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THE THIRD VIOLET

by

STEPHEN CRANE

Author of The Red Badge of Courage, The Little Regiment, and Maggie

New YorkD. Appleton and Company1897

Copyright, 1897, by D. Appleton and Company. Copyright, 1896, by Stephen Crane. 

THE THIRD VIOLET. 

CHAPTER I. 

The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Grey crags, and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps looked down at thestruggles of the black monster. 

When the train finally released its passengers they burst forth with theenthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platformof the little mountain station. The idlers and philosophers from thevillage were present to examine the consignment of people from the city. These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stagedrivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city. 

Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint-box, his easel, climbedawkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled andknocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backwardwith fine caution. "Hello, little man, " said Hawker, "did it hurt?" Thechild regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker hadcalled his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politelywaiting until the little boy should conclude his examination, but avoice behind him cried, "Roger, go on down!" A nursemaid was conductinga little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of theeasel. The boy resumed his cautious descent. 

The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that asindividuals their identities were lost. With a highly important air, asa man proud of being so busy, the baggageman of the train was thunderingtrunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling throughthe crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, "Do you know where isthe stage for Hemlock Inn?" Hawker turned and found a young womanregarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and heturned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he hadlooked at her. He said, "Yes, certainly, I think I can find it. " At thesame time he was crying to himself: "Wouldn't I like to paint her, though! What a glance--oh, murder! The--the--the distance in her eyes!"

He went fiercely from one driver to another. That obdurate stage forHemlock Inn must appear at once. Finally he perceived a man who grinnedexpectantly at him. "Oh, " said Hawker, "you drive the stage for HemlockInn?" The man admitted it. Hawker said, "Here is the stage. " The youngwoman smiled. 

The driver inserted Hawker and his luggage far into the end of thevehicle. He sat there, crooked forward so that his eyes should see thefirst coming of the girl into the frame of light at the other end of thestage. Presently she appeared there. She was bringing the little boy, the little girl, the nursemaid, and another young woman, who was at onceto be known as the mother of the two children. The girl indicated thestage with a small gesture of triumph. When they were all seateduncomfortably in the huge covered vehicle the little boy gave Hawker aglance of recognition. "It hurted then, but it's all right now, " heinformed him cheerfully. 

"Did it?" replied Hawker. "I'm sorry. "

"Oh, I didn't mind it much, " continued the little boy, swinging hislong, red-leather leggings bravely to and fro. "I don't cry when I'mhurt, anyhow. " He cast a meaning look at his tiny sister, whose softlips set defensively. 

The driver climbed into his seat, and after a scrutiny of the group inthe gloom of the stage he chirped to his horses. They began a slow andthoughtful trotting. Dust streamed out behind the vehicle. In front, thegreen hills were still and serene in the evening air. A beam of goldstruck them aslant, and on the sky was lemon and pink information of thesun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and from timeto time he conversed with them in yells. 

The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly mucilagedto their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker, calmlyvaluing him. 

"Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do, " said the boy. 

"I like it very well, " answered Hawker. 

"I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot abears. "

"I hope you may. "

"Did you ever shoot a bears?"

"No. "

"Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'dlook around for one. Where I live----"

"Roger, " interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side, "perhapsevery one is not interested in your conversation. " The boy seemedembarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence with anapologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb the hills, and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the cushions forfear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid. 

Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl withthe--the--the distance in her eyes without leaning forward anddiscovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled inhis seat, and as the bumping stage swung its passengers this way andthat way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or ashoulder. 

The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Trainwas an hour late t'night, " he said, addressing the interior. "It'll benine o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty darktravellin'. "

Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?"

"Yes. No moon. " He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' JimHawker's son, hain't yeh?"

"Yes. "

"I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?"

"Yes. "

"Want t' git off at th' cross-road?"

"Yes. "

"Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?"

"Yes. "

"On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Goldern 'em, they'll walk ruther'n put up fifty cents. ' Yep. On'y a quarter. "

In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glancedfurtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with themother of the children. 

CHAPTER II. 

When Hawker pushed at the old gate, it hesitated because of a brokenhinge. A dog barked with loud ferocity and came headlong over the grass. 

"Hello, Stanley, old man!" cried Hawker. The ardour for battle wasinstantly smitten from the dog, and his barking swallowed in a gurgle ofdelight. He was a large orange and white setter, and he partly expressedhis emotion by twisting his body into a fantastic curve and then dancingover the ground with his head and his tail very near to each other. Hegave vent to little sobs in a wild attempt to vocally describe hisgladness. "Well, 'e was a dreat dod, " said Hawker, and the setter, overwhelmed, contorted himself wonderfully. 

There were lights in the kitchen, and at the first barking of the dogthe door had been thrown open. Hawker saw his two sisters shading theireyes and peering down the yellow stream. Presently they shouted, "Herehe is!" They flung themselves out and upon him. "Why, Will! why, Will!"they panted. 

"We're awful glad to see you!" In a whirlwind of ejaculation andunanswerable interrogation they grappled the clothes case, thepaint-box, the easel, and dragged him toward the house. 

He saw his old mother seated in a rocking-chair by the table. She hadlaid aside her paper and was adjusting her glasses as she scanned thedarkness. "Hello, mother!" cried Hawker, as he entered. His eyes werebright. The old mother reached her arms to his neck. She murmured softand half-articulate words. Meanwhile the dog writhed from one toanother. He raised his muzzle high to express his delight. He was alwaysfully convinced that he was taking a principal part in this ceremony ofwelcome and that everybody was heeding him. 

"Have you had your supper?" asked the old mother as soon as sherecovered herself. The girls clamoured sentences at him. "Pa's out inthe barn, Will. What made you so late? He said maybe he'd go up to thecross-roads to see if he could see the stage. Maybe he's gone. Whatmade you so late? And, oh, we got a new buggy!"

The old mother repeated anxiously, "Have you had your supper?"

"No, " said Hawker, "but----"

The three women sprang to their feet. "Well, we'll git you somethingright away. " They bustled about the kitchen and dove from time to timeinto the cellar. They called to each other in happy voices. 

Steps sounded on the line of stones that led from the door toward thebarn, and a shout came from the darkness. "Well, William, home again, hey?" Hawker's grey father came stamping genially into the room. "Ithought maybe you got lost. I was comin' to hunt you, " he said, grinning, as they stood with gripped hands. "What made you so late?"

While Hawker confronted the supper the family sat about and contemplatedhim with shining eyes. His sisters noted his tie and propounded somequestions concerning it. His mother watched to make sure that he shouldconsume a notable quantity of the preserved cherries. "He used to be sofond of 'em when he was little, " she said. 

"Oh, Will, " cried the younger sister, "do you remember Lil' Johnson?Yeh? She's married. Married las' June. "

"Is the boy's room all ready, mother?" asked the father. 

"We fixed it this mornin', " she said. 

"And do you remember Jeff Decker?" shouted the elder sister. "Well, he'sdead. Yep. Drowned, pickerel fishin'--poor feller!"

"Well, how are you gitting along, William?" asked the father. "Sell manypictures?"

"An occasional one. "

"Saw your illustrations in the May number of Perkinson's. " The old manpaused for a moment, and then added, quite weakly, "Pretty good. "

"How's everything about the place?"

"Oh, just about the same--'bout the same. The colt run away with me lastweek, but didn't break nothin', though. I was scared, because I had outthe new buggy--we got a new buggy--but it didn't break nothin'. I'mgoin' to sell the oxen in the fall; I don't want to winter 'em. And thenin the spring I'll get a good hoss team. I rented th' back five-acre toJohn Westfall. I had more'n I could handle with only one hired hand. Times is pickin' up a little, but not much--not much. "

"And we got a new school-teacher, " said one of the girls. 

"Will, you never noticed my new rocker, " said the old mother, pointing. "I set it right where I thought you'd see it, and you never took nonotice. Ain't it nice? Father bought it at Monticello for my birthday. Ithought you'd notice it first thing. "

When Hawker had retired for the night, he raised a sash and sat by thewindow smoking. The odour of the woods and the fields came sweetly tohis nostrils. The crickets chanted their hymn of the night. On the blackbrow of the mountain he could see two long rows of twinkling dots whichmarked the position of Hemlock Inn. 

CHAPTER III. 

Hawker had a writing friend named Hollanden. In New York Hollanden hadannounced his resolution to spend the summer at Hemlock Inn. "I don'tlike to see the world progressing, " he had said; "I shall go to SullivanCounty for a time. "

In the morning Hawker took his painting equipment, and aftermanoeuvring in the fields until he had proved to himself that he hadno desire to go toward the inn, he went toward it. The time was onlynine o'clock, and he knew that he could not hope to see Hollanden beforeeleven, as it was only through rumour that Hollanden was aware thatthere was a sunrise and an early morning. 

Hawker encamped in front of some fields of vivid yellow stubble on whichtrees made olive shadows, and which was overhung by a china-blue sky andsundry little white clouds. He fiddled away perfunctorily at it. Aspectator would have believed, probably, that he was sketching thepines on the hill where shone the red porches of Hemlock Inn. 

Finally, a white-flannel young man walked into the landscape. Hawkerwaved a brush. "Hi, Hollie, get out of the colour-scheme!"

At this cry the white-flannel young man looked down at his feetapprehensively. Finally he came forward grinning. "Why, hello, Hawker, old boy! Glad to find you here. " He perched on a boulder and began tostudy Hawker's canvas and the vivid yellow stubble with the oliveshadows. He wheeled his eyes from one to the other. "Say, Hawker, " hesaid suddenly, "why don't you marry Miss Fanhall?"

Hawker had a brush in his mouth, but he took it quickly out, and said, "Marry Miss Fanhall? Who the devil is Miss Fanhall?"

Hollanden clasped both hands about his knee and looked thoughtfullyaway. "Oh, she's a girl. "

"She is?" said Hawker. 

"Yes. She came to the inn last night with her sister-in-law and a smalltribe of young Fanhalls. There's six of them, I think. "

"Two, " said Hawker, "a boy and a girl. "

"How do you--oh, you must have come up with them. Of course. Why, thenyou saw her. "

"Was that her?" asked Hawker listlessly. 

"Was that her?" cried Hollanden, with indignation. "Was that her?"

"Oh!" said Hawker. 

Hollanden mused again. "She's got lots of money, " he said. "Loads of it. And I think she would be fool enough to have sympathy for you in yourwork. They are a tremendously wealthy crowd, although they treat itsimply. It would be a good thing for you. I believe--yes, I am sure shecould be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your work. And now, ifyou weren't such a hopeless chump----"

"Oh, shut up, Hollie, " said the painter. 

For a time Hollanden did as he was bid, but at last he talked again. "Can't think why they came up here. Must be her sister-in-law's health. Something like that. She----"

"Great heavens, " said Hawker, "you speak of nothing else!"

"Well, you saw her, didn't you?" demanded Hollanden. "What can youexpect, then, from a man of my sense? You--you old stick--you----"

"It was quite dark, " protested the painter. 

"Quite dark, " repeated Hollanden, in a wrathful voice. "What if it was?"

"Well, that is bound to make a difference in a man's opinion, you know. "

"No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If youhad any sand--thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do youplay tennis?"

"After a fashion, " said Hawker. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing, " replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out atthe game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning withthe Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will bedown on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player. "

"Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people, " remarkedHawker. 

"Yes, but up there"--Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of theinn--"they think I'm so amiable. "

"Well, I'll come up and help you out. "

"Do, " Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against thelittlest Worcester girl and me. " He regarded the landscape andmeditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble. 

"That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk, " observedHollanden softly. 

Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he demanded. "Ibelieve you're crazy. "

"What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage gesture. "You've got no more appreciation than a post. "

"They are good enough for me, " muttered Hawker, turning again to hiswork. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems tome you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me, " hesaid. 

"Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a pastof sorrow and gloom. I----"

"You're nothing but a kid, " said Hawker, glaring at the other man. 

"Oh, of course, " said Hollanden, wagging his head with midnight wisdom. "Oh, of course. "

"Well, Hollie, " said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean tobe unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting upthere and howling about the colour of hair and eyes. "

"I'm not ridiculous. "

"Yes, you are, you know, Hollie. "

The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rode in the train withher, and in the stage. "

"I didn't see her in the train, " said Hawker. 

"Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here, and you sat down there and lied. " He jumped from his perch andbelaboured Hawker's shoulders. 

"Stop that!" said the painter. 

"Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied---- Hold on--bless my life, here she comes now!"

CHAPTER IV. 

One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, Ithink. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressiverespectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save toget where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in alarge group on that porch and take measurements of character asimportantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived atHemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving thisassemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change myclothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliateit. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine. Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten withadmiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not movedfrom the inn in eight days, and this morning I said to her, 'These longwalks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good. ' And Ikeep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!' Because of thegreat law of universal balance, I know that this illustrious corps willbelieve good of themselves with exactly the same readiness that theywill believe ill of others. So I ply them with it. In consequence, theworst they ever say of me is, 'Isn't that Mr. Hollanden a peculiar man?'And you know, my boy, that's not so bad for a literary person. " Aftersome thought he added: "Good people, too. Good wives, good mothers, andeverything of that kind, you know. But conservative, very conservative. Hate anything radical. Can not endure it. Were that way themselves once, you know. They hit the mark, too, sometimes. Such general volleyingscan't fail to hit everything. May the devil fly away with them!"

Hawker regarded the group nervously, and at last propounded a greatquestion: "Say, I wonder where they all are recruited? When you come tothink that almost every summer hotel----"

"Certainly, " said Hollanden, "almost every summer hotel. I've studiedthe question, and have nearly established the fact that almost everysummer hotel is furnished with a full corps of----"

"To be sure, " said Hawker; "and if you search for them in the winter, you can find barely a sign of them, until you examine the boardinghouses, and then you observe----"

"Certainly, " said Hollanden, "of course. By the way, " he added, "youhaven't got any obviously loose screws in your character, have you?"

"No, " said Hawker, after consideration, "only general poverty--that'sall. "

"Of course, of course, " said Hollanden. "But that's bad. They'll get onto you, sure. Particularly since you come up here to see Miss Fanhall somuch. "

Hawker glinted his eyes at his friend. "You've got a deuced open way ofspeaking, " he observed. 

"Deuced open, is it?" cried Hollanden. "It isn't near so open as yourdevotion to Miss Fanhall, which is as plain as a red petticoat hung on ahedge. "

Hawker's face gloomed, and he said, "Well, it might be plain to you, youinfernal cat, but that doesn't prove that all those old hens can seeit. "

"I tell you that if they look twice at you they can't fail to see it. And it's bad, too. Very bad. What's the matter with you? Haven't youever been in love before?"

"None of your business, " replied Hawker. 

Hollanden thought upon this point for a time. "Well, " he admittedfinally, "that's true in a general way, but I hate to see you managingyour affairs so stupidly. "

Rage flamed into Hawker's face, and he cried passionately, "I tell youit is none of your business!" He suddenly confronted the other man. 

Hollanden surveyed this outburst with a critical eye, and then slappedhis knee with emphasis. "You certainly have got it--a million timesworse than I thought. Why, you--you--you're heels over head. "

"What if I am?" said Hawker, with a gesture of defiance and despair. 

Hollanden saw a dramatic situation in the distance, and with a brightsmile he studied it. "Say, " he exclaimed, "suppose she should not go tothe picnic to-morrow? She said this morning she did not know if shecould go. Somebody was expected from New York, I think. Wouldn't itbreak you up, though! Eh?"

"You're so dev'lish clever!" said Hawker, with sullen irony. 

Hollanden was still regarding the distant dramatic situation. "Andrivals, too! The woods must be crowded with them. A girl like that, youknow. And then all that money! Say, your rivals must number enough tomake a brigade of militia. Imagine them swarming around! But then itdoesn't matter so much, " he went on cheerfully; "you've got a good playthere. You must appreciate them to her--you understand?--appreciate themkindly, like a man in a watch-tower. You must laugh at them only aboutonce a week, and then very tolerantly--you understand?--and kindly, and--and appreciatively. "

"You're a colossal ass, Hollie!" said Hawker. "You----"

"Yes, yes, I know, " replied the other peacefully; "a colossal ass. Ofcourse. " After looking into the distance again, he murmured: "I'mworried about that picnic. I wish I knew she was going. By heavens, as amatter of fact, she must be made to go!"

"What have you got to do with it?" cried the painter, in another suddenoutburst. 

"There! there!" said Hollanden, waving his hand. "You fool! Only aspectator, I assure you. "

Hawker seemed overcome then with a deep dislike of himself. "Oh, well, you know, Hollie, this sort of thing----" He broke off and gazed at thetrees. "This sort of thing---- It----"

"How?" asked Hollanden. 

"Confound you for a meddling, gabbling idiot!" cried Hawker suddenly. 

Hollanden replied, "What did you do with that violet she dropped at theside of the tennis court yesterday?"

CHAPTER V. 

Mrs. Fanhall, with the two children, the Worcester girls, and Hollanden, clambered down the rocky path. Miss Fanhall and Hawker had remained ontop of the ledge. Hollanden showed much zeal in conducting hiscontingent to the foot of the falls. Through the trees they could seethe cataract, a great shimmering white thing, booming and thunderinguntil all the leaves gently shuddered. 

"I wonder where Miss Fanhall and Mr. Hawker have gone?" said the youngerMiss Worcester. "I wonder where they've gone?"

"Millicent, " said Hollander, looking at her fondly, "you always had suchgreat thought for others. "

"Well, I wonder where they've gone?"

At the foot of the falls, where the mist arose in silver clouds and thegreen water swept into the pool, Miss Worcester, the elder, seated onthe moss, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Hollanden, what makes all literary men sopeculiar?"

"And all that just because I said that I could have made betterdigestive organs than Providence, if it is true that he made mine, "replied Hollanden, with reproach. "Here, Roger, " he cried, as he draggedthe child away from the brink, "don't fall in there, or you won't be thefull-back at Yale in 1907, as you have planned. I'm sure I don't knowhow to answer you, Miss Worcester. I've inquired of innumerable literarymen, and none of 'em know. I may say I have chased that problem foryears. I might give you my personal history, and see if that would throwany light on the subject. " He looked about him with chin high until hisglance had noted the two vague figures at the top of the cliff. "I mightgive you my personal history----"

Mrs. Fanhall looked at him curiously, and the elder Worcester girlcried, "Oh, do!"

After another scanning of the figures at the top of the cliff, Hollandenestablished himself in an oratorical pose on a great weather-beatenstone. "Well--you must understand--I started my career--my career, youunderstand--with a determination to be a prophet, and, although I haveended in being an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, and ajuggler of comic paragraphs, there was once carved upon my lips a smilewhich made many people detest me, for it hung before them like a bansheewhenever they tried to be satisfied with themselves. I was informed fromtime to time that I was making no great holes in the universal plan, andI came to know that one person in every two thousand of the people I sawhad heard of me, and that four out of five of these had forgotten it. And then one in every two of those who remembered that they had heard ofme regarded the fact that I wrote as a great impertinence. I admittedthese things, and in defence merely builded a maxim that stated thateach wise man in this world is concealed amid some twenty thousandfools. If you have eyes for mathematics, this conclusion should interestyou. Meanwhile I created a gigantic dignity, and when men saw thisdignity and heard that I was a literary man they respected me. Iconcluded that the simple campaign of existence for me was to deludethe populace, or as much of it as would look at me. I did. I do. And nowI can make myself quite happy concocting sneers about it. Others may doas they please, but as for me, " he concluded ferociously, "I shall neverdisclose to anybody that an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, ajuggler of comic paragraphs, is not a priceless pearl of art andphilosophy. "

"I don't believe a word of it is true, " said Miss Worcester. 

"What do you expect of autobiography?" demanded Hollanden, withasperity. 

"Well, anyhow, Hollie, " exclaimed the younger sister, "you didn'texplain a thing about how literary men came to be so peculiar, andthat's what you started out to do, you know. "

"Well, " said Hollanden crossly, "you must never expect a man to do whathe starts to do, Millicent. And besides, " he went on, with the gleam ofa sudden idea in his eyes, "literary men are not peculiar, anyhow. "

The elder Worcester girl looked angrily at him. "Indeed? Not you, ofcourse, but the others. "

"They are all asses, " said Hollanden genially. 

The elder Worcester girl reflected. "I believe you try to make us thinkand then just tangle us up purposely!"

The younger Worcester girl reflected. "You are an absurd old thing, youknow, Hollie!"

Hollanden climbed offendedly from the great weather-beaten stone. "Well, I shall go and see that the men have not spilled the luncheon whilebreaking their necks over these rocks. Would you like to have it spreadhere, Mrs. Fanhall? Never mind consulting the girls. I assure you Ishall spend a great deal of energy and temper in bullying them intodoing just as they please. Why, when I was in Brussels----"

"Oh, come now, Hollie, you never were in Brussels, you know, " said theyounger Worcester girl. 

"What of that, Millicent?" demanded Hollanden. "This is autobiography. "

"Well, I don't care, Hollie. You tell such whoppers. "

With a gesture of despair he again started away; whereupon theWorcester girls shouted in chorus, "Oh, I say, Hollie, come back! Don'tbe angry. We didn't mean to tease you, Hollie--really, we didn't!"

"Well, if you didn't, " said Hollanden, "why did you----"

The elder Worcester girl was gazing fixedly at the top of the cliff. "Oh, there they are! I wonder why they don't come down?"

CHAPTER VI. 

Stanley, the setter, walked to the edge of the precipice and, lookingover at the falls, wagged his tail in friendly greeting. He was bracedwarily, so that if this howling white animal should reach up a hand forhim he could flee in time. 

The girl stared dreamily at the red-stained crags that projected fromthe pines of the hill across the stream. Hawker lazily aimed bits ofmoss at the oblivious dog and missed him. 

"It must be fine to have something to think of beyond just living, " saidthe girl to the crags. 

"I suppose you mean art?" said Hawker. 

"Yes, of course. It must be finer, at any rate, than the ordinarything. "

He mused for a time. "Yes. It is--it must be, " he said. "But then--I'drather just lie here. "

The girl seemed aggrieved. "Oh, no, you wouldn't. You couldn't stop. It's dreadful to talk like that, isn't it? I always thought thatpainters were----"

"Of course. They should be. Maybe they are. I don't know. Sometimes Iam. But not to-day. "

"Well, I should think you ought to be so much more contented than justordinary people. Now, I----"

"You!" he cried--"you are not 'just ordinary people. '"

"Well, but when I try to recall what I have thought about in my life, Ican't remember, you know. That's what I mean. "

"You shouldn't talk that way, " he told her. 

"But why do you insist that life should be so highly absorbing for me?"

"You have everything you wish for, " he answered, in a voice of deepgloom. 

"Certainly not. I am a woman. "

"But----"

"A woman, to have everything she wishes for, would have to beProvidence. There are some things that are not in the world. "

"Well, what are they?" he asked of her. 

"That's just it, " she said, nodding her head, "no one knows. That'swhat makes the trouble. "

"Well, you are very unreasonable. "

"What?"

"You are very unreasonable. If I were you--an heiress----"

The girl flushed and turned upon him angrily. 

"Well!" he glowered back at her. "You are, you know. You can't deny it. "

She looked at the red-stained crags. At last she said, "You seemedreally contemptuous. "

"Well, I assure you that I do not feel contemptuous. On the contrary, Iam filled with admiration. Thank Heaven, I am a man of the world. Whenever I meet heiresses I always have the deepest admiration. " As hesaid this he wore a brave hang-dog expression. The girl surveyed himcoldly from his chin to his eyebrows. "You have a handsome audacity, too. "

He lay back in the long grass and contemplated the clouds. 

"You should have been a Chinese soldier of fortune, " she said. 

He threw another little clod at Stanley and struck him on the head. 

"You are the most scientifically unbearable person in the world, " shesaid. 

Stanley came back to see his master and to assure himself that the clumpon the head was not intended as a sign of serious displeasure. Hawkertook the dog's long ears and tried to tie them into a knot. 

"And I don't see why you so delight in making people detest you, " shecontinued. 

Having failed to make a knot of the dog's ears, Hawker leaned back andsurveyed his failure admiringly. "Well, I don't, " he said. 

"You do. "

"No, I don't. "

"Yes, you do. You just say the most terrible things as if you positivelyenjoyed saying them. "

"Well, what did I say, now? What did I say?"

"Why, you said that you always had the most extraordinary admiration forheiresses whenever you met them. "

"Well, what's wrong with that sentiment?" he said. "You can't findfault with that!"

"It is utterly detestable. "

"Not at all, " he answered sullenly. "I consider it a tribute--a gracefultribute. "

Miss Fanhall arose and went forward to the edge of the cliff. She becameabsorbed in the falls. Far below her a bough of a hemlock drooped to thewater, and each swirling, mad wave caught it and made it nod--nod--nod. Her back was half turned toward Hawker. 

After a time Stanley, the dog, discovered some ants scurrying in themoss, and he at once began to watch them and wag his tail. 

"Isn't it curious, " observed Hawker, "how an animal as large as a dogwill sometimes be so entertained by the very smallest things?"

Stanley pawed gently at the moss, and then thrust his head forward tosee what the ants did under the circumstances. 

"In the hunting season, " continued Hawker, having waited a moment, "thisdog knows nothing on earth but his master and the partridges. He is lostto all other sound and movement. He moves through the woods like asteel machine. And when he scents the bird--ah, it is beautiful!Shouldn't you like to see him then?"

Some of the ants had perhaps made war-like motions, and Stanley waspretending that this was a reason for excitement. He reared aback, andmade grumbling noises in his throat. 

After another pause Hawker went on: "And now see the precious old fool!He is deeply interested in the movements of the little ants, and aschildish and ridiculous over them as if they were highlyimportant. --There, you old blockhead, let them alone!"

Stanley could not be induced to end his investigations, and he told hismaster that the ants were the most thrilling and dramatic animals of hisexperience. 

"Oh, by the way, " said Hawker at last, as his glance caught upon thecrags across the river, "did you ever hear the legend of those rocksyonder? Over there where I am pointing? Where I'm pointing? Did you everhear it? What? Yes? No? Well, I shall tell it to you. " He settledcomfortably in the long grass. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Indian maiden, of course. Andshe was, of course, beloved by a youth from another tribe who was veryhandsome and stalwart and a mighty hunter, of course. But the maiden'sfather was, of course, a stern old chief, and when the question of hisdaughter's marriage came up, he, of course, declared that the maidenshould be wedded only to a warrior of her tribe. And, of course, whenthe young man heard this he said that in such case he would, of course, fling himself headlong from that crag. The old chief was, of course, obdurate, and, of course, the youth did, of course, as he had said. And, of course, the maiden wept. " After Hawker had waited for some time, hesaid with severity, "You seem to have no great appreciation offolklore. "

The girl suddenly bent her head. "Listen, " she said, "they're calling. Don't you hear Hollie's voice?"

They went to another place, and, looking down over the shimmeringtree-tops, they saw Hollanden waving his arms. "It's luncheon, " saidHawker. "Look how frantic he is!"

The path required that Hawker should assist the girl very often. Hiseyes shone at her whenever he held forth his hand to help her down ablessed steep place. She seemed rather pensive. The route to luncheonwas very long. Suddenly he took a seat on an old tree, and said: "Oh, Idon't know why it is, whenever I'm with you, I--I have no wits, nor goodnature, nor anything. It's the worst luck!"

He had left her standing on a boulder, where she was provisionallyhelpless. "Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us. "

Stanley, the setter, had been sliding down cautiously behind them. Henow stood wagging his tail and waiting for the way to be cleared. 

Hawker leaned his head on his hand and pondered dejectedly. "It's theworst luck!"

"Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us. "

At luncheon the girl was for the most part silent. Hawker wassuperhumanly amiable. Somehow he gained the impression that they allquite fancied him, and it followed that being clever was very easy. Hollanden listened, and approved him with a benign countenance. 

There was a little boat fastened to the willows at the edge of the blackpool. After the spread, Hollanden navigated various parties around towhere they could hear the great hollow roar of the falls beating againstthe sheer rocks. Stanley swam after sticks at the request of littleRoger. 

Once Hollanden succeeded in making the others so engrossed in beingamused that Hawker and Miss Fanhall were left alone staring at the whitebubbles that floated solemnly on the black water. After Hawker hadstared at them a sufficient time, he said, "Well, you are an heiress, you know. "

In return she chose to smile radiantly. Turning toward him, she said, "If you will be good now--always--perhaps I'll forgive you. "

They drove home in the sombre shadows of the hills, with Stanley paddingalong under the wagon. The Worcester girls tried to induce Hollanden tosing, and in consequence there was quarrelling until the blinking lightsof the inn appeared above them as if a great lantern hung there. 

Hollanden conveyed his friend some distance on the way home from the innto the farm. "Good time at the picnic?" said the writer. 

"Yes. "

"Picnics are mainly places where the jam gets on the dead leaves, andfrom thence to your trousers. But this was a good little picnic. " Heglanced at Hawker. "But you don't look as if you had such a swell time. "

Hawker waved his hand tragically. "Yes--no--I don't know. "

"What's wrong with you?" asked Hollanden. 

"I tell you what it is, Hollie, " said the painter darkly, "whenever I'mwith that girl I'm such a blockhead. I'm not so stupid, Hollie. You knowI'm not. But when I'm with her I can't be clever to save my life. "

Hollanden pulled contentedly at his pipe. "Maybe she don't notice it. "

"Notice it!" muttered Hawker, scornfully; "of course she notices it. Inconversation with her, I tell you, I am as interesting as an iron dog. "His voice changed as he cried, "I don't know why it is. I don't know whyit is. "

Blowing a huge cloud of smoke into the air, Hollanden studied itthoughtfully. "Hits some fellows that way, " he said. "And, of course, itmust be deuced annoying. Strange thing, but now, under thosecircumstances, I'm very glib. Very glib, I assure you. "

"I don't care what you are, " answered Hawker. "All those confoundedaffairs of yours--they were not----"

"No, " said Hollanden, stolidly puffing, "of course not. I understandthat. But, look here, Billie, " he added, with sudden brightness, "maybeyou are not a blockhead, after all. You are on the inside, you know, andyou can't see from there. Besides, you can't tell what a woman willthink. You can't tell what a woman will think. "

"No, " said Hawker, grimly, "and you suppose that is my only chance?"

"Oh, don't be such a chump!" said Hollanden, in a tone of vastexasperation. 

They strode for some time in silence. The mystic pines swaying over thenarrow road made talk sibilantly to the wind. Stanley, the setter, tookit upon himself to discover some menacing presence in the woods. Hewalked on his toes and with his eyes glinting sideways. He swore halfunder his breath. 

"And work, too, " burst out Hawker, at last. "I came up here this seasonto work, and I haven't done a thing that ought not be shot at. "

"Don't you find that your love sets fire to your genius?" askedHollanden gravely. 

"No, I'm hanged if I do. "

Hollanden sighed then with an air of relief. "I was afraid that apopular impression was true, " he said, "but it's all right. You wouldrather sit still and moon, wouldn't you?"

"Moon--blast you! I couldn't moon to save my life. "

"Oh, well, I didn't mean moon exactly. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

The blue night of the lake was embroidered with black tree forms. Silverdrops sprinkled from the lifted oars. Somewhere in the gloom of theshore there was a dog, who from time to time raised his sad voice to thestars. 

"But still, the life of the studios----" began the girl. 

Hawker scoffed. "There were six of us. Mainly we smoked. Sometimes weplayed hearts and at other times poker--on credit, you know--credit. Andwhen we had the materials and got something to do, we worked. Did youever see these beautiful red and green designs that surround the commontomato can?"

"Yes. "

"Well, " he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upontomatoes, remember that they might once have been encompassed in mydesign. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobodywanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus----"

"Truly?"

"Yes, indeed. It is true. "

"But still, the life of the studios----"

"There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd couldhave money at one time. The other five lived off him and despisedthemselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we hadadmiration. "

"And was this just because you had no money?"

"It was because we had no money in New York, " said Hawker. 

"Well, after a while something happened----"

"Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened. "

"In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. Thesympathy----"

"One's own people!" said Hawker. 

"Yes, " she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. Theappreciation----"

"'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!"

He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floatedthrough the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like ablue crystal. The dog on the shore thrashed about in the reeds and wadedin the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawkerstood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds. The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds. 

The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours. "

"What?"

"At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows--andthings--in the snow--and--and a haystack. "

"Yes, " he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it aboutmy best. And you really remembered it? Oh, " he cried, "Hollanden perhapsrecalled it to you. "

"Why, no, " she said. "I remembered it, of course. "

"Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to beindignant. 

"Why--I just remembered it because--I liked it, and because--well, thepeople with me said--said it was about the best thing in the exhibit, and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Holliehad spoken of you, and then I--I----"

"Never mind, " he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picturewas no good, anyhow!"

The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Ofcourse, I don't know--I can't talk about pictures, but, " she said indistress, "everybody said it was fine. "

"It wasn't any good, " he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head. 

From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oarssplashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcestergirls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation. 

"Oh, " said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!"

"Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?"

"Yes. " She gazed off at the water. 

"He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and littleHelen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and theywere quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings meviolets. But I know you will like him. "

"I shall expect to, " said Hawker. 

"I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?"

"About eleven, " said Hawker. 

"He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us. "

"Undoubtedly he will be here, " said Hawker. 

The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood inthe moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from thelakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing raysfrom the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat, and herowed very slowly. 

The girl was looking away somewhere with a mystic, shining glance. Sheleaned her chin in her hand. Hawker, facing her, merely paddledsubconsciously. He seemed greatly impressed and expectant. 

At last she spoke very slowly. "I wish I knew Mr. Oglethorpe was notgoing to disappoint us. "

Hawker said, "Why, no, I imagine not. "

"Well, he is a trifle uncertain in matters of time. The children--andall of us--shall be anxious. I know you will like him. "

CHAPTER IX. 

"Eh?" said Hollanden. "Oglethorpe? Oglethorpe? Why, he's that friend ofthe Fanhalls! Yes, of course, I know him! Deuced good fellow, too! Whatabout him?"

"Oh, nothing, only he's coming here to-morrow, " answered Hawker. "Whatkind of a fellow did you say he was?"

"Deuced good fellow! What are you so---- Say, by the nine madblacksmiths of Donawhiroo, he's your rival! Why, of course! Glory, but Imust be thick-headed to-night!"

Hawker said, "Where's your tobacco?"

"Yonder, in that jar. Got a pipe?"

"Yes. How do you know he's my rival?"

"Know it? Why, hasn't he been---- Say, this is getting thrilling!"Hollanden sprang to his feet and, filling a pipe, flung himself into thechair and began to rock himself madly to and fro. He puffed clouds ofsmoke. 

Hawker stood with his face in shadow. At last he said, in tones of deepweariness, "Well, I think I'd better be going home and turning in. "

"Hold on!" Hollanden exclaimed, turning his eyes from a prolonged stareat the ceiling, "don't go yet! Why, man, this is just the time when----Say, who would ever think of Jem Oglethorpe's turning up to harrie you!Just at this time, too!"

"Oh, " cried Hawker suddenly, filled with rage, "you remind me of anaccursed duffer! Why can't you tell me something about the man, insteadof sitting there and gibbering those crazy things at the ceiling?"

"By the piper----"

"Oh, shut up! Tell me something about Oglethorpe, can't you? I want tohear about him. Quit all that other business!"

"Why, Jem Oglethorpe, he--why, say, he's one of the best fellows going. If he were only an ass! If he were only an ass, now, you could feel easyin your mind. But he isn't. No, indeed. Why, blast him, there isn't aman that knows him who doesn't like Jem Oglethorpe! Excepting thechumps!"

The window of the little room was open, and the voices of the pinescould be heard as they sang of their long sorrow. Hawker pulled a chairclose and stared out into the darkness. The people on the porch of theinn were frequently calling, "Good-night! Good-night!"

Hawker said, "And of course he's got train loads of money?"

"You bet he has! He can pave streets with it. Lordie, but this is asituation!"

A heavy scowl settled upon Hawker's brow, and he kicked at the dressingcase. "Say, Hollie, look here! Sometimes I think you regard me as a bugand like to see me wriggle. But----"

"Oh, don't be a fool!" said Hollanden, glaring through the smoke. "Underthe circumstances, you are privileged to rave and ramp around like awounded lunatic, but for heaven's sake don't swoop down on me like that!Especially when I'm--when I'm doing all I can for you. "

"Doing all you can for me! Nobody asked you to. You talk as if I were aninfant. "

"There! That's right! Blaze up like a fire balloon just because I saidthat, will you? A man in your condition--why, confound you, you are aninfant!"

Hawker seemed again overwhelmed in a great dislike of himself. "Oh, well, of course, Hollie, it----" He waved his hand. "A man feelslike--like----"

"Certainly he does, " said Hollanden. "That's all right, old man. "

"And look now, Hollie, here's this Oglethorpe----"

"May the devil fly away with him!"

"Well, here he is, coming along when I thought maybe--after a while, youknow--I might stand some show. And you are acquainted with him, so giveme a line on him. "

"Well, I should advise you to----"

"Blow your advice! I want to hear about Oglethorpe. "

"Well, in the first place, he is a rattling good fellow, as I told youbefore, and this is what makes it so----"

"Oh, hang what it makes it! Go on. "

"He is a rattling good fellow and he has stacks of money. Of course, inthis case his having money doesn't affect the situation much. MissFanhall----"

"Say, can you keep to the thread of the story, you infernal literaryman!"

"Well, he's popular. He don't talk money--ever. And if he's wicked, he'snot sufficiently proud of it to be perpetually describing his sins. Andthen he is not so hideously brilliant, either. That's great credit to aman in these days. And then he--well, take it altogether, I should sayJem Oglethorpe was a smashing good fellow. "

"I wonder how long he is going to stay?" murmured Hawker. 

During this conversation his pipe had often died out. It was out at thistime. He lit another match. Hollanden had watched the fingers of hisfriend as the match was scratched. "You're nervous, Billie, " he said. 

Hawker straightened in his chair. "No, I'm not. "

"I saw your fingers tremble when you lit that match. "

"Oh, you lie!"

Hollanden mused again. "He's popular with women, too, " he saidultimately; "and often a woman will like a man and hunt his scalp justbecause she knows other women like him and want his scalp. "

"Yes, but not----"

"Hold on! You were going to say that she was not like other women, weren't you?"

"Not exactly that, but----"

"Well, we will have all that understood. "

After a period of silence Hawker said, "I must be going. "

As the painter walked toward the door Hollanden cried to him: "Heavens!Of all pictures of a weary pilgrim!" His voice was very compassionate. 

Hawker wheeled, and an oath spun through the smoke clouds. 

CHAPTER X. 

"Where's Mr. Hawker this morning?" asked the younger Miss Worcester. "Ithought he was coming up to play tennis?"

"I don't know. Confound him! I don't see why he didn't come, " saidHollanden, looking across the shining valley. He frowned questioninglyat the landscape. "I wonder where in the mischief he is?"

The Worcester girls began also to stare at the great gleaming stretch ofgreen and gold. "Didn't he tell you he was coming?" they demanded. 

"He didn't say a word about it, " answered Hollanden. "I supposed, ofcourse, he was coming. We will have to postpone the _mêlée_. "

Later he met Miss Fanhall. "You look as if you were going for a walk?"

"I am, " she said, swinging her parasol. "To meet the stage. Have youseen Mr. Hawker to-day?"

"No, " he said. "He is not coming up this morning. He is in a great fretabout that field of stubble, and I suppose he is down there sketchingthe life out of it. These artists--they take such a fiendish interest intheir work. I dare say we won't see much of him until he has finishedit. Where did you say you were going to walk?"

"To meet the stage. "

"Oh, well, I won't have to play tennis for an hour, and if youinsist----"

"Of course. "

As they strolled slowly in the shade of the trees Hollanden began, "Isn't that Hawker an ill-bred old thing?"

"No, he is not. " Then after a time she said, "Why?"

"Oh, he gets so absorbed in a beastly smudge of paint that I reallysuppose he cares nothing for anything else in the world. Men who arereally artists--I don't believe they are capable of deep humanaffections. So much of them is occupied by art. There's not much leftover, you see. "

"I don't believe it at all, " she exclaimed. 

"You don't, eh?" cried Hollanden scornfully. "Well, let me tell you, young woman, there is a great deal of truth in it. Now, there'sHawker--as good a fellow as ever lived, too, in a way, and yet he's anartist. Why, look how he treats--look how he treats that poor setterdog!"

"Why, he's as kind to him as he can be, " she declared. 

"And I tell you he is not!" cried Hollanden. 

"He is, Hollie. You--you are unspeakable when you get in these moods. "

"There--that's just you in an argument. I'm not in a mood at all. Now, look--the dog loves him with simple, unquestioning devotion that fairlybrings tears to one's eyes----"

"Yes, " she said. 

"And he--why, he's as cold and stern----"

"He isn't. He isn't, Holly. You are awf'ly unfair. "

"No, I'm not. I am simply a liberal observer. And Hawker, with hispeople, too, " he went on darkly; "you can't tell--you don't knowanything about it--but I tell you that what I have seen proves myassertion that the artistic mind has no space left for the humanaffections. And as for the dog----"

"I thought you were his friend, Hollie?"

"Whose?"

"No, not the dog's. And yet you--really, Hollie, there is somethingunnatural in you. You are so stupidly keen in looking at people that youdo not possess common loyalty to your friends. It is because you are awriter, I suppose. That has to explain so many things. Some of yourtraits are very disagreeable. "

"There! there!" plaintively cried Hollanden. "This is only about thetreatment of a dog, mind you. Goodness, what an oration!"

"It wasn't about the treatment of a dog. It was about your treatment ofyour friends. "

"Well, " he said sagely, "it only goes to show that there is nothingimpersonal in the mind of a woman. I undertook to discuss broadly----

"Oh, Hollie!"

"At any rate, it was rather below you to do such scoffing at me. "

"Well, I didn't mean--not all of it, Hollie. "

"Well, I didn't mean what I said about the dog and all that, either. "

"You didn't?" She turned toward him, large-eyed. 

"No. Not a single word of it. "

"Well, what did you say it for, then?" she demanded indignantly. 

"I said it, " answered Hollanden placidly, "just to tease you. " He lookedabstractedly up to the trees. 

Presently she said slowly, "Just to tease me?"

At this time Hollanden wore an unmistakable air of having a desire toturn up his coat collar. "Oh, come now----" he began nervously. 

"George Hollanden, " said the voice at his shoulder, "you are not onlydisagreeable, but you are hopelessly ridiculous. I--I wish you wouldnever speak to me again!"

"Oh, come now, Grace, don't--don't---- Look! There's the stage coming, isn't it?"

"No, the stage is not coming. I wish--I wish you were at the bottom ofthe sea, George Hollanden. And--and Mr. Hawker, too. There!"

"Oh, bless my soul! And all about an infernal dog, " wailed Hollanden. "Look! Honest, now, there's the stage. See it? See it?"

"It isn't there at all, " she said. 

Gradually he seemed to recover his courage. "What made you sotremendously angry? I don't see why. "

After consideration, she said decisively, "Well, because. "

"That's why I teased you, " he rejoined. 

"Well, because--because----"

"Go on, " he told her finally. "You are doing very well. " He waitedpatiently. 

"Well, " she said, "it is dreadful to defend somebody so--so excitedly, and then have it turned out just a tease. I don't know what he wouldthink. "

"Who would think?"

"Why--he. "

"What could he think? Now, what could he think? Why, " said Hollanden, waxing eloquent, "he couldn't under any circumstances think--thinkanything at all. Now, could he?"

She made no reply. 

"Could he?"

She was apparently reflecting. 

"Under any circumstances, " persisted Hollanden, "he couldn't thinkanything at all. Now, could he?"

"No, " she said. 

"Well, why are you angry at me, then?"

CHAPTER XI. 

"John, " said the old mother, from the profound mufflings of the pillowand quilts. 

"What?" said the old man. He was tugging at his right boot, and his tonewas very irascible. 

"I think William's changed a good deal. "

"Well, what if he has?" replied the father, in another burst ofill-temper. He was then tugging at his left boot. 

"Yes, I'm afraid he's changed a good deal, " said the muffled voice fromthe bed. "He's got a good many fine friends, now, John--folks what puton a good many airs; and he don't care for his home like he did. "

"Oh, well, I don't guess he's changed very much, " said the old mancheerfully. He was now free of both boots. 

She raised herself on an elbow and looked out with a troubled face. "John, I think he likes that girl. "

"What girl?" said he. 

"What girl? Why, that awful handsome girl you see around--of course. "

"Do you think he likes 'er?"

"I'm afraid so--I'm afraid so, " murmured the mother mournfully. 

"Oh, well, " said the old man, without alarm, or grief, or pleasure inhis tone. 

He turned the lamp's wick very low and carried the lamp to the head ofthe stairs, where he perched it on the step. When he returned he said, "She's mighty good-look-in'!"

"Well, that ain't everything, " she snapped. "How do we know she ain'tproud, and selfish, and--everything?"

"How do you know she is?" returned the old man. 

"And she may just be leading him on. "

"Do him good, then, " said he, with impregnable serenity. "Next timehe'll know better. "

"Well, I'm worried about it, " she said, as she sank back on the pillowagain. "I think William's changed a good deal. He don't seem to careabout--us--like he did. "

"Oh, go to sleep!" said the father drowsily. 

She was silent for a time, and then she said, "John?"

"What?"

"Do you think I better speak to him about that girl?"

"No. "

She grew silent again, but at last she demanded, "Why not?"

"'Cause it's none of your business. Go to sleep, will you?" Andpresently he did, but the old mother lay blinking wild-eyed into thedarkness. 

In the morning Hawker did not appear at the early breakfast, eaten whenthe blue glow of dawn shed its ghostly lights upon the valley. The oldmother placed various dishes on the back part of the stove. At teno'clock he came downstairs. His mother was sweeping busily in theparlour at the time, but she saw him and ran to the back part of thestove. She slid the various dishes on to the table. "Did you oversleep?"she asked. 

"Yes. I don't feel very well this morning, " he said. He pulled his chairclose to the table and sat there staring. 

She renewed her sweeping in the parlour. When she returned he sat stillstaring undeviatingly at nothing. 

"Why don't you eat your breakfast?" she said anxiously. 

"I tell you, mother, I don't feel very well this morning, " he answeredquite sharply. 

"Well, " she said meekly, "drink some coffee and you'll feel better. "

Afterward he took his painting machinery and left the house. His youngersister was at the well. She looked at him with a little smile and alittle sneer. "Going up to the inn this morning?" she said. 

"I don't see how that concerns you, Mary?" he rejoined, with dignity. 

"Oh, my!" she said airily. 

"But since you are so interested, I don't mind telling you that I'm notgoing up to the inn this morning. "

His sister fixed him with her eye. "She ain't mad at you, is she, Will?"

"I don't know what you mean, Mary. " He glared hatefully at her andstrode away. 

Stanley saw him going through the fields and leaped a fence jubilantlyin pursuit. In a wood the light sifted through the foliage and burnedwith a peculiar reddish lustre on the masses of dead leaves. He frownedat it for a while from different points. Presently he erected his easeland began to paint. After a a time he threw down his brush and swore. Stanley, who had been solemnly staring at the scene as if he too wassketching it, looked up in surprise. 

In wandering aimlessly through the fields and the forest Hawker oncefound himself near the road to Hemlock Inn. He shied away from itquickly as if it were a great snake. 

While most of the family were at supper, Mary, the younger sister, camecharging breathlessly into the kitchen. "Ma--sister, " she cried, "I knowwhy--why Will didn't go to the inn to-day. There's another fellow come. Another fellow. "

"Who? Where? What do you mean?" exclaimed her mother and her sister. 

"Why, another fellow up at the inn, " she shouted, triumphant in herinformation. "Another fellow come up on the stage this morning. And shewent out driving with him this afternoon. "

"Well, " exclaimed her mother and her sister. 

"Yep. And he's an awful good-looking fellow, too. And she--oh, my--shelooked as if she thought the world and all of him. "

"Well, " exclaimed her mother and her sister again. 

"Sho!" said the old man. "You wimen leave William alone and quit yourgabbling. "

The three women made a combined assault upon him. "Well, we ain'ta-hurting him, are we, pa? You needn't be so snifty. I guess we ain'ta-hurting him much. "

"Well, " said the old man. And to this argument he added, "Sho!"

They kept him out of the subsequent consultations. 

CHAPTER XII. 

The next day, as little Roger was going toward the tennis court, a largeorange and white setter ran effusively from around the corner of the innand greeted him. Miss Fanhall, the Worcester girls, Hollanden, andOglethorpe faced to the front like soldiers. Hollanden cried, "Why, Billie Hawker must be coming!" Hawker at that moment appeared, comingtoward them with a smile which was not overconfident. 

Little Roger went off to perform some festivities of his own on thebrown carpet under a clump of pines. The dog, to join him, felt obligedto circle widely about the tennis court. He was much afraid of thistennis court, with its tiny round things that sometimes hit him. Whennear it he usually slunk along at a little sheep trot and with an eye ofwariness upon it. 

At her first opportunity the younger Worcester girl said, "You didn'tcome up yesterday, Mr. Hawker. "

Hollanden seemed to think that Miss Fanhall turned her head as if shewished to hear the explanation of the painter's absence, so he engagedher in swift and fierce conversation. 

"No, " said Hawker. "I was resolved to finish a sketch of a stubble fieldwhich I began a good many days ago. You see, I was going to do such agreat lot of work this summer, and I've done hardly a thing. I reallyought to compel myself to do some, you know. "

"There, " said Hollanden, with a victorious nod, "just what I told you!"

"You didn't tell us anything of the kind, " retorted the Worcester girlswith one voice. 

A middle-aged woman came upon the porch of the inn, and after scanningfor a moment the group at the tennis court she hurriedly withdrew. Presently she appeared again, accompanied by five more middle-agedwomen. "You see, " she said to the others, "it is as I said. He has comeback. "

The five surveyed the group at the tennis court, and then said: "So hehas. I knew he would. Well, I declare! Did you ever?" Their voices werepitched at low keys and they moved with care, but their smiles werebroad and full of a strange glee. 

"I wonder how he feels, " said one in subtle ecstasy. 

Another laughed. "You know how you would feel, my dear, if you were himand saw yourself suddenly cut out by a man who was so hopelesslysuperior to you. Why, Oglethorpe's a thousand times better looking. Andthen think of his wealth and social position!"

One whispered dramatically, "They say he never came up here at allyesterday. "

Another replied: "No more he did. That's what we've been talking about. Stayed down at the farm all day, poor fellow!"

"Do you really think she cares for Oglethorpe?"

"Care for him? Why, of course she does. Why, when they came up the pathyesterday morning I never saw a girl's face so bright. I asked myhusband how much of the Chambers Street Bank stock Oglethorpe owned, andhe said that if Oglethorpe took his money out there wouldn't be enoughleft to buy a pie. "

The youngest woman in the corps said: "Well, I don't care. I think it istoo bad. I don't see anything so much in that Mr. Oglethorpe. "

The others at once patronized her. "Oh, you don't, my dear? Well, let metell you that bank stock waves in the air like a banner. You would seeit if you were her. "

"Well, she don't have to care for his money. "

"Oh, no, of course she don't have to. But they are just the ones thatdo, my dear. They are just the ones that do. "

"Well, it's a shame. "

"Oh, of course it's a shame. "

The woman who had assembled the corps said to one at her side: "Oh, thecommonest kind of people, my dear, the commonest kind. The father is aregular farmer, you know. He drives oxen. Such language! You can reallyhear him miles away bellowing at those oxen. And the girls are shy, half-wild things--oh, you have no idea! I saw one of them yesterday whenwe were out driving. She dodged as we came along, for I suppose she wasashamed of her frock, poor child! And the mother--well, I wish youcould see her! A little, old, dried-up thing. We saw her carrying a pailof water from the well, and, oh, she bent and staggered dreadfully, poorthing!"

"And the gate to their front yard, it has a broken hinge, you know. Ofcourse, that's an awful bad sign. When people let their front gate hangon one hinge you know what that means. "

After gazing again at the group at the court, the youngest member of thecorps said, "Well, he's a good tennis player anyhow. "

The others smiled indulgently. "Oh, yes, my dear, he's a good tennisplayer. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

One day Hollanden said, in greeting, to Hawker, "Well, he's gone. "

"Who?" asked Hawker. 

"Why, Oglethorpe, of course. Who did you think I meant?"

"How did I know?" said Hawker angrily. 

"Well, " retorted Hollanden, "your chief interest was in his movements, Ithought. "

"Why, of course not, hang you! Why should I be interested in hismovements?"

"Well, you weren't, then. Does that suit you?"

After a period of silence Hawker asked, "What did he--what made him go?"

"Who?"

"Why--Oglethorpe. "

"How was I to know you meant him? Well, he went because some importantbusiness affairs in New York demanded it, he said; but he is comingback again in a week. They had rather a late interview on the porch lastevening. "

"Indeed, " said Hawker stiffly. 

"Yes, and he went away this morning looking particularly elated. Aren'tyou glad?"

"I don't see how it concerns me, " said Hawker, with still greaterstiffness. 

In a walk to the lake that afternoon Hawker and Miss Fanhall foundthemselves side by side and silent. The girl contemplated the distantpurple hills as if Hawker were not at her side and silent. Hawkerfrowned at the roadway. Stanley, the setter, scouted the fields in agenial gallop. 

At last the girl turned to him. "Seems to me, " she said, "seems to meyou are dreadfully quiet this afternoon. "

"I am thinking about my wretched field of stubble, " he answered, stillfrowning. 

Her parasol swung about until the girl was looking up at his inscrutableprofile. "Is it, then, so important that you haven't time to talk tome?" she asked with an air of what might have been timidity. 

A smile swept the scowl from his face. "No, indeed, " he said, instantly;"nothing is so important as that. "

She seemed aggrieved then. "Hum--you didn't look so, " she told him. 

"Well, I didn't mean to look any other way, " he said contritely. "Youknow what a bear I am sometimes. Hollanden says it is a fixed scowl fromtrying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and blues. "

A little brook, a brawling, ruffianly little brook, swaggered from sideto side down the glade, swirling in white leaps over the great darkrocks and shouting challenge to the hillsides. Hollanden and theWorcester girls had halted in a place of ferns and wet moss. Theirvoices could be heard quarrelling above the clamour of the stream. Stanley, the setter, had sousled himself in a pool and then gone androlled in the dust of the road. He blissfully lolled there, with hiscoat now resembling an old door mat. 

"Don't you think Jem is a wonderfully good fellow?" said the girl to thepainter. 

"Why, yes, of course, " said Hawker. 

"Well, he is, " she retorted, suddenly defensive. 

"Of course, " he repeated loudly. 

She said, "Well, I don't think you like him as well as I like him. "

"Certainly not, " said Hawker. 

"You don't?" She looked at him in a kind of astonishment. 

"Certainly not, " said Hawker again, and very irritably. "How in the wideworld do you expect me to like him as well as you like him?"

"I don't mean as well, " she explained. 

"Oh!" said Hawker. 

"But I mean you don't like him the way I do at all--the way I expectedyou to like him. I thought men of a certain pattern always fancied theirkind of men wherever they met them, don't you know? And I was so sureyou and Jem would be friends. "

"Oh!" cried Hawker. Presently he added, "But he isn't my kind of a manat all. "

"He is. Jem is one of the best fellows in the world. "

Again Hawker cried "Oh!"

They paused and looked down at the brook. Stanley sprawled panting inthe dust and watched them. Hawker leaned against a hemlock. He sighedand frowned, and then finally coughed with great resolution. "I suppose, of course, that I am unjust to him. I care for you myself, youunderstand, and so it becomes----"

He paused for a moment because he heard a rustling of her skirts as ifshe had moved suddenly. Then he continued: "And so it becomes difficultfor me to be fair to him. I am not able to see him with a true eye. " Hebitterly addressed the trees on the opposite side of the glen. "Oh, Icare for you, of course. You might have expected it. " He turned from thetrees and strode toward the roadway. The uninformed and disreputableStanley arose and wagged his tail. 

As if the girl had cried out at a calamity, Hawker said again, "Well, you might have expected it. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

At the lake, Hollanden went pickerel fishing, lost his hook in a gaunt, gray stump, and earned much distinction by his skill in discoveringwords to express his emotion without resorting to the list ordinarilyused in such cases. The younger Miss Worcester ruined a new pair ofboots, and Stanley sat on the bank and howled the song of the forsaken. At the conclusion of the festivities Hollanden said, "Billie, you oughtto take the boat back. "

"Why had I? You borrowed it. "

"Well, I borrowed it and it was a lot of trouble, and now you ought totake it back. "

Ultimately Hawker said, "Oh, let's both go!"

On this journey Hawker made a long speech to his friend, and at the endof it he exclaimed: "And now do you think she cares so much forOglethorpe? Why, she as good as told me that he was only a very greatfriend. "

Hollanden wagged his head dubiously. "What a woman says doesn't amountto shucks. It's the way she says it--that's what counts. Besides, " hecried in a brilliant afterthought, "she wouldn't tell you, anyhow, youfool!"

"You're an encouraging brute, " said Hawker, with a rueful grin. 

Later the Worcester girls seized upon Hollanden and piled him high withferns and mosses. They dragged the long gray lichens from the chins ofvenerable pines, and ran with them to Hollanden, and dashed them intohis arms. "Oh, hurry up, Hollie!" they cried, because with his greatload he frequently fell behind them in the march. He once positivelyrefused to carry these things another step. Some distance farther on theroad he positively refused to carry this old truck another step. Whenalmost to the inn he positively refused to carry this senseless rubbishanother step. The Worcester girls had such vivid contempt for hisexpressed unwillingness that they neglected to tell him of anyappreciation they might have had for his noble struggle. 

As Hawker and Miss Fanhall proceeded slowly they heard a voice ringingthrough the foliage: "Whoa! Haw! Git-ap, blast you! Haw! Haw, drat yourhides! Will you haw? Git-ap! Gee! Whoa!"

Hawker said, "The others are a good ways ahead. Hadn't we better hurry alittle?"

The girl obediently mended her pace. 

"Whoa! haw! git-ap!" shouted the voice in the distance. "Git over there, Red, git over! Gee! Git-ap!" And these cries pursued the man and themaid. 

At last Hawker said, "That's my father. "

"Where?" she asked, looking bewildered. 

"Back there, driving those oxen. "

The voice shouted: "Whoa! Git-ap! Gee! Red, git over there now, willyou? I'll trim the shin off'n you in a minute. Whoa! Haw! Haw! Whoa!Git-ap!"

Hawker repeated, "Yes, that's my father. "

"Oh, is it?" she said. "Let's wait for him. "

"All right, " said Hawker sullenly. 

Presently a team of oxen waddled into view around the curve of the road. They swung their heads slowly from side to side, bent under the yoke, and looked out at the world with their great eyes, in which was a mysticnote of their humble, submissive, toilsome lives. An old wagon creakedafter them, and erect upon it was the tall and tattered figure of thefarmer swinging his whip and yelling: "Whoa! Haw there! Git-ap!" Thelash flicked and flew over the broad backs of the animals. 

"Hello, father!" said Hawker. 

"Whoa! Back! Whoa! Why, hello, William, what you doing here?"

"Oh, just taking a walk. Miss Fanhall, this is my father. Father----"

"How d' you do?" The old man balanced himself with care and then raisedhis straw hat from his head with a quick gesture and with what wasperhaps a slightly apologetic air, as if he feared that he was ratherover-doing the ceremonial part. 

The girl later became very intent upon the oxen. "Aren't they nice oldthings?" she said, as she stood looking into the faces of the team. "But what makes their eyes so very sad?"

"I dunno, " said the old man. 

She was apparently unable to resist a desire to pat the nose of thenearest ox, and for that purpose she stretched forth a cautious hand. But the ox moved restlessly at the moment and the girl put her handapprehensively behind herself and backed away. The old man on the wagongrinned. "They won't hurt you, " he told her. 

"They won't bite, will they?" she asked, casting a glance of inquiry atthe old man and then turning her eyes again upon the fascinatinganimals. 

"No, " said the old man, still grinning, "just as gentle as kittens. "

She approached them circuitously. "Sure?" she said. 

"Sure, " replied the old man. He climbed from the wagon and came to theheads of the oxen. With him as an ally, she finally succeeded in pattingthe nose of the nearest ox. "Aren't they solemn, kind old fellows? Don'tyou get to think a great deal of them?"

"Well, they're kind of aggravating beasts sometimes, " he said. "Butthey're a good yoke--a good yoke. They can haul with anything in thisregion. "

"It doesn't make them so terribly tired, does it?" she said hopefully. "They are such strong animals. "

"No-o-o, " he said. "I dunno. I never thought much about it. "

With their heads close together they became so absorbed in theirconversation that they seemed to forget the painter. He sat on a log andwatched them. 

Ultimately the girl said, "Won't you give us a ride?"

"Sure, " said the old man. "Come on, and I'll help you up. " He assistedher very painstakingly to the old board that usually served him as aseat, and he clambered to a place beside her. "Come on, William, " hecalled. The painter climbed into the wagon and stood behind his father, putting his hand on the old man's shoulder to preserve his balance. 

"Which is the near ox?" asked the girl with a serious frown. 

"Git-ap! Haw! That one there, " said the old man. 

"And this one is the off ox?"

"Yep. "

"Well, suppose you sat here where I do; would this one be the near oxand that one the off ox, then?"

"Nope. Be just same. "

"Then the near ox isn't always the nearest one to a person, at all? Thatox there is always the near ox?"

"Yep, always. 'Cause when you drive 'em a-foot you always walk on theleft side. "

"Well, I never knew that before. "

After studying them in silence for a while, she said, "Do you think theyare happy?"

"I dunno, " said the old man. "I never thought. " As the wagon creaked onthey gravely discussed this problem, contemplating profoundly the backsof the animals. Hawker gazed in silence at the meditating two beforehim. Under the wagon Stanley, the setter, walked slowly, wagging histail in placid contentment and ruminating upon his experiences. 

At last the old man said cheerfully, "Shall I take you around by theinn?"

Hawker started and seemed to wince at the question. Perhaps he was aboutto interrupt, but the girl cried: "Oh, will you? Take us right to thedoor? Oh, that will be awfully good of you!"

"Why, " began Hawker, "you don't want--you don't want to ride to the innon an--on an ox wagon, do you?"

"Why, of course I do, " she retorted, directing a withering glance athim. 

"Well----" he protested. 

"Let 'er be, William, " interrupted the old man. "Let 'er do what shewants to. I guess everybody in th' world ain't even got an ox wagon toride in. Have they?"

"No, indeed, " she returned, while withering Hawker again. 

"Gee! Gee! Whoa! Haw! Git-ap! Haw! Whoa! Back!"

After these two attacks Hawker became silent. 

"Gee! Gee! Gee there, blast--s'cuse me. Gee! Whoa! Git-ap!"

All the boarders of the inn were upon its porches waiting for the dinnergong. There was a surge toward the railing as a middle-aged woman passedthe word along her middle-aged friends that Miss Fanhall, accompaniedby Mr. Hawker, had arrived on the ox cart of Mr. Hawker's father. 

"Whoa! Ha! Git-ap!" said the old man in more subdued tones. "Whoa there, Red! Whoa, now! Wh-o-a!"

Hawker helped the girl to alight, and she paused for a moment conversingwith the old man about the oxen. Then she ran smiling up the steps tomeet the Worcester girls. 

"Oh, such a lovely time! Those dear old oxen--you should have been withus!"

CHAPTER XV. 

"Oh, Miss Fanhall!"

"What is it, Mrs. Truscot?"

"That was a great prank of yours last night, my dear. We all enjoyed thejoke so much. "

"Prank?"

"Yes, your riding on the ox cart with that old farmer and that young Mr. What's-his-name, you know. We all thought it delicious. Ah, my dear, after all--don't be offended--if we had your people's wealth andposition we might do that sort of unconventional thing, too; but, ah, mydear, we can't, we can't! Isn't the young painter a charming man?"

Out on the porch Hollanden was haranguing his friends. He heard a stepand glanced over his shoulder to see who was about to interrupt him. Hesuddenly ceased his oration, and said, "Hello! what's the matter withGrace?" The heads turned promptly. 

As the girl came toward them it could be seen that her cheeks were verypink and her eyes were flashing general wrath and defiance. 

The Worcester girls burst into eager interrogation. "Oh, nothing!" shereplied at first, but later she added in an undertone, "That wretchedMrs. Truscot----"

"What did she say?" whispered the younger Worcester girl. 

"Why, she said--oh, nothing!"

Both Hollanden and Hawker were industriously reflecting. 

Later in the morning Hawker said privately to the girl, "I know whatMrs. Truscot talked to you about. "

She turned upon him belligerently. "You do?"

"Yes, " he answered with meekness. "It was undoubtedly some reference toyour ride upon the ox wagon. "

She hesitated a moment, and then said, "Well?"

With still greater meekness he said, "I am very sorry. "

"Are you, indeed?" she inquired loftily. "Sorry for what? Sorry that Irode upon your father's ox wagon, or sorry that Mrs. Truscot was rudeto me about it?"

"Well, in some ways it was my fault. "

"Was it? I suppose you intend to apologize for your father's owning anox wagon, don't you?"

"No, but----"

"Well, I am going to ride in the ox wagon whenever I choose. Yourfather, I know, will always be glad to have me. And if it so shocks you, there is not the slightest necessity of your coming with us. "

They glowered at each other, and he said, "You have twisted the questionwith the usual ability of your sex. "

She pondered as if seeking some particularly destructive retort. Sheended by saying bluntly, "Did you know that we were going home nextweek?"

A flush came suddenly to his face. "No. Going home? Who? You?"

"Why, of course. " And then with an indolent air she continued, "I meantto have told you before this, but somehow it quite escaped me. "

He stammered, "Are--are you, honestly?"

She nodded. "Why, of course. Can't stay here forever, you know. "

They were then silent for a long time. 

At last Hawker said, "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"

"No. What was it?"

He cried indignantly, "You know very well what I told you!"

"I do not. "

"No, " he sneered, "of course not! You never take the trouble to remembersuch things. Of course not! Of course not!"

"You are a very ridiculous person, " she vouchsafed, after eying himcoldly. 

He arose abruptly. "I believe I am. By heavens, I believe I am!" hecried in a fury. 

She laughed. "You are more ridiculous now than I have yet seen you. "

After a pause he said magnificently, "Well, Miss Fanhall, you willdoubtless find Mr. Hollanden's conversation to have a much greaterinterest than that of such a ridiculous person. "

Hollanden approached them with the blithesome step of an untroubled man. "Hello, you two people, why don't you--oh--ahem! Hold on, Billie, whereare you going?"

"I----" began Hawker. 

"Oh, Hollie, " cried the girl impetuously, "do tell me how to do thatslam thing, you know. I've tried it so often, but I don't believe I holdmy racket right. And you do it so beautifully. "

"Oh, that, " said Hollanden. "It's not so very difficult. I'll show it toyou. You don't want to know this minute, do you?"

"Yes, " she answered. 

"Well, come over to the court, then. Come ahead, Billie!"

"No, " said Hawker, without looking at his friend, "I can't this morning, Hollie. I've got to go to work. Good-bye!" He comprehended them both ina swift bow and stalked away. 

Hollanden turned quickly to the girl. "What was the matter with Billie?What was he grinding his teeth for? What was the matter with him?"

"Why, nothing--was there?" she asked in surprise. 

"Why, he was grinding his teeth until he sounded like a stone crusher, "said Hollanden in a severe tone. "What was the matter with him?"

"How should I know?" she retorted. 

"You've been saying something to him. "

"I! I didn't say a thing. "

"Yes, you did. "

"Hollie, don't be absurd. "

Hollanden debated with himself for a time, and then observed, "Oh, well, I always said he was an ugly-tempered fellow----"

The girl flashed him a little glance. 

"And now I am sure of it--as ugly-tempered a fellow as ever lived. "

"I believe you, " said the girl. Then she added: "All men are. I declare, I think you to be the most incomprehensible creatures. One never knowswhat to expect of you. And you explode and go into rages and makeyourselves utterly detestable over the most trivial matters and at themost unexpected times. You are all mad, I think. "

"I!" cried Hollanden wildly. "What in the mischief have I done?"

CHAPTER XVI. 

"Look here, " said Hollanden, at length, "I thought you were sowonderfully anxious to learn that stroke?"

"Well, I am, " she said. 

"Come on, then. " As they walked toward the tennis court he seemed to beplunged into mournful thought. In his eyes was a singular expression, which perhaps denoted the woe of the optimist pushed suddenly from itsheight. He sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose all women, even the best ofthem, are that way. "

"What way?" she said. 

"My dear child, " he answered, in a benevolent manner, "you havedisappointed me, because I have discovered that you resemble the rest ofyour sex. "

"Ah!" she remarked, maintaining a noncommittal attitude. 

"Yes, " continued Hollanden, with a sad but kindly smile, "even you, Grace, were not above fooling with the affections of a poor countryswain, until he don't know his ear from the tooth he had pulled twoyears ago. "

She laughed. "He would be furious if he heard you call him a countryswain. "

"Who would?" said Hollanden. 

"Why, the country swain, of course, " she rejoined. 

Hollanden seemed plunged in mournful reflection again. "Well, it's ashame, Grace, anyhow, " he observed, wagging his head dolefully. "It's ahowling, wicked shame. "

"Hollie, you have no brains at all, " she said, "despite your opinion. "

"No, " he replied ironically, "not a bit. "

"Well, you haven't, you know, Hollie. "

"At any rate, " he said in an angry voice, "I have some comprehension andsympathy for the feelings of others. "

"Have you?" she asked. "How do you mean, Hollie? Do you mean you havefeeling for them in their various sorrows? Or do you mean that youunderstand their minds?"

Hollanden ponderously began, "There have been people who have notquestioned my ability to----"

"Oh, then, you mean that you both feel for them in their sorrows andcomprehend the machinery of their minds. Well, let me tell you that inregard to the last thing you are wrong. You know nothing of anyone'smind. You know less about human nature than anybody I have met. "

Hollanden looked at her in artless astonishment. He said, "Now, I wonderwhat made you say that?" This interrogation did not seem to be addressedto her, but was evidently a statement to himself of a problem. Hemeditated for some moments. Eventually he said, "I suppose you mean thatI do not understand you?"

"Why do you suppose I mean that?"

"That's what a person usually means when he--or she--charges anotherwith not understanding the entire world. "

"Well, at any rate, it is not what I mean at all, " she said. "I meanthat you habitually blunder about other people's affairs, in the belief, I imagine, that you are a great philanthropist, when you are only makingan extraordinary exhibition of yourself. "

"The dev----" began Hollanden. Afterward he said, "Now, I wonder whatin blue thunder you mean this time?"

"Mean this time? My meaning is very plain, Hollie. I supposed the wordswere clear enough. "

"Yes, " he said thoughtfully, "your words were clear enough, but then youwere of course referring back to some event, or series of events, inwhich I had the singular ill fortune to displease you. Maybe you don'tknow yourself, and spoke only from the emotion generated by the event, or series of events, in which, as I have said, I had the singular illfortune to displease you. "

"How awf'ly clever!" she said. 

"But I can't recall the event, or series of events, at all, " hecontinued, musing with a scholarly air and disregarding her mockery. "Ican't remember a thing about it. To be sure, it might have been thattime when----"

"I think it very stupid of you to hunt for a meaning when I believe Imade everything so perfectly clear, " she said wrathfully. 

"Well, you yourself might not be aware of what you really meant, " heanswered sagely. "Women often do that sort of thing, you know. Womenoften speak from motives which, if brought face to face with them, theywouldn't be able to distinguish from any other thing which they hadnever before seen. "

"Hollie, if there is a disgusting person in the world it is he whopretends to know so much concerning a woman's mind. "

"Well, that's because they who know, or pretend to know, so much about awoman's mind are invariably satirical, you understand, " said Hollandencheerfully. 

A dog ran frantically across the lawn, his nose high in the air and hiscountenance expressing vast perturbation and alarm. "Why, Billie forgotto whistle for his dog when he started for home, " said Hollanden. "Comehere, old man! Well, 'e was a nice dog!" The girl also gave invitation, but the setter would not heed them. He spun wildly about the lawn untilhe seemed to strike his master's trail, and then, with his nose near tothe ground, went down the road at an eager gallop. They stood andwatched him. 

"Stanley's a nice dog, " said Hollanden. 

"Indeed he is!" replied the girl fervently. 

Presently Hollanden remarked: "Well, don't let's fight any more, particularly since we can't decide what we're fighting about. I can'tdiscover the reason, and you don't know it, so----"

"I do know it. I told you very plainly. "

"Well, all right. Now, this is the way to work that slam: You give theball a sort of a lift--see!--underhanded and with your arm crooked andstiff. Here, you smash this other ball into the net. Hi! Look out! Ifyou hit it that way you'll knock it over the hotel. Let the ball dropnearer to the ground. Oh, heavens, not on the ground! Well, it's hard todo it from the serve, anyhow. I'll go over to the other court and batyou some easy ones. "

Afterward, when they were going toward the inn, the girl suddenly beganto laugh. 

"What are you giggling at?" said Hollanden. 

"I was thinking how furious he would be if he heard you call him acountry swain, " she rejoined. 

"Who?" asked Hollanden. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from bookswere the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst. Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people. Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions onquestions that were left to them. "That is the most odiouslyaristocratic belief, " said Oglethorpe. 

"No, " said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally, they are a collection of ingenious blockheads. "

"But they read your books, " said Oglethorpe, grinning. 

"That is through a mistake, " replied Hollanden. 

As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of theWorcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too, was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air. 

"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said thepainter at last, in a low tone. 

"Why, yes--certainly, " said the girl. 

Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from theparlours drifted to the black wall of the night. 

"I shall miss you, " said the painter. 

"Oh, I dare say, " said the girl. 

Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spacesof the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as theysoftly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn andsorrowful dance. 

"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience, " saidthe painter. 

"I have found it very pleasant, " said the girl. 

From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, andthe Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for theirwell-being. 

"I shall miss you, " he said to the girl again. His manner was ratherdesperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsidedwith an air of defeat. 

Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say Ishall return to New York myself in a few weeks. "

"I hope you will call, " she said. 

"I shall be delighted, " he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfiedlook at her. 

"Oh, Mr. Hawker, " cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emergingfrom the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in theair, "won't it be sad to lose Grace? Indeed, I don't know what we shalldo. Sha'n't we miss her dreadfully?"

"Yes, " said Hawker, "we shall of course miss her dreadfully. "

"Yes, won't it be frightful?" said the elder Worcester girl. "I can'timagine what we will do without her. And Hollie is only going to spendten more days. Oh, dear! mamma, I believe, will insist on staying theentire summer. It was papa's orders, you know, and I really think she isgoing to obey them. He said he wanted her to have one period of rest atany rate. She is such a busy woman in town, you know. "

"Here, " said Hollanden, wheeling to them suddenly, "you all look as ifyou were badgering Hawker, and he looks badgered. What are you saying tohim?"

"Why, " answered the younger Worcester girl, "we were only saying to himhow lonely it would be without Grace. "

"Oh!" said Hollanden. 

As the evening grew old, the mother of the Worcester girls joined thegroup. This was a sign that the girls were not to long delay thevanishing time. She sat almost upon the edge of her chair, as if sheexpected to be called upon at any moment to arise and bow "Good-night, "and she repaid Hollanden's eloquent attention with the placid andabsent-minded smiles of the chaperon who waits. 

Once the younger Worcester girl shrugged her shoulders and turned tosay, "Mamma, you make me nervous!" Her mother merely smiled in a stillmore placid and absent-minded manner. 

Oglethorpe arose to drag his chair nearer to the railing, and when hestood the Worcester mother moved and looked around expectantly, butOglethorpe took seat again. Hawker kept an anxious eye upon her. 

Presently Miss Fanhall arose. 

"Why, you are not going in already, are you?" said Hawker and Hollandenand Oglethorpe. The Worcester mother moved toward the door followed byher daughters, who were protesting in muffled tones. Hollanden pitchedviolently upon Oglethorpe. "Well, at any rate----" he said. He pickedthe thread of a past argument with great agility. 

Hawker said to the girl, "I--I--I shall miss you dreadfully. "

She turned to look at him and smiled. "Shall you?" she said in a lowvoice. 

"Yes, " he said. Thereafter he stood before her awkwardly and in silence. She scrutinized the boards of the floor. Suddenly she drew a violet froma cluster of them upon her gown and thrust it out to him as she turnedtoward the approaching Oglethorpe. 

"Good-night, Mr. Hawker, " said the latter. "I am very glad to have metyou, I'm sure. Hope to see you in town. Good-night. "

He stood near when the girl said to Hawker: "Good-bye. You have given ussuch a charming summer. We shall be delighted to see you in town. Youmust come some time when the children can see you, too. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, " replied Hawker, eagerly and feverishly, trying to interpretthe inscrutable feminine face before him. "I shall come at my firstopportunity. "

"Good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

Down at the farmhouse, in the black quiet of the night, a dog lay curledon the door-mat. Of a sudden the tail of this dog began to thump, thump, on the boards. It began as a lazy movement, but it passed into a stateof gentle enthusiasm, and then into one of curiously loud and joyfulcelebration. At last the gate clicked. The dog uncurled, and went to theedge of the steps to greet his master. He gave adoring, tremulouswelcome with his clear eyes shining in the darkness. "Well, Stan, oldboy, " said Hawker, stooping to stroke the dog's head. After his masterhad entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at somethingthat lay on the top step. Apparently it did not interest him greatly, for he returned in a moment to the door-mat. 

But he was again obliged to uncurl himself, for his master came out ofthe house with a lighted lamp and made search of the door-mat, thesteps, and the walk, swearing meanwhile in an undertone. The dog waggedhis tail and sleepily watched this ceremony. When his master had againentered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at the top step, butthe thing that had lain there was gone. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

It was evident at breakfast that Hawker's sisters had achievedinformation. "What's the matter with you this morning?" asked one. "Youlook as if you hadn't slep' well. "

"There is nothing the matter with me, " he rejoined, looking glumly athis plate. 

"Well, you look kind of broke up. "

"How I look is of no consequence. I tell you there is nothing the matterwith me. "

"Oh!" said his sister. She exchanged meaning glances with the otherfeminine members of the family. Presently the other sister observed, "Iheard she was going home to-day. "

"Who?" said Hawker, with a challenge in his tone. 

"Why, that New York girl--Miss What's-her-name, " replied the sister, with an undaunted smile. 

"Did you, indeed? Well, perhaps she is. "

"Oh, you don't know for sure, I s'pose. "

Hawker arose from the table, and, taking his hat, went away. 

"Mary!" said the mother, in the sepulchral tone of belated butconscientious reproof. 

"Well, I don't care. He needn't be so grand. I didn't go to tease him. Idon't care. "

"Well, you ought to care, " said the old man suddenly. "There's no sensein you wimen folks pestering the boy all the time. Let him alone withhis own business, can't you?"

"Well, ain't we leaving him alone?"

"No, you ain't--'cept when he ain't here. I don't wonder the boy grabshis hat and skips out when you git to going. "

"Well, what did we say to him now? Tell us what we said to him that wasso dreadful. "

"Aw, thunder an' lightnin'!" cried the old man with a sudden greatsnarl. They seemed to know by this ejaculation that he had emerged in aninstant from that place where man endures, and they ended thediscussion. The old man continued his breakfast. 

During his walk that morning Hawker visited a certain cascade, acertain lake, and some roads, paths, groves, nooks. Later in the day hemade a sketch, choosing an hour when the atmosphere was of a dark blue, like powder smoke in the shade of trees, and the western sky was burningin strips of red. He painted with a wild face, like a man who iskilling. 

After supper he and his father strolled under the apple boughs in theorchard and smoked. Once he gestured wearily. "Oh, I guess I'll go backto New York in a few days. "

"Um, " replied his father calmly. "All right, William. "

Several days later Hawker accosted his father in the barnyard. "Isuppose you think sometimes I don't care so much about you and the folksand the old place any more; but I do. "

"Um, " said the old man. "When you goin'?"

"Where?" asked Hawker, flushing. 

"Back to New York. "

"Why--I hadn't thought much about---- Oh, next week, I guess. "

"Well, do as you like, William. You know how glad me an' mother and thegirls are to have you come home with us whenever you can come. You knowthat. But you must do as you think best, and if you ought to go back toNew York now, William, why--do as you think best. "

"Well, my work----" said Hawker. 

From time to time the mother made wondering speech to the sisters. "Howmuch nicer William is now! He's just as good as he can be. There for awhile he was so cross and out of sorts. I don't see what could have comeover him. But now he's just as good as he can be. "

Hollanden told him, "Come up to the inn more, you fool. "

"I was up there yesterday. "

"Yesterday! What of that? I've seen the time when the farm couldn't holdyou for two hours during the day. "

"Go to blazes!"

"Millicent got a letter from Grace Fanhall the other day. "

"That so?"

"Yes, she did. Grace wrote---- Say, does that shadow look pure purpleto you?"

"Certainly it does, or I wouldn't paint it so, duffer. What did shewrite?"

"Well, if that shadow is pure purple my eyes are liars. It looks a kindof slate colour to me. Lord! if what you fellows say in your pictures istrue, the whole earth must be blazing and burning and glowing and----"

Hawker went into a rage. "Oh, you don't know anything about colour, Hollie. For heaven's sake, shut up, or I'll smash you with the easel. "

"Well, I was going to tell you what Grace wrote in her letter. Shesaid----"

"Go on. "

"Gimme time, can't you? She said that town was stupid, and that shewished she was back at Hemlock Inn. "

"Oh! Is that all?"

"Is that all? I wonder what you expected? Well, and she asked to berecalled to you. "

"Yes? Thanks. "

"And that's all. 'Gad, for such a devoted man as you were, yourenthusiasm and interest is stupendous. "

 * * * * *

The father said to the mother, "Well, William's going back to New Yorknext week. "

"Is he? Why, he ain't said nothing to me about it. "

"Well, he is, anyhow. "

"I declare! What do you s'pose he's going back before September for, John?"

"How do I know?"

"Well, it's funny, John. I bet--I bet he's going back so's he can seethat girl. "

"He says it's his work. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

Wrinkles had been peering into the little dry-goods box that acted as acupboard. "There are only two eggs and half a loaf of bread left, " heannounced brutally. 

"Heavens!" said Warwickson from where he lay smoking on the bed. Hespoke in a dismal voice. This tone, it is said, had earned him hispopular name of Great Grief. 

From different points of the compass Wrinkles looked at the littlecupboard with a tremendous scowl, as if he intended thus to frighten theeggs into becoming more than two, and the bread into becoming a loaf. "Plague take it!" he exclaimed. 

"Oh, shut up, Wrinkles!" said Grief from the bed. 

Wrinkles sat down with an air austere and virtuous. "Well, what are wegoing to do?" he demanded of the others. 

Grief, after swearing, said: "There, that's right! Now you're happy. The holy office of the inquisition! Blast your buttons, Wrinkles, youalways try to keep us from starving peacefully! It is two hours beforedinner, anyhow, and----"

"Well, but what are you going to do?" persisted Wrinkles. 

Pennoyer, with his head afar down, had been busily scratching at apen-and-ink drawing. He looked up from his board to utter a plaintiveoptimism. "The Monthly Amazement will pay me to-morrow. They ought to. I've waited over three months now. I'm going down there to-morrow, andperhaps I'll get it. "

His friends listened with airs of tolerance. "Oh, no doubt, Penny, oldman. " But at last Wrinkles giggled pityingly. Over on the bed Griefcroaked deep down in his throat. Nothing was said for a long timethereafter. 

The crash of the New York streets came faintly to this room. 

Occasionally one could hear the tramp of feet in the intricate corridorsof the begrimed building which squatted, slumbering, and old, betweentwo exalted commercial structures which would have had to bend afardown to perceive it. The northward march of the city's progress hadhappened not to overturn this aged structure, and it huddled there, lostand forgotten, while the cloud-veering towers strode on. 

Meanwhile the first shadows of dusk came in at the blurred windows ofthe room. Pennoyer threw down his pen and tossed his drawing over on thewonderful heap of stuff that hid the table. "It's too dark to work. " Helit a pipe and walked about, stretching his shoulders like a man whoselabour was valuable. 

When the dusk came fully the youths grew apparently sad. The solemnityof the gloom seemed to make them ponder. "Light the gas, Wrinkles, " saidGrief fretfully. 

The flood of orange light showed clearly the dull walls lined withsketches, the tousled bed in one corner, the masses of boxes and trunksin another, a little dead stove, and the wonderful table. Moreover, there were wine-coloured draperies flung in some places, and on a shelf, high up, there were plaster casts, with dust in the creases. A longstove-pipe wandered off in the wrong direction and then turnedimpulsively toward a hole in the wall. There were some elaborate cobwebson the ceiling. 

"Well, let's eat, " said Grief. 

"Eat, " said Wrinkles, with a jeer; "I told you there was only two eggsand a little bread left. How are we going to eat?"

Again brought face to face with this problem, and at the hour fordinner, Pennoyer and Grief thought profoundly. "Thunder and turf!" Grieffinally announced as the result of his deliberations. 

"Well, if Billie Hawker was only home----" began Pennoyer. 

"But he isn't, " objected Wrinkles, "and that settles that. "

Grief and Pennoyer thought more. Ultimately Grief said, "Oh, well, let'seat what we've got. " The others at once agreed to this suggestion, as ifit had been in their minds. 

Later there came a quick step in the passage and a confident littlethunder upon the door. Wrinkles arranging the tin pail on the gas stove, Pennoyer engaged in slicing the bread, and Great Grief affixing therubber tube to the gas stove, yelled, "Come in!"

The door opened, and Miss Florinda O'Connor, the model, dashed into theroom like a gale of obstreperous autumn leaves. 

"Why, hello, Splutter!" they cried. 

"Oh, boys, I've come to dine with you. "

It was like a squall striking a fleet of yachts. 

Grief spoke first. "Yes, you have?" he said incredulously. 

"Why, certainly I have. What's the matter?"

They grinned. "Well, old lady, " responded Grief, "you've hit us at thewrong time. We are, in fact, all out of everything. No dinner, tomention, and, what's more, we haven't got a sou. "

"What? Again?" cried Florinda. 

"Yes, again. You'd better dine home to-night. "

"But I'll--I'll stake you, " said the girl eagerly. "Oh, you poor oldidiots! It's a shame! Say, I'll stake you. "

"Certainly not, " said Pennoyer sternly. 

"What are you talking about, Splutter?" demanded Wrinkles in an angryvoice. 

"No, that won't go down, " said Grief, in a resolute yet wistful tone. 

Florinda divested herself of her hat, jacket, and gloves, and put themwhere she pleased. "Got coffee, haven't you? Well, I'm not going to stira step. You're a fine lot of birds!" she added bitterly, "You've allpulled me out of a whole lot of scrape--oh, any number of times--and nowyou're broke, you go acting like a set of dudes. "

Great Grief had fixed the coffee to boil on the gas stove, but he had towatch it closely, for the rubber tube was short, and a chair wasbalanced on a trunk, and two bundles of kindling was balanced on thechair, and the gas stove was balanced on the kindling. Coffee-making washere accounted a feat. 

Pennoyer dropped a piece of bread to the floor. "There! I'll have to goshy one. "

Wrinkles sat playing serenades on his guitar and staring with a frown atthe table, as if he was applying some strange method of clearing it ofits litter. 

Florinda assaulted Great Grief. "Here, that's not the way to makecoffee!"

"What ain't?"

"Why, the way you're making it. You want to take----" She explained someway to him which he couldn't understand. 

"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like amusic box, " said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gasstove. 

Later, as they sat around the board, Wrinkles said with satisfaction, "Well, the coffee's good, anyhow. "

"'Tis good, " said Florinda, "but it isn't made right. I'll show you how, Penny. You first----"

"Oh, dry up, Splutter, " said Grief. "Here, take an egg. "

"I don't like eggs, " said Florinda. 

"Take an egg, " said the three hosts menacingly. 

"I tell you I don't like eggs. "

"Take--an--egg!" they said again. 

"Oh, well, " said Florinda, "I'll take one, then; but you needn't actlike such a set of dudes--and, oh, maybe you didn't have much lunch. Ihad such a daisy lunch! Up at Pontiac's studio. He's got a lovelystudio. "

The three looked to be oppressed. Grief said sullenly, "I saw some ofhis things over in Stencil's gallery, and they're rotten. "

"Yes--rotten, " said Pennoyer. 

"Rotten, " said Grief. 

"Oh, well, " retorted Florinda, "if a man has a swell studio anddresses--oh, sort of like a Willie, you know, you fellows sit here likeowls in a cave and say rotten--rotten--rotten. You're away off. Pontiac's landscapes----"

"Landscapes be blowed! Put any of his work alongside of Billie Hawker'sand see how it looks. "

"Oh, well, Billie Hawker's, " said Florinda. "Oh, well. "

At the mention of Hawker's name they had all turned to scan her face. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"He wrote that he was coming home this week, " said Pennoyer. 

"Did he?" asked Florinda indifferently. 

"Yes. Aren't you glad?"

They were still watching her face. 

"Yes, of course I'm glad. Why shouldn't I be glad?" cried the girl withdefiance. 

They grinned. 

"Oh, certainly. Billie Hawker is a good fellow, Splutter. You have aparticular right to be glad. "

"You people make me tired, " Florinda retorted. "Billie Hawker doesn'tgive a rap about me, and he never tried to make out that he did. "

"No, " said Grief. "But that isn't saying that you don't care a rap aboutBillie Hawker. Ah, Florinda!"

It seemed that the girl's throat suffered a slight contraction. "Well, and what if I do?" she demanded finally. 

"Have a cigarette?" answered Grief. 

Florinda took a cigarette, lit it, and, perching herself on a divan, which was secretly a coal box, she smoked fiercely. 

"What if I do?" she again demanded. "It's better than liking one of youdubs, anyhow. "

"Oh, Splutter, you poor little outspoken kid!" said Wrinkle in a sadvoice. 

Grief searched among the pipes until he found the best one. "Yes, Splutter, don't you know that when you are so frank you defy every lawof your sex, and wild eyes will take your trail?"

"Oh, you talk through your hat, " replied Florinda. "Billie don't carewhether I like him or whether I don't. And if he should hear me now, hewouldn't be glad or give a hang, either way. I know that. " The girlpaused and looked at the row of plaster casts. "Still, you needn't bethrowing it at me all the time. "

"We didn't, " said Wrinkles indignantly. "You threw it at yourself. "

"Well, " continued Florinda, "it's better than liking one of you dubs, anyhow. He makes money and----"

"There, " said Grief, "now you've hit it! Bedad, you've reached a pointin eulogy where if you move again you will have to go backward. "

"Of course I don't care anything about a fellow's having money----"

"No, indeed you don't, Splutter, " said Pennoyer. 

"But then, you know what I mean. A fellow isn't a man and doesn't standup straight unless he has some money. And Billie Hawker makes enough sothat you feel that nobody could walk over him, don't you know? And thereisn't anything jay about him, either. He's a thoroughbred, don't youknow?"

After reflection, Pennoyer said, "It's pretty hard on the rest of us, Splutter. "

"Well, of course I like him, but--but----"

"What?" said Pennoyer. 

"I don't know, " said Florinda. 

Purple Sanderson lived in this room, but he usually dined out. At acertain time in his life, before he came to be a great artist, he hadlearned the gas-fitter's trade, and when his opinions were not identicalwith the opinions of the art managers of the greater number of New Yorkpublications he went to see a friend who was a plumber, and the opinionsof this man he was thereafter said to respect. He frequented a very neatrestaurant on Twenty-third Street. It was known that on Saturday nightsWrinkles, Grief, and Pennoyer frequently quarreled with him. 

As Florinda ceased speaking Purple entered. "Hello, there, Splutter!" Ashe was neatly hanging up his coat, he said to the others, "Well, therent will be due in four days. "

"Will it?" asked Pennoyer, astounded. 

"Certainly it will, " responded Purple, with the air of a superiorfinancial man. 

"My soul!" said Wrinkles. 

"Oh, shut up, Purple!" said Grief. "You make me weary, coming aroundhere with your chin about rent. I was just getting happy. "

"Well, how are we going to pay it? That's the point, " said Sanderson. 

Wrinkles sank deeper in his chair and played despondently on hisguitar. Grief cast a look of rage at Sanderson, and then stared at thewall. Pennoyer said, "Well, we might borrow it from Billie Hawker. "

Florinda laughed then. 

"Oh, " continued Pennoyer hastily, "if those Amazement people pay me whenthey said they would I'll have the money. "

"So you will, " said Grief. "You will have money to burn. Did theAmazement people ever pay you when they said they would? You arewonderfully important all of a sudden, it seems to me. You talk like anartist. "

Wrinkles, too, smiled at Pennoyer. "The Eminent Magazine people wantedPenny to hire models and make a try for them, too. It would only costhim a stack of blues. By the time he has invested all his money hehasn't got, and the rent is three weeks overdue, he will be able to tellthe landlord to wait seven months until the Monday morning after the dayof publication. Go ahead, Penny. "

After a period of silence, Sanderson, in an obstinate manner, said, "Well, what's to be done? The rent has got to be paid. "

Wrinkles played more sad music. Grief frowned deeper. Pennoyer wasevidently searching his mind for a plan. 

Florinda took the cigarette from between her lips that she might grinwith greater freedom. 

"We might throw Purple out, " said Grief, with an inspired air. "Thatwould stop all this discussion. "

"You!" said Sanderson furiously. "You can't keep serious a minute. Ifyou didn't have us to take care of you, you wouldn't even know when theythrew you out into the street. "

"Wouldn't I?" said Grief. 

"Well, look here, " interposed Florinda, "I'm going home unless you canbe more interesting. I am dead sorry about the rent, but I can't helpit, and----"

"Here! Sit down! Hold on, Splutter!" they shouted. Grief turned toSanderson: "Purple, you shut up!"

Florinda curled again on the divan and lit another cigarette. The talkwaged about the names of other and more successful painters, whose workthey usually pronounced "rotten. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

Pennoyer, coming home one morning with two gigantic cakes to accompanythe coffee at the breakfast in the den, saw a young man bounce from ahorse car. He gave a shout. "Hello, there, Billie! Hello!"

"Hello, Penny!" said Hawker. "What are you doing out so early?" It wassomewhat after nine o'clock. 

"Out to get breakfast, " said Pennoyer, waving the cakes. "Have a goodtime, old man?"

"Great. "

"Do much work?"

"No. Not so much. How are all the people?"

"Oh, pretty good. Come in and see us eat breakfast, " said Pennoyer, throwing open the door of the den. Wrinkles, in his shirt, was makingcoffee. Grief sat in a chair trying to loosen the grasp of sleep. "Why, Billie Hawker, b'ginger!" they cried. 

"How's the wolf, boys? At the door yet?"

"'At the door yet?' He's halfway up the back stairs, and coming fast. Heand the landlord will be here to-morrow. 'Mr. Landlord, allow me topresent Mr. F. Wolf, of Hunger, N. J. Mr. Wolf--Mr. Landlord. '"

"Bad as that?" said Hawker. 

"You bet it is! Easy Street is somewhere in heaven, for all we know. Have some breakfast?--coffee and cake, I mean. "

"No, thanks, boys. Had breakfast. "

Wrinkles added to the shirt, Grief aroused himself, and Pennoyer broughtthe coffee. Cheerfully throwing some drawings from the table to thefloor, they thus made room for the breakfast, and grouped themselveswith beaming smiles at the board. 

"Well, Billie, come back to the old gang again, eh? How did the countryseem? Do much work?"

"Not very much. A few things. How's everybody?"

"Splutter was in last night. Looking out of sight. Seemed glad to hearthat you were coming back soon. "

"Did she? Penny, did anybody call wanting me to do a ten-thousand-dollarportrait for them?"

"No. That frame-maker, though, was here with a bill. I told him----"

Afterward Hawker crossed the corridor and threw open the door of his ownlarge studio. The great skylight, far above his head, shed its clearrays upon a scene which appeared to indicate that some one had veryrecently ceased work here and started for the country. A distant closetdoor was open, and the interior showed the effects of a sudden pillage. 

There was an unfinished "Girl in Apple Orchard" upon the tall Dutcheasel, and sketches and studies were thick upon the floor. Hawker took apipe and filled it from his friend the tan and gold jar. He cast himselfinto a chair and, taking an envelope from his pocket, emptied twoviolets from it to the palm of his hand and stared long at them. Uponthe walls of the studio various labours of his life, in heavy giltframes, contemplated him and the violets. 

At last Pennoyer burst impetuously in upon him. "Hi, Billie! come overand---- What's the matter?"

Hawker had hastily placed the violets in the envelope and hurried it tohis pocket. "Nothing, " he answered. 

"Why, I thought--" said Pennoyer, "I thought you looked rather rattled. Didn't you have--I thought I saw something in your hand. "

"Nothing, I tell you!" cried Hawker. 

"Er--oh, I beg your pardon, " said Pennoyer. "Why, I was going to tellyou that Splutter is over in our place, and she wants to see you. "

"Wants to see me? What for?" demanded Hawker. "Why don't she come overhere, then?"

"I'm sure I don't know, " replied Pennoyer. "She sent me to call you. "

"Well, do you think I'm going to---- Oh, well, I suppose she wants to beunpleasant, and knows she loses a certain mental position if she comesover here, but if she meets me in your place she can be as infernallydisagreeable as she---- That's it, I'll bet. "

When they entered the den Florinda was gazing from the window. Her backwas toward the door. 

At last she turned to them, holding herself very straight. "Well, BillieHawker, " she said grimly, "you don't seem very glad to see a fellow. "

"Why, heavens, did you think I was going to turn somersaults in theair?"

"Well, you didn't come out when you heard me pass your door, " saidFlorinda, with gloomy resentment. 

Hawker appeared to be ruffled and vexed. "Oh, great Scott!" he said, making a gesture of despair. 

Florinda returned to the window. In the ensuing conversation she took nopart, save when there was an opportunity to harry some speech ofHawker's, which she did in short contemptuous sentences. Hawker made noreply save to glare in her direction. At last he said, "Well, I must goover and do some work. " Florinda did not turn from the window. "Well, so-long, boys, " said Hawker, "I'll see you later. "

As the door slammed Pennoyer apologetically said, "Billie is a trifleoff his feed this morning. "

"What about?" asked Grief. 

"I don't know; but when I went to call him he was sitting deep in hischair staring at some----" He looked at Florinda and became silent. 

"Staring at what?" asked Florinda, turning then from the window. 

Pennoyer seemed embarrassed. "Why, I don't know--nothing, I guess--Icouldn't see very well. I was only fooling. "

Florinda scanned his face suspiciously. "Staring at what?" she demandedimperatively. 

"Nothing, I tell you!" shouted Pennoyer. 

Florinda looked at him, and wavered and debated. Presently she said, softly: "Ah, go on, Penny. Tell me. "

"It wasn't anything at all, I say!" cried Pennoyer stoutly. "I was onlygiving you a jolly. Sit down, Splutter, and hit a cigarette. "

She obeyed, but she continued to cast the dubious eye at Pennoyer. Onceshe said to him privately: "Go on, Penny, tell me. I know it wassomething from the way you are acting. "

"Oh, let up, Splutter, for heaven's sake!"

"Tell me, " beseeched Florinda. 

"No. "

"Tell me. "

"No. "

"Pl-e-a-se tell me. "

"No. "

"Oh, go on. "

"No. "

"Ah, what makes you so mean, Penny? You know I'd tell you, if it was theother way about. "

"But it's none of my business, Splutter. I can't tell you somethingwhich is Billie Hawker's private affair. If I did I would be a chump. "

"But I'll never say you told me. Go on. "

"No. "

"Pl-e-a-se tell me. "

"No. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

When Florinda had gone, Grief said, "Well, what was it?" Wrinkles lookedcuriously from his drawing-board. 

Pennoyer lit his pipe and held it at the side of his mouth in the mannerof a deliberate man. At last he said, "It was two violets. "

"You don't say!" ejaculated Wrinkles. 

"Well, I'm hanged!" cried Grief. "Holding them in his hand and mopingover them, eh?"

"Yes, " responded Pennoyer. "Rather that way. "

"Well, I'm hanged!" said both Grief and Wrinkles. They grinned in apleased, urchin-like manner. "Say, who do you suppose she is? Somebodyhe met this summer, no doubt. Would you ever think old Billie would getinto that sort of a thing? Well, I'll be gol-durned!"

Ultimately Wrinkles said, "Well, it's his own business. " This was spokenin a tone of duty. 

"Of course it's his own business, " retorted Grief. "But who would everthink----" Again they grinned. 

When Hawker entered the den some minutes later he might have noticedsomething unusual in the general demeanour. "Say, Grief, will you loanme your---- What's up?" he asked. 

For answer they grinned at each other, and then grinned at him. 

"You look like a lot of Chessy cats, " he told them. 

They grinned on. 

Apparently feeling unable to deal with these phenomena, he went at lastto the door. "Well, this is a fine exhibition, " he said, standing withhis hand on the knob and regarding them. "Won election bets? Some goodold auntie just died? Found something new to pawn? No? Well, I can'tstand this. You resemble those fish they discover at deep sea. Good-bye!"

As he opened the door they cried out: "Hold on, Billie! Billie, lookhere! Say, who is she?"

"What?"

"Who is she?"

"Who is who?"

They laughed and nodded. "Why, you know. She. Don't you understand?She. "

"You talk like a lot of crazy men, " said Hawker. "I don't know what youmean. "

"Oh, you don't, eh? You don't? Oh, no! How about those violets you weremoping over this morning? Eh, old man! Oh, no, you don't know what wemean! Oh, no! How about those violets, eh? How about 'em?"

Hawker, with flushed and wrathful face, looked at Pennoyer. "Penny----"But Grief and Wrinkles roared an interruption. "Oh, ho, Mr. Hawker! soit's true, is it? It's true. You are a nice bird, you are. Well, you oldrascal! Durn your picture!"

Hawker, menacing them once with his eyes, went away. They sat cackling. 

At noon, when he met Wrinkles in the corridor, he said: "Hey, Wrinkles, come here for a minute, will you? Say, old man, I--I----"

"What?" said Wrinkles. 

"Well, you know, I--I--of course, every man is likely to make anaccursed idiot of himself once in a while, and I----"

"And you what?" asked Wrinkles. 

"Well, we are a kind of a band of hoodlums, you know, and I'm justenough idiot to feel that I don't care to hear--don't care tohear--well, her name used, you know. "

"Bless your heart, " replied Wrinkles, "we haven't used her name. Wedon't know her name. How could we use it?"

"Well, I know, " said Hawker. "But you understand what I mean, Wrinkles. "

"Yes, I understand what you mean, " said Wrinkles, with dignity. "I don'tsuppose you are any worse of a stuff than common. Still, I didn't knowthat we were such outlaws. "

"Of course, I have overdone the thing, " responded Hawker hastily. "But--you ought to understand how I mean it, Wrinkles. "

After Wrinkles had thought for a time, he said: "Well, I guess I do. All right. That goes. "

Upon entering the den, Wrinkles said, "You fellows have got to quitguying Billie, do you hear?"

"We?" cried Grief. "We've got to quit? What do you do?"

"Well, I quit too. "

Pennoyer said: "Ah, ha! Billie has been jumping on you. "

"No, he didn't, " maintained Wrinkles; "but he let me know it was--well, rather a--rather a--sacred subject. " Wrinkles blushed when the otherssnickered. 

In the afternoon, as Hawker was going slowly down the stairs, he wasalmost impaled upon the feather of a hat which, upon the head of a litheand rather slight girl, charged up at him through the gloom. 

"Hello, Splutter!" he cried. "You are in a hurry. "

"That you, Billie?" said the girl, peering, for the hallways of this oldbuilding remained always in a dungeonlike darkness. 

"Yes, it is. Where are you going at such a headlong gait?"

"Up to see the boys. I've got a bottle of wine and some--some pickles, you know. I'm going to make them let me dine with them to-night. Comingback, Billie?"

"Why, no, I don't expect to. "

He moved then accidentally in front of the light that sifted through thedull, gray panes of a little window. 

"Oh, cracky!" cried the girl; "how fine you are, Billie! Going to acoronation?"

"No, " said Hawker, looking seriously over his collar and down at hisclothes. "Fact is--er--well, I've got to make a call. "

"A call--bless us! And are you really going to wear those gray glovesyou're holding there, Billie? Say, wait until you get around the corner. They won't stand 'em on this street. "

"Oh, well, " said Hawker, depreciating the gloves--"oh, well. "

The girl looked up at him. "Who you going to call on?"

"Oh, " said Hawker, "a friend. "

"Must be somebody most extraordinary, you look so dreadfully correct. Come back, Billie, won't you? Come back and dine with us. "

"Why, I--I don't believe I can. "

"Oh, come on! It's fun when we all dine together. Won't you, Billie?"

"Well, I----"

"Oh, don't be so stupid!" The girl stamped her foot and flashed her eyesat him angrily. 

"Well, I'll see--I will if I can--I can't tell----" He left her ratherprecipitately. 

Hawker eventually appeared at a certain austere house where he rang thebell with quite nervous fingers. 

But she was not at home. As he went down the steps his eyes were asthose of a man whose fortunes have tumbled upon him. As he walked downthe street he wore in some subtle way the air of a man who has beengrievously wronged. When he rounded the corner, his lips were setstrangely, as if he were a man seeking revenge. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"It's just right, " said Grief. 

"It isn't quite cool enough, " said Wrinkles. 

"Well, I guess I know the proper temperature for claret. "

"Well, I guess you don't. If it was buttermilk, now, you would know, butyou can't tell anything about claret. "

Florinda ultimately decided the question. "It isn't quite cool enough, "she said, laying her hand on the bottle. "Put it on the window ledge, Grief. "

"Hum! Splutter, I thought you knew more than----"

"Oh, shut up!" interposed the busy Pennoyer from a remote corner. "Whois going after the potato salad? That's what I want to know. Who isgoing?"

"Wrinkles, " said Grief. 

"Grief, " said Wrinkles. 

"There, " said Pennoyer, coming forward and scanning a late work with aneye of satisfaction. "There's the three glasses and the little tumbler;and then, Grief, you will have to drink out of a mug. "

"I'll be double-dyed black if I will!" cried Grief. "I wouldn't drinkclaret out of a mug to save my soul from being pinched!"

"You duffer, you talk like a bloomin' British chump on whom the sunnever sets! What do you want?"

"Well, there's enough without that--what's the matter with you? Threeglasses and the little tumbler. "

"Yes, but if Billie Hawker comes----"

"Well, let him drink out of the mug, then. He----"

"No, he won't, " said Florinda suddenly. "I'll take the mug myself. "

"All right, Splutter, " rejoined Grief meekly. "I'll keep the mug. But, still, I don't see why Billie Hawker----"

"I shall take the mug, " reiterated Florinda firmly. 

"But I don't see why----"

"Let her alone, Grief, " said Wrinkles. "She has decided that it isheroic. You can't move her now. "

"Well, who is going for the potato salad?" cried Pennoyer again. "That'swhat I want to know. "

"Wrinkles, " said Grief. 

"Grief, " said Wrinkles. 

"Do you know, " remarked Florinda, raising her head from where she hadbeen toiling over the _spaghetti_, "I don't care so much for BillieHawker as I did once?" Her sleeves were rolled above the elbows of herwonderful arms, and she turned from the stove and poised a fork as ifshe had been smitten at her task with this inspiration. 

There was a short silence, and then Wrinkles said politely, "No. "

"No, " continued Florinda, "I really don't believe I do. " She suddenlystarted. "Listen! Isn't that him coming now?"

The dull trample of a step could be heard in some distant corridor, butit died slowly to silence. 

"I thought that might be him, " she said, turning to the _spaghetti_again. 

"I hope the old Indian comes, " said Pennoyer, "but I don't believe hewill. Seems to me he must be going to see----"

"Who?" asked Florinda. 

"Well, you know, Hollanden and he usually dine together when they areboth in town. "

Florinda looked at Pennoyer. "I know, Penny. You must have thought I wasremarkably clever not to understand all your blundering. But I don'tcare so much. Really I don't. "

"Of course not, " assented Pennoyer. 

"Really I don't. "

"Of course not. "

"Listen!" exclaimed Grief, who was near the door. "There he comes now. "Somebody approached, whistling an air from "Traviata, " which rang loudand clear, and low and muffled, as the whistler wound among theintricate hallways. This air was as much a part of Hawker as his coat. The _spaghetti_ had arrived at a critical stage. Florinda gave it hercomplete attention. 

When Hawker opened the door he ceased whistling and said gruffly, "Hello!"

"Just the man!" said Grief. "Go after the potato salad, will you, Billie? There's a good boy! Wrinkles has refused. "

"He can't carry the salad with those gloves, " interrupted Florinda, raising her eyes from her work and contemplating them with displeasure. 

"Hang the gloves!" cried Hawker, dragging them from his hands andhurling them at the divan. "What's the matter with you, Splutter?"

Pennoyer said, "My, what a temper you are in, Billie!"

"I am, " replied Hawker. "I feel like an Apache. Where do you get thisaccursed potato salad?"

"In Second Avenue. You know where. At the old place. "

"No, I don't!" snapped Hawker. 

"Why----"

"Here, " said Florinda, "I'll go. " She had already rolled down hersleeves and was arraying herself in her hat and jacket. 

"No, you won't, " said Hawker, filled with wrath. "I'll go myself. "

"We can both go, Billie, if you are so bent, " replied the girl in aconciliatory voice. 

"Well, come on, then. What are you standing there for?"

When these two had departed, Wrinkles said: "Lordie! What's wrong withBillie?"

"He's been discussing art with some pot-boiler, " said Grief, speakingas if this was the final condition of human misery. 

"No, sir, " said Pennoyer. "It's something connected with the nowcelebrated violets. "

Out in the corridor Florinda said, "What--what makes you so ugly, Billie?"

"Why, I am not ugly, am I?"

"Yes, you are--ugly as anything. "

Probably he saw a grievance in her eyes, for he said, "Well, I don'twant to be ugly. " His tone seemed tender. The halls were intensely dark, and the girl placed her hand on his arm. As they rounded a turn in thestairs a straying lock of her hair brushed against his temple. "Oh!"said Florinda, in a low voice. 

"We'll get some more claret, " observed Hawker musingly. "And some cognacfor the coffee. And some cigarettes. Do you think of anything more, Splutter?"

As they came from the shop of the illustrious purveyors of potato saladin Second Avenue, Florinda cried anxiously, "Here, Billie, you let mecarry that!"

"What infernal nonsense!" said Hawker, flushing. "Certainly not!"

"Well, " protested Florinda, "it might soil your gloves somehow. "

"In heaven's name, what if it does? Say, young woman, do you think I amone of these cholly boys?"

"No, Billie; but then, you know----"

"Well, if you don't take me for some kind of a Willie, give us peace onthis blasted glove business!"

"I didn't mean----"

"Well, you've been intimating that I've got the only pair of gray glovesin the universe, but you are wrong. There are several pairs, and theseneed not be preserved as unique in history. "

"They're not gray. They're----"

"They are gray! I suppose your distinguished ancestors in Ireland didnot educate their families in the matter of gloves, and so you are notexpected to----"

"Billie!"

"You are not expected to believe that people wear gloves only in coldweather, and then you expect to see mittens. "

On the stairs, in the darkness, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here, look out, or you'll fall!" He reached for her arm, but she evaded him. Later hesaid again: "Look out, girl! What makes you stumble around so? Here, give me the bottle of wine. I can carry it all right. There--now can youmanage?"

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"Penny, " said Grief, looking across the table at his friend, "if a manthinks a heap of two violets, how much would he think of a thousandviolets?"

"Two into a thousand goes five hundred times, you fool!" said Pennoyer. "I would answer your question if it were not upon a forbidden subject. "

In the distance Wrinkles and Florinda were making Welsh rarebits. 

"Hold your tongues!" said Hawker. "Barbarians!"

"Grief, " said Pennoyer, "if a man loves a woman better than the wholeuniverse, how much does he love the whole universe?"

"Gawd knows, " said Grief piously. "Although it ill befits me to answeryour question. "

Wrinkles and Florinda came with the Welsh rarebits, very triumphant. "There, " said Florinda, "soon as these are finished I must go home. Itis after eleven o'clock. --Pour the ale, Grief. "

At a later time, Purple Sanderson entered from the world. He hung up hishat and cast a look of proper financial dissatisfaction at the remnantsof the feast. "Who has been----"

"Before you breathe, Purple, you graceless scum, let me tell you that wewill stand no reference to the two violets here, " said Pennoyer. 

"What the----"

"Oh, that's all right, Purple, " said Grief, "but you were going to saysomething about the two violets, right then. Weren't you, now, you oldbat?"

Sanderson grinned expectantly. "What's the row?" said he. 

"No row at all, " they told him. "Just an agreement to keep you fromchattering obstinately about the two violets. "

"What two violets?"

"Have a rarebit, Purple, " advised Wrinkles, "and never mind thosemaniacs. "

"Well, what is this business about two violets?"

"Oh, it's just some dream. They gibber at anything. "

"I think I know, " said Florinda, nodding. "It is something that concernsBillie Hawker. "

Grief and Pennoyer scoffed, and Wrinkles said: "You know nothing aboutit, Splutter. It doesn't concern Billie Hawker at all. "

"Well, then, what is he looking sideways for?" cried Florinda. 

Wrinkles reached for his guitar, and played a serenade, "The silver moonis shining----"

"Dry up!" said Pennoyer. 

Then Florinda cried again, "What does he look sideways for?"

Pennoyer and Grief giggled at the imperturbable Hawker, who destroyedrarebit in silence. 

"It's you, is it, Billie?" said Sanderson. "You are in this two-violetbusiness?"

"I don't know what they're talking about, " replied Hawker. 

"Don't you, honestly?" asked Florinda. 

"Well, only a little. "

"There!" said Florinda, nodding again. "I knew he was in it. "

"He isn't in it at all, " said Pennoyer and Grief. 

Later, when the cigarettes had become exhausted, Hawker volunteered togo after a further supply, and as he arose, a question seemed to come tothe edge of Florinda's lips and pend there. The moment that the door wasclosed upon him she demanded, "What is that about the two violets?"

"Nothing at all, " answered Pennoyer, apparently much aggrieved. He satback with an air of being a fortress of reticence. 

"Oh, go on--tell me! Penny, I think you are very mean. --Grief, you tellme!"

 "The silver moon is shining; Oh, come, my love, to me! My heart----"

"Be still, Wrinkles, will you?--What was it, Grief? Oh, go ahead andtell me!"

"What do you want to know for?" cried Grief, vastly exasperated. "You'vegot more blamed curiosity---- It isn't anything at all, I keep saying toyou. "

"Well, I know it is, " said Florinda sullenly, "or you would tell me. "

When Hawker brought the cigarettes, Florinda smoked one, and thenannounced, "Well, I must go now. "

"Who is going to take you home, Splutter?"

"Oh, anyone, " replied Florinda. 

"I tell you what, " said Grief, "we'll throw some poker hands, and theone who wins will have the distinguished honour of conveying MissSplutter to her home and mother. "

Pennoyer and Wrinkles speedily routed the dishes to one end of thetable. Grief's fingers spun the halves of a pack of cards together withthe pleased eagerness of a good player. The faces grew solemn with thegambling solemnity. "Now, you Indians, " said Grief, dealing, "a draw, you understand, and then a show-down. "

Florinda leaned forward in her chair until it was poised on two legs. The cards of Purple Sanderson and of Hawker were faced toward her. Sanderson was gravely regarding two pair--aces and queens. Hawkerscanned a little pair of sevens. "They draw, don't they?" she said toGrief. 

"Certainly, " said Grief. "How many, Wrink?"

"Four, " replied Wrinkles, plaintively. 

"Gimme three, " said Pennoyer. 

"Gimme one, " said Sanderson. 

"Gimme three, " said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda'schair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the littlepair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him. 

"Same to the dealer, " said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?"

"Nothing, " said Wrinkles, exhibiting it face upward on the table. "Good-bye, Florinda. "

"Well, I've got two small pair, " ventured Pennoyer hopefully. "Beat'em?"

"No good, " said Sanderson. "Two pair--aces up. "

"No good, " said Hawker. "Three sevens. "

"Beats me, " said Grief. "Billie, you are the fortunate man. Heaven guideyou in Third Avenue!"

Florinda had gone to the window. "Who won?" she asked, wheeling aboutcarelessly. 

"Billie Hawker. "

"What! Did he?" she said in surprise. 

"Never mind, Splutter. I'll win sometime, " said Pennoyer. "Me too, "cried Grief. "Good night, old girl!" said Wrinkles. They crowded in thedoorway. "Hold on to Billie. Remember the two steps going up, " Pennoyercalled intelligently into the Stygian blackness. "Can you see allright?"

 * * * * *

Florinda lived in a flat with fire-escapes written all over the front ofit. The street in front was being repaired. It had been said by imbecileresidents of the vicinity that the paving was never allowed to remaindown for a sufficient time to be invalided by the tramping millions, butthat it was kept perpetually stacked in little mountains through theunceasing vigilance of a virtuous and heroic city government, whichinsisted that everything should be repaired. The alderman for thedistrict had sometimes asked indignantly of his fellow-members why thisstreet had not been repaired, and they, aroused, had at once ordered itto be repaired. Moreover, shopkeepers, whose stables were adjacent, placed trucks and other vehicles strategically in the darkness. Intothis tangled midnight Hawker conducted Florinda. The great avenue behindthem was no more than a level stream of yellow light, and the distantmerry bells might have been boats floating down it. Grim loneliness hungover the uncouth shapes in the street which was being repaired. 

"Billie, " said the girl suddenly, "what makes you so mean to me?"

A peaceful citizen emerged from behind a pile of _débris_, but he mightnot have been a peaceful citizen, so the girl clung to Hawker. 

"Why, I'm not mean to you, am I?"

"Yes, " she answered. As they stood on the steps of the flat ofinnumerable fire-escapes she slowly turned and looked up at him. Herface was of a strange pallour in this darkness, and her eyes were aswhen the moon shines in a lake of the hills. 

He returned her glance. "Florinda!" he cried, as if enlightened, andgulping suddenly at something in his throat. The girl studied the stepsand moved from side to side, as do the guilty ones in countryschoolhouses. Then she went slowly into the flat. 

There was a little red lamp hanging on a pile of stones to warn peoplethat the street was being repaired. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

"I'll get my check from the Gamin on Saturday, " said Grief. "They boughtthat string of comics. "

"Well, then, we'll arrange the present funds to last until Saturdaynoon, " said Wrinkles. "That gives us quite a lot. We can have a _tabled'hôte_ on Friday night. "

However, the cashier of the Gamin office looked under his respectablebrass wiring and said: "Very sorry, Mr. --er--Warwickson, but our pay-dayis Monday. Come around any time after ten. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter, " said Grief. 

When he plunged into the den his visage flamed with rage. "Don't get mycheck until Monday morning, any time after ten!" he yelled, and flung aportfolio of mottled green into the danger zone of the casts. 

"Thunder!" said Pennoyer, sinking at once into a profound despair

"Monday morning, any time after ten, " murmured Wrinkles, in astonishmentand sorrow. 

While Grief marched to and fro threatening the furniture, Pennoyer andWrinkles allowed their under jaws to fall, and remained as men smittenbetween the eyes by the god of calamity. 

"Singular thing!" muttered Pennoyer at last. "You get so frightfullyhungry as soon as you learn that there are no more meals coming. "

"Oh, well----" said Wrinkles. He took up his guitar. 

 Oh, some folks say dat a niggah won' steal, 'Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'; But Ah caught two in my cohn'-fiel', Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'. 

"Oh, let up!" said Grief, as if unwilling to be moved from his despair. 

"Oh, let up!" said Pennoyer, as if he disliked the voice and the ballad. 

In his studio, Hawker sat braced nervously forward on a little stoolbefore his tall Dutch easel. Three sketches lay on the floor near him, and he glared at them constantly while painting at the large canvas onthe easel. 

He seemed engaged in some kind of a duel. His hair dishevelled, his eyesgleaming, he was in a deadly scuffle. In the sketches was the landscapeof heavy blue, as if seen through powder-smoke, and all the skies burnedred. There was in these notes a sinister quality of hopelessness, eloquent of a defeat, as if the scene represented the last hour on afield of disastrous battle. Hawker seemed attacking with this picturesomething fair and beautiful of his own life, a possession of his mind, and he did it fiercely, mercilessly, formidably. His arm moved with theenergy of a strange wrath. He might have been thrusting with a sword. 

There was a knock at the door. "Come in. " Pennoyer entered sheepishly. "Well?" cried Hawker, with an echo of savagery in his voice. He turnedfrom the canvas precisely as one might emerge from a fight. "Oh!" hesaid, perceiving Pennoyer. The glow in his eyes slowly changed. "What isit, Penny?"

"Billie, " said Pennoyer, "Grief was to get his check to-day, but theyput him off until Monday, and so, you know--er--well----"

"Oh!" said Hawker again. 

When Pennoyer had gone Hawker sat motionless before his work. He staredat the canvas in a meditation so profound that it was probablyunconscious of itself. 

The light from above his head slanted more and more toward the east. 

Once he arose and lighted a pipe. He returned to the easel and stoodstaring with his hands in his pockets. He moved like one in a sleep. Suddenly the gleam shot into his eyes again. He dropped to the stool andgrabbed a brush. At the end of a certain long, tumultuous period heclinched his pipe more firmly in his teeth and puffed strongly. Thethought might have occurred to him that it was not alight, for he lookedat it with a vague, questioning glance. There came another knock at thedoor. "Go to the devil!" he shouted, without turning his head. 

Hollanden crossed the corridor then to the den. 

"Hi, there, Hollie! Hello, boy! Just the fellow we want to see. Comein--sit down--hit a pipe. Say, who was the girl Billie Hawker went madover this summer?"

"Blazes!" said Hollanden, recovering slowly from this onslaught. "Who--what--how did you Indians find it out?"

"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried in delight, "we tumbled. "

"There!" said Hollanden, reproaching himself. "And I thought you weresuch a lot of blockheads. "

"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried again in their ecstasy. "But who is she?That's the point. "

"Well, she was a girl. "

"Yes, go on. "

"A New York girl. "

"Yes. "

"A perfectly stunning New York girl. "

"Yes. Go ahead. "

"A perfectly stunning New York girl of a very wealthy and ratherold-fashioned family. "

"Well, I'll be shot! You don't mean it! She is practically seated on topof the Matterhorn. Poor old Billie!"

"Not at all, " said Hollanden composedly. 

It was a common habit of Purple Sanderson to call attention at night tothe resemblance of the den to some little ward in a hospital. Upon thisnight, when Sanderson and Grief were buried in slumber, Pennoyer movedrestlessly. "Wrink!" he called softly into the darkness in the directionof the divan which was secretly a coal-box. 

"What?" said Wrinkles in a surly voice. His mind had evidently beencaught at the threshold of sleep. 

"Do you think Florinda cares much for Billie Hawker?"

Wrinkles fretted through some oaths. "How in thunder do I know?" Thedivan creaked as he turned his face to the wall. 

"Well----" muttered Pennoyer. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

The harmony of summer sunlight on leaf and blade of green was not knownto the two windows, which looked forth at an obviously endless buildingof brownstone about which there was the poetry of a prison. Inside, great folds of lace swept down in orderly cascades, as water trained tofall mathematically. The colossal chandelier, gleaming like a Siameseheaddress, caught the subtle flashes from unknown places. 

Hawker heard a step and the soft swishing of a woman's dress. He turnedtoward the door swiftly, with a certain dramatic impulsiveness. But whenshe entered the room he said, "How delighted I am to see you again!"

She had said, "Why, Mr. Hawker, it was so charming in you to come!"

It did not appear that Hawker's tongue could wag to his purpose. Thegirl seemed in her mind to be frantically shuffling her pack of socialreceipts and finding none of them made to meet this situation. Finally, Hawker said that he thought Hearts at War was a very good play. 

"Did you?" she said in surprise. "I thought it much like the others. "

"Well, so did I, " he cried hastily--"the same figures moving around inthe mud of modern confusion. I really didn't intend to say that I likedit. Fact is, meeting you rather moved me out of my mental track. "

"Mental track?" she said. "I didn't know clever people had mentaltracks. I thought it was a privilege of the theologians. "

"Who told you I was clever?" he demanded. 

"Why, " she said, opening her eyes wider, "nobody. "

Hawker smiled and looked upon her with gratitude. "Of course, nobody. There couldn't be such an idiot. I am sure you should be astonished tolearn that I believed such an imbecile existed. But----"

"Oh!" she said. 

"But I think you might have spoken less bluntly. "

"Well, " she said, after wavering for a time, "you are clever, aren'tyou?"

"Certainly, " he answered reassuringly. 

"Well, then?" she retorted, with triumph in her tone. And thisinterrogation was apparently to her the final victorious argument. 

At his discomfiture Hawker grinned. 

"You haven't asked news of Stanley, " he said. "Why don't you ask news ofStanley?"

"Oh! and how was he?"

"The last I saw of him he stood down at the end of the pasture--thepasture, you know--wagging his tail in blissful anticipation of aninvitation to come with me, and when it finally dawned upon him that hewas not to receive it, he turned and went back toward the house 'like aman suddenly stricken with age, ' as the story-tellers eloquently say. Poor old dog!"

"And you left him?" she said reproachfully. Then she asked, "Do youremember how he amused you playing with the ants at the falls?"

"No. "

"Why, he did. He pawed at the moss, and you sat there laughing. Iremember it distinctly. "

"You remember distinctly? Why, I thought--well, your back was turned, you know. Your gaze was fixed upon something before you, and you wereutterly lost to the rest of the world. You could not have known ifStanley pawed the moss and I laughed. So, you see, you are mistaken. Asa matter of fact, I utterly deny that Stanley pawed the moss or that Ilaughed, or that any ants appeared at the falls at all. "

"I have always said that you should have been a Chinese soldier offortune, " she observed musingly. "Your daring and ingenuity would beprized by the Chinese. "

"There are innumerable tobacco jars in China, " he said, measuring theadvantages. "Moreover, there is no perspective. You don't have to walktwo miles to see a friend. No. He is always there near you, so that youcan't move a chair without hitting your distant friend. You----"

"Did Hollie remain as attentive as ever to the Worcester girls?"

"Yes, of course, as attentive as ever. He dragged me into all manner oftennis games----"

"Why, I thought you loved to play tennis?"

"Oh, well, " said Hawker, "I did until you left. "

"My sister has gone to the park with the children. I know she will bevexed when she finds that you have called. "

Ultimately Hawker said, "Do you remember our ride behind my father'soxen?"

"No, " she answered; "I had forgotten it completely. Did we ride behindyour father's oxen?"

After a moment he said: "That remark would be prized by the Chinese. Wedid. And you most graciously professed to enjoy it, which earned my deepgratitude and admiration. For no one knows better than I, " he addedmeekly, "that it is no great comfort or pleasure to ride behind myfather's oxen. "

She smiled retrospectively. "Do you remember how the people on the porchhurried to the railing?"

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Near the door the stout proprietress sat intrenched behind the cash-boxin a Parisian manner. She looked with practical amiability at herguests, who dined noisily and with great fire, discussing momentousproblems furiously, making wide, maniacal gestures through the cigarettesmoke. Meanwhile the little handful of waiters ran to and fro wildly. Imperious and importunate cries rang at them from all directions. "Gustave! Adolphe!" Their faces expressed a settled despair. Theyanswered calls, commands, oaths in a semi-distraction, fleeting amongthe tables as if pursued by some dodging animal. Their breaths came ingasps. If they had been convict labourers they could not have surveyedtheir positions with countenances of more unspeakable injury. Withal, they carried incredible masses of dishes and threaded their ways withskill. They served people with such speed and violence that it oftenresembled a personal assault. They struck two blows at a table and leftthere a knife and fork. Then came the viands in a volley. The clatter ofthis business was loud and bewilderingly rapid, like the gallop of athousand horses. 

In a remote corner a band of mandolins and guitars played the long, sweeping, mad melody of a Spanish waltz. It seemed to go tingling to thehearts of many of the diners. Their eyes glittered with enthusiasm, withabandon, with deviltry. They swung their heads from side to side inrhythmic movement. High in air curled the smoke from the innumerablecigarettes. The long, black claret bottles were in clusters upon thetables. At an end of the hall two men with maudlin grins sang the waltzuproariously, but always a trifle belated. 

An unsteady person, leaning back in his chair to murmur swiftcompliments to a woman at another table, suddenly sprawled out upon thefloor. He scrambled to his feet, and, turning to the escort of thewoman, heatedly blamed him for the accident. They exchanged a series oftense, bitter insults, which spatted back and forth between them likepellets. People arose from their chairs and stretched their necks. Themusicians stood in a body, their faces turned with expressions of keenexcitement toward this quarrel, but their fingers still twinkling overtheir instruments, sending into the middle of this turmoil thepassionate, mad, Spanish music. The proprietor of the place came inagitation and plunged headlong into the argument, where he thereafterappeared as a frantic creature harried to the point of insanity, forthey buried him at once in long, vociferous threats, explanations, charges, every form of declamation known to their voices. The music, thenoise of the galloping horses, the voices of the brawlers, gave thewhole thing the quality of war. 

There were two men in the _café_ who seemed to be tranquil. Hollandencarefully stacked one lump of sugar upon another in the middle of hissaucer and poured cognac over them. He touched a match to the cognac andthe blue and yellow flames eddied in the saucer. "I wonder what thosetwo fools are bellowing at?" he said, turning about irritably. 

"Hanged if I know!" muttered Hawker in reply. "This place makes meweary, anyhow. Hear the blooming din!"

"What's the matter?" said Hollanden. "You used to say this was the onenatural, the one truly Bohemian, resort in the city. You swore by it. "

"Well, I don't like it so much any more. "

"Ho!" cried Hollanden, "you're getting correct--that's it exactly. Youwill become one of these intensely---- Look, Billie, the little one isgoing to punch him!"

"No, he isn't. They never do, " said Hawker morosely. "Why did you bringme here to-night, Hollie?"

"I? I bring you? Good heavens, I came as a concession to you! What areyou talking about?--Hi! the little one is going to punch him, sure!"

He gave the scene his undivided attention for a moment; then he turnedagain: "You will become correct. I know you will. I have been watching. You are about to achieve a respectability that will make a stone saintblush for himself. What's the matter with you? You act as if you thoughtfalling in love with a girl was a most extraordinary circumstance. --Iwish they would put those people out. --Of course I know that you----There! The little one has swiped at him at last!"

After a time he resumed his oration. "Of course, I know that you are notreformed in the matter of this uproar and this remarkable consumption ofbad wine. It is not that. It is a fact that there are indications thatsome other citizen was fortunate enough to possess your napkin beforeyou; and, moreover, you are sure that you would hate to be caught byyour correct friends with any such _consommé_ in front of you as we hadto-night. You have got an eye suddenly for all kinds of gilt. You are inthe way of becoming a most unbearable person. --Oh, look! the little oneand the proprietor are having it now. --You are in the way of becoming amost unbearable person. Presently many of your friends will not be fineenough. --In heaven's name, why don't they throw him out? Are you goingto howl and gesticulate there all night?"

"Well, " said Hawker, "a man would be a fool if he did like this dinner. "

"Certainly. But what an immaterial part in the glory of this joint isthe dinner! Who cares about dinner? No one comes here to eat; that'swhat you always claimed. --Well, there, at last they are throwing himout. I hope he lands on his head. --Really, you know, Billie, it is sucha fine thing being in love that one is sure to be detestable to the restof the world, and that is the reason they created a proverb to the othereffect. You want to look out. "

"You talk like a blasted old granny!" said Hawker. "Haven't changed atall. This place is all right, only----"

"You are gone, " interrupted Hollanden in a sad voice. "It is veryplain--you are gone. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The proprietor of the place, having pushed to the street the little man, who may have been the most vehement, came again and resumed thediscussion with the remainder of the men of war. Many of these hadvolunteered, and they were very enduring. 

"Yes, you are gone, " said Hollanden, with the sobriety of graves in hisvoice. "You are gone. --Hi!" he cried, "there is Lucian Pontiac. --Hi, Pontiac! Sit down here. "

A man with a tangle of hair, and with that about his mouth which showedthat he had spent many years in manufacturing a proper modesty withwhich to bear his greatness, came toward them, smiling. 

"Hello, Pontiac!" said Hollanden. "Here's another great painter. Do youknow Mr. Hawker?--Mr. William Hawker--Mr. Pontiac. "

"Mr. Hawker--delighted, " said Pontiac. "Although I have not known youpersonally, I can assure you that I have long been a great admirer ofyour abilities. "

The proprietor of the place and the men of war had at length agreed tocome to an amicable understanding. They drank liquors, while eachfirmly, but now silently, upheld his dignity. 

"Charming place, " said Pontiac. "So thoroughly Parisian in spirit. Andfrom time to time, Mr. Hawker, I use one of your models. Must say shehas the best arm and wrist in the universe. Stunning figure--stunning!"

"You mean Florinda?" said Hawker. 

"Yes, that's the name. Very fine girl. Lunches with me from time to timeand chatters so volubly. That's how I learned you posed heroccasionally. If the models didn't gossip we would never know whatpainters were addicted to profanity. Now that old Thorndike--he told meyou swore like a drill-sergeant if the model winked a finger at thecritical time. Very fine girl, Florinda. And honest, too--honest as thedevil. Very curious thing. Of course honesty among the girl models isvery common, very common--quite universal thing, you know--but then italways strikes me as being very curious, very curious. I've been muchattracted by your girl Florinda. "

"My girl?" said Hawker. 

"Well, she always speaks of you in a proprietary way, you know. And thenshe considers that she owes you some kind of obedience and allegianceand devotion. I remember last week I said to her: 'You can go now. Comeagain Friday. ' But she said: 'I don't think I can come on Friday. BillieHawker is home now, and he may want me then. ' Said I: 'The devil takeBillie Hawker! He hasn't engaged you for Friday, has he? Well, then, Iengage you now. ' But she shook her head. No, she couldn't come onFriday. Billie Hawker was home, and he might want her any day. 'Well, then, ' said I, 'you have my permission to do as you please, since youare resolved upon it anyway. Go to your Billie Hawker. ' Did you need heron Friday?"

"No, " said Hawker. 

"Well, then, the minx, I shall scold her. Stunning figure--stunning! Itwas only last week that old Charley Master said to me mournfully:'There are no more good models. Great Scott! not a one. ' 'You're 'wayoff, my boy, ' I said; 'there is one good model, ' and then I named yourgirl. I mean the girl who claims to be yours. "

"Poor little beggar!" said Hollanden. 

"Who?" said Pontiac. 

"Florinda, " answered Hollanden. "I suppose----"

Pontiac interrupted. "Oh, of course, it is too bad. Everything is toobad. My dear sir, nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe. But this Florinda is such a sturdy young soul! The world is against her, but, bless your heart, she is equal to the battle. She is strong in themanner of a little child. Why, you don't know her. She----"

"I know her very well. "

"Well, perhaps you do, but for my part I think you don't appreciate herformidable character and stunning figure--stunning!"

"Damn it!" said Hawker to his coffee cup, which he had accidentallyoverturned. 

"Well, " resumed Pontiac, "she is a stunning model, and I think, Mr. Hawker, you are to be envied. "

"Eh?" said Hawker. 

"I wish I could inspire my models with such obedience and devotion. ThenI would not be obliged to rail at them for being late, and have tobadger them for not showing up at all. She has a beautifulfigure--beautiful. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

When Hawker went again to the house of the great window he looked firstat the colossal chandelier, and, perceiving that it had not moved, hesmiled in a certain friendly and familiar way. 

"It must be a fine thing, " said the girl dreamily. "I always feelenvious of that sort of life. "

"What sort of life?"

"Why--I don't know exactly; but there must be a great deal of freedomabout it. I went to a studio tea once, and----"

"A studio tea! Merciful heavens---- Go on. "

"Yes, a studio tea. Don't you like them? To be sure, we didn't knowwhether the man could paint very well, and I suppose you think it is animposition for anyone who is not a great painter to give a tea. "

"Go on. "

"Well, he had the dearest little Japanese servants, and some of the cupscame from Algiers, and some from Turkey, and some from---- What's thematter?"

"Go on. I'm not interrupting you. "

"Well, that's all; excepting that everything was charming in colour, andI thought what a lazy, beautiful life the man must lead, lounging insuch a studio, smoking monogrammed cigarettes, and remarking how badlyall the other men painted. "

"Very fascinating. But----"

"Oh! you are going to ask if he could draw. I'm sure I don't know, butthe tea that he gave was charming. "

"I was on the verge of telling you something about artist life, but ifyou have seen a lot of draperies and drunk from a cup of Algiers, youknow all about it. "

"You, then, were going to make it something very terrible, and tell howyoung painters struggled, and all that. "

"No, not exactly. But listen: I suppose there is an aristocracy who, whether they paint well or paint ill, certainly do give charming teas, as you say, and all other kinds of charming affairs too; but when Ihear people talk as if that was the whole life, it makes my hair rise, you know, because I am sure that as they get to know me better andbetter they will see how I fall short of that kind of an existence, andI shall probably take a great tumble in their estimation. They mighteven conclude that I can not paint, which would be very unfair, becauseI can paint, you know. "

"Well, proceed to arrange my point of view, so that you sha'n't tumblein my estimation when I discover that you don't lounge in a studio, smoke monogrammed cigarettes, and remark how badly the other men paint. "

"That's it. That's precisely what I wish to do. "

"Begin. "

"Well, in the first place----"

"In the first place--what?"

"Well, I started to study when I was very poor, you understand. Lookhere! I'm telling you these things because I want you to know, somehow. It isn't that I'm not ashamed of it. Well, I began very poor, and I--asa matter of fact--I--well, I earned myself over half the money for mystudying, and the other half I bullied and badgered and beat out of mypoor old dad. I worked pretty hard in Paris, and I returned hereexpecting to become a great painter at once. I didn't, though. In fact, I had my worst moments then. It lasted for some years. Of course, thefaith and endurance of my father were by this time worn to ashadow--this time, when I needed him the most. However, things got alittle better and a little better, until I found that by working quitehard I could make what was to me a fair income. That's where I am now, too. "

"Why are you so ashamed of this story?"

"The poverty. "

"Poverty isn't anything to be ashamed of. "

"Great heavens! Have you the temerity to get off that old nonsensicalremark? Poverty is everything to be ashamed of. Did you ever see aperson not ashamed of his poverty? Certainly not. Of course, when a mangets very rich he will brag so loudly of the poverty of his youth thatone would never suppose that he was once ashamed of it. But he was. "

"Well, anyhow, you shouldn't be ashamed of the story you have just toldme. "

"Why not? Do you refuse to allow me the great right of being like othermen?"

"I think it was--brave, you know. "

"Brave? Nonsense! Those things are not brave. Impression to that effectcreated by the men who have been through the mill for the greater gloryof the men who have been through the mill. "

"I don't like to hear you talk that way. It sounds wicked, you know. "

"Well, it certainly wasn't heroic. I can remember distinctly that therewas not one heroic moment. "

"No, but it was--it was----"

"It was what?"

"Well, somehow I like it, you know. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

"There's three of them, " said Grief in a hoarse whisper. 

"Four, I tell you!" said Wrinkles in a low, excited tone. 

"Four, " breathed Pennoyer with decision. 

They held fierce pantomimic argument. From the corridor came sounds ofrustling dresses and rapid feminine conversation. 

Grief had kept his ear to the panel of the door. His hand was stretchedback, warning the others to silence. Presently he turned his head andwhispered, "Three. "

"Four, " whispered Pennoyer and Wrinkles. 

"Hollie is there, too, " whispered Grief. "Billie is unlocking the door. Now they're going in. Hear them cry out, 'Oh, isn't it lovely!' Jinks!"He began a noiseless dance about the room. "Jinks! Don't I wish I had abig studio and a little reputation! Wouldn't I have my swell friendscome to see me, and wouldn't I entertain 'em!" He adopted a descriptivemanner, and with his forefinger indicated various spaces of the wall. "Here is a little thing I did in Brittany. Peasant woman in sabots. Thisbrown spot here is the peasant woman, and those two white things are thesabots. Peasant woman in sabots, don't you see? Women in Brittany, ofcourse, all wear sabots, you understand. Convenience of the painters. Isee you are looking at that little thing I did in Morocco. Ah, youadmire it? Well, not so bad--not so bad. Arab smoking pipe, squatting indoorway. This long streak here is the pipe. Clever, you say? Oh, thanks!You are too kind. Well, all Arabs do that, you know. Sole occupation. Convenience of the painters. Now, this little thing here I did inVenice. Grand Canal, you know. Gondolier leaning on his oar. Convenienceof the painters. Oh, yes, American subjects are well enough, but hard tofind, you know--hard to find. Morocco, Venice, Brittany, Holland--alloblige with colour, you know--quaint form--all that. We are so hideouslymodern over here; and, besides, nobody has painted us much. How thedevil can I paint America when nobody has done it before me? My dearsir, are you aware that that would be originality? Good heavens! we arenot æsthetic, you understand. Oh, yes, some good mind comes along andunderstands a thing and does it, and after that it is æsthetic. Yes, ofcourse, but then--well---- Now, here is a little Holland thing of mine;it----"

The others had evidently not been heeding him. "Shut up!" said Wrinklessuddenly. "Listen!" Grief paused his harangue and they sat in silence, their lips apart, their eyes from time to time exchanging eloquentmessages. A dulled melodious babble came from Hawker's studio. 

At length Pennoyer murmured wistfully, "I would like to see her. "

Wrinkles started noiselessly to his feet. "Well, I tell you she's apeach. I was going up the steps, you know, with a loaf of bread under myarm, when I chanced to look up the street and saw Billie and Hollandencoming with four of them. "

"Three, " said Grief. 

"Four; and I tell you I scattered. One of the two with Billie was apeach--a peach. "

"O, Lord!" groaned the others enviously. "Billie's in luck. "

"How do you know?" said Wrinkles. "Billie is a blamed good fellow, butthat doesn't say she will care for him--more likely that she won't. "

They sat again in silence, grinning, and listening to the murmur ofvoices. 

There came the sound of a step in the hallway. It ceased at a pointopposite the door of Hawker's studio. Presently it was heard again. Florinda entered the den. "Hello!" she cried, "who is over in Billie'splace? I was just going to knock----"

They motioned at her violently. "Sh!" they whispered. Their countenanceswere very impressive. 

"What's the matter with you fellows?" asked Florinda in her ordinarytone; whereupon they made gestures of still greater wildness. "S-s-sh!"

Florinda lowered her voice properly. "Who is over there?"

"Some swells, " they whispered. 

Florinda bent her head. Presently she gave a little start. "Who is overthere?" Her voice became a tone of deep awe. "She?"

Wrinkles and Grief exchanged a swift glance. Pennoyer said gruffly, "Whodo you mean?"

"Why, " said Florinda, "you know. She. The--the girl that Billie likes. "

Pennoyer hesitated for a moment and then said wrathfully: "Of course sheis! Who do you suppose?"

"Oh!" said Florinda. She took a seat upon the divan, which was privatelya coal-box, and unbuttoned her jacket at the throat. "Is she--isshe--very handsome, Wrink?"

Wrinkles replied stoutly, "No. "

Grief said: "Let's make a sneak down the hall to the little unoccupiedroom at the front of the building and look from the window there. Whenthey go out we can pipe 'em off. "

"Come on!" they exclaimed, accepting this plan with glee. 

Wrinkles opened the door and seemed about to glide away, when hesuddenly turned and shook his head. "It's dead wrong, " he said, ashamed. 

"Oh, go on!" eagerly whispered the others. Presently they stolepattering down the corridor, grinning, exclaiming, and cautioning eachother. 

At the window Pennoyer said: "Now, for heaven's sake, don't let them seeyou!--Be careful, Grief, you'll tumble. --Don't lean on me that way, Wrink; think I'm a barn door? Here they come. Keep back. Don't let themsee you. "

"O-o-oh!" said Grief. "Talk about a peach! Well, I should say so. "

Florinda's fingers tore at Wrinkle's coat sleeve. "Wrink, Wrink, is thather? Is that her? On the left of Billie? Is that her, Wrink?"

"What? Yes. Stop punching me! Yes, I tell you! That's her. Are youdeaf?"

CHAPTER XXXI. 

In the evening Pennoyer conducted Florinda to the flat of manyfire-escapes. After a period of silent tramping through the great goldenavenue and the street that was being repaired, she said, "Penny, you arevery good to me. "

"Why?" said Pennoyer. 

"Oh, because you are. You--you are very good to me, Penny. "

"Well, I guess I'm not killing myself. "

"There isn't many fellows like you. "

"No?"

"No. There isn't many fellows like you, Penny. I tell you 'mosteverything, and you just listen, and don't argue with me and tell me I'ma fool, because you know that it--because you know that it can't behelped, anyhow. "

"Oh, nonsense, you kid! Almost anybody would be glad to----"

"Penny, do you think she is very beautiful?" Florinda's voice had asingular quality of awe in it. 

"Well, " replied Pennoyer, "I don't know. "

"Yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead and tell me. "

"Well----"

"Go ahead. "

"Well, she is rather handsome, you know. "

"Yes, " said Florinda, dejectedly, "I suppose she is. " After a time shecleared her throat and remarked indifferently, "I suppose Billie cares alot for her?"

"Oh, I imagine that he does--in a way. "

"Why, of course he does, " insisted Florinda. "What do you mean by 'in away'? You know very well that Billie thinks his eyes of her. "

"No, I don't. "

"Yes, you do. You know you do. You are talking in that way just to braceme up. You know you are. "

"No, I'm not. "

"Penny, " said Florinda thankfully, "what makes you so good to me?"

"Oh, I guess I'm not so astonishingly good to you. Don't be silly. "

"But you are good to me, Penny. You don't make fun of me the way--theway the other boys would. You are just as good as you can be. --But youdo think she is beautiful, don't you?"

"They wouldn't make fun of you, " said Pennoyer. 

"But do you think she is beautiful?"

"Look here, Splutter, let up on that, will you? You keep harping on onestring all the time. Don't bother me!"

"But, honest now, Penny, you do think she is beautiful?"

"Well, then, confound it--no! no! no!"

"Oh, yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead now. Don't deny it just because youare talking to me. Own up, now, Penny. You do think she is beautiful?"

"Well, " said Pennoyer, in a dull roar of irritation, "do you?"

Florinda walked in silence, her eyes upon the yellow flashes whichlights sent to the pavement. In the end she said, "Yes. "

"Yes, what?" asked Pennoyer sharply. 

"Yes, she--yes, she is--beautiful. "

"Well, then?" cried Pennoyer, abruptly closing the discussion. 

Florinda announced something as a fact. "Billie thinks his eyes of her. "

"How do you know he does?"

"Don't scold at me, Penny. You--you----"

"I'm not scolding at you. There! What a goose you are, Splutter! Don't, for heaven's sake, go to whimpering on the street! I didn't say anythingto make you feel that way. Come, pull yourself together. "

"I'm not whimpering. "

"No, of course not; but then you look as if you were on the edge of it. What a little idiot!"

CHAPTER XXXII. 

When the snow fell upon the clashing life of the city, the exiledstones, beaten by myriad strange feet, were told of the dark, silentforests where the flakes swept through the hemlocks and swished softlyagainst the boulders. 

In his studio Hawker smoked a pipe, clasping his knee with thoughtful, interlocked fingers. He was gazing sourly at his finished picture. Oncehe started to his feet with a cry of vexation. Looking back over hisshoulder, he swore an insult into the face of the picture. He paced toand fro, smoking belligerently and from time to time eying it. Thehelpless thing remained upon the easel, facing him. 

Hollanden entered and stopped abruptly at sight of the great scowl. "What's wrong now?" he said. 

Hawker gestured at the picture. "That dunce of a thing. It makes metired. It isn't worth a hang. Blame it!"

"What?" Hollanden strode forward and stood before the painting with legsapart, in a properly critical manner. "What? Why, you said it was yourbest thing. "

"Aw!" said Hawker, waving his arms, "it's no good! I abominate it! Ididn't get what I wanted, I tell you. I didn't get what I wanted. That?"he shouted, pointing thrust-way at it--"that? It's vile! Aw! it makes meweary. "

"You're in a nice state, " said Hollanden, turning to take a criticalview of the painter. "What has got into you now? I swear, you are morekinds of a chump!"

Hawker crooned dismally: "I can't paint! I can't paint for a damn! I'mno good. What in thunder was I invented for, anyhow, Hollie?"

"You're a fool, " said Hollanden. "I hope to die if I ever saw such acomplete idiot! You give me a pain. Just because she don't----"

"It isn't that. She has nothing to do with it, although I know wellenough--I know well enough----"

"What?"

"I know well enough she doesn't care a hang for me. It isn't that. It isbecause--it is because I can't paint. Look at that thing over there!Remember the thought and energy I---- Damn the thing!"

"Why, did you have a row with her?" asked Hollanden, perplexed. "Ididn't know----"

"No, of course you didn't know, " cried Hawker, sneering; "because I hadno row. It isn't that, I tell you. But I know well enough"--he shook hisfist vaguely--"that she don't care an old tomato can for me. Why shouldshe?" he demanded with a curious defiance. "In the name of Heaven, whyshould she?"

"I don't know, " said Hollanden; "I don't know, I'm sure. But, then, women have no social logic. This is the great blessing of the world. There is only one thing which is superior to the multiplicity of socialforms, and that is a woman's mind--a young woman's mind. Oh, of course, sometimes they are logical, but let a woman be so once, and she willrepent of it to the end of her days. The safety of the world's balancelies in woman's illogical mind. I think----"

"Go to blazes!" said Hawker. "I don't care what you think. I am sure ofone thing, and that is that she doesn't care a hang for me!"

"I think, " Hollanden continued, "that society is doing very well in itswork of bravely lawing away at Nature; but there is one immovablething--a woman's illogical mind. That is our safety. Thank Heaven, it----"

"Go to blazes!" said Hawker again. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

As Hawker again entered the room of the great windows he glanced insidelong bitterness at the chandelier. When he was seated he looked atit in open defiance and hatred. 

Men in the street were shovelling at the snow. The noise of theirinstruments scraping on the stones came plainly to Hawker's ears in aharsh chorus, and this sound at this time was perhaps to him a_miserere_. 

"I came to tell you, " he began, "I came to tell you that perhaps I amgoing away. "

"Going away!" she cried. "Where?"

"Well, I don't know--quite. You see, I am rather indefinite as yet. Ithought of going for the winter somewhere in the Southern States. I amdecided merely this much, you know--I am going somewhere. But I don'tknow where. 'Way off, anyhow. "

"We shall be very sorry to lose you, " she remarked. "We----"

"And I thought, " he continued, "that I would come and say 'adios' nowfor fear that I might leave very suddenly. I do that sometimes. I'mafraid you will forget me very soon, but I want to tell you that----"

"Why, " said the girl in some surprise, "you speak as if you were goingaway for all time. You surely do not mean to utterly desert New York?"

"I think you misunderstand me, " he said. "I give this important air tomy farewell to you because to me it is a very important event. Perhapsyou recollect that once I told you that I cared for you. Well, I stillcare for you, and so I can only go away somewhere--some place 'wayoff--where--where---- See?"

"New York is a very large place, " she observed. 

"Yes, New York is a very large---- How good of you to remind me! Butthen you don't understand. You can't understand. I know I can find noplace where I will cease to remember you, but then I can find some placewhere I can cease to remember in a way that I am myself. I shall nevertry to forget you. Those two violets, you know--one I found near thetennis court and the other you gave me, you remember--I shall take themwith me. "

"Here, " said the girl, tugging at her gown for a moment--"Here! Here's athird one. " She thrust a violet toward him. 

"If you were not so serenely insolent, " said Hawker, "I would think thatyou felt sorry for me. I don't wish you to feel sorry for me. And Idon't wish to be melodramatic. I know it is all commonplace enough, andI didn't mean to act like a tenor. Please don't pity me. "

"I don't, " she replied. She gave the violet a little fling. 

Hawker lifted his head suddenly and glowered at her. "No, you don't, " heat last said slowly, "you don't. Moreover, there is no reason why youshould take the trouble. But----"

He paused when the girl leaned and peered over the arm of her chairprecisely in the manner of a child at the brink of a fountain. "There'smy violet on the floor, " she said. "You treated it quitecontemptuously, didn't you?"

"Yes. "

Together they stared at the violet. Finally he stooped and took it inhis fingers. "I feel as if this third one was pelted at me, but I shallkeep it. You are rather a cruel person, but, Heaven guard us! that onlyfastens a man's love the more upon a woman. "

She laughed. "That is not a very good thing to tell a woman. "

"No, " he said gravely, "it is not, but then I fancy that somebody mayhave told you previously. "

She stared at him, and then said, "I think you are revenged for myserene insolence. "

"Great heavens, what an armour!" he cried. "I suppose, after all, I didfeel a trifle like a tenor when I first came here, but you have chilledit all out of me. Let's talk upon indifferent topics. " But he startedabruptly to his feet. "No, " he said, "let us not talk upon indifferenttopics. I am not brave, I assure you, and it--it might be too much forme. " He held out his hand. "Good-bye. "

"You are going?"

"Yes, I am going. Really I didn't think how it would bore you for me tocome around here and croak in this fashion. "

"And you are not coming back for a long, long time?"

"Not for a long, long time. " He mimicked her tone. "I have the threeviolets now, you know, and you must remember that I took the third oneeven when you flung it at my head. That will remind you how submissive Iwas in my devotion. When you recall the two others it will remind you ofwhat a fool I was. Dare say you won't miss three violets. "

"No, " she said. 

"Particularly the one you flung at my head. That violet was certainlyfreely--given. "

"I didn't fling it at your head. " She pondered for a time with her eyesupon the floor. Then she murmured, "No more freely--given than the one Igave you that night--that night at the inn. "

"So very good of you to tell me so!"

Her eyes were still upon the floor. 

"Do you know, " said Hawker, "it is very hard to go away and leave animpression in your mind that I am a fool? That is very hard. Now, youdo think I am a fool, don't you?"

She remained silent. Once she lifted her eyes and gave him a swift lookwith much indignation in it. 

"Now you are enraged. Well, what have I done?"

It seemed that some tumult was in her mind, for she cried out to him atlast in sudden tearfulness: "Oh, do go! Go! Please! I want you to go!"

Under this swift change Hawker appeared as a man struck from the sky. Hesprang to his feet, took two steps forward, and spoke a word which wasan explosion of delight and amazement. He said, "What?"

With heroic effort she slowly raised her eyes until, alight with anger, defiance, unhappiness, they met his eyes. 

Later, she told him that he was perfectly ridiculous.