, odds and ends ofmemoranda, crushed paper darts, and above all with a countlessmultitude of yellow telegraph forms, thousands upon thousands, crumpledand muddied under the trampling of innumerable feet. It was the debrisof the battle-field, the abandoned impedimenta and broken weapons ofcontending armies, the detritus of conflict, torn, broken, and rent, that at the end of each day's combat encumbered the field. 

At last even the click of the last of telegraph keys died down. Shouldering themselves into their overcoats, the operators departed, calling back and forth to one another, making "dates, " and crackingjokes. Washerwomen appeared with steaming pails, porters pushing greatbrooms before them began gathering the refuse of the floor into heaps. 

Between the wheat and corn pits a band of young fellows, some of themabsolute boys, appeared. These were the settlement clerks. They carriedlong account books. It was their duty to get the trades of the day intoa "ring"--to trace the course of a lot of wheat which had changed handsperhaps a score of times during the trading--and their calls of "Wheatsold to Teller and West, " "May wheat sold to Burbank & Co. , " "May oatssold to Matthewson and Knight, " "Wheat sold to Gretry, Converse & Co. , "began to echo from wall to wall of the almost deserted room. 

A cat, grey and striped, and wearing a dog collar of nickel and redleather, issued from the coat-room and picked her way across the floor. Evidently she was in a mood of the most ingratiating friendliness, andas one after another of the departing traders spoke to her, raised hertail in the air and arched her back against the legs of the emptychairs. The janitor put in an appearance, lowering the tall coloredwindows with a long rod. A noise of hammering and the scrape of sawsbegan to issue from a corner where a couple of carpenters tinkeredabout one of the sample tables. 

Then at last even the settlement clerks took themselves off. At oncethere was a great silence, broken only by the harsh rasp of thecarpenters' saws and the voice of the janitor exchanging jokes with thewasherwomen. The sound of footsteps in distant quarters re-echoed as ifin a church. 

The washerwomen invaded the floor, spreading soapy and steaming waterbefore them. Over by the sample tables a negro porter in shirt-sleevesswept entire bushels of spilled wheat, crushed, broken, and sodden, into his dust pans. 

The day's campaign was over. It was past two o'clock. On the great dialagainst the eastern wall the indicator stood--sentinel fashion--atninety-three. Not till the following morning would the whirlpool, thegreat central force that spun the Niagara of wheat in its grip, thunderand bellow again. 

Later on even the washerwomen, even the porter and janitor, departed. An unbroken silence, the peacefulness of an untroubled calm, settledover the place. The rays of the afternoon sun flooded through the westwindows in long parallel shafts full of floating golden motes. Therewas no sound; nothing stirred. The floor of the Board of Trade wasdeserted. Alone, on the edge of the abandoned Wheat Pit, in a spotwhere the sunlight fell warmest--an atom of life, lost in the immensityof the empty floor--the grey cat made her toilet, diligently lickingthe fur on the inside of her thigh, one leg, as if dislocated, thrustinto the air above her head. 

IV

In the front parlor of the Cresslers' house a little company wasgathered--Laura Dearborn and Page, Mrs. Wessels, Mrs. Cressler, andyoung Miss Gretry, an awkward, plain-faced girl of about nineteen, dressed extravagantly in a decollete gown of blue silk. Curtis Jadwinand Cressler himself stood by the open fireplace smoking. Landry Courtfidgeted on the sofa, pretending to listen to the Gretry girl, who toldan interminable story of a visit to some wealthy relative who had acountry seat in Wisconsin and who raised fancy poultry. She possessed, it appeared, three thousand hens, Brahma, Faverolles, Houdans, Dorkings, even peacocks and tame quails. 

Sheldon Corthell, in a dinner coat, an unlighted cigarette between hisfingers, discussed the spring exhibit of water-colors with Laura andMrs. Cressler, Page listening with languid interest. Aunt Wess' turnedthe leaves of a family album, counting the number of photographs ofMrs. Cressler which it contained. 

Black coffee had just been served. It was the occasion of the thirdrehearsal for the play which was to be given for the benefit of thehospital ward for Jadwin's mission children, and Mrs. Cressler hadinvited the members of the company for dinner. Just now everyoneawaited the arrival of the "coach, " Monsieur Gerardy, who was alwayslate. 

"To my notion, " observed Corthell, "the water-color that pretends to beanything more than a sketch over-steps its intended limits. Theelaborated water-color, I contend, must be judged by the same standardsas an oil painting. And if that is so, why not have the oil painting atonce?"

"And with all that, if you please, not an egg on the place forbreakfast, " declared the Gretry girl in her thin voice. She wasconstrained, embarrassed. Of all those present she was the only one tomistake the character of the gathering and appear in formal costume. But one forgave Isabel Gretry such lapses as these. Invariably she didthe wrong thing; invariably she was out of place in the matter ofinadvertent speech, an awkward accident, the wrong toilet. For all hernineteen years, she yet remained the hoyden, young, undeveloped, andclumsy. 

"Never an egg, and three thousand hens in the runs, " she continued. "Think of that! The Plymouth Rocks had the pip. And the others, mylands! I don't know. They just didn't lay. "

"Ought to tickle the soles of their feet, " declared Landry withprofound gravity. 

"Tickle their feet!"

"Best thing in the world for hens that don't lay. It sort of stirs themup. Oh, every one knows that. "

"Fancy now! I'll write to Aunt Alice to-morrow. "

Cressler clipped the tip of a fresh cigar, and, turning to CurtisJadwin, remarked:

"I understand that Leaycraft alone lost nearly fifteen thousand. "

He referred to Jadwin's deal in May wheat, the consummation of whichhad been effected the previous week. Squarely in the midst of themorning session, on the day following the "short" sale of Jadwin'smillion of bushels, had exploded the news of the intended action of theFrench chamber. Amid a tremendous clamour the price fell. The Bullswere panic-stricken. Leaycraft the redoubtable was overwhelmed at thevery start. The Porteous trio heroically attempted to shoulder thewheat, but the load was too much. They as well gave ground, and, bereftof their support, May wheat, which had opened at ninety-three andfive-eighths to ninety-two and a half, broke with the very first attackto ninety-two, hung there a moment, then dropped again to ninety-oneand a half, then to ninety-one. Then, in a prolonged shudder ofweakness, sank steadily down by quarters to ninety, to eighty-nine, andat last--a final collapse--touched eighty-eight cents. At that figureJadwin began to cover. There was danger that the buying of so large alot might bring about a rally in the price. But Gretry, a consummatemaster of Pit tactics, kept his orders scattered and bought gradually, taking some two or three days to accumulate the grain. Jadwin'sluck--the never-failing guardian of the golden wings--seemed to havethe affair under immediate supervision, and reports of timely rains inthe wheat belt kept the price inert while the trade was being closed. In the end the "deal" was brilliantly successful, and Gretry was stillchuckling over the set-back to the Porteous gang. Exactly the amount ofhis friend's profits Jadwin did not know. As for himself, he hadreceived from Gretry a check for fifty thousand dollars, every cent ofwhich was net profit. 

"I'm not going to congratulate you, " continued Cressler. "As far asthat's concerned, I would rather you had lost than won--if it wouldhave kept you out of the Pit for good. You're cocky now. I know--goodLord, don't I know. I had my share of it. I know how a man gets drawninto this speculating game. "

"Charlie, this wasn't speculating, " interrupted Jadwin. "It was acertainty. It was found money. If I had known a certain piece of realestate was going to appreciate in value I would have bought it, wouldn't I?"

"All the worse, if it made it seem easy and sure to you. Do you know, "he added suddenly. "Do you know that Leaycraft has gone to keep booksfor a manufacturing concern out in Dubuque?"

Jadwin pulled his mustache. He was looking at Laura Dearborn over theheads of Landry and the Gretry girl. 

"I didn't suppose he'd be getting measured for a private yacht, " hemurmured. Then he continued, pulling his mustache vigorously:

"Charlie, upon my word, what a beautiful--what beautiful hair that girlhas!"

Laura was wearing it very high that evening, the shining black coilstransfixed by a strange hand-cut ivory comb that had been hergrandmother's. She was dressed in black taffeta, with a single greatcabbage-rose pinned to her shoulder. She sat very straight in herchair, one hand upon her slender hip, her head a little to one side, listening attentively to Corthell. 

By this time the household of the former rectory was running smoothly;everything was in place, the Dearborns were "settled, " and a routinehad begun. Her first month in her new surroundings had been to Laura anunbroken series of little delights. For formal social distractions shehad but little taste. She left those to Page, who, as soon as Lent wasover, promptly became involved in a bewildering round of teas, "dancingclubs, " dinners, and theatre parties. Mrs. Wessels was her chaperone, and the little middle-aged lady found the satisfaction of a belatedyouth in conveying her pretty niece to the various functions thatoccupied her time. Each Friday night saw her in the gallery of acertain smart dancing school of the south side, where she watched Pagedance her way from the "first waltz" to the last figure of the german. She counted the couples carefully, and on the way home was always ableto say how the attendance of that particular evening compared with thatof the former occasion, and also to inform Laura how many times Pagehad danced with the same young man. 

Laura herself was more serious. She had begun a course of reading; nonovels, but solemn works full of allusions to "Man" and "Destiny, "which she underlined and annotated. Twice a week--on Mondays andThursdays--she took a French lesson. Corthell managed to enlist thegood services of Mrs. Wessels and escorted her to numerous piano and'cello recitals, to lectures, to concerts. He even succeeded inachieving the consecration of a specified afternoon once a week, spentin his studio in the Fine Arts' Building on the Lake Front, where heread to them "Saint Agnes Eve, " "Sordello, " "The Light of Asia"--poemswhich, with their inversions, obscurities, and astonishing arabesquesof rhetoric, left Aunt Wess' bewildered, breathless, all but stupefied. 

Laura found these readings charming. The studio was beautiful, lofty, the light dim; the sound of Corthell's voice returned from the thickhangings of velvet and tapestry in a subdued murmur. The air was fullof the odor of pastilles. 

Laura could not fail to be impressed with the artist's tact, hisdelicacy. In words he never referred to their conversation in the foyerof the Auditorium; only by some unexplained subtlety of attitude hemanaged to convey to her the distinct impression that he loved heralways. That he was patient, waiting for some indefinite, unexpresseddevelopment. 

Landry Court called upon her as often as she would allow. Once he hadprevailed upon her and Page to accompany him to the matinee to see acomic opera. He had pronounced it "bully, " unable to see that Lauraevinced only a mild interest in the performance. On each propitiousoccasion he had made love to her extravagantly. He continuallyprotested his profound respect with a volubility and earnestness thatwas quite uncalled for. 

But, meanwhile, the situation had speedily become more complicated bythe entrance upon the scene of an unexpected personage. This was CurtisJadwin. It was impossible to deny the fact that "J. " was in love withMrs. Cressler's protegee. The business man had none of Corthell'stalent for significant reticence, none of his tact, and older than she, a man-of-the-world, accustomed to deal with situations with unswervingdirectness, he, unlike Landry Court, was not in the least afraid ofher. From the very first she found herself upon the defensive. Jadwinwas aggressive, assertive, and his addresses had all the persistenceand vehemence of veritable attack. Landry she could manage with thelifting of a finger, Corthell disturbed her only upon those rareoccasions when he made love to her. But Jadwin gave her no time to somuch as think of finesse. She was not even allowed to choose her owntime and place for fencing, and to parry his invasion upon thoseintimate personal grounds which she pleased herself to keep secludedcalled upon her every feminine art of procrastination and strategy. 

He contrived to meet her everywhere. He impressed Mrs. Cressler asauxiliary into his campaign, and a series of rencontres followed oneanother with astonishing rapidity. Now it was another opera party, nowa box at McVicker's, now a dinner, or more often a drive throughLincoln Park behind Jadwin's trotters. He even had the Cresslers andLaura over to his mission Sunday-school for the Easter festival, anoccasion of which Laura carried away a confused recollection ofenormous canvas mottoes, that looked more like campaign banners thantexts from the Scriptures, sheaves of calla lilies, imitation bells oftin-foil, revival hymns vociferated with deafening vehemence from sevenhundred distended mouths, and through it all the disagreeable smell ofpoverty, the odor of uncleanliness that mingled strangely with theperfume of the lilies and the aromatic whiffs from the festoons ofevergreen. 

Thus the first month of her new life had passed Laura did not troubleherself to look very far into the future. She was too much amused withher emancipation from the narrow horizon of her New Englandenvironment. She did not concern herself about consequences. Thingswould go on for themselves, and consequences develop without effort onher part. She never asked herself whether or not she was in love withany of the three men who strove for her favor. She was quite sure shewas not ready--yet--to be married. There was even something distastefulin the idea of marriage. She liked Landry Court immensely; she foundthe afternoons in Corthell's studio delightful; she loved the rides inthe park behind Jadwin's horses. She had no desire that any one ofthese affairs should exclude the other two. She wished nothing to beconsummated. As for love, she never let slip an occasion to shock AuntWess' by declaring:

"I love--nobody. I shall never marry. "

Page, prim, with great parades of her ideas of "good form, " declaredbetween her pursed lips that her sister was a flirt. But this was notso. Laura never manoeuvered with her lovers, nor intrigued to keep fromany one of them knowledge of her companionship with the other two. Soupon such occasions as this, when all three found themselves face toface, she remained unperturbed. 

At last, towards half-past eight, Monsieur Gerardy arrived. All throughthe winter amateur plays had been in great favor, and Gerardy hadbecome, in a sense, a fad. He was in great demand. Consequently, hegave himself airs. His method was that of severity; he posed as atask-master, relentless, never pleased, hustling the amateur actorsabout without ceremony, scolding and brow-beating. He was a small, excitable man who wore a frock-coat much too small for him, a flowingpurple cravatte drawn through a finger ring, and enormous cuffs set offwith huge buttons of Mexican onyx. In his lapel was an inevitablecarnation, dried, shrunken, and lamentable. He was redolent of perfumeand spoke of himself as an artist. He caused it to be understood thatin the intervals of "coaching society plays" he gave his attention tothe painting of landscapes. Corthell feigned to ignore his veryexistence. 

The play-book in his hand, Monsieur Gerardy clicked his heels in themiddle of the floor and punctiliously saluted everyone present, bowingonly from his shoulders, his head dropping forward as if propelled bysuccessive dislocations of the vertebrae of his neck. 

He explained the cause of his delay. His English was without accent, but at times suddenly entangled itself in curious Gallic constructions. 

"Then I propose we begin at once, " he announced. "The second actto-night, then, if we have time, the third act--from the book. And Iexpect the second act to be letter-perfect--let-ter-per-fect. There isnothing there but that. " He held up his hand, as if to refuse toconsider the least dissention. "There is nothing but that--no otherthing. "

All but Corthell listened attentively. The artist, however, turning hisback, had continued to talk to Laura without lowering his tone, and allthrough Monsieur Gerardy's exhortation his voice had made itself heard. "Management of light and shade" . .. "color scheme" . .. "effects ofcomposition. "

Monsieur Gerardy's eye glinted in his direction. He struck hisplay-book sharply into the palm of his hand. 

"Come, come!" he cried. "No more nonsense. Now we leave the girls aloneand get to work. Here is the scene. Mademoiselle Gretry, if I derangeyou!" He cleared a space at the end of the parlor, pulling the chairsabout. "Be attentive now. Here"--he placed a chair at his right with aflourish, as though planting a banner--"is the porch of Lord Glendale'scountry house. "

"Ah, " murmured Landry, winking solemnly at Page, "the chair is theporch of the house. "

"And here, " shouted Monsieur Gerardy, glaring at him and slamming downanother chair, "is a rustic bench and practicable table set forbreakfast. "

Page began to giggle behind her play-book. Gerardy, his nostrilsexpanded, gave her his back. The older people, who were not to takepart--Jadwin, the Cresslers, and Aunt Wess'--retired to a far corner, Mrs. Cressler declaring that they would constitute the audience. 

"On stage, " vociferated Monsieur Gerardy, perspiring from his exertionswith the furniture. "'Marion enters, timid and hesitating, L. C. ' Come, who's Marion? Mademoiselle Gretry, if you please, and for the love ofGod remember your crossings. Sh! sh!" he cried, waving his arms at theothers. "A little silence if you please. Now, Marion. "

Isabel Gretry, holding her play-book at her side, one finger markingthe place, essayed an entrance with the words:

"'Ah, the old home once more. See the clambering roses have--'"

But Monsieur Gerardy, suddenly compressing his lips as if in a heroiceffort to repress his emotion, flung himself into a chair, turning hisback and crossing his legs violently. Miss Gretry stopped, very muchdisturbed, gazing perplexedly at the coach's heaving shoulders. 

There was a strained silence, then:

"Isn't--isn't that right?"

As if with the words she had touched a spring, Monsieur Gerardy boundedto his feet. 

"Grand God! Is that left-centre where you have made the entrance? Infine, I ask you a little--_is_ that left-centre? You have come in bythe rustic bench and practicable table set for breakfast. A fine sighton the night of the performance that. Marion climbs over the rusticbreakfast and practicable--over the rustic bench and practicable table, ha, ha, to make the entrance. " Still holding the play-book, he clappedhands with elaborate sarcasm. "Ah, yes, good business that. That willbring down the house. "

Meanwhile the Gretry girl turned again from left-centre. 

"'Ah, the old home again. See--'"

"Stop!" thundered Monsieur Gerardy. "Is that what you call timid andhesitating? Once more, those lines. .. . No, no. It is not it at all. More of slowness, more of--Here, watch me. "

He made the entrance with laborious exaggeration of effect, draggingone foot after another, clutching at the palings of an imaginary fence, while pitching his voice at a feeble falsetto, he quavered:

"'Ah! The old home--ah . .. Once more. See--' like that, " he cried, straightening up. "Now then. We try that entrance again. Don't come ontoo quick after the curtain. Attention. I clap my hands for thecurtain, and count three. " He backed away and, tucking the play-bookunder his arm, struck his palms together. "Now, one--two--_three. _"

But this time Isabel Gretry, in remembering her "business, " confusedher stage directions once more. 

"'Ah, the old home--'"

"Left-centre, " interrupted the coach, in a tone of long-sufferingpatience. 

She paused bewildered, and believing that she had spoken her lines tooabruptly, began again:

"'See, the clambering--'"

"_Left_-centre. "

"'Ah, the old home--'"

Monsieur Gerardy settled himself deliberately in his chair and restinghis head upon one hand closed his eyes. His manner was that of Galileounder torture declaring "still it moves. "

"_Left_-centre. "

"Oh--oh, yes. I forgot. "

Monsieur Gerardy apostrophized the chandelier with mirthless humour. 

"Oh, ha, ha! She forgot. "

Still another time Marion tried the entrance, and, as she came on, Monsieur Gerardy made vigorous signals to Page, exclaiming in a hoarsewhisper:

"Lady Mary, ready. In a minute you come on. Remember the cue. "

Meanwhile Marion had continued:

"'See the clambering vines--'"

"Roses. "

"'The clambering rose vines--'"

"Roses, pure and simple. "

"'See! The clambering roses, pure and--'"

"Mademoiselle Gretry, will you do me the extreme obligation to boundyourself by the lines of the book?"

"I thought you said--"

"Go on, go on, go on! Is it God-possible to be thus stupid? Lady Mary, ready. "

"'See, the clambering roses have wrapped the old stones in a lovingembrace. The birds build in the same old nests--'"

"Well, well, Lady Mary, where are you? You enter from the porch. "

"I'm waiting for my cue, " protested Page. "My cue is: 'Are there nonethat will remember me. '"

"Say, " whispered Landry, coming up behind Page, "it would look bully ifyou could come out leading a greyhound. "

"Ah, so, Mademoiselle Gretry, " cried Monsieur Gerardy, "you left outthe cue. " He became painfully polite. "Give the speech once more, ifyou please. "

"A dog would look bully on the stage, " whispered Landry. "And I knowwhere I could get one. "

"Where?"

"A friend of mine. He's got a beauty, blue grey--"

They become suddenly aware of a portentous silence The coach, his armsfolded, was gazing at Page with tightened lips. 

"'None who will remember me, '" he burst out at last. "Three times shegave it. "

Page hurried upon the scene with the words:

"'Ah, another glorious morning. The vines are drenched in dew. '" Then, raising her voice and turning toward the "house, " "'Arthur. '"

"'Arthur, '" warned the coach. "That's you. Mr. Corthell. Ready. Wellthen, Mademoiselle Gretry, you have something to say there. "

"I can't say it, " murmured the Gretry girl, her handkerchief to herface. 

"What now? Continue. Your lines are 'I must not be seen here. It wouldbetray all, ' then conceal yourself in the arbor. Continue. Speak theline. It is the cue of Arthur. "

"I can't, " mumbled the girl behind her handkerchief. 

"Can't? Why, then?"

"I--I have the nose-bleed. "

Upon the instant Monsieur Gerardy quite lost his temper. He turnedaway, one hand to his head, rolling his eyes as if in mute appeal toheaven, then, whirling about, shook his play-book at the unfortunateMarion, crying out furiously:

"Ah, it lacked but that. You ought to understand at last, that when onerehearses for a play one does not have the nose-bleed. It is notdecent. "

Miss Gretry retired precipitately, and Laura came forward to say thatshe would read Marion's lines. 

"No, no!" cried Monsieur Gerardy. "You--ah, if they were all like you!You are obliging, but it does not suffice. I am insulted. "

The others, astonished, gathered about the "coach. " They laboured toexplain. Miss Gretry had intended no slight. In fact she was oftentaken that way; she was excited, nervous. But Monsieur Gerardy was notto be placated. Ah, no! He knew what was due a gentleman. He closed hiseyes and raised his eyebrows to his very hair, murmuring superbly thathe was offended. He had but one phrase in answer to all theirexplanations:

"One does not permit one's self to bleed at the nose during rehearsal. "

Laura began to feel a certain resentment. The unfortunate Gretry girlhad gone away in tears. What with the embarrassment of the wrong gown, the brow-beating, and the nose-bleed, she was not far from hysterics. She had retired to the dining-room with Mrs. Cressler and from time totime the sounds of her distress made themselves heard. Laura believedit quite time to interfere. After all, who was this Gerardy person, togive himself such airs? Poor Miss Gretry was to blame for nothing. Shefixed the little Frenchman with a direct glance, and Page, who caught aglimpse of her face, recognised "the grand manner, " and whispered toLandry:

"He'd better look out; he's gone just about as far as Laura will allow. "

"It is not convenient, " vociferated the "coach. " "It is notpermissible. I am offended. "

"Monsieur Gerardy, " said Laura, "we will say nothing more about it, ifyou please. "

There was a silence. Monsieur Gerardy had pretended not to hear. Hebreathed loud through his nose, and Page hastened to observe thatanyhow Marion was not on in the next scenes. Then abruptly, andresuming his normal expression, Monsieur Gerardy said:

"Let us proceed. It advances nothing to lose time. Come. Lady Mary andArthur, ready. "

The rehearsal continued. Laura, who did not come on during the act, went back to her chair in the corner of the room. 

But the original group had been broken up. Mrs. Cressler was in thedining-room with the Gretry girl, while Jadwin, Aunt Wess', andCressler himself were deep in a discussion of mind-reading andspiritualism. 

As Laura came up, Jadwin detached himself from the others and met her. 

"Poor Miss Gretry!" he observed. "Always the square peg in the roundhole. I've sent out for some smelling salts. "

It seemed to Laura that the capitalist was especially well-looking onthis particular evening. He never dressed with the "smartness" ofSheldon Corthell or Landry Court, but in some way she did not expectthat he should. His clothes were not what she was aware were called"stylish, " but she had had enough experience with her own tailor-madegowns to know that the material was the very best that money could buy. The apparent absence of any padding in the broad shoulders of the frockcoat he wore, to her mind, more than compensated for the "ready-made"scarf, and if the white waistcoat was not fashionably cut, she knewthat _she_ had never been able to afford a pique skirt of just thatparticular grade. 

"Suppose we go into the reception-room, " he observed abruptly. "Charliebought a new clock last week that's a marvel. You ought to see it. "

"No, " she answered. "I am quite comfortable here, and I want to see howPage does in this act. "

"I am afraid, Miss Dearborn, " he continued, as they found their places, "that you did not have a very good time Sunday afternoon. "

He referred to the Easter festival at his mission school. Laura hadleft rather early, alleging neuralgia and a dinner engagement. 

"Why, yes I did, " she replied. "Only, to tell the truth, my head acheda little. " She was ashamed that she did not altogether delight in herremembrance of Jadwin on that afternoon. He had "addressed" the school, with earnestness it was true, but in a strain decidedly conventional. And the picture he made leading the singing, beating time with thehymn-book, and between the verses declaring that "he wanted to heareveryone's voice in the next verse, " did not appeal very forcibly toher imagination. She fancied Sheldon Corthell doing these things, andcould not forbear to smile. She had to admit, despite the protests ofconscience, that she did prefer the studio to the Sunday-school. 

"Oh, " remarked Jadwin, "I'm sorry to hear you had a headache. I supposemy little micks" (he invariably spoke of his mission children thus) "domake more noise than music. "

"I found them very interesting. "

"No, excuse me, but I'm afraid you didn't. My little micks are notinteresting--to look at nor to listen to. But I, kind of--well, I don'tknow, " he began pulling his mustache. "It seems to suit me to get downthere and get hold of these people. You know Moody put me up to it. Hewas here about five years ago, and I went to one of his big meetings, and then to all of them. And I met the fellow, too, and I tell you, Miss Dearborn, he stirred me all up. I didn't "get religion. " No, nothing like that. But I got a notion it was time to be up and doing, and I figured it out that business principles were as good in religionas they are--well, in La Salle Street, and that if the churchpeople--the men I mean--put as much energy, and shrewdness, andcompetitive spirit into the saving of souls as they did into the savingof dollars that we might get somewhere. And so I took hold of a halfdozen broken-down, bankrupt Sunday-school concerns over here on ArcherAvenue that were fighting each other all the time, and amalgamated themall--a regular trust, just as if they were iron foundries--and turnedthe incompetents out and put my subordinates in, and put the thing on abusiness basis, and by now, I'll venture to say, there's not a betterorganised Sunday-school in all Chicago, and I'll bet if D. L. Moodywere here to-day he'd say, 'Jadwin, well done, thou good and faithfulservant. '"

"I haven't a doubt of it, Mr. Jadwin, " Laura hastened to exclaim. "Andyou must not think that I don't believe you are doing a splendid work. "

"Well, it suits me, " he repeated. "I like my little micks, and now andthen I have a chance to get hold of the kind that it pays to pushalong. About four months ago I came across a boy in the Bible class; Iguess he's about sixteen; name is Bradley--Billy Bradley, father aconfirmed drunk, mother takes in washing, sister--we won't speak about;and he seemed to be bright and willing to work, and I gave him a job inmy agent's office, just directing envelopes. Well, Miss Dearborn, thatboy has a desk of his own now, and the agent tells me he's one of thevery best men he's got. He does his work so well that I've been able todischarge two other fellows who sat around and watched the clock forlunch hour, and Bradley does their work now better and quicker thanthey did, and saves me twenty dollars a week; that's a thousand a year. So much for a business like Sunday-school; so much for taking a goodaim when you cast your bread upon the waters. The last time I saw MoodyI said, 'Moody, my motto is "not slothful in business, fervent inspirit, praising the Lord. "' I remember we were out driving at thetime, I took him out behind Lizella--she's almost straight Wilkes'blood and can trot in two-ten, but you can believe he didn't knowthat--and, as I say, I told him what my motto was, and he said, 'J. , good for you; you keep to that. There's no better motto in the worldfor the American man of business. ' He shook my hand when he said it, and I haven't ever forgotten it. "

Not a little embarrassed, Laura was at a loss just what to say, and inthe end remarked lamely enough:

"I am sure it is the right spirit--the best motto. "

"Miss Dearborn, " Jadwin began again suddenly, "why don't you take aclass down there. The little micks aren't so dreadful when you get toknow them. "

"I!" exclaimed Laura, rather blankly. She shook her head. "Oh, no, Mr. Jadwin. I should be only an encumbrance. Don't misunderstand me. Iapprove of the work with all my heart, but I am not fitted--I feel nocall. I should be so inapt that I know I should do no good. My traininghas been so different, you know, " she said, smiling. "I am anEpiscopalian--'of the straightest sect of the Pharisees. ' I should beteaching your little micks all about the meaning of candles, and'Eastings, ' and the absolution and remission of sins. "

"I wouldn't care if you did, " he answered. "It's the indirect influenceI'm thinking of--the indirect influence that a beautiful, pure-hearted, noble-minded woman spreads around her wherever she goes. I know what ithas done for me. And I know that not only my little micks, but everyteacher and every superintendent in that school would be inspired, andstimulated, and born again so soon as ever you set foot in thebuilding. Men need good women, Miss Dearborn. Men who are doing thework of the world. I believe in women as I believe in Christ. But Idon't believe they were made--any more than Christ was--tocultivate--beyond a certain point--their own souls, and refine theirown minds, and live in a sort of warmed-over, dilettante, stained-glassworld of seclusion and exclusion. No, sir, that won't do for the UnitedStates and the men who are making them the greatest nation of theworld. The men have got all the get-up-and-get they want, but they needthe women to point them straight, and to show them how to lead thatother kind of life that isn't all grind. Since I've known you, MissDearborn, I've just begun to wake up to the fact that there is thatother kind, but I can't lead that life without you. There's no kind oflife that's worth anything to me now that don't include you. I don'tneed to tell you that I want you to marry me. You know that by now, Iguess, without any words from me. I love you, and I love you as a man, not as a boy, seriously and earnestly. I can give you no idea howseriously, how earnestly. I want you to be my wife. Laura, my deargirl, I know I could make you happy. "

"It isn't, " answered Laura slowly, perceiving as he paused that heexpected her to say something, "much a question of that. "

"What is it, then? I won't make a scene. Don't you love me? Don't youthink, my girl, you could ever love me?"

Laura hesitated a long moment. She had taken the rose from hershoulder, and plucking the petals one by one, put them delicatelybetween her teeth. From the other end of the room came the clamorousexhortations of Monsieur Gerardy. Mrs. Cressler and the Gretry girlwatched the progress of the rehearsal attentively from the doorway ofthe dining-room. Aunt Wess' and Mr. Cressler were discussing psychicresearch and seances, on the sofa on the other side of the room. Aftera while Laura spoke. 

"It isn't that either, " she said, choosing her words carefully. 

"What is it, then?"

"I don't know--exactly. For one thing, I don't think I _want_ to bemarried, Mr. Jadwin--to anybody. "

"I would wait for you. "

"Or to be engaged. "

"But the day must come, sooner or later, when you must be both engagedand married. You must ask yourself _some time_ if you love the man whowishes to be your husband. Why not ask yourself now?"

"I do, " she answered. "I do ask myself. I have asked myself. "

"Well, what do you decide?"

"That I don't know. "

"Don't you think you would love me in time? Laura, I am sure you would. I would make you. "

"I don't know. I suppose that is a stupid answer. But it is, if I am tobe honest, and I am trying very hard to be honest--with you and withmyself--the only one I have. I am happy just as I am. I like you andMr. Cressler and Mr. Corthell--everybody. But, Mr. Jadwin"--she lookedhim full in the face, her dark eyes full of gravity--"with a woman itis so serious--to be married. More so than any man ever understood. And, oh, one must be so sure, so sure. And I am not sure now. I am notsure now. Even if I were sure of you, I could not say I was sure ofmyself. Now and then I tell myself, and even poor, dear Aunt Wess', that I shall never love anybody, that I shall never marry. But I shouldbe bitterly sorry if I thought that was true. It is one of the greatesthappinesses to which I look forward, that some day I shall love someone with all my heart and soul, and shall be a true wife, and find myhusband's love for me the sweetest thing in my life. But I am sure thatthat day has not come yet. "

"And when it does come, " he urged, "may I be the first to know?"

She smiled a little gravely. 

"Ah, " she answered, "I would not know myself that that day had comeuntil I woke to the fact that I loved the man who had asked me to behis wife, and then it might be too late--for you. "

"But now, at least, " he persisted, "you love no one. "

"Now, " she repeated, "I love--no one. "

"And I may take such encouragement in that as I can?"

And then, suddenly, capriciously even, Laura, an inexplicable spirit ofinconsistency besetting her, was a very different woman from the onewho an instant before had spoken so gravely of the seriousness ofmarriage. She hesitated a moment before answering Jadwin, her head onone side, looking at the rose leaf between her fingers. In a low voiceshe said at last:

"If you like. "

But before Jadwin could reply, Cressler and Aunt Wess' who had beentelling each other of their "experiences, " of their "premonitions, " ofthe unaccountable things that had happened to them, at length includedthe others in their conversation. 

"J. , " remarked Cressler, "did anything funny ever happen toyou--warnings, presentiments, that sort of thing? Mrs. Wessels and Ihave been talking spiritualism. Laura, have you ever had any'experiences'?"

She shook her head. 

"No, no. I am too material, I am afraid. "

"How about you, 'J. '?"

"Nothing much, except that I believe in 'luck'--a little. The other dayI flipped a coin in Gretry's office. If it fell heads I was to sellwheat short, and somehow I knew all the time that the coin would fallheads--and so it did. "

"And you made a great deal of money, " said Laura. "I know. Mr. Courtwas telling me. That was splendid. "

"That was deplorable, Laura, " said Cressler, gravely. "I hope someday, " he continued, "we can all of us get hold of this man and make himsolemnly promise never to gamble in wheat again. "

Laura stared. To her mind the word "gambling" had always been suspect. It had a bad sound; it seemed to be associated with depravity of thebaser sort. 

"Gambling!" she murmured. 

"They call it buying and selling, " he went on, "down there in La SalleStreet. But it is simply betting. Betting on the condition of themarket weeks, even months, in advance. You bet wheat goes up. I bet itgoes down. Those fellows in the Pit don't own the wheat; never even seeit. Wou'dn't know what to do with it if they had it. They don't care inthe least about the grain. But there are thousands upon thousands offarmers out here in Iowa and Kansas or Dakota who do, and hundreds ofthousand of poor devils in Europe who care even more than the farmer. Imean the fellows who raise the grain, and the other fellows who eat it. It's life or death for either of them. And right between these twocomes the Chicago speculator, who raises or lowers the price out of allreason, for the benefit of his pocket. You see Laura, here is what Imean. " Cressler had suddenly become very earnest. Absorbed, interested, Laura listened intently. "Here is what I mean, " pursued Cressler. "It'slike this: If we send the price of wheat down too far, the farmersuffers, the fellow who raises it if we send it up too far, the poorman in Europe suffers, the fellow who eats it. And food to the peasanton the continent is bread--not meat or potatoes, as it is with us. Theonly way to do so that neither the American farmer nor the Europeanpeasant suffers, is to keep wheat at an average, legitimate value. Themoment you inflate or depress that, somebody suffers right away. Andthat is just what these gamblers are doing all the time, booming it upor booming it down. Think of it, the food of hundreds and hundreds ofthousands of people just at the mercy of a few men down there on theBoard of Trade. They make the price. They say just how much the peasantshall pay for his loaf of bread. If he can't pay the price he simplystarves. And as for the farmer, why it's ludicrous. If I build a houseand offer it for sale, I put my own price on it, and if the priceoffered don't suit me I don't sell. But if I go out here in Iowa andraise a crop of wheat, I've got to sell it, whether I want to or not atthe figure named by some fellows in Chicago. And to make themselvesrich, they may make me sell it at a price that bankrupts me. "

Laura nodded. She was intensely interested. A whole new order of thingswas being disclosed, and for the first time in her life she looked intothe workings of political economy. 

"Oh, that's only one side of it, " Cressler went on, heedless ofJadwin's good-humoured protests. "Yes, I know I am a crank onspeculating. I'm going to preach a little if you'll let me. I've been aspeculator myself, and a ruined one at that, and I know what I amtalking about. Here is what I was going to say. These fellowsthemselves, the gamblers--well, call them speculators, if you like. Oh, the fine, promising manly young men I've seen wrecked--absolutely andhopelessly wrecked and ruined by speculation! It's as easy to get intoas going across the street. They make three hundred, five hundred, yes, even a thousand dollars sometimes in a couple of hours, without so muchas raising a finger. Think what that means to a boy of twenty-fivewho's doing clerk work at seventy-five a month. Why, it would take himmaybe ten years to save a thousand, and here he's made it in a singlemorning. Think you can keep him out of speculation then? First thingyou know he's thrown up his honest, humdrum position--oh, I've seen ithundreds of times--and takes to hanging round the customers' rooms downthere on La Salle Street, and he makes a little, and makes a littlemore, and finally he is so far in that he can't pull out, and then somebillionaire fellow, who has the market in the palm of his hand, tightens one finger, and our young man is ruined, body and mind. He'slost the taste, the very capacity for legitimate business, and he stayson hanging round the Board till he gets to be--all of a sudden--an oldman. And then some day some one says, 'Why, where's So-and-so?' and youwake up to the fact that the young fellow has simply disappeared--lost. I tell you the fascination of this Pit gambling is something no one whohasn't experienced it can have the faintest conception of. I believeit's worse than liquor, worse than morphine. Once you get into it, itgrips you and draws you and draws you, and the nearer you get to theend the easier it seems to win, till all of a sudden, ah! there's thewhirlpool. .. . 'J. , ' keep away from it, my boy. "

Jadwin laughed, and leaning over, put his fingers upon Cressler'sbreast, as though turning off a switch. 

"Now, Miss Dearborn, " he announced, "we've shut him off. Charlie meansall right, but now and then some one brushes against him and opens thatswitch. "

Cressler, good-humouredly laughed with the others, but Laura's smilewas perfunctory and her eyes were grave. But there was a diversion. While the others had been talking the rehearsal had proceeded, and nowPage beckoned to Laura from the far end of the parlor, calling out:

"Laura--'Beatrice, ' it's the third act. You are wanted. "

"Oh, I must run, " exclaimed Laura, catching up her play-book. "PoorMonsieur Gerardy--we must be a trial to him. "

She hurried across the room, where the coach was disposing thefurniture for the scene, consulting the stage directions in his book:

"Here the kitchen table, here the old-fashioned writing-desk, here thearmoire with practicable doors, here the window. Soh! Who is on? Ah, the young lady of the sick nose, 'Marion. ' She is discovered--knitting. And then the duchess--later. That's you Mademoiselle Dearborn. Youinterrupt--you remember. But then you, ah, you always are right. Ifthey were all like you. Very well, we begin. "

Creditably enough the Gretry girl read her part, Monsieur Gerardyinterrupting to indicate the crossings and business. Then at her cue, Laura, who was to play the role of the duchess, entered with the words:

"I beg your pardon, but the door stood open. May I come in?"

Monsieur Gerardy murmured:

"_Elle est vraiment superbe. _"

Laura to the very life, to every little trick of carriage and mannerwas the high-born gentlewoman visiting the home of a dependent. Nothingcould have been more dignified, more gracious, more gracefullycondescending than her poise. She dramatised not only her role, but thewhole of her surroundings. The interior of the little cottage seemed todefine itself with almost visible distinctness the moment she set footupon the scene. 

Gerardy tiptoed from group to group, whispering:

"Eh? Very fine, our duchess. She would do well professionally. "

But Mrs. Wessels was not altogether convinced. Her eyes following herniece, she said to Corthell:

"It's Laura's 'grand manner. ' My word, I know her in _that_ part. That's the way she is when she comes down to the parlor of an evening, and Page introduces her to one of her young men. "

"I nearly die, " protested Page, beginning to laugh. "Of course it'svery natural I should want my friends to like my sister. And Lauracomes in as though she were walking on eggs, and gets their nameswrong, as though it didn't much matter, and calls them Pinky when theirname is Pinckney, and don't listen to what they say, till I want tosink right through the floor with mortification. "

In haphazard fashion the rehearsal wore to a close. Monsieur Gerardystormed and fretted and insisted upon repeating certain scenes over andover again. By ten o'clock the actors were quite worn out. A littlesupper was served, and very soon afterward Laura made a move towarddeparting. She was wondering who would see her home, Landry, Jadwin, orSheldon Corthell. 

The day had been sunshiny, warm even, but since nine o'clock theweather had changed for the worse, and by now a heavy rain was falling. Mrs. Cressler begged the two sisters and Mrs. Wessels to stay at herhouse over night, but Laura refused. Jadwin was suggesting to Cresslerthe appropriateness of having the coupe brought around to take thesisters home, when Corthell came up to Laura. 

"I sent for a couple of hansoms long since, " he said. "They are waitingoutside now. " And that seemed to settle the question. 

For all Jadwin's perseverance, the artist seemed--for this time atleast--to have the better of the situation. 

As the good-bys were being said at the front door Page remarked toLandry:

"You had better go with us as far as the house, so that you can takeone of our umbrellas. You can get in with Aunt Wess' and me. There'splenty of room. You can't go home in this storm without an umbrella. "

Landry at first refused, haughtily. He might be too poor to parade alot of hansom cabs around, but he was too proud, to say the least, toride in 'em when some one else paid. 

Page scolded him roundly. What next? The idea. He was not to be socompletely silly. She didn't propose to have the responsibility of hiscatching pneumonia just for the sake of a quibble. 

"Some people, " she declared, "never seemed to be able to find out thatthey are grown up. "

"Very well, " he announced, "I'll go if I can tip the driver a dollar. "

Page compressed her lips. 

"The man that can afford dollar tips, " she said, "can afford to hirethe cab in the first place. "

"Seventy-five cents, then, " he declared resolutely. "Not a cent less. Ishould feel humiliated with any less. "

"Will you please take me down to the cab, Landry Court?" she cried. Andwithout further comment Landry obeyed. 

"Now, Miss Dearborn, if you are ready, " exclaimed Corthell, as he cameup. He held the umbrella over her head, allowing his shoulders to getthe drippings. 

They cried good-by again all around, and the artist guided her down theslippery steps. He handed her carefully into the hansom, and following, drew down the glasses. 

Laura settled herself comfortably far back in her corner, adjusting herskirts and murmuring:

"Such a wet night. Who would have thought it was going to rain? I wasafraid you were not coming at first, " she added. "At dinner Mrs. Cressler said you had an important committee meeting--something to dowith the Art Institute, the award of prizes; was that it?"

"Oh, yes, " he answered, indifferently, "something of the sort was on. Isuppose it was important--for the Institute. But for me there is onlyone thing of importance nowadays, " he spoke with a studiedcarelessness, as though announcing a fact that Laura must know already, "and that is, to be near you. It is astonishing. You have no idea ofit, how I have ordered my whole life according to that idea. "

"As though you expected me to believe that, " she answered. 

In her other lovers she knew her words would have provoked vehementprotestation. But for her it was part of the charm of Corthell'sattitude that he never did or said the expected, the ordinary. Just nowhe seemed more interested in the effect of his love for Laura uponhimself than in the manner of her reception of it. 

"It is curious, " he continued. "I am no longer a boy. I have noenthusiasms. I have known many women, and I have seen enough of whatthe crowd calls love to know how futile it is, how empty, a vanity ofvanities. I had imagined that the poets were wrong, were idealists, seeing the things that should be rather than the things that were. Andthen, " suddenly he drew a deep breath: "_this_ happiness; and to me. And the miracle, the wonderful is there--all at once--in my heart, inmy very hand, like a mysterious, beautiful exotic. The poets arewrong, " he added. "They have not been idealists enough. I wish--ah, well, never mind. "

"What is it that you wish?" she asked, as he broke off suddenly. Lauraknew even before she spoke that it would have been better not to haveprompted him to continue. Intuitively she had something more than asuspicion that he had led her on to say these very words. And inadmitting that she cared to have the conversation proceed upon thisfooting, she realised that she was sheering towards unequivocalcoquetry. She saw the false move now, knew that she had lowered herguard. On all accounts it would have been more dignified to have shownonly a mild interest in what Corthell wished. She realised that oncemore she had acted upon impulse, and she even found time to wonderagain how it was that when with this man her impulses, and not herreason prevailed so often. With Landry or with Curtis Jadwin she wasalways calm, tranquilly self-possessed. But Corthell seemed able toreach all that was impetuous, all that was unreasoned in her nature. ToLandry she was more than anything else, an older sister, indulgent, kind-hearted. With Jadwin she found that all the serious, all thesincere, earnest side of her character was apt to come to the front. But Corthell stirred troublous, unknown deeps in her, certain undefinedtrends of recklessness; and for so long as he held her within hisinfluence, she could not forget her sex a single instant. 

It dismayed her to have this strange personality of hers, this otherheadstrong, impetuous self, discovered to her. She hardly recognisedit. It made her a little afraid; and yet, wonder of wonders, she couldnot altogether dislike it. There was a certain fascination in resigningherself for little instants to the dominion of this daring strangerthat was yet herself. 

Meanwhile Corthell had answered her:

"I wish, " he said, "I wish you could say something--I hardly knowwhat--something to me. So little would be so much. "

"But what can I say?" she protested. "I don't know--I--what can I say?"

"It must be yes or no for me, " he broke out. "I can't go on this way. "

"But why not? Why not?" exclaimed Laura. "Why must we--terminateanything? Why not let things go on just as they are? We are quite happyas we are. There's never been a time of my life when I've been happierthan this last three or four months. I don't want to change anything. Ah, here we are. "

The hansom drew up in front of the house. Aunt Wess' and Page werealready inside. The maid stood in the vestibule in the light thatstreamed from the half-open front door, an umbrella in her hand. And asLaura alighted, she heard Page's voice calling from the front hall thatthe others had umbrellas, that the maid was not to wait. 

The hansom splashed away, and Corthell and Laura mounted the steps ofthe house. 

"Won't you come in?" she said. "There is a fire in the library. "

But he said no, and for a few seconds they stood under the vestibulelight, talking. Then Corthell, drawing off his right-hand glove, said:

"I suppose that I have my answer. You do not wish for a change. Iunderstand. You wish to say by that, that you do not love me. If youdid love me as I love you, you would wish for just that--a change. Youwould be as eager as I for that wonderful, wonderful change that makesa new heaven and a new earth. "

This time Laura did not answer. There was a moment's silence. ThenCorthell said:

"Do you know, I think I shall go away. "

"Go away?"

"Yes, to New York. Possibly to Paris. There is a new method of fusingglass that I've promised myself long ago I would look into. I don'tknow that it interests me much--now. But I think I had better go. Atonce, within the week. I've not much heart in it; but it seems--underthe circumstances--to be appropriate. " He held out his bared hand. Laura saw that he was smiling. 

"Well, Miss Dearborn--good-by. "

"But why should you go?" she cried, distressfully. "How perfectly--ah, don't go, " she exclaimed, then in desperate haste added: "It would beabsolutely foolish. "

"_Shall_ I stay?" he urged. "Do you tell me to stay?"

"Of course I do, " she answered. "It would break up the play--yourgoing. It would spoil my part. You play opposite me, you know. Pleasestay. "

"Shall I stay, " he asked, "for the sake of your part? There is no oneelse you would rather have?" He was smiling straight into her eyes, andshe guessed what he meant. 

She smiled back at him, and the spirit of daring never more awake inher, replied, as she caught his eye:

"There is no one else I would rather have. "

Corthell caught her hand of a sudden. 

"Laura, " he cried, "let us end this fencing and quibbling once and forall. Dear, dear girl, I love you with all the strength of all the goodin me. Let me be the best a man can be to the woman he loves. "

Laura flashed a smile at him. 

"If you can make me love you enough, " she answered. 

"And you think I can?" he exclaimed. 

"You have my permission to try, " she said. 

She hoped fervently that now, without further words, he would leaveher. It seemed to her that it would be the most delicate chivalry onhis part--having won this much--to push his advantage no further. Shewaited anxiously for his next words. She began to fear that she hadtrusted too much upon her assurance of his tact. 

Corthell held out his hand again. 

"It is good-night, then, not good-by. "

"It is good-night, " said Laura. 

With the words he was gone, and Laura, entering the house, shut thedoor behind her with a long breath of satisfaction. 

Page and Landry were still in the library. Laura joined them, and for afew moments the three stood before the fireplace talking about theplay. Page at length, at the first opportunity, excused herself andwent to bed. She made a great show of leaving Landry and Laura alone, and managed to convey the impression that she understood they wereanxious to be rid of her. 

"Only remember, " she remarked to Laura severely, "to lock up and turnout the hall gas. Annie has gone to bed long ago. "

"I must dash along, too, " declared Landry when Page was gone. 

He buttoned his coat about his neck, and Laura followed him out intothe hall and found an umbrella for him. 

"You were beautiful to-night, " he said, as he stood with his hand onthe door knob. "Beautiful. I could not keep my eyes off of you, and Icould not listen to anybody but you. And now, " he declared, solemnly, "I will see your eyes and hear your voice all the rest of the night. Iwant to explain, " he added, "about those hansoms--about coming homewith Miss Page and Mrs. Wessels. Mr. Corthell--those were his hansoms, of course. But I wanted an umbrella, and I gave the driver seventy-fivecents. "

"Why of course, of course, " said Laura, not quite divining what he wasdriving at. 

"I don't want you to think that I would be willing to put myself underobligations to anybody. "

"Of course, Landry; I understand. "

He thrilled at once. 

"Ah, " he cried, "you don't know what it means to me to look into theeyes of a woman who really understands. "

Laura stared, wondering just what she had said. 

"Will you turn this hall light out for me, Landry?" she asked. "I nevercan reach. "

He left the front door open and extinguished the jet in its dull redglobe. Promptly they were involved in darkness. 

"Good-night, " she said. "Isn't it dark?"

He stretched out his hand to take hers, but instead his groping fingerstouched her waist. Suddenly Laura felt his arm clasp her. Then all atonce, before she had time to so much as think of resistance, he had putboth arms about her and kissed her squarely on her cheek. 

Then the front door closed, and she was left abruptly alone, breathless, stunned, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. 

Her first sensation was one merely of amazement. She put her handquickly to her cheek, first the palm and then the back, murmuringconfusedly:

"What? Why?--why?"

Then she whirled about and ran up the stairs, her silks clashing andfluttering about her as she fled, gained her own room, and swung thedoor violently shut behind her. She turned up the lowered gas and, without knowing why, faced her mirror at once, studying her reflectionand watching her hand as it all but scoured the offended cheek. 

Then, suddenly, with an upward, uplifting rush, her anger surged withinher. She, Laura, Miss Dearborn, who loved no man, who never conceded, never capitulated, whose "grand manner" was a thing proverbial, in allher pitch of pride, in her own home, her own fortress, had been kissed, like a school-girl, like a chambermaid, in the dark, in a corner. 

And by--great heavens!--_Landry Court. _ The boy whom she fancied sheheld in such subjection, such profound respect. Landry Court had dared, had dared to kiss her, to offer her this wretchedly commonplace andpetty affront, degrading her to the level of a pretty waitress, makingher ridiculous. 

She stood rigid, drawn to her full height, in the centre of herbedroom, her fists tense at her sides, her breath short, her eyesflashing, her face aflame. From time to time her words, half smothered, burst from her. 

"What does he think I am? How dared he? How dared he?"

All that she could say, any condemnation she could formulate only madeher position the more absurd, the more humiliating. It had all beensaid before by generations of shop-girls, school-girls, and servants, in whose company the affront had ranged her. Landry was to be told ineffect that he was never to presume to seek her acquaintance again. Just as the enraged hussy of the street corners and Sunday picnicsshouted that the offender should "never dare speak to her again as longas he lived. " Never before had she been subjected to this kind ofindignity. And simultaneously with the assurance she could hear theshrill voice of the drab of the public balls proclaiming that she had"never been kissed in all her life before. "

Of all slights, of all insults, it was the one that robbed her of thevery dignity she should assume to rebuke it. The more vehemently sheresented it, the more laughable became the whole affair. 

But she would resent it, she would resent it, and Landry Court shouldbe driven to acknowledge that the sorriest day of his life was the oneon which he had forgotten the respect in which he had pretended to holdher. He had deceived her, then, all along. Because shehad--foolishly--relaxed a little towards him, permitted a certainintimacy, this was how he abused it. Ah, well, it would teach her alesson. Men were like that. She might have known it would come to this. Wilfully they chose to misunderstand, to take advantage of herfrankness, her good nature, her good comradeship. 

She had been foolish all along, flirting--yes, that was the word for itflirting with Landry and Corthell and Jadwin. No doubt they allcompared notes about her. Perhaps they had bet who first should kissher. Or, at least, there was not one of them who would not kiss her ifshe gave him a chance. 

But if she, in any way, had been to blame for what Landry had done, shewould atone for it. She had made herself too cheap, she had foundamusement in encouraging these men, in equivocating, in coquetting withthem. Now it was time to end the whole business, to send each one ofthem to the right-about with an unequivocal definite word. She was agood girl, she told herself. She was, in her heart, sincere; she wasabove the inexpensive diversion of flirting. She had started wrong inher new life, and it was time, high time, to begin over again--with aclean page--to show these men that they dared not presume to takeliberties with so much as the tip of her little finger. 

So great was her agitation, so eager her desire to act upon herresolve, that she could not wait till morning. It was a physicalimpossibility for her to remain under what she chose to believesuspicion another hour. If there was any remotest chance that her threelovers had permitted themselves to misunderstand her, they were to becorrected at once, were to be shown their place, and that without mercy. 

She called for the maid, Annie, whose husband was the janitor of thehouse, and who slept in the top story. 

"If Henry hasn't gone to bed, " said Laura, "tell him to wait up till Icall him, or to sleep with his clothes on. There is something I wanthim to do for me--something important. "

It was close upon midnight. Laura turned back into her room, removedher hat and veil, and tossed them, with her coat, upon the bed. She litanother burner of the chandelier, and drew a chair to her writing-deskbetween the windows. 

Her first note was to Landry Court. She wrote it almost with a singlespurt of the pen, and dated it carefully, so that he might know it hadbeen written immediately after he had left. Thus it ran:

"Please do not try to see me again at any time or under anycircumstances. I want you to understand, very clearly, that I do notwish to continue our acquaintance. "

Her letter to Corthell was more difficult, and it was not until she hadrewritten it two or three times that it read to her satisfaction. 

"My dear Mr. Corthell, " so it was worded, "you asked me to-night thatour fencing and quibbling be brought to an end. I quite agree with youthat it is desirable. I spoke as I did before you left upon an impulsethat I shall never cease to regret. I do not wish you to misunderstandme, nor to misinterpret my attitude in any way. You asked me to be yourwife, and, very foolishly and wrongly, I gave you--intentionally--ananswer which might easily be construed into an encouragement. Understand now that I do not wish you to try to make me love you. Iwould find it extremely distasteful. And, believe me, it would be quitehopeless. I do not now, and never shall care for you as I should careif I were to be your wife. I beseech you that you will not, in anymanner, refer again to this subject. It would only distress and pain me. 

"Cordially yours, "LAURA DEARBORN. "

The letter to Curtis Jadwin was almost to the same effect. But shefound the writing of it easier than the others. In addressing him shefelt herself grow a little more serious, a little more dignified andcalm. It ran as follows:

MY DEAR MR. JADWIN:

"When you asked me to become your wife this evening, you deserved astraightforward answer, and instead I replied in a spirit ofcapriciousness and disingenuousness, which I now earnestly regret, andwhich ask you to pardon and to ignore. 

"I allowed myself to tell you that you might find encouragement in myfoolishly spoken words. I am deeply sorry that I should have soforgotten what was due to my own self-respect and to your sincerity. 

"If I have permitted myself to convey to you the impression that Iwould ever be willing to be your wife, let me hasten to correct it. Whatever I said to you this evening, I must answer now--as I shouldhave answered then--truthfully and unhesitatingly, no. 

"This, I insist, must be the last word between us upon this unfortunatesubject, if we are to continue, as I hope, very good friends. 

"Cordially yours, "LAURA DEARBORN. "

She sealed, stamped, and directed the three envelopes, and glanced atthe little leather-cased travelling clock that stood on the top of herdesk. It was nearly two. 

"I could not sleep, I could not sleep, " she murmured, "if I did notknow they were on the way. "

In answer to the bell Henry appeared, and Laura gave him the letters, with orders to mail them at once in the nearest box. 

When it was all over she sat down again at her desk, and leaning anelbow upon it, covered her eyes with her hand for a long moment. Shefelt suddenly very tired, and when at last she lowered her hand, herfingers were wet. But in the end she grew calmer. She felt that, at allevents, she had vindicated herself, that her life would begin againto-morrow with a clean page; and when at length she fell asleep, it wasto the dreamless unconsciousness of an almost tranquil mind. 

She slept late the next morning and breakfasted in bed between ten andeleven. Then, as the last vibrations of last night's commotion diedaway, a very natural curiosity began to assert itself. She wondered howeach of the three men "would take it. " In spite of herself she couldnot keep from wishing that she could be by when they read theirdismissals. 

Towards the early part of the afternoon, while Laura was in the libraryreading "Queen's Gardens, " the special delivery brought Landry Court'sreply. It was one roulade of incoherence, even in places blistered withtears. Landry protested, implored, debased himself to the very dust. His letter bristled with exclamation points, and ended with a prolongedwail of distress and despair. 

Quietly, and with a certain merciless sense of pacification, Lauradeliberately reduced the letter to strips, burned it upon the hearth, and went back to her Ruskin. 

A little later, the afternoon being fine, she determined to ride out toLincoln Park, not fifteen minutes from her home, to take a little walkthere, and to see how many new buds were out. 

As she was leaving, Annie gave into her hands a pasteboard box, justbrought to the house by a messenger boy. 

The box was full of Jacqueminot roses, to the stems of which a notefrom Corthell was tied. He wrote but a single line:

"So it should have been 'good-by' after all. "

Laura had Annie put the roses in Page's room. 

"Tell Page she can have them; I don't want them. She can wear them toher dance to-night, " she said. 

While to herself she added:

"The little buds in the park will be prettier. "

She was gone from the house over two hours, for she had elected to walkall the way home. She came back flushed and buoyant from her exercise, her cheeks cool with the Lake breeze, a young maple leaf in one of therevers of her coat. Annie let her in, murmuring:

"A gentleman called just after you went out. I told him you were not athome, but he said he would wait. He is in the library now. "

"Who is he? Did he give his name?" demanded Laura. 

The maid handed her Curtis Jadwin's card. 

V

That year the spring burst over Chicago in a prolonged scintillation ofpallid green. For weeks continually the sun shone. The Lake, afterpersistently cherishing the greys and bitter greens of the wintermonths, and the rugged white-caps of the northeast gales, mellowed atlength, turned to a softened azure blue, and lapsed by degrees to anunruffled calmness, incrusted with innumerable coruscations. 

In the parks, first of all, the buds and earliest shoots assertedthemselves. The horse-chestnut bourgeons burst their sheaths to spreadinto trefoils and flame-shaped leaves. The elms, maples, andcottonwoods followed. The sooty, blackened snow upon the grass plats, in the residence quarters, had long since subsided, softening the turf, filling the gutters with rivulets. On all sides one saw men at worklaying down the new sod in rectangular patches. 

There was a delicious smell of ripening in the air, a smell of sap oncemore on the move, of humid earths disintegrating from the winterrigidity, of twigs and slender branches stretching themselves under thereturning warmth, elastic once more, straining in their bark. 

On the North Side, in Washington Square, along the Lake-shore Drive, all up and down the Lincoln Park Boulevard, and all through Erie, Huron, and Superior streets, through North State Street, North ClarkeStreet, and La Salle Avenue, the minute sparkling of green flashed fromtree top to tree top, like the first kindling of dry twigs. One couldalmost fancy that the click of igniting branch tips was audible aswhole beds of yellow-green sparks defined themselves within certainelms and cottonwoods. 

Every morning the sun invaded earlier the east windows of LauraDearborn's bedroom. Every day at noon it stood more nearly overheadabove her home. Every afternoon the checkered shadows of the leavesthickened upon the drawn curtains of the library. Within doors thebottle-green flies came out of their lethargy and droned and bumped onthe panes. The double windows were removed, screens and awnings tooktheir places; the summer pieces were put into the fireplaces. 

All of a sudden vans invaded the streets, piled high with mattresses, rocking-chairs, and bird cages; the inevitable "spring moving" tookplace. And these furniture vans alternated with great trucks laden withhuge elm trees on their way from nursery to lawn. Families and treesalike submitted to the impulse of transplanting, abandoning the winterquarters, migrating with the spring to newer environments, taking rootin other soils. Sparrows wrangled on the sidewalks and built raggednests in the interstices of cornice and coping. In the parks one heardthe liquid modulations of robins. The florists' wagons appeared, andfrom house to house, from lawn to lawn, iron urns and window boxesfilled up with pansies, geraniums, fuchsias, and trailing vines. Theflower beds, stripped of straw and manure, bloomed again, and at lengththe great cottonwoods shed their berries, like clusters of tiny grapes, over street and sidewalk. 

At length came three days of steady rain, followed by cloudlesssunshine and full-bodied, vigorous winds straight from out the south. 

Instantly the living embers in tree top and grass plat were fanned toflame. Like veritable fire, the leaves blazed up. Branch after branchcaught and crackled; even the dryest, the deadest, were enfolded in theresistless swirl of green. Tree top ignited tree top; the parks andboulevards were one smother of radiance. From end to end and from sideto side of the city, fed by the rains, urged by the south winds, spreadbillowing and surging the superb conflagration of the coming summer. 

Then, abruptly, everything hung poised; the leaves, the flowers, thegrass, all at fullest stretch, stood motionless, arrested, while theheat, distilled, as it were, from all this seething green, rose like avast pillar over the city, and stood balanced there in the iridescenceof the sky, moveless and immeasurable. 

From time to time it appeared as if this pillar broke in the guise ofsummer storms, and came toppling down upon the city in tremendousdetonations of thunder and weltering avalanches of rain. But it brokeonly to reform, and no sooner had the thunder ceased, the rainintermitted, and the sun again come forth, than one received the vagueimpression of the swift rebuilding of the vast, invisible column thatsmothered the city under its bases, towering higher and higher into therain-washed, crystal-clear atmosphere. 

Then the aroma of wet dust, of drenched pavements, musty, acute--theunforgettable exhalation of the city's streets after a shower--pervadedall the air, and the little out-door activities resumed again under thedripping elms and upon the steaming sidewalks. 

The evenings were delicious. It was yet too early for the exodusnorthward to the Wisconsin lakes, but to stay indoors after nightfallwas not to be thought of. After six o'clock, all through the streets inthe neighbourhood of the Dearborns' home, one could see the familygroups "sitting out" upon the front "stoop. " Chairs were brought forth, carpets and rugs unrolled upon the steps. From within, through theopened windows of drawing-room and parlour, came the brisk gaiety ofpianos. The sidewalks were filled with children clamouring at "tag, ""I-spy, " or "run-sheep-run. " Girls in shirt-waists and young men inflannel suits promenaded to and fro. Visits were exchanged from "stoop"to "stoop, " lemonade was served, and claret punch. In their armchairson the top step, elderly men, householders, capitalists, well-to-do, their large stomachs covered with white waistcoats, their straw hatsupon their knees, smoked very fragrant cigars in silent enjoyment, digesting their dinners, taking the air after the grime and hurry ofthe business districts. 

It was on such an evening as this, well on towards the last days of thespring, that Laura Dearborn and Page joined the Cresslers and theirparty, sitting out like other residents of the neighbourhood on thefront steps of their house. Almost every evening nowadays the Dearborngirls came thus to visit with the Cresslers. Sometimes Page brought hermandolin. 

Every day of the warm weather seemed only to increase the beauty of thetwo sisters. Page's brown hair was never more luxuriant, the exquisitecolouring of her cheeks never more charming, the boyish outlines of hersmall, straight figure--immature and a little angular as yet--nevermore delightful. The seriousness of her straight-browed, grave, grey-blue eyes was still present, but the eyes themselves were, in someindefinable way, deepening, and all the maturity that as yet waswithheld from her undeveloped little form looked out from beneath herlong lashes. 

But Laura was veritably regal. Very slender as yet, no trace of fulnessto be seen over hip or breast, the curves all low and flat, she yetcarried her extreme height with tranquil confidence, the unperturbedassurance of a chatelaine of the days of feudalism. 

Her coal-black hair, high-piled, she wore as if it were a coronet. Thewarmth of the exuberant spring days had just perceptibly mellowed theeven paleness of her face, but to compensate for this all the splendourof coming midsummer nights flashed from her deep-brown eyes. 

On this occasion she had put on her coat over her shirt-waist, and agreat bunch of violets was tucked into her belt. But no sooner had sheexchanged greetings with the others and settled herself in her placethan she slipped her coat from her shoulders. 

It was while she was doing this that she noted, for the first time, Landry Court standing half in and half out of the shadow of thevestibule behind Mr. Cressler's chair. 

"This is the first time he has been here since--since that night, " Mrs. Cressler hastened to whisper in Laura's ear. "He told me about--well, he told me what occurred, you know. He came to dinner to-night, andafterwards the poor boy nearly wept in my arms. You never saw suchpenitence. "

Laura put her chin in the air with a little movement of incredulity. But her anger had long since been a thing of the past. Good-tempered, she could not cherish resentment very long. But as yet she had greetedLandry only by the briefest of nods. 

"Such a warm night!" she murmured, fanning herself with part of Mr. Cressler's evening paper. "And I never was so thirsty. "

"Why, of course, " exclaimed Mrs. Cressler. "Isabel, " she called, addressing Miss Gretry, who sat on the opposite side of the steps, "isn't the lemonade near you? Fill a couple of glasses for Laura andPage. "

Page murmured her thanks, but Laura declined. 

"No; just plain water for me, " she said. "Isn't there some inside? Mr. Court can get it for me, can't he?" Landry brought the pitcher back, running at top speed and spilling half of it in his eagerness. Laurathanked him with a smile, addressing him, however, by his last name. She somehow managed to convey to him in her manner the information thatthough his offence was forgotten, their old-time relations were not, for one instant, to be resumed. 

Later on, while Page was thrumming her mandolin, Landry whistling a"second, " Mrs. Cressler took occasion to remark to Laura:

"I was reading the Paris letter in the 'Inter-Ocean' to-day, and I sawMr. Corthell's name on the list of American arrivals at theContinental. I guess, " she added, "he's going to be gone a long time. Iwonder sometimes if he will ever come back. A fellow with his talent, Ishould imagine would find Chicago--well, less congenial, anyhow, thanParis. But, just the same, I do think it was mean of him to break upour play by going. I'll bet a cookie that he wouldn't take part anymore just because you wouldn't. He was just crazy to do that love scenein the fourth act with you. And when you wouldn't play, of course hewouldn't; and then everybody seemed to lose interest with you two out. 'J. ' took it all very decently though, don't you think?"

Laura made a murmur of mild assent. 

"He was disappointed, too, " continued Mrs. Cressler. "I could see that. He thought the play was going to interest a lot of our church people inhis Sunday-school. But he never said a word when it fizzled out. Is hecoming to-night?"

"Well I declare, " said Laura. "How should I know, if you don't?"

Jadwin was an almost regular visitor at the Cresslers' during the firstwarm evenings. He lived on the South Side, and the distance between hishome and that of the Cresslers was very considerable. It was seldom, however, that Jadwin did not drive over. He came in his double-seatedbuggy, his negro coachman beside him the two coach dogs, "Rex" and"Rox, " trotting under the rear axle. His horses were not showy, norwere they made conspicuous by elaborate boots, bandages, and all theother solemn paraphernalia of the stable, yet men upon the sidewalks, amateurs, breeders, and the like--men who understood good stock--neverfailed to stop to watch the team go by, heads up, the check reinswinging loose, ears all alert, eyes all alight, the breath deep, strong, and slow, and the stride, machine-like, even as the swing of ametronome, thrown out from the shoulder to knee, snapped on from kneeto fetlock, from fetlock to pastern, finishing squarely, beautifully, with the thrust of the hoof, planted an instant, then, as it were, flinging the roadway behind it, snatched up again, and again castforward. 

On these occasions Jadwin himself inevitably wore a black "slouch" hat, suggestive of the general of the Civil War, a grey "dust overcoat" witha black velvet collar, and tan gloves, discoloured with the moisture ofhis palms and all twisted and crumpled with the strain of holding thethoroughbreds to their work. 

He always called the time of the trip from the buggy at the Cresslers'horse block, his stop watch in his hand, and, as he joined the groupsupon the steps, he was almost sure to remark: "Tugs were loose all theway from the river. They pulled the whole rig by the reins. My handsare about dislocated. "

"Page plays very well, " murmured Mrs. Cressler as the young girl laiddown her mandolin. "I hope J. Does come to-night, " she added. "I loveto have him 'round. He's so hearty and whole-souled. "

Laura did not reply. She seemed a little preoccupied this evening, andconversation in the group died away. The night was very beautiful, serene, quiet; and, at this particular hour of the end of the twilight, no one cared to talk much. Cressler lit another cigar, and thefilaments of delicate blue smoke hung suspended about his head in themoveless air. Far off, from the direction of the mouth of the river, alake steamer whistled a prolonged tenor note. Somewhere from an openwindow in one of the neighbouring houses a violin, accompanied by apiano, began to elaborate the sustained phrases of "Schubert'sSerenade. " Theatrical as was the theme, the twilight and the muffledhum of the city, lapsing to quiet after the febrile activities of theday, combined to lend it a dignity, a persuasiveness. The children werestill playing along the sidewalks, and their staccato gaiety was partof the quiet note to which all sounds of the moment seemed chorded. 

After a while Mrs. Cressler began to talk to Laura in a low voice. Sheand Charlie were going to spend a part of June at Oconomowoc, inWisconsin. Why could not Laura make up her mind to come with them? Shehad asked Laura a dozen times already, but couldn't get a yes or noanswer from her. What was the reason she could not decide? Didn't shethink she would have a good time?

"Page can go, " said Laura. "I would like to have you take her. But asfor me, I don't know. My plans are so unsettled this summer. " She brokeoff suddenly. "Oh, now, that I think of it, I want to borrow your'Idylls of the King. ' May I take it for a day or two? I'll run in andget it now, " she added as she rose. "I know just where to find it. No, please sit still, Mr. Cressler. I'll go. "

And with the words she disappeared in doors, leaving Mrs. Cressler tomurmur to her husband:

"Strange girl. Sometimes I think I don't know Laura at all. She's soinconsistent. How funny she acts about going to Oconomowoc with us!"

Mr. Cressler permitted himself an amiable grunt of protest. 

"Pshaw! Laura's all right. The handsomest girl in Cook County. "

"Well, that's not much to do with it, Charlie, " sighed Mrs. Cressler. "Oh, dear, " she added vaguely. "I don't know. "

"Don't know what?"

"I hope Laura's life will be happy. "

"Oh, for God's sake, Carrie!"

"There's something about that girl, " continued Mrs. Cressler, "thatmakes my heart bleed for her. "

Cressler frowned, puzzled and astonished. 

"Hey--what!" he exclaimed. "You're crazy, Carrie!"

"Just the same, " persisted Mrs. Cressler, "I just yearn towards hersometimes like a mother. Some people are born to trouble, Charlie; bornto trouble, as the sparks fly upward. And you mark my words, CharlieCressler, Laura is that sort. There's all the pathos in the world injust the way she looks at you from under all that black, black hair, and out of her eyes the saddest eyes sometimes, great, sad, mournfuleyes. "

"Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Cressler, resuming his paper. 

"I'm positive that Sheldon Corthell asked her to marry him, " mused Mrs. Cressler after a moment's silence. "I'm sure that's why he left sosuddenly. "

Her husband grunted grimly as he turned his paper so as to catch thereflection of the vestibule light. 

"Don't you think so, Charlie?"

"Uh! I don't know. I never had much use for that fellow, anyhow. "

"He's wonderfully talented, " she commented, "and so refined. He alwayshad the most beautiful manners. Did you ever notice his hands?"

"I thought they were like a barber's. Put him in 'J. 's' rig there, behind those horses of his, and how long do you suppose he'd hold thosetrotters with that pair of hands? Why, " he blustered, suddenly, "they'dpull him right over the dashboard. "

"Poor little Landry Court!" murmured his wife, lowering her voice. "He's just about heart-broken. He wanted to marry her too. My goodness, she must have brought him up with a round turn. I can see Laura whenshe is really angry. Poor fellow!"

"If you women would let that boy alone, he might amount to something. "

"He told me his life was ruined. "

Cressler threw his cigar from him with vast impatience. 

"Oh, rot!" he muttered. 

"He took it terribly, seriously, Charlie, just the same. "

"I'd like to take that young boy in hand and shake some of the nonsenseout of him that you women have filled him with. He's got a level head. On the floor every day, and never yet bought a hatful of wheat on hisown account. Don't know the meaning of speculation and don't want to. There's a boy with some sense. "

"It's just as well, " persisted Mrs. Cressler reflectively, "that Laurawouldn't have him. Of course they're not made for each other. But Ithought that Corthell would have made her happy. But she won't evermarry 'J. ' He asked her to; she didn't tell me, but I know he did. Andshe's refused him flatly. She won't marry anybody, she says. Said shedidn't love anybody, and never would. I'd have loved to have seen hermarried to 'J. , ' but I can see now that they wouldn't have beencongenial; and if Laura wouldn't have Sheldon Corthell, who was justmade for her, I guess it was no use to expect she'd have 'J. ' Laura'sgot a temperament, and she's artistic, and loves paintings, and poetry, and Shakespeare, and all that, and Curtis don't care for those thingsat all. They wouldn't have had anything in common. But Corthell--thatwas different. And Laura did care for him, in a way. He interested herimmensely. When he'd get started on art subjects Laura would just hangon every word. My lands, I wouldn't have gone away if I'd been in hisboots. You mark my words, Charlie, there was the man for LauraDearborn, and she'll marry him yet, or I'll miss my guess. "

"That's just like you, Carrie--you and the rest of the women, "exclaimed Cressler, "always scheming to marry each other off. Why don'tyou let the girl alone? Laura's all right. She minds her own business, and she's perfectly happy. But you'd go to work and get up a sensationabout her, and say that your 'heart bleeds for her, ' and that she'sborn to trouble, and has sad eyes. If she gets into trouble it'll bebecause some one else makes it for her. You take my advice, and let herpaddle her own canoe. She's got the head to do it; don't you worryabout that. By the way--" Cressler interrupted himself, seizing theopportunity to change the subject. "By the way, Carrie, Curtis has beenspeculating again. I'm sure of it. "

"Too bad, " she murmured. 

"So it is, " Cressler went on. "He and Gretry are thick as thieves thesedays. Gretry, I understand, has been selling September wheat for himall last week, and only this morning they closed out anotherscheme--some corn game. It was all over the Floor just about closingtime. They tell me that Curtis landed between eight and ten thousand. Always seems to win. I'd give a lot to keep him out of it; but sincehis deal in May wheat he's been getting into it more and more. "

"Did he sell that property on Washington Street?" she inquired. 

"Oh, " exclaimed her husband, "I'd forgot. I meant to tell you. No, hedidn't sell it. But he did better. He wouldn't sell, and thosedepartment store people took a lease. Guess what they pay him. Threehundred thousand a year. 'J. ' is getting richer all the time, and whyhe can't be satisfied with his own business instead of monkeying 'roundLa Salle Street is a mystery to me. "

But, as Mrs. Cressler was about to reply, Laura came to the open windowof the parlour. 

"Oh, Mrs. Cressler, " she called, "I don't seem to find your 'Idylls'after all. I thought they were in the little book-case. "

"Wait. I'll find them for you, " exclaimed Mrs. Cressler. 

"Would you mind?" answered Laura, as Mrs. Cressler rose. 

Inside, the gas had not been lighted. The library was dark and cool, and when Mrs. Cressler had found the book for Laura the girl pleaded aheadache as an excuse for remaining within. The two sat down by theraised sash of a window at the side of the house, that overlooked the"side yard, " where the morning-glories and nasturtiums were in fullbloom. 

"The house is cooler, isn't it?" observed Mrs. Cressler. 

Laura settled herself in her wicker chair, and with a gesture that oflate had become habitual with her pushed her heavy coils of hair to oneside and patted them softly to place. 

"It is getting warmer, I do believe, " she said, rather listlessly. "Iunderstand it is to be a very hot summer. " Then she added, "I'm to bemarried in July, Mrs. Cressler. "

Mrs. Cressler gasped, and sitting bolt upright stared for onebreathless instant at Laura's face, dimly visible in the darkness. Then, stupefied, she managed to vociferate:

"What! Laura! Married? My darling girl!"

"Yes, " answered Laura calmly. "In July--or maybe sooner. "

"Why, I thought you had rejected Mr. Corthell. I thought that's why hewent away. "

"Went away? He never went away. I mean it's not Mr. Corthell. It's Mr. Jadwin. "

"Thank God!" declared Mrs. Cressler fervently, and with the wordskissed Laura on both cheeks. "My dear, dear child, you can't tell howglad I am. From the very first I've said you were made for one another. And I thought all the time that you'd told him you wouldn't have him. "

"I did, " said Laura. Her manner was quiet. She seemed a little grave. "I told him I did not love him. Only last week I told him so. "

"Well, then, why did you promise?"

"My goodness!" exclaimed Laura, with a show of animation. "You don'trealize what it's been. Do you suppose you can say 'no' to that man?"

"Of course not, of course not, " declared Mrs. Cressler joyfully. "That's 'J. ' all over. I might have known he'd have you if he set outto do it. "

"Morning, noon, and night, " Laura continued. "He seemed willing to waitas long as I wasn't definite; but one day I wrote to him and gave him asquare 'No, ' so as he couldn't mistake, and just as soon as I'd saidthat he--he--began. I didn't have any peace until I'd promised him, andthe moment I had promised he had a ring on my finger. He'd had it readyin his pocket for weeks it seems. No, " she explained, as Mrs. Cresslerlaid her fingers upon her left hand, "That I would not have--yet. "

"Oh, it was like 'J. ' to be persistent, " repeated Mrs. Cressler. 

"Persistent!" murmured Laura. "He simply wouldn't talk of anythingelse. It was making him sick, he said. And he did have a fever--often. But he would come out to see me just the same. One night, when it waspouring rain--Well, I'll tell you. He had been to dinner with us, andafterwards, in the drawing-room, I told him 'no' for the hundredth timejust as plainly as I could, and he went away early--it wasn't eight. Ithought that now at last he had given up. But he was back again beforeten the same evening. He said he had come back to return a copy of abook I had loaned him--'Jane Eyre' it was. Raining! I never saw it rainas it did that night. He was drenched, and even at dinner he had had alow fever. And then I was sorry for him. I told him he could come tosee me again. I didn't propose to have him come down with pneumonia, ortyphoid, or something. And so it all began over again. "

"But you loved him, Laura?" demanded Mrs. Cressler. "You love him now?"

Laura was silent. Then at length:

"I don't know, " she answered. 

"Why, of course you love him, Laura, " insisted Mrs. Cressler. "Youwouldn't have promised him if you hadn't. Of course you love him, don'tyou?"

"Yes, I--I suppose I must love him, or--as you say--I wouldn't havepromised to marry him. He does everything, every little thing I say. Hejust seems to think of nothing else but to please me from morning untilnight. And when I finally said I would marry him, why, Mrs. Cressler, he choked all up, and the tears ran down his face, and all he could saywas, 'May God bless you! May God bless you!' over and over again, andhis hand shook so that--Oh, well, " she broke off abruptly. Then added, "Somehow it makes tears come to my eyes to think of it. "

"But, Laura, " urged Mrs. Cressler, "you love Curtis, don't you?You--you're such a strange girl sometimes. Dear child, talk to me asthough I were your mother. There's no one in the world loves you morethan I do. You love Curtis, don't you?"

Laura hesitated a long moment. 

"Yes, " she said, slowly at length. "I think I love him verymuch--sometimes. And then sometimes I think I don't. I can't tell. There are days when I'm sure of it, and there are others when I wonderif I want to be married, after all. I thought when love came it was tobe--oh, uplifting, something glorious like Juliet's love orMarguerite's. Something that would--" Suddenly she struck her hand toher breast, her fingers shut tight, closing to a fist. "Oh, somethingthat would shake me all to pieces. I thought that was the only kind oflove there was. "

"Oh, that's what you read about in trashy novels, " Mrs. Cresslerassured her, "or the kind you see at the matinees. I wouldn't let thatbother me, Laura. There's no doubt that '_J. _' loves you. "

Laura brightened a little. "Oh, no, " she answered, "there's no doubtabout that. It's splendid, that part of it. He seems to think there'snothing in the world too good for me. Just imagine, only yesterday Iwas saying something about my gloves, I really forget what--somethingabout how hard it was for me to get the kind of gloves I liked. Wouldyou believe it, he got me to give him my measure, and when I saw him inthe evening he told me he had cabled to Brussels to some famousglovemaker and had ordered I don't know how many pairs. "

"Just like him, just like him!" cried Mrs. Cressler. "I know you willbe happy, Laura, dear. You can't help but be with a man who loves youas 'J. ' does. "

"I think I shall be happy, " answered Laura, suddenly grave. "Oh, Mrs. Cressler, I want to be. I hope that I won't come to myself some day, after it is too late, and find that it was all a mistake. " Her voiceshook a little. "You don't know how nervous I am these days. One minuteI am one kind of girl, and the next another kind. I'm so nervousand--oh, I don't know. Oh, I guess it will be all right. " She wiped hereyes, and laughed a note. "I don't see why I should cry about it, " shemurmured. 

"Well, Laura, " answered Mrs. Cressler, "if you don't love Curtis, don'tmarry him. That's very simple. "

"It's like this, Mrs. Cressler, " Laura explained. "I suppose I am veryuncharitable and unchristian, but I like the people that like me, and Ihate those that don't like me. I can't help it. I know it's wrong, butthat's the way I am. And I love to be loved. The man that would love methe most would make me love him. And when Mr. Jadwin seems to care somuch, and do so much, and--you know how I mean; it does make adifference of course. I suppose I care as much for Mr. Jadwin as I everwill care for any man. I suppose I must be cold and unemotional. "

Mrs. Cressler could not restrain a movement of surprise. 

"You unemotional? Why, I thought you just said, Laura, that you hadimagined love would be like Juliet and like that girl in 'Faust'--thatit was going to shake you all to pieces. "

"Did I say that? Well, I told you I was one girl one minute and anotheranother. I don't know myself these days. Oh, hark, " she said, abruptly, as the cadence of hoofs began to make itself audible from the end ofthe side street. "That's the team now. I could recognise those horses'trot as far as I could hear it. Let's go out. I know he would like tohave me there when he drives up. And you know"--she put her hand onMrs. Cressler's arm as the two moved towards the front door--"this isall absolutely a secret as yet. "

"Why, of course, Laura dear. But tell me just one thing more, " Mrs. Cressler asked, in a whisper, "are you going to have a church wedding?"

"Hey, Carrie, " called Mr. Cressler from the stoop, "here's J. "

Laura shook her head. 

"No, I want it to be very quiet--at our house. We'll go to Geneva Lakefor the summer. That's why, you see, I couldn't promise to go toOconomowoc with you. "

They came out upon the front steps, Mrs. Cressler's arm around Laura'swaist. It was dark by now, and the air was perceptibly warmer. 

The team was swinging down the street close at hand, the hoof beatsexactly timed, as if there were but one instead of two horses. 

"Well, what's the record to-night J. ?" cried Cressler, as Jadwinbrought the bays to a stand at the horse block. Jadwin did not responduntil he had passed the reins to the coachman, and taking the stopwatch from the latter's hand, he drew on his cigar, and held theglowing tip to the dial. 

"Eleven minutes and a quarter, " he announced, "and we had to wait forthe bridge at that. "

He came up the steps, fanning himself with his slouch hat, and droppedinto the chair that Landry had brought for him. 

"Upon my word, " he exclaimed, gingerly drawing off his driving gloves, "I've no feeling in my fingers at all. Those fellows will pull my handsclean off some day. "

But he was hardly settled in his place before he proposed to send thecoachman home, and to take Laura for a drive towards Lincoln Park, andeven a little way into the park itself. He promised to have her backwithin an hour. 

"I haven't any hat, " objected Laura. "I should love to go, but I ranover here to-night without any hat. "

"Well, I wouldn't let that stand in my way, Laura, " protested Mrs. Cressler. "It will be simply heavenly in the Park on such a night asthis. "

In the end Laura borrowed Page's hat, and Jadwin took her away. In thelight of the street lamps Mrs. Cressler and the others watched themdrive off, sitting side by side behind the fine horses. Jadwin, broad-shouldered, a fresh cigar in his teeth, each rein in a doubleturn about his large, hard hands; Laura, slim, erect, pale, her black, thick hair throwing a tragic shadow low upon her forehead. 

"A fine-looking couple, " commented Mr. Cressler as they disappeared. 

The hoof beats died away, the team vanished. Landry Court, who stoodbehind the others, watching, turned to Mrs. Cressler. She thought shedetected a little unsteadiness in his voice, but he repeated bravely:

"Yes, yes, that's right. They are a fine, a--a fine-looking coupletogether, aren't they? A fine-looking couple, to say the least. "

A week went by, then two, soon May had passed. On the fifteenth of thatmonth Laura's engagement to Curtis Jadwin was formally announced. Theday of the wedding was set for the first week in June. 

During this time Laura was never more changeable, more puzzling. Hervivacity seemed suddenly to have been trebled, but it was invadedfrequently by strange reactions and perversities that drove her friendsand family to distraction. 

About a week after her talk with Mrs. Cressler, Laura broke the news toPage. It was a Monday morning. She had spent the time since breakfastin putting her bureau drawers to rights, scattering sachet powders inthem, then leaving them open so as to perfume the room. At last shecame into the front "upstairs sitting-room, " a heap of gloves, stockings, collarettes--the odds and ends of a wildly disorderedwardrobe--in her lap. She tumbled all these upon the hearth rug, andsat down upon the floor to sort them carefully. At her little desk nearby, Page, in a blue and white shirt waist and golf skirt, her slimlittle ankles demurely crossed, a cone of foolscap over her forearm toguard against ink spots, was writing in her journal. This was aninterminable affair, voluminous, complex, that the young girl had keptever since she was fifteen. She wrote in it--she hardly knew what--thesmall doings of the previous day, her comings and goings, accounts ofdances, estimates of new acquaintances. But besides this she filledpage after page with "impressions, " "outpourings, " queer littlespeculations about her soul, quotations from poets, solemn criticismsof new novels, or as often as not mere purposeless meanderings ofwords, exclamatory, rhapsodic--involved lucubrations quite meaninglessand futile, but which at times she re-read with vague thrills ofemotion and mystery. 

On this occasion Page wrote rapidly and steadily for a few momentsafter Laura's entrance into the room. Then she paused, her eyes growingwide and thoughtful. She wrote another line and paused again. Seated onthe floor, her hands full of gloves, Laura was murmuring to herself. 

"Those are good . .. And those, and the black suedes make eight. .. . Andif I could only find the mate to this white one. .. . Ah, here it is. That makes nine, nine pair. "

She put the gloves aside, and turning to the stockings drew one of thesilk ones over her arm, and spread out her fingers in the foot. 

"Oh, dear, " she whispered, "there's a thread started, and now it willsimply run the whole length. .. . "

Page's scratching paused again. 

"Laura, " she asked dreamily, "Laura, how do you spell 'abysmal'?"

"With a y, honey, " answered Laura, careful not to smile. 

"Oh, Laura, " asked Page, "do you ever get very, very sad withoutknowing why?"

"No, indeed, " answered her sister, as she peeled the stocking from herarm. "When I'm sad I know just the reason, you may be sure. "

Page sighed again. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she murmured indefinitely. "I lie awake at nightsometimes and wish I were dead. "

"You mustn't get morbid, honey, " answered her older sister calmly. "Itisn't natural for a young healthy little body like you to have suchgloomy notions. "

"Last night, " continued Page, "I got up out of bed and sat by thewindow a long time. And everything was so still and beautiful, and themoonlight and all--and I said right out loud to myself, "My breath to Heaven in vapour goes--

You know those lines from Tennyson:

 "My breath to Heaven in vapour goes, May my soul follow soon. "

I said it right out loud just like that, and it was just as thoughsomething in me had spoken. I got my journal and wrote down, 'Yet in afew days, and thee, the all-beholding sun shall see no more. ' It's fromThanatopsis, you know, and I thought how beautiful it would be to leaveall this world, and soar and soar, right up to higher planes and be atpeace. Laura, dearest, do you think I ever ought to marry?"

"Why not, girlie? Why shouldn't you marry. Of course you'll marry someday, if you find--"

"I should like to be a nun, " Page interrupted, shaking her head, mournfully. 

"--if you find the man who loves you, " continued Laura, "and whomyou--you admire and respect--whom you love. What would you say, honey, if--if your sister, if I should be married some of these days?"

Page wheeled about in her chair. 

"Oh, Laura, tell me, " she cried, "are you joking? Are you going to bemarried? Who to? I hadn't an idea, but I thought--I suspected. "

"Well, " observed Laura, slowly, "I might as well tell you--some onewill if I don't--Mr. Jadwin wants me to marry him. "

"And what did you say? What did you say? Oh, I'll never tell. Oh, Laura, tell me all about it. "

"Well, why shouldn't I marry him? Yes--I promised. I said yes. Whyshouldn't I? He loves me, and he is rich. Isn't that enough?"

"Oh, no. It isn't. You must love--you do love him?"

"I? Love? Pooh!" cried Laura. "Indeed not. I love nobody. "

"Oh, Laura, " protested Page earnestly. "Don't, don't talk that way. Youmustn't. It's wicked. "

Laura put her head in the air. 

"I wouldn't give any man that much satisfaction. I think that is theway it ought to be. A man ought to love a woman more than she loveshim. It ought to be enough for him if she lets him give her everythingshe wants in the world. He ought to serve her like the oldknights--give up his whole life to satisfy some whim of hers; and it'sher part, if she likes, to be cold and distant. That's my idea of love. "

"Yes, but they weren't cold and proud to their knights after they'dpromised to marry them, " urged Page. "They loved them in the end, andmarried them for love. "

"Oh, 'love'!" mocked Laura. "I don't believe in love. You only get yourideas of it from trashy novels and matinees. Girlie, " cried Laura, "Iam going to have the most beautiful gowns. They're the last things thatMiss Dearborn shall buy for herself, and"--she fetched a longbreath--"I tell you they are going to be creations. "

When at length the lunch bell rang Laura jumped to her feet, adjustingher coiffure with thrusts of her long, white hands, the fingersextended, and ran from the room exclaiming that the whole morning hadgone and that half her bureau drawers were still in disarray. 

Page, left alone, sat for a long time lost in thought, sighing deeplyat intervals, then at last she wrote in her journal:

"A world without Love--oh, what an awful thing that would be. Oh, loveis so beautiful--so beautiful, that it makes me sad. When I think oflove in all its beauty I am sad, sad like Romola in George Eliot'swell-known novel of the same name. "

She locked up her journal in the desk drawer, and wiped her pen pointuntil it shone, upon a little square of chamois skin. Her writing-deskwas a miracle of neatness, everything in its precise place, thewriting-paper in geometrical parallelograms, the pen tray neatlypolished. 

On the hearth rug, where Laura had sat, Page's searching eye discoveredtraces of her occupancy--a glove button, a white thread, a hairpin. Page was at great pains to gather them up carefully and drop them intothe waste basket. 

"Laura is so fly-away, " she observed, soberly. 

When Laura told the news to Aunt Wess' the little old lady showed nosurprise. 

"I've been expecting it of late, " she remarked. "Well, Laura, Mr. Jadwin is a man of parts. Though, to tell the truth, I thought at firstit was to be that Mr. Corthell. He always seemed sodistinguished-looking and elegant. I suppose now that that young Mr. Court will have a regular conniption fit. "

"Oh, Landry, " murmured Laura. 

"Where are you going to live, Laura? Here? My word, child, don't beafraid to tell me I must pack. Why, bless you. "

"No, no, " exclaimed Laura, energetically, "you are to stay right here. We'll talk it all over just as soon as I know more decidedly what ourplans are to be. No, we won't live here. Mr. Jadwin is going to buy anew house--on the corner of North Avenue and State Street. It facesLincoln Park--you know it, the Farnsworth place. "

"Why, my word, Laura, " cried Aunt Wess' amazed, "why, it's a palace! Ofcourse I know it. Why, it takes in the whole block, child, and there'sa conservatory pretty near as big as this house. Well!"

"Yes, I know, " answered Laura, shaking her head. "It takes my breathaway sometimes. Mr. Jadwin tells me there's an art gallery, too, withan organ in it--a full-sized church organ. Think of it. Isn't itbeautiful, beautiful? Isn't it a happiness? And I'll have my owncarriage and coupe, and oh, Aunt Wess', a saddle horse if I want to, and a box at the opera, and a country place--that is to be bought dayafter to-morrow. It's at Geneva Lake. We're to go there after we aremarried, and Mr. Jadwin has bought the dearest, loveliest, daintiestlittle steam yacht. He showed the photograph of her yesterday. Oh, honey, honey! It all comes over me sometimes. Think, only a year ago, less than that, I was vegetating there at Barrington, among thosewretched old blue-noses, helping Martha with the preserves and all andall; and now"--she threw her arms wide--"I'm just going to live. Thinkof it, that beautiful house, and servants, and carriages, andpaintings, and, oh, honey, how I will dress the part!"

"But I wouldn't think of those things so much, Laura, " answered AuntWess', rather seriously. "Child, you are not marrying him for carriagesand organs and saddle horses and such. You're marrying this Mr. Jadwinbecause you love him. Aren't you?"

"Oh, " cried Laura, "I would marry a ragamuffin if he gave me all thesethings--gave them to me because he loved me. "

Aunt Wess' stared. "I wouldn't talk that way, Laura, " she remarked. "Even in fun. At least not before Page. "

That same evening Jadwin came to dinner with the two sisters and theiraunt. The usual evening drive with Laura was foregone for thisoccasion. Jadwin had stayed very late at his office, and from there wasto come direct to the Dearborns. Besides that, Nip--the trotters werenamed Nip and Tuck--was lame. 

As early as four o'clock in the afternoon Laura, suddenly moved by anunreasoning caprice, began to prepare an elaborate toilet. Not sincethe opera night had she given so much attention to her appearance. Shesent out for an extraordinary quantity of flowers; flowers for thetable, flowers for Page and Aunt Wess', great "American beauties" forher corsage, and a huge bunch of violets for the bowl in the library. She insisted that Page should wear her smartest frock, and Mrs. Wesselsher grenadine of great occasions. As for herself, she decided upon adinner gown of black, decollete, with sleeves of lace. Her hair shedressed higher than ever. She resolved upon wearing all her jewelry, and to that end put on all her rings, secured the roses in place withan amethyst brooch, caught up the little locks at the back of her headwith a heart-shaped pin of tiny diamonds, and even fastened the ribbonof satin that girdled her waist, with a clasp of flawed turquoises. 

Until five in the afternoon she was in the gayest spirits, and wentdown to the dining-room to supervise the setting of the table, singingto herself. 

Then, almost at the very last, when Jadwin might be expected at anymoment, her humour changed again, and again, for no discoverable reason. 

Page, who came into her sister's room after dressing, to ask how shelooked, found her harassed and out of sorts. She was moody, spoke inmonosyllables, and suddenly declared that the wearing anxiety ofhouse-keeping was driving her to distraction. Of all days in the week, why had Jadwin chosen this particular one to come to dinner. Men had nosense, could not appreciate a woman's difficulties. Oh, she would beglad when the evening was over. 

Then, as an ultimate disaster, she declared that she herself looked"Dutchy. " There was no style, no smartness to her dress; her hair wasarranged unbecomingly; she was growing thin, peaked. In a word, shelooked "Dutchy. "

All at once she flung off her roses and dropped into a chair. 

"I will not go down to-night, " she cried. "You and Aunt Wess' must makeout to receive Mr. Jadwin. I simply will not see any one to-night, Mr. Jadwin least of all. Tell him I'm gone to bed sick--which is the truth, I am going to bed, my head is splitting. "

All persuasion, entreaty, or cajolery availed nothing. Neither Page norAunt Wess' could shake her decision. At last Page hazarded aremonstrance to the effect that if she had known that Laura was notgoing to be at dinner she would not have taken such pains with her owntoilet. 

Promptly thereat Laura lost her temper. 

"I do declare, Page, " she exclaimed, "it seems to me that I get verylittle thanks for ever taking any interest in your personal appearance. There is not a girl in Chicago--no millionaire's daughter--has anyprettier gowns than you. I plan and plan, and go to the most expensivedressmakers so that you will be well dressed, and just as soon as Idare to express the desire to see you appear like a gentlewoman, I getit thrown in my face. And why do I do it? I'm sure I don't know. It'sbecause I'm a poor weak, foolish, indulgent sister. I've given up theidea of ever being loved by you; but I do insist on being respected. "Laura rose, stately, severe. It was the "grand manner" now, unequivocally, unmistakably. "I do insist upon being respected, " sherepeated. "It would be wrong and wicked of me to allow you to ignoreand neglect my every wish. I'll not have it, I'll not tolerate it. "

Page, aroused, indignant, disdained an answer, but drew in her breathand held it hard, her lips tight pressed. 

"It's all very well for you to pose, miss, " Laura went on; "to pose asinjured innocence. But you understand very well what I mean. If youdon't love me, at least I shall not allow you to floutme--deliberately, defiantly. And it does seem strange, " she added, hervoice beginning to break, "that when we two are all alone in the world, when there's no father or mother--and you are all I have, and when Ilove you as I do, that there might be on your part--a littleconsideration--when I only want to be loved for my own sake, andnot--and not--when I want to be, oh, loved--loved--loved--"

The two sisters were in each other's arms by now, and Page was cryingno less than Laura. 

"Oh, little sister, " exclaimed Laura, "I know you love me. I know youdo. I didn't mean to say that. You must forgive me and be very kind tome these days. I know I'm cross, but sometimes these days I'm soexcited and nervous I can't help it, and you must try to bear with me. Hark, there's the bell. "

Listening, they heard the servant open the door, and then the sound ofJadwin's voice and the clank of his cane in the porcelain cane rack. But still Laura could not be persuaded to go down. No, she was going tobed; she had neuralgia; she was too nervous to so much as think. Hergown was "Dutchy. " And in the end, so unshakable was her resolve, thatPage and her aunt had to sit through the dinner with Jadwin andentertain him as best they could. 

But as the coffee was being served the three received a genuinesurprise. Laura appeared. All her finery was laid off. She wore thesimplest, the most veritably monastic, of her dresses, plain to thepoint of severity. Her hands were bare of rings. Not a single jewel, not even the most modest ornament relieved her sober appearance. Shewas very quiet, spoke in a low voice and declared she had come downonly to drink a glass of mineral water and then to return at once toher room. 

As a matter of fact, she did nothing of the kind. The others prevailedupon her to take a cup of coffee. Then the dessert was recalled, and, forgetting herself in an animated discussion with Jadwin as to the nameof their steam yacht, she ate two plates of wine jelly before she wasaware. She expressed a doubt as to whether a little salad would do hergood, and after a vehement exhortation from Jadwin, allowed herself tobe persuaded into accepting a sufficiently generous amount. 

"I think a classical name would be best for the boat, " she declared. "Something like 'Arethusa' or 'The Nereid. '"

They rose from the table and passed into the library. The evening wassultry, threatening a rain-storm, and they preferred not to sit on the"stoop. " Jadwin lit a cigar; he still wore his business clothes--theinevitable "cutaway, " white waistcoat, and grey trousers of themiddle-aged man of affairs. 

"Oh, call her the 'Artemis, '" suggested Page. 

"Well now, to tell the truth, " observed Jadwin, "those names lookpretty in print; but somehow I don't fancy them. They're hard to read, and they sound somehow frilled up and fancy. But if you're satisfied, Laura--"

"I knew a young man once, " began Aunt Wess', "who had a boat--that waswhen we lived at Kenwood and Mr. Wessels belonged to the'Farragut'--and this young man had a boat he called 'Fanchon. ' He gottipped over in her one day, he and the three daughters of a lady I knewwell, and two days afterward they found them at the bottom of the lake, all holding on to each other; and they fetched them up just like thatin one piece. The mother of those girls never smiled once since thatday, and her hair turned snow white. That was in 'seventy-nine. Iremember it perfectly. The boat's name was 'Fanchon. '"

"But that was a sail boat, Aunt Wess', " objected Laura. "Ours is asteam yacht. There's all the difference in the world. "

"I guess they're all pretty risky, those pleasure boats, " answered AuntWess'. "My word, you couldn't get me to set foot on one. "

Jadwin nodded his head at Laura, his eyes twinkling. 

"Well, we'll leave 'em all at home, Laura, when we go, " he said. 

A little later one of Page's "young men" called to see her, and Pagetook him off into the drawing-room across the hall. Mrs. Wessels seizedupon the occasion to slip away unobserved, and Laura and Jadwin wereleft alone. 

"Well, my girl, " began Jadwin, "how's the day gone with you?"

She had been seated at the centre table, by the drop light--the onlylight in the room--turning over the leaves of "The Age of Fable, "looking for graceful and appropriate names for the yacht. Jadwin leanedover her and put his hand upon her shoulder. 

"Oh, about the same as usual, " she answered. "I told Page and AuntWess' this morning. "

"What did they have to say?" Jadwin laid a soft but clumsy hand uponLaura's head, adding, "Laura, you have the most wonderful hair I eversaw. "

"Oh, they were not surprised. Curtis, don't, you are mussing me. " Shemoved her head impatiently; but then smiling, as if to mitigate herabruptness, said, "It always makes me nervous to have my hair touched. No, they were not surprised; unless it was that we were to be marriedso soon. They were surprised at that. You know I always said it was toosoon. Why not put it off, Curtis--until the winter?"

But he scouted this, and then, as she returned to the subject again, interrupted her, drawing some papers from his pocket. 

"Oh, by the way, " he said, "here are the sketch plans for thealterations of the house at Geneva. The contractor brought them to theoffice to-day. He's made that change about the dining-room. "

"Oh, " exclaimed Laura, interested at once, "you mean about building onthe conservatory?"

"Hum--no, " answered Jadwin a little slowly. "You see, Laura, thedifficulty is in getting the thing done this summer. When we go upthere we want everything finished, don't we? We don't want a lot ofworkmen clattering around. I thought maybe we could wait about thatconservatory till next year, if you didn't mind. "

Laura acquiesced readily enough, but Jadwin could see that she was alittle disappointed. Thoughtful, he tugged his mustache in silence fora moment. Perhaps, after all, it could be arranged. Then an ideapresented itself to him. Smiling a little awkwardly, he said:

"Laura, I tell you what. I'll make a bargain with you. "

She looked up as he hesitated. Jadwin sat down at the table oppositeher and leaned forward upon his folded arms. 

"Do you know, " he began, "I happened to think--Well, here's what Imean, " he suddenly declared decisively. "Do you know, Laura, that eversince we've been engaged you've never--Well, you've never--never kissedme of your own accord. It's foolish to talk that way now, isn't it?But, by George! That would be--would be such a wonderful thing for me. I know, " he hastened to add, "I know, Laura, you aren't demonstrative. I ought not to expect, maybe, that you-- Well, maybe it isn't much. ButI was thinking a while ago that there wouldn't be a sweeter thingimaginable for me than if my own girl would come up to me sometime--when I wasn't thinking--and of her own accord put her two armsaround me and kiss me. And--well, I was thinking about it, and--" Hehesitated again, then finished abruptly with, "And it occurred to methat you never had. "

Laura made no answer, but smiled rather indefinitely, as she continuedto search the pages of the book, her head to one side. 

Jadwin continued:

"We'll call it a bargain. Some day--before very long, mind you--you aregoing to kiss me--that way, understand, of your own accord, when I'mnot thinking of it; and I'll get that conservatory in for you. I'llmanage it somehow. I'll start those fellows at it to-morrow--twenty of'em if it's necessary. How about it? Is it a bargain? Some day beforelong. What do you say?"

Laura hesitated, singularly embarrassed, unable to find the right words. 

"Is it a bargain?" persisted Jadwin. 

"Oh, if you put it that way, " she murmured, "I suppose so--yes. "

"You won't forget, because I shan't speak about it again. Promise youwon't forget. "

"No, I won't forget. Why not call her the 'Thetis'?"

"I was going to suggest the 'Dart, ' or the 'Swallow, ' or the 'Arrow. 'Something like that--to give a notion of speed. "

"No. I like the 'Thetis' best. "

"That settles it then. She's your steam yacht, Laura. "

Later on, when Jadwin was preparing to depart, they stood for a momentin the hallway, while he drew on his gloves and took a fresh cigar fromhis case. 

"I'll call for you here at about ten, " he said. "Will that do?"

He spoke of the following morning. He had planned to take Page, Mrs. Wessels, and Laura on a day's excursion to Geneva Lake to see how workwas progressing on the country house. Jadwin had set his mind uponpassing the summer months after the marriage at the lake, and as theearly date of the ceremony made it impossible to erect a new building, he had bought, and was now causing to be remodelled, an old but verywell constructed house just outside of the town and once occupied by alocal magistrate. The grounds were ample, filled with shade and fruittrees, and fronted upon the lake. Laura had never seen her futurecountry home. But for the past month Jadwin had had a small army ofworkmen and mechanics busy about the place, and had managed togalvanise the contractors with some of his own energy and persistence. There was every probability that the house and grounds would befinished in time. 

"Very well, " said Laura, in answer to his question, "at ten we'll beready. Good-night. " She held out her hand. But Jadwin put it quicklyaside, and took her swiftly and strongly into his arms, and turning herface to his, kissed her cheek again and again. 

Laura submitted, protesting:

"Curtis! Such foolishness. Oh, dear; can't you love me withoutcrumpling me so? Curtis! Please. You are so rough with me, dear. "

She pulled away from him, and looked up into his face, surprised tofind it suddenly flushed; his eyes were flashing. 

"My God, " he murmured, with a quick intake of breath, "my God, how Ilove you, my girl! Just the touch of your hand, the smell of your hair. Oh, sweetheart. It is wonderful! Wonderful!" Then abruptly he wasmaster of himself again. 

"Good-night, " he said. "Good-night. God bless you, " and with the wordswas gone. 

They were married on the last day of June of that summer at eleveno'clock in the morning in the church opposite Laura's house--theEpiscopalian church of which she was a member. The wedding was veryquiet. Only the Cresslers, Miss Gretry, Page, and Aunt Wess' werepresent. Immediately afterward the couple were to take the train forGeneva Lake--Jadwin having chartered a car for the occasion. 

But the weather on the wedding day was abominable. A warm drizzle, which had set in early in the morning, developed by eleven o'clock intoa steady downpour, accompanied by sullen grumblings of very distantthunder. 

About an hour before the appointed time Laura insisted that her auntand sister should leave her. She would allow only Mrs. Cressler to helpher. The time passed. The rain continued to fall. At last it wanted butfifteen minutes to eleven. 

Page and Aunt Wess', who presented themselves at the church in advanceof the others, found the interior cool, dark, and damp. They sat downin a front pew, talking in whispers, looking about them. Druggetingshrouded the reader's stand, the baptismal font, and bishop's chair. Every footfall and every minute sound echoed noisily from the darkvaulting of the nave and chancel. The janitor or sexton, a severe oldfellow, who wore a skull cap and loose slippers, was making a greatto-do with a pile of pew cushions in a remote corner. The rain drummedwith incessant monotony upon the slates overhead, and upon the stainedwindows on either hand. Page, who attended the church regularly everySunday morning, now found it all strangely unfamiliar. The saints inthe windows looked odd and unecclesiastical; the whole suggestion ofthe place was uncanonical. In the organ loft a tuner was at work uponthe organ, and from time to time the distant mumbling of the thunderwas mingled with a sonorous, prolonged note from the pipes. 

"My word, how it is raining, " whispered Aunt Wess', as the pour uponthe roof suddenly swelled in volume. 

But Page had taken a prayer book from the rack, and kneeling upon ahassock was repeating the Litany to herself. 

It annoyed Aunt Wess'. Excited, aroused, the little old lady was nevermore in need of a listener. Would Page never be through?

"And Laura's new frock, " she whispered, vaguely. "It's going to beruined. "

Page, her lips forming the words, "Good Lord deliver us, " fixed heraunt with a reproving glance. To pass the time Aunt Wess' begancounting the pews, missing a number here and there, confusing herself, always obliged to begin over again. From the direction of the vestryroom came the sound of a closing door. Then all fell silent again. Eventhe shuffling of the janitor ceased for an instant. 

"Isn't it still?" murmured Aunt Wess', her head in the air. "I wonderif that was them. I heard a door slam. They tell me that the rector hasbeen married three times. " Page, unheeding and demure, turned a leaf, and began with "All those who travel by land or water. " Mr. Cresslerand young Miss Gretry appeared. They took their seats behind Page andAunt Wess', and the party exchanged greetings in low voices. Pagereluctantly laid down her prayer book. 

"Laura will be over soon, " whispered Mr. Cressler. "Carrie is with her. I'm going into the vestry room. J. Has just come. " He took himself off, walking upon his tiptoes. 

Aunt Wess' turned to Page, repeating:

"Do you know they say this rector has been married three times?"

But Page was once more deep in her prayer book, so the little old ladyaddressed her remark to the Gretry girl. 

This other, however, her lips tightly compressed, made a despairinggesture with her hand, and at length managed to say:

"Can't talk. "

"Why, heavens, child, whatever is the matter?"

"Makes them worse--when I open my mouth--I've got the hiccoughs. "

Aunt Wess' flounced back in her seat, exasperated, out of sorts. 

"Well, my word, " she murmured to herself, "I never saw such girls. "

"Preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the earth, " continued Page. 

Isabel Gretry's hiccoughs drove Aunt Wess' into "the fidgets. " They"got on her nerves. " What with them and Page's uninterrupted murmur, she was at length obliged to sit in the far end of the pew, and just asshe had settled herself a second time the door of the vestry roomopened and the wedding party came out; first Mrs. Cressler, then Laura, then Jadwin and Cressler, and then, robed in billowing white, venerable, his prayer book in his hand, the bishop of the diocesehimself. Last of all came the clerk, osseous, perfumed, a gardenia inthe lapel of his frock coat, terribly excited, and hurrying about ontiptoe, saying "Sh! Sh!" as a matter of principle. 

Jadwin wore a new frock coat and a resplendent Ascot scarf, which Mr. Cressler had bought for him and Page knew at a glance that he wasagitated beyond all measure, and was keeping himself in hand only by atremendous effort. She could guess that his teeth were clenched. Hestood by Cressler's side, his head bent forward, his hands--the fingersincessantly twisting and untwisting--clasped behind his back. Never foronce did his eyes leave Laura's face. 

She herself was absolutely calm, only a little paler perhaps thanusual; but never more beautiful, never more charming. Abandoning forthis once her accustomed black, she wore a tan travelling dress, tailormade, very smart, a picture hat with heavy plumes set off with a claspof rhinestones, while into her belt was thrust a great bunch ofviolets. She drew off her gloves and handed them to Mrs. Cressler. Atthe same moment Page began to cry softly to herself. 

"There's the last of Laura, " she whimpered. "There's the last of mydear sister for me. "

Aunt Wess' fixed her with a distressful gaze. She sniffed once ortwice, and then began fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief. 

"If only her dear father were here, " she whispered huskily. "And tothink that's the same little girl I used to rap on the head with mythimble for annoying the cat! Oh, if Jonas could be here this day. "

"She'll never be the same to me after now, " sobbed Page, and as shespoke the Gretry girl, hypnotised with emotion and taken all unawares, gave vent to a shrill hiccough, a veritable yelp, that woke anexplosive echo in every corner of the building. 

Page could not restrain a giggle, and the giggle strangled with thesobs in her throat, so that the little girl was not far from hysterics. 

And just then a sonorous voice, magnificent, orotund, began suddenlyfrom the chancel with the words:

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, andin the face of this company to join together this Man and this Woman inholy matrimony. "

Promptly a spirit of reverence, not to say solemnity, pervaded theentire surroundings. The building no longer appeared secular, unecclesiastical. Not in the midst of all the pomp and ceremonial ofthe Easter service had the chancel and high altar disengaged a morecompelling influence. All other intrusive noises died away; the organwas hushed; the fussy janitor was nowhere in sight; the outside clamourof the city seemed dwindling to the faintest, most distant vibration;the whole world was suddenly removed, while the great moment in thelives of the Man and the Woman began. 

Page held her breath; the intensity of the situation seemed to her, almost physically, straining tighter and tighter with every passinginstant. She was awed, stricken; and Laura appeared to her to be all atonce a woman transfigured, semi-angelic, unknowable, exalted. Thesolemnity of those prolonged, canorous syllables: "I require and chargeyou both, as ye shall answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when thesecrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, " weighed down upon herspirits with an almost intolerable majesty. Oh, it was all very well tospeak lightly of marriage, to consider it in a vein of mirth. It was apretty solemn affair, after all; and she herself, Page Dearborn, was awicked, wicked girl, full of sins, full of deceits and frivolities, meriting of punishment--on "that dreadful day of judgment. " Only lastweek she had deceived Aunt Wess' in the matter of one of her "youngmen. " It was time she stopped. To-day would mark a change. Henceforward, she resolved, she would lead a new life. 

"God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost . .. "

To Page's mind the venerable bishop's voice was filling all the church, as on the day of Pentecost, when the apostles received the Holy Ghost, the building was filled with a "mighty rushing wind. "

She knelt down again, but could not bring herself to close her eyescompletely. From under her lids she still watched her sister andJadwin. How Laura must be feeling now! She was, in fact, very pale. There was emotion in Jadwin's eyes. Page could see them plainly. Itseemed beautiful that even he, the strong, modern man-of-affairs, should be so moved. How he must love Laura. He was fine, he was noble;and all at once this fineness and nobility of his so affected her thatshe began to cry again. Then suddenly came the words:

". .. That in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen. "

There was a moment's silence, then the group about the altar rail brokeup. 

"Come, " said Aunt Wess', getting to her feet, "it's all over, Page. Come, and kiss your sister--Mrs. Jadwin. "

In the vestry room Laura stood for a moment, while one after another ofthe wedding party--even Mr. Cressler--kissed her. When Page's turncame, the two sisters held each other in a close embrace a long moment, but Laura's eyes were always dry. Of all present she was the leastexcited. 

"Here's something, " vociferated the ubiquitous clerk, pushing his wayforward. "It was on the table when we came out just now. The sextonsays a messenger boy brought it. It's for Mrs. Jadwin. "

He handed her a large box. Laura opened it. Inside was a great sheaf ofJacqueminot roses and a card, on which was written:

"May that same happiness which you have always inspired in the livesand memories of all who know you be with you always. 

"Yrs. S. C. "

The party, emerging from the church, hurried across the street to theDearborns' home, where Laura and Jadwin were to get their valises andhand bags. Jadwin's carriage was already at the door. 

They all assembled in the parlor, every one talking at once, while theservants, bare-headed, carried the baggage down to the carriage. 

"Oh, wait--wait a minute, I'd forgotten something, " cried Laura. 

"What is it? Here, I'll get it for you, " cried Jadwin and Cressler asshe started toward the door. But she waved them off, crying:

"No, no. It's nothing. You wouldn't know where to look. "

Alone she ran up the stairs, and gained the second story; then paused amoment on the landing to get her breath and to listen. The rooms nearby were quiet, deserted. From below she could hear the voices of theothers--their laughter and gaiety. She turned about, and went from roomto room, looking long into each; first Aunt Wess's bedroom, thenPage's, then the "front sitting-room, " then, lastly, her own room. Itwas still in the disorder caused by that eventful morning; many of theornaments--her own cherished knick-knacks--were gone, packed andshipped to her new home the day before. Her writing-desk and bureauwere bare. On the backs of chairs, and across the footboard of the bed, were the odds and ends of dress she was never to wear again. 

For a long time Laura stood looking silently at the empty room. Hereshe had lived the happiest period of her life; not an object there, however small, that was not hallowed by association. Now she wasleaving it forever. Now the new life, the Untried, was to begin. Forever the old days, the old life were gone. Girlhood was gone; theLaura Dearborn that only last night had pressed the pillows of thatbed, where was she now? Where was the little black-haired girl ofBarrington?

And what was this new life to which she was going forth, under theseleaden skies, under this warm mist of rain? The tears--at last--were inher eyes, and the sob in her throat, and she found herself, as sheleaned an arm upon the lintel of the door, whispering:

"Good-by. Good-by. Good-by. "

Then suddenly Laura, reckless of her wedding finery, forgetful oftrivialities, crossed the room and knelt down at the side of the bed. Her head in her folded arms, she prayed--prayed in the little unstudiedwords of her childhood, prayed that God would take care of her and makeher a good girl; prayed that she might be happy; prayed to God to helpher in the new life, and that she should be a good and loyal wife. 

And then as she knelt there, all at once she felt an arm, strong, heavyeven, laid upon her. She raised her head and looked--for the firsttime--direct into her husband's eyes. 

"I knew--" began Jadwin. "I thought--Dear, I understand, I understand. "

He said no more than that. But suddenly Laura knew that he, Jadwin, herhusband, did "understand, " and she discovered, too, in that moment justwhat it meant to be completely, thoroughly understood--understoodwithout chance of misapprehension, without shadow of doubt; understoodto her heart's heart. And with the knowledge a new feeling was bornwithin her. No woman, not her dearest friend; not even Page had everseemed so close to her as did her husband now. How could she be unhappyhenceforward? The future was already brightening. 

Suddenly she threw both arms around his neck, and drawing his face downto her, kissed him again and again, and pressed her wet cheek tohis--tear-stained like her own. 

"It's going to be all right, dear, " he said, as she stood from him, though still holding his hand. "It's going to be all right. "

"Yes, yes, all right, all right, " she assented. "I never seemed torealise it till this minute. From the first I must have loved youwithout knowing it. And I've been cold and hard to you, and now I'msorry, sorry. You were wrong, remember that time in the library, whenyou said I was undemonstrative. I'm not. I love you dearly, dearly, andnever for once, for one little moment, am I ever going to allow you toforget it. "

Suddenly, as Jadwin recalled the incident of which she spoke, an ideaoccurred to him. 

"Oh, our bargain--remember? You didn't forget after all. "

"I did. I did, " she cried. "I did forget it. That's the very sweetestthing about it. "

VI

The months passed. Soon three years had gone by, and the third wintersince the ceremony in St. James' Church drew to its close. 

Since that day when--acting upon the foreknowledge of the French importduty--Jadwin had sold his million of bushels short, the price of wheathad been steadily going down. From ninety-three and ninety-four it haddropped to the eighties. Heavy crops the world over had helped thedecline. No one was willing to buy wheat. The Bear leaders were strong, unassailable. Lower and lower sagged the price; now it wasseventy-five, now seventy-two. From all parts of the country in solid, waveless tides wheat--the mass of it incessantly crushing down theprice--came rolling in upon Chicago and the Board of Trade Pit. Allover the world the farmers saw season after season of good crops. Theywere good in the Argentine Republic, and on the Russian steppes. InIndia, on the little farms of Burmah, of Mysore, and of Sind the grain, year after year, headed out fat, heavy, and well-favoured. In the greatSan Joaquin valley of California the ranches were one welter offertility. All over the United States, from the Dakotas, from Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, and Illinois, from all the wheat belt came steadily thereports of good crops. 

But at the same time the low price of grain kept the farmers poor. Newmortgages were added to farms already heavily "papered"; even the cropswere mortgaged in advance. No new farm implements were bought. Throughout the farming communities of the "Middle West" there were nolonger purchases of buggies and parlour organs. Somewhere in otherremoter corners of the world the cheap wheat, that meant cheap bread, made living easy and induced prosperity, but in the United States thepoverty of the farmer worked upward through the cogs and wheels of thewhole great machine of business. It was as though a lubricant had driedup. The cogs and wheels worked slowly and with dislocations. Thingswere a little out of joint. Wall Street stocks were down. In a word, "times were bad. " Thus for three years. It became a proverb on theChicago Board of Trade that the quickest way to make money was to sellwheat short. One could with almost absolute certainty be sure of buyingcheaper than one had sold. And that peculiar, indefinite thingknown--among the most unsentimental men in the world--as "sentiment, "prevailed more and more strongly in favour of low prices. "The'sentiment, '" said the market reports, "was bearish"; and the traders, speculators, eighth-chasers, scalpers, brokers, bucket-shop men, andthe like--all the world of La Salle Street--had become so accustomed tothese "Bear conditions, " that it was hard to believe that they wouldnot continue indefinitely. 

Jadwin, inevitably, had been again drawn into the troubled waters ofthe Pit. Always, as from the very first, a Bear, he had once moreraided the market, and had once more been successful. Two months afterthis raid he and Gretry planned still another coup, a deal of greatermagnitude than any they had previously hazarded. Laura, who knew verylittle of her husband's affairs--to which he seldom alluded--saw by thedaily papers that at one stage of the affair the "deal" trembled to itsbase. 

But Jadwin was by now "blooded to the game. " He no longer neededGretry's urging to spur him. He had developed into a strategist, bold, of inconceivable effrontery, delighting in the shock of battle, nevermore jovial, more daring than when under stress of the most mercilessattack. On this occasion, when the "other side" resorted to the usualtactics to drive him from the Pit, he led on his enemies to make onesingle false step. Instantly--disregarding Gretry's entreaties as tocaution--Jadwin had brought the vast bulk of his entire fortune tobear, in the manner of a general concentrating his heavy artillery, andcrushed the opposition with appalling swiftness. 

He issued from the grapple triumphantly, and it was not till longafterward that Laura knew how near, for a few hours, he had been todefeat. 

And again the price of wheat declined. In the first week in April, atthe end of the third winter of Jadwin's married life, May wheat wasselling on the floor of the Chicago Board of Trade at sixty-four, theJuly option at sixty-five, the September at sixty-six and an eighth. During February of the same year Jadwin had sold short five hundredthousand bushels of May. He believed with Gretry and with the majorityof the professional traders that the price would go to sixty. 

March passed without any further decline. All through this month andthrough the first days of April Jadwin was unusually thoughtful. Hisshort wheat gave him no concern. He was now so rich that a merehalf-million bushels was not a matter for anxiety. It was the"situation" that arrested his attention. 

In some indefinable way, warned by that blessed sixth sense that hadmade him the successful speculator he was, he felt that somewhere, atsome time during the course of the winter, a change had quietly, gradually come about, that it was even then operating. The conditionsthat had prevailed so consistently for three years, were they now to beshifted a little? He did not know, he could not say. But in the plexusof financial affairs in which he moved and lived he felt--a difference. 

For one thing "times" were better, business was better. He could notfail to see that trade was picking up. In dry goods, in hardware, inmanufactures there seemed to be a different spirit, and he couldimagine that it was a spirit of optimism. There, in that great citywhere the Heart of the Nation beat, where the diseases of the times, orthe times' healthful activities were instantly reflected, Jadwin senseda more rapid, an easier, more untroubled run of life blood. All throughthe Body of Things, money, the vital fluid, seemed to be flowing moreeasily. People seemed richer, the banks were lending more, securitiesseemed stable, solid. In New York, stocks were booming. Men were makingmoney--were making it, spending it, lending it, exchanging it. Insteadof being congested in vaults, safes, and cash boxes, tight, hard, congealed, it was loosening, and, as it were, liquefying, so that itspread and spread and permeated the entire community. The People hadmoney. They were willing to take chances. 

So much for the financial conditions. 

The spring had been backward, cold, bitter, inhospitable, and Jadwinbegan to suspect that the wheat crop of his native country, that for solong had been generous, and of excellent quality, was now to prove--itseemed quite possible--scant and of poor condition. He began to watchthe weather, and to keep an eye upon the reports from the little countyseats and "centres" in the winter wheat States. These, in part, seemedto confirm his suspicions. 

From Keokuk, in Iowa, came the news that winter wheat was sufferingfrom want of moisture. Benedict, Yates' Centre, and Douglass, insoutheastern Kansas, sent in reports of dry, windy weather that waskilling the young grain in every direction, and the same conditionsseemed to prevail in the central counties. In Illinois, from Quincy andWaterloo in the west, and from Ridgway in the south, reports camesteadily to hand of freezing weather and bitter winds. All through thelower portions of the State the snowfall during the winter had not beenheavy enough to protect the seeded grain. But the Ohio crop, it wouldappear, was promising enough, as was also that of Missouri. In Indiana, however, Jadwin could guess that the hopes of even a moderate yieldwere fated to be disappointed; persistent cold weather, wintercontinuing almost up to the first of April, seemed to have definitelysettled the question. 

But more especially Jadwin watched Nebraska, that State which is onesingle vast wheat field. How would Nebraska do, Nebraska which alonemight feed an entire nation? County seat after county seat began tosend in its reports. All over the State the grip of winter held firmeven yet. The wheat had been battered by incessant gales, had beennipped and harried by frost; everywhere the young half-grown grainseemed to be perishing. It was a massacre, a veritable slaughter. 

But, for all this, nothing could be decided as yet. Other winter wheatStates, from which returns were as yet only partial, might easilycompensate for the failures elsewhere, and besides all that, the Bearsof the Board of Trade might keep the price inert even in face of thenews of short yields. As a matter of fact, the more important andstronger Bear traders were already piping their usual strain. Priceswere bound to decline, the three years, sagging was not over yet. They, the Bears, were too strong; no Bull news could frighten them. Somehowthere was bound to be plenty of wheat. In face of the rumours of ashort crop they kept the price inert, weak. 

On the tenth of April came the Government report on the condition ofwinter wheat. It announced an average far below any known for ten yearspast. On March tenth the same bulletin had shown a moderate supply infarmers' hands, less than one hundred million bushels in fact, and avisible supply of less than forty millions. 

The Bear leaders promptly set to work to discount this news. Theyshowed how certain foreign conditions would more than offset the effectof a poor American harvest. They pointed out the fact that theGovernment report on condition was brought up only to the first ofApril, and that since that time the weather in the wheat belt had beenfavorable beyond the wildest hopes. 

The April report was made public on the afternoon of the tenth of themonth. That same evening Jadwin invited Gretry and his wife to dine atthe new house on North Avenue; and after dinner, leaving Mrs. Gretryand Laura in the drawing-room, he brought the broker up to thebilliard-room for a game of pool. 

But when Gretry had put the balls in the triangle, the two men did notbegin to play at once. Jadwin had asked the question that had beenuppermost in the minds of each during dinner. 

"Well, Sam, " he had said, by way of a beginning, "what do you think ofthis Government report?"

The broker chalked his cue placidly. 

"I expect there'll be a bit of reaction on the strength of it, but themarket will go off again. I said wheat would go to sixty, and I stillsay it. It's a long time between now and May. "

"I wasn't thinking of crop conditions only, " observed Jadwin. "Sam, we're going to have better times and higher prices this summer. "

Gretry shook his head and entered into a long argument to show thatJadwin was wrong. 

But Jadwin refused to be convinced. All at once he laid the flat of hishand upon the table. 

"Sam, we've touched bottom, " he declared, "touched bottom all along theline. It's a paper dime to the Sub-Treasury. "

"I don't care about the rest of the line, " said the broker doggedly, sitting on the edge of the table, "wheat will go to sixty. " Heindicated the nest of balls with a movement of his chin. "Will youbreak?"

Jadwin broke and scored, leaving one ball three inches in front of acorner pocket. He called the shot, and as he drew back his cue he said, deliberately:

"Just as sure as I make this pocket wheat will--notgo--off--another--_cent. _"

With the last word he drove the ball home and straightened up. Gretrylaid down his cue and looked at him quickly. But he did not speak. Jadwin sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs upon the raisedplatform against the wall and rested his elbows upon his knees. 

"Sam, " he said, "the time is come for a great big change. " Heemphasised the word with a tap of his cue upon the floor. "We can'tplay our game the way we've been playing it the last three years. We'vebeen hammering wheat down and down and down, till we've got it belowthe cost of production; and now she won't go any further with all thehammering in the world. The other fellows, the rest of this Bear crowd, don't seem to see it, but I see it. Before fall we're going to havehigher prices. Wheat is going up, and when it does I mean to be rightthere. "

"We're going to have a dull market right up to the beginning ofwinter, " persisted the other. 

"Come and say that to me at the beginning of winter, then, " Jadwinretorted. "Look here, Sam, I'm short of May five hundred thousandbushels, and to-morrow morning you are going to send your boys on thefloor for me and close that trade. "

"You're crazy, J. , " protested the broker. "Hold on another month, and Ipromise you, you'll thank me. "

"Not another day, not another hour. This Bear campaign of ours has cometo an end. That's said and signed. "

"Why, it's just in its prime, " protested the broker. "Great heavens, you mustn't get out of the game now, after hanging on for three years. "

"I'm not going to get out of it. "

"Why, good Lord!" said Gretry, "you don't mean to say that--"

"That I'm going over. That's exactly what I do mean. I'm going tochange over so quick to the other side that I'll be there before youcan take off your hat. I'm done with a Bear game. It was good while itlasted, but we've worked it for all there was in it. I'm not only goingto cover my May shorts and get out of that trade, but"--Jadwin leanedforward and struck his hand upon his knee--"but I'm going to buy. I'mgoing to buy September wheat, and I'm going to buy it to-morrow, fivehundred thousand bushels of it, and if the market goes as I think itwill later on, I'm going to buy more. I'm no Bear any longer. I'm goingto boost this market right through till the last bell rings; and fromnow on Curtis Jadwin spells B-u-double l--Bull. "

"They'll slaughter you, " said Gretry, "slaughter you in cold blood. You're just one man against a gang--a gang of cutthroats. Those Bearshave got millions and millions back of them. You don't suppose, do you, that old man Crookes, or Kenniston, or little Sweeny, or all that lotwould give you one little bit of a chance for your life if they got agrip on you. Cover your shorts if you want to, but, for God's sake, don't begin to buy in the same breath. You wait a while. If this markethas touched bottom, we'll be able to tell in a few days. I'll admit, for the sake of argument, that just now there's a pause. But nobody cantell whether it will turn up or down yet. Now's the time to beconservative, to play it cautious. "

"If I was conservative and cautious, " answered Jadwin, "I wouldn't bein this game at all. I'd be buying U. S. Four percents. That's the bigmistake so many of these fellows down here make. They go into a gamewhere the only ones who can possibly win are the ones who take bigchances, and then they try to play the thing cautiously. If I wait awhile till the market turns up and everybody is buying, how am I anythe better off? No, sir, you buy the September option for meto-morrow--five hundred thousand bushels. I deposited the margin toyour credit in the Illinois Trust this afternoon. "

There was a long silence. Gretry spun a ball between his fingers, top-fashion. 

"Well, " he said at last, hesitatingly, "well--I don't know, J. --you areeither Napoleonic--or--or a colossal idiot. "

"Neither one nor the other, Samuel. I'm just using a little commonsense. .. . Is it your shot?"

"I'm blessed if I know. "

"Well, we'll start a new game. Sam, I'll give you six balls and beatyou in"--he looked at his watch--"beat you before half-past nine. "

"For a dollar?"

"I never bet, Sam, and you know it. "

Half an hour later Jadwin said:

"Shall we go down and join the ladies? Don't put out your cigar. That'sone bargain I made with Laura before we moved in here--that smoking wasallowable everywhere. "

"Room enough, I guess, " observed the broker, as the two stepped intothe elevator. "How many rooms have you got here, by the way?"

"Upon my word, I don't know, " answered Jadwin. "I discovered a new oneyesterday. Fact. I was having a look around, and I came out into alittle kind of smoking-room or other that, I swear, I'd never seenbefore. I had to get Laura to tell me about it. "

The elevator sank to the lower floor, and Jadwin and the broker steppedout into the main hallway. From the drawing-room near by came the soundof women's voices. 

"Before we go in, " said Jadwin, "I want you to see our art gallery andthe organ. Last time you were up, remember, the men were still at workin here. "

They passed down a broad corridor, and at the end, just before partingthe heavy, sombre curtains, Jadwin pressed a couple of electricbuttons, and in the open space above the curtain sprang up a lambent, steady glow. 

The broker, as he entered, gave a long whistle. The art gallery took inthe height of two of the stories of the house. It was shaped like arotunda, and topped with a vast airy dome of coloured glass. Here andthere about the room were glass cabinets full of bibelots, ivorystatuettes, old snuff boxes, fans of the sixteenth and seventeenthcenturies. The walls themselves were covered with a multitude ofpictures, oils, water-colours, with one or two pastels. 

But to the left of the entrance, let into the frame of the building, stood a great organ, large enough for a cathedral, and giving to view, in the dulled incandescence of the electrics, its sheaves of mightypipes. 

"Well, this is something like, " exclaimed the broker. 

"I don't know much about 'em myself, " hazarded Jadwin, looking at thepictures, "but Laura can tell you. We bought most of 'em while we wereabroad, year before last. Laura says this is the best. " He indicated alarge "Bougereau" that represented a group of nymphs bathing in awoodland pool. 

"H'm!" said the broker, "you wouldn't want some of your Sunday-schoolsuperintendents to see this now. This is what the boys down on theBoard would call a bar-room picture. "

But Jadwin did not laugh. 

"It never struck me in just that way, " he said, gravely. 

"It's a fine piece of work, though, " Gretry hastened to add. "Fine, great colouring. "

"I like this one pretty well, " continued Jadwin, moving to a canvas byDetaille. It was one of the inevitable studies of a cuirassier; in thiscase a trumpeter, one arm high in the air, the hand clutching thetrumpet, the horse, foam-flecked, at a furious gallop. In the rear, through clouds of dust, the rest of the squadron was indicated by a fewpoints of colour. 

"Yes, that's pretty neat, " concurred Gretry. "He's sure got a gait on. Lord, what a lot of accoutrements those French fellows stick on. Nowour boys would chuck about three-fourths of that truck before goinginto action. .. . Queer way these artists work, " he went on, peeringclose to the canvas. "Look at it close up and it's just a lot of littledaubs, but you get off a distance"--he drew back, cocking his head toone side--"and you see now. Hey--see how the thing bunches up. Prettyneat, isn't it?" He turned from the picture and rolled his eyes aboutthe room. 

"Well, well, " he murmured. "This certainly is the real thing, J. Isuppose, now, it all represents a pretty big pot of money. "

"I'm not quite used to it yet myself, " said Jadwin. "I was in here lastSunday, thinking it all over, the new house, and the money and all. Andit struck me as kind of queer the way things have turned out for me. .. . Sam, do you know, I can remember the time, up there in Ottawa County, Michigan, on my old dad's farm, when I used to have to get up beforeday-break to tend the stock, and my sister and I used to run out quickinto the stable and stand in the warm cow fodder in the stalls to warmour bare feet. .. . She up and died when she was abouteighteen--galloping consumption. Yes, sir. By George, how I loved thatlittle sister of mine! You remember her, Sam. Remember how you used tocome out from Grand Rapids every now and then to go squirrel shootingwith me?"

"Sure, sure. Oh, I haven't forgot. "

"Well, I was wishing the other day that I could bring Sadie down here, and--oh, I don't know--give her a good time. She never had a good timewhen she was alive. Work, work, work; morning, noon, and night. I'dlike to have made it up to her. I believe in making people happy, Sam. That's the way I take my fun. But it's too late to do it now for mylittle sister. "

"Well, " hazarded Gretry, "you got a good wife in yonder to--"

Jadwin interrupted him. He half turned away, thrusting his handssuddenly into his pockets. Partly to himself, partly to his friend hemurmured:

"You bet I have, you bet I have. Sam, " he exclaimed, then turned awayagain. ". .. Oh, well, never mind, " he murmured. 

Gretry, embarrassed, constrained, put his chin in the air, shutting hiseyes in a knowing fashion. 

"I understand, " he answered. "I understand, J. "

"Say, look at this organ here, " said Jadwin briskly. "Here's the thingI like to play with. "

They crossed to the other side of the room. 

"Oh, you've got one of those attachment things, " observed the broker. 

"Listen now, " said Jadwin. He took a perforated roll from the case nearat hand and adjusted it, Gretry looking on with the solemn interestthat all American business men have in mechanical inventions. Jadwinsat down before it, pulled out a stop or two, and placed his feet onthe pedals. A vast preliminary roaring breath soughed through thepipes, with a vibratory rush of power. Then there came a canorous snarlof bass, and then, abruptly, with resistless charm, and withfull-bodied, satisfying amplitude of volume the opening movement of theoverture of "Carmen. "

"Great, great!" shouted Gretry, his voice raised to make himself heard. "That's immense. "

The great-lunged harmony was filling the entire gallery, clear cut, each note clearly, sharply treated with a precision that, ifmechanical, was yet effective. Jadwin, his eyes now on the stops, nowon the sliding strip of paper, played on. Through the sonorous clamourof the pipes Gretry could hear him speaking, but he caught only a wordor two. 

"Toreador . .. Horse power . .. Madame Calve . .. Electric motor . .. Finesong . .. Storage battery. "

The movement thinned out, and dwindled to a strain of delicatelightness, sustained by the smallest pipes and developing a new motive;this was twice repeated, and then ran down to a series of chords andbars that prepared for and prefigured some great effect close at hand. There was a short pause, then with the sudden releasing of a tremendousrush of sound, back surged the melody, with redoubled volume and power, to the original movement. 

"That's bully, bully!" shouted Gretry, clapping his hands, and his eye, caught by a movement on the other side of the room, he turned about tosee Laura Jadwin standing between the opened curtains at the entrance. 

Seen thus unexpectedly, the broker was again overwhelmed with a senseof the beauty of Jadwin's wife. Laura was in evening dress of blacklace; her arms and neck were bare. Her black hair was piled high uponher head, a single American Beauty rose nodded against her bareshoulder. She was even yet slim and very tall, her face pale with thatunusual paleness of hers that was yet a colour. Around her slender neckwas a marvellous collar of pearls many strands deep, set off and heldin place by diamond clasps. 

With Laura came Mrs. Gretry and Page. The broker's wife was avivacious, small, rather pretty blonde woman, a little angular, alittle faded. She was garrulous, witty, slangy. She wore turquoises inher ears morning, noon, and night. 

But three years had made a vast difference in Page Dearborn. All atonce she was a young woman. Her straight, hard, little figure haddeveloped, her arms were rounded, her eyes were calmer. She had growntaller, broader. Her former exquisite beauty was perhaps not quite sodelicate, so fine, so virginal, so charmingly angular and boyish. Therewas infinitely more of the woman in it; and perhaps because of this shelooked more like Laura than at any time of her life before. But evenyet her expression was one of gravity, of seriousness. There was alwaysa certain aloofness about Page. She looked out at the world solemnly, and as if separated from its lighter side. Things humorous interestedher only as inexplicable vagaries of the human animal. 

"We heard the organ, " said Laura, "so we came in. I wanted Mrs. Gretryto listen to it. "

The three years that had just passed had been the most important yearsof Laura Jadwin's life. Since her marriage she had grown intellectuallyand morally with amazing rapidity. Indeed, so swift had been thechange, that it was not so much a growth as a transformation. She wasno longer the same half-formed, impulsive girl who had found a delightin the addresses of her three lovers, and who had sat on the floor inthe old home on State Street and allowed Landry Court to hold her hand. She looked back upon the Miss Dearborn of those days as though she wereanother person. How she had grown since then! How she had changed! Howdifferent, how infinitely more serious and sweet her life since thenhad become!

A great fact had entered her world, a great new element, that dwarfedall other thoughts, all other considerations. This was her love for herhusband. It was as though until the time of her marriage she had walkedin darkness, a darkness that she fancied was day; walked perversely, carelessly, and with a frivolity that was almost wicked. Then, suddenly, she had seen a great light. Love had entered her world. Inher new heaven a new light was fixed, and all other things were seenonly because of this light; all other things were touched by it, tempered by it, warmed and vivified by it. 

It had seemed to date from a certain evening at their country house atGeneva Lake in Wisconsin, where she had spent her honeymoon with herhusband. They had been married about ten days. It was a July evening, and they were quite alone on board the little steam yacht the "Thetis. "She remembered it all very plainly. It had been so warm that she hadnot changed her dress after dinner--she recalled that it was of Honitonlace over old-rose silk, and that Curtis had said it was the prettiesthe had ever seen. It was an hour before midnight, and the lake was sostill as to appear veritably solid. The moon was reflected upon thesurface with never a ripple to blur its image. The sky was grey withstarlight, and only a vague bar of black between the star shimmer andthe pale shield of the water marked the shore line. Never since thatnight could she hear the call of whip-poor-wills or the piping of nightfrogs that the scene did not come back to her. The little "Thetis" hadthrobbed and panted steadily. At the door of the engine room, theengineer--the grey MacKenny, his back discreetly turned--sat smoking apipe and taking the air. From time to time he would swing himself intothe engine room, and the clink and scrape of his shovel made itselfheard as he stoked the fire vigorously. 

Stretched out in a long wicker deck chair, hatless, a drab coat thrownaround her shoulders, Laura had sat near her husband, who had placedhimself upon a camp stool, where he could reach the wheel with one hand. 

"Well, " he had said at last, "are you glad you married me, MissDearborn?" And she had caught him about the neck and drawn his facedown to hers, and her head thrown back, their lips all but touching, had whispered over and over again:

"I love you--love you--love you!"

That night was final. The marriage ceremony, even that moment in herroom, when her husband had taken her in his arms and she had felt thefirst stirring of love in her heart, all the first week of theirmarried life had been for Laura a whirl, a blur. She had not been ableto find herself. Her affection for her husband came and wentcapriciously. There were moments when she believed herself to be reallyunhappy. Then, all at once, she seemed to awake. Not the ceremony atSt. James' Church, but that awakening had been her marriage. Now it wasirrevocable; she was her husband's; she belonged to him indissolubly, forever and forever, and the surrender was a glory. Laura in thatmoment knew that love, the supreme triumph of a woman's life, was lessa victory than a capitulation. 

Since then her happiness had been perfect. Literally and truly therewas not a cloud, not a mote in her sunshine. She had everything--thelove of her husband, great wealth, extraordinary beauty, perfecthealth, an untroubled mind, friends, position--everything. God had beengood to her, beyond all dreams and all deserving. For her had beenreserved all the prizes, all the guerdons; for her who had done nothingto merit them. 

Her husband she knew was no less happy. In those first three yearsafter their marriage, life was one unending pageant; and theirhappiness became for them some marvellous, bewildering thing, dazzling, resplendent, a strange, glittering, jewelled Wonder-worker thatsuddenly had been put into their hands. 

As one of the first results of this awakening, Laura reproached herselfwith having done but little for Page. She told herself that she had notbeen a good sister, that often she had been unjust, quick tempered, andhad made the little girl to suffer because of her caprices. She had notsympathised sufficiently with her small troubles--so she made herselfbelieve--and had found too many occasions to ridicule Page'sintenseness and queer little solemnities. True she had given her a goodhome, good clothes, and a good education, but she should have givenmore--more than mere duty-gifts. She should have been more of acompanion to the little girl, more of a help; in fine, more of amother. Laura felt all at once the responsibilities of the elder sisterin a family bereft of parents. Page was growing fast, and growingastonishingly beautiful; in a little while she would be a young woman, and over the near horizon, very soon now, must inevitably loom thegrave question of her marriage. 

But it was only this realisation of certain responsibilities thatduring the first years of her married life at any time drew awayLaura's consideration of her husband. She began to get acquainted withthe real man-within-the-man that she knew now revealed himself onlyafter marriage. Jadwin her husband was so different from, so infinitelybetter than, Jadwin her lover, that Laura sometimes found herselflooking back with a kind of retrospective apprehension on the old daysand the time when she was simply Miss Dearborn. How little she hadknown him after all! And how, in the face of this ignorance, thisinnocence, this absence of any insight into his real character, had shedared to take the irretrievable step that bound her to him for life?The Curtis Jadwin of those early days was so much another man. He mighthave been a rascal; she could not have known it. As it was, her husbandhad promptly come to be, for her, the best, the finest man she had everknown. But it might easily have been different. 

His attitude towards her was thoughtfulness itself. Hardly ever was heabsent from her, even for a day, that he did not bring her some littlepresent, some little keep-sake--or even a bunch of flowers--when hereturned in the evening. The anniversaries--Christmas, their weddingday, her birthday--he always observed with great eclat. He took aholiday from his business, surprised her with presents under herpillow, or her dinner-plate, and never failed to take her to thetheatre in the evening. 

However, it was not only Jadwin's virtues that endeared him to hiswife. He was no impeccable hero in her eyes. He was tremendously human. He had his faults, his certain lovable weaknesses, and it was preciselythese traits that Laura found so adorable. 

For one thing, Jadwin could be magnificently inconsistent. Let him sethis mind and heart upon a given pursuit, pleasure, or line of conductnot altogether advisable at the moment, and the ingenuity of theexcuses by which he justified himself were monuments of elaboratesophistry. Yet, if later he lost interest, he reversed his argumentswith supreme disregard for his former words. 

Then, too, he developed a boyish pleasure in certain unessential thoughcherished objects and occupations, that he indulged extravagantly andto the neglect of things, not to say duties, incontestably of moreimportance. 

One of these objects was the "Thetis. " In every conceivable particularthe little steam yacht was complete down to the last bolt, the lastcoat of varnish; but at times during their summer vacations, whenJadwin, in all reason, should have been supervising the laying out ofcertain unfinished portions of the "grounds"--supervision which couldbe trusted to no subordinate--he would be found aboard the "Thetis, "hatless, in his shirt-sleeves, in solemn debate with the grey MacKennyand--a cleaning rag, or monkey-wrench, or paint brush in hishand--tinkering and pottering about the boat, over and over again. Wealthy as he was, he could have maintained an entire crew on boardwhose whole duty should have been to screw, and scrub, and scour. ButJadwin would have none of it. "Costs too much, " he would declare, withprofound gravity. He had the self-made American's handiness withimplements and paint brushes, and he would, at high noon and under amurderous sun, make the trip from the house to the dock where the"Thetis" was moored, for the trivial pleasure of tightening abolt--which did not need tightening; or wake up in the night to tellLaura of some wonderful new idea he had conceived as to the equipmentor decoration of the yacht. He had blustered about the extravagance ofa "crew, " but the sums of money that went to the brightening, refitting, overhauling, repainting, and reballasting of the boat--allabsolutely uncalled-for--made even Laura gasp, and would havemaintained a dozen sailors an entire year. 

This same inconsistency prevailed also in other directions. In thematter of business Jadwin's economy was unimpeachable. He would cavilon a half-dollar's overcharge; he would put himself to downrightinconvenience to save the useless expenditure of a dime--and boast ofit. But no extravagance was ever too great, no time ever too valuable, when bass were to be caught. 

For Jadwin was a fisherman unregenerate. Laura, though an early riserwhen in the city, was apt to sleep late in the country, and neveromitted a two-hours' nap in the heat of the afternoon. Her husbandimproved these occasions when he was deprived of her society, toindulge in his pastime. Never a morning so forbidding that his lineswere not in the water by five o'clock; never a sun so scorching that hewas not coaxing a "strike" in the stumps and reeds in the shade underthe shores. 

It was the one pleasure he could not share with his wife. Laura wasunable to bear the monotony of the slow-moving boat, the hours spentwithout results, the enforced idleness, the cramped positions. Onlyoccasionally could Jadwin prevail upon her to accompany him. And thenwhat preparations! Queen Elizabeth approaching her barge was attendedwith no less solicitude. MacKenny (who sometimes acted as guide andoarsman) and her husband exhausted their ingenuity to make hercomfortable. They held anxious debates: "Do you think she'll likethat?" "Wouldn't this make it easier for her?" "Is that the way sheliked it last time?" Jadwin himself arranged the cushions, spread thecarpet over the bottom of the boat, handed her in, found her old glovesfor her, baited her hook, disentangled her line, saw to it that themineral water in the ice-box was sufficiently cold, and performed anendless series of little attentions looking to her comfort andenjoyment. It was all to no purpose, and at length Laura declared:

"Curtis, dear, it is no use. You just sacrifice every bit of yourpleasure to make me comfortable--to make me enjoy it; and I just don't. I'm sorry, I want to share every pleasure with you, but I don't like tofish, and never will. You go alone. I'm just a hindrance to you. " Andthough he blustered at first, Laura had her way. 

Once in the period of these three years Laura and her husband had goneabroad. But her experience in England--they did not get to theContinent--had been a disappointment to her. The museums, artgalleries, and cathedrals were not of the least interest to Jadwin, andthough he followed her from one to another with uncomplaining stoicism, she felt his distress, and had contrived to return home three monthsahead of time. 

It was during this trip that they had bought so many of the picturesand appointments for the North Avenue house, and Laura's disappointmentover her curtailed European travels was mitigated by the anticipationof her pleasure in settling in the new home. This had not been possibleimmediately after their marriage. For nearly two years the great placehad been given over to contractors, architects, decorators, andgardeners, and Laura and her husband had lived, while in Chicago, at ahotel, giving up the one-time rectory on Cass Street to Page and toAunt Wess'. 

But when at last Laura entered upon possession of the North Avenuehouse, she was not--after the first enthusiasm and excitement over itsmagnificence had died down--altogether pleased with it, though she toldherself the contrary. Outwardly it was all that she could desire. Itfronted Lincoln Park, and from all the windows upon that side the mostdelightful outlooks were obtainable--green woods, open lawns, theparade ground, the Lincoln monument, dells, bushes, smooth drives, flower beds, and fountains. From the great bay window of Laura's ownsitting-room she could see far out over Lake Michigan, and watch theprocession of great lake steamers, from Milwaukee, far-distant Duluth, and the Sault Sainte Marie--the famous "Soo"--defiling majesticallypast, making for the mouth of the river, laden to the water's edge withwhole harvests of wheat. At night, when the windows were open in thewarm weather, she could hear the mournful wash and lapping of the wateron the embankments. 

The grounds about her home were beautiful. The stable itself was halfagain as large as her old home opposite St. James's, and theconservatory, in which she took the keenest delight, was a wonderfulaffair--a vast bubble-like structure of green panes, whence, winter andsummer, came a multitude of flowers for the house--violets, lilies ofthe valley, jonquils, hyacinths, tulips, and her own loved roses. 

But the interior of the house was, in parts, less satisfactory. Jadwin, so soon as his marriage was a certainty, had bought the house, and hadgiven over its internal furnishings to a firm of decorators. Innocentlyenough he had intended to surprise his wife, had told himself that sheshould not be burdened with the responsibility of selection andplanning. Fortunately, however, the decorators were men of taste. Therewas nothing to offend, and much to delight in the results they obtainedin the dining-room, breakfast-room, parlors, drawing-rooms, and suitesof bedrooms. But Laura, though the beauty of it all enchanted her, could never rid herself of a feeling that it was not hers. It impressedher with its splendour of natural woods and dull "colour effects, " itscunning electrical devices, its mechanical contrivances for comfort, like the ready-made luxury and "convenience" of a Pullman. 

However, she had intervened in time to reserve certain of the rooms toherself, and these--the library, her bedroom, and more especially thatapartment from whose bay windows she looked out upon the Lake, andwhich, as if she were still in her old home, she called the "upstairssitting-room"--she furnished to suit herself. 

For very long she found it difficult, even with all her resolution, with all her pleasure in her new-gained wealth, to adapt herself to amanner of living upon so vast a scale. She found herself continuallyplanning the marketing for the next day, forgetting that this now waspart of the housekeeper's duties. For months she persisted in "doingher room" after breakfast, just as she had been taught to do in the olddays when she was a little girl at Barrington. She was afraid of theelevator, and never really learned how to use the neat little system oftelephones that connected the various parts of the house with theservants' quarters. For months her chiefest concern in her wonderfulsurroundings took the form of a dread of burglars. 

Her keenest delights were her stable and the great organ in the artgallery; and these alone more than compensated for her uneasiness inother particulars. 

Horses Laura adored--black ones with flowing tails and manes, likecertain pictures she had seen. Nowadays, except on the rarestoccasions, she never set foot out of doors, except to take hercarriage, her coupe, her phaeton, or her dog-cart. Best of all sheloved her saddle horses. She had learned to ride, and the morning wasinclement indeed that she did not take a long and solitary excursionthrough the Park, followed by the groom and Jadwin's two spotted coachdogs. 

The great organ terrified her at first. But on closer acquaintance shecame to regard it as a vast-hearted, sympathetic friend. She alreadyplayed the piano very well, and she scorned Jadwin's self-playing"attachment. " A teacher was engaged to instruct her in the intricaciesof stops and of pedals, and in the difficulties of the "echo" organ, "great" organ, "choir, " and "swell. " So soon as she had mastered these, Laura entered upon a new world of delight. Her taste in music was asyet a little immature--Gounod and even Verdi were its limitations. Butto hear, responsive to the lightest pressures of her finger-tips, themighty instrument go thundering through the cadences of the "AnvilChorus" gave her a thrilling sense of power that was superb. 

The untrained, unguided instinct of the actress in Laura had fosteredin her a curious penchant toward melodrama. She had a taste for themagnificent. She revelled in these great musical "effects" upon herorgan, the grandiose easily appealed to her, while as for herself, therole of the "_grande dame, _" with this wonderful house for backgroundand environment, came to be for her, quite unconsciously, a sort ofgame in which she delighted. 

It was by this means that, in the end, she succeeded in fitting herselfto her new surroundings. Innocently enough, and with a harmless, almostchildlike, affectation, she posed a little, and by so doing found thesolution of the incongruity between herself--the Laura of moderatemeans and quiet life--and the massive luxury with which she was nowsurrounded. Without knowing it, she began to act the part of a greatlady--and she acted it well. She assumed the existence of her numerousservants as she assumed the fact of the trees in the park; she gaveherself into the hands of her maid, not as Laura Jadwin of herselfwould have done it, clumsily and with the constraint of inexperience, but as she would have done it if she had been acting the part on thestage, with an air, with all the nonchalance of a marquise, with--infine--all the superb condescension of her "grand manner. "

She knew very well that if she relaxed this hauteur, that her servantswould impose on her, would run over her, and in this matter she foundnew cause for wonder in her husband. 

The servants, from the frigid butler to the under groom, adored Jadwin. A half-expressed wish upon his part produced a more immediate effectthan Laura's most explicit orders. He never descended to familiaritywith them, and, as a matter of fact, ignored them to such an extentthat he forgot or confused their names. But where Laura was obeyed withprecise formality and chilly deference, Jadwin was served withobsequious alacrity, and with a good humour that even livery and"correct form" could not altogether conceal. 

Laura's eyes were first opened to this genuine affection which Jadwininspired in his servants by an incident which occurred in the firstmonths of their occupancy of the new establishment. One of thegardeners discovered the fact that Jadwin affected gardenias in thelapel of his coat, and thereat was at immense pains to supply him witha fresh bloom from the conservatory each morning. The flower was to beplaced at Jadwin's plate, and it was quite the event of the day for theold fellow when the master appeared on the front steps with the flowerin his coat. But a feud promptly developed over this matter between thegardener and the maid who took the butler's place at breakfast everymorning. Sometimes Jadwin did not get the flower, and the gardenercharged the maid with remissness in forgetting to place it at his plateafter he had given it into her hands. In the end the affair became soclamourous that Jadwin himself had to intervene. The gardener wassummoned and found to have been in fault only in his eagerness toplease. 

"Billy, " said Jadwin, to the old man at the conclusion of the wholematter, "you're an old fool. "

And the gardener thereupon had bridled and stammered as though Jadwinhad conferred a gift. 

"Now if I had called him 'an old fool, '" observed Laura, "he would havesulked the rest of the week. "

The happiest time of the day for Laura was the evening. In the daytimeshe was variously occupied, but her thoughts continually ran forward tothe end of the day, when her husband would be with her. Jadwinbreakfasted early, and Laura bore him company no matter how late shehad stayed up the night before. By half-past eight he was out of thehouse, driving down to his office in his buggy behind Nip and Tuck. Bynine Laura's own saddle horse was brought to the carriage porch, anduntil eleven she rode in the park. At twelve she lunched with Page, andin the afternoon--in the "upstairs sitting-room" read her Browning orher Meredith, the latter one of her newest discoveries, till three orfour. Sometimes after that she went out in her carriage. If it was to"shop" she drove to the "Rookery, " in La Salle Street, after herpurchases were made, and sent the footman up to her husband's office tosay that she would take him home. Or as often as not she called forMrs. Cressler or Aunt Wess' or Mrs. Gretry, and carried them off tosome exhibit of painting, or flowers, or more rarely--for she had notthe least interest in social affairs--to teas or receptions. 

But in the evenings, after dinner, she had her husband to herself. Pagewas almost invariably occupied by one or more of her young men in thedrawing-room, but Laura and Jadwin shut themselves in the library, alofty panelled room--a place of deep leather chairs, tall bookcases, etchings, and sombre brasses--and there, while Jadwin lay stretched outupon the broad sofa, smoking cigars, one hand behind his head, Lauraread aloud to him. 

His tastes in fiction were very positive. Laura at first had tried tointroduce him to her beloved Meredith. But after three chapters, whenhe had exclaimed, "What's the fool talking about?" she had given overand begun again from another starting-point. Left to himself, his wifesorrowfully admitted that he would have gravitated to the "MysteriousIsland" and "Michael Strogoff, " or even to "Mr. Potter of Texas" and"Mr. Barnes of New York. " But she had set herself to accomplish hisliterary education, so, Meredith failing, she took up "Treasure Island"and "The Wrecker. " Much of these he made her skip. 

"Oh, let's get on with the 'story, '" he urged. But Pinkerton for longremained for him an ideal, because he was "smart" and "alive. "

"I'm not long very many of art, " he announced. "But I believe that anyart that don't make the world better and happier is no art at all, andis only fit for the dump heap. "

But at last Laura found his abiding affinity in Howells. 

"Nothing much happens, " he said. "But I know all those people. " Henever could rid himself of a surreptitious admiration for BartleyHubbard. He, too, was "smart" and "alive. " He had the "get there" tohim. "Why, " he would say, "I know fifty boys just like him down therein La Salle Street. " Lapham he loved as a brother. Never a point in thedevelopment of his character that he missed or failed to chuckle over. Bromfield Cory was poohed and boshed quite out of consideration as a"loafer, " a "dilletanty, " but Lapham had all his sympathy. 

"Yes, sir, " he would exclaim, interrupting the narrative, "that's justit. That's just what I would have done if I had been in his place. Come, this chap knows what he's writing about--not like that Middletonass, with his 'Dianas' and 'Amazing Marriages. '"

Occasionally the Jadwins entertained. Laura's husband was proud of hishouse, and never tired of showing his friends about it. Laura gave Pagea "coming-out" dance, and nearly every Sunday the Cresslers came todinner. But Aunt Wess' could, at first, rarely be induced to pay thehousehold a visit. So much grandeur made the little widow uneasy, evena little suspicious. She would shake her head at Laura, murmuring:

"My word, it's all very fine, but, dear me, Laura, I hope you do payfor everything on the nail, and don't run up any bills. I don't knowwhat your dear father would say to it all, no, I don't. " And she wouldspend hours in counting the electric bulbs, which she insisted wereonly devices for some new-fangled gas. 

"Thirty-three in this one room alone, " she would say. "I'd like to seeyour dear husband's face when he gets his gas bill. And a dressmakerthat lives in the house. .. . Well, --I don't want to say anything. "

Thus three years had gone by. The new household settled to a regime. Continually Jadwin grew richer. His real estate appreciated in value;rents went up. Every time he speculated in wheat, it was upon a largerscale, and every time he won. He was a Bear always, and on those rareoccasions when he referred to his ventures in Laura's hearing, it wasinvariably to say that prices were going down. Till at last had comethat spring when he believed that the bottom had been touched, had hadthe talk with Gretry, and had, in secret, "turned Bull, " with thesuddenness of a strategist. 

The matter was yet in Gretry's mind while the party remained in the artgallery; and as they were returning to the drawing-room he detainedJadwin an instant. 

"If you are set upon breaking your neck, " he said, "you might tell meat what figure you want me to buy for you to-morrow. "

"At the market, " returned Jadwin. "I want to get into the thing quick. "

A little later, when they had all reassembled in the drawing-room, andwhile Mrs. Gretry was telling an interminable story of how Isabel hadall but asphyxiated herself the night before, a servant announcedLandry Court, and the young man entered, spruce and debonair, a bouquetin one hand and a box of candy in the other. 

Some days before this Page had lectured him solemnly on the fact thathe was over-absorbed in business, and was starving his soul. He shouldread more, she told him, and she had said that if he would call uponher on this particular night, she would indicate a course of readingfor him. 

So it came about that, after a few moments, conversation with the olderpeople in the drawing-room, the two adjourned to the library. 

There, by way of a beginning, Page asked him what was his favouritecharacter in fiction. She spoke of the beauty of Ruskin's thoughts, ofthe gracefulness of Charles Lamb's style. The conversation lagged alittle. Landry, not to be behind her, declared for the modern novel, and spoke of the "newest book. " But Page never read new books; she wasnot interested, and their talk, unable to establish itself upon acommon ground, halted, and was in a fair way to end, until at last, andby insensible degrees, they began to speak of themselves and of eachother. Promptly they were all aroused. They listened to one another'swords with studious attention, answered with ever-ready promptness, discussed, argued, agreed, and disagreed over and over again. 

Landry had said:

"When I was a boy, I always had an ambition to excel all the otherboys. I wanted to be the best baseball player on the block--and I was, too. I could pitch three curves when I was fifteen, and I find I am thesame now that I am a man grown. When I do a thing, I want to do itbetter than any one else. From the very first I have always beenambitious. It is my strongest trait. Now, " he went on, turning to Page, "your strongest trait is your thoughtfulness. You are what they callintrospective. "

"Yes, yes, " she answered. "Yes, I think so, too. "

"You don't need the stimulation of competition. You are at your bestwhen you are with just one person. A crowd doesn't interest you. "

"I hate it, " she exclaimed. 

"Now with me, with a man of my temperament, a crowd is a realinspiration. When every one is talking and shouting around me, or tome, even, my mind works at its best. But, " he added, solemnly, "it mustbe a crowd of men. I can't abide a crowd of women. "

"They chatter so, " she assented. "I can't either. "

"But I find that the companionship of one intelligent, sympatheticwoman is as much of a stimulus as a lot of men. It's funny, isn't it, that I should be like that?"

"Yes, " she said, "it is funny--strange. But I believe in companionship. I believe that between man and woman that is the greatthing--companionship. Love, " she added, abruptly, and then broke offwith a deep sigh. "Oh, I don't know, " she murmured. "Do you rememberthose lines:

 "Man's love is of his life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence. 

Do you believe that?"

"Well, " he asserted, gravely, choosing his words with deliberation, "itmight be so, but all depends upon the man and woman. Love, " he added, with tremendous gravity, "is the greatest power in the universe. "

"I have never been in love, " said Page. "Yes, love is a wonderfulpower. "

"I've never been in love, either. "

"Never, never been in love?"

"Oh, I've thought I was in love, " he said, with a wave of his hand. 

"I've never even thought I was, " she answered, musing. 

"Do you believe in early marriages?" demanded Landry. 

"A man should never marry, " she said, deliberately, "till he can givehis wife a good home, and good clothes and--and that sort of thing. Ido not think I shall ever marry. "

"You! Why, of course you will. Why not?"

"No, no. It is my disposition. I am morose and taciturn. Laura says so. "

Landry protested with vehemence. 

"And, " she went on, "I have long, brooding fits of melancholy. "

"Well, so have I, " he threw out recklessly. "At night, sometimes--whenI wake up. Then I'm all down in the mouth, and I say, 'What's the use, by jingo?'"

"Do you believe in pessimism? I do. They say Carlyle was a terriblepessimist. "

"Well--talking about love. I understand that you can't believe inpessimism and love at the same time. Wouldn't you feel unhappy if youlost your faith in love?"

"Oh, yes, terribly. "

There was a moment's silence, and then Landry remarked:

"Now you are the kind of woman that would only love once, but love forthat once mighty deep and strong. "

Page's eyes grew wide. She murmured:

"'Tis a woman's whole existence--whole existence. ' Yes, I think I amlike that. "

"Do you think Enoch Arden did right in going away after he found themmarried?"

"Oh, have you read that? Oh, isn't that a beautiful poem? Wasn't henoble? Wasn't he grand? Oh, yes, yes, he did right. "

"By George, I wouldn't have gone away. I'd have gone right into thathouse, and I would have made things hum. I'd have thrown the otherfellow out, lock, stock, and barrel. "

"That's just like a man, so selfish, only thinking of himself. Youdon't know the meaning of love--great, true, unselfish love. "

"I know the meaning of what's mine. Think I'd give up the woman I lovedto another man?"

"Even if she loved the other man best?"

"I'd have my girl first, and find out how she felt about the other manafterwards. "

"Oh, but think if you gave her up, how noble it would be. You wouldhave sacrificed all that you held the dearest to an ideal. Oh, if Iwere in Enoch Arden's place, and my husband thought I was dead, and Iknew he was happy with another woman, it would just be a joy to denymyself, sacrifice myself to spare him unhappiness. That would be myidea of love. Then I'd go into a convent. "

"Not much. I'd let the other fellow go to the convent. If I loved awoman, I wouldn't let anything in the world stop me from winning her. "

"You have so much determination, haven't you?" she said, looking at him. 

Landry enlarged his shoulders a little and wagged his head. 

"Well, " he said, "I don't know, but I'd try pretty hard to get what Iwanted, I guess. "

"I love to see that characteristic in men, " she observed. "Strength, determination. "

"Just as a man loves to see a woman womanly, " he answered. "Don't youhate strong-minded women?"

"Utterly. "

"Now, you are what I would call womanly--the womanliest woman I've everknown. "

"Oh, I don't know, " she protested, a little confused. 

"Yes, you are. You are beautifully womanly--and so high-minded and wellread. It's been inspiring to me. I want you should know that. Yes, sir, a real inspiration. It's been inspiring, elevating, to say the least. "

"I like to read, if that's what you mean, " she hastened to say. 

"By Jove, I've got to do some reading, too. It's so hard to find time. But I'll make time. I'll get that 'Stones of Venice' I've heard youspeak of, and I'll sit up nights--and keep awake with black coffee--butI'll read that book from cover to cover. "

"That's your determination again, " Page exclaimed. "Your eyes justflashed when you said it. I believe if you once made up your mind to doa thing, you would do it, no matter how hard it was, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I'd--I'd make things hum, I guess, " he admitted. 

The next day was Easter Sunday, and Page came down to nine o'clockbreakfast a little late, to find Jadwin already finished and deep inthe pages of the morning paper. Laura, still at table, was pouring herlast cup of coffee. 

They were in the breakfast-room, a small, charming apartment, light andairy, and with many windows, one end opening upon the houseconservatory. Jadwin was in his frock coat, which later he would wearto church. The famous gardenia was in his lapel. He was freshly shaven, and his fine cigar made a blue haze over his head. Laura was radiant ina white morning gown. A newly cut bunch of violets, large as a cabbage, lay on the table before her. 

The whole scene impressed itself sharply upon Page's mind--the finesunlit room, with its gay open spaces and the glimpse of green leavesfrom the conservatory, the view of the smooth, trim lawn through themany windows, where an early robin, strayed from the park, waschirruping and feeding; her beautiful sister Laura, with her splendid, overshadowing coiffure, her pale, clear skin, her slender figure;Jadwin, the large, solid man of affairs, with his fine cigar, hisgardenia, his well-groomed air. And then the little accessories thatmeant so much--the smell of violets, of good tobacco, of fragrantcoffee; the gleaming damasks, china and silver of the breakfast table;the trim, fresh-looking maid, with her white cap, apron, and cuffs, whocame and went; the thoroughbred setter dozing in the sun, and theparrot dozing and chuckling to himself on his perch upon the terraceoutside the window. 

At the bottom of the lawn was the stable, and upon the concrete infront of its wide-open door the groom was currying one of the carriagehorses. While Page addressed herself to her fruit and coffee, Jadwinput down his paper, and, his elbows on the arms of his rattan chair, sat for a long time looking out at the horse. By and by he got up andsaid:

"That new feed has filled 'em out in good shape. Think I'll go out andtell Jarvis to try it on the buggy team. " He pushed open the Frenchwindows and went out, the setter sedately following. 

Page dug her spoon into her grape-fruit, then suddenly laid it down andturned to Laura, her chin upon her palm. 

"Laura, " she said, "do you think I ought to marry--a girl of mytemperament?"

"Marry?" echoed Laura. 

"Sh-h!" whispered Page. "Laura--don't talk so loud. Yes, do you?"

"Well, why not marry, dearie? Why shouldn't you marry when the timecomes? Girls as young as you are not supposed to have temperaments. "

But instead of answering Page put another question:

"Laura, do you think I am womanly?"

"I think sometimes, Page, that you take your books and your reading tooseriously. You've not been out of the house for three days, and I neversee you without your note-books and text-books in your hand. You are atit, dear, from morning till night. Studies are all very well--"

"Oh, studies!" exclaimed Page. "I hate them. Laura, what is it to bewomanly?"

"To be womanly?" repeated Laura. "Why, I don't know, honey. It's to bekind and well-bred and gentle mostly, and never to be bold orconspicuous--and to love one's home and to take care of it, and to loveand believe in one's husband, or parents, or children--or even one'ssister--above any one else in the world. "

"I think that being womanly is better than being well read, " hazardedPage. 

"We can be both, Page, " Laura told her. "But, honey, I think you hadbetter hurry through your breakfast. If we are going to church thisEaster, we want to get an early start. Curtis ordered the carriage halfan hour earlier. "

"Breakfast!" echoed Page. "I don't want a thing. " She drew a deepbreath and her eyes grew large. "Laura, " she began again presently, "Laura . .. Landry Court was here last night, and--oh, I don't know, he's so silly. But he said--well, he said this--well, I said that Iunderstood how he felt about certain things, about 'getting on, ' andbeing clean and fine and all that sort of thing you know; and then hesaid, 'Oh, you don't know what it means to me to look into the eyes ofa woman who really understands. '"

"_Did_ he?" said Laura, lifting her eyebrows. 

"Yes, and he seemed so fine and earnest. Laura, wh--" Page adjusted ahairpin at the back of her head, and moved closer to Laura, her eyes onthe floor. "Laura--what do you suppose it did mean to him--don't youthink it was foolish of him to talk like that?"

"Not at all, " Laura said, decisively. "If he said that he meantit--meant that he cared a great deal for you. "

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" shrieked Page. "But there's a great deal moreto Landry than I think we've suspected. He wants to be more than a meremoney-getting machine, he says, and he wants to cultivate his mind andunderstand art and literature and that. And he wants me to help him, and I said I would. So if you don't mind, he's coming up here certainnights every week, and we're going to--I'm going to read to him. We'regoing to begin with the 'Ring and the Book. '"

In the later part of May, the weather being unusually hot, the Jadwins, taking Page with them, went up to Geneva Lake for the summer, and thegreat house fronting Lincoln Park was deserted. 

Laura had hoped that now her husband would be able to spend his entiretime with her, but in this she was disappointed. At first Jadwin wentdown to the city but two days a week, but soon this was increased toalternate days. Gretry was a frequent visitor at the country house, andoften he and Jadwin, their rocking-chairs side by side in a remotecorner of the porch, talked "business" in low tones till far into thenight. 

"Dear, " said Laura, finally, "I'm seeing less and less of you everyday, and I had so looked forward to this summer, when we were to betogether all the time. "

"I hate it as much as you do, Laura, " said her husband. "But I do feelas though I ought to be on the spot just for now. I can't get it out ofmy head that we're going to have livelier times in a few months. "

"But even Mr. Gretry says that you don't need to be right in youroffice every minute of the time. He says you can manage your Board ofTrade business from out here just as well, and that you only go intotown because you can't keep away from La Salle Street and the sound ofthe Wheat Pit. "

Was this true? Jadwin himself had found it difficult to answer. Therehad been a time when Gretry had been obliged to urge and coax to gethis friend to so much as notice the swirl of the great maelstrom in theBoard of Trade Building. But of late Jadwin's eye and ear were foreverturned thitherward, and it was he, and no longer Gretry, who tookinitiatives. 

Meanwhile he was making money. As he had predicted, the price of wheathad advanced. May had been a fair-weather month with easy prices, themonthly Government report showing no loss in the condition of the crop. Wheat had gone up from sixty to sixty-six cents, and at a small profitJadwin had sold some two hundred and fifty thousand bushels. Then hadcome the hot weather at the end of May. On the floor of the Board ofTrade the Pit traders had begun to peel off their coats. It began tolook like a hot June, and when cash wheat touched sixty-eight, Jadwin, now more than ever convinced of a coming Bull market, bought anotherfive hundred thousand bushels. 

This line he added to in June. Unfavorable weather--excessive heat, followed by flooding rains--had hurt the spring wheat, and in everydirection there were complaints of weevils and chinch bugs. Later onother deluges had discoloured and damaged the winter crop. Jadwin wasnow, by virtue of his recent purchases, "long" one million bushels, andthe market held firm at seventy-two cents--a twelve-cent advance in twomonths. 

"She'll react, " warned Gretry, "sure. Crookes and Sweeny haven't takena hand yet. Look out for a heavy French crop. We'll get reports on itsoon now. You're playing with a gun, J. , that kicks further than itshoots. "

"We've not shot her yet, " Jadwin said. "We're only just loadingher--for Bears, " he added, with a wink. 

In July came the harvesting returns from all over the country, provingconclusively that for the first time in six years, the United Statescrop was to be small and poor. The yield was moderate. Only part of itcould be graded as "contract. " Good wheat would be valuable from nowon. Jadwin bought again, and again it was a "lot" of half a millionbushels. 

Then came the first manifestation of that marvellous golden luck thatwas to follow Curtis Jadwin through all the coming months. The Frenchwheat crop was announced as poor. In Germany the yield was to be farbelow the normal. All through Hungary the potato and rye crops werelight. 

About the middle of the month Jadwin again called the broker to hiscountry house, and took him for a long evening's trip around the lake, aboard the "Thetis. " They were alone. MacKenny was at the wheel, and, seated on camp stools in the stern of the little boat, Jadwin outlinedhis plans for the next few months. 

"Sam, " he said, "I thought back in April there that we were to touchtop prices about the first of this month, but this French and Germannews has coloured the cat different. I've been figuring that I wouldget out of this market around the seventies, but she's going higher. I'm going to hold on yet awhile. "

"You do it on your own responsibility, then, " said the broker. "I warnyou the price is top heavy. "

"Not much. Seventy-two cents is too cheap. Now I'm going into thishard; and I want to have my own lines out--to be independent of thetrade papers that Crookes could buy up any time he wants to. I want youto get me some good, reliable correspondents in Europe; smart, brightfellows that we can depend on. I want one in Liverpool, one in Paris, and one in Odessa, and I want them to cable us about the situationevery day. "

Gretry thought a while. 

"Well, " he said, at length, ". .. Yes. I guess I can arrange it. I canget you a good man in Liverpool--Traynard is his name--and there's twoor three in Paris we could pick up. Odessa--I don't know. I couldn'tsay just this minute. But I'll fix it. "

These correspondents began to report at the end of July. All overEurope the demand for wheat was active. Grain handlers were not onlybuying freely, but were contracting for future delivery. In August camethe first demands for American wheat, scattered and sporadic at first, then later, a little, a very little more insistent. 

Thus the summer wore to its end. The fall "situation" began slowly todefine itself, with eastern Europe--densely populated, overcrowded--commencing to show uneasiness as to its supply of food forthe winter; and with but a moderate crop in America to meet foreigndemands. Russia, the United States, and Argentine would have to feedthe world during the next twelve months. 

Over the Chicago Wheat Pit the hand of the great indicator stood atseventy-five cents. Jadwin sold out his September wheat at this figure, and then in a single vast clutch bought three million bushels of theDecember option. 

Never before had he ventured so deeply into the Pit. Never before hadhe committed himself so irrevocably to the send of the current. Butsomething was preparing. Something indefinite and huge. He guessed it, felt it, knew it. On all sides of him he felt a quickening movement. Lethargy, inertia were breaking up. There was buoyancy to the current. In its ever-increasing swiftness there was exhilaration and exuberance. 

And he was upon the crest of the wave. Now the forethought, theshrewdness, and the prompt action of those early spring days werebeginning to tell. Confident, secure, unassailable, Jadwin plunged in. Every week the swirl of the Pit increased in speed, every week thedemands of Europe for American wheat grew more frequent; and at the endof the month the price--which had fluctuated between seventy-five andseventy-eight--in a sudden flurry rushed to seventy-nine, toseventy-nine and a half, and closed, strong, at the even eighty cents. 

On the day when the latter figure was reached Jadwin bought a seat uponthe Board of Trade. 

He was now no longer an "outsider. "

VII

One morning in November of the same year Laura joined her husband atbreakfast, preoccupied and a little grave, her mind full of a subjectabout which, she told herself, she could no longer keep from speaking. So soon as an opportunity presented itself, which was when Jadwin laiddown his paper and drew his coffee-cup towards him, Laura exclaimed:

"Curtis. "

"Well, old girl?"

"Curtis, dear, . .. When is it all going to end--your speculating? Younever used to be this way. It seems as though, nowadays, I never hadyou to myself. Even when you are not going over papers and reports andthat, or talking by the hour to Mr. Gretry in the library--even whenyou are not doing all that, your mind seems to be away from me--downthere in La Salle Street or the Board of Trade Building. Dearest, youdon't know. I don't mean to complain, and I don't want to be exactingor selfish, but--sometimes I--I am lonesome. Don't interrupt, " shesaid, hastily. "I want to say it all at once, and then never speak ofit again. Last night, when Mr. Gretry was here, you said, just afterdinner, that you would be all through your talk in an hour. And Iwaited. .. . I waited till eleven, and then I went to bed. Dear I--I--Iwas lonesome. The evening was so long. I had put on my very prettiestgown, the one you said you liked so much, and you never seemed tonotice. You told me Mr. Gretry was going by nine, and I had it allplanned how we would spend the evening together. "

But she got no further. Her husband had taken her in his arms, and hadinterrupted her words with blustering exclamations of self-reproach andself-condemnation. He was a brute, he cried, a senseless, selfish ass, who had no right to such a wife, who was not worth a single one of thetears that by now were trembling on Laura's lashes. 

"Now we won't speak of it again, " she began. "I suppose I am selfish--"

"Selfish, nothing!" he exclaimed. "Don't talk that way. I'm the one--"

"But, " Laura persisted, "some time you will--get out of thisspeculating for good? Oh, I do look forward to it so! And, Curtis, whatis the use? We're so rich now we can't spend our money. What do youwant to make more for?"

"Oh, it's not the money, " he answered. "It's the fun of the thing; theexcitement--"

"That's just it, the 'excitement. ' You don't know, Curtis. It ischanging you. You are so nervous sometimes, and sometimes you don'tlisten to me when I talk to you. I can just see what's in your mind. It's wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat, all the time. Oh, if youknew how I hated and feared it!"

"Well, old girl, that settles it. I wouldn't make you unhappy a singleminute for all the wheat in the world. "

"And you will stop speculating?"

"Well, I can't pull out all in a moment, but just as soon as a chancecomes I'll get out of the market. At any rate, I won't have anybusiness of mine come between us. I don't like it any more than you do. Why, how long is it since we've read any book together, like we used towhen you read aloud to me?"

"Not since we came back from the country. "

"By George, that's so, that's so. " He shook his head. "I've got totaper off. You're right, Laura. But you don't know, you haven't a guesshow this trading in wheat gets a hold of you. And, then, what am I todo? What are we fellows, who have made our money, to do? I've got to bebusy. I can't sit down and twiddle my thumbs. And I don't believe inlounging around clubs, or playing with race horses, or murdering gamebirds, or running some poor, helpless fox to death. Speculating seemsto be about the only game, or the only business that's left open tome--that appears to be legitimate. I know I've gone too far into it, and I promise you I'll quit. But it's fine fun. When you know how toswing a deal, and can look ahead, a little further than the otherfellows, and can take chances they daren't, and plan and manoeuvre, andthen see it all come out just as you had known it would all along--Itell you it's absorbing. "

"But you never do tell me, " she objected. "I never know what you aredoing. I hear through Mr. Court or Mr. Gretry, but never through you. Don't you think you could trust me? I want to enter into your life onits every side, Curtis. Tell me, " she suddenly demanded, "what are youdoing now?"

"Very well, then, " he said, "I'll tell you. Of course you mustn't speakabout it. It's nothing very secret, but it's always as well to keepquiet about these things. "

She gave her word, and leaned her elbows on the table, prepared tolisten intently. Jadwin crushed a lump of sugar against the inside ofhis coffee cup. 

"Well, " he began, "I've not been doing anything very exciting, exceptto buy wheat. "

"What for?"

"To sell again. You see, I'm one of those who believe that wheat isgoing up. I was the very first to see it, I guess, way back last April. Now in August this year, while we were up at the lake, I bought threemillion bushels. "

"Three--million--bushels!" she murmured. "Why, what do you do with it?Where do you put it?"

He tried to explain that he had merely bought the right to call for thegrain on a certain date, but she could not understand this very clearly. 

"Never mind, " she told him, "go on. "

"Well, then, at the end of August we found out that the wet weather inEngland would make a short crop there, and along in September came thenews that Siberia would not raise enough to supply the southernprovinces of Russia. That left only the United States and the ArgentineRepublic to feed pretty much the whole world. Of course that would makewheat valuable. Seems to be a short-crop year everywhere. I saw thatwheat would go higher and higher, so I bought another million bushelsin October, and another early in this month. That's all. You see, Ifigure that pretty soon those people over in England and Italy andGermany--the people that eat wheat--will be willing to pay us inAmerica big prices for it, because it's so hard to get. They've got tohave the wheat--it's bread 'n' butter to them. "

"Oh, then why not give it to them?" she cried. "Give it to those poorpeople--your five million bushels. Why, that would be a godsend tothem. "

Jadwin stared a moment. 

"Oh, that isn't exactly how it works out, " he said. 

Before he could say more, however, the maid came in and handed toJadwin three despatches. 

"Now those, " said Laura, when the servant had gone out, "you get thoseevery morning. Are those part of your business? What do they say?"

"I'll read them to you, " he told her as he slit the first envelopes. "They are cablegrams from agents of mine in Europe. Gretry arranged tohave them sent to me. Here now, this is from Odessa. It's in cipher, but"--he drew a narrow memorandum-book from his breast pocket--"I'lltranslate it for you. "

He turned the pages of the key book a few moments, jotting down thetranslation on the back of an envelope with the gold pencil at the endof his watch chain. 

"Here's how it reads, " he said at last. "'Cash wheat advanced one centbushel on Liverpool buying, stock light. Shipping to interior. Europeanprice not attractive to sellers. '"

"What does that mean?" she asked. 

"Well, that Russia will not export wheat, that she has no more thanenough for herself, so that Western Europe will have to look to us forher wheat. "

"And the others? Read those to me. "

Again Jadwin translated. 

"This is from Paris:

"'Answer on one million bushels wheat in your market--stocks lighterthan expected, and being cleared up. '"

"Which is to say?" she queried. 

"They want to know how much I would ask for a million bushels. Theyfind it hard to get the stuff over there--just as I said they would. "

"Will you sell it to them?"

"Maybe. I'll talk to Sam about it. "

"And now the last one. "

"It's from Liverpool, and Liverpool, you must understand, is the greatbuyer of wheat. It's a tremendously influential place. "

He began once more to consult the key book, one finger following thesuccessive code words of the despatch. 

Laura, watching him, saw his eyes suddenly contract. "By George, " hemuttered, all at once, "by George, what's this?"

"What is it?" she demanded. "Is it important?"

But all-absorbed, Jadwin neither heard nor responded. Three times heverified the same word. 

"Oh, please tell me, " she begged. 

Jadwin shook his head impatiently and held up a warning hand. 

"Wait, wait, " he said. "Wait a minute. "

Word for word he wrote out the translation of the cablegram, and thenstudied it intently. 

"That's it, " he said, at last. Then he got to his feet. "I guess I'vehad enough breakfast, " he declared. He looked at his watch, touched thecall bell, and when the maid appeared said:

"Tell Jarvis to bring the buggy around right away. "

"But, dear, what is it?" repeated Laura. "You said you would tell me. You see, " she cried, "it's just as I said. You've forgotten my veryexistence. When it's a question of wheat I count for nothing. And justnow, when you read the despatch to yourself, you were all different;such a look came into your face, so cruelly eager, and triumphant andkeen. "

"You'd be eager, too, " he exclaimed, "if you understood. Look; read itfor yourself. "

He thrust the cable into her hands. Over each code word he had writtenits translation, and his wife read:

"Large firms here short and in embarrassing position, owing tocurtailment in Argentine shipments. Can negotiate for five millionwheat if price satisfactory. "

"Well?" she asked. 

"Well, don't you see what that means? It's the 'European demand' atlast. They must have wheat, and I've got it to give 'em--wheat that Ibought, oh! at seventy cents, some of it, and they'll pay the marketthat is, eighty cents, for it. Oh, they'll pay more. They'll payeighty-two if I want 'em to. France is after the stuff, too. Rememberthat cable from Paris I just read. They'd bid against each other. Why, if I pull this off, if this goes through--and, by George, " he went on, speaking as much to himself as to her, new phases of the affairpresenting themselves to him at every moment, "by George, I don't haveto throw this wheat into the Pit and break down the price--and Gretryhas understandings with the railroads, through the elevator gang, so weget big rebates. Why, this wheat is worth eighty-two cents to them--andthen there's this 'curtailment in Argentine shipments. ' That's thefirst word we've had about small crops there. Holy Moses, if theArgentine crop is off, wheat will knock the roof clean off the Board ofTrade!" The maid reappeared in the doorway. "The buggy?" queriedJadwin. "All right. I'm off, Laura, and--until it's over keep quietabout all this, you know. Ask me to read you some more cables some day. It brings good luck. "

He gathered up his despatches and the mail and was gone. Laura, leftalone, sat looking out of the window a long moment. She heard the frontdoor close, and then the sound of the horses' hoofs on the asphalt bythe carriage porch. They died down, ceased, and all at once a greatsilence seemed to settle over the house. 

Laura sat thinking. At last she rose. 

"It is the first time, " she said to herself, "that Curtis ever forgotto kiss me good-by. "

The day, for all that the month was December, was fine. The sun shone;under foot the ground was dry and hard. The snow which had fallen tendays before was practically gone. In fine, it was a perfect day forriding. Laura called her maid and got into her habit. The groom withhis own horse and "Crusader" were waiting for her when she descended. 

That forenoon Laura rode further and longer than usual. Preoccupied atfirst, her mind burdened with vague anxieties, she nevertheless couldnot fail to be aroused and stimulated by the sparkle and effervescenceof the perfect morning, and the cold, pure glitter of Lake Michigan, green with an intense mineral hue, dotted with whitecaps, and flashingunder the morning sky. Lincoln Park was deserted and still; a blue hazeshrouded the distant masses of leafless trees, where the gardeners wereburning the heaps of leaves. Under her the thoroughbred moved with anease and a freedom that were superb, throwing back one sharp ear at herlightest word; his rippling mane caressed her hand and forearm, and asshe looked down upon his shoulder she could see the long, slendermuscles, working smoothly, beneath the satin sheen of the skin. At thewater works she turned into the long, straight road that leads to NorthLake, and touched Crusader with the crop, checking him slightly at thesame time. With a little toss of his head he broke from a trot into acanter, and then, as she leaned forward in the saddle, into his long, even gallop. There was no one to see; she would not be conspicuous, soLaura gave the horse his head, and in another moment he was carryingher with a swiftness that brought the water to her eyes, and that senther hair flying from her face. She had him completely under control. Atouch upon the bit, she knew, would suffice to bring him to astandstill. She knew him to be without fear and without nerves, knewthat his every instinct made for her safety, and that this morning'sgallop was as much a pleasure to him as to his rider. Beneath her andaround her the roadway and landscape flew; the cold air sang in herears and whipped a faint colour to her pale cheeks; in her deep browneyes a frosty sparkle came and went, and throughout all her slenderfigure the blood raced spanking and careering in a full, strong tide ofhealth and gaiety. 

She made a circle around North Lake, and came back by way of the Linnemonument and the Palm House, Crusader ambling quietly by now, the groomtrotting stolidly in the rear. Throughout all her ride she had seen noone but the park gardeners and the single grey-coated, mountedpoliceman whom she met each time she rode, and who always touched hishelmet to her as she cantered past. Possibly she had grown a littlecareless in looking out for pedestrians at the crossings, for as sheturned eastward at the La Salle statue, she all but collided with agentleman who was traversing the road at the same time. 

She brought her horse to a standstill with a little start ofapprehension, and started again as she saw that the gentleman wasSheldon Corthell. 

"Well, " she cried, taken all aback, unable to think of formalities, andrelapsing all at once into the young girl of Barrington, Massachusetts, "well, I never--of all the people. "

But, no doubt, she had been more in his mind than he in hers, and ameeting with her was for him an eventuality not at all remote. Therewas more of pleasure than of embarrassment in that first look in whichhe recognised the wife of Curtis Jadwin. 

The artist had changed no whit in the four years since last she hadseen him. He seemed as young as ever; there was the same "elegance" tohis figure; his hands were just as long and slim as ever; his blackbeard was no less finely pointed, and the mustaches were brushed awayfrom his lips in the same French style that she remembered he used toaffect. He was, as always, carefully dressed. He wore a suit of tweedsof a foreign cut, but no overcoat, a cloth cap of greenish plaid wasupon his head, his hands were gloved in dogskin, and under his arm hecarried a slender cane of varnished brown bamboo. The onlyunconventionality in his dress was the cravat, a great bow of blacksilk that overflowed the lapels of his coat. 

But she had no more than time to register a swift impression of thedetails, when he came quickly forward, one hand extended, the otherholding his cap. 

"I cannot tell you how glad I am, " he exclaimed. 

It was the old Corthell beyond doubting or denial. Not a singleinflection of his low-pitched, gently modulated voice was wanting; nota single infinitesimal mannerism was changed, even to the littletilting of the chin when he spoke, or the quick winking of the eyelids, or the smile that narrowed the corners of the eyes themselves, or thetrick of perfect repose of his whole body. Even his handkerchief, asalways, since first she had known him, was tucked into his sleeve atthe wrist. 

"And so you are back again, " she cried. "And when, and how?"

"And so--yes--so I am back again, " he repeated, as they shook hands. "Only day before yesterday, and quite surreptitiously. No one knows yetthat I am here. I crept in--or my train did--under the cover of night. I have come straight from Tuscany. "

"From Tuscany?"

"--and gardens and marble pergolas. "

"Now why any one should leave Tuscan gardens and--and all that kind ofthing for a winter in Chicago, I cannot see, " she said. 

"It is a little puzzling, " he answered. "But I fancy that my gardensand pergolas and all the rest had come to seem to me a little--as theFrench would put it--_malle. _ I began to long for a touch of our hard, harsh city again. Harshness has its place, I think, if it is only tocut one's teeth on. "

Laura looked down at him, smiling. 

"I should have thought you had cut yours long ago, " she said. 

"Not my wisdom teeth, " he urged. "I feel now that I have come to thattime of life when it is expedient to have wisdom. "

"I have never known that feeling, " she confessed, "and I live in the'hard, harsh' city. "

"Oh, that is because you have never known what it meant not to havewisdom, " he retorted. "Tell me about everybody, " he went on. "Yourhusband, he is well, of course, and distressfully rich. I heard of himin New York. And Page, our little, solemn Minerva of Dresden china?"

"Oh, yes, Page is well, but you will hardly recognise her; such a younglady nowadays. "

"And Mr. Court, 'Landry'? I remember he always impressed me as thoughhe had just had his hair cut; and the Cresslers, and Mrs. Wessels, and--"

"All well. Mrs. Cressler will be delighted to hear you are back. Yes, everybody is well. "

"And, last of all, Mrs. Jadwin? But I needn't ask; I can see how welland happy you are. "

"And Mr. Corthell, " she queried, "is also well and happy?"

"Mr. Corthell, " he responded, "is very well, and--tolerably--happy, thank you. One has lost a few illusions, but has managed to keep enoughto grow old on. One's latter days are provided for. "

"I shouldn't imagine, " she told him, "that one lost illusions in Tuscangardens. "

"Quite right, " he hastened to reply, smiling cheerfully. "One lost noillusions in Tuscany. One went there to cherish the few that yetremained. But, " he added, without change of manner, "one begins tobelieve that even a lost illusion can be very beautiful sometimes--evenin Chicago. "

"I want you to dine with us, " said Laura. "You've hardly met myhusband, and I think you will like some of our pictures. I will haveall your old friends there, the Cresslers and Aunt Wess, and all. Whencan you come?"

"Oh, didn't you get my note?" he asked. "I wrote you yesterday, askingif I might call to-night. You see, I am only in Chicago for a couple ofdays. I must go on to St. Louis to-morrow, and shall not be back for aweek. "

"Note? No, I've had no note from you. Oh, I know what happened. Curtisleft in a hurry this morning, and he swooped all the mail into hispocket the last moment. I knew some of my letters were with his. There's where your note went. But, never mind, it makes no differencenow that we've met. Yes, by all means, come to-night--to dinner. We'renot a bit formal. Curtis won't have it. We dine at six; and I'll try toget the others. Oh, but Page won't be there, I forgot. She and LandryCourt are going to have dinner with Aunt Wess', and they are all goingto a lecture afterwards. "

The artist expressed his appreciation and accepted her invitation. 

"Do you know where we live?" she demanded. "You know we've moved since. "

"Yes, I know, " he told her. "I made up my mind to take a long walk herein the Park this morning, and I passed your house on my way out. Yousee, I had to look up your address in the directory before writing. Your house awed me, I confess, and the style is surprisingly good. "

"But tell me, " asked Laura, "you never speak of yourself, what have youbeen doing since you went away?"

"Nothing. Merely idling, and painting a little, and studying somethirteenth century glass in Avignon and Sienna. "

"And shall you go back?"

"Yes, I think so, in about a month. So soon as I have straightened outsome little businesses of mine--which puts me in mind, " he said, glancing at his watch, "that I have an appointment at eleven, andshould be about it. "

He said good-by and left her, and Laura cantered homeward in highspirits. She was very glad that Corthell had come back. She had alwaysliked him. He not only talked well himself, but seemed to have thefaculty of making her do the same. She remembered that in the old days, before she had met Jadwin, her mind and conversation, forundiscoverable reasons, had never been nimbler, quicker, nor moreeffective than when in the company of the artist. 

Arrived at home, Laura (as soon as she had looked up the definition of"pergola" in the dictionary) lost no time in telephoning to Mrs. Cressler. 

"What, " this latter cried when she told her the news, "that SheldonCorthell back again! Well, dear me, if he wasn't the last person in mymind. I do remember the lovely windows he used to paint, and howrefined and elegant he always was--and the loveliest hands and voice. "

"He's to dine with us to-night, and I want you and Mr. Cressler tocome. "

"Oh, Laura, child, I just simply can't. Charlie's got a man fromMilwaukee coming here to-night, and I've got to feed him. Isn't it tooprovoking? I've got to sit and listen to those two, clatteringcommissions and percentages and all, when I might be hearing SheldonCorthell talk art and poetry and stained glass. I declare, I never haveany luck. "

At quarter to six that evening Laura sat in the library, before thefireplace, in her black velvet dinner gown, cutting the pages of a newnovel, the ivory cutter as it turned and glanced in her hand, appearingto be a mere prolongation of her slender fingers. But she was notinterested in the book, and from time to time glanced nervously at theclock upon the mantel-shelf over her head. Jadwin was not home yet, andshe was distressed at the thought of keeping dinner waiting. He usuallycame back from down town at five o'clock, and even earlier. To-day shehad expected that quite possibly the business implied in the Liverpoolcable of the morning might detain him, but surely he should be home bynow; and as the minutes passed she listened more and more anxiously forthe sound of hoofs on the driveway at the side of the house. 

At five minutes of the hour, when Corthell was announced, there wasstill no sign of her husband. But as she was crossing the hall on herway to the drawing-room, one of the servants informed her that Mr. Jadwin had just telephoned that he would be home in half an hour. 

"Is he on the telephone now?" she asked, quickly. "Where did hetelephone from?"

But it appeared that Jadwin had "hung up" without mentioning hiswhereabouts. 

"The buggy came home, " said the servant. "Mr. Jadwin told Jarvis not towait. He said he would come in the street cars. "

Laura reflected that she could delay dinner a half hour, and gaveorders to that effect. 

"We shall have to wait a little, " she explained to Corthell as theyexchanged greetings in the drawing-room. "Curtis has some specialbusiness on hand to-day, and is half an hour late. "

They sat down on either side of the fireplace in the lofty apartment, with its sombre hangings of wine-coloured brocade and thick, mufflingrugs, and for upwards of three-quarters of an hour Corthell interestedher with his description of his life in the cathedral towns of northernItaly. But at the end of that time dinner was announced. 

"Has Mr. Jadwin come in yet?" Laura asked of the servant. 

"No, madam. "

She bit her lip in vexation. 

"I can't imagine what can keep Curtis so late, " she murmured. "Well, "she added, at the end of her resources, "we must make the best of it. Ithink we will go in, Mr. Corthell, without waiting. Curtis must be heresoon now. "

But, as a matter of fact, he was not. In the great dining-room, filledwith a dull crimson light, the air just touched with the scent oflilies of the valley, Corthell and Mrs. Jadwin dined alone. 

"I suppose, " observed the artist, "that Mr. Jadwin is a very busy man. "

"Oh, no, " Laura answered. "His real estate, he says, runs itself, and, as a rule, Mr. Gretry manages most of his Board of Trade business. Itis only occasionally that anything keeps him down town late. I scoldedhim this morning, however, about his speculating, and made him promisenot to do so much of it. I hate speculation. It seems to absorb somemen so; and I don't believe it's right for a man to allow himself tobecome absorbed altogether in business. "

"Oh, why limit one's absorption to business?" replied Corthell, sippinghis wine. "Is it right for one to be absorbed 'altogether' inanything--even in art, even in religion?"

"Oh, religion, I don't know, " she protested. 

"Isn't that certain contribution, " he hazarded, "which we make to thegeneral welfare, over and above our own individual work, isn't that theessential? I suppose, of course, that we must hoe, each of us, his ownlittle row, but it's the stroke or two we give to our neighbour'srow--don't you think?--that helps most to cultivate the field. "

"But doesn't religion mean more than a stroke or two?" she ventured toreply. 

"I'm not so sure, " he answered, thoughtfully. "If the stroke or two istaken from one's own work instead of being given in excess of it. Onemust do one's own hoeing first. That's the foundation of things. Areligion that would mean to be 'altogether absorbed' in my neighbour'shoeing would be genuinely pernicious, surely. My row, meanwhile, wouldlie open to weeds. "

"But if your neighbour's row grew flowers?"

"Unfortunately weeds grow faster than the flowers, and the weeds of myrow would spread until they choked and killed my neighbour's flowers, Iam sure. "

"That seems selfish though, " she persisted. "Suppose my neighbour weremaimed or halt or blind? His poor little row would never be finished. My stroke or two would not help very much. "

"Yes, but every row lies between two others, you know. The hoer on thefar side of the cripple's row would contribute a stroke or two as wellas you. No, " he went on, "I am sure one's first duty is to do one's ownwork. It seems to me that a work accomplished benefits the wholeworld--the people--pro rata. If we help another at the expense of ourwork instead of in excess of it, we benefit only the individual, and, pro rata again, rob the people. A little good contributed by everybodyto the race is of more, infinitely more, importance than a great dealof good contributed by one individual to another. "

"Yes, " she admitted, beginning at last to be convinced, "I see what youmean. But one must think very large to see that. It never occurred tome before. The individual--I, Laura Jadwin--counts for nothing. It isthe type to which I belong that's important, the mould, the form, thesort of composite photograph of hundreds of thousands of Laura Jadwins. Yes, " she continued, her brows bent, her mind hard at work, "what I am, the little things that distinguish me from everybody else, those passaway very quickly, are very ephemeral. But the type Laura Jadwin, thatalways remains, doesn't it? One must help building up only thepermanent things. Then, let's see, the individual may deteriorate, butthe type always grows better. .. . Yes, I think one can say that. "

"At least the type never recedes, " he prompted. 

"Oh, it began good, " she cried, as though at a discovery, "and cannever go back of that original good. Something keeps it from goingbelow a certain point, and it is left to us to lift it higher andhigher. No, the type can't be bad. Of course the type is more importantthan the individual. And that something that keeps it from going belowa certain point is God. "

"Or nature. "

"So that God and nature, " she cried again, "work together? No, no, theyare one and the same thing. "

"There, don't you see, " he remarked, smiling back at her, "how simpleit is?"

"Oh-h, " exclaimed Laura, with a deep breath, "isn't it beautiful?" Sheput her hand to her forehead with a little laugh of deprecation. "My, "she said, "but those things make you think. "

Dinner was over before she was aware of it, and they were still talkinganimatedly as they rose from the table. 

"We will have our coffee in the art gallery, " Laura said, "and pleasesmoke. "

He lit a cigarette, and the two passed into the great glass-roofedrotunda. 

"Here is the one I like best, " said Laura, standing before theBougereau. 

"Yes?" he queried, observing the picture thoughtfully. "I suppose, " heremarked, "it is because it demands less of you than some others. I seewhat you mean. It pleases you because it satisfies you so easily. Youcan grasp it without any effort. "

"Oh, I don't know, " she ventured. 

"Bougereau 'fills a place. ' I know it, " he answered. "But I cannotpersuade myself to admire his art. "

"But, " she faltered, "I thought that Bougereau was considered thegreatest--one of the greatest--his wonderful flesh tints, the drawing, and colouring. "

"But I think you will see, " he told her, "if you think about it, thatfor all there is in his picture--back of it--a fine hanging, abeautiful vase would have exactly the same value upon your wall. Now, on the other hand, take this picture. " He indicated a small canvas tothe right of the bathing nymphs, representing a twilight landscape. 

"Oh, that one, " said Laura. "We bought that here in America, in NewYork. It's by a Western artist. I never noticed it much, I'm afraid. "

"But now look at it, " said Corthell. "Don't you know that the artistsaw something more than trees and a pool and afterglow? He had thatfeeling of night coming on, as he sat there before his sketching easelon the edge of that little pool. He heard the frogs beginning to pipe, I'm sure, and the touch of the night mist was on his hands. And he wasvery lonely and even a little sad. In those deep shadows under thetrees he put something of himself, the gloom and the sadness that hefelt at the moment. And that little pool, still and black andsombre--why, the whole thing is the tragedy of a life full of dark, hidden secrets. And the little pool is a heart. No one can say how deepit is, or what dreadful thing one would find at the bottom, or whatdrowned hopes or what sunken ambitions. That little pool says one wordas plain as if it were whispered in the ear--despair. Oh, yes, I preferit to the nymphs. "

"I am very much ashamed, " returned Laura, "that I could not see it allbefore for myself. But I see it now. It is better, of course. I shallcome in here often now and study it. Of all the rooms in our house thisis the one I like best. But, I am afraid, it has been more because ofthe organ than of the pictures. "

Corthell turned about. 

"Oh, the grand, noble organ, " he murmured. "I envy you this of all yourtreasures. May I play for you? Something to compensate for thedreadful, despairing little tarn of the picture. "

"I should love to have you, " she told him. 

He asked permission to lower the lights, and stepping outside the dooran instant, pressed the buttons that extinguished all but a very few ofthem. After he had done this he came back to the organ and detached theself-playing "arrangement" without comment, and seated himself at theconsole. 

Laura lay back in a long chair close at hand. The moment waspropitious. The artist's profile silhouetted itself against the shadeof a light that burned at the side of the organ, and that gave light tothe keyboard. And on this keyboard, full in the reflection, lay hislong, slim hands. They were the only things that moved in the room, andthe chords and bars of Mendelssohn's "Consolation" seemed, as heplayed, to flow, not from the instrument, but, like some invisibleether, from his finger-tips themselves. 

"You hear, " he said to Laura, "the effect of questions and answer inthis. The questions are passionate and tumultuous and varied, but theanswer is always the same, always calm and soothing and dignified. "

She answered with a long breath, speaking just above a whisper:

"Oh, yes, yes, I understand. "

He finished and turned towards her a moment. "Possibly not a very highorder of art, " he said; "a little too 'easy, ' perhaps, like theBougereau, but 'Consolation' should appeal very simply and directly, after all. Do you care for Beethoven?"

"I--I am afraid--" began Laura, but he had continued without waitingfor her reply. 

"You remember this? The 'Appassionata, ' the F minor sonata just thesecond movement. "

But when he had finished Laura begged him to continue. 

"Please go on, " she said. "Play anything. You can't tell how I love it. "

"Here is something I've always liked, " he answered, turning back to thekeyboard. "It is the 'Mephisto Walzer' of Liszt. He has adapted ithimself from his own orchestral score, very ingeniously. It isdifficult to render on the organ, but I think you can get the idea ofit. " As he spoke he began playing, his head very slightly moving to therhythm of the piece. At the beginning of each new theme, and withoutinterrupting his playing, he offered a word, of explanation:

"Very vivid and arabesque this, don't you think? . .. And now thismovement; isn't it reckless and capricious, like a woman who hesitatesand then takes the leap? Yet there's a certain nobility there, afeeling for ideals. You see it, of course. .. . And all the while thisundercurrent of the sensual, and that feline, eager sentiment . .. Andhere, I think, is the best part of it, the very essence of passion, thevoluptuousness that is a veritable anguish. .. . These long, slowrhythms, tortured, languishing, really dying. It reminds one of'Phedre'--'Venus toute entiere, ' and the rest of it; and Wagner has thesame. You find it again in Isolde's motif continually. "

Laura was transfixed, all but transported. Here was something betterthan Gounod and Verdi, something above and beyond the obvious one, two, three, one, two, three of the opera scores as she knew them and playedthem. Music she understood with an intuitive quickness; and thoseprolonged chords of Liszt's, heavy and clogged and cloyed with passion, reached some hitherto untouched string within her heart, and withresistless power twanged it so that the vibration of it shook herentire being, and left her quivering and breathless, the tears in hereyes, her hands clasped till the knuckles whitened. 

She felt all at once as though a whole new world were opened to her. She stood on Pisgah. And she was ashamed and confused at her ignoranceof those things which Corthell tactfully assumed that she knew as amatter of course. What wonderful pleasures she had ignored! Howinfinitely removed from her had been the real world of art and artistsof which Corthell was a part! Ah, but she would make amends now. Nomore Verdi and Bougereau. She would get rid of the "Bathing Nymphs. "Never, never again would she play the "Anvil Chorus. " Corthell shouldselect her pictures, and should play to her from Liszt and Beethoventhat music which evoked all the turbulent emotion, all the impetuosityand fire and exaltation that she felt was hers. 

She wondered at herself. Surely, surely there were two Laura Jadwins. One calm and even and steady, loving the quiet life, loving her home, finding a pleasure in the duties of the housewife. This was the Laurawho liked plain, homely, matter-of-fact Mrs. Cressler, who adored herhusband, who delighted in Mr. Howells's novels, who abjured society andthe formal conventions, who went to church every Sunday, and who wasafraid of her own elevator. 

But at moments such as this she knew that there was another LauraJadwin--the Laura Jadwin who might have been a great actress, who had a"temperament, " who was impulsive. This was the Laura of the "grandmanner, " who played the role of the great lady from room to room of hervast house, who read Meredith, who revelled in swift gallops throughthe park on jet-black, long-tailed horses, who affected black velvet, black jet, and black lace in her gowns, who was conscious and proud ofher pale, stately beauty--the Laura Jadwin, in fine, who delighted torecline in a long chair in the dim, beautiful picture gallery andlisten with half-shut eyes to the great golden organ thrilling to thepassion of Beethoven and Liszt. 

The last notes of the organ sank and faded into silence--a silence thatleft a sense of darkness like that which follows upon the flight of afalling star, and after a long moment Laura sat upright, adjusting theheavy masses of her black hair with thrusts of her long, white fingers. She drew a deep breath. 

"Oh, " she said, "that was wonderful, wonderful. It is like a newlanguage--no, it is like new thoughts, too fine for language. "

"I have always believed so, " he answered. "Of all the arts, music, tomy notion, is the most intimate. At the other end of the scale you havearchitecture, which is an expression of and an appeal to the commonmultitude, a whole people, the mass. Fiction and painting, and evenpoetry, are affairs of the classes, reaching the groups of theeducated. But music--ah, that is different, it is one soul speaking toanother soul. The composer meant it for you and himself. No one elsehas anything to do with it. Because his soul was heavy and broken withgrief, or bursting with passion, or tortured with doubt, or searchingfor some unnamed ideal, he has come to you--you of all the people inthe world--with his message, and he tells you of his yearnings and hissadness, knowing that you will sympathise, knowing that your soul has, like his, been acquainted with grief, or with gladness; and in themusic his soul speaks to yours, beats with it, blends with it, yes, iseven, spiritually, married to it. "

And as he spoke the electrics all over the gallery flashed out in asudden blaze, and Curtis Jadwin entered the room, crying out:

"Are you here, Laura? By George, my girl, we pulled it off, and I'vecleaned up five--hundred--thousand--dollars. "

Laura and the artist faced quickly about, blinking at the sudden glare, and Laura put her hand over her eyes. 

"Oh, I didn't mean to blind you, " said her husband, as he came forward. "But I thought it wouldn't be appropriate to tell you the good news inthe dark. "

Corthell rose, and for the first time Jadwin caught sight of him. 

"This is Mr. Corthell, Curtis, " Laura said. "You remember him, ofcourse?"

"Why, certainly, certainly, " declared Jadwin, shaking Corthell's hand. "Glad to see you again. I hadn't an idea you were here. " He wasexcited, elated, very talkative. "I guess I came in on you abruptly, "he observed. "They told me Mrs. Jadwin was in here, and I was full ofmy good news. By the way, I do remember now. When I came to look overmy mail on the way down town this morning, I found a note from you tomy wife, saying you would call to-night. Thought it was for me, andopened it before I found the mistake. "

"I knew you had gone off with it, " said Laura. 

"Guess I must have mixed it up with my own mail this morning. I'd havetelephoned you about it, Laura, but upon my word I've been so busy allday I clean forgot it. I've let the cat out of the bag already, Mr. Corthell, and I might as well tell the whole thing now. I've beenputting through a little deal with some Liverpool fellows to-day, and Ihad to wait down town to get their cables to-night. You got mytelephone, did you, Laura?"

"Yes, but you said then you'd be up in half an hour. "

"I know--I know. But those Liverpool cables didn't come till all hours. Well, as I was saying, Mr. Corthell, I had this deal on hand--it wasthat wheat, Laura, I was telling you about this morning--five millionbushels of it, and I found out from my English agent that I could slamit right into a couple of fellows over there, if we could come toterms. We came to terms right enough. Some of that wheat I sold at aprofit of fifteen cents on every bushel. My broker and I figured it outjust now before I started home, and, as I say, I'm a clean half millionto the good. So much for looking ahead a little further than the nextman. " He dropped into a chair and stretched his arms wide. "Whoo! I'mtired Laura. Seems as though I'd been on my feet all day. Do yousuppose Mary, or Martha, or Maggie, or whatever her name is, couldrustle me a good strong cup of tea. 

"Haven't you dined, Curtis?" cried Laura. 

"Oh, I had a stand-up lunch somewhere with Sam. But we were both soexcited we might as well have eaten sawdust. Heigho, I sure am tired. It takes it out of you, Mr. Corthell, to make five hundred thousand inabout ten hours. "

"Indeed I imagine so, " assented the artist. Jadwin turned to his wife, and held her glance in his a moment. He was full of triumph, full ofthe grim humour of the suddenly successful American. 

"Hey?" he said. "What do you think of that, Laura, " he clapped down hisbig hand upon his chair arm, "a whole half million--at one grab? Maybethey'll say down there in La Salle Street now that I don't know wheat. Why, Sam--that's Gretry my broker, Mr. Corthell, of Gretry, Converse &Co. --Sam said to me Laura, to-night, he said, 'J. , '--they call me 'J. 'down there, Mr. Corthell--'J. , I take off my hat to you. I thought youwere wrong from the very first, but I guess you know this game betterthan I do. ' Yes, sir, that's what he said, and Sam Gretry has beentrading in wheat for pretty nearly thirty years. Oh, I knew it, " hecried, with a quick gesture; "I knew wheat was going to go up. I knewit from the first, when all the rest of em laughed at me. I knew thisEuropean demand would hit us hard about this time. I knew it was a goodthing to buy wheat; I knew it was a good thing to have special agentsover in Europe. Oh, they'll all buy now--when I've showed 'em the way. Upon my word, I haven't talked so much in a month of Sundays. You mustpardon me, Mr. Corthell. I don't make five hundred thousand every day. "

"But this is the last--isn't it?" said Laura. 

"Yes, " admitted Jadwin, with a quick, deep breath. "I'm done now. Nomore speculating. Let some one else have a try now. See if they canhold five million bushels till it's wanted. My, my, I am tired--as I'vesaid before. D'that tea come, Laura?"

"What's that in your hand?" she answered, smiling. 

Jadwin stared at the cup and saucer he held, whimsically. "Well, well, "he exclaimed, "I must be flustered. Corthell, " he declared betweenswallows, "take my advice. Buy May wheat. It'll beat art all hollow. "

"Oh, dear, no, " returned the artist. "I should lose my senses if I won, and my money if I didn't. 

"That's so. Keep out of it. It's a rich man's game. And at that, there's no fun in it unless you risk more than you can afford to lose. Well, let's not talk shop. You're an artist, Mr. Corthell. What do youthink of our house?"

Later on when they had said good-by to Corthell, and when Jadwin wasmaking the rounds of the library, art gallery, and drawing-rooms--anightly task which he never would intrust to the servants--turning downthe lights and testing the window fastenings, his wife said:

"And now you are out of it--for good. "

"I don't own a grain of wheat, " he assured her. "I've got to be out ofit. "

The next day he went down town for only two or three hours in theafternoon. But he did not go near the Board of Trade building. Hetalked over a few business matters with the manager of his real estateoffice, wrote an unimportant letter or two, signed a few orders, wasback at home by five o'clock, and in the evening took Laura, Page, andLandry Court to the theatre. 

After breakfast the next morning, when he had read his paper, he gotup, and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, looked across the table athis wife. 

"Well, " he said. "Now what'll we do?"

She put down at once the letter she was reading. 

"Would you like to drive in the park?" she suggested. "It is abeautiful morning. "

"M--m--yes, " he answered slowly. "All right. Let's drive in the park. "

But she could see that the prospect was not alluring to him. 

"No, " she said, "no. I don't think you want to do that. "

"I don't think I do, either, " he admitted. "The fact is, Laura, I justabout know that park by heart. Is there anything good in the magazinesthis month?"

She got them for him, and he installed himself comfortably in thelibrary, with a box of cigars near at hand. 

"Ah, " he said, fetching a long breath as he settled back in thedeep-seated leather chair. "Now this is what I call solid comfort. Better than stewing and fussing about La Salle Street with your mindloaded down with responsibilities and all. This is my idea of life. "

But an hour later, when Laura--who had omitted her ride thatmorning--looked into the room, he was not there. The magazines werehelter-skeltered upon the floor and table, where he had tossed each oneafter turning the leaves. A servant told her that Mr. Jadwin was out inthe stables. 

She saw him through the window, in a cap and great-coat, talking withthe coachman and looking over one of the horses. But he came back tothe house in a little while, and she found him in his smoking-room witha novel in his hand. 

"Oh, I read that last week, " she said, as she caught a glimpse of thetitle. "Isn't it interesting? Don't you think it is good?"

"Oh--yes--pretty good, " he admitted. "Isn't it about time for lunch?Let's go to the matinee this afternoon, Laura. Oh, that's so, it'sThursday; I forgot. "

"Let me read that aloud to you, " she said, reaching for the book. "Iknow you'll be interested when you get farther along. "

"Honestly, I don't think I would be, " he declared. "I've looked aheadin it. It seems terribly dry. Do you know, " he said, abruptly, "if thelaw was off I'd go up to Geneva Lake and fish through the ice. Laura, how would you like to go to Florida?"

"Oh, I tell you, " she exclaimed. "Let's go up to Geneva Lake overChristmas. We'll open up the house and take some of the servants alongand have a house party. "

Eventually this was done. The Cresslers and the Gretrys were invited, together with Sheldon Corthell and Landry Court. Page and Aunt Wess'came as a matter of course. Jadwin brought up some of the horses and acouple of sleighs. On Christmas night they had a great tree, andCorthell composed the words and music for a carol which had a greatsuccess. 

About a week later, two days after New Year's day, when Landry camedown from Chicago on the afternoon train, he was full of the tales of agreat day on the Board of Trade. Laura, descending to the sitting-room, just before dinner, found a group in front of the fireplace, where thehuge logs were hissing and crackling. Her husband and Cressler werethere, and Gretry, who had come down on an earlier train. Page sat nearat hand, her chin on her palm, listening intently to Landry, who heldthe centre of the stage for the moment. In a far corner of the roomSheldon Corthell, in a dinner coat and patent-leather pumps, acigarette between his fingers, read a volume of Italian verse. 

"It was the confirmation of the failure of the Argentine crop that didit, " Landry was saying; "that and the tremendous foreign demand. Sheopened steady enough at eighty-three, but just as soon as the gongtapped we began to get it. Buy, buy, buy. Everybody is in it now. Thepublic are speculating. For one fellow who wants to sell there are adozen buyers. We had one of the hottest times I ever remember in thePit this morning. "

Laura saw Jadwin's eyes snap. 

"I told you we'd get this, Sam, " he said, nodding to the broker. 

"Oh, there's plenty of wheat, " answered Gretry, easily. "Wait till weget dollar wheat--if we do--and see it come out. The farmers haven'tsold it all yet. There's always an army of ancient hayseeds who havethe stuff tucked away--in old stockings, I guess--and who'll dump it onyou all right if you pay enough. There's plenty of wheat. I've seen ithappen before. Work the price high enough, and, Lord, how they'llscrape the bins to throw it at you! You'd never guess from whatout-of-the-way places it would come. "

"I tell you, Sam, " retorted Jadwin, "the surplus of wheat is going outof the country--and it's going fast. And some of these shorts will haveto hustle lively for it pretty soon. "

"The Crookes gang, though, " observed Landry, "seem pretty confident themarket will break. I'm sure they were selling short this morning. "

"The idea, " exclaimed Jadwin, incredulously, "the idea of selling shortin face of this Argentine collapse, and all this Bull news from Europe!"

"Oh, there are plenty of shorts, " urged Gretry. "Plenty of them. "

Try as he would, the echoes of the rumbling of the Pit reached Jadwinat every hour of the day and night. The maelstrom there at the foot ofLa Salle Street was swirling now with a mightier rush than for yearspast. Thundering, its vortex smoking, it sent its whirling far out overthe country, from ocean to ocean, sweeping the wheat into its currents, sucking it in, and spewing it out again in the gigantic pulses of itsebb and flow. 

And he, Jadwin, who knew its every eddy, who could foretell its everyripple, was out of it, out of it. Inactive, he sat there idle while theclamour of the Pit swelled daily louder, and while other men, men oflittle minds, of narrow imaginations, perversely, blindly shut theireyes to the swelling of its waters, neglecting the chances which hewould have known how to use with such large, such vast results. Thatmysterious event which long ago he felt was preparing, was not yetconsummated. The great Fact, the great Result which was at last toissue forth from all this turmoil was not yet achieved. Would it refuseto come until a master hand, all powerful, all daring, gripped thelevers of the sluice gates that controlled the crashing waters of thePit? He did not know. Was it the moment for a chief?

Was this upheaval a revolution that called aloud for its Napoleon?Would another, not himself, at last, seeing where so many shut theireyes, step into the place of high command?

Jadwin chafed and fretted in his inaction. As the time when the houseparty should break up drew to its close, his impatience harried himlike a gadfly. He took long drives over the lonely country roads, ortramped the hills or the frozen lake, thoughtful, preoccupied. He stillheld his seat upon the Board of Trade. He still retained his agents inEurope. Each morning brought him fresh despatches, each evening's paperconfirmed his forecasts. 

"Oh, I'm out of it for good and all, " he assured his wife. "But I knowthe man who could take up the whole jing-bang of that Crookes crowd inone hand and"--his large fist swiftly knotted as he spoke thewords--"scrunch it up like an eggshell, by George. "

Landry Court often entertained Page with accounts of the doings on theBoard of Trade, and about a fortnight after the Jadwins had returned totheir city home he called on her one evening and brought two or threeof the morning's papers. 

"Have you seen this?" he asked. She shook her head. 

"Well, " he said, compressing his lips, and narrowing his eyes, "let metell you, we are having pretty--lively--times--down there on the Boardthese days. The whole country is talking about it. "

He read her certain extracts from the newspapers he had brought. Thefirst article stated that recently a new factor had appeared in theChicago wheat market. A "Bull" clique had evidently been formed, presumably of New York capitalists, who were ousting the Crookes crowdand were rapidly coming into control of the market. In consequence ofthis the price of wheat was again mounting. 

Another paper spoke of a combine of St. Louis firms who were advancingprices, bulling the market. Still a third said, at the beginning of ahalf-column article:

"It is now universally conceded that an Unknown Bull has invaded theChicago wheat market since the beginning of the month, and is nowdominating the entire situation. The Bears profess to have no fear ofthis mysterious enemy, but it is a matter of fact that a multitude ofshorts were driven ignominiously to cover on Tuesday last, when theGreat Bull gathered in a long line of two million bushels in a singlehalf hour. Scalping and eighth-chasing are almost entirely at an end, the smaller traders dreading to be caught on the horns of the Unknown. The new operator's identity has been carefully concealed, but whoeverhe is, he is a wonderful trader and is possessed of consummate nerve. It has been rumoured that he hails from New York, and is but one of alarge clique who are inaugurating a Bull campaign. But our New Yorkadvices are emphatic in denying this report, and we can safely statethat the Unknown Bull is a native, and a present inhabitant of theWindy City. "

Page looked up at Landry quickly, and he returned her glance withoutspeaking. There was a moment's silence. 

"I guess, " Landry hazarded, lowering his voice, "I guess we're boththinking of the same thing. "

"But I know he told my sister that he was going to stop all that kindof thing. What do you think?"

"I hadn't ought to think anything. "

"Say 'shouldn't think, ' Landry. "

"Shouldn't think, then, anything about it. My business is to executeMr. Gretry's orders. "

"Well, I know this, " said Page, "that Mr. Jadwin is down town all dayagain. You know he stayed away for a while. "

"Oh, that may be his real estate business that keeps him down town somuch, " replied Landry. 

"Laura is terribly distressed, " Page went on. "I can see that. Theyused to spend all their evenings together in the library, and Laurawould read aloud to him. But now he comes home so tired that sometimeshe goes to bed at nine o'clock, and Laura sits there alone reading tilleleven and twelve. But she's afraid, too, of the effect upon him. He'sgetting so absorbed. He don't care for literature now as he did once, or was beginning to when Laura used to read to him; and he never thinksof his Sunday-school. And then, too, if you're to believe Mr. Cressler, there's a chance that he may lose if he is speculating again. "

But Landry stoutly protested:

"Well, don't think for one moment that Mr. Curtis Jadwin is going tolet any one get the better of him. There's no man--no, nor gang ofmen--could down him. He's head and shoulders above the biggest of themdown there. I tell you he's Napoleonic. Yes, sir, that's what he is, Napoleonic, to say the least. Page, " he declared, solemnly, "he's thegreatest man I've ever known. "

Very soon after this it was no longer a secret to Laura Jadwin that herhusband had gone back to the wheat market, and that, too, with suchimpetuosity, such eagerness, that his rush had carried him to the veryheart's heart of the turmoil. 

He was now deeply involved; his influence began to be felt. Not animportant move on the part of the "Unknown Bull, " the namelessmysterious stranger that was not duly noted and discussed by the entireworld of La Salle Street. 

Almost his very first move, carefully guarded, executed withprofoundest secrecy, had been to replace the five million bushels soldto Liverpool by five million more of the May option. This was inJanuary, and all through February and all through the first days ofMarch, while the cry for American wheat rose, insistent and vehement, from fifty cities and centres of eastern Europe; while the jam of menin the Wheat Pit grew ever more frantic, ever more furious, and whilethe impassive hand on the great dial over the floor of the Board rose, resistless, till it stood at eighty-seven, he bought steadily, gathering in the wheat, calling for it, welcoming it, receiving full inthe face and with opened arms the cataract that poured in upon the Pitfrom Iowa and Nebraska, Minnesota and Dakota, from the dwindling binsof Illinois and the fast-emptying elevators of Kansas and Missouri. 

Then, squarely in the midst of the commotion, at a time when CurtisJadwin owned some ten million bushels of May wheat, fell the Governmentreport on the visible supply. 

"Well, " said Jadwin, "what do you think of it?"

He and Gretry were in the broker's private room in the offices ofGretry, Converse & Co. They were studying the report of the Governmentas to the supply of wheat, which had just been published in theeditions of the evening papers. It was very late in the afternoon of alugubrious March day. Long since the gas and electricity had beenlighted in the office, while in the streets the lamps at the cornerswere reflected downward in long shafts of light upon the drenchedpavements. From the windows of the room one could see directly up LaSalle Street. The cable cars, as they made the turn into or out of thestreet at the corner of Monroe, threw momentary glares of red and greenlights across the mists of rain, and filled the air continually withthe jangle of their bells. Further on one caught a glimpse of the CourtHouse rising from the pavement like a rain-washed cliff of blackbasalt, picked out with winking lights, and beyond that, at the extremeend of the vista, the girders and cables of the La Salle Street bridge. 

The sidewalks on either hand were encumbered with the "six o'clockcrowd" that poured out incessantly from the street entrances of theoffice buildings. It was a crowd almost entirely of men, and they movedonly in one direction, buttoned to the chin in rain coats, theirumbrellas bobbing, their feet scuffling through the little pools of wetin the depressions of the sidewalk. They streamed from out the brokers'offices and commission houses on either side of La Salle Street, continually, unendingly, moving with the dragging sluggishness of thefatigue of a hard day's work. Under that grey sky and blurring veil ofrain they lost their individualities, they became conglomerate--a mass, slow-moving, black. All day long the torrent had seethed and thunderedthrough the street--the torrent that swirled out and back from thatvast Pit of roaring within the Board of Trade. Now the Pit was stilled, the sluice gates of the torrent locked, and from out the thousands ofoffices, from out the Board of Trade itself, flowed the black andsluggish lees, the lifeless dregs that filtered back to their level fora few hours, stagnation, till in the morning, the whirlpool revolvingonce more, should again suck them back into its vortex. 

The rain fell uninterruptedly. There was no wind. The cable cars joltedand jostled over the tracks with a strident whir of vibrating windowglass. In the street, immediately in front of the entrance to the Boardof Trade, a group of pigeons, garnet-eyed, trim, with coral-colouredfeet and iridescent breasts, strutted and fluttered, pecking at thehandfuls of wheat that a porter threw them from the windows of thefloor of the Board. 

"Well, " repeated Jadwin, shifting with a movement of his lips his unlitcigar to the other corner of his mouth, "well, what do you think of it?"

The broker, intent upon the figures and statistics, replied only by anindefinite movement of the head. 

"Why, Sam, " observed Jadwin, looking up from the paper, "there's lessthan a hundred million bushels in the farmers' hands. .. . That's awfullysmall. Sam, that's awfully small. "

"It ain't, as you might say, colossal, " admitted Gretry. 

There was a long silence while the two men studied the report stillfurther. Gretry took a pamphlet of statistics from a pigeon-hole of hisdesk, and compared certain figures with those mentioned in the report. 

Outside the rain swept against the windows with the subdued rustle ofsilk. A newsboy raised a Gregorian chant as he went down the street. 

"By George, Sam, " Jadwin said again, "do you know that a whole pile ofthat wheat has got to go to Europe before July? How have the shipmentsbeen?"

"About five millions a week. "

"Why, think of that, twenty millions a month, and it's--let's see, April, May, June, July--four months before a new crop. Eighty millionbushels will go out of the country in the next four months--eightymillion out of less than a hundred millions. "

"Looks that way, " answered Gretry. 

"Here, " said Jadwin, "let's get some figures. Let's get a squint on thewhole situation. Got a 'Price Current' here? Let's find out what thestocks are in Chicago. I don't believe the elevators are exactlybursting, and, say, " he called after the broker, who had started forthe front office, "say, find out about the primary receipts, and theParis and Liverpool stocks. Bet you what you like that Paris andLiverpool together couldn't show ten million to save their necks. "

In a few moments Gretry was back again, his hands full of pamphlets and"trade" journals. 

By now the offices were quite deserted. The last clerk had gone home. Without, the neighbourhood was emptying rapidly. Only a few stragglershurried over the glistening sidewalks; only a few lights yet remainedin the facades of the tall, grey office buildings. And in the wideningsilence the cooing of the pigeons on the ledges and window-sills of theBoard of Trade Building made itself heard with increasing distinctness. 

Before Gretry's desk the two men leaned over the litter of papers. Thebroker's pencil was in his hand and from time to time he figuredrapidly on a sheet of note paper. 

"And, " observed Jadwin after a while, "and you see how the millers uphere in the Northwest have been grinding up all the grain in sight. Doyou see that?"

"Yes, " said Gretry, then he added, "navigation will be open in anothermonth up there in the straits. "

"That's so, too, " exclaimed Jadwin, "and what wheat there is here willbe moving out. I'd forgotten that point. Ain't you glad you aren'tshort of wheat these days?"

"There's plenty of fellows that are, though, " returned Gretry. "I'vegot a lot of short wheat on my books--a lot of it. "

All at once as Gretry spoke Jadwin started, and looked at him with acurious glance. 

"You have, hey?" he said. "There are a lot of fellows who have soldshort?"

"Oh, yes, some of Crookes' followers--yes, quite a lot of them. "

Jadwin was silent a moment, tugging at his mustache. Then suddenly heleaned forward, his finger almost in Gretry's face. 

"Why, look here, " he cried. "Don't you see? Don't you see?"

"See what?" demanded the broker, puzzled at the other's vehemence. 

Jadwin loosened his collar with a forefinger. 

"Great Scott! I'll choke in a minute. See what? Why, I own ten millionbushels of this wheat already, and Europe will take eighty million outof the country. Why, there ain't going to be any wheat left in Chicagoby May! If I get in now and buy a long line of cash wheat, where areall these fellows who've sold short going to get it to deliver to me?Say, where are they going to get it? Come on now, tell me, where arethey going to get it?"

Gretry laid down his pencil and stared at Jadwin, looked long at thepapers on his desk, consulted his pencilled memoranda, then thrust hishands deep into his pockets, with a long breath. Bewildered, and as ifstupefied, he gazed again into Jadwin's face. 

"My God!" he murmured at last. 

"Well, where are they going to get it?" Jadwin cried once more, hisface suddenly scarlet. 

"J. , " faltered the broker, "J. , I--I'm damned if I know. "

And then, all in the same moment, the two men were on their feet. Theevent which all those past eleven months had been preparing wassuddenly consummated, suddenly stood revealed, as though a veil hadbeen ripped asunder, as though an explosion had crashed through the airupon them, deafening, blinding. 

Jadwin sprang forward, gripping the broker by the shoulder. 

"Sam, " he shouted, "do you know--great God!--do you know what thismeans? Sam, we can corner the market!"

VIII

On that particular morning in April, the trading around the Wheat Piton the floor of the Chicago Board of Trade began practically a fullfive minutes ahead of the stroke of the gong; and the throng of brokersand clerks that surged in and about the Pit itself was so great that itoverflowed and spread out over the floor between the wheat and cornpits, ousting the traders in oats from their traditional ground. Themarket had closed the day before with May wheat at ninety-eight andfive-eighths, and the Bulls had prophesied and promised that the magiclegend "Dollar wheat" would be on the Western Union wires beforeanother twenty-four hours. 

The indications pointed to a lively morning's work. Never for aninstant during the past six weeks had the trading sagged or languished. The air of the Pit was surcharged with a veritable electricity; it hadthe effervescence of champagne, or of a mountain-top at sunrise. It wasbuoyant, thrilling. 

The "Unknown Bull" was to all appearance still in control; the wholemarket hung upon his horns; and from time to time, one felt the suddenupward thrust, powerful, tremendous, as he flung the wheat up anothernotch. The "tailers"--the little Bulls--were radiant. In the dark, theyhung hard by their unseen and mysterious friend who daily, weekly, wasmaking them richer. The Bears were scarcely visible. The Great Bull ina single superb rush had driven them nearly out of the Pit. Growling, grumbling they had retreated, and only at distance dared so much as tobare a claw. Just the formidable lowering of the Great Bull's frontletsufficed, so it seemed, to check their every move of aggression orresistance. And all the while, Liverpool, Paris, Odessa, and Buda-Pesthclamoured ever louder and louder for the grain that meant food to thecrowded streets and barren farms of Europe. 

A few moments before the opening Charles Cressler was in the publicroom, in the southeast corner of the building, where smoking wasallowed, finishing his morning's cigar. But as he heard the distantstriking of the gong, and the roar of the Pit as it began to get underway, with a prolonged rumbling trepidation like the advancing of agreat flood, he threw his cigar away and stepped out from the publicroom to the main floor, going on towards the front windows. At thesample tables he filled his pockets with wheat, and once at the windowsraised the sash and spread the pigeons' breakfast on the granite ledge. 

While he was watching the confused fluttering of flashing wings, thaton the instant filled the air in front of the window, he was all atonce surprised to hear a voice at his elbow, wishing him good morning. 

"Seem to know you, don't they?"

Cressler turned about. 

"Oh, " he said. "Hullo, hullo--yes, they know me all right. Especiallythat red and white hen. She's got a lame wing since yesterday, and if Idon't watch, the others would drive her off. The pouter brute yonder, for instance. He's a regular pirate. Wants all the wheat himself. Don'tever seem to get enough. "

"Well, " observed the newcomer, laconically, "there are others. "

The man who spoke was about forty years of age. His name was CalvinHardy Crookes. He was very small and very slim. His hair was yet dark, and his face--smooth-shaven and triangulated in shape, like acat's--was dark as well. The eyebrows were thin and black, and the lipstoo were thin and were puckered a little, like the mouth of atight-shut sack. The face was secretive, impassive, and cold. 

The man himself was dressed like a dandy. His coat and trousers were ofthe very newest fashion. He wore a white waistcoat, drab gaiters, agold watch and chain, a jewelled scarf pin, and a seal ring. From thetop pocket of his coat protruded the finger tips of a pair of unwornred gloves. 

"Yes, " continued Crookes, unfolding a brand-new pocket handkerchief ashe spoke. "There are others--who never know when they've got enoughwheat. "

"Oh, you mean the 'Unknown Bull. '"

"I mean the unknown damned fool, " returned Crookes placidly. 

There was not a trace of the snob about Charles Cressler. No one couldbe more democratic. But at the same time, as this interview proceeded, he could not fight down nor altogether ignore a certain qualm ofgratified vanity. Had the matter risen to the realm of hisconsciousness, he would have hated himself for this. But it went nofurther than a vaguely felt increase of self-esteem. He seemed to feelmore important in his own eyes; he would have liked to have his friendssee him just now talking with this man. "Crookes was saying to-day--"he would observe when next he met an acquaintance. For C. H. Crookeswas conceded to be the "biggest man" in La Salle Street. Not even thegrowing importance of the new and mysterious Bull could quite make themarket forget the Great Bear. Inactive during all this trampling andgoring in the Pit, there were yet those who, even as they stroveagainst the Bull, cast uneasy glances over their shoulders, wonderingwhy the Bear did not come to the help of his own. 

"Well, yes, " admitted Cressler, combing his short beard, "yes, he is afool. "

The contrast between the two men was extreme. Each was precisely whatthe other was not. The one, long, angular, loose-jointed; the other, tight, trim, small, and compact. The one osseous, the other sleek; theone stoop-shouldered, the other erect as a corporal of infantry. 

But as Cressler was about to continue Crookes put his chin in the air. 

"Hark!" he said. "What's that?"

For from the direction of the Wheat Pit had come a sudden and vehementrenewal of tumult. The traders as one man were roaring in chorus. Therewere cheers; hats went up into the air. On the floor by the lowest steptwo brokers, their hands trumpet-wise to their mouths, shouted at topvoice to certain friends at a distance, while above them, on thetopmost step of the Pit, a half-dozen others, their arms at fulleststretch, threw the hand signals that interpreted the fluctuations inthe price, to their associates in the various parts of the building. Again and again the cheers rose, violent hip-hip-hurrahs and tigers, while from all corners and parts of the floor men and boys camescurrying up. Visitors in the gallery leaned eagerly upon the railing. Over in the provision pit, trading ceased for the moment, and all headswere turned towards the commotion of the wheat traders. 

"Ah, " commented Crookes, "they did get it there at last. "

For the hand on the dial had suddenly jumped another degree, and not amessenger boy, not a porter not a janitor, none whose work or lifebrought him in touch with the Board of Trade, that did not feel thethrill. The news flashed out to the world on a hundred telegraph wires;it was called to a hundred offices across the telephone lines. Fromevery doorway, even, as it seemed, from every window of the building, spreading thence all over the city, the State, the Northwest, theentire nation, sped the magic words, "Dollar wheat. "

Crookes turned to Cressler. 

"Can you lunch with me to-day--at Kinsley's? I'd like to have a talkwith you. "

And as soon as Cressler had accepted the invitation, Crookes, with asuccinct nod, turned upon his heel and walked away. 

At Kinsley's that day, in a private room on the second floor, Cresslermet not only Crookes, but his associate Sweeny, and another gentlemanby the name of Freye, the latter one of his oldest and best-likedfriends. 

Sweeny was an Irishman, florid, flamboyant, talkative, who spoke with afaint brogue, and who tagged every observation, argument, or remarkwith the phrase, "Do you understand me, gen'lemen?" Freye, aGerman-American, was a quiet fellow, very handsome, with black sidewhiskers and a humourous, twinkling eye. The three were members of theBoard of Trade, and were always associated with the Bear forces. Indeed, they could be said to be its leaders. Between them, as Cresslerafterwards was accustomed to say, "They could have bought pretty muchall of the West Side. "

And during the course of the luncheon these three, with a simplicityand a directness that for the moment left Cressler breathless, announced that they were preparing to drive the Unknown Bull out of thePit, and asked him to become one of the clique. 

Crookes, whom Cressler intuitively singled out as the leader, did notso much as open his mouth till Sweeny had talked himself breathless, and all the preliminaries were out of the way. Then he remarked, hiseye as lifeless as the eye of a fish, his voice as expressionless asthe voice of Fate itself:

"I don't know who the big Bull is, and I don't care a curse. But hedon't suit my book. I want him out of the market. We've let him havehis way now for three or four months. We figured we'd let him run tothe dollar mark. The May option closed this morning at a dollar and aneighth. .. . Now we take hold. 

"But, " Cressler hastened to object, "you forget--I'm not a speculator. "

Freye smiled, and tapped his friend on the arm. 

"I guess, Charlie, " he said, "that there won't be much speculatingabout this. "

"Why, gen'lemen, " cried Sweeny, brandishing a fork, "we're going tosell him right out o' the market, so we are. Simply flood out theson-of-a-gun--you understand me, gen'lemen?"

Cressler shook his head. 

"No, " he answered. "No, you must count me out. I quit speculating yearsago. And, besides, to sell short on this kind of market--I don't needto tell you what you risk. "

"Risk hell!" muttered Crookes. 

"Well, now, I'll explain to you, Charlie, " began Freye. 

The other two withdrew a little from the conversation. Crookes, as evermonosyllabic, took himself on in a little while, and Sweeny, his chairtipped back against the wall, his hands clasped behind his head, listened to Freye explaining to Cressler the plans of the proposedclique and the lines of their attack. 

He talked for nearly an hour and a half, at the end of which time thelunch table was one litter of papers--letters, contracts, warehousereceipts, tabulated statistics, and the like. 

"Well, " said Freye, at length, "well, Charlie, do you see the game?What do you think of it?"

"It's about as ingenious a scheme as I ever heard of, Billy, " answeredCressler. "You can't lose, with Crookes back of it. "

"Well, then, we can count you in, hey?"

"Count nothing, " declared Cressler, stoutly. "I don't speculate. "

"But have you thought of this?" urged Freye, and went over the entireproposition, from a fresh point of view, winding up with theexclamation: "Why, Charlie, we're going to make our everlastingfortunes. "

"I don't want any everlasting fortune, Billy Freye, " protestedCressler. "Look here, Billy. You must remember I'm a pretty old cock. You boys are all youngsters. I've got a little money left and a littlebusiness, and I want to grow old quiet-like. I had my fling, you know, when you boys were in knickerbockers. Now you let me keep out of allthis. You get some one else. "

"No, we'll be jiggered if we do, " exclaimed Sweeny. "Say, are ye scaredwe can't buy that trade journal? Why, we have it in our pocket, so wehave. D'ye think Crookes, now, couldn't make Bear sentiment with thepublic, with just the lift o' one forefinger? Why, he owns most of thecommercial columns of the dailies already. D'ye think he couldn't swampthat market with sellin' orders in the shorter end o' two days? D'yethink we won't all hold together, now? Is that the bug in the butter?Sure, now, listen. Let me tell you--"

"You can't tell me anything about this scheme that you've not told mebefore, " declared Cressler. "You'll win, of course. Crookes & Co. Arelike Rothschild--earthquakes couldn't budge 'em. But I promised myselfyears ago to keep out of the speculative market, and I mean to stick byit. "

"Oh, get on with you, Charlie, " said Freye, good-humouredly, "you'rescared. "

"Of what, " asked Cressler, "speculating? You bet I am, and when you'reas old as I am, and have been through three panics, and have known whatit meant to have a corner bust under you, you'll be scared ofspeculating too. "

"But suppose we can prove to you, " said Sweeny, all at once, "thatwe're not speculating--that the other fellow, this fool Bull is doingthe speculating?"

"I'll go into anything in the way of legitimate trading, " answeredCressler, getting up from the table. "You convince me that your cliqueis not a speculative clique, and I'll come in. But I don't see how yourdeal can be anything else. "

"Will you meet us here to-morrow?" asked Sweeny, as they got into theirovercoats. 

"It won't do you any good, " persisted Cressler. 

"Well, will you meet us just the same?" the other insisted. And in theend Cressler accepted. 

On the steps of the restaurant they parted, and the two leaders watchedCressler's broad, stooped shoulders disappear down the street. 

"He's as good as in already, " Sweeny declared. "I'll fix him to-morrow. Once a speculator, always a speculator. He was the cock of the cow-yardin his day, and the thing is in the blood. He gave himself clean, cleanaway when he let out he was afraid o' speculating. You can't be afraidof anything that ain't got a hold on you. Y' understand me now?"

"Well, " observed Freye, "we've got to get him in. "

"Talk to me about that now, " Sweeny answered. "I'm new to some parts o'this scheme o' yours yet. Why is Crookes so keen on having him in? I'mnot so keen. We could get along without him. He ain't so god-awfulrich, y' know. "

"No, but he's a solid, conservative cash grain man, " answered Freye, "who hasn't been associated with speculating for years. Crookes has gotto have that element in the clique before we can approach Stires & Co. We may have to get a pile of money from them, and they're apt to bescary and cautious. Cressler being in, do you see, gives the clique asubstantial, conservative character. You let Crookes manage it. Heknows his business. "

"Say, " exclaimed Sweeny, an idea occurring to him, "I thought Crookeswas going to put us wise to-day. He must know by now who the Big Bullis. "

"No doubt he does know, " answered the other. "He'll tell us when he'sready. But I think I could copper the individual. There was a great bigjag of wheat sold to Liverpool a little while ago through Gretry, Converse & Co. , who've been acting for Curtis Jadwin for a good manyyears. "

"Oh, Jadwin, hey? Hi! we're after big game now, I'm thinking. "

"But look here, " warned Freye. "Here's a point. Cressler is not to knowby the longest kind of chalk; anyhow not until he's so far in, he can'tpull out. He and Jadwin are good friends, I'm told. Hello, it's raininga little. Well, I've got to be moving. See you at lunch to-morrow. "

As Cressler turned into La Salle Street the light sprinkle of rainsuddenly swelled to a deluge, and he had barely time to dodge into theportico of the Illinois Trust to escape a drenching. All the passers-byclose at hand were making for the same shelter, and among theseCressler was surprised to see Curtis Jadwin, who came running up thenarrow lane from the cafe entrance of the Grand Pacific Hotel. 

"Hello! Hello, J. , " he cried, when his friend came panting up thesteps, "as the whale said to Jonah, 'Come in out of the wet. '"

The two friends stood a moment under the portico, their coat collarsturned up, watching the scurrying in the street. 

"Well, " said Cressler, at last, "I see we got 'dollar wheat' thismorning. "

"Yes, " answered Jadwin, nodding, "'dollar wheat. '"

"I suppose, " went on Cressler, "I suppose you are sorry, now thatyou're not in it any more. "

"Oh, no, " replied Jadwin, nibbling off the end of a cigar. "No, I'm--I'm just as well out of it. "

"And it's for good and all this time, eh?"

"For good and all. "

"Well, " commented Cressler, "some one else has begun where you leftoff, I guess. This Unknown Bull, I mean. All the boys are trying tofind out who he is. Crookes, though, was saying to me--Cal Crookes, youknow--he was saying he didn't care who he was. Crookes is out of themarket, too, I understand--and means to keep out, he says, till the BigBull gets tired. Wonder who the Big Bull is. "

"Oh, there isn't any Big Bull, " blustered Jadwin. "There's simply a lotof heavy buying, or maybe there might be a ring of New York menoperating through Gretry. I don't know; and I guess I'm like Crookes, Idon't care--now that I'm out of the game. Real estate is too lively nowto think of anything else; keeps me on the keen jump early and late. Itell you what, Charlie, this city isn't half grown yet. And do youknow, I've noticed another thing--cities grow to the westward. I've gota building and loan association going, out in the suburbs on the WestSide, that's a dandy. Well, looks as though the rain had stopped. Remember me to madam. So long, Charlie. "

On leaving Cressler Jadwin went on to his offices in The Rookery, closeat hand. But he had no more than settled himself at his desk, when hewas called up on his telephone. 

"Hello!" said a small, dry transformation of Gretry's voice. "Hello, isthat you, J. ? Well, in the matter of that cash wheat in Duluth, I'vebought that for you. "

"All right, " answered Jadwin, then he added, "I guess we had betterhave a long talk now. "

"I was going to propose that, " answered the broker. "Meet me thisevening at seven at the Grand Pacific. It's just as well that we're notseen together nowadays. Don't ask for me. Go right into thesmoking-room. I'll be there. And, by the way, I shall expect a replyfrom Minneapolis about half-past five this afternoon. I would like tobe able to get at you at once when that comes in. Can you wait down forthat?"

"Well, I was going home, " objected Jadwin. "I wasn't home to dinnerlast night, and Mrs. Jadwin--"

"This is pretty important, you know, " warned the broker. "And if I callyou up on your residence telephone, there's always the chance ofsomebody cutting in and overhearing us. "

"Oh, very well, then, " assented Jadwin. "I'll call it a day. I'll gethome for luncheon to-morrow. It can't be helped. By the way, I metCressler this afternoon, Sam, and he seemed sort of suspicious ofthings, to me--as though he had an inkling. "

"Better hang up, " came back the broker's voice. "Better hang up, J. There's big risk telephoning like this. I'll see you to-night. Good-by. "

And so it was that about half an hour later Laura was called to thetelephone in the library. 

"Oh, not coming home at all to-night?" she cried blankly in response toJadwin's message. 

"It's just impossible, old girl, " he answered. 

"But why?" she insisted. 

"Oh, business; this building and loan association of mine. "

"Oh, I know it can't be that. Why don't you let Mr. Gretry manageyour--"

But at this point Jadwin, the warning of Gretry still fresh in hismind, interrupted quickly:

"I must hang up now, Laura. Good-by. I'll see you to-morrow noon andexplain it all to you. Good-by. .. . Laura. .. . Hello! . .. Are you thereyet? . .. Hello, hello!"

But Jadwin had heard in the receiver the rattle and click as of a tinydoor closing. The receiver was silent and dead; and he knew that hiswife, disappointed and angry, had "hung up" without saying good-by. 

The days passed. Soon another week had gone by. The wheat marketsteadied down after the dollar mark was reached, and for a few days acalmer period intervened. Down beneath the surface, below the ebb andflow of the currents, the great forces were silently at work reshapingthe "situation. " Millions of dollars were beginning to be set in motionto govern the millions of bushels of wheat. At the end of the thirdweek of the month Freye reported to Crookes that Cressler was "in, " andpromptly negotiations were opened between the clique and the greatbanking house of the Stires. But meanwhile Jadwin and Gretry, foreseeing no opposition, realising the incalculable advantage thattheir knowledge of the possibility of a "corner" gave them, were, quietly enough, gathering in the grain. As early as the end of MarchJadwin, as incidental to his contemplated corner of May wheat, hadbought up a full half of the small supply of cash wheat in Duluth, Chicago, Liverpool and Paris--some twenty million bushels; and againstthis had sold short an equal amount of the July option. Having theactual wheat in hand he could not lose. If wheat went up, his twentymillion bushels were all the more valuable; if it went down, he coveredhis short sales at a profit. And all the while, steadily, persistently, he bought May wheat, till Gretry's book showed him to be possessed ofover twenty million bushels of the grain deliverable for that month. 

But all this took not only his every minute of time, but his everythought, his every consideration. He who had only so short a whilebefore considered the amount of five million bushels burdensome, demanding careful attention, was now called upon to watch, govern, andcontrol the tremendous forces latent in a line of forty million. Attimes he remembered the Curtis Jadwin of the spring before hismarriage, the Curtis Jadwin who had sold a pitiful million on thestrength of the news of the French import duty, and had considered thedeal "big. " Well, he was a different man since that time. Then he hadbeen suspicious of speculation, had feared it even. Now he haddiscovered that there were in him powers, capabilities, and a breadthof grasp hitherto unsuspected. He could control the Chicago wheatmarket, and the man who could do that might well call himself "great, "without presumption. He knew that he overtopped them all--Gretry, theCrookes gang, the arrogant, sneering Bears, all the men of the world ofthe Board of Trade. He was stronger, bigger, shrewder than them all. Afew days now would show, when they would all wake to the fact thatwheat, which they had promised to deliver before they had it in hand, was not to be got except from him--and at whatever price he chose toimpose. He could exact from them a hundred dollars a bushel if hechose, and they must pay him the price or become bankrupts. 

By now his mind was upon this one great fact--May Wheat--continually. It was with him the instant he woke in the morning. It kept him companyduring his hasty breakfast; in the rhythm of his horses' hoofs, as theteam carried him down town he heard, "Wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat. " No sooner did he enter La Salle Street, than theroar of traffic came to his ears as the roar of the torrent of wheatwhich drove through Chicago from the Western farms to the mills andbakeshops of Europe. There at the foot of the street the torrentswirled once upon itself, forty million strong, in the eddy which hetold himself he mastered. The afternoon waned, night came on. The day'sbusiness was to be gone over; the morrow's campaign was to be planned;little, unexpected side issues, a score of them, a hundred of them, cropped out from hour to hour; new decisions had to be taken eachminute. At dinner time he left the office, and his horses carried himhome again, while again their hoofs upon the asphalt beat outunceasingly the monotone of the one refrain, "Wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat. " At dinner table he could not eat. Between eachcourse he found himself going over the day's work, testing it, questioning himself, "Was this rightly done?" "Was that particulardecision sound?" "Is there a loophole here?" "Just what was the meaningof that despatch?" After the meal the papers, contracts, statistics andreports which he had brought with him in his Gladstone bag were to bestudied. As often as not Gretry called, and the two, shut in thelibrary, talked, discussed, and planned till long after midnight. 

Then at last, when he had shut the front door upon his lieutenant andturned to face the empty, silent house, came the moment's reaction. Thetired brain flagged and drooped; exhaustion, like a weight of lead, hung upon his heels. But somewhere a hall clock struck, a single, booming note, like a gong--like the signal that would unchain thetempest in the Pit to-morrow morning. Wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat! Instantly the jaded senses braced again, instantlythe wearied mind sprang to its post. He turned out the lights, helocked the front door. Long since the great house was asleep. In thecold, dim silence of the earliest dawn Curtis Jadwin went to bed, onlyto lie awake, staring up into the darkness, planning, devising newmeasures, reviewing the day's doings, while the faint tides of bloodbehind the eardrums murmured ceaselessly to the overdriven brain, "Wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat. Forty million bushels, fortymillion, forty million. "

Whole days now went by when he saw his wife only at breakfast and atdinner. At times she was angry, hurt, and grieved that he should leaveher so much alone. But there were moments when she was sorry for him. She seemed to divine that he was not all to blame. 

What Laura thought he could only guess. She no longer spoke of hisabsorption in business. At times he thought he saw reproach and appealin her dark eyes, at times anger and a pride cruelly wounded. A fewmonths ago this would have touched him. But now he all at once brokeout vehemently:

"You think I am wilfully doing this! You don't know, you haven't aguess. I corner the wheat! Great heavens, it is the wheat that hascornered me! The corner made itself. I happened to stand between twosets of circumstances, and they made me do what I've done. I couldn'tget out of it now, with all the good will in the world. Go to thetheatre to-night with you and the Cresslers? Why, old girl, you mightas well ask me to go to Jericho. Let that Mr. Corthell take my place. "

And very naturally this is what was done. The artist sent a great bunchof roses to Mrs. Jadwin upon the receipt of her invitation, and afterthe play had the party to supper in his apartments, that overlooked theLake Front. Supper over, he escorted her, Mrs. Cressler, and Page backto their respective homes. 

By a coincidence that struck them all as very amusing, he was the onlyman of the party. At the last moment Page had received a telegram fromLandry. He was, it appeared, sick, and in bed. The day's work on theBoard of Trade had quite used him up for the moment, and his doctorforbade him to stir out of doors. Mrs. Cressler explained that Charliehad something on his mind these days, that was making an old man of him. 

"He don't ever talk shop with me, " she said. "I'm sure he hasn't beenspeculating, but he's worried and fidgety to beat all I ever saw, thislast week; and now this evening he had to take himself off to meet somecustomer or other at the Palmer House. "

They dropped Mrs. Cressler at the door of her home and then went on tothe Jadwins'. 

"I remember, " said Laura to Corthell, "that once before the three of uscame home this way. Remember? It was the night of the opera. That wasthe night I first met Mr. Jadwin. "

"It was the night of the Helmick failure, " said Page, seriously, "andthe office buildings were all lit up. See, " she added, as they drove upto the house, "there's a light in the library, and it must be nearlyone o'clock. Mr. Jadwin is up yet. "

Laura fell suddenly silent. When was it all going to end, and how?Night after night her husband shut himself thus in the library, andtoiled on till early dawn. She enjoyed no companionship with him. Herevenings were long, her time hung with insupportable heaviness upon herhands. 

"Shall you be at home?" inquired Corthell, as he held her hand a momentat the door. "Shall you be at home to-morrow evening? May I come andplay to you again?"

"Yes, yes, " she answered. "Yes, I shall be home. Yes, do come. "

Laura's carriage drove the artist back to his apartments. All the wayhe sat motionless in his place, looking out of the window with unseeingeyes. His cigarette went out. He drew another from his case, but forgotto light it. 

Thoughtful and abstracted he slowly mounted the stairway--the elevatorhaving stopped for the night--to his studio, let himself in, and, throwing aside his hat and coat, sat down without lighting the gas infront of the fireplace, where (the weather being even yet sharp) anarmful of logs smouldered on the flagstones. 

His man, Evans, came from out an inner room to ask if he wantedanything. Corthell got out of his evening coat, and Evans brought himhis smoking-jacket and set the little table with its long tin box ofcigarettes and ash trays at his elbow. Then he lit the tall lamp ofcorroded bronze, with its heavy silk shade, that stood on a table inthe angle of the room, drew the curtains, put a fresh log upon thefire, held the tiny silver alcohol burner to Corthell while the latterlighted a fresh cigarette, and then with a murmured "Good-night, sir, "went out, closing the door with the precaution of a depredator. 

This suite of rooms, facing the Lake Front, was what Corthell called"home, " Whenever he went away, he left it exactly as it was, in thecharge of the faithful Evans; and no mater how long he was absent, henever returned thither without a sense of welcome and relief. Even now, perplexed as he was, he was conscious of a feeling of comfort andpleasure as he settled himself in his chair. 

The lamp threw a dull illumination about the room. It was a picturesqueapartment, carefully planned. Not an object that had not been chosenwith care and the utmost discrimination. The walls had been treatedwith copper leaf till they produced a sombre, iridescent effect ofgreen and faint gold, that suggested the depth of a forest glade shotthrough with the sunset. Shelves bearing eighteenth-century books inseal brown tree calf--Addison, the "Spectator, " Junius and Racine, Rochefoucauld and Pascal hung against it here and there. On every handthe eye rested upon some small masterpiece of art or workmanship. Nowit was an antique portrait bust of the days of decadent Rome, blackmarble with a bronze tiara; now a framed page of a fourteenth-centuryversion of "Li Quatres Filz d'Aymon, " with an illuminated letter ofmiraculous workmanship; or a Renaissance gonfalon of silk once whitebut now brown with age, yet in the centre blazing with the escutcheonand quarterings of a dead queen. Between the windows stood an ivorystatuette of the "Venus of the Heel, " done in the days of themagnificent Lorenzo. An original Cazin, and a chalk drawing by Baudryhung against the wall close by together with a bronze tablet by SaintGaudens; while across the entire end of the room opposite thefireplace, worked in the tapestry of the best period of the northernFrench school, Halcyone, her arms already blossoming into wings, hovered over the dead body of Ceyx, his long hair streaming likeseaweed in the blue waters of the AEgean. 

For a long time Corthell sat motionless, looking into the fire. In anadjoining room a clock chimed the half hour of one, and the artiststirred, passing his long fingers across his eyes. 

After a long while he rose, and going to the fireplace, leaned an armagainst the overhanging shelf, and resting his forehead against it, remained in that position, looking down at the smouldering logs. 

"She is unhappy, " he murmured at length. "It is not difficult to seethat. .. . Unhappy and lonely. Oh, fool, fool to have left her when youmight have stayed! Oh, fool, fool, not to find the strength to leaveher now when you should not remain!"

The following evening Corthell called upon Mrs. Jadwin. She was alone, as he usually found her. He had brought a book of poems with him, andinstead of passing the evening in the art gallery, as they had planned, he read aloud to her from Rossetti. Nothing could have been moreconventional than their conversation, nothing more impersonal. But onhis way home one feature of their talk suddenly occurred to him. Itstruck him as significant; but of what he did not care to put intowords. Neither he nor Laura had once spoken of Jadwin throughout theentire evening. 

Little by little the companionship grew. Corthell shut his eyes, hisears. The thought of Laura, the recollection of their last eveningtogether, the anticipation of the next meeting filled all his wakinghours. He refused to think; he resigned himself to the drift of thecurrent. Jadwin he rarely saw. But on those few occasions when he andLaura's husband met, he could detect no lack of cordiality in theother's greeting. Once even Jadwin had remarked:

"I'm very glad you have come to see Mrs. Jadwin, Corthell. I have to beaway so much these days, I'm afraid she would be lonesome if it wasn'tfor some one like you to drop in now and then and talk art to her. "

By slow degrees the companionship trended toward intimacy. At thevarious theatres and concerts he was her escort. He called upon her twoor three times each week. At his studio entertainments Laura was alwayspresent. How--Corthell asked himself--did she regard the affair? Shegave him no sign; she never intimated that his presence was otherwisethan agreeable. Was this tacit acquiescence of hers an encouragement?Was she willing to afficher herself, as a married woman, with acavalier? Her married life was intolerable, he was sure of that; herhusband uncongenial. He told himself that she detested him. 

Once, however, this belief was rather shocked by an unexpected and (tohim) an inconsistent reaction on Laura's part. She had made anengagement with him to spend an afternoon in the Art Institute, lookingover certain newly acquired canvases. But upon calling for her an hourafter luncheon he was informed that Mrs. Jadwin was not at home. Whennext she saw him she told him that she had spent the entire day withher husband. They had taken an early train and had gone up to GenevaLake to look over their country house, and to prepare for its opening, later on in the spring. They had taken the decision so unexpectedlythat she had no time to tell him of the change in her plans. Corthellwondered if she had--as a matter of fact--forgotten all about herappointment with him. He never quite understood the incident, andafterwards asked himself whether or no he could be so sure, after all, of the estrangement between the husband and wife. He guessed it to bepossible that on this occasion Jadwin had suddenly decided to givehimself a holiday, and that Laura had been quick to take advantage ofit. Was it true, then, that Jadwin had but to speak the word to haveLaura forget all else? Was it true that the mere nod of his head wasenough to call her back to him? Corthell was puzzled. He would notadmit this to be true. She was, he was persuaded, a woman of morespirit, of more pride than this would seem to indicate. Corthell endedby believing that Jadwin had, in some way, coerced her; though hefancied that for the few days immediately following the excursion Laurahad never been gayer, more alert, more radiant. 

But the days went on, and it was easy to see that his business keptJadwin more and more from his wife. Often now, Corthell knew, he passedthe night down town, and upon those occasions when he managed to gethome after the day's work, he was exhausted, worn out, and went to bedalmost immediately after dinner. More than ever now the artist and Mrs. Jadwin were thrown together. 

On a certain Sunday evening, the first really hot day of the year, Laura and Page went over to spend an hour with the Cresslers, and--asthey were all wont to do in the old days before Laura's marriage--theparty "sat out on the front stoop. " For a wonder, Jadwin was able to bepresent. Laura had prevailed upon him to give her this evening and theevening of the following Wednesday--on which latter occasion she hadplanned that they were to take a long drive in the park in the buggy, just the two of them, as it had been in the days of their courtship. 

Corthell came to the Cresslers quite as a matter of course. He haddined with the Jadwins at the great North Avenue house and afterwardsthe three, preferring to walk, had come down to the Cresslers on foot. 

But evidently the artist was to see but little of Laura Jadwin thatevening. She contrived to keep by her husband continually. She evenmanaged to get him away from the others, and the two, leaving the restupon the steps, sat in the parlour of the Cresslers' house, talking. 

By and by Laura, full of her projects, exclaimed:

"Where shall we go? I thought, perhaps, we would not have dinner athome, but you could come back to the house just a little--a littlebit--early, and you could drive me out to the restaurant there in thepark, and we could have dinner there, just as though we weren't marriedjust as though we were sweethearts again. Oh, I do hope the weatherwill be fine. "

"Oh, " answered Jadwin, "you mean Wednesday evening. Dear old girl, honestly, I--I don't believe I can make it after all. You see, Wednesday--"

Laura sat suddenly erect. 

"But you said, " she began, her voice faltering a little, "you said--"

"Honey, I know I did, but you must let me off this time again. "

She did not answer. It was too dark for him to see her face; but, uneasy at her silence, he began an elaborate explanation. Laura, however, interrupted. Calmly enough, she said:

"Oh, that's all right. No, no, I don't mind. Of course, if you arebusy. "

"Well, you see, don't you, old girl?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I see, " she answered. She rose. 

"I think, " she said, "we had better be going home. Don't you?"

"Yes, I do, " he assented. "I'm pretty tired myself. I've had a hardday's work. I'm thirsty, too, " he added, as he got up. "Would you liketo have a drink of water, too?"

She shook her head, and while he disappeared in the direction of theCresslers' dining-room, she stood alone a moment in the darkened roomlooking out into the street. She felt that her cheeks were hot. Herhands, hanging at her sides, shut themselves into tight fists. 

"What, you are all alone?" said Corthell's voice, behind her. 

She turned about quickly. 

"I must be going, " he said. "I came to say good night. " He held out hishand. 

"Good night, " she answered, as she gave him hers. Then all at once sheadded:

"Come to see me again--soon, will you? Come Wednesday night. "

And then, his heart leaping to his throat, Corthell felt her hand, asit lay in his, close for an instant firmly about his fingers. 

"I shall expect you Wednesday then?" she repeated. 

He crushed her hand in his grip, and suddenly bent and kissed it. 

"Good night, " she said, quietly. Jadwin's step sounded at the doorway. 

"Good night, " he whispered, and in another moment was gone. 

During these days Laura no longer knew herself. At every hour shechanged; her moods came and went with a rapidity that bewildered allthose who were around her. At times her gaiety filled the whole of herbeautiful house; at times she shut herself in her apartments, denyingherself to every one, and, her head bowed upon her folded arms, wept asthough her heart was breaking, without knowing why. 

For a few days a veritable seizure of religious enthusiasm held swayover her. She spoke of endowing a hospital, of doing church work amongthe "slums" of the city. But no sooner had her friends readjusted theirpoints of view to suit this new development than she was off uponanother tangent, and was one afternoon seen at the races, with Mrs. Gretry, in her showiest victoria, wearing a great flaring hat and abouquet of crimson flowers. 

She never repeated this performance, however, for a new fad tookpossession of her the very next day. She memorised the role of LadyMacbeth, built a stage in the ballroom at the top of the house, and, locking herself in, rehearsed the part, for three days uninterruptedly, dressed in elaborate costume, declaiming in chest tones to the emptyroom:

"'The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the entrance of Duncan undermy battlements. '"

Then, tiring of Lady Macbeth, she took up Juliet, Portia, and Ophelia;each with appropriate costumes, studying with tireless avidity, andfrightening Aunt Wess' with her declaration that "she might go on thestage after all. " She even entertained the notion of having SheldonCorthell paint her portrait as Lady Macbeth. 

As often as the thought of the artist presented itself to her shefought to put it from her. Yes, yes, he came to see her often, veryoften. Perhaps he loved her yet. Well, suppose he did? He had alwaysloved her. It was not wrong to have him love her, to have him with her. Without his company, great heavens, her life would be lonely beyondwords and beyond endurance. Besides, was it to be thought, for aninstant, that she, she, Laura Jadwin, in her pitch of pride, with allher beauty, with her quick, keen mind, was to pine, to droop to fade inoblivion and neglect? Was she to blame? Let those who neglected herlook to it. Her youth was all with her yet, and all her power toattract, to compel admiration. 

When Corthell came to see her on the Wednesday evening in question, Laura said to him, after a few moments, conversation in thedrawing-room:

"Oh, you remember the picture you taught me to appreciate--the pictureof the little pool in the art gallery, the one you called 'Despair'? Ihave hung it in my own particular room upstairs--my sitting-room--so asto have it where I can see it always. I love it now. But, " she added, "I am not sure about the light. I think it could be hung to betteradvantage. " She hesitated a moment, then, with a sudden, impulsivemovement, she turned to him. 

"Won't you come up with me, and tell me where to hang it?"

They took the little elevator to the floor above, and Laura led theartist to the room in question--her "sitting-room, " a wide, airy place, the polished floor covered with deep skins, the walls wainscotted halfway to the ceiling, in dull woods. Shelves of books were everywhere, together with potted plants and tall brass lamps. A long "Madeira"chair stood at the window which overlooked the park and lake, and nearto it a great round table of San Domingo mahogany, with tea things andalmost diaphanous china. 

"What a beautiful room, " murmured Corthell, as she touched the buttonin the wall that opened the current, "and how much you have impressedyour individuality upon it. I should have known that you lived here. Ifyou were thousands of miles away and I had entered here, I should haveknown it was yours--and loved it for such. "

"Here is the picture, " she said, indicating where it hung. "Doesn't itseem to you that the light is bad?"

But he explained to her that it was not so, and that she had but toincline the canvas a little more from the wall to get a good effect. 

"Of course, of course, " she assented, as he held the picture in place. "Of course. I shall have it hung over again to-morrow. "

For some moments they remained standing in the centre of the room, looking at the picture and talking of it. And then, without rememberingjust how it had happened, Laura found herself leaning back in theMadeira chair, Corthell seated near at hand by the round table. 

"I am glad you like my room, " she said. "It is here that I spend mostof my time. Often lately I have had my dinner here. Page goes out agreat deal now, and so I am left alone occasionally. Last night I sathere in the dark for a long time. The house was so still, everybody wasout--even some of the servants. It was so warm, I raised the windowsand I sat here for hours looking out over the lake. I could hear itlapping and washing against the shore--almost like a sea. And it was sostill, so still; and I was thinking of the time when I was a littlegirl back at Barrington, years and years ago, picking whortle-berriesdown in the 'water lot, ' and how I got lost once in the corn--thestalks were away above my head--and how happy I was when my fatherwould take me up on the hay wagon. Ah, I was happy in those days--justa freckled, black-haired slip of a little girl, with my frock torn andmy hands all scratched with the berry bushes. "

She had begun by dramatising, but by now she was acting--acting withall her histrionic power at fullest stretch, acting the part of a womanunhappy amid luxuries, who looked back with regret and with longingtowards a joyous, simple childhood. She was sincere and she was notsincere. Part of her--one of those two Laura Jadwins who at differenttimes, but with equal right called themselves "I, " knew just whateffect her words, her pose, would have upon a man who sympathised withher, who loved her. But the other Laura Jadwin would have resented aspetty, as even wrong, the insinuation that she was not wholly, thoroughly sincere. All that she was saying was true. No one, so shebelieved, ever was placed before as she was placed now. No one had everspoken as now she spoke. Her chin upon one slender finger, she went on, her eyes growing wide:

"If I had only known then that those days were to be, the happiest ofmy life. .. . This great house, all the beauty of it, and all thiswealth, what does it amount to?" Her voice was the voice of Phedre, andthe gesture of lassitude with which she let her arms fall into her lapwas precisely that which only the day before she had used to accompanyPortia's plaint of

--my little body is a-weary of this great world. 

Yet, at the same time, Laura knew that her heart was genuinely achingwith real sadness, and that the tears which stood in her eyes were assincere as any she had ever shed. 

"All this wealth, " she continued, her head dropping back upon thecushion of the chair as she spoke, "what does it matter; for what doesit compensate? Oh, I would give it all gladly, gladly, to be thatlittle black-haired girl again, back in Squire Dearborn's water lot;with my hands stained with the whortle-berries and the nettles in myfingers--and my little lover, who called me his beau-heart and boughtme a blue hair ribbon, and kissed me behind the pump house. "

"Ah, " said Corthell, quickly and earnestly, "that is the secret. It waslove--even the foolish boy and girl love--love that after all made yourlife sweet then. "

She let her hands fall into her lap, and, musing, turned the rings backand forth upon her fingers. 

"Don't you think so?" he asked, in a low voice. 

She bent her head slowly, without replying. Then for a long momentneither spoke. Laura played with her rings. The artist, leaning forwardin his chair, looked with vague eyes across the room. And no intervalof time since his return, no words that had ever passed between them, had been so fraught with significance, so potent in drawing themtogether as this brief, wordless moment. 

At last Corthell turned towards her. 

"You must not think, " he murmured, "that your life is without love now. I will not have you believe that. "

But she made no answer. 

"If you would only see, " he went on. "If you would only condescend tolook, you would know that there is a love which has enfolded your lifefor years. You have shut it out from you always. But it has been yours, just the same; it has lain at your door, it has looked--oh, God knowswith what longing!--through your windows. You have never stirred abroadthat it has not followed you. Not a footprint of yours that it does notknow and cherish. Do you think that your life is without love? Why, itis all around you--all around you but voiceless. It has no right tospeak, it only has the right to suffer. "

Still Laura said no word. Her head turned from him, she looked out ofthe window, and once more the seconds passed while neither spoke. Theclock on the table ticked steadily. In the distance, through the openwindow, came the incessant, mournful wash of the lake. All around themthe house was still. At length Laura sat upright in her chair. 

"I think I will have this room done over while we are away thissummer, " she said. "Don't you think it would be effective if thewainscotting went almost to the ceiling?"

He glanced critically about the room. 

"Very, " he answered, briskly. "There is no background so beautiful aswood. "

"And I might finish it off at the top with a narrow shelf. "

"Provided you promised not to put brass 'plaques' or pewter kitchenware upon it. "

"Do smoke, " she urged him. "I know you want to. You will find matcheson the table. "

But Corthell, as he lit his cigarette, produced his own match box. Itwas a curious bit of antique silver, which he had bought in a Viennesepawnshop, heart-shaped and topped with a small ducal coronet of worngold. On one side he had caused his name to be engraved in smallscript. Now, as Laura admired it, he held it towards her. 

"An old pouncet-box, I believe, " he informed her, "or possibly it heldan ointment for her finger nails. " He spilled the matches into hishand. "You see the red stain still on the inside; and--smell, " headded, as she took it from him. "Even the odour of the sulphur matchescannot smother the quaint old perfume, distilled perhaps threecenturies ago. "

An hour later Corthell left her. She did not follow him further thanthe threshold of the room, but let him find his way to the front dooralone. 

When he had gone she returned to the room, and for a little while satin her accustomed place by the window overlooking the park and thelake. Very soon after Corthell's departure she heard Page, LandryCourt, and Mrs. Wessels come in; then at length rousing from herreverie she prepared for bed. But, as she passed the round mahoganytable, on her way to her bedroom, she was aware of a little objectlying upon it, near to where she had sat. 

"Oh, he forgot it, " she murmured, as she picked up Corthell'sheart-shaped match box. She glanced at it a moment, indifferently; buther mind was full of other things. She laid it down again upon thetable, and going on to her own room, went to bed. 

Jadwin did not come home that night, and in the morning Laura presidedat breakfast table in his place. Landry Court, Page, and Aunt Wess'were there; for occasionally nowadays, when the trio went to one oftheir interminable concerts or lectures, Landry stayed over night atthe house. 

"Any message for your husband, Mrs. Jadwin?" inquired Landry, as heprepared to go down town after breakfast. "I always see him in Mr. Gretry's office the first thing. Any message for him?"

"No, " answered Laura, simply. 

"Oh, by the way, " spoke up Aunt Wess', "we met that Mr. Corthell on thecorner last night, just as he was leaving. I was real sorry not to gethome here before he left. I've never heard him play on that big organ, and I've been wanting to for ever so long. I hurried home last night, hoping I might have caught him before he left. I was regularlydisappointed. "

"That's too bad, " murmured Laura, and then, for obscure reasons, shehad the stupidity to add: "And we were in the art gallery the wholeevening. He played beautifully. "

Towards eleven o'clock that morning Laura took her usual ride, but shehad not been away from the house quite an hour before she turned back. 

All at once she had remembered something. She returned homeward, nowurging Crusader to a flying gallop, now curbing him to his slowestambling walk. That which had so abruptly presented itself to her mindwas the fact that Corthell's match box--his name engraved across itsfront--still lay in plain sight upon the table in her sitting-room--thepeculiar and particular place of her privacy. 

It was so much her own, this room, that she had given orders that theservants were to ignore it in their day's routine. She looked after itsorder herself. Yet, for all that, the maids or the housekeeper oftenpassed through it, on their way to the suite beyond, and occasionallyPage or Aunt Wess' came there to read, in her absence. The family spokeof the place sometimes as the "upstairs sitting-room, " sometimes simplyas "Laura's room. "

Now, as she cantered homeward, Laura had it vividly in her mind thatshe had not so much as glanced at the room before leaving the housethat morning. The servants would not touch the place. But it was quitepossible that Aunt Wess' or Page--

Laura, the blood mounting to her forehead, struck the horse sharplywith her crop. The pettiness of the predicament, the small meanness ofher situation struck across her face like the flagellations of tinywhips. That she should stoop to this! She who had held her head so high. 

Abruptly she reined in the horse again. No, she would not hurry. Exercising all her self-control, she went on her way with deliberateslowness, so that it was past twelve o'clock when she dismounted underthe carriage porch. 

Her fingers clutched tightly about her crop, she mounted to hersitting-room and entered, closing the door behind her. 

She went directly to the table, and then, catching her breath, with aquick, apprehensive sinking of the heart, stopped short. The littleheart-shaped match box was gone, and on the couch in the corner of theroom Page, her book fallen to the floor beside her, lay curled up andasleep. 

A loop of her riding-habit over her arm, the toe of her boot tappingthe floor nervously, Laura stood motionless in the centre of the room, her lips tight pressed, the fingers of one gloved hand drumming rapidlyupon her riding-crop. She was bewildered, and an anxiety cruellypoignant, a dread of something she could not name, gripped suddenly ather throat. 

Could she have been mistaken? Was it upon the table that she had seenthe match box after all? If it lay elsewhere about the room, she mustfind it at once. Never had she felt so degraded as now, when, movingwith such softness and swiftness as she could in her agitation command, she went here and there about the room, peering into the corners of herdesk, searching upon the floor, upon the chairs, everywhere, anywhere;her face crimson, her breath failing her, her hands opening andshutting. 

But the silver heart with its crown of worn gold was not to be found. Laura, at the end of half an hour, was obliged to give over searching. She was certain the match box lay upon the mahogany table when last sheleft the room. It had not been mislaid; of that she was now persuaded. 

But while she sat at the desk, still in habit and hat, rummaging forthe fourth time among the drawers and shelves, she was all at onceaware, even without turning around, that Page was awake and watchingher. Laura cleared her throat. 

"Have you seen my blue note paper, Page?" she asked. "I want to drop anote to Mrs. Cressler, right away. "

"No, " said Page, as she rose from the couch. "No, I haven't seen it. "She came towards her sister across the room. "I thought, maybe, " sheadded, gravely, as she drew the heart-shaped match box from her pocket, "that you might be looking for this. I took it. I knew you wouldn'tcare to have Mr. Jadwin find it here. "

Laura struck the little silver heart from Page's hand, with a violencethat sent it spinning across the room, and sprang to her feet. 

"You took it!" she cried. "You took it! How dare you! What do you mean?What do I care if Curtis should find it here? What's it to me that heshould know that Mr. Corthell came up here? Of course he was here. "

But Page, though very pale, was perfectly calm under her sister'soutburst. 

"If you didn't care whether any one knew that Mr. Corthell came uphere, " she said, quietly, "why did you tell us this morning atbreakfast that you and he were in the art gallery the whole evening? Ithought, " she added, with elaborate blandness, "I thought I would bedoing you a service in hiding the match box. "

"A service! You! What have I to hide?" cried Laura, almostinarticulate. "Of course I said we were in the art gallery the wholeevening. So we were. We did--I do remember now--we did come up here foran instant, to see how my picture hung. We went downstairs again atonce. We did not so much as sit down. He was not in the room twominutes. "

"He was here, " returned Page, "long enough to smoke half a dozentimes. " She pointed to a silver pen tray on the mahogany table, hiddenbehind a book rack and littered with the ashes and charred stumps ofsome five or six cigarettes. 

"Really, Laura, " Page remarked. "Really, you manage very awkwardly, itseems to me. "

Laura caught her riding-crop in her right hand

"Don't you--don't you make me forget myself;" she cried, breathlessly. 

"It seems to me, " observed Page, quietly, "that you've done that longsince, yourself. "

Laura flung the crop down and folded her arms. 

"Now, " she cried, her eyes blazing and rivetted upon Page's. "Now, justwhat do you mean? Sit down, " she commanded, flinging a hand towards achair, "sit down, and tell me just what you mean by all this. "

But Page remained standing. She met her sister's gaze without wavering. 

"Do you want me to believe, " she answered, "that it made no differenceto you that Mr. Corthell's match safe was here?"

"Not the least, " exclaimed Laura. "Not the least. "

"Then why did you search for it so when you came in? I was not asleepall of the time. I saw you. "

"Because, " answered Laura, "because--I--because--" Then all at once sheburst out afresh: "Have I got to answer to you for what I do? Have Igot to explain? All your life long you've pretended to judge yoursister. Now you've gone too far. Now I forbid it--from this day on. What I do is my affair; I'll ask nobody's advice. I'll do as I please, do you understand?" The tears sprang to her eyes, the sobs strangled inher throat. "I'll do as I please, as I please, " and with the words shesank down in the chair by her desk and struck her bare knuckles againand again upon the open lid, crying out through her tears and her sobs, and from between her tight-shut teeth: "I'll do as I please, do youunderstand? As I please, as I please! I will be happy. I will, I will, I will!"

"Oh, darling, dearest--" cried Page, running forward. But Laura, on herfeet once more, thrust her back. 

"Don't touch me, " she cried. "I hate you!" She put her fists to hertemples and, her eyes closed, rocked herself to and fro. "Don't youtouch me. Go away from me; go away from me. I hate you; I hate you all. I hate this house, I hate this life. You are all killing me. Oh, myGod, if I could only die!"

She flung herself full length upon the couch, face downward. Her sobsshook her from head to foot. 

Page knelt at her side, an arm about her shoulder, but to all hersister's consolations Laura, her voice muffled in her folded arms, onlycried:

"Let me alone, let me alone. Don't touch me. "

For a time Page tried to make herself heard; then, after a moment'sreflection, she got up and drew out the pin in Laura's hat. She tookoff the hat, loosened the scarf around Laura's neck, and then deftly, silently, while her sister lay inert and sobbing beneath her hands, removed the stiff, tight riding-habit. She brought a towel dipped incold water from the adjoining room and bathed Laura's face and hands. 

But her sister would not be comforted, would not respond to herentreaties or caresses. The better part of an hour went by; Page, knowing her sister's nature, in the end held her peace, waiting for theparoxysm to wear itself out. 

After a while Laura's weeping resolved itself into long, shudderingbreaths, and at length she managed to say, in a faint, choked voice:

"Will you bring me the cologne from my dressing-table, honey? My headaches so. "

And, as Page ran towards the door, she added: "And my hand mirror, too. Are my eyes all swollen?"

And that was the last word upon the subject between the two sisters. 

But the evening of the same day, between eight and nine o'clock, whileLaura was searching the shelves of the library for a book with which towhile away the long evening that she knew impended, Corthell's card wasbrought to her. 

"I am not at home, " she told the servant. "Or--wait, " she added. Then, after a moment's thought, she said: "Very well. Show him in here. "

Laura received the artist, standing very erect and pale upon the greatwhite rug before the empty fireplace. Her hands were behind her backwhen he came in, and as he crossed the room she did not move. 

"I was not going to see you at first, " she said. "I told the servant Iwas not at home. But I changed my mind--I wanted to say something toyou. "

He stood at the other end of the fireplace, an elbow upon an angle ofthe massive mantel, and as she spoke the last words he looked at herquickly. As usual, they were quite alone. The heavy, muffling curtainof the doorway shut them in effectually. 

"I have something to say to you, " continued Laura. Then, quietlyenough, she said:

"You must not come to see me any more. "

He turned abruptly away from her, and for a moment did not speak. Thenat last, his voice low, he faced her again and asked:

"Have I offended?"

She shook her head. 

"No, " he said, quietly. "No, I knew it was not that. " There was a longsilence. The artist looked at the floor his hand slowly stroking theback of one of the big leather chairs. 

"I knew it must come, " he answered, at length, "sooner or later. Youare right--of course. I should not have come back to America. I shouldnot have believed that I was strong enough to trust myself. Then"--helooked at her steadily. His words came from his lips one by one, veryslowly. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Then, I am--never tosee you--again. .. Is that it?"

"Yes. "

"Do you know what that means for me?" he cried. "Do you realise--" hedrew in his breath sharply. "Never to see you again! To lose even thelittle that is left to me now. I--I--" He turned away quickly andwalked to a window and stood a moment, his back turned, looking out, his hands clasped behind him. Then, after a long moment, he facedabout. His manner was quiet again, his voice very low. 

"But before I go, " he said, "will you answer me, at least, this--it cando no harm now that I am to leave you--answer me, and I know you willspeak the truth: Are you happy, Laura?"

She closed her eyes. 

"You have not the right to know. "

"You are not happy, " he declared. "I can see it, I know it. If youwere, you would have told me so. .. . If I promise you, " he went on. "IfI promise you to go away now, and never to try to see you again, may Icome once more--to say good-by?"

She shook her head. 

"It is so little for you to grant, " he pleaded, "and it is soincalculably much for me to look forward to in the little time that yetremains. I do not even ask to see you alone. I will not harass you withany heroics. "

"Oh, what good will it do, " she cried, wearily, "for you to see meagain? Why will you make me more unhappy than I am? Why did you comeback?"

"Because, " he answered, steadily, "because I love you more than"--hepartly raised a clenched fist and let it fall slowly upon the back ofthe chair, "more than any other consideration in the world. "

"Don't!" she cried. "You must not. Never, never say that to me again. Will you go--please?"

"Oh, if I had not gone from you four years ago!" he cried. "If I hadonly stayed then! Not a day of my life since that I have not regrettedit. You could have loved me then. I know it, I know it, and, Godforgive me, but I know you could love me now--"

"Will you go?" she cried. 

"I dare you to say you could not, " he flashed out

Laura shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears. "I could not, Icould not, " she murmured, monotonously, over and over again. "I couldnot, I could not. "

She heard him start suddenly, and opened her eyes in time to see himcome quickly towards her. She threw out a defensive hand, but he caughtthe arm itself to him and, before she could resist, had kissed it againand again through the interstices of the lace sleeve. Upon her bareshoulder she felt the sudden passion of his lips. 

A quick, sharp gasp, a sudden qualm of breathlessness wrenched throughher, to her very finger tips, with a fierce leap of the blood, a wildbound of the heart. 

She tore back from him with a violence that rent away the lace upon herarm, and stood off from him, erect and rigid, a fine, delicate, trembling vibrating through all her being. On her pale cheeks thecolour suddenly flamed. 

"Go, go, " was all she had voice to utter. 

"And may I see you once more--only once?"

"Yes, yes, anything, only go, go--if you love me!"

He left the room. In another moment she heard the front door close. 

"Curtis, " said Laura, when next she saw her husband, "Curtis, you couldnot--stay with me, that last time. Remember? When we were to go for adrive. Can you spend this evening with me? Just us two, here athome--or I'll go out with you. I'll do anything you say. " She looked athim steadily an instant. "It is not--not easy for a woman to ask--forme to ask favours like this. Each time I tell myself it will be thelast. I am--you must remember this, Curtis, I am--perhaps I am a littleproud. Don't you see?"

They were at breakfast table again. It was the morning after Laura hadgiven Corthell his dismissal. As she spoke Jadwin brought his hand downupon the table with a bang. 

"You bet I will, " he exclaimed; "you bet I'll stay with you to-night. Business can go to the devil! And we won't go out either; we'll stayright here. You get something to read to me, and we'll have one of ourold evenings again. We--"

All at once Jadwin paused, laid down his knife and fork, and lookedstrangely to and fro about the room. 

"We'll have one of our old evenings again, " he repeated, slowly. 

"What is it, Curtis?" demanded his wife. "What is the matter?"

"Oh--nothing, " he answered. 

"Why, yes there was. Tell me. "

"No, no. I'm all right now, " he returned, briskly enough. 

"No, " she insisted. "You must tell me. Are you sick?"

He hesitated a moment. Then:

"Sick?" he queried. "No, indeed. But--I'll tell you. Since a few daysI've had, " he put his fingers to his forehead between his eyes, "I'vehad a queer sensation right there. It comes and goes. "

"A headache?"

"N-no. It's hard to describe. A sort of numbness. Sometimes it's asthough there was a heavy iron cap--a helmet on my head. And sometimesit--I don't know it seems as if there were fog, or something or other, inside. I'll take a good long rest this summer, as soon as we can getaway. Another month or six weeks, and I'll have things ship-shape andso as I can leave them. Then we'll go up to Geneva, and, by Jingo, I'llloaf. " He was silent for a moment, frowning, passing his hand acrosshis forehead and winking his eyes. Then, with a return of his usualalertness, he looked at his watch. 

"Hi!" he exclaimed. "I must be off. I won't be home to dinner to-night. But you can expect me by eight o'clock, sure. I promise I'll be here onthe minute. "

But, as he kissed his wife good-by, Laura put her arms about his neck. 

"Oh, I don't want you to leave me at all, ever, ever! Curtis, love me, love me always, dear. And be thoughtful of me and kind to me. Andremember that you are all I have in the world; you are father andmother to me, and my dear husband as well. I know you do love me; butthere are times--Oh, " she cried, suddenly "if I thought you did notlove me--love me better than anything, anything--I could not love you;Curtis, I could not, I could not. No, no, " she cried, "don't interrupt. Hear me out. Maybe it is wrong of me to feel that way, but I'm only awoman, dear. I love you but I love Love too. Women are like that; rightor wrong, weak or strong, they must be--must be loved above everythingelse in the world. Now go, go to your business; you mustn't be late. Hark, there is Jarvis with the team. Go now. Good-by, good-by, and I'llexpect you at eight. "

True to his word, Jadwin reached his home that evening promptly at thepromised hour. As he came into the house, however, the door-man met himin the hall, and, as he took his master's hat and stick, explained thatMrs. Jadwin was in the art gallery, and that she had said he was tocome there at once. 

Laura had planned a little surprise. The art gallery was darkened. Hereand there behind the dull-blue shades a light burned low. But one ofthe movable reflectors that were used to throw a light upon thepictures in the topmost rows was burning brilliantly. It was turnedfrom Jadwin as he entered, and its broad cone of intense white lightwas thrown full upon Laura, who stood over against the organ in thefull costume of "Theodora. "

For an instant Jadwin was taken all aback. 

"What the devil!" he ejaculated, stopping short in the doorway. 

Laura ran forward to him, the chains, ornaments, and swinging pendantschiming furiously as she moved. 

"I did surprise you, I did surprise you, " she laughed. "Isn't itgorgeous?" She turned about before him, her arms raised. "Isn't itsuperb? Do you remember Bernhardt--and that scene in the EmperorJustinian's box at the amphitheatre? Say now that your wife isn'tbeautiful. I am, am I not?" she exclaimed defiantly, her head raised. "Say it, say it. "

"Well, what for a girl!" gasped Jadwin, "to get herself up--"

"Say that I am beautiful, " commanded Laura. 

"Well, I just about guess you are, " he cried. 

"The most beautiful woman you have ever known?" she insisted. Then onthe instant added: "Oh, I may be really as plain as a kitchen-maid, butyou must believe that I am not. I would rather be ugly and have youthink me beautiful, than to be the most beautiful woman in the worldand have you think me plain. Tell me--am I not the most beautiful womanyou ever saw?"

"The most beautiful I ever saw, " he repeated, fervently. "But--Lord, what will you do next? Whatever put it into your head to get into thisrig?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just took the notion. You've seen me in every oneof my gowns. I sent down for this, this morning, just after you left. Curtis, if you hadn't made me love you enough to be your wife, LauraDearborn would have been a great actress. I feel it in my finger tips. Ah!" she cried, suddenly flinging up her head till the pendants of thecrown clashed again. "I could have been magnificent. You don't believeit. Listen. This is Athalia--the queen in the Old Testament, youremember. "

"Hold on, " he protested. "I thought you were this Theodora person. "

"I know--but never mind. I am anything I choose. Sit down; listen. It'sfrom Racine's 'Athalie, ' and the wicked queen has had this terribledream of her mother Jezabel. It's French, but I'll make you see. "

And "taking stage, " as it were, in the centre of the room, Laura began:

"Son ombre vers mon lit a paru se baisser Et moi, je lui tendais lesmains pour l'embrasser; Mais je n'ai plus trouve q'un horrible melangeD'os et de chair meurtris et traines dans la fange, Des lambeaux pleinsde sang, et des membres affreux Que les chiens d'evorants sedisputaient entre eux. "

"Great God!" exclaimed Jadwin, ignorant of the words yet, in spite ofhimself, carried away by the fury and passion of her rendering. 

Laura struck her palms together. 

"Just what 'Abner' says, " she cried. "The very words. "

"Abner?"

"In the play. I knew I could make you feel it. "

"Well, well, " murmured her husband, shaking his head, bewildered evenyet. "Well, it's a strange wife I've got here. "

"When you've realised that, " returned Laura, "you've just begun tounderstand me. "

Never had he seen her gayer. Her vivacity was bewildering. 

"I wish, " she cried, all at once, "I wish I had dressed as 'Carmen, 'and I would have danced for you. Oh, and you could have played the airfor me on the organ. I have the costume upstairs now. Wait! I will, Iwill! Sit right where you are--no, fix the attachment to the organwhile I'm gone. Oh, be gay with me to-night, " she cried, throwing herarms around him. "This is my night, isn't it? And I am to be just asfoolish as I please. "

With the words she ran from the room, but was back in an incrediblyshort time, gowned as Bizet's cigarette girl, a red rose in her blackhair, castanets upon her fingers. 

Jadwin began the bolero. 

"Can you see me dance, and play at the same time?"

"Yes, yes. Go on. How do you know anything about a Spanish dance?"

"I learned it long ago. I know everything about anything I choose, to-night. Play, play it _fast_. "

She danced as though she would never tire, with the same force ofpassion that she had thrown into Athalie. Her yellow skirt was a flashof flame spurting from the floor, and her whole body seemed to movewith the same wild, untamed spirit as a tongue of fire. The castanetssnapped like the crackling of sparks; her black mantilla was a hoveringcloud of smoke. She was incarnate flame, capricious and riotous, elusive and dazzling. 

Then suddenly she tossed the castanets far across the room and droppedupon the couch, panting and laughing. 

"There, " she cried, "now I feel better. That had to come out. Come overhere and sit by me. Now, maybe you'll admit that I can dance too. "

"You sure can, " answered Jadwin, as she made a place for him among thecushions. "That was wonderful. But, at the same time, old girl, Iwouldn't--wouldn't--"

"Wouldn't what?"

"Well, do too much of that. It's sort of over-wrought--a little, andunnatural. I like you best when you are your old self, quiet, and calm, and dignified. It's when you are quiet that you are at your best. Ididn't know you had this streak in you. You are that excitableto-night!"

"Let me be so then. It's myself, for the moment whatever it is. But nowI'll be quiet. Now we'll talk. Have you had a hard day? Oh, and didyour head bother you again?"

"No, things were a little easier down town to-day. But that queerfeeling in my head did come back as I was coming home--and my headaches a little now, besides. "

"Your head aches!" she exclaimed. "Let me do something for it. And I'vebeen making it worse with all my foolishness. "

"No, no; that's all right, " he assured her. "I tell you what we'll do. I'll lie down here a bit, and you play something for me. Somethingquiet. I get so tired down there in La Salle Street, Laura, you don'tknow. "

And while he stretched out at full length upon the couch, his wife, atthe organ, played the music she knew he liked best--old songs, "DaisyDean, " "Lord Lovell, " "When Stars Are in the Quiet Sky, " and "Open ThyLattice to Me. "

When at length she paused, he nodded his head with pleasure. 

"That's pretty, " he said. "Ah, that is blame pretty. Honey, it's justlike medicine to me, " he continued, "to lie here, quiet like this, withthe lights low, and have my dear girl play those old, old tunes. My oldgovernor, Laura, used to play that 'Open the Lattice to me, ' that and'Father, oh, Father, Come Home with me Now'--used to play 'em on hisfiddle. " His arm under his head, he went on, looking vaguely at theopposite wall. "Lord love me, I can see that kitchen in the oldfarmhouse as plain! The walls were just logs and plaster, and therewere upright supports in each corner, where we used to measure ourheights--we children. And the fireplace was there, " he added, gesturingwith his arm, "and there was the wood box, and over here was an oldkind of dresser with drawers, and the torty-shell cat always had herkittens under there. Honey, I was happy then. Of course I've got younow, and that's all the difference in the world. But you're the onlything that does make a difference. We've got a fine place and a mint ofmoney I suppose--and I'm proud of it. But I don't know. .. . If they'dlet me be and put us two--just you and me--back in the old house withthe bare floors and the rawhide chairs and the shuck beds, I guess we'dmanage. If you're happy, you're happy; that's about the size of it. Andsometimes I think that we'd be happier--you and I--chumming alongshoulder to shoulder, poor an' working hard, than making big money an'spending big money, why--oh, I don't know . .. If you're happy, that'sthe thing that counts, and if all this stuff, " he kicked out a carelessfoot at the pictures, the heavy hangings, the glass cabinets ofbibelots, "if all this stuff stood in the way of it--well--it could goto the devil! That's not poetry maybe, but it's the truth. "

Laura came over to where her husband lay, and sat by him, and took hishead in her lap, smoothing his forehead with her long white hands. 

"Oh, if I could only keep you like this always, " she murmured. "Keepyou untroubled, and kind, and true. This is my husband again. Oh, youare a man, Curtis; a great, strong, kind-hearted man, with no littlegraces, nor petty culture, nor trivial fine speeches, nor false sham, imitation polish. I love you. Ah, I love you, love you, dear!"

"Old girl!" said Jadwin, stroking her hand. 

"Do you want me to read to you now?" she asked. 

"Just this is pretty good, it seems to me. "

As he spoke, there came a step in the hall and a knock. 

Laura sat up, frowning. 

"I told them I was not to be disturbed, " she exclaimed under herbreath. Then, "Come in, " she called. 

"Mr. Gretry, sir, " announced the servant. "Said he wished to see you atonce, sir. "

"Tell him, " cried Laura, turning quickly to Jadwin, "tell him you'renot at home--that you can't see him. "

"I've got to see him, " answered Jadwin, sitting up. "He wouldn't comehere himself unless it was for something important. "

"Can I come in, J. ?" spoke the broker, from the hall. And even throughthe thick curtains they could hear how his voice rang with excitementand anxiety. 

"Can I come in? I followed the servant right up, you see. I know--"

"Yes, yes. Come in, " answered Jadwin. Laura, her face flushing, threw afold of the couch cover over her costume as Gretry, his hat still onhis head, stepped quickly into the room. 

Jadwin met him half way, and Laura from her place on the couch heardthe rapidly spoken words between the general and his lieutenant. 

"Now we're in for it!" Gretry exclaimed. 

"Yes--well?" Jadwin's voice was as incisive and quick as the fall of anaxe. 

"I've just found out, " said Gretry, "that Crookes and his crowd aregoing to take hold to-morrow. There'll be hell to pay in the morning. They are going to attack us the minute the gong goes. "

"Who's with them?"

"I don't know; nobody does. Sweeny, of course. But he has a gang backof him--besides, he's got good credit with the banks. I told you you'dhave to fight him sooner or later. "

"Well, we'll fight him then. Don't get scared. Crookes ain't the GreatMogul. "

"Holy Moses, I'd like to know who is, then. "

"_I_ am. And he's got to know it. There's not room for Crookes and mein this game. One of us two has got to control this market. If he getsin my way, by God, I'll smash him!"

"Well, then, J. , you and I have got to do some tall talking to-night. You'd better come down to the Grand Pacific Hotel right away. Court isthere already. It was him, nervy little cuss, that found out aboutCrookes. Can you come now, at once? Good evening, Mrs. Jadwin. I'msorry to take him from you, but business is business. "

No, it was not. To the wife of the great manipulator, listening with asinking heart to this courier from the front, it was battle. The Battleof the Streets was again in array. Again the trumpet sounded, again therush of thousands of feet filled all the air. Even here, here in herhome, her husband's head upon her lap, in the quiet and stillness ofher hour, the distant rumble came to her ears. Somewhere, far off therein the darkness of the night, the great forces were manoeuvring forposition once more. To-morrow would come the grapple, and one or theother must fall--her husband or the enemy. How keep him to herself whenthe great conflict impended? She knew how the thunder of the captainsand the shoutings appealed to him. She had seen him almost leap to hisarms out of her embrace. He was all the man she had called him, andless strong, less eager, less brave, she would have loved him less. 

Yet she had lost him again, lost him at the very moment she believedshe had won him back. 

"Don't go, don't go, " she whispered to him, as he kissed her good-by. "Oh, dearest, don't go! This was my evening. "

"I must, I must, Laura. Good-by, old girl. Don't keep me--see, Sam iswaiting. "

He kissed her hastily twice. 

"Now, Sam, " he said, turning toward the broker. 

"Good night, Mrs. Jadwin. "

"Good-by, old girl. "

They turned toward the door. 

"You see, young Court was down there at the bank, and he noticed thatchecks--"

The voices died away as the hangings of the entrance fell to place. Thefront door clashed and closed. 

Laura sat upright in her place, listening, one fist pressed against herlips. 

There was no more noise. The silence of the vast empty house widenedaround her at the shutting of the door as the ripples widen on a poolwith the falling of the stone. She crushed her knuckles tighter andtighter over her lips, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, she slowlyclasped and reclasped her hands, listening for what she did not know. She thought of her husband hurrying away from her, ignoring her, andher love for him in the haste and heat of battle. She thought ofCorthell, whom she had sent from her, forever, shutting his love fromout her life. 

Crushed, broken, Laura laid herself down among the cushions, her faceburied in her arm. Above her and around her rose the dimly lit gallery, lowering with luminous shadows. Only a point or two of lightilluminated the place. The gold frames of the pictures reflected itdully; the massive organ pipes, just outlined in faint blurs of light, towered far into the gloom above. The whole place, with its half-seengorgeous hangings, its darkened magnificence, was like a huge, diminterior of Byzantium. 

Lost, beneath the great height of the dome, and in the wide reach ofthe floor space, in her foolish finery of bangles, silks, high comb, and little rosetted slippers, Laura Jadwin lay half hidden among thecushions of the couch. If she wept, she wept in silence, and themuffling stillness of the lofty gallery was broken but once, when acry, half whisper, half sob, rose to the deaf, blind darkness:

"Oh, now I am alone, alone, alone!"

IX

"Well, that's about all then, I guess, " said Gretry at last, as hepushed back his chair and rose from the table. 

He and Jadwin were in a room on the third floor of the Grand PacificHotel, facing Jackson Street. It was three o'clock in the morning. Bothmen were in their shirt-sleeves; the table at which they had beensitting was scattered over with papers, telegraph blanks, and atJadwin's elbow stood a lacquer tray filled with the stumps of cigarsand burnt matches, together with one of the hotel pitchers of ice water. 

"Yes, " assented Jadwin, absently, running through a sheaf of telegrams, "that's all we can do--until we see what kind of a game Crookes meansto play. I'll be at your office by eight. "

"Well, " said the broker, getting into his coat, "I guess I'll go to myroom and try to get a little sleep. I wish I could see how we'll beto-morrow night at this time. "

Jadwin made a sharp movement of impatience. 

"Damnation, Sam, aren't you ever going to let up croaking? If you'reafraid of this thing, get out of it. Haven't I got enough to bother me?"

"Oh, say! Say, hold on, hold on, old man, " remonstrated the broker, inan injured voice. "You're terrible touchy sometimes, J. , of late. I wasonly trying to look ahead a little. Don't think I want to back out. Youought to know me by this time, J. "

"There, there, I'm sorry, Sam, " Jadwin hastened to answer, getting upand shaking the other by the shoulder. "I am touchy these days. There'sso many things to think of, and all at the same time. I do get nervous. I never slept one little wink last night--and you know the night beforeI didn't turn in till two in the morning. "

"Lord, you go swearing and damning 'round here like a pirate sometimes, J. , " Gretry went on. "I haven't heard you cuss before in twenty years. Look out, now, that I don't tell on you to your Sunday-schoolsuperintendents. "

"I guess they'd cuss, too, " observed Jadwin, "if they were long fortymillion wheat, and had to know just where every hatful of it was everysecond of the time. It was all very well for us to whoop about swinginga corner that afternoon in your office. But the real thing--well, youdon't have any trouble keeping awake. Do you suppose we can keep thefact of our corner dark much longer?"

"I fancy not, " answered the broker, putting on his hat and thrustinghis papers into his breast pocket. "If we bust Crookes, it'll comeout--and it won't matter then. I think we've got all the shorts thereare. "

"I'm laying particularly for Dave Scannel, " remarked Jadwin. "I hopehe's in up to his neck, and if he is, by the Great Horn Spoon, I'llbankrupt him, or my name is not Jadwin! I'll wring him bone-dry. If Ionce get a twist of that rat, I won't leave him hide nor hair to coverthe wart he calls his heart. "

"Why, what all has Scannel ever done to you?" demanded the other, amazed. 

"Nothing, but I found out the other day that old Hargus--poor old, broken-backed, half-starved Hargus--I found out that it was Scannelthat ruined him. Hargus and he had a big deal on, you know--oh, agesago--and Scannel sold out on him. Great God, it was the dirtiest, damnedest treachery I ever heard of! Scannel made his pile, and what'sHargus now? Why, he's a scarecrow. And he has a little niece that hesupports, heaven only knows how. I've seen her, and she's pretty as apicture. Well, that's all right; I'm going to carry fifty thousandwheat for Hargus, and I've got another scheme for him, too. By God, thepoor old boy won't go hungry again if I know it! But if I lay my handson Scannel--if we catch him in the corner--holy, suffering Moses, butI'll make him squeal!"

Gretry nodded, to say he understood and approved. 

"I guess you've got him, " he remarked. "Well, I must get to bed. Goodnight, J. "

"Good night, Sam. See you in the morning. "

And before the door of the room was closed, Jadwin was back at thetable again. Once more, painfully, toilfully, he went over his plans, retesting, altering, recombining, his hands full of lists, ofdespatches, and of endless columns of memoranda. Occasionally hemurmured fragments of sentences to himself. "H'm . .. I must look outfor that. .. . They can't touch us there. .. . The annex of that NickelPlate elevator will hold--let's see . .. Half a million. .. . If I buy thegrain within five days after arrival I've got to pay storage, which is, let's see--three-quarters of a cent times eighty thousand. .. . "

An hour passed. At length Jadwin pushed back from the table, drank aglass of ice water, and rose, stretching. 

"Lord, I must get some sleep, " he muttered. 

He threw off his clothes and went to bed, but even as he composedhimself to sleep, the noises of the street in the awakening cityinvaded the room through the chink of the window he had left open. Thenoises were vague. They blended easily into a far-off murmur; they camenearer; they developed into a cadence:

"Wheat-wheat-wheat, wheat-wheat-wheat. "

Jadwin roused up. He had just been dropping off to sleep. He rose andshut the window, and again threw himself down. He was weary to death;not a nerve of his body that did not droop and flag. His eyes closedslowly. Then, all at once, his whole body twitched sharply in a suddenspasm, a simultaneous recoil of every muscle. His heart began to beatrapidly, his breath failed him. Broad awake, he sat up in bed. 

"H'm!" he muttered. "That was a start--must have been dreaming, surely. "

Then he paused, frowning, his eyes narrowing; he looked to and froabout the room, lit by the subdued glow that came in through thetransom from a globe in the hall outside. Slowly his hand went to hisforehead. 

With almost the abruptness of a blow, that strange, indescribablesensation had returned to his head. It was as though he were strugglingwith a fog in the interior of his brain; or again it was a numbness, aweight, or sometimes it had more of the feeling of a heavy, tight-drawnband across his temples. 

"Smoking too much, I guess, " murmured Jadwin. But he knew this was notthe reason, and as he spoke, there smote across his face the firstindefinite sensation of an unnamed fear. 

He gave a quick, short breath, and straightened himself, passing hishands over his face. 

"What the deuce, " he muttered, "does this mean?"

For a long moment he remained sitting upright in bed, looking from wallto wall of the room. He felt a little calmer. He shrugged his shouldersimpatiently. 

"Look here, " he said to the opposite wall, "I guess I'm not aschoolgirl, to have nerves at this late date. High time to get tosleep, if I'm to mix things with Crookes to-morrow. "

But he could not sleep. While the city woke to its multitudinous lifebelow his windows, while the grey light of morning drowned the yellowhaze from the gas jet that came through the transom, while the "earlycall" alarms rang in neighbouring rooms, Curtis Jadwin lay awake, staring at the ceiling, now concentrating his thoughts upon the vastoperation in which he found himself engaged, following out again allits complexities, its inconceivable ramifications, or now puzzling overthe inexplicable numbness, the queer, dull weight that descended uponhis brain so soon as he allowed its activity to relax. 

By five o'clock he found it intolerable to remain longer in bed; herose, bathed, dressed, ordered his breakfast, and, descending to theoffice of the hotel, read the earliest editions of the morning papersfor half an hour. 

Then, at last, as he sat in the corner of the office deep in anarmchair, the tired shoulders began to droop, the wearied head to nod. The paper slipped from his fingers, his chin sank upon his collar. 

To his ears the early clamour of the street, the cries of newsboys, therattle of drays came in a dull murmur. It seemed to him that very faroff a great throng was forming. It was menacing, shouting. It stirred, it moved, it was advancing. It came galloping down the street, shoutingwith insensate fury; now it was at the corner, now it burst into theentrance of the hotel. Its clamour was deafening, but intelligible. Fora thousand, a million, forty million voices were shouting in cadence:

"Wheat-wheat-wheat, wheat-wheat-wheat. "

Jadwin woke abruptly, half starting from his chair. The morning sun wascoming in through the windows; the clock above the hotel desk wasstriking seven, and a waiter stood at his elbow, saying:

"Your breakfast is served, Mr. Jadwin. "

He had no appetite. He could eat nothing but a few mouthfuls of toast, and long before the appointed hour he sat in Gretry's office, waitingfor the broker to appear, drumming on the arm of his chair, plucking atthe buttons of his coat, and wondering why it was that every now andthen all the objects in his range of vision seemed to move slowly backand stand upon the same plane. 

By degrees he lapsed into a sort of lethargy, a wretched counterfeit ofsleep, his eyes half closed, his breath irregular. But, such as it was, it was infinitely grateful. The little, over-driven cogs and wheels ofthe mind, at least, moved more slowly. Perhaps by and by this mightactually develop into genuine, blessed oblivion. 

But there was a quick step outside the door. Gretry came in. 

"Oh, J. ! Here already, are you? Well, Crookes will begin to sell at thevery tap of the bell. "

"He will, hey?" Jadwin was on his feet. Instantly the jaded nervesbraced taut again; instantly the tiny machinery of the brain spun againat its fullest limit. "He's going to try to sell us out, is he? Allright. We'll sell, too. We'll see who can sell the most--Crookes orJadwin. "

"Sell! You mean buy, of course. "

"No, I don't. I've been thinking it over since you left last night. Wheat is worth exactly what it is selling for this blessed day. I'venot inflated it up one single eighth yet; Crookes thinks I have. GoodLord, I can read him like a book! He thinks I've boosted the stuffabove what it's worth, and that a little shove will send it down. Hecan send it down to ten cents if he likes, but it'll jump back like arubber ball. I'll sell bushel for bushel with him as long as he wantsto keep it up. "

"Heavens and earth, J. , " exclaimed Gretry, with a long breath, "therisk is about as big as holding up the Bank of England. You aredepreciating the value of about forty million dollars' worth of yourproperty with every cent she breaks. "

"You do as I tell you--you'll see I'm right, " answered Jadwin. "Getyour boys in here, and we'll give 'em the day's orders. "

The "Crookes affair"--as among themselves the group of men who centredabout Jadwin spoke of it--was one of the sharpest fights known on theBoard of Trade for many a long day. It developed with amazingunexpectedness and was watched with breathless interest from everyproduce exchange between the oceans. 

It occupied every moment of each morning's session of the Board ofTrade for four furious, never-to-be-forgotten days. Promptly athalf-past nine o'clock on Tuesday morning Crookes began to sell Maywheat short, and instantly, to the surprise of every Pit trader on thefloor, the price broke with his very first attack. In twenty minutes itwas down half a cent. Then came the really big surprise of the day. Landry Court, the known representative of the firm which all along hadfostered and encouraged the rise in the price, appeared in the Pit, andinstead of buying, upset all precedent and all calculation by sellingas freely as the Crookes men themselves. For three days the battle wenton. But to the outside world--even to the Pit itself--it seemed less abattle than a rout. The "Unknown Bull" was down, was beaten at last. Hehad inflated the price of the wheat, he had backed a false, anartificial, and unwarrantable boom, and now he was being broken. AhCrookes knew when to strike. Here was the great general--the realleader who so long had held back. 

By the end of the Friday session, Crookes and his clique had sold fivemillion bushels, "going short, " promising to deliver wheat that theydid not own, but expected to buy at low prices. The market that dayclosed at ninety-five. 

Friday night, in Jadwin's room in the Grand Pacific, a conference washeld between Gretry, Landry Court, two of Gretry's most trustedlieutenants, and Jadwin himself. Two results issued from thisconference. One took the form of a cipher cable to Jadwin's Liverpoolagent, which, translated, read: "Buy all wheat that is offered tillmarket advances one penny. " The other was the general order issued toLandry Court and the four other Pit traders for the Gretry-Conversehouse, to the effect that in the morning they were to go into the Pitand, making no demonstration, begin to buy back the wheat they had beenselling all the week. Each of them was to buy one million bushels. Jadwin had, as Gretry put it, "timed Crookes to a split second, "foreseeing the exact moment when he would make his supreme effort. Sureenough, on that very Saturday Crookes was selling more freely thanever, confident of breaking the Bull ere the closing gong should ring. 

But before the end of the morning wheat was up two cents. Buying ordershad poured in upon the market. The price had stiffened almost ofitself. Above the indicator upon the great dial there seemed to be aninvisible, inexplicable magnet that lifted it higher and higher, forall the strenuous efforts of the Bears to drag it down. 

A feeling of nervousness began to prevail. The small traders, who hadbeen wild to sell short during the first days of the movement, began onMonday to cover a little here and there. 

"Now, " declared Jadwin that night, "now's the time to open up all alongthe line hard. If we start her with a rush to-morrow morning, she'll goto a dollar all by herself. "

Tuesday morning, therefore, the Gretry-Converse traders bought anotherfive million bushels. The price under this stimulus went up with thebuoyancy of a feather. The little shorts, more and more uneasy, andbeginning to cover by the scores, forced it up even higher. 

The nervousness of the "crowd" increased. Perhaps, after all, Crookeswas not so omnipotent. Perhaps, after all, the Unknown Bull had anotherfight in him. Then the "outsiders" came into the market. All in amoment all the traders were talking "higher prices. " Everybody now wasas eager to buy as, a week before, they had been eager to sell. Theprice went up by convulsive bounds. Crookes dared not buy, dared notpurchase the wheat to make good his promises of delivery, for fear ofputting up the price on himself higher still. Dismayed, chagrined, andhumiliated, he and his clique sat back inert, watching the tremendousreaction, hoping against hope that the market would break again. 

But now it became difficult to get wheat at all. All of a sudden nobodywas selling. The buyers in the Pit commenced to bid against each other, offering a dollar and two cents. The wheat did not "come out. " They bida dollar two and a half, a dollar two and five-eighths; still no wheat. Frantic, they shook their fingers in the very faces of Landry Court andthe Gretry traders, shouting: "A dollar, two and seven-eighths! Adollar, three! Three and an eighth! A quarter! Three-eighths! A half!"But the others shook their heads. Except on extraordinary advances of awhole cent at a time, there was no wheat for sale. 

At the last-named price Crookes acknowledged defeat. Somewhere in hisbig machine a screw had been loose. Somehow he had miscalculated. Solong as he and his associates sold and sold and sold, the price wouldgo down. The instant they tried to cover there was no wheat for sale, and the price leaped up again with an elasticity that no power couldcontrol. 

He saw now that he and his followers had to face a loss of severalcents a bushel on each one of the five million they had sold. They hadnot been able to cover one single sale, and the situation was backagain exactly as before his onslaught, the Unknown Bull in securercontrol than ever before. 

But Crookes had, at last, begun to suspect the true condition ofaffairs, and now that the market was hourly growing tighter and morecongested, his suspicion was confirmed. Alone, locked in his privateoffice, he thought it out, and at last remarked to himself:

"Somebody has a great big line of wheat that is not on the market atall. Somebody has got all the wheat there is. I guess I know his name. I guess the visible supply of May wheat in the Chicago market iscornered. "

This was at a time when the price stood at a dollar and one cent. Crookes--who from the first had managed and handled the operations ofhis confederates--knew very well that if he now bought in all the wheathis clique had sold short, the price would go up long before he couldcomplete the deal. He said nothing to the others, further than thatthey should "hold on a little longer, in the hopes of a turn, " but veryquietly he began to cover his own personal sales--his share of the fivemillion sold by his clique. Foreseeing the collapse of his scheme, hegot out of the market; at a loss, it was true, but still no more thanhe could stand. If he "held on a little longer, in the hopes of aturn, " there was no telling how deep the Bull would gore him. This wasno time to think much about "obligations. " It had got to be "every manfor himself" by now. 

A few days after this Crookes sat in his office in the building in LaSalle Street that bore his name. It was about eleven o'clock in themorning. His dry, small, beardless face creased a little at the cornersof the mouth as he heard the ticker chattering behind him. He knew howthe tape read. There had been another flurry on the Board that morning, not half an hour since, and wheat was up again. In the last thirty-sixhours it had advanced three cents, and he knew very well that at thatvery minute the "boys" on the floor were offering nine cents over thedollar for the May option--and not getting it. The market was in atumult. He fancied he could almost hear the thunder of the Pit as itswirled. All La Salle Street was listening and watching, all Chicago, all the nation, all the world. Not a "factor" on the London 'Change whodid not turn an ear down the wind to catch the echo of this turmoil, not an agent de change in the peristyle of the Paris Bourse, who didnot strain to note the every modulation of its mighty diapason. 

"Well, " said the little voice of the man-within-the-man, who in theperson of Calvin Hardy Crookes sat listening to the ticker in hisoffice, "well, let it roar. It sure can't hurt C. H. C. "

"Can you see Mr. Cressler?" said the clerk at the door. 

He came in with a hurried, unsteady step. The long, stooping figure wasunkempt; was, in a sense, unjointed, as though some support had beenwithdrawn. The eyes were deep-sunk, the bones of the face were gauntand bare; and from moment to moment the man swallowed quickly andmoistened his lips. 

Crookes nodded as his ally came up, and one finger raised, pointed to achair. He himself was impassive, calm. He did not move. Taciturn asever, he waited for the other to speak. 

"I want to talk with you, Mr. Crookes, " began Cressler, hurriedly. "I--I made up my mind to it day before yesterday, but I put it off. Ihad hoped that things would come our way. But I can't delay now. .. . Mr. Crookes, I can't stand this any longer. I must get out of the clique. Ihaven't the ready money to stand this pace. "

There was a silence. Crookes neither moved nor changed expression. Hissmall eyes fixed upon the other, he waited for Cressler to go on. 

"I might remind you, " Cressler continued, "that when I joined yourparty I expressly stipulated that our operations should not bespeculative. "

"You knew--" began Crookes. 

"Oh, I have nothing to say, " Cressler interrupted. "I did know. I knewfrom the first it was to be speculation. I tried to deceive myself. I--well, this don't interest you. The point is I must get out of themarket. I don't like to go back on you others"--Cressler's fingers werefiddling with his watch chain--"I don't like to--I mean to say you mustlet me out. You must let me cover--at once. I am--very nearly bankruptnow. Another half-cent rise, and I'm done for. It will take as itis--my--my--all my ready money--all my savings for the last ten yearsto buy in my wheat. "

"Let's see. How much did I sell for you?" demanded Crookes. "Fivehundred thousand?"

"Yes, five hundred thousand at ninety-eight--and we're at a dollar ninenow. It's an eleven-cent jump. I--I can't stand another eighth. I mustcover at once. "

Crookes, without answering, drew his desk telephone to him. 

"Hello!" he said after a moment. "Hello! . .. Buy five hundred May, atthe market, right away. "

He hung up the receiver and leaned back in his chair. 

"They'll report the trade in a minute, " he said. "Better wait and see. "

Cressler stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down into the street. He did not answer. The seconds passed, then the minutes. Crookes turned to his desk and signed a few letters, the scrape of his pen the only noise to break the silence of the room. Then at last he observed:

"Pretty bum weather for this time of the year. "

Cressler nodded. He took off his hat, and pushed the hair back from hisforehead with a slow, persistent gesture; then as the ticker began toclick again, he faced around quickly, and crossing the room, ran thetape through his fingers. 

"God, " he muttered, between his teeth, "I hope your men didn't lose anytime. It's up again. "

There was a step at the door, and as Crookes called to come in, theoffice messenger entered and put a slip of paper into his hands. Crookes looked at it, and pushed it across his desk towards Cressler. 

"Here you are, " he observed. "That's your trade. Five hundred May, at adollar ten. You were lucky to get it at that--or at any price. "

"Ten!" cried the other, as he took the paper. 

Crookes turned away again, and glanced indifferently over his letters. Cressler laid the slip carefully down upon the ledge of the desk, andthough Crookes did not look up, he could almost feel how the man bracedhimself, got a grip of himself, put all his resources to the stretch tomeet this blow squarely in the front. 

"And I said another eighth would bust me, " Cressler remarked, with ashort laugh. "Well, " he added, grimly, "it looks as though I werebusted. I suppose, though, we must all expect to get the knife once ina while--mustn't we? Well, there goes fifty thousand dollars of my goodmoney. "

"I can tell you who's got it, if you care to know, " answered Crookes. "It's a pewter quarter to Government bonds that Gretry, Converse & Co. Sold that wheat to you. They've got about all the wheat there is. "

"I know, of course, they've been heavy buyers--for this Unknown Bullthey talk so much about. "

"Well, he ain't Unknown to me, " declared Crookes. "I know him. It'sCurtis Jadwin. He's the man we've been fighting all along, and allhell's going to break loose down here in three or four days. He'scornered the market. "

"Jadwin! You mean J. --Curtis--my friend?"

Crookes grunted an affirmative. 

"But--why, he told me he was out of the market--for good. "

Crookes did not seem to consider that the remark called for any uselesswords. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at Cressler. 

"Does he know?" faltered Cressler. "Do you suppose he could have heardthat I was in this clique of yours?"

"Not unless you told him yourself. "

Cressler stood up, clearing his throat. 

"I have not told him, Mr. Crookes, " he said. "You would do me anespecial favor if you would keep it from the public, from everybody, from Mr. Jadwin, that I was a member of this ring. "

Crookes swung his chair around and faced his desk. 

"Hell! You don't suppose I'm going to talk, do you?"

"Well. .. . Good-morning, Mr. Crookes. "

"Good-morning. "

Left alone, Crookes took a turn the length of the room. Then he pausedin the middle of the floor, looking down thoughtfully at his trim, small feet. 

"Jadwin!" he muttered. "Hm! . .. Think you're boss of the boat now, don't you? Think I'm done with you, hey? Oh, yes, you'll run a cornerin wheat, will you? Well, here's a point for your consideration Mr. Curtis Jadwin, 'Don't get so big that all the other fellows can seeyou--they throw bricks. '"

He sat down in his chair, and passed a thin and delicate hand acrosshis lean mouth. 

"No, " he muttered, "I won't try to kill you any more. You've corneredwheat, have you? All right. .. . Your own wheat, my smart Aleck, will doall the killing I want. "

Then at last the news of the great corner, authoritative, definite, went out over all the country, and promptly the figure and name ofCurtis Jadwin loomed suddenly huge and formidable in the eye of thepublic. There was no wheat on the Chicago market. He, the great man, the "Napoleon of La Salle Street, " had it all. He sold it or hoardedit, as suited his pleasure. He dictated the price to those men who mustbuy it of him to fill their contracts. His hand was upon the indicatorof the wheat dial of the Board of Trade, and he moved it through asmany or as few of the degrees of the circle as he chose. 

The newspapers, not only of Chicago, but of every city in the Union, exploited him for "stories. " The history of his corner, how he hadeffected it, its chronology, its results, were told and retold, tillhis name was familiar in the homes and at the firesides of uncountedthousands. "Anecdotes" were circulated concerning him, interviews--concocted for the most part in the editorial rooms--wereprinted. His picture appeared. He was described as a cool, calm man ofsteel, with a cold and calculating grey eye, "piercing as an eagle's";as a desperate gambler, bold as a buccaneer, his eye black and fiery--averitable pirate; as a mild, small man with a weak chin and adeprecatory demeanour; as a jolly and roistering "high roller, "addicted to actresses, suppers, and to bathing in champagne. 

In the Democratic press he was assailed as little better than a thief, vituperated as an oppressor of the people, who ground the faces of thepoor, and battened in the luxury wrung from the toiling millions. TheRepublican papers spoke solemnly of the new era of prosperity uponwhich the country was entering, referred to the stimulating effect ofthe higher prices upon capitalised industry, and distorted thesituation to an augury of a sweeping Republican victory in the nextPresidential campaign. 

Day in and day out Gretry's office, where Jadwin now fixed hisheadquarters, was besieged. Reporters waited in the anteroom for wholehalf days to get but a nod and a word from the great man. Promoters, inventors, small financiers, agents, manufacturers, even "crayonartists" and horse dealers, even tailors and yacht builders rubbedshoulders with one another outside the door marked "Private. "

Farmers from Iowa or Kansas come to town to sell their little quotas ofwheat at the prices they once had deemed impossible, shook his hand onthe street, and urged him to come out and see "God's own country. "

But once, however, an entire deputation of these wheat growers foundtheir way into the sanctum. They came bearing a presentation cup ofsilver, and their spokesman, stammering and horribly embarrassed inunwonted broadcloth and varnished boots, delivered a short address. Heexplained that all through the Middle West, all through the wheatbelts, a great wave of prosperity was rolling because of Jadwin'scorner. Mortgages were being paid off, new and improved farmingimplements were being bought, new areas seeded new live stock acquired. The men were buying buggies again, the women parlor melodeons, housesand homes were going up; in short, the entire farming population of theMiddle West was being daily enriched. In a letter that Jadwin receivedabout this time from an old fellow living in "Bates Corners, " Kansas, occurred the words:

"--and, sir, you must know that not a night passes that my little girl, now going on seven, sir, and the brightest of her class in the countyseat grammar school, does not pray to have God bless Mister Jadwin, whohelped papa save the farm. "

If there was another side, if the brilliancy of his triumph yet threw ashadow behind it, Jadwin could ignore it. It was far from him, he couldnot see it. Yet for all this a story came to him about this time thatfor long would not be quite forgotten. It came through Corthell, butvery indirectly, passed on by a dozen mouths before it reached his ears. 

It told of an American, an art student, who at the moment was on atramping tour through the north of Italy. It was an ugly story. Jadwinpished and pshawed, refusing to believe it, condemning it as ridiculousexaggeration, but somehow it appealed to an uncompromising sense of theprobable; it rang true. 

"And I met this boy, " the student had said, "on the high road, about akilometre outside of Arezzo. He was a fine fellow of twenty ortwenty-two. He knew nothing of the world. England he supposed to bepart of the mainland of Europe. For him Cavour and Mazzini were stillalive. But when I announced myself American, he roused at once. 

"'Ah, American, ' he said. 'We know of your compatriot, then, here inItaly--this Jadwin of Chicago, who has bought all the wheat. We have nomore bread. The loaf is small as the fist, and costly. We cannot buyit, we have no money. For myself, I do not care. I am young. I can eatlentils and cress. But' and here his voice was a whisper--'but mymother--my mother!'"

"It's a lie!" Jadwin cried. "Of course it's a lie. Good God, if I wereto believe every damned story the papers print about me these days I'dgo insane. "

Yet when he put up the price of wheat to a dollar and twenty cents, thegreat flour mills of Minnesota and Wisconsin stopped grinding, andfinding a greater profit in selling the grain than in milling it, threwtheir stores upon the market. Though the bakers did not increase theprice of their bread as a consequence of this, the loaf--even inChicago, even in the centre of that great Middle West that weltered inthe luxury of production--was smaller, and from all the poorerdistricts of the city came complaints, protests, and vague grumblingsof discontent. 

On a certain Monday, about the middle of May, Jadwin sat at Gretry'sdesk (long since given over to his use), in the office on the groundfloor of the Board of Trade, swinging nervously back and forth in theswivel chair, drumming his fingers upon the arms, and glancingcontinually at the clock that hung against the opposite wall. It wasabout eleven in the morning. The Board of Trade vibrated with the vasttrepidation of the Pit, that for two hours had spun and sucked, andguttered and disgorged just overhead. The waiting-room of the officewas more than usually crowded. Parasites of every description polishedthe walls with shoulder and elbow. Millionaires and beggars jostled oneanother about the doorway. The vice-president of a bank watched thedoor of the private office covertly; the traffic manager of a railroadexchanged yarns with a group of reporters while awaiting his turn. 

As Gretry, the great man's lieutenant, hurried through the anteroom, conversation suddenly ceased, and half a dozen of the more impatientsprang forward. But the broker pushed his way through the crowd, shaking his head, excusing himself as best he might, and entering theoffice, closed the door behind him. 

At the clash of the lock Jadwin started half-way from his chair, thenrecognising the broker, sank back with a quick breath. 

"Why don't you knock, or something, Sam?" he exclaimed. "Might as wellkill a man as scare him to death. Well, how goes it?"

"All right. I've fixed the warehouse crowd--and we just about 'own' theeditorial and news sheets of these papers. " He threw a memorandum downupon the desk. "I'm off again now. Got an appointment with theNorthwestern crowd in ten minutes. Has Hargus or Scannel shown up yet?"

"Hargus is always out in your customers' room, " answered Jadwin. "I canget him whenever I want him. But Scannel has not shown up yet. Ithought when we put up the price again Friday we'd bring him in. Ithought you'd figured out that he couldn't stand that rise. "

"He can't stand it, " answered Gretry. "He'll be in to see you to-morrowor next day. "

"To-morrow or next day won't do, " answered Jadwin. "I want to put theknife into him to-day. You go up there on the floor and put the priceup another cent. That will bring him, or I'll miss my guess. "

Gretry nodded. "All right, " he said, "it's your game. Shall I see youat lunch?"

"Lunch! I can't eat. But I'll drop around and hear what theNorthwestern people had to say to you. "

A few moments after Gretry had gone Jadwin heard the ticker on theother side of the room begin to chatter furiously; and at the same timehe could fancy that the distant thunder of the Pit grew suddenly moreviolent, taking on a sharper, shriller note. He looked at the tape. Theone-cent rise had been effected. 

"You will hold out, will you, you brute?" muttered Jadwin. "See how youlike that now. " He took out his watch. "You'll be running in to me injust about ten minutes' time. "

He turned about, and calling a clerk, gave orders to have Hargus foundand brought to him. 

When the old fellow appeared Jadwin jumped up and gave him his hand ashe came slowly forward. 

His rusty top hat was in his hand; from the breast pocket of his fadedand dirty frock coat a bundle of ancient newspapers protruded. Hisshoestring tie straggled over his frayed shirt front, while at hiswrist one of his crumpled cuffs, detached from the sleeve, showed thebare, thin wrist between cloth and linen, and encumbered the fingers inwhich he held the unlit stump of a fetid cigar. 

Evidently bewildered as to the cause of this summons, he looked upperplexed at Jadwin as he came up, out of his dim, red-lidded eyes. 

"Sit down, Hargus. Glad to see you, " called Jadwin. 

"Hey?"

The voice was faint and a little querulous. 

"I say, sit down. Have a chair. I want to have a talk with you. You rana corner in wheat once yourself. "

"Oh. .. . Wheat. "

"Yes, your corner. You remember?"

"Yes. Oh, that was long ago. In seventy-eight it was--the Septemberoption. And the Board made wheat in the cars 'regular. '"

His voice trailed off into silence, and he looked vaguely about on thefloor of the room, sucking in his cheeks, and passing the edge of onelarge, osseous hand across his lips. 

"Well, you lost all your money that time, I believe. Scannel, yourpartner, sold out on you. "

"Hey? It was in seventy-eight. .. . The secretary of the Board announcedour suspension at ten in the morning. If the Board had not voted tomake wheat in the cars 'regular'--"

He went on and on, in an impassive monotone, repeating, word for word, the same phrases he had used for so long that they had lost allsignificance. 

"Well, " broke in Jadwin, at last, "it was Scannel your partner, did foryou. Scannel, I say. You know, Dave Scannel. "

The old man looked at him confusedly. Then, as the name forced itselfupon the atrophied brain, there flashed, for one instant, into thepale, blurred eye, a light, a glint, a brief, quick spark of an old, long-forgotten fire. It gleamed there an instant, but the next sankagain. 

Plaintively, querulously he repeated:

"It was in seventy-eight. .. . I lost three hundred thousand dollars. "

"How's your little niece getting on?" at last demanded Jadwin. 

"My little niece--you mean Lizzie? . .. Well and happy, well and happy. I--I got"--he drew a thick bundle of dirty papers from his pocket, envelopes, newspapers, circulars, and the like--"I--I--I got, I got herpicture here somewheres. "

"Yes, yes, I know, I know, " cried Jadwin. "I've seen it. You showed itto me yesterday, you remember. "

"I--I got it here somewheres . .. Somewheres, " persisted the old man, fumbling and peering, and as he spoke the clerk from the doorwayannounced:

"Mr. Scannel. "

This latter was a large, thick man, red-faced, with white, shortwhiskers of an almost wiry texture. He had a small, gimlet-like eye, enormous, hairy ears, wore a "sack" suit, a highly polished top hat, and entered the office with a great flourish of manner and a defianttrumpeting "Well, how do, Captain?"

Jadwin nodded, glancing up under his scowl. 

"Hello!" he said. 

The other subsided into a chair, and returned scowl for scowl. 

"Oh, well, " he muttered, "if that's your style. "

He had observed Hargus sitting by the other side of the desk, stillfumbling and mumbling in his dirty memoranda, but he gave no sign ofrecognition. There was a moment's silence, then in a voice from whichall the first bluffness was studiously excluded, Scannel said:

"Well, you've rung the bell on me. I'm a sucker. I know it. I'm one ofthe few hundred other God-damned fools that you've managed to catch outshooting snipe. Now what I want to know is, how much is it going tocost me to get out of your corner? What's the figure? What do you say?"

"I got a good deal to say, " remarked Jadwin, scowling again. 

But Hargus had at last thrust a photograph into his hands. 

"There it is, " he said. "That's it. That's Lizzie. "

Jadwin took the picture without looking at it, and as he continued tospeak, held it in his fingers, and occasionally tapped it upon the desk. 

"I know. I know, Hargus, " he answered. "I got a good deal to say, Mr. David Scannel. Do you see this old man here?"

"Oh-h, cut it out!" growled the other. 

"It's Hargus. You know him very well. You used to know him better. Youand he together tried to swing a great big deal in September wheat onceupon a time. Hargus! I say, Hargus!"

The old man looked up. 

"Here's the man we were talking about, Scannel, you remember. RememberDave Scannel, who was your partner in seventy-eight? Look at him. Thisis him now. He's a rich man now. Remember Scannel?"

Hargus, his bleared old eyes blinking and watering, looked across thedesk at the other. 

"Oh, what's the game?" exclaimed Scannel. "I ain't here on exhibition, I guess. I--"

But he was interrupted by a sharp, quick gasp that all at once issuedfrom Hargus's trembling lips. The old man said no word, but he leanedfar forward in his chair, his eyes fixed upon Scannel, his breathcoming short, his fingers dancing against his chin. 

"Yes, that's him, Hargus, " said Jadwin. "You and he had a big deal onyour hands a long time ago, " he continued, turning suddenly uponScannel, a pulse in his temple beginning to beat. "A big deal, and yousold him out. "

"It's a lie!" cried the other. 

Jadwin beat his fist upon the arm of his chair. His voice was almost ashout as he answered:

"_You--sold--him--out. _ I know you. I know the kind of bug you are. Youruined him to save your own dirty hide, and all his life since poor oldHargus has been living off the charity of the boys down here, pinchedand hungry and neglected, and getting on, God knows how; yes, andsupporting his little niece, too, while you, you have been loafingabout your clubs, and sprawling on your steam yachts, and danglinground after your kept women--on the money you stole from him. "

Scannel squared himself in his chair, his little eyes twinkling. 

"Look here, " he cried, furiously, "I don't take that kind of talk fromthe best man that ever wore shoe-leather. Cut it out, understand? Cutit out. "

Jadwin's lower jaw set with a menacing click; aggressive, masterful, heleaned forward. 

"You interrupt me again, " he declared, "and you'll go out of that doora bankrupt. You listen to me and take my orders. That's what you'rehere to-day for. If you think you can get your wheat somewheres else, suppose you try. "

Scannel sullenly settled himself in his place. He did not answer. Hargus, his eye wandering again, looked distressfully from one to theother. Then Jadwin, after shuffling among the papers of his desk, fixeda certain memorandum with his glance. All at once, whirling about andfacing the other, he said quickly:

"You are short to our firm two million bushels at a dollar a bushel. "

"Nothing of the sort, " cried the other. "It's a million and a half. "

Jadwin could not forbear a twinkle of grim humour as he saw how easilyScannel had fallen into the trap. 

"You're short a million and a half, then, " he repeated. "I'll let youhave six hundred thousand of it at a dollar and a half a bushel. "

"A dollar and a half! Why, my God, man! Oh well"--Scannel spread outhis hands nonchalantly--"I shall simply go into bankruptcy--just as yousaid. "

"Oh, no, you won't, " replied Jadwin, pushing back and crossing hislegs. "I've had your financial standing computed very carefully, Mr. Scannel. You've got the ready money. I know what you can stand withoutbusting, to the fraction of a cent. "

"Why, it's ridiculous. That handful of wheat will cost me three hundredthousand dollars. "

"Pre-cisely. "

And then all at once Scannel surrendered. Stony, imperturbable, he drewhis check book from his pocket. 

"Make it payable to bearer, " said Jadwin. 

The other complied, and Jadwin took the check and looked it overcarefully. 

"Now, " he said, "watch here, Dave Scannel. You see this check? Andnow, " he added, thrusting it into Hargus's hands, "you see where itgoes. There's the principal of your debt paid off. "

"The principal?"

"You haven't forgotten the interest, have you? won't compound it, because that might bust you. But six per cent interest on three hundredthousand since 1878, comes to--let's see--three hundred and sixtythousand dollars. And you still owe me nine hundred thousand bushels ofwheat. " He ciphered a moment on a sheet of note paper. "If I charge youa dollar and forty a bushel for that wheat, it will come to that sumexactly. .. . Yes, that's correct. I'll let you have the balance of thatwheat at a dollar forty. Make the check payable to bearer as before. "

For a second Scannel hesitated, his face purple, his teeth grindingtogether, then muttering his rage beneath his breath, opened his checkbook again. 

"Thank you, " said Jadwin as he took the check. 

He touched his call bell. 

"Kinzie, " he said to the clerk who answered it, "after the close of themarket to-day send delivery slips for a million and a half wheat to Mr. Scannel. His account with us has been settled. "

Jadwin turned to the old man, reaching out the second check to him. 

"Here you are, Hargus. Put it away carefully. You see what it is, don'tyou? Buy your Lizzie a little gold watch with a hundred of it, and tellher it's from Curtis Jadwin, with his compliments. .. . What, going, Scannel? Well, good-by to you, sir, and hey!" he called after him, "please don't slam the door as you go out. "

But he dodged with a defensive gesture as the pane of glass almostleaped from its casing, as Scannel stormed across the threshold. 

Jadwin turned to Hargus, with a solemn wink. 

"He did slam it after all, didn't he?"

The old fellow, however, sat fingering the two checks in silence. Thenhe looked up at Jadwin, scared and trembling. 

"I--I don't know, " he murmured, feebly. "I am a very old man. This--this is a great deal of money, sir. I--I can't say; I--I don'tknow. I'm an old man . .. An old man. "

"You won't lose 'em, now?"

"No, no. I'll deposit them at once in the Illinois Trust. I shallask--I should like. "

"I'll send a clerk with you. "

"Yes, yes, that is about what--what I--what I was about to suggest. ButI must say, Mr. Jadwin--"

He began to stammer his thanks. But Jadwin cut him off. Rising, heguided Hargus to the door, one hand on his shoulder, and at theentrance to the outer office called a clerk. 

"Take Mr. Hargus over to the Illinois Trust, Kinzie, and introduce him. He wants to open an account. "

The old man started off with the clerk, but before Jadwin had reseatedhimself at his desk was back again. He was suddenly all excitement, asif a great idea had abruptly taken possession of him. Stealthy, furtive, he glanced continually over his shoulder as he spoke, talkingin whispers, a trembling hand shielding his lips. 

"You--you are in--you are in control now, " he said. "You couldgive--hey? You could give me--just a little--just one word. A wordwould be enough, hey? hey? Just a little tip. My God, I could makefifty dollars by noon. "

"Why, man, I've just given you about half a million. "

"Half a million? I don't know. But"--he plucked Jadwin tremulously bythe sleeve--"just a word, " he begged. "Hey, just yes or no. "

"Haven't you enough with those two checks?"

"Those checks? Oh, I know, I know, I know I'll salt 'em down. Yes, inthe Illinois Trust. I won't touch 'em--not those. But just a little tipnow, hey?"

"Not a word. Not a word. Take him along, Kinzie. "

One week after this Jadwin sold, through his agents in Paris, atremendous line of "cash" wheat at a dollar and sixty cents the bushel. By now the foreign demand was a thing almost insensate. There was noquestion as to the price. It was, "Give us the wheat, at whatever cost, at whatever figure, at whatever expense; only that it be rushed to ourmarkets with all the swiftness of steam and steel. " At home, upon theChicago Board of Trade, Jadwin was as completely master of the marketas of his own right hand. Everything stopped when he raised a finger;everything leaped to life with the fury of obsession when he nodded hishead. His wealth increased with such stupefying rapidity, that at notime was he able to even approximate the gains that accrued to himbecause of his corner. It was more than twenty million, and less thanfifty million. That was all he knew. Nor were the everlasting hillsmore secure than he from the attack of any human enemy. Out of theranks of the conquered there issued not so much as a whisper ofhostility. Within his own sphere no Czar, no satrap, no Caesar everwielded power more resistless. 

"Sam, " said Curtis Jadwin, at length to the broker, "Sam, nothing inthe world can stop me now. They think I've been doing something big, don't they, with this corner. Why, I've only just begun. This is just afeeler. Now I'm going to let 'em know just how big a gun C. J. Reallyis. I'm going to swing this deal right over into July. I'm going to buyin my July shorts. "

The two men were in Gretry's office as usual, and as Jadwin spoke, thebroker glanced up incredulously. 

"Now you are for sure crazy. "

Jadwin jumped to his feet. 

"Crazy!" he vociferated. "Crazy! What do you mean? Crazy! For God'ssake, Sam, what--Look here, don't use that word to me. I--it don'tsuit. What I've done isn't exactly the work of--of--takes brains, letme tell you. And look here, look here, I say, I'm going to swing thisdeal right over into July. Think I'm going to let go now, when I'vejust begun to get a real grip on things? A pretty fool I'd look like toget out now--even if I could. Get out? How are we going to unload ourbig line of wheat without breaking the price on us? No, sir, not much. This market is going up to two dollars. " He smote a knee with hisclinched fist, his face going abruptly crimson. "I say two dollars, " hecried. "Two dollars, do you hear? It will go there, you'll see, you'llsee. "

"Reports on the new crop will begin to come in in June. " Gretry'swarning was almost a cry. "The price of wheat is so high now, that Godknows how many farmers will plant it this spring. You may have to takecare of a record harvest. "

"I know better, " retorted Jadwin. "I'm watching this thing. You can'ttell me anything about it. I've got it all figured out, your 'newcrop. '"

"Well, then you're the Lord Almighty himself. "

"I don't like that kind of joke. I don't like that kind of joke. It'sblasphemous, " exclaimed Jadwin. "Go, get it off on Crookes. He'dappreciate it, but I don't. But this new crop now--look here. "

And for upwards of two hours Jadwin argued and figured, and showed toGretry endless tables of statistics to prove that he was right. 

But at the end Gretry shook his head. Calmly and deliberately he spokehis mind. 

"J. , listen to me. You've done a big thing. I know it, and I know, too, that there've been lots of times in the last year or so when I've beenwrong and you've been right. But now, J. , so help me God, we've reachedour limit. Wheat is worth a dollar and a half to-day, and not one centmore. Every eighth over that figure is inflation. If you run it up totwo dollars--"

"It will go there of itself, I tell you. "

"--if you run it up to two dollars, it will be that top-heavy, that thelittlest kick in the world will knock it over. Be satisfied now withwhat you got. J. , it's common sense. Close out your long line of May, and then stop. Suppose the price does break a little, you'd still makeyour pile. But swing this deal over into July, and it's ruin, ruin. Imay have been mistaken before, but I know I'm right now. And do yourealise, J. , that yesterday in the Pit there were some short sales?There's some of them dared to go short of wheat against you--even atthe very top of your corner--and there was more selling this morning. You've always got to buy, you know. If they all began to sell to you atonce they'd bust you. It's only because you've got 'em so scared--Ibelieve--that keeps 'em from it. But it looks to me as though thisselling proved that they were picking up heart. They think they can getthe wheat from the farmers when harvesting begins. And I tell you, J. , you've put the price of wheat so high, that the wheat areas areextending all over the country. "

"You're scared, " cried Jadwin. "That's the trouble with you, Sam. You've been scared from the start. Can't you see, man, can't you seethat this market is a regular tornado?"

"I see that the farmers all over the country are planting wheat asthey've never planted it before. Great Scott, J. , you're fightingagainst the earth itself. "

"Well, we'll fight it, then. I'll stop those hayseeds. What do I ownall these newspapers and trade journals for? We'll begin sending outreports to-morrow that'll discourage any big wheat planting. "

"And then, too, " went on Gretry, "here's another point. Do you know, you ought to be in bed this very minute. You haven't got any nervesleft at all. You acknowledge yourself that you don't sleep any more. And, good Lord, the moment any one of us contradicts you, or opposesyou, you go off the handle to beat the Dutch. I know it's a strain, oldman, but you want to keep yourself in hand if you go on with thisthing. If you should break down now--well, I don't like to think ofwhat would happen. You ought to see a doctor. "

"Oh-h, fiddlesticks, " exclaimed Jadwin, "I'm all right. I don't need adoctor, haven't time to see one anyhow. Don't you bother about me. I'mall right. "

Was he? That same night, the first he had spent under his own roof forfour days, Jadwin lay awake till the clocks struck four, asking himselfthe same question. No, he was not all right. Something was very wrongwith him, and whatever it might be, it was growing worse. The sensationof the iron clamp about his head was almost permanent by now, and justthe walk between his room at the Grand Pacific and Gretry's office lefthim panting and exhausted. Then had come vertigoes and strange, inexplicable qualms, as if he were in an elevator that sank under himwith terrifying rapidity. 

Going to and fro in La Salle Street, or sitting in Gretry's office, where the roar of the Pit dinned forever in his ears, he could forgetthese strange symptoms. It was the night he dreaded--the long hours hemust spend alone. The instant the strain was relaxed, the gallop ofhoofs, or as the beat of ungovernable torrents began in his brain. Always the beat dropped to the same cadence, always the pulse spelledout the same words:

"Wheat-wheat-wheat, wheat-wheat-wheat. "

And of late, during the long and still watches of the night, while hestared at the ceiling, or counted the hours that must pass before hisnext dose of bromide of potassium, a new turn had been given to thescrew. 

This was a sensation, the like of which he found it difficult todescribe. But it seemed to be a slow, tense crisping of every tiniestnerve in his body. It would begin as he lay in bed--countinginterminably to get himself to sleep--between his knees and ankles, andthence slowly spread to every part of him, creeping upward, from lointo shoulder, in a gradual wave of torture that was not pain, yetinfinitely worse. A dry, pringling aura as of billions of minuteelectric shocks crept upward over his flesh, till it reached his head, where it seemed to culminate in a white flash, which he felt ratherthan saw. 

His body felt strange and unfamiliar to him. It seemed to have noweight, and at times his hands would appear to swell swiftly to thesize of mammoth boxing-gloves, so that he must rub them together tofeel that they were his own. 

He put off consulting a doctor from day to day, alleging that he hadnot the time. But the real reason, though he never admitted it, was thefear that the doctor might tell him what he guessed to be the truth. 

Were his wits leaving him? The horror of the question smote through himlike the drive of a javelin. What was to happen? What nameless calamityimpended?

"Wheat-wheat-wheat, wheat-wheat-wheat. "

His watch under his pillow took up the refrain. How to grasp themorrow's business, how control the sluice gates of that torrent he hadunchained, with this unspeakable crumbling and disintegrating of hisfaculties going on?

Jaded, feeble, he rose to meet another day. He drove down town, tryingnot to hear the beat of his horses' hoofs. Dizzy and stupefied, hegained Gretry's office, and alone with his terrors sat in the chairbefore his desk, waiting, waiting. 

Then far away the great gong struck. Just over his head, penetratingwood and iron, he heard the mighty throe of the Pit once morebeginning, moving. And then, once again, the limp and ravelled fibresof being grew tight with a wrench. Under the stimulus of the roar ofthe maelstrom, the flagging, wavering brain righted itself once more, and--how, he himself could not say--the business of the day wasdespatched, the battle was once more urged. Often he acted upon what heknew to be blind, unreasoned instinct. Judgment, clear reasoning, attimes, he felt, forsook him. Decisions that involved what seemed to bethe very stronghold of his situation, had to be taken without amoment's warning. He decided for or against without knowing why. Underhis feet fissures opened. He must take the leap without seeing theother edge. Somehow he always landed upon his feet; somehow his great, cumbersome engine, lurching, swaying, in spite of loosened joints, always kept the track. 

Luck, his golden goddess, the genius of glittering wings, was with himyet. Sorely tried, flouted even she yet remained faithful, lending ahelping hand to lost and wandering judgment. 

So the month of May drew to its close. Between the twenty-fifth and thethirtieth Jadwin covered his July shortage, despite Gretry's protestsand warnings. To him they seemed idle enough. He was too rich, toostrong now to fear any issue. Daily the profits of the cornerincreased. The unfortunate shorts were wrung dry and drier. In Gretry'soffice they heard their sentences, and as time went on, and Jadwinbeheld more and more of these broken speculators, a vast contempt forhuman nature grew within him. 

Some few of his beaten enemies were resolute enough, accepting defeatwith grim carelessness, or with sphinx-like indifference, or even withairy jocularity. But for the most part their alert, eager deference, their tame subservience, the abject humility and debasement of theirbent shoulders drove Jadwin to the verge of self-control. He grew todetest the business; he regretted even the defiant brutality ofScannel, a rascal, but none the less keeping his head high. The morethe fellows cringed to him, the tighter he wrenched the screw. In a fewcases he found a pleasure in relenting entirely, selling his wheat tothe unfortunates at a price that left them without loss; but in the endthe business hardened his heart to any distress his mercilessness mightentail. He took his profits as a Bourbon took his taxes, as if by rightof birth. Somewhere, in a long-forgotten history of his brief schooldays, he had come across a phrase that he remembered now, by somedevious and distant process of association, and when he heard of thecalamities that his campaign had wrought, of the shipwrecked fortunesand careers that were sucked down by the Pit, he found it possible tosay, with a short laugh, and a lift of one shoulder:

_"Vae victis. "_

His wife he saw but seldom. Occasionally they breakfasted together;more often they met at dinner. But that was all. Jadwin's life by nowhad come to be so irregular, and his few hours of sleep so precious andso easily disturbed, that he had long since occupied a separateapartment. 

What Laura's life was at this time he no longer knew. She never spokeof it to him; never nowadays complained of loneliness. When he saw hershe appeared to be cheerful. But this very cheerfulness made himuneasy, and at times, through the murk of the chaff of wheat, throughthe bellow of the Pit, and the crash of collapsing fortunes therereached him a suspicion that all was not well with Laura. 

Once he had made an abortive attempt to break from the turmoil of LaSalle Street and the Board of Trade, and, for a time at least, to getback to the old life they both had loved--to get back, in a word, toher. But the consequences had been all but disastrous. Now he could notkeep away. 

"Corner wheat!" he had exclaimed to her, the following day. "Cornerwheat! It's the wheat that has cornered me. It's like holding a wolf bythe ears, bad to hold on, but worse to let go. "

But absorbed, blinded, deafened by the whirl of things, Curtis Jadwincould not see how perilously well grounded had been his faint suspicionas to Laura's distress. 

On the day after her evening with her husband in the art gallery, theevening when Gretry had broken in upon them like a courier from thefront, Laura had risen from her bed to look out upon a world suddenlyempty. 

Corthell she had sent from her forever. Jadwin was once more snatchedfrom her side. Where, now, was she to turn? Jadwin had urged her to goto the country--to their place at Geneva Lake--but she refused. She sawthe change that had of late come over her husband, saw his lean face, the hot, tired eyes, the trembling fingers and nervous gestures. Vaguely she imagined approaching disaster. If anything happened toCurtis, her place was at his side. 

During the days that Jadwin and Crookes were at grapples Laura foundmeans to occupy her mind with all manner of small activities. Sheoverhauled her wardrobe, planned her summer gowns, paid daily visits toher dressmakers, rode and drove in the park, till every turn of theroads, every tree, every bush was familiar, to the point of wearisomecontempt. 

Then suddenly she began to indulge in a mania for old books and firsteditions. She haunted the stationers and second-hand bookstores, studied the authorities, followed the auctions, and bought right andleft, with reckless extravagance. But the taste soon palled upon her. With so much money at her command there was none of the spice of thehunt in the affair. She had but to express a desire for a certaintreasure, and forthwith it was put into her hand. 

She found it so in all other things. Her desires were gratified with anabruptness that killed the zest of them. She felt none of the joy ofpossession; the little personal relation between her and her belongingsvanished away. Her gowns, beautiful beyond all she had ever imagined, were of no more interest to her than a drawerful of outworn gloves. Shebought horses till she could no longer tell them apart; her carriagescrowded three supplementary stables in the neighbourhood. Her flowers, miracles of laborious cultivation, filled the whole house with theirfragrance. Wherever she went deference moved before her like a guard;her beauty, her enormous wealth, her wonderful horses, her exquisitegowns made of her a cynosure, a veritable queen. 

And hardly a day passed that Laura Jadwin, in the solitude of her ownboudoir, did not fling her arms wide in a gesture of lassitude andinfinite weariness, crying out:

"Oh, the ennui and stupidity of all this wretched life!"

She could look forward to nothing. One day was like the next. No onecame to see her. For all her great house and for all her money, she hadmade but few friends. Her "grand manner" had never helped herpopularity. She passed her evenings alone in her "upstairssitting-room, " reading, reading till far into the night, or, the lightsextinguished, sat at her open window listening to the monotonous lapand wash of the lake. 

At such moments she thought of the men who had come into her life--ofthe love she had known almost from her girlhood. She remembered herfirst serious affair. It had been with the impecunious theologicalstudent who was her tutor. He had worn glasses and little black sidewhiskers, and had implored her to marry him and come to China, where hewas to be a missionary. Every time that he came he had brought her anew book to read, and he had taken her for long walks up towards thehills where the old powder mill stood. Then it was the younglawyer--the "brightest man in Worcester County"--who took her drivingin a hired buggy, sent her a multitude of paper novels (which she neverread), with every love passage carefully underscored, and wrote verybad verse to her eyes and hair, whose "velvet blackness was the shadowof a crown. " Or, again, it was the youthful cavalry officer met in aflying visit to her Boston aunt, who loved her on first sight, gave herhis photograph in uniform and a bead belt of Apache workmanship. He wasforever singing to her--to a guitar accompaniment--an old love song:

"At midnight hour Beneath the tower He murmured soft, 'Oh nothingfearing With thine own true soldier fly. '"

Then she had come to Chicago, and Landry Court, with his brightenthusiasms and fine exaltations had loved her. She had never taken himvery seriously but none the less it had been very sweet to know hiswhole universe depended upon the nod of her head, and that herinfluence over him had been so potent, had kept him clean and loyal andhonest. 

And after this Corthell and Jadwin had come into her life, the artistand the man of affairs. She remembered Corthell's quiet, patient, earnest devotion of those days before her marriage. He rarely spoke toher of his love, but by some ingenious subtlety he had filled her wholelife with it. His little attentions, his undemonstrative solicitudescame precisely when and where they were most appropriate. He had neverfailed her. Whenever she had needed him, or even, when through capriceor impulse she had turned to him, it always had been to find that longsince he had carefully prepared for that very contingency. Histhoughtfulness of her had been a thing to wonder at. He remembered formonths, years even, her most trivial fancies, her unexpressed dislikes. He knew her tastes, as if by instinct; he prepared little surprises forher, and placed them in her way without ostentation, and quite asmatters of course. He never permitted her to be embarrassed; the littleannoying situations of the day's life he had smoothed away long beforethey had ensnared her. He never was off his guard, never disturbed, never excited. 

And he amused her, he entertained her without seeming to do so. He madeher talk; he made her think. He stimulated and aroused her, so that sheherself talked and thought with a brilliancy that surprised herself. Infine, he had so contrived that she associated him with everything thatwas agreeable. 

She had sent him away the first time, and he had gone without a murmur;only to come back loyal as ever, silent, watchful, sympathetic, hislove for her deeper, stronger than before, and--as alwaystimely--bringing to her a companionship at the moment of all otherswhen she was most alone. 

Now she had driven him from her again, and this time, she very wellknew, it was to be forever. She had shut the door upon this great love. 

Laura stirred abruptly in her place, adjusting her hair with nervousfingers. 

And, last of all, it had been Jadwin, her husband. She rose and went tothe window, and stood there a long moment, looking off into the nightover the park. It was warm and very still. A few carriage lampsglimpsed among the trees like fireflies. Along the walks and upon thebenches she could see the glow of white dresses and could catch thesound of laughter. Far off somewhere in the shrubbery, she thought sheheard a band playing. To the northeast lay the lake, shimmering underthe moon, dotted here and there with the coloured lights of steamers. 

She turned back into the room. The great house was still. From all itssuites of rooms, its corridors, galleries, and hallways there came nosound. There was no one upon the same floor as herself. She had readall her books. It was too late to go out--and there was no one to gowith. To go to bed was ridiculous. She was never more wakeful, nevermore alive, never more ready to be amused, diverted, entertained. 

She thought of the organ, and descending to the art gallery, playedBach, Palestrina, and Stainer for an hour; then suddenly she startedfrom the console, with a sharp, impatient movement of her head. 

"Why do I play this stupid music?" she exclaimed. She called a servantand asked:

"Has Mr. Jadwin come in yet?"

"Mr. Gretry just this minute telephoned that Mr. Jadwin would not behome to-night. "

When the servant had gone out Laura, her lips compressed, flung up herhead. Her hands shut to hard fists, her eye flashed. Rigid, erect inthe middle of the floor, her arms folded, she uttered a smotheredexclamation over and over again under her breath. 

All at once anger mastered her--anger and a certain defiantrecklessness, an abrupt spirit of revolt. She straightened herselfsuddenly, as one who takes a decision. Then, swiftly, she went out ofthe art gallery, and, crossing the hallway, entered the library andopened a great writing-desk that stood in a recess under a smallstained window. 

She pulled the sheets of note paper towards her and wrote a shortletter, directing the envelope to Sheldon Corthell, The Fine ArtsBuilding, Michigan Avenue. 

"Call a messenger, " she said to the servant who answered her ring, "andhave him take--or send him in here when he comes. "

She rested the letter against the inkstand, and leaned back in herchair, looking at it, her fingers plucking swiftly at the lace of herdress. Her head was in a whirl. A confusion of thoughts, impulses, desires, half-formed resolves, half-named regrets, swarmed and spunabout her. She felt as though she had all at once taken a leap--a leapwhich had landed her in a place whence she could see a new and terriblecountry, an unfamiliar place--terrible, yet beautiful--unexplored, andfor that reason all the more inviting, a place of shadows. 

Laura rose and paced the floor, her hands pressed together over herheart. She was excited, her cheeks flushed, a certain breathlessexhilaration came and went within her breast, and in place of theintolerable ennui of the last days, there came over her a sudden, analmost wild animation, and from out her black eyes there shot a kind offurious gaiety. 

But she was aroused by a step at the door. The messenger stood there, afigure ridiculously inadequate for the intensity of all that wasinvolved in the issue of the hour--a weazened, stunted boy, in auniform many sizes too large. 

Laura, seated at her desk, held the note towards him resolutely. Nowwas no time to hesitate, to temporise. If she did not hold to herresolve now, what was there to look forward to? Could one's life beemptier than hers--emptier, more intolerable, more humiliating?

"Take this note to that address, " she said, putting the envelope and acoin in the boy's hand. "Wait for an answer. "

The boy shut the letter in his book, which he thrust into his breastpocket, buttoning his coat over it. He nodded and turned away. 

Still seated, Laura watched him moving towards the door. Well, it wasover now. She had chosen. She had taken the leap. What new life was tobegin for her to-morrow? What did it all mean? With an inconceivablerapidity her thoughts began racing through, her brain. 

She did not move. Her hands, gripped tight together, rested upon thedesk before her. Without turning her head, she watched the retreatingmessenger, from under her lashes. He passed out of the door, thecurtain fell behind him. 

And only then, when the irrevocableness of the step was all but anaccomplished fact, came the reaction. 

"Stop!" she cried, springing up. "Stop! Come back here. Wait a moment. "

What had happened? She could neither understand nor explain. Somehow aninstant of clear vision had come, and in that instant a power withinher that was herself and not herself, and laid hold upon her will. No, no, she could not, she could not, after all. She took the note back. 

"I have changed my mind, " she said, abruptly. "You may keep the money. There is no message to be sent. "

As soon as the boy had gone she opened the envelope and read what shehad written. But now the words seemed the work of another mind than herown. They were unfamiliar; they were not the words of the Laura Jadwinshe knew. Why was it that from the very first hours of her acquaintancewith this man, and in every circumstance of their intimacy, she hadalways acted upon impulse? What was there in him that called into beingall that was reckless in her?

And for how long was she to be able to control these impulses? Thistime she had prevailed once more against that other impetuous self ofhers. Would she prevail the next time? And in these struggles, was shegrowing stronger as she overcame, or weaker? She did not know. She torethe note into fragments, and making a heap of them in the pen tray, burned them carefully. 

During the week following upon this, Laura found her trouble more thanever keen. She was burdened with a new distress. The incident of thenote to Corthell, recalled at the last moment, had opened her eyes topossibilities of the situation hitherto unguessed. She saw now what shemight be capable of doing in a moment of headstrong caprice, she sawdepths in her nature she had not plumbed. Whether these hidden pitfallswere peculiarly hers, or whether they were common to all women placedas she now found herself, she did not pause to inquire. She thoughtonly of results, and she was afraid. 

But for the matter of that, Laura had long since passed the point ofdeliberate consideration or reasoned calculation. The reaction had beenas powerful as the original purpose, and she was even yet strugglingblindly, intuitively. 

For what she was now about to do she could give no reason, and themotives for this final and supreme effort to conquer the league ofcircumstances which hemmed her in were obscure. She did not even askwhat they were. She knew only that she was in trouble, and yet it wasto the cause of her distress that she addressed herself. Blindly sheturned to her husband; and all the woman in her roused itself, girdeditself, called up its every resource in one last test, in one ultimatetrial of strength between her and the terrible growing power of thatblind, soulless force that roared and guttered and sucked, down therein the midst of the city. 

She alone, one unaided woman, her only auxiliaries her beauty, her wit, and the frayed, strained bands of a sorely tried love, stood forth likea challenger, against Charybdis, joined battle with the Cloaca, heldback with her slim, white hands against the power of the maelstrom thatswung the Nations in its grip. 

In the solitude of her room she took the resolve. Her troubles weremultiplying; she, too, was in the current, the end of which was apit--a pit black and without bottom. Once already its grip had seizedher, once already she had yielded to the insidious drift. Now suddenlyaware of a danger, she fought back, and her hands beating the air forhelp, turned towards the greatest strength she knew. 

"I want my husband, " she cried, aloud, to the empty darkness of thenight. "I want my husband. I will have him; he is mine, he is mine. There shall nothing take me from him; there shall nothing take him fromme. "

Her first opportunity came upon a Sunday soon afterward. Jadwin, wakeful all the Saturday night, slept a little in the forenoon, andafter dinner Laura came to him in his smoking-room, as he lay on theleather lounge trying to read. His wife seated herself at awriting-table in a corner of the room, and by and by began turning theslips of a calendar that stood at her elbow. At last she tore off oneof the slips and held it up. 

"Curtis. "

"Well, old girl?"

"Do you see that date?"

He looked over to her. 

"Do you see that date? Do you know of anything that makes that daydifferent--a little--from other days? It's June thirteenth. Do youremember what June thirteenth is?"

Puzzled, he shook his head. 

"No--no. "

Laura took up a pen and wrote a few words in the space above theprinted figures reserved for memoranda. Then she handed the slip to herhusband, who read aloud what she had written. 

"'Laura Jadwin's birthday. ' Why, upon my word, " he declared, sittingupright. "So it is, so it is. June thirteenth, of course. And I wasbeast enough not to realise it. Honey, I can't remember anything thesedays, it seems. "

"But you are going to remember this time?" she said. "You are not goingto forget it now. That evening is going to mark the beginning of--oh, Curtis, it is going to be a new beginning of everything. You'll see. I'm going to manage it. I don't know how, but you are going to love meso that nothing, no business, no money, no wheat will ever keep youfrom me. I will make you. And that evening, that evening of Junethirteenth is mine. The day your business can have you, but from sixo'clock on you are mine. " She crossed the room quickly and took bothhis hands in hers and knelt beside him. "It is mine, " she said, "if youlove me. Do you understand, dear? You will come home at six o'clock, and whatever happens--oh, if all La Salle Street should burn to theground, and all your millions of bushels of wheat with it--whateverhappens, you--will--not--leave--me--nor think of anything else but justme, me. That evening is mine, and you will give it to me, just as Ihave said. I won't remind you of it again. I won't speak of it again. Iwill leave it to you. But--you will give me that evening if you loveme. Dear, do you see just what I mean? . .. If you love me. .. . No--nodon't say a word, we won't talk about it at all. No, no, please. Notanother word. I don't want you to promise, or pledge yourself, oranything like that. You've heard what I said--and that's all there isabout it. We'll talk of something else. By the way, have you seen Mr. Cressler lately?"

"No, " he said, falling into her mood. "No haven't seen Charlie in overa month. Wonder what's become of him?"

"I understand he's been sick, " she told him. "I met Mrs. Cressler theother day, and she said she was bothered about him. "

"Well, what's the matter with old Charlie?"

"She doesn't know, herself. He's not sick enough to go to bed, but hedoesn't or won't go down town to his business. She says she can see himgrowing thinner every day. He keeps telling her he's all right, but forall that, she says, she's afraid he's going to come down with some kindof sickness pretty soon. "

"Say, " said Jadwin, "suppose we drop around to see them this afternoon?Wouldn't you like to? I haven't seen him in over a month, as I say. Ortelephone them to come up and have dinner. Charlie's about as old afriend as I have. We used to be together about every hour of the daywhen we first came to Chicago. Let's go over to see him this afternoonand cheer him up. "

"No, " said Laura, decisively. "Curtis, you must have one day of restout of the week. You are going to lie down all the rest of theafternoon, and sleep if you can. I'll call on them to-morrow. "

"Well, all right, " he assented. "I suppose I ought to sleep if I can. And then Sam is coming up here, by five. He's going to bring somerailroad men with him. We've got a lot to do. Yes, I guess, old girl, I'll try to get forty winks before they get here. And, Laura, " headded, taking her hand as she rose to go, "Laura, this is the last lap. In just another month now--oh, at the outside, six weeks--I'll haveclosed the corner, and then, old girl, you and I will go somewheres, anywhere you like, and then we'll have a good time together all therest of our lives--all the rest of our lives, honey. Good-by. Now Ithink I can go to sleep. "

She arranged the cushions under his head and drew the curtains closeover the windows, and went out, softly closing the door behind her. Anda half hour later, when she stole in to look at him, she found himasleep at last, the tired eyes closed, and the arm, with its broad, strong hand, resting under his head. She stood a long moment in themiddle of the room, looking down at him; and then slipped out asnoiselessly as she had come, the tears trembling on her eyelashes. 

Laura Jadwin did not call on the Cresslers the next day, nor even thenext after that. For three days she kept indoors, held prisoner by aseries of petty incidents; now the delay in the finishing of her newgowns, now by the excessive heat, now by a spell of rain. By Thursday, however, at the beginning of the second week of the month, the stormwas gone, and the sun once more shone. Early in the afternoon Lauratelephoned to Mrs. Cressler. 

"How are you and Mr. Cressler?" she asked. "I'm coming over to takeluncheon with you and your husband, if you will let me. "

"Oh, Charlie is about the same, Laura, " answered Mrs. Cressler's voice. "I guess the dear man has been working too hard, that's all. Do comeover and cheer him up. If I'm not here when you come, you just makeyourself at home. I've got to go down town to see about railroadtickets and all. I'm going to pack my old man right off to Oconomowocbefore I'm another day older. Made up my mind to it last night, and Idon't want him to be bothered with tickets or time cards, or baggage oranything. I'll run down and do it all myself. You come right upwhenever you're ready and keep Charlie company. How's your husband, Laura child?"

"Oh, Curtis is well, " she answered. "He gets very tired at times. "

"Well, I can understand it. Lands alive, child whatever are you goingto do with all your money? They tell me that J. Has made millions inthe last three or four months. A man I was talking to last week saidhis corner was the greatest thing ever known on the Chicago Board ofTrade. Well, good-by, Laura, come up whenever you're ready. I'll seeyou at lunch. Charlie is right here. He says to give you his love. " Anhour later Laura's victoria stopped in front of the Cressler's house, and the little footman descended with the agility of a monkey, tostand, soldier-like, at the steps, the lap robe over his arm. 

Laura gave orders to have the victoria call for her at three, and ranquickly up the front steps. The front entrance was open, the screendoor on the latch, and she entered without ceremony. 

"Mrs. Cressler!" she called, as she stood in the hallway drawing offher gloves. "Mrs. Cressler! Carrie, have you gone yet?"

But the maid, Annie, appeared at the head of the stairs, on the landingof the second floor, a towel bound about her head, her duster in herhand. 

"Mrs. Cressler has gone out, Mrs. Jadwin, " she said. "She said you wasto make yourself at home, and she'd be back by noon. "

Laura nodded, and standing before the hatrack in the hall, took off herhat and gloves, and folded her veil into her purse. The house wasold-fashioned, very homelike and spacious, cool, with broad halls andwide windows. In the "front library, " where Laura entered first, weresteel engravings of the style of the seventies, "whatnots" crowded withshells, Chinese coins, lacquer boxes, and the inevitable sawfish bill. The mantel was mottled white marble, and its shelf bore the usualbronze and gilt clock, decorated by a female figure in classicdraperies, reclining against a globe. An oil painting of a mountainlandscape hung against one wall; and on a table of black walnut, with ared marble slab, that stood between the front windows, were astereoscope and a rosewood music box. 

The piano, an old style Chickering, stood diagonally across the farcorner of the room, by the closed sliding doors, and Laura sat downhere and began to play the "Mephisto Walzer, " which she had been atpains to learn since the night Corthell had rendered it on her greatorgan in the art gallery. 

But when she had played as much as she could remember of the music, sherose and closed the piano, and pushed back the folding doors betweenthe room she was in and the "back library, " a small room where Mrs. Cressler kept her books of poetry. 

As Laura entered the room she was surprised to see Mr. Cressler there, seated in his armchair, his back turned toward her. 

"Why, I didn't know you were here, Mr. Cressler, " she said, as she cameup to him. 

She laid her hand upon his arm. But Cressler was dead; and as Lauratouched him the head dropped upon the shoulder and showed the bullethole in the temple, just in front of the ear. 

X

The suicide of Charles Cressler had occurred on the tenth of June, andthe report of it, together with the wretched story of his friend'sfinal surrender to a temptation he had never outlived, reached CurtisJadwin early on the morning of the eleventh. 

He and Gretry were at their accustomed places in the latter's office, and the news seemed to shut out all the sunshine that had been floodingin through the broad plate-glass windows. After their first incoherenthorror, the two sat staring at each other, speechless. 

"My God, my God, " groaned Jadwin, as if in the throes of a deadlysickness. "He was in the Crookes' ring, and we never knew it--I'vekilled him, Sam. I might as well have held that pistol myself. " Hestamped his foot, striking his fist across his forehead, "Great God--mybest friend--Charlie--Charlie Cressler! Sam, I shall go mad if this--ifthis--"

"Steady, steady does it, J. , " warned the broker, his hand upon hisshoulder, "we got to keep a grip on ourselves to-day. We've got a lotto think of. We'll think about Charlie, later. Just now . .. Well it'sbusiness now. Mathewson & Knight have called on us for margins--twentythousand dollars. "

He laid the slip down in front of Jadwin, as he sat at his desk. 

"Oh, this can wait?" exclaimed Jadwin. "Let it go till this afternoon. I can't talk business now. Think of Carrie--Mrs. Cressler, I--"

"No, " answered Gretry, reflectively and slowly, looking anywhere but inJadwin's face. "N--no, I don't think we'd better wait. I think we'dbetter meet these margin calls promptly. It's always better to keep ourtrades margined up. "

Jadwin faced around. 

"Why, " he cried, "one would think, to hear you talk, as though therewas danger of me busting here at any hour. "

Gretry did not answer. There was a moment's silence Then the brokercaught his principal's eye and held it a second. 

"Well, " he answered, "you saw how freely they sold to us in the Pityesterday. We've got to buy, and buy and buy, to keep our price up; andlook here, look at these reports from our correspondents--everythingpoints to a banner crop. There's been an increase of acreageeverywhere, because of our high prices. See this from Travers"--hepicked up a despatch and read: "'Preliminary returns of spring wheat intwo Dakotas, subject to revision, indicate a total area seeded ofsixteen million acres, which added to area in winter wheat states, makes total of forty-three million, or nearly four million acresgreater than last year. '"

"Lot of damned sentiment, " cried Jadwin, refusing to be convinced. "Two-thirds of that wheat won't grade, and Europe will take nearly allof it. What we ought to do is to send our men into the Pit and buyanother million, buy more than these fools can offer. Buy 'em to astandstill. "

"That takes a big pile of money then, " said the broker. "More than wecan lay our hands on this morning. The best we can do is to take allthe Bears are offering, and support the market. The moment they offerus wheat and we don't buy it, that moment--as you know, yourself--they'll throw wheat at you by the train load, and the pricewill break, and we with it. "

"Think we'll get rid of much wheat to-day?" demanded Jadwin. 

By now it had became vitally necessary for Jadwin to sell out hisholdings. His "long line" was a fearful expense, insurance and storagecharges were eating rapidly into the profits. He must get rid of theload he was carrying, little by little. To do this at a profit, he hadadopted the expedient of flooding the Pit with buying orders justbefore the close of the session, and then as the price rose under thisstimulus, selling quickly, before it had time to break. At first thishad succeeded. But of late he must buy more and more to keep the priceup, while the moment that he began to sell, the price began to drop; sothat now, in order to sell one bushel, he must buy two. 

"Think we can unload much on 'em to-day?" repeated Jadwin. 

"I don't know, " answered Gretry, slowly and thoughtfully. "Perhaps--there's a chance--. Frankly, J. , I don't think we can. ThePit is taking heart, that's the truth of it. Those fellows are not soscared of us as they were a while ago. It's the new crop, as I've saidover and over again. We've put wheat so high, that all the farmers haveplanted it, and are getting ready to dump it on us. The Pit knows that, of course. Why, just think, they are harvesting in some places. Thesefellows we've caught in the corner will be able to buy all the wheatthey want from the farmers if they can hold out a little longer. Andthat Government report yesterday showed that the growing wheat is ingood condition. "

"Nothing of the sort. It was a little over eighty-six. "

"Good enough, " declared Gretry, "good enough so that it broke the pricedown to a dollar and twenty. Just think, we were at a dollar and a halfa little while ago. "

"And we'll be at two dollars in another ten days, I tell you. "

"Do you know how we stand, J. ?" said the broker gravely. "Do you knowhow we stand--financially? It's taken pretty nearly every cent of ourready money to support this July market. Oh, we can figure out ourpaper profits into the millions. We've got thirty, forty, fifty millionbushels of wheat that's worth over a dollar a bushel, but if we can'tsell it, we're none the better off--and that wheat is costing us sixthousand dollars a day. Hell, old man, where's the money going to comefrom? You don't seem to realise that we are in a precarious condition. "He raised an arm, and pointed above him in the direction of the floorof the Board of Trade. 

"The moment we can't give our boys--Landry Court, and the rest of'em--the moment we can't give them buying orders, that Pit will suck usdown like a chip. The moment we admit that we can't buy all the wheatthat's offered, there's the moment we bust. "

"Well, we'll buy it, " cried Jadwin, through his set teeth. "I'll showthose brutes. Look here, is it money we want? You cable to Paris andoffer two million, at--oh, at eight cents below the market; and toLiverpool, and let 'em have twopence off on the same amount. They'llsnap it up as quick as look at it. That will bring in one lot of money, and as for the rest, I guess I've got some real estate in this townthat's pretty good security. "

"What--you going to mortgage part of that?"

"No, " cried Jadwin, jumping up with a quick impatient gesture, "no, I'mgoing to mortgage all of it, and I'm going to do it to-day--thismorning. If you say we're in a precarious condition, it's no time forhalf measures. I'll have more money than you'll know what to do with inthe Illinois Trust by three o'clock this afternoon, and when the Boardopens to-morrow morning, I'm going to light into those cattle in thePit there, so as they'll think a locomotive has struck 'em. They'dstand me off, would they? They'd try to sell me down; they won't coverwhen I turn the screw! I'll show 'em, Sam Gretry. I'll run wheat up sohigh before the next two days, that the Bank of England can't pull itdown, and before the Pit can catch its breath, I'll sell our long line, and with the profits of that, by God! I'll run it up again. Twodollars! Why, it will be two fifty here so quick you won't know howit's happened. I've just been fooling with this crowd until now. Now, I'm really going to get down to business. "

Gretry did not answer. He twirled his pencil between his fingers, andstared down at the papers on his desk. Once he started to speak, butchecked himself. Then at last he turned about. 

"All right, " he said, briskly. "We'll see what that will do. "

"I'm going over to the Illinois Trust now, " said Jadwin, putting on hishat. "When your boys come in for their orders, tell them for to-dayjust to support the market. If there's much wheat offered they'd betterbuy it. Tell them not to let the market go below a dollar twenty. WhenI come back we'll make out those cables. "

That day Jadwin carried out his programme so vehemently announced tohis broker. Upon every piece of real estate that he owned he placed asheavy a mortgage as the property would stand. Even his old house onMichigan Avenue, even the "homestead" on North State Street wereencumbered. The time was come, he felt, for the grand coup, the lasthuge strategical move, the concentration of every piece of heavyartillery. Never in all his multitude of operations on the ChicagoBoard of Trade had he failed. He knew he would not fail now; Luck, thegolden goddess, still staid at his shoulder. He did more than mortgagehis property; he floated a number of promissory notes. His credit, always unimpeachable, he taxed to its farthest stretch; from everysource he gathered in the sinews of the war he was waging. No sum wastoo great to daunt him, none too small to be overlooked. Reserves, vanand rear, battle line and skirmish outposts he summoned together toform one single vast column of attack. 

It was on this same day while Jadwin, pressed for money, was leaving nostone unturned to secure ready cash, that he came across old Hargus inhis usual place in Gretry's customers' room, reading a two days oldnewspaper. Of a sudden an idea occurred to Jadwin. He took the old manaside. "Hargus, " he said, "do you want a good investment for yourmoney, that money I turned over to you? I can give you a better ratethan the bank, and pretty good security. Let me have about a hundredthousand at--oh, ten per cent. "

"Hey--what?" asked the old fellow querulously. Jadwin repeated hisrequest. 

But Hargus cast a suspicious glance at him and drew away. 

"I--I don't lend my money, " he observed. 

"Why--you old fool, " exclaimed Jadwin. "Here, is it more interest youwant? Why, we'll say fifteen per cent. , if you like. "

"I don't lend my money, " exclaimed Hargus, shaking his head. "I ain'tgot any to lend, " and with the words took himself off. 

One source of help alone Jadwin left untried. Sorely tempted, henevertheless kept himself from involving his wife's money in thehazard. Laura, in her own name, was possessed of a little fortune; sureas he was of winning, Jadwin none the less hesitated from seeking anauxiliary here. He felt it was a matter of pride. He could not bringhimself to make use of a woman's succour. 

But his entire personal fortune now swung in the balance. It was thelast fight, the supreme attempt--the final consummate assault, and thethrill of a victory more brilliant, more conclusive, more decisive thanany he had ever known, vibrated in Jadwin's breast, as he went to andfro in Jackson, Adams, and La Salle streets all through that day of theeleventh. 

But he knew the danger--knew just how terrible was to be the grapple. Once that same day a certain detail of business took him near to theentrance of the Floor. Though he did not so much as look inside thedoors, he could not but hear the thunder of the Pit; and even in thatmoment of confidence, his great triumph only a few hours distant, Jadwin, for the instant, stood daunted. The roar was appalling, thewhirlpool was again unchained, the maelstrom was again unleashed. Andduring the briefest of seconds he could fancy that the familiar bellowof its swirling, had taken on another pitch. Out of that hideousturmoil, he imagined, there issued a strange unwonted note; as it were, the first rasp and grind of a new avalanche just beginning to stir, adiapason more profound than any he had yet known, a hollow distantbourdon as of the slipping and sliding of some almighty and chaoticpower. 

It was the Wheat, the Wheat! It was on the move again. From the farmsof Illinois and Iowa, from the ranches of Kansas and Nebraska, from allthe reaches of the Middle West, the Wheat, like a tidal wave, wasrising, rising. Almighty, blood-brother to the earthquake, coeval withthe volcano and the whirlwind, that gigantic world-force, that colossalbillow, Nourisher of the Nations, was swelling and advancing. 

There in the Pit its first premonitory eddies already swirled and spun. If even the first ripples of the tide smote terribly upon the heart, what was it to be when the ocean itself burst through, on its eternalway from west to east? For an instant came clear vision. What werethese shouting, gesticulating men of the Board of Trade, these brokers, traders, and speculators? It was not these he fought, it was that fatalNew Harvest; it was the Wheat; it was--as Gretry had said--the veryEarth itself. What were those scattered hundreds of farmers of theMiddle West, who because he had put the price so high had planted thegrain as never before? What had they to do with it? Why the Wheat hadgrown itself; demand and supply, these were the two great laws theWheat obeyed. Almost blasphemous in his effrontery, he had tamperedwith these laws, and had roused a Titan. He had laid his puny humangrasp upon Creation and the very earth herself, the great mother, feeling the touch of the cobweb that the human insect had spun, hadstirred at last in her sleep and sent her omnipotence moving throughthe grooves of the world, to find and crush the disturber of herappointed courses. 

The new harvest was coming in; the new harvest of wheat, huge beyondpossibility of control; so vast that no money could buy it, so swiftthat no strategy could turn it. But Jadwin hurried away from the soundof the near roaring of the Pit. No, no. Luck was with him; he hadmastered the current of the Pit many times before--he would master itagain. The day passed and the night, and at nine o'clock the followingmorning, he and Gretry once more met in the broker's office. 

Gretry turned a pale face upon his principal. 

"I've just received, " he said, "the answers to our cables to Liverpooland Paris. I offered wheat at both places, as you know, cheaper thanwe've ever offered it there before. "

"Yes--well?"

"Well, " answered Gretry, looking gravely into Jadwin's eyes, "well--they won't take it. "

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

On the morning of her birthday--the thirteenth of the month--when Lauradescended to the breakfast room, she found Page already there. Thoughit was barely half-past seven, her sister was dressed for the street. She wore a smart red hat, and as she stood by the French windows, looking out, she drew her gloves back and forth between her fingers, with a nervous, impatient gesture. 

"Why, " said Laura, as she sat down at her place, "why, Pagie, what isin the wind to-day?"

"Landry is coming, " Page explained, facing about and glancing at thewatch pinned to her waist. "He is going to take me down to see theBoard of Trade--from the visitor's gallery, you know. He said thiswould probably be a great day. Did Mr. Jadwin come home last night?"

Laura shook her head, without speech. She did not choose to put intowords the fact that for three days--with the exception of an hour ortwo, on the evening after that horrible day of her visit to theCresslers' house--she had seen nothing of her husband. 

"Landry says, " continued Page, "that it is awful--down there, thesedays. He says that it is the greatest fight in the history of La SalleStreet. Has Mr. Jadwin, said anything to you? Is he going to win?"

"I don't know, " answered Laura, in a low voice; "I don't know anythingabout it, Page. "

She was wondering if even Page had forgotten. When she had come intothe room, her first glance had been towards her place at table. Butthere was nothing there, not even so much as an envelope; and no onehad so much as wished her joy of the little anniversary. She hadthought Page might have remembered, but her sister's next words showedthat she had more on her mind than birthdays. 

"Laura, " she began, sitting down opposite to her, and unfolding hernapkin, with laborious precision. "Laura--Landry and I--Well . .. We'regoing to be married in the fall. "

"Why, Pagie, " cried Laura, "I'm just as glad as I can be for you. He'sa fine, clean fellow, and I know he will make you a good husband. "

Page drew a deep breath. 

"Well, " she said, "I'm glad you think so, too. Before you and Mr. Jadwin were married, I wasn't sure about having him care for me, because at that time--well--" Page looked up with a queer little smile, "I guess you could have had him--if you had wanted to. "

"Oh, that, " cried Laura. "Why, Landry never really cared for me. It wasall the silliest kind of flirtation. The moment he knew you better, Istood no chance at all. "

"We're going to take an apartment on Michigan Avenue, near theAuditorium, " said Page, "and keep house. We've talked it all over, andknow just how much it will cost to live and keep one servant. I'm goingto serve the loveliest little dinners; I've learned the kind of cookinghe likes already. Oh, I guess there he is now, " she cried, as theyheard the front door close. 

Landry came in, carrying a great bunch of cut flowers, and a box ofcandy. He was as spruce as though he were already the bridegroom, hischeeks pink, his blonde hair radiant. But he was thin and a littleworn, a dull feverish glitter came and went in his eyes, and hisnervousness, the strain and excitement which beset him were in hisevery gesture, in every word of his rapid speech. 

"We'll have to hurry, " he told Page. "I must be down there hours aheadof time this morning. "

"How is Curtis?" demanded Laura. "Have you seen him lately? How is hegetting on with--with his speculating?"

Landry made a sharp gesture of resignation. 

"I don't know, " he answered. "I guess nobody knows. We had a fearfulday yesterday, but I think we controlled the situation at the end. Weran the price up and up and up till I thought it would never stop. Ifthe Pit thought Mr. Jadwin was beaten, I guess they found out how theywere mistaken. For a time there, we were just driving them. But thenMr. Gretry sent word to us in the Pit to sell, and we couldn't holdthem. They came back at us like wolves; they beat the price down fivecents, in as many minutes. We had to quit selling, and buy again. Butthen Mr. Jadwin went at them with a rush. Oh, it was grand! We steadiedthe price at a dollar and fifteen, stiffened it up to eighteen and ahalf, and then sent it up again, three cents at a time, till we'dhammered it back to a dollar and a quarter. "

"But Curtis himself, " inquired Laura, "is he all right, is he well?"

"I only saw him once, " answered Landry. "He was in Mr. Gretry's office. Yes, he looked all right. He's nervous, of course. But Mr. Gretry lookslike the sick man. He looks all frazzled out. "

"I guess, we'd better be going, " said Page, getting up from the table. "Have you had your breakfast, Landry? Won't you have some coffee?"

"Oh, I breakfasted hours ago, " he answered. "But you are right. We hadbetter be moving. If you are going to get a seat in the gallery, youmust be there half an hour ahead of time, to say the least. Shall Itake any word to your husband from you, Mrs. Jadwin?"

"Tell him that I wish him good luck, " she answered, "and--yes, ask him, if he remembers what day of the month this is--or no, don't ask himthat. Say nothing about it. Just tell him I send him my very best love, and that I wish him all the success in the world. "

It was about nine o'clock, when Landry and Page reached the foot of LaSalle Street. The morning was fine and cool. The sky over the Board ofTrade sparkled with sunlight, and the air was full of fluttering wingsof the multitude of pigeons that lived upon the leakage of grain aroundthe Board of Trade building. 

"Mr. Cressler used to feed them regularly, " said Landry, as they pausedon the street corner opposite the Board. "Poor--poor Mr. Cressler--thefuneral is to-morrow, you know. "

Page shut her eyes. 

"Oh, " she murmured, "think, think of Laura finding him there like that. Oh, it would have killed me, it would have killed me. "

"Somehow, " observed Landry, a puzzled expression in his eyes, "somehow, by George! she don't seem to mind very much. You'd have thought a shocklike that would have made her sick. "

"Oh! Laura, " cried Page. "I don't know her any more these days, she isjust like stone--just as though she were crowding down every emotion orany feeling she ever had. She seems to be holding herself in with allher strength--for something--and afraid to let go a finger, for fearshe would give way altogether. When she told me about that morning atthe Cresslers' house, her voice was just like ice; she said, 'Mr. Cressler has shot himself. I found him dead in his library. ' She nevershed a tear, and she spoke, oh, in such a terrible monotone. Oh! dear, "cried Page, "I wish all this was over, and we could all get away fromChicago, and take Mr. Jadwin with us, and get him back to be as he usedto be, always so light-hearted, and thoughtful and kindly. He used tobe making jokes from morning till night. Oh, I loved him just as if hewere my father. "

They crossed the street, and Landry, taking her by the arm, ushered herinto the corridor on the ground floor of the Board. 

"Now, keep close to me, " he said, "and see if we can get throughsomewhere here. "

The stairs leading up to the main floor were already crowded withvisitors, some standing in line close to the wall, others aimlesslywandering up and down, looking and listening, their heads in the air. One of these, a gentleman with a tall white hat, shook his head atLandry and Page, as they pressed by him. 

"You can't get up there, " he said, "even if they let you in. They'repacked in like sardines already. "

But Landry reassured Page with a knowing nod of his head. 

"I told the guide up in the gallery to reserve a seat for you. I guesswe'll manage. "

But when they reached the staircase that connected the main floor withthe visitors' gallery, it became a question as to whether or not theycould even get to the seat. The crowd was packed solidly upon thestairs, between the wall and the balustrades. There were men in tophats, and women in silks; rough fellows of the poorer streets, andgaudily dressed queens of obscure neighborhoods, while mixed with theseone saw the faded and shabby wrecks that perennially drifted about theBoard of Trade, the failures who sat on the chairs of the customers'rooms day in and day out, reading old newspapers, smoking vile cigars. And there were young men of the type of clerks and bookkeepers, youngmen with drawn, worn faces, and hot, tired eyes, who pressed upward, silent, their lips compressed, listening intently to the indefiniteechoing murmur that was filling the building. 

For on this morning of the thirteenth of June, the Board of Trade, itshalls, corridors, offices, and stairways were already thrilling with avague and terrible sound. It was only a little after nine o'clock. Thetrading would not begin for another half hour, but, even now, themutter of the whirlpool, the growl of the Pit was making itself felt. The eddies were gathering; the thousands of subsidiary torrents thatfed the cloaca were moving. From all over the immediate neighborhoodthey came, from the offices of hundreds of commission houses, frombrokers' offices, from banks, from the tall, grey buildings of La SalleStreet, from the street itself. And even from greater distances theycame; auxiliary currents set in from all the reach of the GreatNorthwest, from Minneapolis, Duluth, and Milwaukee. From the Southwest, St. Louis, Omaha, and Kansas City contributed to the volume. TheAtlantic Seaboard, New York, and Boston and Philadelphia sent out theirtributary streams; London, Liverpool, Paris, and Odessa merged theirinfluences with the vast world-wide flowing that bore down uponChicago, and that now began slowly, slowly to centre and circle aboutthe Wheat Pit of the Board of Trade. 

Small wonder that the building to Page's ears vibrated to a strange andominous humming. She heard it in the distant clicking of telegraphkeys, in the echo of hurried whispered conversations held in darkcorners, in the noise of rapid footsteps, in the trilling of telephonebells. These sounds came from all around her; they issued from theoffices of the building below her, above her and on either side. Shewas surrounded with them, and they mingled together to form oneprolonged and muffled roar, that from moment to moment increased involume. 

The Pit was getting under way; the whirlpool was forming, and the soundof its courses was like the sound of the ocean in storm, heard at adistance. 

Page and Landry were still halfway up the last stairway. Above andbelow, the throng was packed dense and immobilised. But, little bylittle, Landry wormed a way for them, winning one step at a time. Buthe was very anxious; again and again he looked at his watch. At last hesaid:

"I've got to go. It's just madness for me to stay another minute. I'llgive you my card. "

"Well, leave me here, " Page urged. "It can't be helped. I'm all right. Give me your card. I'll tell the guide in the gallery that you kept theseat for me--if I ever can get there. You must go. Don't stay anotherminute. If you can, come for me here in the gallery, when it's over. I'll wait for you. But if you can't come, all right. I can take care ofmyself. "

He could but assent to this. This was no time to think of small things. He left her and bore back with all his might through the crowd, gainedthe landing at the turn of the balustrade, waved his hat to her anddisappeared. 

A quarter of an hour went by. Page, caught in the crowd, could neitheradvance nor retreat. Ahead of her, some twenty steps away, she couldsee the back rows of seats in the gallery. But they were alreadyoccupied. It seemed hopeless to expect to see anything of the floorthat day. But she could no longer extricate herself from the press;there was nothing to do but stay where she was. 

On every side of her she caught odds and ends of dialogues and scrapsof discussions, and while she waited she found an interest in listeningto these, as they reached her from time to time. 

"Well, " observed the man in the tall white hat, who had discouragedLandry from attempting to reach the gallery, "well, he's shaken 'em uppretty well. Whether he downs 'em or they down him, he's made a goodfight. "

His companion, a young man with eyeglasses, who wore a wonderful whitewaistcoat with queer glass buttons, assented, and Page heard him add:

"Big operator, that Jadwin. "

"They're doing for him now, though. "

"I ain't so sure. He's got another fight in him. You'll see. "

"Ever see him?"

"No, no, he don't come into the Pit--these big men never do. "

Directly in front of Page two women kept up an interminable discourse. 

"Well, " said the one, "that's all very well, but Mr. Jadwin made mysister-in-law--she lives in Dubuque, you know--a rich woman. She boughtsome wheat, just for fun, you know, a long time ago, and held on tillMr. Jadwin put the price up to four times what she paid for it. Thenshe sold out. My, you ought to see the lovely house she's building, andher son's gone to Europe, to study art, if you please, and a year ago, my dear, they didn't have a cent, not a cent, but her husband's salary. "

"There's the other side, too, though, " answered her companion, addingin a hoarse whisper: "If Mr. Jadwin fails to-day--well, honestly, Julia, I don't know what Philip will do. "

But, from another group at Page's elbow, a man's bass voice cut acrossthe subdued chatter of the two women. 

"'Guess we'll pull through, somehow. Burbank & Co. , though--by George!I'm not sure about them. They are pretty well involved in this thing, and there's two or three smaller firms that are dependent on them. IfGretry-Converse & Co. Should suspend, Burbank would go with a crashsure. And there's that bank in Keokuk; they can't stand much more. Their depositors would run 'em quick as how-do-you-do, if there was asmash here in Chicago. "

"Oh, Jadwin will pull through. "

"Well, I hope so--by Jingo! I hope so. Say, by the way, how did youcome out?"

"Me! Hoh! Say my boy, the next time I get into a wheat trade you'llknow it. I was one of the merry paretics who believed that Crookes wasthe Great Lum-tum. I tailed on to his clique. Lord love you! Jadwin putthe knife into me to the tune of twelve thousand dollars. But, say, look here; aren't we ever going to get up to that blame gallery? Weain't going to see any of this, and I--_hark!--by God! there goes thegong. _ They've begun. Say, say, hear 'em, will you! Holy Moses!say--listen to that! Did you ever hear--Lord! I wish we couldsee--could get somewhere where we could see something. "

His friend turned to him and spoke a sentence that was drowned in thesudden vast volume of sound that all at once shook the building. 

"Hey--what?"

The other shouted into his ear. But even then his friend could nothear. Nor did he listen. The crowd upon the staircases had surgedirresistibly forward and upward. There was a sudden outburst of cries. Women's voices were raised in expostulation, and even fear. 

"Oh, oh--don't push so!"

"My arm! oh!--oh, I shall faint . .. Please. "

But the men, their escorts, held back furiously; their faces purple, they shouted imprecations over their shoulders. 

"Here, here, you damn fools, what you doing?"

"Don't crowd so!"

"Get back, back!"

"There's a lady fainted here. Get back you! We'll all have a chance tosee. Good Lord! ain't there a policeman anywheres?"

"Say, say! It's going down--the price. It broke three cents, just then, at the opening, they say. "

"This is the worst I ever saw or heard of. "

"My God! if Jadwin can only hold 'em. 

"You bet he'll hold 'em. "

"Hold nothing!--Oh! say my friend, it don't do you any good to crowdlike that. "

"It's the people behind: I'm not doing it. Say, do you know wherethey're at on the floor? The wheat, I mean, is it going up or down?"

"Up, they tell me. There was a rally; I don't know. How can we tellhere? We--Hi! there they go again. Lord! that must have been a smash. Iguess the Board of Trade won't forget this day in a hurry. Heavens, youcan't hear yourself think!

"Glad I ain't down there in the Pit. "

But, at last, a group of policemen appeared. By main strength theyshouldered their way to the top of the stairs, and then began pushingthe crowd back. At every instant they shouted:

"Move on now, clear the stairway. No seats left!"

But at this Page, who, by the rush of the crowd had been carried almostto the top of the stairs, managed to extricate an arm from the press, and hold Landry's card in the air. She even hazarded a little deception:

"I have a pass. Will you let me through, please?"

Luckily one of the officers heard her. He bore down heavily with allthe mass of his two hundred pounds and the majesty of the law herepresented, to the rescue and succour of this very pretty girl. 

"Let the lady through, " he roared, forcing a passage with both elbows. "Come right along, Miss. Stand back you, now. Can't you see the ladyhas a pass? Now then, Miss, and be quick about it, I can't keep 'emback forever. "

Jostled and hustled, her dress crumpled, her hat awry, Page made herway forward, till the officer caught her by the arm, and pulled her outof the press. With a long breath she gained the landing of the gallery. 

The guide, an old fellow in a uniform of blue, with brass buttons and avisored cap, stood near by, and to him she presented Landry's card. 

"Oh, yes, oh, yes, " he shouted in her ear, after he had glanced itover. "You were the party Mr. Court spoke about. You just came in time. I wouldn't 'a dared hold your seat a minute longer. "

He led her down the crowded aisle between rows of theatre chairs, allof which were occupied, to one vacant seat in the very front row. 

"You can see everything, now, " he cried, making a trumpet of his palm. "You're Mister Jadwin's niece. I know, I know. Ah, it's a wild day, Miss. They ain't done much yet, and Mr. Jadwin's holding his own, justnow. But I thought for a moment they had him on the run. You seethat--my, my, there was a sharp rally. But he's holding on strong yet. "

Page took her seat, and leaning forward looked down into the Wheat Pit. 

Once free of the crowd after leaving Page, Landry ran with all theswiftness of his long legs down the stair, and through the corridorstill, all out of breath, he gained Gretry's private office. The otherPit traders for the house, some eight or ten men, were alreadyassembled, and just as Landry entered by one door, the broker himselfcame in from the customers' room. Jadwin was nowhere to be seen. 

"What are the orders for to-day, sir?"

Gretry was very pale. Despite his long experience on the Board ofTrade, Landry could see anxiety in every change of his expression, inevery motion of his hands. The broker before answering the questioncrossed the room to the water cooler and drank a brief swallow. Thenemptying the glass he refilled it, moistened his lips again, and againemptied and filled the goblet. He put it down, caught it up once more, filled it, emptied it, drinking now in long draughts, now in littlesips. He was quite unconscious of his actions, and Landry as hewatched, felt his heart sink. Things must, indeed, be at a desperatepass when Gretry, the calm, the clear-headed, the placid, was thusupset. 

"Your orders?" said the broker, at last. "The same as yesterday; keepthe market up--that's all. It must not go below a dollar fifteen. Butact on the defensive. Don't be aggressive, unless I send word. Therewill probably be very heavy selling the first few moments. You can buy, each of you, up to half a million bushels apiece. If that don't keepthe price up, if they still are selling after that . .. Well"; Gretrypaused a moment, irresolutely, "well, " he added suddenly, "if they arestill selling freely after you've each bought half a million, I'll letyou know what to do. And, look here, " he continued, facing the group, "look here--keep your heads cool . .. I guess to-day will decide things. Watch the Crookes crowd pretty closely. I understand they're up tosomething again. That's all, I guess. "

Landry and the other Gretry traders hurried from the office up to thefloor. Landry's heart was beating thick and slow and hard, his teethwere shut tight. Every nerve, every fibre of him braced itself with therigidity of drawn wire, to meet the issue of the impending hours. Now, was to come the last grapple. He had never lived through a crisis suchas this before. Would he prevail, would he keep his head? Would heavoid or balk the thousand and one little subterfuges, tricks, andtraps that the hostile traders would prepare for him--prepare with aquickness, a suddenness that all but defied the sharpest, keenestwatchfulness?

Was the gong never going to strike? He found himself, all at once, onthe edge of the Wheat Pit. It was jammed tight with the crowd oftraders and the excitement that disengaged itself from that tense, vehement crowd of white faces and glittering eyes was veritablysickening, veritably weakening. Men on either side of him were shoutingmere incoherencies, to which nobody, not even themselves, werelistening. Others silent, gnawed their nails to the quick, breathingrapidly, audibly even, their nostrils expanding and contracting. Allaround roared the vague thunder that since early morning had shaken thebuilding. In the Pit the bids leaped to and fro, though the time ofopening had not yet come; the very planks under foot seemed spinningabout in the first huge warning swirl of the Pit's centripetalconvulsion. There was dizziness in the air. Something, some infiniteimmeasurable power, onrushing in its eternal courses, shook the Pit inits grasp. Something deafened the ears, blinded the eyes, dulled andnumbed the mind, with its roar, with the chaff and dust of itswhirlwind passage, with the stupefying sense of its power, coeval withthe earthquake and glacier, merciless, all-powerful, a primal basicthroe of creation itself, unassailable, inviolate, and untamed. 

Had the trading begun? Had the gong struck? Landry never knew, never somuch as heard the clang of the great bell. All at once he was fighting;all at once he was caught, as it were, from off the stable earth, andflung headlong into the heart and centre of the Pit. What he did, hecould not say; what went on about him, he could not distinguish. Heonly knew that roar was succeeding roar, that there was crashingthrough his ears, through his very brain, the combined bellow of ahundred Niagaras. Hands clutched and tore at him, his own tore andclutched in turn. The Pit was mad, was drunk and frenzied; not a man ofall those who fought and scrambled and shouted who knew what he or hisneighbour did. They only knew that a support long thought to be securewas giving way; not gradually, not evenly, but by horrible collapses, and equally horrible upward leaps. Now it held, now it broke, now itreformed again, rose again, then again in hideous cataclysms fell frombeneath their feet to lower depths than before. The official reporterleaned back in his place, helpless. On the wall overhead, the indicatoron the dial was rocking back and forth, like the mast of a ship caughtin a monsoon. The price of July wheat no man could so much asapproximate. The fluctuations were no longer by fractions of a cent, but by ten cents, fifteen cents twenty-five cents at a time. On oneside of the Pit wheat sold at ninety cents, on the other at a dollarand a quarter. 

And all the while above the din upon the floor, above the tramplingsand the shoutings in the Pit, there seemed to thrill and swell thatappalling roar of the Wheat itself coming in, coming on like a tidalwave, bursting through, dashing barriers aside, rolling like ameasureless, almighty river, from the farms of Iowa and the ranches ofCalifornia, on to the East--to the bakeshops and hungry mouths ofEurope. 

Landry caught one of the Gretry traders by the arm. 

"What shall we do?" he shouted. "I've bought up to my limit. No moreorders have come in. The market has gone from under us. What's to bedone?"

"I don't know, " the other shouted back, "I don't know. We're all goneto hell; looks like the last smash. There are no more supportingorders--something's gone wrong. Gretry hasn't sent any word. "

Then, Landry, beside himself with excitement and with actual terror, hardly knowing even yet what he did, turned sharply about. He foughthis way out of the Pit; he ran hatless and panting across the floor, inand out between the groups of spectators, down the stairs to thecorridor below, and into the Gretry-Converse offices. 

In the outer office a group of reporters and the representatives of agreat commercial agency were besieging one of the heads of the firm. They assaulted him with questions. 

"Just tell us where you are at--that's all we want to know. "

"Just what is the price of July wheat?"

"Is Jadwin winning or losing?"

But the other threw out an arm in a wild gesture of helplessness. 

"We don't know, ourselves, " he cried. "The market has run clean awayfrom everybody. You know as much about it as I do. It's simply hellbroken loose, that's all. We can't tell where we are at for days tocome. "

Landry rushed on. He swung open the door of the private office andentered, slamming it behind him and crying out:

"Mr. Gretry, what are we to do? We've had no orders. "

But no one listened to him. Of the group that gathered around Gretry'sdesk, no one so much as turned a head. 

Jadwin stood there in the centre of the others, hatless, his face pale, his eyes congested with blood. Gretry fronted him, one hand upon hisarm. In the remainder of the group Landry recognised the senior clerkof the office, one of the heads of a great banking house, and a coupleof other men--confidential agents, who had helped to manipulate thegreat corner. 

"But you can't, " Gretry was exclaiming. "You can't; don't you see wecan't meet our margin calls? It's the end of the game. You've got nomore money. "

"It's a lie!" Never so long as he lived did Landry forget the voice inwhich Jadwin cried the words: "It's a lie! Keep on buying, I tell you. Take all they'll offer. I tell you we'll touch the two dollar markbefore noon. "

"Not another order goes up to that floor, " retorted Gretry. "Why, J. , ask any of these gentlemen here. They'll tell you. "

"It's useless, Mr. Jadwin, " said the banker, quietly. "You werepractically beaten two days ago. "

"Mr. Jadwin, " pleaded the senior clerk, "for God's sake listen toreason. Our firm--"

But Jadwin was beyond all appeal. He threw off Gretry's hand. 

"Your firm, your firm--you've been cowards from the start. I know you, I know you. You have sold me out. Crookes has bought you. Get out of myway!" he shouted. "Get out of my way! Do you hear? I'll play my handalone from now on. "

"J. , old man--why--see here, man, " Gretry implored, still holding himby the arm; "here, where are you going?"

Jadwin's voice rang like a trumpet call:

_"Into the Pit. "_

"Look here--wait--here. Hold him back, gentlemen. He don't know whathe's about. "

"If you won't execute my orders, I'll act myself. I'm going into thePit, I tell you. "

"J. , you're mad, old fellow. You're ruined--don't youunderstand?--you're ruined. "

"Then God curse you, Sam Gretry, for the man who failed me in acrisis. " And as he spoke Curtis Jadwin struck the broker full in theface. 

Gretry staggered back from the blow, catching at the edge of his desk. His pale face flashed to crimson for an instant, his fists clinched;then his hands fell to his sides. 

"No, " he said, "let him go, let him go. The man is merely mad. "

But, Jadwin, struggling for a second in the midst of the group thattried to hold him, suddenly flung off the restraining clasps, thrustthe men to one side, and rushed from the room. 

Gretry dropped into his chair before his desk. 

"It's the end, " he said, simply. 

He drew a sheet of note paper to him, and in a shaking hand wrote acouple of lines. 

"Take that, " he said, handing the note to the senior clerk, "take thatto the secretary of the Board at once. "

And straight into the turmoil and confusion of the Pit, to the scene ofso many of his victories, the battle ground whereon again and again, his enemies routed, he had remained the victor undisputed, undismayedcame the "Great Bull. " No sooner had he set foot within the entrance tothe Floor, than the news went flashing and flying from lip to lip. Thegalleries knew it, the public room, and the Western Union knew it, thetelephone booths knew it, and lastly even the Wheat Pit, torn andtossed and rent asunder by the force this man himself had unchained, knew it, and knowing stood dismayed. 

For even then, so great had been his power, so complete his dominion, and so well-rooted the fear which he had inspired, that this last movein the great game he had been playing, this unexpected, direct, personal assumption of control struck a sense of consternation into theheart of the hardiest of his enemies. 

Jadwin himself, the great man, the "Great Bull" in the Pit! What wasabout to happen? Had they been too premature in their hope of hisdefeat? Had he been preparing some secret, unexpected manoeuvre? For asecond they hesitated, then moved by a common impulse, feeling the pushof the wonderful new harvest behind them, they gathered themselvestogether for the final assault, and again offered the wheat for sale;offered it by thousands upon thousands of bushels; poured, as it were, the reapings of entire principalities out upon the floor of the Boardof Trade. 

Jadwin was in the thick of the confusion by now. And the avalanche, theundiked Ocean of the Wheat, leaping to the lash of the hurricane, struck him fairly in the face. 

He heard it now, he heard nothing else. The Wheat had broken from hiscontrol. For months, he had, by the might of his single arm, held itback; but now it rose like the upbuilding of a colossal billow. Ittowered, towered, hung poised for an instant, and then, with a thunderas of the grind and crash of chaotic worlds, broke upon him, burstthrough the Pit and raced past him, on and on to the eastward and tothe hungry nations. 

And then, under the stress and violence of the hour, something snappedin his brain. The murk behind his eyes had been suddenly pierced by awhite flash. The strange qualms and tiny nervous paroxysms of the lastfew months all at once culminated in some indefinite, indefinablecrisis, and the wheels and cogs of all activities save one lapsed awayand ceased. Only one function of the complicated machine persisted; butit moved with a rapidity of vibration that seemed to be tearing thetissues of being to shreds, while its rhythm beat out the old andterrible cadence:

"Wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat. "

Blind and insensate, Jadwin strove against the torrent of the Wheat. There in the middle of the Pit, surrounded and assaulted by herd afterherd of wolves yelping for his destruction, he stood braced, rigid uponhis feet, his head up, his hand, the great bony hand that once had heldthe whole Pit in its grip, flung high in the air, in a gesture ofdefiance, while his voice like the clangour of bugles sounding to thecharge of the forlorn hope, rang out again and again, over the din ofhis enemies:

"Give a dollar for July--give a dollar for July!"

With one accord they leaped upon him. The little group of his traderswas swept aside. Landry alone, Landry who had never left his side sincehis rush from out Gretry's office, Landry Court, loyal to the last, hisone remaining soldier, white, shaking, the sobs strangling in histhroat, clung to him desperately. Another billow of wheat waspreparing. They two--the beaten general and his young armourbearer--heard it coming; hissing, raging, bellowing, it swept down uponthem. Landry uttered a cry. Flesh and blood could not stand thisstrain. He cowered at his chief's side, his shoulders bent, one armabove his head, as if to ward off an actual physical force. 

But Jadwin, iron to the end, stood erect. All unknowing what he did, hehad taken Landry's hand in his and the boy felt the grip on his fingerslike the contracting of a vise of steel. The other hand, as thoughholding up a standard, was still in the air, and his great deep-tonedvoice went out across the tumult, proclaiming to the end his battle cry:

"Give a dollar for July--give a dollar for July!"

But, little by little, Landry became aware that the tumult of the Pitwas intermitting. There were sudden lapses in the shouting, and inthese lapses he could hear from somewhere out upon the floor voicesthat were crying: "Order--order, order, gentlemen. "

But, again and again the clamour broke out. It would die down for aninstant, in response to these appeals, only to burst out afresh ascertain groups of traders started the pandemonium again, by the wildoutcrying of their offers. At last, however, the older men in the Pit, regaining some measure of self-control, took up the word, going to andfro in the press, repeating "Order, order. "

And then, all at once, the Pit, the entire floor of the Board of Tradewas struck dumb. All at once the tension was relaxed, the furiousstruggling and stamping was stilled. Landry, bewildered, still holdinghis chief by the hand, looked about him. On the floor, near at hand, stood the president of the Board of Trade himself, and with him thevice-president and a group of the directors. Evidently it had beenthese who had called the traders to order. But it was not toward themnow that the hundreds of men in the Pit and on the floor were looking. 

In the little balcony on the south wall opposite the visitors' gallerya figure had appeared, a tall grave man, in a long black coat--thesecretary of the Board of Trade. Landry with the others saw him, sawhim advance to the edge of the railing, and fix his glance upon theWheat Pit. In his hand he carried a slip of paper. 

And then in the midst of that profound silence the secretary announced:

"All trades with Gretry, Converse & Co. Must be closed at once. "

The words had not ceased to echo in the high vaultings of the roofbefore they were greeted with a wild, shrill yell of exultation andtriumph, that burst from the crowding masses in the Wheat Pit. 

Beaten; beaten at last, the Great Bull! Smashed! The great cornersmashed! Jadwin busted! They themselves saved, saved, saved! Cheerfollowed upon cheer, yell after yell. Hats went into the air. In afrenzy of delight men danced and leaped and capered upon the edge ofthe Pit, clasping their arms about each other, shaking each others'hands, cheering and hurrahing till their strained voices became hoarseand faint. 

Some few of the older men protested. There were cries of:

"Shame, shame!"

"Order--let him alone. "

"Let him be; he's down now. Shame, shame!"

But the jubilee was irrepressible, they had been too cruelly pressed, these others; they had felt the weight of the Bull's hoof, the rip ofhis horn. Now they had beaten him, had pulled him down. 

"Yah-h-h, whoop, yi, yi, yi. Busted, busted, busted. Hip, hip, hip, anda tiger!"

"Come away, sir. For God's sake, Mr. Jadwin, come away. "

Landry was pleading with Jadwin, clutching his arm in both his hands, his lips to his chief's ear to make himself heard above the yelping ofthe mob. 

Jadwin was silent now. He seemed no longer to see or hear; heavily, painfully he leaned upon the young man's shoulder. 

"Come away, sir--for God's sake!"

The group of traders parted before them, cheering even while they gaveplace, cheering with eyes averted, unwilling to see the ruin that meantfor them salvation. 

"Yah-h-h. Yah-h-h, busted, busted!"

Landry had put his arm about Jadwin, and gripped him close as he ledhim from the Pit. The sobs were in his throat again, and tears ofexcitement, of grief, of anger and impotence were running down his face. 

"Yah-h-h. Yah-h-h, he's done for, busted, busted!"

"Damn you all, " cried Landry, throwing out a furious fist, "damn youall; you brutes, you beasts! If he'd so much as raised a finger a weekago, you'd have run for your lives. "

But the cheering drowned his voice; and as the two passed out of thePit upon the floor, the gong that closed the trading struck and, as itseemed, put a period, definite and final to the conclusion of CurtisJadwin's career as speculator. 

Across the floor towards the doorway Landry led his defeated captain. Jadwin was in a daze, he saw nothing, heard nothing. Quietly hesubmitted to Landry's guiding arm. The visitors in the galleries bentfar over to see him pass, and from all over the floor, spectators, hangers-on, corn-and-provision traders, messenger boys, clerks andreporters came hurrying to watch the final exit of the Great Bull, fromthe scene of his many victories and his one overwhelming defeat. 

In silence they watched him go by. Only in the distance from thedirection of the Pit itself came the sound of dying cheers. But at thedoorway stood a figure that Landry recognised at once--a small man, lean-faced, trimly dressed, his clean-shaven lips pursed like the mouthof a shut money bag, imperturbable as ever, cold, unexcited--CalvinCrookes himself. 

And as Jadwin passed, Landry heard the Bear leader say:

"They can cheer now, all they want. They didn't do it. It was the wheatitself that beat him; no combination of men could have done it--go on, cheer, you damn fools! He was a bigger man than the best of us. "

With the striking of the gong, and the general movement of the crowd inthe galleries towards the exits, Page rose, drawing a long breath, pressing her hands an instant to her burning cheeks. She had seen allthat had happened, but she had not understood. The whole morning hadbeen a whirl and a blur. She had looked down upon a jam of men, who forthree hours had done nothing but shout and struggle. She had seenJadwin come into the Pit, and almost at once the shouts had turned tocheers. That must have meant, she thought, that Jadwin had donesomething to please those excited men. They were all his friends, nodoubt. They were cheering him--cheering his success. He had won then!And yet that announcement from the opposite balcony, to the effect thatbusiness with Mr. Gretry must be stopped, immediately! That had anominous ring. Or, perhaps, that meant only a momentary check. 

As she descended the stairways, with the departing spectators, shedistinctly heard a man's voice behind her exclaim:

"Well, that does for him!"

Possibly, after all, Mr. Jadwin had lost some money that morning. Shewas desperately anxious to find Landry, and to learn the truth of whathad happened, and for a long moment after the last visitors haddisappeared she remained at the foot of the gallery stairway, hopingthat he would come for her. But she saw nothing of him, and soonremembered she had told him to come for her, only in case he was ableto get away. No doubt he was too busy now. Even if Mr. Jadwin had won, the morning's work had evidently been of tremendous importance. Thishad been a great day for the wheat speculators. It was not surprisingthat Landry should be detained. She would wait till she saw him thenext day to find out all that had taken place. 

Page returned home. It was long past the hour for luncheon when shecame into the dining-room of the North Avenue house. 

"Where is my sister?" she asked of the maid, as she sat down to thetable; "has she lunched yet?"

But it appeared that Mrs. Jadwin had sent down word to say that shewanted no lunch, that she had a headache and would remain in her room. 

Page hurried through with her chocolate and salad, and ordering a cupof strong tea, carried it up to Laura's "sitting-room" herself. 

Laura, in a long tea-gown lay back in the Madeira chair, her handsclasped behind her head, doing nothing apparently but looking out ofthe window. She was paler even than usual, and to Page's mind seemedpreoccupied, and in a certain indefinite way tense and hard. Page, asshe had told Landry that morning, had remarked this tenseness, thisrigidity on the part of her sister, of late. But to-day it was morepronounced than ever. Something surely was the matter with Laura. Sheseemed like one who had staked everything upon a hazard and, blind toall else, was keeping back emotion with all her strength, while shewatched and waited for the issue. Page guessed that her sister'strouble had to do with Jadwin's complete absorption in business, butshe preferred to hold her peace. By nature the young girl "minded herown business, " and Laura was not a woman who confided her troubles toanybody. Only once had Page presumed to meddle in her sister's affairs, and the result had not encouraged a repetition of the intervention. Since the affair of the silver match box she had kept her distance. 

Laura on this occasion declined to drink the tea Page had brought. Shewanted nothing, she said; her head ached a little, she only wished tolie down and be quiet. 

"I've been down to the Board of Trade all the morning, " Page remarked. 

Laura fixed her with a swift glance; she demanded quickly:

"Did you see Curtis?"

"No--or, yes, once; he came out on the floor. Oh, Laura, it was soexciting there this morning. Something important happened, I know. Ican't believe it's that way all the time. I'm afraid Mr. Jadwin lost agreat deal of money. I heard some one behind me say so, but I couldn'tunderstand what was going on. For months I've been trying to get aclear idea of wheat trading, just because it was Landry's business, butto-day I couldn't make anything of it at all. "

"Did Curtis say he was coming home this evening?"

"No. Don't you understand, I didn't see him to talk to. "

"Well, why didn't you, Page?"

"Why, Laura, honey, don't be cross. You don't know how rushedeverything was. I didn't even try to see Landry. "

"Did he seem very busy?"

"Who, Landry? I--"

"No, no, no, Curtis. "

"Oh, I should say so. Why, Laura, I think, honestly, I think wheat wentdown to--oh, way down. They say that means so much to Mr. Jadwin, andit went down, down, down. It looked that way to me. Don't that meanthat he'll lose a great deal of money? And Landry seemed so brave andcourageous through it all. Oh, I felt for him so; I just wanted to goright into the Pit with him and stand by his shoulder. "

Laura started up with a sharp gesture of impatience and exasperation, crying:

"Oh, what do I care about wheat--about this wretched scrambling formoney. Curtis was busy, you say? He looked that way?"

Page nodded: "Everybody was, " she said. Then she hazarded:

"I wouldn't worry, Laura. Of course, a man must give a great deal oftime to his business. I didn't mind when Landry couldn't come home withme. "

"Oh--Landry, " murmured Laura. 

On the instant Page bridled, her eyes snapping. 

"I think that was very uncalled for, " she exclaimed, sitting boltupright, "and I can tell you this, Laura Jadwin, if you did care alittle more about wheat--about your husband's business--if you hadtaken more of an interest in his work, if you had tried to enter moreinto his life, and be a help to him--and--and sympathise--and--" Pagecaught her breath, a little bewildered at her own vehemence andaudacity. But she had committed herself now; recklessly she plunged on. "Just think; he may be fighting the battle of his life down there in LaSalle Street, and you don't know anything about it--no, nor want toknow. 'What do you care about wheat, ' that's what you said. Well, Idon't care either, just for the wheat itself, but it's Landry'sbusiness, his work; and right or wrong--" Page jumped to her feet, herfists tight shut, her face scarlet, her head upraised, "right or wrong, good or bad, I'd put my two hands into the fire to help him. "

"What business--" began Laura; but Page was not to be interrupted. "Andif he did leave me alone sometimes, " she said; "do you think I woulddraw a long face, and think only of my own troubles. I guess he's gothis own troubles too. If my husband had a battle to fight, do you thinkI'd mope and pine because he left me at home; no I wouldn't. I'd helphim buckle his sword on, and when he came back to me I wouldn't tellhim how lonesome I'd been, but I'd take care of him and cry over hiswounds, and tell him to be brave--and--and--and I'd help him. "

And with the words, Page, the tears in her eyes and the sobs in herthroat, flung out of the room, shutting the door violently behind her. 

Laura's first sensation was one of anger only. As always, her youngersister had presumed again to judge her, had chosen this day of allothers, to annoy her. She gazed an instant at the closed door, thenrose and put her chin in the air. She was right, and Page her husband, everybody, were wrong. She had been flouted, ignored. She paced thelength of the room a couple of times, then threw herself down upon thecouch, her chin supported on her palm. 

As she crossed the room, however, her eye had been caught by an openednote from Mrs. Cressler, received the day before, and apprising her ofthe date of the funeral. At the sight, all the tragedy leaped up againin her mind and recollection, and in fancy she stood again in the backparlour of the Cressler home; her fingers pressed over her mouth toshut back the cries, horror and the terror of sudden death rending herheart, shaking the brain itself. Again and again since that dreadfulmoment had the fear come back, mingled with grief, with compassion, andthe bitter sorrow of a kind friend gone forever from her side. Andthen, her resolution girding itself, her will power at fullest stretch, she had put the tragedy from her. Other and--for her--more momentousevents impended. Everything in life, even death itself, must standaside while her love was put to the test. Life and death were littlethings. Love only existed; let her husband's career fail; what did itimport so only love stood the strain and issued from the struggletriumphant? And now, as she lay upon her couch, she crushed down allcompunction for the pitiful calamity whose last scene she haddiscovered, her thoughts once more upon her husband and herself. Hadthe shock of that spectacle in the Cresslers' house, and the wearingsuspense in which she had lived of late, so torn and disordered thedelicate feminine nerves that a kind of hysteria animated and directedher impulses, her words, and actions? Laura did not know. She only knewthat the day was going and that her husband neither came near her norsent her word. 

Even if he had been very busy, this was her birthday, --though he hadlost millions! Could he not have sent even the foolishest littlepresent to her, even a line--three words on a scrap of paper? But shechecked herself. The day was not over yet; perhaps, perhaps he wouldremember her, after all, before the afternoon was over. He was managinga little surprise for her, no doubt. He knew what day this was. Aftertheir talk that Sunday in his smoking-room he would not forget. And, besides, it was the evening that he had promised should be hers. "If heloved her, " she had said, he would give that evening to her. Never, never would Curtis fail her when conjured by that spell. 

Laura had planned a little dinner for that night. It was to be servedat eight. Page would have dined earlier; only herself and her husbandwere to be present. It was to be her birthday dinner. All the noisy, clamourous world should be excluded; no faintest rumble of the Pitwould intrude. She would have him all to herself. He would, so shedetermined, forget everything else in his love for her. She would bebeautiful as never before--brilliant, resistless, and dazzling. Shewould have him at her feet, her own, her own again, as much her own asher very hands. And before she would let him go he would forever andforever have abjured the Battle of the Street that had so often caughthim from her. The Pit should not have him; the sweep of that greatwhirlpool should never again prevail against the power of love. 

Yes, she had suffered, she had known the humiliation of a womanneglected. But it was to end now; her pride would never again belowered, her love never again be ignored. 

But the afternoon passed and evening drew on without any word from him. In spite of her anxiety, she yet murmured over and over again as shepaced the floor of her room, listening for the ringing of the door bell:

"He will send word, he will send word. I know he will. "

By four o'clock she had begun to dress. Never had she made a toiletmore superb, more careful. She disdained a "costume" on this greatevening. It was not to be "Theodora" now, nor "Juliet, " nor "Carmen. "It was to be only Laura Jadwin--just herself, unaided by theatricals, unadorned by tinsel. But it seemed consistent none the less to chooseher most beautiful gown for the occasion, to panoply herself in everycharm that was her own. Her dress, that closely sheathed the low, flatcurves of her body and that left her slender arms and neck bare, wasone shimmer of black scales, iridescent, undulating with light to herevery movement. In the coils and masses of her black hair she fixed hertwo great cabochons of pearls, and clasped about her neck herpalm-broad collaret of pearls and diamonds. Against one shoulder noddeda bunch of Jacqueminots, royal red, imperial. 

It was hard upon six o'clock when at last she dismissed her maid. Leftalone, she stood for a moment in front of her long mirror thatreflected her image from head to foot, and at the sight she could notforbear a smile and a sudden proud lifting of her head. All the womanin her preened and plumed herself in the consciousness of the power ofher beauty. Let the Battle of the Street clamour never so loudly now, let the suction of the Pit be never so strong, Eve triumphed. Venustoute entiere s'attachait a sa proie. 

These women of America, these others who allowed business to draw theirhusbands from them more and more, who submitted to those cruelconditions that forced them to be content with the wreckage left afterthe storm and stress of the day's work--the jaded mind, the exhaustedbody, the faculties dulled by overwork--she was sorry for them. They, less radiant than herself, less potent to charm, could not call theirhusbands back. But she, Laura, was beautiful; she knew it; she gloriedin her beauty. It was her strength. She felt the same pride in it asthe warrior in a finely tempered weapon. 

And to-night her beauty was brighter than ever. It was a veritableaureole that crowned her. She knew herself to be invincible. So onlythat he saw her thus, she knew that she would conquer. And he wouldcome. "If he loved her, " she had said. By his love for her he hadpromised; by his love she knew she would prevail. 

And then at last, somewhere out of the twilight, somewhere out of thoselowest, unplumbed depths of her own heart, came the first tremor ofdoubt, come the tardy vibration of the silver cord which Page hadstruck so sharply. Was it--after all--Love, that she cherished andstrove for--love, or self-love? Ever since Page had spoken she seemedto have fought against the intrusion of this idea. But, little bylittle, it rose to the surface. At last, for an instant, it seemed toconfront her. 

Was this, after all, the right way to win her husband back to her--thisdisplay of her beauty, this parade of dress, this exploitation of self?

Self, self. Had she been selfish from the very first? What realinterest had she taken in her husband's work? "Right or wrong, good orbad, I would put my two hands into the fire to help him. " Was this theway? Was not this the only way? Win him back to her? What if there weremore need for her to win back to him? Oh, once she had been able to saythat love, the supreme triumph of a woman's life, was less a victorythan a capitulation. Had she ordered her life upon that ideal? Did sheeven believe in the ideal at this day? Whither had this cruel cult ofself led her?

Dimly Laura Jadwin began to see and to understand a whole newconception of her little world. The birth of a new being within her wasnot for that night. It was conception only--the sensation of a newelement, a new force that was not herself, somewhere in the innerchambers of her being. 

The woman in her was too complex, the fibres of character too intricateand mature to be wrenched into new shapes by any sudden revolution. Butjust so surely as the day was going, just so surely as the New Daywould follow upon the night, conception had taken place within her. Whatever she did that evening, whatever came to her, through whatevercrises she should hurry, she would not now be quite the same. She hadbeen accustomed to tell herself that there were two Lauras. Nowsuddenly, behold, she seemed to recognise a third--a third that roseabove and forgot the other two, that in some beautiful, mysterious waywas identity ignoring self. 

But the change was not to be abrupt. Very, very vaguely the thoughtscame to her. The change would be slow, slow--would be evolution, notrevolution. The consummation was to be achieved in the coming years. For to-night she was--what was she? Only a woman, weak, torn byemotion, driven by impulse, and entering upon what she imagined was agreat crisis in her life. 

But meanwhile the time was passing. Laura descended to the library and, picking up a book, composed herself to read. When six o'clock struck, she made haste to assure herself that of course she could not expecthim exactly on the hour. No, she must make allowances; the day--as Pagehad suspected--had probably been an important one. He would be a littlelate, but he would come soon. "If you love me, you will come, " she hadsaid. 

But an hour later Laura paced the room with tight-shut lips and burningcheeks. She was still alone; her day, her hour, was passing, and he hadnot so much as sent word. For a moment the thought occurred to her thathe might perhaps be in great trouble, in great straits, that there wasan excuse. But instantly she repudiated the notion. 

"No, no, " she cried, beneath her breath. "He should come, no matterwhat has happened. Or even, at the very least, he could send word. "

The minutes dragged by. No roll of wheels echoed under the carriageporch; no step sounded at the outer door. The house was still, thestreet without was still, the silence of the midsummer evening widened, unbroken around her, like a vast calm pool. Only the musical Gregoriansof the newsboys chanting the evening's extras from corner to corner ofthe streets rose into the air from time to time. She was once morealone. Was she to fail again? Was she to be set aside once more, as sooften heretofore--set aside, flouted, ignored, forgotten? "If you loveme, " she had said. 

And this was to be the supreme test. This evening was to decide whichwas the great influence of his life--was to prove whether or not lovewas paramount. This was the crucial hour. "And he knows it, " criedLaura. "He knows it. He did not forget, could not have forgotten. "

The half hour passed, then the hour, and as eight o'clock chimed fromthe clock over the mantelshelf Laura stopped, suddenly rigid, in themidst of the floor. 

Her anger leaped like fire within her. All the passion of the womanscorned shook her from head to foot. At the very moment of her triumphshe had been flouted, in the pitch of her pride! And this was not theonly time. All at once the past disappointments, slights, andhumiliations came again to her memory. She had pleaded, and had beenrebuffed again and again; she had given all and had receivedneglect--she, Laura, beautiful beyond other women, who had known love, devoted service, and the most thoughtful consideration from herearliest girlhood, had been cast aside. 

Suddenly she bent her head quickly, listening intently. Then she drew adeep breath, murmuring "At last, at last!"

For the sound of a footstep in the vestibule was unmistakable. He hadcome after all. But so late, so late! No, she could not be gracious atonce; he must be made to feel how deeply he had offended; he must suehumbly, very humbly, for pardon. The servant's step sounded in the hallon the way towards the front door. 

"I am in here, Matthew, " she called. "In the library. Tell him I am inhere. "

She cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror close at hand, touchedher hair with rapid fingers, smoothed the agitation from her forehead, and sat down in a deep chair near the fireplace, opening a book, turning her back towards the door. 

She heard him come in, but did not move. Even as he crossed the floorshe kept her head turned away. The footsteps paused near at hand. Therewas a moment's silence. Then slowly Laura, laying down her book, turnedand faced him. 

"With many very, very happy returns of the day, " said Sheldon Corthell, as he held towards her a cluster of deep-blue violets. 

Laura sprang to her feet, a hand upon her cheek, her eyes wide andflashing. 

"You?" was all she had breath to utter. "You?"

The artist smiled as he laid the flowers upon the table. "I am goingaway again to-morrow, " he said, "for always, I think. Have I startledyou? I only came to say good-by--and to wish you a happy birthday. "

"Oh you remembered!" she cried. "_You_ remembered! I might have knownyou would. "

But the revulsion had been too great. She had been wrong after all. Jadwin had forgotten. Emotions to which she could put no name swelledin her heart and rose in a quick, gasping sob to her throat. The tearssprang to her eyes. Old impulses, forgotten impetuosities whipped heron. 

"Oh, you remembered, you remembered!" she cried again, holding out bothher hands. 

He caught them in his own. 

"Remembered!" he echoed. "I have never forgotten. "

"No, no, " she replied, shaking her head, winking back the tears. "Youdon't understand. I spoke before I thought. You don't understand. "

"I do, believe me, I do, " he exclaimed. "I understand you better thanyou understand yourself. "

Laura's answer was a cry. 

"Oh, then, why did you ever leave me--you who did understand me? Whydid you leave me only because I told you to go? Why didn't you make melove you then? Why didn't you make me understand myself?" She claspedher hands tight together upon her breast; her words, torn by her sobs, came all but incoherent from behind her shut teeth. "No, no!" sheexclaimed, as he made towards her. "Don't touch me, don't touch me! Itis too late. "

"It is not too late. Listen--listen to me. "

"Oh, why weren't you a man, strong enough to know a woman's weakness?You can only torture me now. Ah, I hate you! I hate you!"

"You love me! I tell you, you love me!" he cried, passionately, andbefore she was aware of it she was in his arms, his lips were againsther lips, were on her shoulders, her neck. 

"You love me!" he cried. "You love me! I defy you to say you do not. "

"Oh, make me love you, then, " she answered. "_Make_ me believe that youdo love me. "

"Don't you know, " he cried, "don't you know how I have loved you? Oh, from the very first! My love has been my life, has been my death, myone joy, and my one bitterness. It has always been you, dearest, yearafter year, hour after hour. And now I've found you again. And now Ishall never, never let you go. "

"No, no! Ah, don't, don't!" she begged. "I implore you. I am weak, weak. Just a word, and I would forget everything. "

"And I do speak that word, and your own heart answers me in spite ofyou, and you will forget--forget everything of unhappiness in yourlife--"

"Please, please, " she entreated, breathlessly. Then, taking the leap:"Ah, I love you, I love you!"

"--Forget all your unhappiness, " he went on, holding her close to him. "Forget the one great mistake we both made. Forget everything, everything, everything but that we love each other. "

"Don't let me think, then, " she cried. "Don't let me think. Make meforget everything, every little hour, every little moment that haspassed before this day. Oh, if I remembered once, I would kill you, kill you with my hands! I don't know what I am saying, " she moaned, "Idon't know what I am saying. I am mad, I think. Yes--I--it must bethat. " She pulled back from him, looking into his face with wide-openedeyes. 

"What have I said, what have we done, what are you here for?"

"To take you away, " he answered, gently, holding her in his arms, looking down into her eyes. "To take you far away with me. To give mywhole life to making you forget that you were ever unhappy. "

"And you will never leave me alone--never once?"

"Never, never once. "

She drew back from him, looking about the room with unseeing eyes, herfingers plucking and tearing at the lace of her dress; her voice wasfaint and small, like the voice of a little child. 

"I--I am afraid to be alone. Oh, I must never be alone again so long asI shall live. I think I should die. "

"And you never shall be; never again. Ah, this is my birthday, too, sweetheart. I am born again to-night. "

Laura clung to his arm; it was as though she were in the dark, surrounded by the vague terrors of her girlhood. "And you will alwayslove me, love me, love me?" she whispered. "Sheldon, Sheldon, love mealways, always, with all your heart and soul and strength. "

Tears stood in Corthell's eyes as he answered:

"God forgive whoever--whatever has brought you to this pass, " he said. 

And, as if it were a realisation of his thought, there suddenly came tothe ears of both the roll of wheels upon the asphalt under the carriageporch and the trampling of iron-shod hoofs. 

"Is that your husband?" Corthell's quick eye took in Laura'sdisarranged coiffure, one black lock low upon her neck, the roses ather shoulder crushed and broken, and the bright spot on either cheek. 

"Is that your husband?"

"My husband--I don't know. " She looked up at him with unseeing eyes. "Where is my husband? I have no husband. You are letting me remember, "she cried, in terror. "You are letting me remember. Ah, no, no, youdon't love me! I hate you!"

Quickly he bent and kissed her. 

"I will come for you to-morrow evening, " he said. "You will be readythen to go with me?"

"Ready then? Yes, yes, to go with you anywhere. "

He stood still a moment, listening. Somewhere a door closed. He heardthe hoofs upon the asphalt again. 

"Good-by, " he whispered. "God bless you! Good-by till to-morrow night. "And with the words he was gone. The front door of the house closedquietly. 

Had he come back again? Laura turned in her place on the long divan atthe sound of a heavy tread by the door of the library. 

Then an uncertain hand drew the heavy curtain aside. Jadwin, herhusband, stood before her, his eyes sunken deep in his head, his facedead white, his hand shaking. He stood for a long instant in the middleof the room, looking at her. Then at last his lips moved:

"Old girl. .. . Honey. "

Laura rose, and all but groped her way towards him, her heart beating, the tears streaming down her face. 

"My husband, my husband!"

Together they made their way to the divan, and sank down upon it sideby side, holding to each other, trembling and fearful, like children inthe night. 

"Honey, " whispered Jadwin, after a while. "Honey, it's dark, it's dark. Something happened. .. . I don't remember, " he put his hand uncertainlyto his head, "I can't remember very well; but it's dark--a little. "

"It's dark, " she repeated, in a low whisper. "It's dark, dark. Something happened. Yes. I must not remember. "

They spoke no further. A long time passed. Pressed close together, Curtis Jadwin and his wife sat there in the vast, gorgeous room, silentand trembling, ridden with unnamed fears, groping in the darkness. 

And while they remained thus, holding close by one another, a prolongedand wailing cry rose suddenly from the street, and passed on throughthe city under the stars and the wide canopy of the darkness. 

"Extra, oh-h-h, extra! All about the Smash of the Great Wheat Corner!All about the Failure of Curtis Jadwin!"

CONCLUSION

The evening had closed in wet and misty. All day long a chill wind hadblown across the city from off the lake, and by eight o'clock, whenLaura and Jadwin came down to the dismantled library, a heavy rain wasfalling. 

Laura gave Jadwin her arm as they made their way across the room--theirfootsteps echoing strangely from the uncarpeted boards. 

"There, dear, " she said. "Give me the valise. Now sit down on thepacking box there. Are you tired? You had better put your hat on. It isfull of draughts here, now that all the furniture and curtains are out. "

"No, no. I'm all right, old girl. Is the hack there yet?"

"Not yet. You're sure you're not tired?" she insisted. "You had apretty bad siege of it, you know, and this is only the first weekyou've been up. You remember how the doctor--"

"I've had too good a nurse, " he answered, stroking her hand, "not to befine as a fiddle by now. You must be tired yourself, Laura. Why, forwhole days there--and nights, too, they tell me--you never left theroom. "

She shook her head, as though dismissing the subject. 

"I wonder, " she said, sitting down upon a smaller packing-box andclasping a knee in her hands, "I wonder what the West will be like. Doyou know I think I am going to like it, Curtis?"

"It will be starting in all over again, old girl, " he said, with awarning shake of his head. "Pretty hard at first, I'm afraid. "

She laughed an almost contemptuous note. 

"Hard! Now?" She took his hand and laid it to her cheek. 

"By all the rules you ought to hate me, " he began. "What have I donefor you but hurt you and, at last, bring you to--"

But she shut her gloved hand over his mouth. 

"Stop!" she cried. "Hush, dear. You have brought me the greatesthappiness of my life. "

Then under her breath, her eyes wide and thoughtful, she murmured:

"A capitulation and not a triumph, and I have won a victory bysurrendering. "

"Hey--what?" demanded Jadwin. "I didn't hear. "

"Never mind, " she answered. "It was nothing. 'The world is all beforeus where to choose, ' now, isn't it? And this big house and all the lifewe have led in it was just an incident in our lives--an incident thatis closed. "

"Looks like it, to look around this room, " he said, grimly. "Nothingleft but the wall paper. What do you suppose are in these boxes?"

"They're labelled 'books and portieres. '"

"Who bought 'em I wonder? I'd have thought the party who bought thehouse would have taken them. Well, it was a wrench to see the place andall go so dirt cheap, and the 'Thetis', too, by George! But I'm gladnow. It's as though we had lightened ship. " He looked at his watch. "That hack ought to be here pretty soon. I'm glad we checked the trunksfrom the house; gives us more time. "

"Oh, by the way, " exclaimed Laura, all at once opening her satchel. "Ihad a long letter from Page this morning, from New York. Do you want tohear what she has to say? I've only had time to read part of it myself. It's the first one I've had from her since their marriage. "

He lit a cigar. 

"Go ahead, " he said, settling himself on the box. "What does Mrs. Courthave to say?"

"'My dearest sister, '" began Laura. "'Here we are, Landry and I, in NewYork at last. Very tired and mussed after the ride on the cars, but ina darling little hotel where the proprietor is head cook and everybodyspeaks French. I know my accent is improving, and Landry has learnedany quantity of phrases already. We are reading George Sand out loud, and are making up the longest vocabulary. To-night we are going to aconcert, and I've found out that there's a really fine course oflectures to be given soon on "Literary Tendencies, " or something likethat. Quel chance. Landry is intensely interested. You've no idea whata deep mind he has, Laura--a real thinker. 

"'But here's really a big piece of news. We may not have to give up ourold home where we lived when we first came to Chicago. Aunt Wess' wrotethe other day to say that, if you were willing, she would rent it, andthen sublet all the lower floor to Landry and me, so we could have areal house over our heads and not the under side of the floor of theflat overhead. And she is such an old dear, I know we could all getalong beautifully. Write me about this as soon as you can. I knowyou'll be willing, and Aunt Wess, said she'd agree to whatever rent yousuggested. 

"'We went to call on Mrs. Cressler day before yesterday. She's beenhere nearly a fortnight by now, and is living with a maiden sister ofhers in a very beautiful house fronting Central Park (not so beautifulas our palace on North Avenue. Never, never will I forget that house). She will probably stay here now always. She says the very sight of theold neighbourhoods in Chicago would be more than she could bear. PoorMrs. Cressler! How fortunate for her that her sister'--and so on, andso on, " broke in Laura, hastily. 

"Read it, read it, " said Jadwin, turning sharply away. "Don't skip aline. I want to hear every word. "

"That's all there is to it, " Laura returned. "'We'll be back, '" shewent on, turning a page of the letter, "'in about three weeks, andLandry will take up his work in that railroad office. No morespeculating for him, he says. He talks of Mr. Jadwin continually. Younever saw or heard of such devotion. He says that Mr. Jadwin is agenius, the greatest financier in the country, and that he knows hecould have won if they all hadn't turned against him that day. He nevergets tired telling me that Mr. Jadwin has been a father to him--thekindest, biggest-hearted man he ever knew--'"

Jadwin pulled his mustache rapidly. 

"Pshaw, pish, nonsense--little fool!" he blustered. 

"He simply worshipped you from the first, Curtis, " commented Laura. "Even after he knew I was to marry you. He never once was jealous, never once would listen to a word against you from any one. "

"Well--well, what else does Mrs. Court say?"

"'I am glad to hear, '" read Laura, "'that Mr. Gretry did not fail, though Landry tells me he must have lost a great deal of money. Landrytells me that eighteen brokers' houses failed in Chicago the day afterMr. Gretry suspended. Isabel sent us a wedding present--a lovelymedicine chest full of homoeopathic medicines, little pills and things, you know. But, as Landry and I are never sick and both laugh athomoeopathy, I declare I don't know just what we will do with it. Landry is as careful of me as though I were a wax doll. But I do wishhe would think more of his own health. He never will wear hismackintosh in rainy weather. I've been studying his tastes socarefully. He likes French light opera better than English, and brightcolours in his cravats, and he simply adores stuffed tomatoes. 

"'We both send our love, and Landry especially wants to be rememberedto Mr. Jadwin. I hope this letter will come in time for us to wish youboth bon voyage and _bon succes. _ How splendid of Mr. Jadwin to havestarted his new business even while he was convalescent! Landry says heknows he will make two or three more fortunes in the next few years. 

"'Good-by, Laura, dear. Ever your loving sister, "'PAGE COURT. 

"'P. S. --I open this letter again to tell you that we met Mr. Corthellon the street yesterday. He sails for Europe to-day. '"

"Oh, " said Jadwin, as Laura put the letter quickly down, "Corthell--that artist chap. By the way, whatever became of him?"

Laura settled a comb in the back of her hair. 

"He went away, " she said. "You remember--I told you--told you all aboutit. "

She would have turned away her head, but he laid a hand upon hershoulder. 

"I remember, " he answered, looking squarely into her eyes, "I remembernothing--only that I have been to blame for everything. I told youonce--long ago--that I understood. And I understand now, old girl, understand as I never did before. I fancy we both have been livingaccording to a wrong notion of things. We started right when we werefirst married, but I worked away from it somehow and pulled you alongwith me. But we've both been through a great big change, honey, a greatbig change, and we're starting all over again. .. . Well, there's thecarriage, I guess. "

They rose, gathering up their valises. 

"Hoh!" said Jadwin. "No servants now, Laura, to carry our things downfor us and open the door, and it's a hack, old girl, instead of thevictoria or coupe. "

"What if it is?" she cried. "What do 'things, ' servants, money, and allamount to now?"

As Jadwin laid his hand upon the knob of the front door, he all at onceput down his valise and put his arm about his wife. She caught himabout the neck and looked deep into his eyes a long moment. And then, without speaking, they kissed each other. 

In the outer vestibule, he raised the umbrella and held it over herhead. 

"Hold it a minute, will you, Laura?" he said. 

He gave it into her hand and swung the door of the house shut behindhim. The noise woke a hollow echo throughout all the series of empty, denuded rooms. Jadwin slipped the key in his pocket. 

"Come, " he said. 

They stepped out from the vestibule. It was already dark. The rain wasfalling in gentle slants through the odorous, cool air. Across thestreet in the park the first leaves were beginning to fall; the lakelapped and washed quietly against the stone embankments and a belatedbicyclist stole past across the asphalt, with the silent flitting of abat, his lamp throwing a fan of orange-coloured haze into the mist ofrain. 

In the street in front of the house the driver, descending from thebox, held open the door of the hack. Jadwin handed Laura in, gave anaddress to the driver, and got in himself, slamming the door after. They heard the driver mount to his seat and speak to his horses. 

"Well, " said Jadwin, rubbing the fog from the window pane of the door, "look your last at the old place, Laura. You'll never see it again. "

But she would not look. 

"No, no, " she said. "I'll look at you, dearest, at you, and our future, which is to be happier than any years we have ever known. "

Jadwin did not answer other than by taking her hand in his, and insilence they drove through the city towards the train that was to carrythem to the new life. A phase of the existences of each was closeddefinitely. The great corner was a thing of the past; the great cornerwith the long train of disasters its collapse had started. The greatfailure had precipitated smaller failures, and the aggregate of smallerfailures had pulled down one business house after another. For weeksafterward, the successive crashes were like the shock and reverberationof undermined buildings toppling to their ruin. An important bank hadsuspended payment, and hundreds of depositors had found their littlefortunes swept away. The ramifications of the catastrophe wereunbelievable. The whole tone of financial affairs seemed changed. Moneywas "tight" again, credit was withdrawn. The business world began tospeak of hard times, once more. 

But Laura would not admit her husband was in any way to blame. He hadsuffered, too. She repeated to herself his words, again and again:

"The wheat cornered itself. I simply stood between two sets ofcircumstances. The wheat cornered me, not I the wheat. "

And all those millions and millions of bushels of Wheat were gone now. The Wheat that had killed Cressler, that had ingulfed Jadwin's fortuneand all but unseated reason itself; the Wheat that had intervened likea great torrent to drag her husband from her side and drown him in theroaring vortices of the Pit, had passed on, resistless, along itsordered and predetermined courses from West to East? like a vastTitanic flood, had passed, leaving Death and Ruin in its wake, butbearing Life and Prosperity to the crowded cities and centres of Europe. 

For a moment, vague, dark perplexities assailed her, questionings as tothe elemental forces, the forces of demand and supply that ruled theworld. This huge resistless Nourisher of the Nations--why was it thatit could not reach the People, could not fulfil its destiny, unmarredby all this suffering, unattended by all this misery?

She did not know. But as she searched, troubled and disturbed for ananswer, she was aware of a certain familiarity in the neighbourhood thecarriage was traversing. The strange sense of having lived through thisscene, these circumstances, once before, took hold upon her. 

She looked out quickly, on either hand, through the blurred glasses ofthe carriage doors. Surely, surely, this locality had once beforeimpressed itself upon her imagination. She turned to her husband, anexclamation upon her lips; but Jadwin, by the dim light of the carriagelanterns, was studying a railroad folder. 

All at once, intuitively, Laura turned in her place, and raising theflap that covered the little window at the back of the carriage, lookedbehind. On either side of the vista in converging lines stretched thetall office buildings, lights burning in a few of their windows, evenyet. Over the end of the street the lead-coloured sky was broken by apale faint haze of light, and silhouetted against this rose a sombremass, unbroken by any glimmer, rearing a black and formidable facadeagainst the blur of the sky behind it. 

And this was the last impression of the part of her life that that daybrought to a close; the tall gray office buildings, the murk of rain, the haze of light in the heavens, and raised against it, the pile ofthe Board of Trade building, black, monolithic, crouching on itsfoundations like a monstrous sphinx with blind eyes, silent, grave--crouching there without a sound, without sign of life, under thenight and the drifting veil of rain.