Arcadian Adventures With the Idle Rich

By

Stephen Leacock, 1869-1944

CONTENTS

 I A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe II The Wizard of Finance III The Arrested Philanthropy of Mr. Tomlinson IV The Yahi-Bahi Oriental Society of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown V The Love Story of Mr. Peter Spillikins VI The Rival Churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph VII The Ministrations of the Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing VIII The Great Fight for Clean Government

CHAPTER ONE: A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe

The Mausoleum Club stands on the quietest corner of the bestresidential street in the City. It is a Grecian building of whitestone. About it are great elm trees with birds--the most expensive kindof birds--singing in the branches. 

The street in the softer hours of the morning has an almost reverentialquiet. Great motors move drowsily along it, with solitary chauffeursreturning at 10. 30 after conveying the earlier of the millionaires totheir downtown offices. The sunlight flickers through the elm trees, illuminating expensive nurse-maids wheeling valuable children in littleperambulators. Some of the children are worth millions and millions. InEurope, no doubt, you may see in the Unter den Linden avenue or theChamps Elysees a little prince or princess go past with a clatteringmilitary guard of honour. But that is nothing. It is not half soimpressive, in the real sense, as what you may observe every morning onPlutoria Avenue beside the Mausoleum Club in the quietest part of thecity. Here you may see a little toddling princess in a rabbit suit whoowns fifty distilleries in her own right. There, in a lacqueredperambulator, sails past a little hooded head that controls from itscradle an entire New Jersey corporation. The United Statesattorney-general is suing her as she sits, in a vain attempt to makeher dissolve herself into constituent companies. Near by is a child offour, in a khaki suit, who represents the merger of two trunk-linerailways. You may meet in the flickered sunlight any number of littleprinces and princesses far more real than the poor survivals of Europe. Incalculable infants wave their fifty-dollar ivory rattles in aninarticulate greeting to one another. A million dollars of preferredstock laughs merrily in recognition of a majority control going past ina go-cart drawn by an imported nurse. And through it all the sunlightfalls through the elm trees, and the birds sing and the motors hum, sothat the whole world as seen from the boulevard of Plutoria Avenue isthe very pleasantest place imaginable. 

Just below Plutoria Avenue, and parallel with it, the trees die out andthe brick and stone of the City begins in earnest. Even from the Avenueyou see the tops of the sky-scraping buildings in the big commercialstreets, and can hear or almost hear the roar of the elevated railway, earning dividends. And beyond that again the City sinks lower, and ischoked and crowded with the tangled streets and little houses of theslums. 

In fact, if you were to mount to the roof of the Mausoleum Club itselfon Plutoria Avenue you could almost see the slums from there. But whyshould you? And on the other hand, if you never went up on the roof, but only dined inside among the palm trees, you would never know thatthe slums existed which is much better. 

There are broad steps leading up to the club, so broad and so agreeablycovered with matting that the physical exertion of lifting oneself fromone's motor to the door of the club is reduced to the smallest compass. The richer members are not ashamed to take the steps one at a time, first one foot and then the other; and at tight money periods, whenthere is a black cloud hanging over the Stock Exchange, you may seeeach and every one of the members of the Mausoleum Club dragginghimself up the steps after this fashion, his restless eyes filled withthe dumb pathos of a man wondering where he can put his hand on half amillion dollars. 

But at gayer times, when there are gala receptions at the club, itssteps are all buried under expensive carpet, soft as moss and coveredover with a long pavilion of red and white awning to catch thesnowflakes; and beautiful ladies are poured into the club by themotorful. Then, indeed, it is turned into a veritable Arcadia; and fora beautiful pastoral scene, such as would have gladdened the heart of apoet who understood the cost of things, commend me to the MausoleumClub on just such an evening. Its broad corridors and deep recesses arefilled with shepherdesses such as you never saw, dressed in beautifulshimmering gowns, and wearing feathers in their hair that droop offsideways at every angle known to trigonometry. And there are shepherds, too, with broad white waistcoats and little patent leather shoes andheavy faces and congested cheeks. And there is dancing and conversationamong the shepherds and shepherdesses, with such brilliant flashes ofwit and repartee about the rise in Wabash and the fall in Cement thatthe soul of Louis Quatorze would leap to hear it. And later there issupper at little tables, when the shepherds and shepherdesses consumepreferred stocks and gold-interest bonds in the shape of chilledchampagne and iced asparagus, and great platefuls of dividends andspecial quarterly bonuses are carried to and fro in silver dishes byChinese philosophers dressed up to look like waiters. 

But on ordinary days there are no ladies in the club, but only theshepherds. You may see them sitting about in little groups of two andthree under the palm trees drinking whiskey and soda; though of coursethe more temperate among them drink nothing but whiskey and Lithiawater, and those who have important business to do in the afternoonlimit themselves to whiskey and Radnor, or whiskey and Magi water. There are as many kinds of bubbling, gurgling, mineral waters in thecaverns of the Mausoleum Club as ever sparkled from the rocks ofHomeric Greece. And when you have once grown used to them, it is asimpossible to go back to plain water as it is to live again in theforgotten house in a side street that you inhabited long before youbecame a member. 

Thus the members sit and talk in undertones that float to the earthrough the haze of Havana smoke. You may hear the older men explainingthat the country is going to absolute ruin, and the younger onesexplaining that the country is forging ahead as it never did before;but chiefly they love to talk of great national questions, such as theprotective tariff and the need of raising it, the sad decline of themorality of the working man, the spread of syndicalism and the lack ofChristianity in the labour class, and the awful growth of selfishnessamong the mass of the people. 

So they talk, except for two or three that drop off to directors'meetings; till the afternoon fades and darkens into evening, and thenoiseless Chinese philosophers turn on soft lights here and there amongthe palm trees. Presently they dine at white tables glittering with cutglass and green and yellow Rhine wines; and after dinner they sit againamong the palm-trees, half-hidden in the blue smoke, still talking ofthe tariff and the labour class and trying to wash away the memory andthe sadness of it in floods of mineral waters. So the evening passesinto night, and one by one the great motors come throbbing to the door, and the Mausoleum Club empties and darkens till the last member isborne away and the Arcadian day ends in well-earned repose. 

 * * * * *

"I want you to give me your opinion very, very frankly, " said Mr. Lucullus Fyshe on one side of the luncheon table to the Rev. FareforthFurlong on the other. 

"By all means, " said Mr. Furlong. 

Mr. Fyshe poured out a wineglassful of soda and handed it to the rectorto drink. 

"Now tell me very truthfully, " he said, "is there too much carbon init?"

"By no means, " said Mr. Furlong. 

"And--quite frankly--not too much hydrogen?"

"Oh, decidedly not. "

"And you would not say that the percentage of sodium bicarbonate wastoo great for the ordinary taste?"

"I certainly should not, " said Mr. Furlong, and in this he spoke thetruth. 

"Very good then, " said Mr. Fyshe, "I shall use it for the Duke ofDulham this afternoon. "

He uttered the name of the Duke with that quiet, democraticcarelessness which meant that he didn't care whether half a dozen othermembers lunching at the club could hear or not. After all, what was aduke to a man who was president of the People's Traction and SuburbanCo. , and the Republican Soda and Siphon Co-operative, and chiefdirector of the People's District Loan and Savings? If a man with abroad basis of popular support like that was proposing to entertain aduke, surely there could be no doubt about his motives? None at all. 

Naturally, too, if a man manufactures soda himself, he gets a littleover-sensitive about the possibility of his guests noticing theexistence of too much carbon in it. 

In fact, ever so many of the members of the Mausoleum Club manufacturethings, or cause them to be manufactured, or--what is the samething--merge them when they are manufactured. This gives them theirpeculiar chemical attitude towards their food. One often sees a membersuddenly call the head waiter at breakfast to tell him that there istoo much ammonia in the bacon; and another one protest at the amount ofglucose in the olive oil; and another that there is too high apercentage of nitrogen in the anchovy. A man of distorted imaginationmight think this tasting of chemicals in the food a sort of nemesis offate upon the members. But that would be very foolish, for in everycase the head waiter, who is the chief of the Chinese philosophersmentioned above, says that he'll see to it immediately and have thepercentage removed. And as for the members themselves, they are aboutas much ashamed of manufacturing and merging things as the Marquis ofSalisbury is ashamed of the founders of the Cecil family. 

What more natural, therefore, than that Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, beforeserving the soda to the Duke, should try it on somebody else? And whatbetter person could be found for this than Mr. Furlong, the saintlyyoung rector of St. Asaph's, who had enjoyed the kind of expensivecollege education calculated to develop all the faculties. Moreover, arector of the Anglican Church who has been in the foreign mission fieldis the kind of person from whom one can find out, more or lessincidentally, how one should address and converse with a duke, andwhether you call him, "Your Grace, " or "His Grace, " or just "Grace, " or"Duke, " or what. All of which things would seem to a director of thePeople's Bank and the president of the Republican Soda Co. So trivialin importance that he would scorn to ask about them. 

So that was why Mr. Fyshe had asked Mr. Furlong to lunch with him, andto dine with him later on in the same day at the Mausoleum Club to meetthe Duke of Dulham. And Mr. Furlong, realizing that a clergyman must beall things to all men and not avoid a man merely because he is a duke, had accepted the invitation to lunch, and had promised to come todinner, even though it meant postponing the Willing Workers' TangoClass of St. Asaph's until the following Friday. 

Thus it had come about that Mr. Fyshe was seated at lunch, consuming acutlet and a pint of Moselle in the plain downright fashion of a man sodemocratic that he is practically a revolutionary socialist, anddoesn't mind saying so; and the young rector of St. Asaph's was sittingopposite to him in a religious ecstasy over a _salmi_ of duck. 

"The Duke arrived this morning, did he not?" said Mr. Furlong. 

"From New York, " said Mr. Fyshe. "He is staying at the Grand Palaver. Isent a telegram through one of our New York directors of the Traction, and his Grace has very kindly promised to come over here to dine. "

"Is he here for pleasure?" asked the rector. 

"I understand he is--" Mr. Fyshe was going to say "about to invest alarge part of his fortune in American securities, " but he thoughtbetter of it. Even with the clergy it is well to be careful. So hesubstituted "is very much interested in studying American conditions. "

"Does he stay long?" asked Mr. Furlong. 

Had Mr. Lucullus Fyshe replied quite truthfully, he would have said, "Not if I can get his money out of him quickly, " but he merelyanswered, "That I don't know. "

"He will find much to interest him, " went on the rector in a musingtone. "The position of the Anglican Church in America should afford himan object of much consideration. I understand, " he added, feeling hisway, "that his Grace is a man of deep piety. "

"Very deep, " said Mr. Fyshe. 

"And of great philanthropy?"

"Very great. "

"And I presume, " said the rector, taking a devout sip of the unfinishedsoda, "that he is a man of immense wealth?"

"I suppose so, " answered Mr. Fyshe quite carelessly. "All these fellowsare. " (Mr. Fyshe generally referred to the British aristocracy as"these fellows. ") "Land, you know, feudal estates; sheer robbery, Icall it. How the working-class, the proletariat, stand for such tyrannyis more than I can see. Mark my words, Furlong, some day they'll riseand the whole thing will come to a sudden end. "

Mr. Fyshe was here launched upon his favourite topic; but heinterrupted himself, just for a moment, to speak to the waiter. 

"What the devil do you mean, " he said, "by serving asparagus half-cold?"

"Very sorry, sir, " said the waiter, "shall I take it out?"

"Take it out? Of course take it out, and see that you don't serve mestuff of that sort again, or I'll report you. "

"Very sorry, sir, " said the waiter. 

Mr. Fyshe looked at the vanishing waiter with contempt upon hisfeatures. "These pampered fellows are getting unbearable. " he said. "ByGad, if I had my way I'd fire the whole lot of them: lock 'em out, put'em on the street. That would teach 'em. Yes, Furlong, you'll live tosee it that the whole working-class will one day rise against thetyranny of the upper classes, and society will be overwhelmed. "

But if Mr. Fyshe had realized that at that moment, in the kitchen ofthe Mausoleum Club, in those sacred precincts themselves, there was awalking delegate of the Waiters' International Union leaning against asideboard, with his bowler hat over one corner of his eye, and talkingto a little group of the Chinese philosophers, he would have known thatperhaps the social catastrophe was a little nearer than even hesuspected. 

 * * * * *

"Are you inviting anyone else tonight?" asked Mr. Furlong. 

"I should have liked to ask your father, " said Mr. Fyshe, "butunfortunately he is out of town. "

What Mr. Fyshe really meant was, "I am extremely glad not to have toask your father, whom I would not introduce to the Duke on any account. "

Indeed, Mr. Furlong, senior, the father of the rector of St. Asaph's, who was President of the New Amalgamated Hymnal Corporation, andDirector of the Hosanna Pipe and Steam Organ, Limited, was entirely thewrong man for Mr. Fyshe's present purpose. In fact, he was reputed tobe as smart a man as ever sold a Bible. At this moment he was out oftown, busied in New York with the preparation of the plates of his newHindu Testament (copyright); but had he learned that a duke withseveral millions to invest was about to visit the city, he would nothave left it for the whole of Hindustan. 

"I suppose you are asking Mr. Boulder, " said the rector. 

"No, " answered Mr. Fyshe very decidedly, dismissing the name absolutely. 

Indeed, there was even better reason not to introduce Mr. Boulder tothe Duke. Mr. Fyshe had made that sort of mistake once, and neverintended to make it again. It was only a year ago, on the occasion ofthe visit of young Viscount FitzThistle to the Mausoleum Club, that Mr. Fyshe had introduced Mr. Boulder to the Viscount and had sufferedgrievously thereby. For Mr. Boulder had no sooner met the Viscount thanhe invited him up to his hunting-lodge in Wisconsin, and that was thelast thing known of the investment of the FitzThistle fortune. 

This Mr. Boulder of whom Mr. Fyshe spoke might indeed have been seen atthat moment at a further table of the lunch room eating a solitarymeal, an oldish man with a great frame suggesting broken strength, witha white beard and with falling under-eyelids that made him look as ifhe were just about to cry. His eyes were blue and far away, and hisstill, mournful face and his great bent shoulders seemed to suggest allthe power and mystery of high finance. 

Gloom indeed hung over him. For, when one heard him talk of listedstocks and cumulative dividends, there was as deep a tone in his quietvoice as if he spoke of eternal punishment and the wages of sin. 

Under his great hands a chattering viscount, or a sturdy duke, or apopinjay Italian marquis was as nothing. 

Mr. Boulder's methods with titled visitors investing money in Americawere deep. He never spoke to them of money, not a word. He merelytalked of the great American forest--he had been born sixty-five yearsback, in a lumber state--and, when he spoke of primeval trees and thehowl of the wolf at night among the pines, there was the stamp ofreality about it that held the visitor spellbound; and when he fell totalking of his hunting-lodge far away in the Wisconsin timber, duke, earl, or baron that had ever handled a double-barrelled express riflelistened and was lost. 

"I have a little place, " Mr. Boulder would say in his deep tones thatseemed almost like a sob, "a sort of shooting box, I think you'd callit, up in Wisconsin; just a plain place"--he would add, almostcrying--"made of logs. "

"Oh, really, " the visitor would interject, "made of logs. By Jove, howinteresting!"

All titled people are fascinated at once with logs, and Mr. Boulderknew it--at least subconsciously. 

"Yes, logs, " he would continue, still in deep sorrow; "just the plaincedar, not squared, you know, the old original timber; I had them cutright out of the forest. "

By this time the visitor's excitement was obvious. "And is there gamethere?" he would ask. 

"We have the timber-wolf, " said Mr. Boulder, his voice half choking atthe sadness of the thing, "and of course the jack wolf and the lynx. "

"And are they ferocious?"

"Oh, extremely so--quite uncontrollable. "

On which the titled visitor was all excitement to start for Wisconsinat once, even before Mr. Boulder's invitation was put in words. 

And when he returned a week later, all tanned and wearingbush-whackers' boots, and covered with wolf bites, his whole availablefortune was so completely invested in Mr. Boulder's securities that youcouldn't have shaken twenty-five cents out of him upside down. 

Yet the whole thing had been done merely incidentally round a big fireunder the Wisconsin timber, with a dead wolf or two lying in the snow. 

So no wonder that Mr. Fyshe did not propose to invite Mr. Boulder tohis little dinner. No, indeed. In fact, his one aim was to keep Mr. Boulder and his log house hidden from the Duke. 

And equally no wonder that as soon as Mr. Boulder read of the Duke'sarrival in New York, and saw by the _Commercial Echo and FinancialUndertone_ that he might come to the City looking for investments, hetelephoned at once to his little place in Wisconsin--which had, ofcourse, a primeval telephone wire running to it--and told his stewardto have the place well aired and good fires lighted; and he especiallyenjoined him to see if any of the shanty men thereabouts could catch awolf or two, as he might need them. 

 * * * * *

"Is no one else coming then?" asked the rector. 

"Oh yes. President Boomer of the University. We shall be a party offour. I thought the Duke might be interested in meeting Boomer. He maycare to hear something of the archaeological remains of the continent. "

If the Duke did so care, he certainly had a splendid chance in meetingthe gigantic Dr. Boomer, the president of Plutoria University. 

If he wanted to know anything of the exact distinction between theMexican Pueblo and the Navajo tribal house, he had his opportunityright now. If he was eager to hear a short talk--say half an hour--onthe relative antiquity of the Neanderthal skull and the gravel depositsof the Missouri, his chance had come. He could learn as much about thestone age and the bronze age, in America, from President Boomer, as hecould about the gold age and the age of paper securities from Mr. Fysheand Mr. Boulder. 

So what better man to meet a duke than an archaeological president?

And if the Duke should feel inclined, as a result of his American visit(for Dr. Boomer, who knew everything, understood what the Duke had comefor), inclined, let us say, to endow a chair in Primitive Anthropology, or do any useful little thing of the sort, that was only fair businessall round; or if he even was willing to give a moderate sum towards thegeneral fund of Plutoria University--enough, let us say, to enable thepresident to dismiss an old professor and hire a new one-that surelywas reasonable enough. 

The president, therefore, had said yes to Mr. Fyshe's invitation withalacrity, and had taken a look through the list of his more incompetentprofessors to refresh his memory. 

 * * * * *

The Duke of Dulham had landed in New York five days before and hadlooked round eagerly for a field of turnips, but hadn't seen any. Hehad been driven up Fifth Avenue and had kept his eyes open forpotatoes, but there were none. Nor had he seen any shorthorns inCentral Park, nor any Southdowns on Broadway. For the Duke, of course, like all dukes, was agricultural from his Norfolk jacket to hishobnailed boots. 

At his restaurant he had cut a potato in two and sent half of it to thehead waiter to know if it was Bermudian. It had all the look of anearly Bermudian, but the Duke feared from the shading of it that itmight be only a late Trinidad. And the head waiter sent it to the chef, mistaking it for a complaint, and the chef sent it back to the Dukewith a message that it was not a Bermudian but a Prince Edward Island. And the Duke sent his compliments to the chef, and the chef sent hiscompliments to the Duke. And the Duke was so pleased at learning thisthat he had a similar potato wrapped up for him to take away, andtipped the head waiter twenty-five cents, feeling that in anextravagant country the only thing to do is to go the people onebetter. So the Duke carried the potato round for five days in New Yorkand showed it to everybody. But beyond this he got no sign ofagriculture out of the place at all. No one who entertained him seemedto know what the beef that they gave him had been fed on; no one, evenin what seemed the best society, could talk rationally about preparinga hog for the breakfast table. People seemed to eat cauliflower withoutdistinguishing the Denmark variety from the Oldenburg, and few, if any, knew Silesian bacon even when they tasted it. And when they took theDuke out twenty-five miles into what was called the country, there werestill no turnips, but only real estate, and railway embankments, andadvertising signs; so that altogether the obvious and visible declineof American agriculture in what should have been its leading centresaddened the Duke's heart. Thus the Duke passed four gloomy days. Agriculture vexed him, and still more, of course, the money concernswhich had brought him to America. 

Money is a troublesome thing. But it has got to be thought about evenby those who were not brought up to it. If, on account of moneymatters, one has been driven to come over to America in the hope ofborrowing money, the awkwardness of how to go about it naturally makesone gloomy and preoccupied. Had there been broad fields of turnips towalk in and Holstein cattle to punch in the ribs, one might havemanaged to borrow it in the course of gentlemanly intercourse, as fromone cattle-man to another. But in New York, amid piles of masonry androaring street-traffic and glittering lunches and palatial residencesone simply couldn't do it. 

Herein lay the truth about the Duke of Dulham's visit and the error ofMr. Lucullus Fyshe. Mr. Fyshe was thinking that the Duke had come to_lend_ money. In reality he had come to _borrow_ it. In fact, the Dukewas reckoning that by putting a second mortgage on Dulham Towers fortwenty thousand sterling, and by selling his Scotch shooting andleasing his Irish grazing and sub-letting his Welsh coal rent he couldraise altogether a hundred thousand pounds. This for a duke, is anenormous sum. If he once had it he would be able to pay off the firstmortgage on Dulham Towers, buy in the rights of the present tenant ofthe Scotch shooting and the claim of the present mortgagee of the Irishgrazing, and in fact be just where he started. This is ducal finance, which moves always in a circle. 

In other words the Duke was really a poor man--not poor in the Americansense, where poverty comes as a sudden blighting stringency, taking theform of an inability to get hold of a quarter of a million dollars, nomatter how badly one needs it, and where it passes like a storm-cloudand is gone, but poor in that permanent and distressing sense knownonly to the British aristocracy. The Duke's case, of course, wasnotorious, and Mr. Fyshe ought to have known of it. The Duke was sopoor that the Duchess was compelled to spend three or four months everyyear at a fashionable hotel on the Riviera simply to save money, andhis eldest son, the young Marquis of Beldoodle, had to put in most ofhis time shooting big game in Uganda, with only twenty or twenty-fivebeaters, and with so few carriers and couriers and such a dearth ofelephant men and hyena boys that the thing was a perfect scandal. TheDuke indeed was so poor that a younger son, simply to add his effortsto those of the rest, was compelled to pass his days in mountainclimbing in the Himalayas, and the Duke's daughter was obliged to paylong visits to minor German princesses, putting up with all sorts ofhardship. And while the ducal family wandered about in thisway--climbing mountains, and shooting hyenas, and saving money, theDuke's place or seat, Dulham Towers, was practically shut up, with noone in it but servants and housekeepers and gamekeepers and tourists;and the picture galleries, except for artists and visitors andvillagers, were closed; and the town house, except for the presence ofservants and tradesmen and secretaries, was absolutely shut. But theDuke knew that rigid parsimony of this sort, if kept up for ageneration or two, will work wonders, and this sustained him; and theDuchess knew it, and it sustained her; in fact, all the ducal family, knowing that it was only a matter of a generation or two, took theirmisfortune very cheerfully. 

The only thing that bothered the Duke was borrowing money. This wasnecessary from time to time when loans or mortgages fell in, but hehated it. It was beneath him. His ancestors had often taken money, buthad never borrowed it, and the Duke chafed under the necessity. Therewas something about the process that went against the grain. To sitdown in pleasant converse with a man, perhaps almost a gentleman, andthen lead up to the subject and take his money from him, seemed to theDuke's mind essentially low. He could have understood knocking a manover the head with a fire shovel and taking his money, but notborrowing it. 

So the Duke had come to America, where borrowing is notoriously easy. Any member of the Mausoleum Club, for instance, would borrow fiftycents to buy a cigar, or fifty thousand dollars to buy a house, or fivemillions to buy a railroad with complete indifference, and pay it back, too, if he could, and think nothing of it. In fact, ever so many of theDuke's friends were known to have borrowed money in America withmagical ease, pledging for it their seats or their pictures, or one oftheir daughters--anything. 

So the Duke knew it must be easy. And yet, incredible as it may seem, he had spent four days in New York, entertained everywhere, and mademuch of, and hadn't borrowed a cent. He had been asked to lunch in aRiverside palace, and, fool that he was, had come away without so muchas a dollar to show for it. He had been asked to a country house on theHudson, and, like an idiot--he admitted it himself--hadn't asked hishost for as much as his train fare. He had been driven twice roundCentral Park in a motor and had been taken tamely back to his hotel nota dollar the richer. The thing was childish, and he knew it. But tosave his life the Duke didn't know how to begin. None of the thingsthat he was able to talk about seemed to have the remotest connectionwith the subject of money. The Duke was able to converse reasonablywell over such topics as the approaching downfall of England (they hadtalked of it at Dulham Towers for sixty years), or over the duty ofEngland towards China, or the duty of England to Persia, or its duty toaid the Young Turk Movement, and its duty to check the Old Serviaagitation. The Duke became so interested in these topics and inexplaining that while he had never been a Little Englander he hadalways been a Big Turk, and that he stood for a Small Bulgaria and aRestricted Austria, that he got further and further away from the topicof money, which was what he really wanted to come to; and the Duke rosefrom his conversations with a look of such obvious distress on his facethat everybody realized that his anxiety about England was killing him. 

And then suddenly light had come. It was on his fourth day in New Yorkthat he unexpectedly ran into the Viscount Belstairs (they had beentogether as young men in Nigeria, and as middle-aged men in St. Petersburg), and Belstairs, who was in abundant spirits and who wasreturning to England on the _Gloritania_ at noon the next day, explained to the Duke that he had just borrowed fifty thousand pounds, on security that wouldn't be worth a halfpenny in England. 

And the Duke said with a sigh, "How the deuce do you do it. Belstairs?"

"Do what?"

"Borrow it, " said the Duke. "How do you manage to get people to talkabout it? Here I am wanting to borrow a hundred thousand, and I'mhanged if I can even find an opening. "

At which the Viscount had said, "Pooh, pooh! you don't need anyopening. Just borrow it straight out--ask for it across a dinner table, just as you'd ask for a match; they think nothing of it here. "

"Across the dinner table?" repeated the Duke, who was a literal man. 

"Certainly, " said the Viscount. "Not too soon, you know--say after asecond glass of wine. I assure you it's absolutely nothing. "

And it was just at that moment that a telegram was handed to the Dukefrom Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, praying him, as he was reported to be visitingthe next day the City where the Mausoleum Club stands, to makeacquaintance with him by dining at that institution. 

And the Duke, being as I say a literal man, decided that just as soonas Mr. Fyshe should give him a second glass of wine, that second glassshould cost Mr. Fyshe a hundred thousand pounds sterling. 

And oddly enough, at about the same moment, Mr. Fyshe was calculatingthat provided he could make the Duke drink a second glass of theMausoleum champagne, that glass would cost the Duke about five milliondollars. 

 * * * * *

So the very morning after that the Duke had arrived on the New Yorkexpress in the City; and being an ordinary, democratic, commercial sortof place, absorbed in its own affairs, it made no fuss over himwhatever. The morning edition of the _Plutopian Citizen_ simply said, "We understand that the Duke of Dulham arrives at the Grand Palaverthis morning, " after which it traced the Duke's pedigree back to Jockof Ealing in the twelfth century and let the matter go at that; and thenoon edition of the _People's Advocate_ merely wrote, "We learn thatDuke Dulham is in town. He is a relation of Jack Ealing. " But the_Commercial Echo and Financial Undertone_, appearing at four o'clock, printed in its stock-market columns the announcement: "We understandthat the Duke of Dulham, who arrives in town today, is proposing toinvest a large sum of money in American Industrials. "

And, of course, that announcement reached every member of the MausoleumClub within twenty minutes. 

 * * * * *

The Duke of Dulham entered the Mausoleum Club that evening at exactlyseven of the clock. He was a short, thick man with a shaven face, redas a brick, and grizzled hair, and from the look of him he could havegot a job at sight in any lumber camp in Wisconsin. He wore a dinnerjacket, just like an ordinary person, but even without his Norfolk coatand his hobnailed boots there was something in the way in which hewalked up the long main hall of the Mausoleum Club that every importedwaiter in the place recognized in an instant. 

The Duke cast his eye about the club and approved of it. It seemed tohim a modest, quiet place, very different from the staring ostentationthat one sees too often in a German hof or an Italian palazzo. He likedit. 

Mr. Fyshe and Mr. Furlong were standing in a deep alcove or bay wherethere was a fire and india-rubber trees and pictures with shaded lightsand a whiskey-and-soda table. There the Duke joined them. Mr. Fyshe hehad met already that afternoon at the Palaver, and he called him"Fyshe" as if he had known him forever; and indeed, after a few minuteshe called the rector of St. Asaph's simply "Furlong, " for he had beenfamiliar with the Anglican clergy in so many parts of the world that heknew that to attribute any peculiar godliness to them, socially, wasthe worst possible taste. 

"By Jove, " said the Duke, turning to tap the leaf of a rubber tree withhis finger, "that fellow's a Nigerian, isn't he?"

"I hardly know, " said Mr. Fyshe, "I imagine so"; and he added, "You'vebeen in Nigeria, Duke?"

"Oh, some years ago, " said the Duke, "after big game, you know--fineplace for it. "

"Did you get any?" asked Mr. Fyshe. 

"Not much, " said the Duke; "a hippo or two. "

"Ah, " said Mr. Fyshe. 

"And, of course, now and then a giro, " the Duke went on, and added, "Mysister was luckier, though; she potted a rhino one day, straight out ofa doolie; I call that rather good. "

Mr. Fyshe called it that too. 

"Ah, now here's a good thing, " the Duke went on, looking at a picture. He carried in his waistcoat pocket an eyeglass that he used forpictures and for Tamworth hogs, and he put it to his eye with one hand, keeping the other in the left pocket of his jacket; "and this--this isa very good thing. "

"I believe so, " said Mr. Fyshe. 

"You really have some awfully good things here, " continued the Duke. Hehad seen far too many pictures in too many places ever to speak of"values" or "compositions" or anything of that sort. The Duke merelylooked at a picture and said, "Now here's a good thing, " or "Ah! herenow is a very good thing, " or, "I say, here's a really good thing. "

No one could get past this sort of criticism. The Duke had long sincefound it bullet-proof. 

"They showed me some rather good things in New York, " he went on, "butreally the things you have here seem to be awfully good things. "

Indeed, the Duke was truly pleased with the pictures, for something intheir composition, or else in the soft, expensive light that shone onthem, enabled him to see in the distant background of each a hundredthousand sterling. And that is a very beautiful picture indeed. 

"When you come to our side of the water, Fyshe, " said the Duke, "I mustshow you my Botticelli. "

Had Mr. Fyshe, who knew nothing of art, expressed his real thought, hewould have said, "Show me your which?" But he only answered, "I shallbe delighted to see it. "

In any case there was no time to say more, for at this moment theportly figure and the great face of Dr. Boomer, president of PlutoriaUniversity, loomed upon them. And with him came a great burst ofconversation that blew all previous topics into fragments. He wasintroduced to the Duke, and shook hands with Mr. Furlong, and talked toboth of them, and named the kind of cocktail that he wanted, all in onebreath, and in the very next he was asking the Duke about theBabylonian hieroglyphic bricks that his grandfather, the thirteenthDuke, had brought home from the Euphrates, and which everyarchaeologist knew were preserved in the Duke's library at DulhamTowers. And though the Duke hadn't known about the bricks himself, heassured Dr. Boomer that his grandfather had collected some really goodthings, quite remarkable. 

And the Duke, having met a man who knew about his grandfather, felt inhis own element. In fact, he was so delighted with Dr. Boomer and theNigerian rubber tree and the shaded pictures and the charm of the wholeplace and the certainty that half a million dollars was easily findablein it, that he put his eyeglass back in his pocket and said. 

"A charming club you have here, really most charming. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Fyshe, in a casual tone, "a comfortable place, we liketo think. "

But if he could have seen what was happening below in the kitchens ofthe Mausoleum Club, Mr. Fyshe would have realized that just then it wasturning into a most uncomfortable place. 

For the walking delegate with his hat on sideways, who had haunted itall day, was busy now among the assembled Chinese philosophers, writingdown names and distributing strikers' cards of the International Unionand assuring them that the "boys" of the Grand Palaver had all walkedout at seven, and that all the "boys" of the Commercial and the Unionand of every restaurant in town were out an hour ago. 

And the philosophers were taking their cards and hanging up theirwaiters' coats and putting on shabby jackets and bowler hats, wornsideways, and changing themselves by a wonderful transformation fromrespectable Chinese to slouching loafers of the lowest type. 

But Mr. Fyshe, being in an alcove and not in the kitchens, saw nothingof these things. Not even when the head waiter, shaking withapprehension, appeared with cocktails made by himself, in glasses thathe himself had had to wipe, did Mr. Fyshe, absorbed in the easyurbanity of the Duke, notice that anything was amiss. 

Neither did his guests. For Dr. Boomer, having discovered that the Dukehad visited Nigeria, was asking him his opinion of the famous Bimbawehremains of the lower Niger. The Duke confessed that he really hadn'tnoticed them, and the Doctor assured him that Strabo had indubitablymentioned them (he would show the Duke the very passage), and that theyapparently lay, if his memory served him, about halfway between Oohatand Ohat; whether above Oohat and below Ohat or above Ohat and belowOohat he would not care to say for a certainty; for that the Duke mustwait till the president had time to consult his library. 

And the Duke was fascinated forthwith with the president's knowledge ofNigerian geography, and explained that he had once actually descendedfrom below Timbuctoo to Oohat in a doolie manned only by four swats. 

So presently, having drunk the cocktails, the party moved solemnly in abody from the alcove towards the private dining-room upstairs, stillbusily talking of the Bimbaweh remains, and the swats, and whether thedoolie was, or was not, the original goatskin boat of the book ofGenesis. 

And when they entered the private dining-room with its snow-white tableand cut glass and flowers (as arranged by a retreating philosopher nowheading towards the Gaiety Theatre with his hat over his eyes), theDuke again exclaimed, "Really, you have a most comfortable club--delightful. "

So they sat down to dinner, over which Mr. Furlong offered up a graceas short as any that are known even to the Anglican clergy. And thehead waiter, now in deep distress--for he had been sending outtelephone messages in vain to the Grand Palaver and the Continental, like the captain of a sinking ship--served oysters that he had openedhimself and poured Rhine wine with a trembling hand. For he knew thatunless by magic a new chef and a waiter or two could be got from thePalaver, all hope was lost. 

But the guests still knew nothing of his fears. Dr. Boomer was eatinghis oysters as a Nigerian hippo might eat up the crew of a doolie, ingreat mouthfuls, and commenting as he did so upon the luxuriousness ofmodern life. 

And in the pause that followed the oysters he illustrated for the Dukewith two pieces of bread the essential difference in structure betweenthe Mexican _pueblo_ and the tribal house of the Navajos, and lest theDuke should confound either or both of them with the adobe hut of theBimbaweh tribes he showed the difference at once with a couple ofolives. 

By this time, of course, the delay in the service was gettingnoticeable. Mr. Fyshe was directing angry glances towards the door, looking for the reappearance of the waiter, and growling an apology tohis guests. But the president waved the apology aside. 

"In my college days, " he said, "I should have considered a plate ofoysters an ample meal. I should have asked for nothing more. We eat, "he said, "too much. "

This, of course, started Mr. Fyshe on his favourite topic. "Luxury!" heexclaimed, "I should think so! It is the curse of the age. Theappalling growth of luxury, the piling up of money, the ease with whichhuge fortunes are made" (Good! thought the Duke, here we are coming toit), "these are the things that are going to ruin us. Mark my words, the whole thing is bound to end in a tremendous crash. I don't mindtelling you, Duke-my friends here, I am sure, know it already--that Iam more or less a revolutionary socialist. I am absolutely convinced, sir, that our modern civilization will end in a great socialcatastrophe. Mark what I say"--and here Mr. Fyshe became exceedinglyimpressive--"a great social catastrophe. Some of us may not live to seeit, perhaps; but you, for instance, Furlong, are a younger man; youcertainly will. "

But here Mr. Fyshe was understating the case. They were all going tolive to see it, right on the spot. 

For it was just at this moment, when Mr. Fyshe was talking of thesocial catastrophe and explaining with flashing eyes that it was boundto come, that it came; and when it came it lit, of all places in theworld, right there in the private dining-room of the Mausoleum Club. 

For the gloomy head waiter re-entered and leaned over the back of Mr. Fyshe's chair and whispered to him. 

"Eh? what?" said Mr. Fyshe. 

The head waiter, his features stricken with inward agony, whisperedagain. 

"The infernal, damn scoundrels!" said Mr. Fyshe, starting back in hischair. "On strike: in this club! It's an outrage!"

"I'm very sorry sir. I didn't like to tell you, sir. I'd hoped I mighthave got help from the outside, but it seems, sir, the hotels are allthe same way. "

"Do you mean to say, " said Mr. Fyshe, speaking very slowly, "that thereis no dinner?"

"I'm sorry, sir, " moaned the waiter. "It appears the chef hadn't evencooked it. Beyond what's on the table, sir, there's nothing. "

The social catastrophe had come. 

Mr. Fyshe sat silent with his fist clenched. Dr. Boomer, with his greatface transfixed, stared at the empty oyster-shells, thinking perhaps ofhis college days. The Duke, with his hundred thousand dashed from hislips in the second cup of champagne that was never served, thought ofhis politeness first and murmured something about taking them to hishotel. 

But there is no need to follow the unhappy details of the unendeddinner. Mr. Fyshe's one idea was to be gone: he was too true an artistto think that finance could be carried on over the table-cloth of asecond-rate restaurant, or on an empty stomach in a deserted club. Thething must be done over again; he must wait his time and begin anew. 

And so it came about that the little dinner party of Mr. Lucullus Fyshedissolved itself into its constituent elements, like broken pieces ofsociety in the great cataclysm portrayed by Mr. Fyshe himself. 

The Duke was bowled home in a snorting motor to the brilliant rotundaof the Grand Palaver, itself waiterless and supperless. 

The rector of St. Asaph's wandered off home to his rectory, musing uponthe contents of its pantry. 

And Mr. Fyshe and the gigantic Doctor walked side by side homewardsalong Plutoria Avenue, beneath the elm trees. Nor had they gone anygreat distance before Dr. Boomer fell to talking of the Duke. 

"A charming man, " he said, "delightful. I feel extremely sorry for him. "

"No worse off, I presume, than any of the rest of us, " growled Mr. Fyshe, who was feeling in the sourest of democratic moods; "a mandoesn't need to be a duke to have a stomach. "

"Oh, pooh, pooh!" said the president, waving the topic aside with hishand in the air; "I don't refer to that. Oh, not at all. I was thinkingof his financial position--an ancient family like the Dulhams; it seemstoo bad altogether. "

For, of course, to an archaeologist like Dr. Boomer an intimateacquaintance with the pedigree and fortunes of the greater ducalfamilies from Jock of Ealing downwards was nothing. It went withoutsaying. As beside the Neanderthal skull and the Bimbaweh ruins itdidn't count. 

Mr. Fyshe stopped absolutely still in his tracks. "His financialposition?" he questioned, quick as a lynx. 

"Certainly, " said Dr. Boomer; "I had taken it for granted that youknew. The Dulham family are practically ruined. The Duke, I imagine, isunder the necessity of mortgaging his estates; indeed, I should supposehe is here in America to raise money. "

Mr. Fyshe was a man of lightning action. Any man accustomed to theStock Exchange learns to think quickly. 

"One moment!" he cried; "I see we are right at your door. May I justrun in and use your telephone? I want to call up Boulder for a moment. "

Two minutes later Mr. Fyshe was saying into the telephone, "Oh, is thatyou, Boulder? I was looking for you in vain today--wanted you to meetthe Duke of Dulham, who came in quite unexpectedly from New York; feltsure you'd like to meet him. Wanted you at the club for dinner, and nowit turns out that the club's all upset--waiters' strike or some suchrascality--and the Palaver, so I hear, is in the same fix. Could youpossibly--"

Here Mr. Fyshe paused, listening a moment, and then went on, "Yes, yes;an excellent idea--most kind of you. Pray do send your motor to thehotel and give the Duke a bite of dinner. No, I wouldn't join you, thanks. Most kind. Good night--"

And within a few minutes more the motor of Mr. Boulder was rolling downfrom Plutoria Avenue to the Grand Palaver Hotel. 

What passed between Mr. Boulder and the Duke that evening is not known. That they must have proved congenial company to one another there is nodoubt. In fact, it would seem that, dissimilar as they were in manyways, they found a common bond of interest in sport. And it is quitelikely that Mr. Boulder may have mentioned that he had ahunting-lodge--what the Duke would call a shooting-box--in Wisconsinwoods, and that it was made of logs, rough cedar logs not squared, andthat the timber wolves and others which surrounded it were of aferocity without parallel. 

Those who know the Duke best could measure the effect of that upon histemperament. 

At any rate, it is certain that Mr. Lucullus Fyshe at hisbreakfast-table next morning chuckled with suppressed joy to read inthe _Plutopian Citizen_ the item:

"We learn that the Duke of Dulham, who has been paying a brief visit tothe City, leaves this morning with Mr. Asmodeus Boulder for theWisconsin woods. We understand that Mr. Boulder intends to show hisguest, who is an ardent sportsman, something of the American wolf. "

 * * * * *

And so the Duke went whirling westwards and northwards with Mr. Boulderin the drawing-room end of a Pullman car, that was all littered up withdouble-barrelled express rifles and leather game bags and lynx catchersand wolf traps and Heaven knows what. And the Duke had on his veryroughest sporting-suit, made, apparently, of alligator hide; and as hesat there with a rifle across his knees, while the train swept onwardsthrough open fields and broken woods, the real country at last, towardsthe Wisconsin forest, there was such a light of genial happiness in hisface that had not been seen there since he had been marooned in the mudjungles of Upper Burmah. 

And opposite, Mr. Boulder looked at him with fixed silent eyes, andmurmured from time to time some renewed information of the ferocity ofthe timber-wolf. 

But of wolves other than the timber-wolf, and fiercer still into whosehands the Duke might fall in America, he spoke never a word. 

Nor is it known in the record what happened in Wisconsin, and to theMausoleum Club the Duke and his visit remained only as a passing and apleasant memory. 

CHAPTER TWO: The Wizard of Finance

Down in the City itself, just below the residential street where theMausoleum Club is situated, there stands overlooking Central Square theGrand Palaver Hotel. It is, in truth, at no great distance from theclub, not half a minute in one's motor. In fact, one could almost walkit. 

But in Central Square the quiet of Plutoria Avenue is exchanged foranother atmosphere. There are fountains that splash unendingly andmingle their music with the sound of the motor-horns and the clatter ofthe cabs. There are real trees and little green benches, with peoplereading yesterday's newspaper, and grass cut into plots among theasphalt. There is at one end a statue of the first governor of thestate, life-size, cut in stone; and at the other a statue of the last, ever so much larger than life, cast in bronze. And all the people whopass by pause and look at this statue and point at it withwalking-sticks, because it is of extraordinary interest; in fact, it isan example of the new electro-chemical process of casting by which youcan cast a state governor any size you like, no matter what you startfrom. Those who know about such things explain what an interestingcontrast the two statues are; for in the case of the governor of ahundred years ago one had to start from plain, rough material and workpatiently for years to get the effect, whereas now the material doesn'tmatter at all, and with any sort of scrap, treated in the gas furnaceunder tremendous pressure, one may make a figure of colossal size likethe one in Central Square. 

So naturally Central Square with its trees and its fountains and itsstatues is one of the places of chief interest in the City. Butespecially because there stands along one side of it the vast pile ofthe Grand Palaver Hotel. It rises fifteen stories high and fills allone side of the square. It has, overlooking the trees in the square, twelve hundred rooms with three thousand windows, and it would haveheld all George Washington's army. Even people in other cities who havenever seen it know it well from its advertising; "the most homelikehotel in America, " so it is labelled in all the magazines, theexpensive ones, on the continent. In fact, the aim of the company thatowns the Grand Palaver--and they do not attempt to conceal it--is tomake the place as much a home as possible. Therein lies its charm. Itis a home. You realize that when you look up at the Grand Palaver fromthe square at night when the twelve hundred guests have turned on thelights of the three thousand windows. You realize it at theatre timewhen the great string of motors come sweeping to the doors of thePalaver, to carry the twelve hundred guests to twelve hundred seats inthe theatres at four dollars a seat. But most of all do you appreciatethe character of the Grand Palaver when you step into its rotunda. Aladdin's enchanted palace was nothing to it. It has a vast ceilingwith a hundred glittering lights, and within it night and day is asurging crowd that is never still and a babel of voices that is neverhushed, and over all there hangs an enchanted cloud of thin bluetobacco smoke such as might enshroud the conjured vision of a magicianof Baghdad or Damascus. 

In and through the rotunda there are palm trees to rest the eye andrubber trees in boxes to soothe the mind, and there are great leatherlounges and deep armchairs, and here and there huge brass ash-bowls asbig as Etruscan tear-jugs. Along one side is a counter with gratedwickets like a bank, and behind it are five clerks with flattened hairand tall collars, dressed in long black frock-coats all day likemembers of a legislature. They have great books in front of them inwhich they study unceasingly, and at their lightest thought they strikea bell with the open palm of their hand, and at the sound of it a pageboy in a monkey suit, with G. P. Stamped all over him in brass, boundsto the desk and off again, shouting a call into the unheeding crowdvociferously. The sound of it fills for a moment the great space of therotunda; it echoes down the corridors to the side; it floats, softlymelodious, through the palm trees of the ladies' palm room; it isheard, fainter and fainter, in the distant grill; and in the depths ofthe barber shop below the level of the street the barber arrests amoment-the drowsy hum of his shampoo brushes to catch the sound--asmight a miner in the sunken galleries of a coastal mine cease in histoil a moment to hear the distant murmur of the sea. 

And the clerks call for the pages, the pages call for the guests, andthe guests call for the porters, the bells clang, the elevators rattle, till home itself was never half so homelike. 

 * * * * *

"A call for Mr. Tomlinson! A call for Mr. Tomlinson!"

So went the sound, echoing through the rotunda. 

And as the page boy found him and handed him on a salver a telegram toread, the eyes of the crowd about him turned for a moment to look uponthe figure of Tomlinson, the Wizard of Finance. 

There he stood in his wide-awake hat and his long black coat, hisshoulders slightly bent with his fifty-eight years. Anyone who hadknown him in the olden days on his bush farm beside Tomlinson's Creekin the country of the Great Lakes would have recognized him in amoment. There was still on his face that strange, puzzled look that ithabitually wore, only now, of course, the financial papers were callingit "unfathomable. " There was a certain way in which his eye roved toand fro inquiringly that might have looked like perplexity, were it notthat the _Financial Undertone_ had recognized it as the "searching lookof a captain of industry. " One might have thought that for all thegoodness in it there was something simple in his face, were it not thatthe _Commercial and Pictorial Review_ had called the face"inscrutable, " and had proved it so with an illustration that left nodoubt of the matter. Indeed, the face of Tomlinson of Tomlinson'sCreek, now Tomlinson the Wizard of Finance, was not commonly spoken ofas a _face_ by the paragraphers of the Saturday magazine sections, butwas more usually referred to as a mask; and it would appear thatNapoleon the First had had one also. The Saturday editors were nevertired of describing the strange, impressive personality of Tomlinson, the great dominating character of the newest and highest finance. Fromthe moment when the interim prospectus of the Erie AuriferousConsolidated had broken like a tidal wave over Stock Exchange circles, the picture of Tomlinson, the sleeping shareholder of uncomputedmillions, had filled the imagination of every dreamer in a nation ofpoets. 

They all described him. And when each had finished he began again. 

"The face, " so wrote the editor of the "Our Own Men" section of_Ourselves Monthly_, "is that of a typical American captain of finance, hard, yet with a certain softness, broad but with a certain length, ductile but not without its own firmness. "

"The mouth, " so wrote the editor of the "Success" column of _Brains_, "is strong but pliable, the jaw firm and yet movable, while there issomething in the set of the ear that suggests the swift, eager mind ofthe born leader of men. "

So from state to state ran the portrait of Tomlinson of Tomlinson'sCreek, drawn by people who had never seen him; so did it reach out andcross the ocean, till the French journals inserted a picture which theyused for such occasions, and called it _Monsieur Tomlinson, nouveaucapitaine de la haute finance en Amerique_; and the German weeklies, inserting also a suitable picture from their stock, marked it _HerrTomlinson, Amerikanischer Industrie und Finanzcapitan_. Thus didTomlinson float from Tomlinson's Creek beside Lake Erie to the verybanks of the Danube and the Drave. 

Some writers grew lyric about him. What visions, they asked, could onebut read them, must lie behind the quiet, dreaming eyes of thatinscrutable face?

They might have read them easily enough, had they but had the key. Anyone who looked upon Tomlinson as he stood there in the roar andclatter of the great rotunda of the Grand Palaver with the telegram inhis hand, fumbling at the wrong end to open it, might have read thevisions of the master-mind had he but known their nature. They weresimple enough. For the visions in the mind of Tomlinson, Wizard ofFinance, were for the most part those of a wind-swept hillside farmbeside Lake Erie, where Tomlinson's Creek runs down to the low edge ofthe lake, and where the off-shore wind ripples the rushes of theshallow water: that, and the vision of a frame house, and the snakefences of the fourth concession road where it falls to the lakeside. And if the eyes of the man are dreamy and abstracted, it is becausethere lies over the vision of this vanished farm an infinite regret, greater in its compass than all the shares the Erie AuriferousConsolidated has ever thrown upon the market. 

 * * * * *

When Tomlinson had opened the telegram he stood with it for a moment inhis hand, looking the boy full in the face. His look had in it thatpeculiar far-away quality that the newspapers were calling "Napoleonicabstraction. " In reality he was wondering whether to give the boytwenty-five cents or fifty. 

The message that he had just read was worded, "Morning quotations showpreferred A. G. Falling rapidly recommend instant sale no confidencesend instructions. "

The Wizard of Finance took from his pocket a pencil (it was acarpenter's pencil) and wrote across the face of the message: "Buy mequite a bit more of the same yours truly. "

This he gave to the boy. "Take it over to him, " he said, pointing tothe telegraph corner of the rotunda. Then after another pause hemumbled, "Here, sonny, " and gave the boy a dollar. 

With that he turned to walk towards the elevator, and all the peopleabout him who had watched the signing of the message knew that some bigfinancial deal was going through--a _coup_, in fact, they called it. 

The elevator took the Wizard to the second floor. As he went up he feltin his pocket and gripped a quarter, then changed his mind and felt fora fifty-cent piece, and finally gave them both to the elevator boy, after which he walked along the corridor till he reached the cornersuite of rooms, a palace in itself, for which he was paying a thousanddollars a month ever since the Erie Auriferous Consolidated Company hadbegun tearing up the bed of Tomlinson's Creek in Cahoga County with itshydraulic dredges. 

"Well, mother, " he said as he entered. 

There was a woman seated near the window, a woman with a plain, homelyface such as they wear in the farm kitchens of Cahoga County, and a setof fashionable clothes upon her such as they sell to the ladies ofPlutoria Avenue. 

This was "mother, " the wife of the Wizard of Finance and eight yearsyounger than himself. And she, too, was in the papers and the publiceye; and whatsoever the shops had fresh from Paris, at fabulous prices, that they sold to mother. They had put a Balkan hat upon her with anupright feather, and they had hung gold chains on her, and everythingthat was most expensive they had hung and tied on mother. You might seeher emerging any morning from the Grand Palaver in her beetle-backjacket and her Balkan hat, a figure of infinite pathos. And whatevershe wore, the lady editors of _Spring Notes_ and _Causerie du Boudoir_wrote it out in French, and one paper had called her a _bellechatelaine_, and another had spoken of her as a grande dame, which theTomlinsons thought must be a misprint. 

But in any case, for Tomlinson, the Wizard of Finance, it was a greatrelief to have as his wife a woman like mother, because he knew thatshe had taught school in Cahoga County and could hold her own in thecity with any of them. 

So mother spent her time sitting in her beetle jacket in thethousand-dollar suite, reading new novels in brilliant paper covers. And the Wizard on his trips up and down to the rotunda brought her thevery best, the ones that cost a dollar fifty, because he knew that outhome she had only been able to read books like Nathaniel Hawthorne andWalter Scott, that were only worth ten cents. 

 * * * * *

"How's Fred?" said the Wizard, laying aside his hat, and lookingtowards the closed door of an inner room. "Is he better?"

"Some, " said mother. "He's dressed, but he's lying down. "

Fred was the son of the Wizard and mother. In the inner room he lay ona sofa, a great hulking boy of seventeen in a flowered dressing-gown, fancying himself ill. There was a packet of cigarettes and a box ofchocolates on a chair beside him, and he had the blind drawn and hiseyes half-closed to impress himself. 

Yet this was the same boy that less than a year ago on Tomlinson'sCreek had worn a rough store suit and set his sturdy shoulders to thebuck-saw. At present Fortune was busy taking from him the golden giftswhich the fairies of Cahoga County, Lake Erie, had laid in his cradleseventeen years ago. 

The Wizard tip-toed into the inner room, and from the open door hislistening wife could hear the voice of the boy saying, in a tone as ofone distraught with suffering. 

"Is there any more of that jelly?"

"Could he have any, do you suppose?" asked Tomlinson coming back. 

"It's all right, " said mother, "if it will sit on his stomach. " Forthis, in the dietetics of Cahoga County, is the sole test. All thosethings can be eaten which will sit on the stomach. Anything that won'tsit there is not eatable. 

"Do you suppose I could get them to get any?" questioned Tomlinson. "Would it be all right to telephone down to the office, or do you thinkit would be better to ring?"

"Perhaps, " said his wife, "it would be better to look out into the halland see if there isn't someone round that would tell them. "

This was the kind of problem with which Tomlinson and his wife, intheir thousand-dollar suite in the Grand Palaver, grappled all day. Andwhen presently a tall waiter in dress-clothes appeared, and said, "Jelly? Yes, sir, immediately, sir; would you like, sir, Maraschino, sir, or Portovino, sir?" Tomlinson gazed at him gloomily, wondering ifhe would take five dollars. 

"What does the doctor say is wrong with Fred?" asked Tomlinson, whenthe waiter had gone. 

"He don't just say, " said mother; "he said he must keep very quiet. Helooked in this morning for a minute or two, and he said he'd look inlater in the day again. But he said to keep Fred very quiet. "

Exactly! In other words Fred had pretty much the same complaint as therest of Dr. Slyder's patients on Plutoria Avenue, and was to be treatedin the same way. Dr. Slyder, who was the most fashionable practitionerin the City, spent his entire time moving to and fro in an almostnoiseless motor earnestly advising people to keep quiet. "You must keepvery quiet for a little while, " he would say with a sigh, as he satbeside a sick-bed. As he drew on his gloves in the hall below he wouldshake his head very impressively and say, "You must keep him veryquiet, " and so pass out, quite soundlessly. By this means Dr. Slyderoften succeeded in keeping people quiet for weeks. It was all themedicine that he knew. But it was enough. And as his patients alwaysgot well--there being nothing wrong with them--his reputation wasimmense. 

Very naturally the Wizard and his wife were impressed with him. Theyhad never seen such therapeutics in Cahoga County, where the practiceof medicine is carried on with forceps, pumps, squirts, splints, andother instruments of violence. 

The waiter had hardly gone when a boy appeared at the door. This timehe presented to Tomlinson not one telegram but a little bundle of them. 

The Wizard read them with a lengthening face. The first ran somethinglike this, "Congratulate you on your daring market turned instantly";and the next, "Your opinion justified market rose have sold at 20points profit"; and a third, "Your forecast entirely correct C. P. Roseat once send further instructions. "

These and similar messages were from brokers' offices, and all of themwere in the same tone; one told him that C. P. Was up, and another T. G. P. Had passed 129, and another that T. C. R. R. Had risen ten--allof which things were imputed to the wonderful sagacity of Tomlinson. Whereas if they had told him that X. Y. Z. Had risen to the moon hewould have been just as wise as to what it meant. 

"Well, " said the wife of the Wizard as her husband finished lookingthrough the reports, "how are things this morning? Are they any better?"

"No, " said Tomlinson, and he sighed as he said it; "this is the worstday yet. It's just been a shower of telegrams, and mostly all the same. I can't do the figuring of it like you can, but I reckon I must havemade another hundred thousand dollars since yesterday. "

"You don't say so!" said mother, and they looked at one anothergloomily. 

"And half a million last week, wasn't it?" said Tomlinson as he sankinto a chair. "I'm afraid, mother, " he continued, "it's no good. Wedon't know how. We weren't brought up to it. "

All of which meant that if the editor of the _Monetary Afternoon_ or_Financial Sunday_ had been able to know what was happening with thetwo wizards, he could have written up a news story calculated toelectrify all America. 

For the truth was that Tomlinson, the Wizard of Finance, was attemptingto carry out a _coup_ greater than any as yet attributed to him by thePress. He was trying to lose his money. That, in the sickness of hissoul, crushed by the Grand Palaver, overwhelmed with the burden of highfinance, had become his aim, to be done with it, to get rid of hiswhole fortune. 

But if you own a fortune that is computed anywhere from fifty millionsup, with no limit at the top, if you own one-half of all the preferredstock of an Erie Auriferous Consolidated that is digging gold inhydraulic bucketfuls from a quarter of a mile of river bed, the task oflosing it is no easy matter. 

There are men, no doubt, versed in finance, who might succeed in doingit. But they have a training that Tomlinson lacked. Invest it as hewould in the worst securities that offered, the most rickety of stock, the most fraudulent bonds, back it came to him. When he threw a handfulaway, back came two in its place. And at every new coup the crowdapplauded the incomparable daring, the unparalleled prescience of theWizard. 

Like the touch of Midas, his hand turned everything to gold. 

"Mother, " he repeated, "it's no use. It's like this here Destiny, asthe books call it. "

 * * * * *

The great fortune that Tomlinson, the Wizard of Finance, was trying hisbest to lose had come to him with wonderful suddenness. As yet it washardly six months old. As to how it had originated, there were allsorts of stories afloat in the weekly illustrated press. They agreedmostly on the general basis that Tomlinson had made his vast fortune byhis own indomitable pluck and dogged industry. Some said that he hadbeen at one time a mere farm hand who, by sheer doggedness, had foughthis way from the hay-mow to the control of the produce market ofseventeen states. Others had it that he had been a lumberjack who, bysheer doggedness, had got possession of the whole lumber forest of theLake district. Others said that he had been a miner in a Lake Superiorcopper mine who had, by the doggedness of his character, got apractical monopoly of the copper supply. These Saturday articles, atany rate, made the Saturday reader rigid with sympathetic doggednesshimself, which was all that the editor (who was doggedly trying to makethe paper pay) wanted to effect. 

But in reality the making of Tomlinson's fortune was very simple. Therecipe for it is open to anyone. It is only necessary to own a hillsidefarm beside Lake Erie where the uncleared bush and the broken fields gostraggling down to the lake, and to have running through it a creek, such as that called Tomlinson's, brawling among the stones and willows, and to discover in the bed of a creek--a gold mine. 

That is all. 

Nor is it necessary in these well-ordered days to discover the gold forone's self. One might have lived a lifetime on the farm, as Tomlinson'sfather had, and never discover it for one's self. For that indeed thebest medium of destiny is a geologist, let us say the senior professorof geology at Plutoria University. That was how it happened. 

The senior professor, so it chanced, was spending his vacation near byon the shores of the lake, and his time was mostly passed--for howbetter can a man spend a month of pleasure?--in looking foroutcroppings of Devonian rock of the post-tertiary period. For whichpurpose he carried a vacation hammer in his pocket, and made from timeto time a note or two as he went along, or filled his pockets with thechippings of vacation rocks. 

So it chanced that he came to Tomlinson's Creek at the very point wherea great slab of Devonian rock bursts through the clay of the bank. Whenthe senior professor of geology saw it and noticed a stripe like a markon a tiger's back--a fault he called it--that ran over the face of theblock, he was at it in an instant, beating off fragments with hislittle hammer. 

Tomlinson and his boy Fred were logging in the underbrush near by witha long chain and yoke of oxen, but the geologist was so excited that hedid not see them till the sound of his eager hammer had brought them tohis side. They took him up to the frame house in the clearing, wherethe chatelaine was hoeing a potato patch with a man's hat on her head, and they gave him buttermilk and soda cakes, but his hand shook so thathe could hardly eat them. 

The geologist left Cahoga station that night for the City with anewspaper full of specimens inside his suit-case, and he knew that ifany person or persons would put up money enough to tear that block ofrock away and follow the fissure down, there would be found theresomething to astonish humanity, geologists and all. 

 * * * * *

After that point in the launching of a gold mine the rest is easy. Generous, warm-hearted men, interested in geology, were soon found. There was no stint of money. The great rock was torn sideways from itsplace, and from beneath it the crumbled, glittering rock-dust thatsparkled in the sun was sent in little boxes to the testinglaboratories of Plutoria University. There the senior professor ofgeology had sat up with it far into the night in a darkened laboratory, with little blue flames playing underneath crucibles, as in amagician's cavern, and with the door locked. And as each sample that hetested was set aside and tied in a cardboard box by itself, he labelledit "aur. P. 75, " and the pen shook in his hand as he marked it. For toprofessors of geology those symbols mean "this is seventy-five per centpure gold. " So it was no wonder that the senior professor of geologyworking far into the night among the blue flames shook with excitement;not, of course, for the gold's sake as money (he had no time to thinkof that), but because if this thing was true it meant that anauriferous vein had been found in what was Devonian rock of thepost-tertiary stratification, and if that was so it upset enoughgeology to spoil a textbook. It would mean that the professor couldread a paper at the next Pan-Geological Conference that would turn thewhole assembly into a bedlam. 

It pleased him, too, to know that the men he was dealing with weregenerous. They had asked him to name his own price or the tests that hemade and when he had said two dollars per sample they had told him togo right ahead. The professor was not, I suppose, a mercenary man, butit pleased him to think that he could, clean up sixteen dollars in asingle evening in his laboratory. It showed, at any rate, thatbusinessmen put science at its proper value. Strangest of all was thefact that the men had told him that even this ore was apparentlynothing to what there was; it had all come out of one single spot inthe creek, not the hundredth part of the whole claim. Lower down, wherethey had thrown the big dam across to make the bed dry, they weretaking out this same stuff and even better, so they said, in cartloads. The hydraulic dredges were tearing it from the bed of the creek allday, and at night a great circuit of arc lights gleamed and sputteredover the roaring labour of the friends of geological research. 

Thus had the Erie Auriferous Consolidated broken in a tidal wave overfinancial circles. On the Stock Exchange, in the downtown offices, andamong the palm trees of the Mausoleum Club they talked of nothing else. And so great was the power of the wave that it washed Tomlinson and hiswife along on the crest of it, and landed them fifty feet up in theirthousand-dollar suite in the Grand Palaver. And as a result of it"mother" wore a beetle-back jacket; and Tomlinson received a hundredtelegrams a day, and Fred quit school and ate chocolates. 

But in the business world the most amazing thing about it was thewonderful shrewdness of Tomlinson. 

The first sign of it had been that he had utterly refused to allow theErie Auriferous Consolidated (as the friends of geology calledthemselves) to take over the top half of the Tomlinson farm. For thebottom part he let them give him one-half of the preferred stock in thecompany in return for their supply of development capital. This wastheir own proposition; in fact, they reckoned that in doing this theywere trading about two hundred thousand dollars' worth of machineryfor, say ten million dollars of gold. But it frightened them whenTomlinson said "Yes" to the offer, and when he said that as to commonstock they might keep it, it was no use to him, they were alarmed anduneasy till they made him take a block of it for the sake of marketconfidence. 

But the top end of the farm he refused to surrender, and the friends ofapplied geology knew that there must be something pretty large behindthis refusal; the more so as the reason that Tomlinson gave was such asimple one. He said that he didn't want to part with the top end of theplace because his father was buried on it beside the creek, and so hedidn't want the dam higher up, not for any consideration. 

This was regarded in business circles as a piece of great shrewdness. "Says his father is buried there, eh? Devilish shrewd that!"

It was so long since any of the members of the Exchange or theMausoleum Club had wandered into such places as Cahoga County that theydid not know that there was nothing strange in what Tomlinson said. Hisfather was buried there, on the farm itself, in a grave overgrown withraspberry bushes, and with a wooden headstone encompassed by a squareof cedar rails, and slept as many another pioneer of Cahoga is sleeping. 

"Devilish smart idea!" they said; and forthwith half the financial menof the city buried their fathers, or professed to have done so, inlikely places--along the prospective right-of-way of a suburbanrailway, for example; in fact, in any place that marked them out forthe joyous resurrection of an expropriation purchase. 

Thus the astounding shrewdness of Tomlinson rapidly became a legend, the more so as he turned everything he touched to gold. 

They narrated little stories of him in the whiskey-and-soda corners ofthe Mausoleum Club. 

"I put it to him in a casual way, " related, for example, Mr. LucullusFyshe, "casually, but quite frankly. I said, 'See here, this is just abagatelle to you, no doubt, but to me it might be of some use. T. C. Bonds, ' I said, 'have risen twenty-two and a half in a week. You knowas well as I do that they are only collateral trust, and that the stockunderneath never could and never can earn a par dividend. Now, ' I said, 'Mr. Tomlinson, tell me what all that means?' Would you believe it, thefellow looked me right in the face in that queer way he has and hesaid, 'I don't know!'"

"He said he didn't know!" repeated the listener, in a tone of amazementand respect. "By Jove! eh? he said he didn't know! The man's a wizard!"

"And he looked as if he didn't!" went on Mr. Fyshe. "That's the deuceof it. That man when he wants to can put on a look, sir, that simplymeans nothing, absolutely nothing. "

In this way Tomlinson had earned his name of the Wizard of AmericanFinance. 

And meantime Tomlinson and his wife, within their suite at the GrandPalaver, had long since reached their decision. For there was oneaspect and only one in which Tomlinson was really and truly a wizard. He saw clearly that for himself and his wife the vast fortune that hadfallen to them was of no manner of use. What did it bring them? Thenoise and roar of the City in place of the silence of the farm and theracket of the great rotunda to drown the remembered murmur of thewaters of the creek. 

So Tomlinson had decided to rid himself of his new wealth, save onlysuch as might be needed to make his son a different kind of man fromhimself. 

"For Fred, of course, " he said, "it's different. But out of such a lotas that it'll be easy to keep enough for him. It'll be a grand thingfor Fred, this money. He won't have to grow up like you and me. He'llhave opportunities we never got. " He was getting them already. Theopportunity to wear seven dollar patent leather shoes and a bell-shapedovercoat with a silk collar, to lounge into moving-picture shows andeat chocolates and smoke cigarettes--all these opportunities he wasgathering immediately. Presently, when he learned his way round alittle, he would get still bigger ones. 

"He's improving fast, " said mother. She was thinking of his patentleather shoes. 

"He's popular, " said his father. "I notice it downstairs. He sasses anyof them just as he likes; and no matter how busy they are, as soon asthey see it's Fred they're all ready to have a laugh with him. "

Certainly they were, as any hotel clerk with plastered hair is ready tolaugh with the son of a multimillionaire. It's a certain sense ofhumour that they develop. 

"But for us, mother, " said the Wizard, "we'll be rid of it. The gold isthere. It's not right to keep it back. But we'll just find a way topass it on to folks that need it worse than we do. "

For a time they had thought of giving away the fortune. But how? Whodid they know that would take it?

It had crossed their minds--for who could live in the City a monthwithout observing the imposing buildings of Plutoria University, asfine as any departmental store in town?--that they might give it to thecollege. 

But there, it seemed, the way was blocked. 

"You see, mother, " said the puzzled Wizard, "we're not known. We'restrangers. I'd look fine going up there to the college and saying, 'Iwant to give you people a million dollars. ' They'd laugh at me!"

"But don't one read it in the papers, " his wife had protested, "whereMr. Carnegie gives ever so much to the colleges, more than all we'vegot, and they take it?"

"That's different, " said the Wizard. "He's in with them. They all knowhim. Why, he's a sort of chairman of different boards of colleges, andhe knows all the heads of the schools, and the professors, so it's nowonder that if he offers to give a pension, or anything, they take it. Just think of me going up to one of the professors up there in themiddle of his teaching and saying; 'I'd like to give you a pension forlife!' Imagine it! Think what he'd say!"

But the Tomlinsons couldn't imagine it, which was just as well. 

So it came about that they had embarked on their system. Mother, whoknew most arithmetic, was the leading spirit. She tracked out all thestocks and bonds in the front page of the _Financial Undertone_, and onher recommendation the Wizard bought. They knew the stocks only bytheir letters, but this itself gave a touch of high finance to theirdeliberations. 

"I'd buy some of this R. O. P. If I was you, " said mother; "it's gonedown from 127 to 107 in two days, and I reckon it'll be all gone in tendays or so. "

"Wouldn't 'G. G. Deb. ' be better? It goes down quicker. "

"Well, it's a quick one, " she assented, "but it don't go down sosteady. You can't rely on it. You take ones like R. O. P. And T. R. R. Pfd. ; they go down all the time and you know where you are. "

As a result of which, Tomlinson would send his instructions. He did itall from the rotunda in a way of his own that he had evolved with atelegraph clerk who told him the names of brokers, and he dealt thusthrough brokers whom he never saw. As a result of this, the sluggishR. O. P. And T. R. R. Would take as sudden a leap into the air as might amule with a galvanic shock applied to its tail. At once the word waswhispered that the "Tomlinson interests" were after the R. O. P. Toreorganize it, and the whole floor of the Exchange scrambled for thestock. 

And so it was that after a month or two of these operations the Wizardof Finance saw himself beaten. 

"It's no good, mother, " he repeated, "it's just a kind of Destiny. "

Destiny perhaps it was. 

But, if the Wizard of Finance had known it, at this very moment when hesat with the Aladdin's palace of his golden fortune reared so strangelyabout him, Destiny was preparing for him still stranger things. 

Destiny, so it would seem, was devising Its own ways and means ofdealing with Tomlinson's fortune. As one of the ways and means, Destinywas sending at this moment as its special emissaries two huge, portlyfigures, wearing gigantic goloshes, and striding downwards from thehalls of Plutoria University to the Grand Palaver Hotel. And one ofthese was the gigantic Dr. Boomer, the president of the college, andthe other was his professor of Greek, almost as gigantic as himself. And they carried in their capacious pockets bundles of pamphlets on"Archaeological Remains of Mitylene, " and the "Use of the GreekPluperfect, " and little treatises such as "Education and Philanthropy, "by Dr. Boomer, and "The Excavation of Mitylene: An Estimate of Cost, "by Dr. Boyster, "Boomer on the Foundation and Maintenance of Chairs, "etc. 

Many a man in city finance who had seen Dr. Boomer enter his officewith a bundle of these monographs and a fighting glitter in his eyeshad sunk back in his chair in dismay. For it meant that Dr. Boomer hadtracked him out for a benefaction to the University, and that allresistance was hopeless. 

When Dr. Boomer once laid upon a capitalist's desk his famous pamphleton the "Use of the Greek Pluperfect, " it was as if an Arabian sultanhad sent the fatal bow-string to a condemned pasha, or Morgan thebuccaneer had served the death-sign on a shuddering pirate. 

So they came nearer and nearer, shouldering the passers-by. The soundof them as they talked was like the roaring of the sea as Homer heardit. Never did Castor and Pollux come surging into battle as Dr. Boomerand Dr. Boyster bore down upon the Grand Palaver Hotel. 

Tomlinson, the Wizard of Finance, had hesitated about going to theuniversity. The university was coming to him. As for those millions ofhis, he could take his choice--dormitories, apparatus, campuses, buildings, endowment, anything he liked but choose he must. And if hefeared that, after all, his fortune was too vast even for such adisposal, Dr. Boomer would show him how he might use it in digging upancient Mitylene, or modern Smyrna, or the lost cities of the Plain ofPactolus. If the size of the fortune troubled him, Dr. Boomer would dighim up the whole African Sahara from Alexandria to Morocco, and ask formore. 

But if Destiny held all this for Tomlinson in its outstretched palmbefore it, it concealed stranger things still beneath the folds of itstoga. 

There were enough surprises there to turn the faces of the wholedirectorate of the Erie Auriferous Consolidated as yellow as the goldthey mined. 

For at this very moment, while the president of Plutoria Universitydrew nearer and nearer to the Grand Palaver Hotel, the senior professorof geology was working again beside the blue flames in his darkenedlaboratory. And this time there was no shaking excitement over him. Norwere the labels that he marked, as sample followed sample in the tests, the same as those of the previous marking. Not by any means. 

And his grave face as he worked in silence was as still as the stonesof the post-tertiary period. 

CHAPTER THREE: The Arrested Philanthropy of Mr. Tomlinson

"This, Mr. Tomlinson, is our campus, " said President Boomer as theypassed through the iron gates of Plutoria University. 

"For camping?" said the Wizard. 

"Not exactly, " answered the president, "though it would, of course, suit for that. _Nihil humunum alienum_, eh?" and he broke into a loud, explosive laugh, while his spectacles irradiated that peculiar form ofglee derived from a Latin quotation by those able to enjoy it. Dr. Boyster, walking on the other side of Mr. Tomlinson, joined in thelaugh in a deep, reverberating chorus. 

The two had the Wizard of Finance between them, and they were marchinghim up to the University. He was taken along much as is an arrested manwho has promised to go quietly. They kept their hands off him, but theywatched him sideways through their spectacles. At the least sign ofrestlessness they doused him with Latin. The Wizard of Finance, havingbeen marked out by Dr. Boomer and Dr. Boyster as a prospectivebenefactor, was having Latin poured over him to reduce him to theproper degree of plasticity. 

They had already put him through the first stage. They had, three daysago, called on him at the Grand Palaver and served him with a pamphleton "The Excavation of Mitylene" as a sort of writ. Tomlinson and hiswife had looked at the pictures of the ruins, and from the appearanceof them they judged that Mitylene was in Mexico, and they said that itwas a shame to see it in that state and that the United States ought tointervene. 

As the second stage on the path of philanthropy, the Wizard of Financewas now being taken to look at the university. Dr. Boomer knew byexperience that no rich man could look at it without wanting to give itmoney. 

And here the president had found that there is no better method ofdealing with businessmen than to use Latin on them. For other purposesthe president used other things. For example at a friendly dinner atthe Mausoleum Club where light conversation was in order, Dr. Boomerchatted, as has been seen, on the archaeological remains of theNavajos. In the same way, at Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's Dante luncheons, hegenerally talked of the Italian _cinquecentisti_ and whether Gian Gobbodella Scala had left a greater name than Can Grande della Spiggiola. But such talk as that was naturally only for women. Businessmen aremuch too shrewd for that kind of thing; in fact, so shrewd are they, asPresident Boomer had long since discovered, that nothing pleases themso much as the quiet, firm assumption that they know Latin. It is likewriting them up an asset. So it was that Dr. Boomer would greet abusiness acquaintance with a roaring salutation of, "_Terque quaterquebeatus_, " or stand wringing his hand off to the tune of "_Oh etpresidium et dulce decus meum_. "

This caught them every time. 

"You don't, " said Tomlinson the Wizard in a hesitating tone as helooked at the smooth grass of the campus, "I suppose, raise anything onit?"

"No, no; this is only for field sports, " said the president; "_suntquos curriculo_--"

To which Dr. Boyster on the other side added, like a chorus, "_pulveremOlympicum_. "

This was their favourite quotation. It always gave President Boomer achance to speak of the final letter "m" in Latin poetry, and to saythat in his opinion the so-called elision of the final "m" was moreproperly a dropping of the vowel with a repercussion of the two lastconsonants. He supported this by quoting Ammianus, at which Dr. Boysterexclaimed, "Pooh! Ammianus: more dog Latin!" and appealed to Mr. Tomlinson as to whether any rational man nowadays cared what Ammianusthought?

To all of which Tomlinson answered never a word, but looked steadilyfirst at one and then at the other. Dr. Boomer said afterwards that thepenetration of Tomlinson was wonderful, and that it was excellent tosee how Boyster tried in vain to draw him; and Boyster said afterwardsthat the way in which Tomlinson quietly refused to be led on by Boomerwas delicious, and that it was a pity that Aristophanes was not thereto do it justice. 

All of which was happening as they went in at the iron gates and up theelm avenue of Plutoria University. 

The university, as everyone knows, stands with its great gates onPlutoria Avenue, and with its largest buildings, those of the facultiesof industrial and mechanical science, fronting full upon the street. 

These buildings are exceptionally fine, standing fifteen stories highand comparing favourably with the best departmental stores or factoriesin the City. Indeed, after nightfall, when they are all lighted up forthe evening technical classes and when their testing machinery is infull swing and there are students going in and out in overall suits, people have often mistaken the university, or this newer part of it, for a factory. A foreign visitor once said that the students lookedlike plumbers, and President Boomer was so proud of it that he put thephrase into his next Commencement address; and from there thenewspapers got it and the Associated Press took it up and sent it allover the United States with the heading, "Have Appearance of Plumbers;Plutoria University Congratulated on Character of Students, " and it wasa proud day indeed for the heads of the Industrial Science faculty. 

But the older part of the university stands so quietly and modestly atthe top end of the elm avenue, so hidden by the leaves of it, that noone could mistake it for a factory. This, indeed, was once the wholeuniversity, and had stood there since colonial days under the nameConcordia College. It had been filled with generations of presidentsand professors of the older type with long white beards and rusty blackclothes, and salaries of fifteen hundred dollars. 

But the change both of name and of character from Concordia College toPlutoria University was the work of President Boomer. He had changed itfrom an old-fashioned college of the by-gone type to a university inthe true modern sense. At Plutoria they now taught everything. Concordia College, for example, had no teaching of religion exceptlectures on the Bible. Now they had lectures also on Confucianism, Mohammedanism Buddhism, with an optional course on atheism for studentsin the final year. 

And, of course, they had long since admitted women, and there were nowbeautiful creatures with Cleo de Merode hair studying astronomy atoaken desks and looking up at the teacher with eyes like comets. Theuniversity taught everything and did everything. It had whirlingmachines on the top of it that measured the speed of the wind, and deepin its basements it measured earthquakes with a seismograph; it heldclasses on forestry and dentistry and palmistry; it sent life classesinto the slums, and death classes to the city morgue. It offered such avast variety of themes, topics and subjects to the students, that therewas nothing that a student was compelled to learn, while from its ownpresses in its own press-building it sent out a shower of bulletins andmonographs like driven snow from a rotary plough. 

In fact, it had become, as President Boomer told all the businessmen intown, not merely a university, but a _universitas_ in the true sense, and every one of its faculties was now a _facultas_ in the realacceptance of the word, and its studies properly and truly _studia_;indeed, if the businessmen would only build a few more dormitories andput up enough money to form an adequate _fondatum_ or _fundum_, thenthe good work might be looked upon as complete. 

As the three walked up the elm avenue there met them a little stream ofstudents with college books, and female students with winged-victoryhats, and professors with last year's overcoats. And some went pastwith a smile and others with a shiver. 

"That's Professor Withers, " said the president in a sympathetic voiceas one of the shivering figures went past; "poor Withers, " and hesighed. 

"What's wrong with him?" said the Wizard; "is he sick?"

"No, not sick, " said the president quietly and sadly, "merelyinefficient. "

"Inefficient?"

"Unfortunately so. Mind you, I don't mean 'inefficient' in every sense. By no means. If anyone were to come to me and say, 'Boomer, can you putyour hand for me on a first-class botanist?' I'd say, 'Take Withers. 'I'd say it in a minute. " This was true. He would have. In fact, ifanyone had made this kind of rash speech, Dr. Boomer would have givenaway half the professoriate. 

"Well, what's wrong with him?" repeated Tomlinson, "I suppose he ain'tquite up to the mark in some ways, eh?"

"Precisely, " said the president, "not quite up to the mark--a veryhappy way of putting it. _Capax imperii nisi imperasset_, as no doubtyou are thinking to yourself. The fact is that Withers, though anexcellent fellow, can't manage large classes. With small classes he isall right, but with large classes the man is lost. He can't handlethem. "

"He can't, eh?" said the Wizard. 

"No. But what can I do? There he is. I can't dismiss him. I can'tpension him. I've no money for it. "

Here the president slackened a little in his walk and looked sidewaysat the prospective benefactor. But Tomlinson gave no sign. 

A second professorial figure passed them on the other side. 

"There again, " said the president, "that's another case ofinefficiency--Professor Shottat, our senior professor of English. "

"What's wrong with _him_?" asked the Wizard. 

"He can't handle _small_ classes, " said the president. "With largeclasses he is really excellent, but with small ones the man is simplyhopeless. "

In this fashion, before Mr. Tomlinson had measured the length of theavenue, he had had ample opportunity to judge of the crying need ofmoney at Plutoria University, and of the perplexity of its president. He was shown professors who could handle the first year, but werepowerless with the second; others who were all right with the secondbut broke down with the third, while others could handle the third butcollapsed with the fourth. There were professors who were all right intheir own subject, but perfectly impossible outside of it; others whowere so occupied outside of their own subject that they were uselessinside of it; others who knew their subject, but couldn't lecture; andothers again who lectured admirably, but didn't know their subject. 

In short it was clear--as it was meant to be--that the need of themoment was a sum of money sufficient to enable the president to dismisseverybody but himself and Dr. Boyster. The latter stood in a class allby himself. He had known the president for forty-five years, ever sincehe was a fat little boy with spectacles in a classical academy, stuffing himself on irregular Greek verbs as readily as if on oysters. 

But it soon appeared that the need for dismissing the professors wasonly part of the trouble. There were the buildings to consider. 

"This, I am ashamed to say, " said Dr. Boomer, as they passed theimitation Greek portico of the old Concordia College building, "is ouroriginal home, the _fons et origo_ of our studies, our faculty of arts. "

It was indeed a dilapidated building, yet there was a certain majestyabout it, too, especially when one reflected that it had been standingthere looking much the same at the time when its students had troopedoff in a flock to join the army of the Potomac, and much the same, indeed, three generations before that, when the classes were closed andthe students clapped three-cornered hats on their heads and were off toenlist as minute men with flintlock muskets under General Washington. 

But Dr. Boomer's one idea was to knock the building down and to buildon its site a real _facultas_ ten storeys high, with elevators in it. 

Tomlinson looked about him humbly as he stood in the main hall. Theatmosphere of the place awed him. There were bulletins and time-tablesand notices stuck on the walls that gave evidence of the activity ofthe place. "Professor Slithers will be unable to meet his classestoday, " ran one of them, and another "Professor Withers will not meethis classes this week, " and another, "Owing to illness, ProfessorShottat will not lecture this month, " while still another announced, "Owing to the indisposition of Professor Podge, all botanical classesare suspended, but Professor Podge hopes to be able to join in theBotanical Picnic Excursion to Loon Lake on Saturday afternoon. " Youcould judge of the grinding routine of the work from the nature ofthese notices. Anyone familiar with the work of colleges would not heedit, but it shocked Tomlinson to think how often the professors of thecollege were stricken down by overwork. 

Here and there in the hall, set into niches, were bronze busts of menwith Roman faces and bare necks, and the edge of a toga cast over eachshoulder. 

"Who would these be?" asked Tomlinson, pointing at them. "Some of thechief founders and benefactors of the faculty, " answered the president, and at this the hopes of Tomlinson sank in his heart. For he realizedthe class of man one had to belong to in order to be accepted as auniversity benefactor. 

"A splendid group of men, are they not?" said the president. "We owethem much. This is the late Mr. Hogworth, a man of singularly largeheart. " Here he pointed to a bronze figure wearing a wreath of laureland inscribed GULIEMUS HOGWORTH, LITT. DOC. "He had made a greatfortune in the produce business and wishing to mark his gratitude tothe community he erected the anemometer, the wind-measure, on the roofof the building, attaching to it no other condition than that his nameshould be printed in the weekly reports immediately beside the velocityof the wind. The figure beside him is the late Mr. Underbugg, whofounded our lectures on the Four Gospels on the sole stipulation thathenceforth any reference of ours to the four gospels should be coupledwith his name. "

"What's that after his name?" asked Tomlinson. 

"Litt. Doc. ?" said the president. "Doctor of Letters, our honorarydegree. We are always happy to grant it to our benefactors by a vote ofthe faculty. "

Here Dr. Boomer and Dr. Boyster wheeled half round and looked quietlyand steadily at the Wizard of Finance. To both their minds it wasperfectly plain that an honourable bargain was being struck. 

"Yes, Mr. Tomlinson, " said the president, as they emerged from thebuilding, "no doubt you begin to realize our unhappy position. Money, money, money, " he repeated half-musingly. "If I had the money I'd havethat whole building down and dismantled in a fortnight. "

From the central building the three passed to the museum building, where Tomlinson was shown a vast skeleton of a Diplodocus Maximus, andwas specially warned not to confuse it with the Dinosaurus Perfectus, whose bones, however, could be bought if anyone, any man of largeheart; would come to the university and say straight out, "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?" Better still, it appeared the whole museumwhich was hopelessly antiquated, being twenty-five years old, could beentirely knocked down if a sufficient sum was forthcoming; and itscurator, who was as ancient as the Dinosaurus itself, could bedismissed on half-pay if any man had a heart large enough for thedismissal. 

From the museum they passed to the library, where there werefull-length portraits of more founders and benefactors in long redrobes, holding scrolls of paper, and others sitting holding pens andwriting on parchment, with a Greek temple and a thunderstorm in thebackground. 

And here again it appeared that the crying need of the moment was forsomeone to come to the university and say, "Gentlemen, what can I dofor you?" On which the whole library, for it was twenty years old andout of date, might be blown up with dynamite and carted away. 

But at all this the hopes of Tomlinson sank lower and lower. The redrobes and the scrolls were too much for him. 

From the library they passed to the tall buildings that housed thefaculty of industrial and mechanical science. And here again the samepitiful lack of money was everywhere apparent. For example, in thephysical science department there was a mass of apparatus for which theuniversity was unable to afford suitable premises, and in the chemicaldepartment there were vast premises for which the university was unableto buy apparatus, and so on. Indeed it was part of Dr. Boomer's methodto get himself endowed first with premises too big for the apparatus, and then by appealing to public spirit to call for enough apparatus tomore than fill the premises, by means of which system industrialscience at Plutoria University advanced with increasing and giganticstrides. 

But most of all, the electric department interested the Wizard ofFinance. And this time his voice lost its hesitating tone and he lookedstraight at Dr. Boomer as he began, "I have a boy--"

"Ah!" said Dr. Boomer, with a huge ejaculation of surprise and relief;"you have a boy!"

There were volumes in his tone. What it meant was, "Now, indeed, wehave got you where we want you, " and he exchanged a meaning look withthe professor of Greek. 

Within five minutes the president and Tomlinson and Dr. Boyster weregravely discussing on what terms and in what way Fred might be admittedto study in the faculty of industrial science. The president, onlearning that Fred had put in four years in Cahoga County Section No. 3School, and had been head of his class in ciphering, nodded his headgravely and said it would simply be a matter of a _pro tanto_; that, infact, he felt sure that Fred might be admitted _ad eundem_. But thereal condition on which they meant to admit him was, of course, notmentioned. 

One door only in the faculty of industrial and mechanical science theydid not pass, a heavy oak door at the end of a corridor bearing thepainted inscription: Geological and Metallurgical Laboratories. Stuckin the door was a card with the words (they were conceived in thecourteous phrases of mechanical science, which is almost a branch ofbusiness in the real sense): Busy--keep out. 

Dr. Boomer looked at the card. "Ah, yes, " he said. "Gildas is no doubtbusy with his tests. We won't disturb him. " The president was alwaysproud to find a professor busy; it looked well. 

But if Dr. Boomer had known what was going on behind the oaken door ofthe Department of Geology and Metallurgy, he would have feltconsiderably disturbed himself. 

For here again Gildas, senior professor of geology, was working amonghis blue flames at a final test on which depended the fate of the ErieAuriferous Consolidated and all connected with it. 

Before him there were some twenty or thirty packets of crumpled dustand splintered ore that glittered on the testing-table. It had beentaken up from the creek along its whole length, at even spaces twentyyards apart, by an expert sent down in haste by the directorate, afterGildas's second report, and heavily bribed to keep his mouth shut. 

And as Professor Gildas stood and worked at the samples and tied themup after analysis in little white cardboard boxes, he marked each onevery carefully and neatly with the words, PYRITES: WORTHLESS. 

Beside the professor worked a young demonstrator of last year'sgraduation class. It was he, in fact, who had written the polite noticeon the card. 

"What is the stuff, anyway?" he asked. 

"A sulphuret of iron, " said the professor, "or iron pyrites. In colourand appearance it is practically identical with gold. Indeed, in allages, " he went on, dropping at once into the classroom tone andadopting the professional habit of jumping backwards twenty centuriesin order to explain anything properly, "it has been readily mistakenfor the precious metal. The ancients called it 'fool's gold. ' MartinFrobisher brought back four shiploads of it from Baffin Land thinkingthat he had discovered an Eldorado. There are large deposits of it inthe mines of Cornwall, and it is just possible, " here the professormeasured his words as if speaking of something that he wouldn'tpromise, "that the Cassiterides of the Phoenicians contained depositsof the same sulphuret. Indeed, I defy anyone, " he continued, for he waspiqued in his scientific pride, "to distinguish it from gold without alaboratory-test. In large quantities, I concede, its lack of weightwould betray it to a trained hand, but without testing its solubilityin nitric acid, or the fact of its burning with a blue flame under theblow-pipe, it cannot be detected. In short, when crystallized indodecahedrons--"

"Is it any good?" broke in the demonstrator. 

"Good?" said the professor. "Oh, you mean commercially? Not in theslightest. Much less valuable than, let us say, ordinary mud or clay. In fact, it is absolutely good for nothing. "

They were silent for a moment, watching the blue flames above thebrazier. 

Then Gildas spoke again. "Oddly enough, " he said, "the first set ofsamples were undoubtedly pure gold--not the faintest doubt of that. That is the really interesting part of the matter. These gentlemenconcerned in the enterprise will, of course, lose their money, and Ishall therefore decline to accept the very handsome fee which they hadoffered me for my services. But the main feature, the real point ofinterest in this matter remains. Here we have undoubtedly a sporadicdeposit--what miners call a pocket--of pure gold in a Devonianformation of the post-tertiary period. This once established, we mustrevise our entire theory of the distribution of igneous and aqueousrocks. In fact, I am already getting notes together for a paper for thePan-Geological under the heading, Auriferous Excretions in the DevonianStrata: a Working Hypothesis. I hope to read it at the next meeting. "

The young demonstrator looked at the professor with one eye half-closed. 

"I don't think I would if I were you. " he said. 

Now this young demonstrator knew nothing or practically nothing, ofgeology, because he came of one of the richest and best families intown and didn't need to. But he was a smart young man, dressed in thelatest fashion with brown boots and a crosswise tie, and he knew moreabout money and business and the stock exchange in five minutes thanProfessor Gildas in his whole existence. 

"Why not?" said the professor. 

"Why, don't you see what's happened?"

"Eh?" said Gildas. 

"What happened to those first samples? When that bunch got interestedand planned to float the company? Don't you see? Somebody salted themon you. "

"_Salted_ them on me?" repeated the professor, mystified. 

"Yes, salted them. Somebody got wise to what they were and swopped themon you for the real thing, so as to get your certified report that thestuff was gold. "

"I begin to see, " muttered the professor. "Somebody exchanged thesamples, some person no doubt desirous of establishing the theory thata sporadic outcropping of the sort might be found in a post-tertiaryformation. I see, I see. No doubt he intended to prepare a paper on it, and prove his thesis by these tests. I see it all!"

The demonstrator looked at the professor with a sort of pity. 

"You're on!" he said, and he laughed softly to himself. 

 * * * * *

"Well, " said Dr. Boomer, after Tomlinson had left the university, "whatdo you make of him?" The president had taken Dr. Boyster over to hishouse beside the campus, and there in his study had given him a cigaras big as a rope and taken another himself. This was a sign that Dr. Boomer wanted Dr. Boyster's opinion in plain English, without any Latinabout it. 

"Remarkable man, " said the professor of Greek; "wonderful penetration, and a man of very few words. Of course his game is clear enough?"

"Entirely so, " asserted Dr. Boomer. 

"It's clear enough that he means to give the money on two conditions. "

"Exactly, " said the president. 

"First that we admit his son, who is quite unqualified, to the seniorstudies in electrical science, and second that we grant him the degreeof Doctor of Letters. Those are his terms. " "Can we meet them?"

"Oh, certainly. As to the son, there is no difficulty, of course; as tothe degree, it's only a question of getting the faculty to vote it. Ithink we can manage it. "

 * * * * *

Vote it they did that very afternoon. True, if the members of thefaculty had known the things that were being whispered, and more thanwhispered, in the City about Tomlinson and his fortune, no degree wouldever have been conferred on him. But it so happened that at that momentthe whole professoriate was absorbed in one of those great educationalcrises which from time to time shake a university to its base. Themeeting of the faculty that day bid fair to lose all vestige of decorumin the excitement of the moment. For, as Dean Elderberry Foible, thehead of the faculty, said, the motion that they had before themamounted practically to a revolution. The proposal was nothing lessthan the permission of the use of lead-pencils instead of pen and inkin the sessional examinations of the university. Anyone conversant withthe inner life of a college will realize that to many of theprofessoriate this was nothing less than a last wild onslaught ofsocialistic democracy against the solid bulwarks of society. They mustfight it back or die on the walls. To others it was one more step inthe splendid progress of democratic education, comparable only to suchepoch-making things as the abandonment of the cap and gown, and theomission of the word "sir" in speaking to a professor. 

No wonder that the fight raged. Elderberry Foible, his fluffed whitehair almost on end, beat in vain with his gavel for order. Finally, Chang of Physiology, who was a perfect dynamo of energy and was knownfrequently to work for three or four hours at a stretch, proposed thatthe faculty should adjourn the question and meet for its furtherdiscussion on the following Saturday morning. This revolutionarysuggestion, involving work on Saturday, reduced the meeting to a mereturmoil, in the midst of which Elderberry Foible proposed that thewhole question of the use of lead-pencils should be adjourned till thatday six months, and that meantime a new special committee of seventeenprofessors, with power to add to their number, to call witnesses and, if need be, to hear them, should report on the entire matter _de novo_. This motion, after the striking out of the words _de novo_ and theinsertion of _ab initio_, was finally carried, after which the facultysank back completely exhausted into its chair, the need of afternoontea and toast stamped on every face. 

And it was at this moment that President Boomer, who understoodfaculties as few men have done, quietly entered the room, laid his silkhat on a volume of Demosthenes, and proposed the vote of a degree ofDoctor of Letters for Edward Tomlinson. He said that there was no needto remind the faculty of Tomlinson's services to the nation; they knewthem. Of the members of the faculty, indeed, some thought that he meantthe Tomlinson who wrote the famous monologue on the Iota Subscript, while others supposed that he referred to the celebrated philosopherTomlinson, whose new book on the Indivisibility of the Inseparable wasjust then maddening the entire world. In any case, they voted thedegree without a word, still faint with exhaustion. 

 * * * * *

But while the university was conferring on Tomlinson the degree ofDoctor of Letters, all over the City in business circles they wereconferring on him far other titles. "Idiot, " "Scoundrel, " "Swindler, "were the least of them. Every stock and share with which his name wasknown to be connected was coming down with a run, wiping out theaccumulated profits of the Wizard at the rate of a thousand dollars aminute. 

They not only questioned his honesty, but they went further andquestioned his business capacity. 

"The man, " said Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, sitting in the Mausoleum Club andbreathing freely at last after having disposed of all his holdings inthe Erie Auriferous, "is an ignoramus. I asked him only the other day, quite casually, a perfectly simple business question. I said to him. 'T. C. Bonds have risen twenty-two and a half in a week. You know and Iknow that they are only collateral trust, and that the stock underneathnever could and never would earn a par dividend. Now, ' I said, for Iwanted to test the fellow, 'tell me what that means?' Would you believeme, he looked me right in the face in that stupid way of his, and hesaid, 'I don't know!'"

"He said he didn't know!" repeated the listener contemptuously; "theman is a damn fool!"

 * * * * *

The reason of all this was that the results of the researches of theprofessor of geology were being whispered among the directorate of theErie Auriferous. And the directors and chief shareholders were busilyperforming the interesting process called unloading. Nor did ever afarmer of Cahoga County in haying time with a thunderstorm threatening, unload with greater rapidity than did the major shareholders of theAuriferous. Mr. Lucullus Fyshe traded off a quarter of his stock to anunwary member of the Mausoleum Club at a drop of thirty per cent, andbeing too prudent to hold the rest on any terms, he conveyed it at onceas a benefaction in trust to the Plutorian Orphans' and Foundlings'Home; while the purchaser of Mr. Fyshe's stock, learning too late ofhis folly, rushed for his lawyers to have the shares conveyed as a giftto the Home for Incurables. 

Mr. Asmodeus Boulder transferred his entire holdings to the Imbeciles'Relief Society, and Mr. Furlong, senior, passed his over to a Chinesemission as fast as pen could traverse paper. 

Down at the office of Skinyer and Beatem, the lawyers of the company, they were working overtime drawing up deeds and conveyances and trustsin perpetuity, with hardly time to put them into typewriting. Withintwenty-four hours the entire stock of the company bid fair to be in thehands of Idiots, Orphans, Protestants, Foundlings, Imbeciles, Missionaries, Chinese, and other unfinancial people, with Tomlinson theWizard of Finance as the senior shareholder and majority control. Andwhether the gentle Wizard, as he sat with mother planning his vastbenefaction to Plutoria University, would have felt more at home withhis new group of fellow-shareholders than his old, it were hard to say. 

But, meantime, at the office of Skinyer and Beatem all was activity. For not only were they drafting the conveyances of the perpetual trustsas fast as legal brains working overtime could do it, but in anotherpart of the office a section of the firm were busily making theirpreparations against the expected actions for fraud and warrants ofdistraint and injunctions against disposal of assets and the wholebattery of artillery which might open on them at any moment. And theyworked like a corps of military engineers fortifying an escarpment, with the joy of battle in their faces. 

The storm might break at any moment. Already at the office of the_Financial Undertone_ the type was set for a special extra with aheading three inches high:

 COLLAPSE OF THE ERIE CONSOLIDATED ARREST OF THE MAN TOMLINSON EXPECTED THIS AFTERNOON

Skinyer and Beatem had paid the editor, who was crooked, two thousanddollars cash to hold back that extra for twenty-four hours; and theeditor had paid the reporting staff, who were crooked, twenty-fivedollars each to keep the news quiet, and the compositors, who were alsocrooked, ten dollars per man to hold their mouths shut till themorning, with the result that from editors and sub-editors andreporters and compositors the news went seething forth in a flood thatthe Erie Auriferous Consolidated was going to shatter into fragmentslike the bursting of a dynamite bomb. It rushed with a thousandwhispering tongues from street to street till it filled the corridorsof the law courts and the lobbies of the offices, and till every honestman that held a share of the stock shivered in his tracks and reachedout to give, sell, or destroy it. Only the unwinking Idiots, and themild Orphans, and the calm Deaf mutes and the impassive Chinese heldtight to what they had. So gathered the storm, till all the town, likethe great rotunda of the Grand Palaver, was filled with a silent "callfor Mr. Tomlinson, " voiceless and ominous. 

And while all this was happening, and while at Skinyer and Beatem'sthey worked with frantic pens and clattering type there came a knock atthe door, hesitant and uncertain, and before the eyes of the astoundedoffice there stood in his wide-awake hat and long black coat the figureof "the man Tomlinson" himself. 

And Skinyer, the senior partner, no sooner heard what Tomlinson wantedthan he dashed across the outer office to his partner's room with hishyena face all excitement as he said:

"Beatem, Beatem, come over to my room. This man is absolutely thebiggest thing in America. For sheer calmness and nerve I never heard ofanything to approach him. What do you think he wants to do?"

"What?" said Beatem. 

"Why, he's giving his entire fortune to the university. "

"By Gad!" ejaculated Beatem, and the two lawyers looked at one another, lost in admiration of the marvellous genius and assurance of Tomlinson. 

 * * * * *

Yet what had happened was very simple. 

Tomlinson had come back from the university filled with mingled hopeand hesitation. The university, he saw, needed the money and he hopedto give it his entire fortune, to put Dr. Boomer in a position topractically destroy the whole place. But, like many a modest man, helacked the assurance to speak out. He felt that up to the present thebenefactors of the university had been men of an entirely differentclass from himself. It was mother who solved the situation for him. 

"Well, father, " she said, "there's one thing I've learned already sincewe've had money. If you want to get a thing done you can always findpeople to do it for you if you pay them. Why not go to those lawyersthat manage things for the company and get them to arrange it all foryou with the college?"

As a result, Tomlinson had turned up at the door of the Skinyer andBeatem office. 

 * * * * *

"Quite so, Mr. Tomlinson, " said Skinyer, with his pen already dipped inthe ink, "a perfectly simple matter. I can draw up a draft ofconveyance with a few strokes of the pen. In fact, we can do it on thespot. "

What he meant was, "In fact, we can do it so fast that I can pocket afee of five hundred dollars right here and now while you have the moneyto pay me. "

"Now then, " he continued, "let us see how it is to run. "

"Well, " said Tomlinson, "I want you to put it that I give all my stockin the company to the university. "

"All of it?" said Skinyer, with a quiet smile to Beatem. 

"Every cent of it, sir, " said Tomlinson; "just write down that I giveall of it to the college. "

"Very good, " said Skinyer, and he began to write, "I, so-and-so, andso-and-so, of the county of so-and-so--Cahoga, I think you said, Mr. Tomlinson?"

"Yes, sir, " said the Wizard, "I was raised there. "

"--do hereby give, assign, devise, transfer, and the transfer is herebygiven, devised and assigned, all those stocks, shares, hereditaments, etc. , which I hold in the etc. , etc. , all, several and whatever--youwill observe, Mr. Tomlinson, I am expressing myself with as greatbrevity as possible--to that institution, academy, college, school, university, now known and reputed to be Plutoria University, of thecity of etc. , etc. "

He paused a moment. "Now what special objects or purposes shall Iindicate?" he asked. 

Whereupon Tomlinson explained as best he could, and Skinyer, workingwith great rapidity, indicated that the benefaction was to include aDemolition Fund for the removal of buildings, a Retirement Fund for theremoval of professors, an Apparatus Fund for the destruction ofapparatus, and a General Sinking Fund for the obliteration of anythingnot otherwise mentioned. 

"And I'd like to do something, if I could, for Mr. Boomer himself, justas man to man, " said Tomlinson. 

"All right, " said Beatem, and he could hardly keep his face straight. "Give him a chunk of the stock--give him half a million. "

"I will, " said Tomlinson; "he deserves it. "

"Undoubtedly, " said Mr. Skinyer. 

And within a few minutes the whole transaction was done, and Tomlinson, filled with joy, was wringing the hands of Skinyer and Beatem, andtelling them to name their own fee. 

They had meant to, anyway. 

 * * * * *

"Is that legal, do you suppose?" said Beatem to Skinyer, after theWizard had gone. "Will it hold water?"

"Oh, I don't think so, " said Skinyer, "not for a minute. In fact, rather the other way. If they make an arrest for fraudulent flotation, this conveyance, I should think, would help to send him to thepenitentiary. But I very much doubt if they can arrest him. Mind you, the fellow is devilish shrewd. You know, and I know that he plannedthis whole flotation with a full knowledge of the fraud. _You_ and _I_know it--very good--but we know it more from our trained instinct insuch things than by any proof. The fellow has managed to surroundhimself with such an air of good faith from start to finish that itwill be deuced hard to get at him. "

"What will he do now?" said Beatem. 

"I tell you what he'll do. Mark my words. Within twenty-four hourshe'll clear out and be out of the state, and if they want to get himthey'll have to extradite. I tell you he's a man of extraordinarycapacity. The rest of us are nowhere beside him. "

In which, perhaps, there was some truth. 

 * * * * *

"Well, mother, " said the Wizard, when he reached the thousand-dollarsuite, after his interview with Skinyer and Beatem, his face irradiatedwith simple joy, "it's done. I've put the college now in a position itnever was in before, nor any other college; the lawyers say sothemselves. "

"That's good, " said mother. 

"Yes, and it's a good thing I didn't lose the money when I tried to. You see, mother, what I hadn't realized was the good that could be donewith all that money if a man put his heart into it. They can start inas soon as they like and tear down those buildings. My! but it's justwonderful what you can do with money. I'm glad I didn't lose it!"

So they talked far into the evening. That night they slept in anAladdin's palace filled with golden fancies. 

And in the morning the palace and all its visions fell tumbling abouttheir heads in sudden and awful catastrophe. For with Tomlinson's firstdescent to the rotunda it broke. The whole great space seemed filledwith the bulletins and the broadside sheets of the morning papers, thecrowd surging to and fro buying the papers, men reading them as theystood, and everywhere in great letters there met his eye:

 COLLAPSE OF THE ERIE AURIFEROUS

 THE GREAT GOLD SWINDLE

 ARREST OF THE MAN TOMLINSON EXPECTED THIS MORNING

So stood the Wizard of Finance beside a pillar, the paper fluttering inhis hand, his eyes fixed, while about him a thousand eager eyes andrushing tongues sent shame into his stricken heart. 

And there his boy Fred, sent from upstairs, found him; and at the sightof the seething crowd and his father's stricken face, aged as it seemedall in a moment, the boy's soul woke within him. What had happened hecould not tell, only that his father stood there, dazed, beaten, andstaring at him on every side in giant letters:

 ARREST OF THE MAN TOMLINSON

"Come, father come upstairs, " he said, and took him by the arm, dragging him through the crowd. 

In the next half-hour as they sat and waited for the arrest in thefalse grandeur of the thousand-dollar suite-Tomlinson, his wife, andFred-the boy learnt more than all the teaching of the industrialfaculty of Plutoria University could have taught him in a decade. Adversity laid its hand upon him, and at its touch his adolescent heartturned to finer stuff than the salted gold of the Erie Auriferous. Ashe looked upon his father's broken figure waiting meekly for arrest, and his mother's blubbered face, a great wrath burned itself into hissoul. 

"When the sheriff comes--" said Tomlinson, and his lip trembled as hespoke. He had no other picture of arrest than that. 

"They can't arrest you, father, " broke out the boy. "You've donenothing. You never swindled them. I tell you, if they try to arrestyou, I'll--" and his voice broke and stopped upon a sob, and his handsclenched in passion. 

"You stay here, you and mother. I'll go down. Give me your money andI'll go and pay them and we'll get out of this and go home. They can'tstop us; there's nothing to arrest you for. "

Nor was there. Fred paid the bill unmolested, save for the prying eyesand babbling tongues of the rotunda. 

And a few hours from that, while the town was still ringing with newsof his downfall, the Wizard with his wife and son walked down fromtheir thousand-dollar suite into the corridor, their hands burdenedwith their satchels. A waiter, with something between a sneer and anobsequious smile upon his face, reached out for the valises, wonderingif it was still worth while. 

"You get to hell out of that!" said Fred. He had put on again his roughstore suit in which he had come from Cahoga County, and there was adangerous look about his big shoulders and his set jaw. And the waiterslunk back. 

So did they pass, unarrested and unhindered, through corridor androtunda to the outer portals of the great hotel. 

Beside the door of the Palaver as they passed out was a tall officialwith a uniform and a round hat. He was called by the authorities a_chasseur_ or a _commissionaire_, or some foreign name to mean that hedid nothing. 

At the sight of him the Wizard's face flushed for a moment, with a lookof his old perplexity. 

"I wonder, " he began to murmur, "how much I ought--"

"Not a damn cent, father, " said Fred, as he shouldered past themagnificent _chasseur_; "let him work. "

With which admirable doctrine the Wizard and his son passed from theportals of the Grand Palaver. 

 * * * * *

Nor was there any arrest either then or later. In spite of theexpectations of the rotunda and the announcements of the _FinancialUndertone_, the "man Tomlinson" was _not_ arrested, neither as he leftthe Grand Palaver nor as he stood waiting at the railroad station withFred and mother for the outgoing train for Cahoga County. 

There was nothing to arrest him for. That was not the least strangepart of the career of the Wizard of Finance. For when all the affairsof the Erie Auriferous Consolidated were presently calculated up by thelabours of Skinyer and Beatem and the legal representatives of theOrphans and the Idiots and the Deaf-mutes they resolved themselves intothe most beautiful and complete cipher conceivable. The salted goldabout paid for the cost of the incorporation certificate: thedevelopment capital had disappeared, and those who lost most preferredto say the least about it; and as for Tomlinson, if one added up hisgains on the stock market before the fall and subtracted his bill atthe Grand Palaver and the thousand dollars which he gave to Skinyer andBeatem to recover his freehold on the lower half of his farm, and thecost of three tickets to Cahoga station, the debit and credit accountbalanced to a hair. 

Thus did the whole fortune of Tomlinson vanish in a night, even as thegolden palace seen in the mirage of a desert sunset may fade before theeyes of the beholder, and leave no trace behind. 

 * * * * *

It was some months after the collapse of the Erie Auriferous that theuniversity conferred upon Tomlinson the degree of Doctor of Letters _inabsentia_. A university must keep its word, and Dean Elderberry Foible, who was honesty itself, had stubbornly maintained that a vote of thefaculty of arts once taken and written in the minute book became asirrefragable as the Devonian rock itself. 

So the degree was conferred. And Dean Elderberry Foible, standing in along red gown before Dr. Boomer, seated in a long blue gown, read outafter the ancient custom of the college the Latin statement of theaward of the degree of Doctor of Letters, "Eduardus Tomlinsonius, virclarrisimus, doctissimus, praestissimus, " and a great many other thingsall ending in _issimus_. 

But the recipient was not there to receive. He stood at that momentwith his boy Fred on a windy hillside beside Lake Erie, whereTomlinson's Creek ran again untrammelled to the lake. Nor was the scenealtered to the eye, for Tomlinson and his son had long since broken ahole in the dam with pickaxe and crowbar, and day by day the angrywater carried down the vestiges of the embankment till all were gone. The cedar poles of the electric lights had been cut into fence-rails;the wooden shanties of the Italian gang of Auriferous workers had beentorn down and split into fire wood; and where they had stood, theburdocks and the thistles of the luxuriant summer conspired to hide thetraces of their shame. Nature reached out its hand and drew itscoverlet of green over the grave of the vanished Eldorado. 

And as the Wizard and his son stood upon the hillside, they saw nothingbut the land sloping to the lake and the creek murmuring again to thewillows, while the off-shore wind rippled the rushes of the shallowwater. 

CHAPTER FOUR: The Yahi-Bahi Oriental Society of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown

Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown lived on Plutoria Avenue in a vast sandstonepalace, in which she held those fashionable entertainments which havemade the name of Rasselyer-Brown what it is. Mr. Rasselyer-Brown livedthere also. 

The exterior of the house was more or less a model of the facade of anItalian palazzo of the sixteenth century. If one questioned Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown at dinner in regard to this (which was only a fairreturn for drinking five dollar champagne), she answered that thefacade was _cinquecentisti_, but that it reproduced also the Saracenicmullioned window of the Siennese School. But if the guest said later inthe evening to Mr. Rasselyer-Brown that he understood that his housewas _cinquecentisti_, he answered that he guessed it was. After whichremark and an interval of silence, Mr. Rasselyer-Brown would probablyask the guest if he was dry. 

So from that one can tell exactly the sort of people theRasselyer-Browns were. 

In other words, Mr. Rasselyer-Brown was a severe handicap to Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. He was more than that; the word isn't strong enough. He was, as Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown herself confessed to her confidentialcircle of three hundred friends, a drag. He was also a tie, and aweight, and a burden, and in Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's religious moments acrucifix. Even in the early years of their married life, some twenty ortwenty-five years ago, her husband had been a drag on her by being inthe coal and wood business. It is hard for a woman to have to realizethat her husband is making a fortune out of coal and wood and thatpeople know it. It ties one down. What a woman wants most of all--this, of course, is merely a quotation from Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's ownthoughts as expressed to her three hundred friends--is room to expand, to grow. The hardest thing in the world is to be stifled: and there isnothing more stifling than a husband who doesn't know a Giotto from aCarlo Dolci, but who can distinguish nut coal from egg and is neverasked to dinner without talking about the furnace. 

These, of course, were early trials. They had passed to some extent, orwere, at any rate, garlanded with the roses of time. 

But the drag remained. 

Even when the retail coal and wood stage was long since over, it washard to have to put up with a husband who owned a coal mine and whobought pulp forests instead of illuminated missals of the twelfthcentury. A coal mine is a dreadful thing at a dinner-table. It humblesone so before one's guests. 

It wouldn't have been so bad--this Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown herselfadmitted--if Mr. Rasselyer-Brown _did_ anything. This phrase should beclearly understood. It meant if there was any one thing that he _did_. For instance if he had only _collected_ anything. Thus, there was Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, who made soda-water, but at the same time everybodyknew that he had the best collection of broken Italian furniture on thecontinent; there wasn't a sound piece among the lot. 

And there was the similar example of old Mr. Feathertop. He didn'texactly _collect_ things; he repudiated the name. He was wont to say, "Don't call me a collector, I'm _not_. I simply pick things up. Justwhere I happen to be, Rome, Warsaw, Bucharest, anywhere"--and it is tobe noted what fine places these are to happen to be. And to think thatMr. Rasselyer-Brown would never put his foot outside of the UnitedStates! Whereas Mr. Feathertop would come back from what he called arun to Europe, and everybody would learn in a week that he had pickedup the back of a violin in Dresden (actually discovered it in a violinshop), and the lid of an Etruscan kettle (he had lighted on it, by purechance, in a kettle shop in Etruria), and Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown wouldfeel faint with despair at the nonentity of her husband. 

So one can understand how heavy her burden was. 

"My dear, " she often said to her bosom friend, Miss Snagg, "I shouldn'tmind things so much" (the things she wouldn't mind were, let us say, the two million dollars of standing timber which Brown Limited, theominous business name of Mr. Rasselyer-Brown, were buying that year)"if Mr. Rasselyer-Brown _did_ anything. But he does _nothing_. Everymorning after breakfast off to his wretched office, and never back tilldinner, and in the evening nothing but his club, or some businessmeeting. One would think he would have more ambition. How I wish I hadbeen a man. "

It was certainly a shame. 

So it came that, in almost everything she undertook Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown had to act without the least help from her husband. Every Wednesday, for instance, when the Dante Club met at her house(they selected four lines each week to meditate on, and then discussedthem at lunch), Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown had to carry the whole burden ofit--her very phrase, "the whole burden"--alone. Anyone who has carriedfour lines of Dante through a Moselle lunch knows what a weight it is. 

In all these things her husband was useless, quite useless. It is notright to be ashamed of one's husband. And to do her justice, Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown always explained to her three hundred intimates thatshe was _not_ ashamed of him; in fact, that she _refused_ to be. But itwas hard to see him brought into comparison at their own table withsuperior men. Put him, for instance, beside Mr. Sikleigh Snoop, thesex-poet, and where was he? Nowhere. He couldn't even understand whatMr. Snoop was saying. And when Mr. Snoop would stand on the hearth-rugwith a cup of tea balanced in his hand, and discuss whether sex was orwas not the dominant note in Botticelli, Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown would beskulking in a corner in his ill-fitting dress suit. His wife wouldoften catch with an agonized ear such scraps of talk as, "When I wasfirst in the coal and wood business, " or, "It's a coal that burnsquicker than egg, but it hasn't the heating power of nut, " or even in alow undertone the words, "If you're feeling _dry_ while he's reading--"And this at a time when everybody in the room ought to have beenlistening to Mr. Snoop. 

Nor was even this the whole burden of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. There wasanother part of it which was perhaps more _real_, though Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown herself never put it into words. In fact, of this partof her burden she never spoke, even to her bosom friend Miss Snagg; nordid she talk about it to the ladies of the Dante Club, nor did she makespeeches on it to the members of the Women's Afternoon Art Society, norto the Monday Bridge Club. 

But the members of the Bridge Club and the Art Society and the DanteClub all talked about it among themselves. 

Stated very simply, it was this: Mr. Rasselyer-Brown drank. It was notmeant that he was a drunkard or that he drank too much, or anything ofthat sort. He drank. That was all. 

There was no excess about it. Mr. Rasselyer-Brown, of course, began theday with an eye-opener--and after all, what alert man does not wish hiseyes well open in the morning? He followed it usually just beforebreakfast with a bracer--and what wiser precaution can a businessmantake than to brace his breakfast? On his way to business he generallyhad his motor stopped at the Grand Palaver for a moment, if it was araw day, and dropped in and took something to keep out the damp. If itwas a cold day he took something to keep out the cold, and if it wasone of those clear, sunny days that are so dangerous to the system hetook whatever the bartender (a recognized health expert) suggested totone the system up. After which he could sit down in his office andtransact more business, and bigger business, in coal, charcoal, wood, pulp, pulpwood, and woodpulp, in two hours than any other man in thebusiness could in a week. Naturally so. For he was braced, and propped, and toned up, and his eyes had been opened, and his brain cleared, tilloutside of very big business, indeed, few men were on a footing withhim. 

In fact, it was business itself which had compelled Mr. Rasselyer-Brownto drink. It is all very well for a junior clerk on twenty dollars aweek to do his work on sandwiches and malted milk. In big business itis not possible. When a man begins to rise in business, as Mr. Rasselyer-Brown had begun twenty-five years ago, he finds that if hewants to succeed he must cut malted milk clear out. In any position ofresponsibility a man has got to drink. No really big deal can be putthrough without it. If two keen men, sharp as flint, get together tomake a deal in which each intends to outdo the other, the only way tosucceed is for them to adjourn to some such place as the luncheon-roomof the Mausoleum Club and both get partially drunk. This is what iscalled the personal element in business. And, beside it, ploddingindustry is nowhere. 

Most of all do these principles hold true in such manly out-of-doorenterprises as the forest and timber business, where one dealsconstantly with chief rangers, and pathfinders, and wood-stalkers, whose very names seem to suggest a horn of whiskey under a hemlock tree. 

But--let it be repeated and carefully understood--there was no excessabout Mr. Rasselyer-Brown's drinking. Indeed, whatever he might becompelled to take during the day, and at the Mausoleum Club in theevening, after his return from his club at night Mr. Rasselyer-Brownmade it a fixed rule to take nothing. He might, perhaps, as he passedinto the house, step into the dining-room and take a very small drinkat the sideboard. But this he counted as part of the return itself, andnot after it. And he might, if his brain were over-fatigued, drop downlater in the night in his pajamas and dressing-gown when the house wasquiet, and compose his mind with a brandy and water, or somethingsuitable to the stillness of the hour. But this was not really a drink. Mr. Rasselyer-Brown called it a _nip_; and of course any man may need a_nip_ at a time when he would scorn a drink. 

 * * * * *

But after all, a woman may find herself again in her daughter. There, at least, is consolation. For, as Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown herselfadmitted, her daughter, Dulphemia, was herself again. There were, ofcourse, differences, certain differences of face and appearance. Mr. Snoop had expressed this fact exquisitely when he said that it was thedifference between a Burne-Jones and a Dante Gabriel Rossetti. But evenat that the mother and daughter were so alike that people, certainpeople, were constantly mistaking them on the street. And as everybodythat mistook them was apt to be asked to dine on five-dollar champagnethere was plenty of temptation towards error. 

There is no doubt that Dulphemia Rasselyer-Brown was a girl ofremarkable character and intellect. So is any girl who has beautifulgolden hair parted in thick bands on her forehead, and deep blue eyessoft as an Italian sky. 

Even the oldest and most serious men in town admitted that in talkingto her they were aware of a grasp, a reach, a depth that surprisedthem. Thus old Judge Longerstill, who talked to her at dinner for anhour on the jurisdiction of the Interstate Commerce Commission, feltsure from the way in which she looked up in his face at intervals andsaid, "How interesting!" that she had the mind of a lawyer. And Mr. Brace, the consulting engineer, who showed her on the table-cloth atdessert with three forks and a spoon the method in which the overflowof the spillway of the Gatun Dam is regulated, felt assured, from theway she leaned her face on her hand sideways and said, "Howextraordinary!" that she had the brain of an engineer. Similarlyforeign visitors to the social circles of the city were delighted withher. Viscount FitzThistle, who explained to Dulphemia for half an hourthe intricacies of the Irish situation, was captivated at the quickgrasp she showed by asking him at the end, without a second'shesitation, "And which are the Nationalists?"

This kind of thing represents female intellect in its best form. Everyman that is really a man is willing to recognize it at once. As to theyoung men, of course they flocked to the Rasselyer-Brown residence inshoals. There were batches of them every Sunday afternoon at fiveo'clock, encased in long black frock-coats, sitting very rigidly inupright chairs, trying to drink tea with one hand. One might seeathletic young college men of the football team trying hard to talkabout Italian music; and Italian tenors from the Grand Opera doingtheir best to talk about college football. There were young men inbusiness talking about art, and young men in art talking aboutreligion, and young clergymen talking about business. Because, ofcourse, the Rasselyer-Brown residence was the kind of cultivated homewhere people of education and taste are at liberty to talk about thingsthey don't know, and to utter freely ideas that they haven't got. Itwas only now and again, when one of the professors from the collegeacross the avenue came booming into the room, that the wholeconversation was pulverized into dust under the hammer of accurateknowledge. 

The whole process was what was called, by those who understood suchthings, a _salon_. Many people said that Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown'safternoons at home were exactly like the delightful _salons_ of theeighteenth century: and whether the gatherings were or were not_salons_ of the eighteenth century, there is no doubt that Mr. Rasselyer-Brown, under whose care certain favoured guests droppedquietly into the back alcove of the dining-room, did his best to putthe gathering on a par with the best saloons of the twentieth. 

Now it so happened that there had come a singularly slack moment in thesocial life of the City. The Grand Opera had sung itself into a hugedeficit and closed. There remained nothing of it except the efforts ofa committee of ladies to raise enough money to enable Signor Puffi toleave town, and the generous attempt of another committee to gatherfunds in order to keep Signor Pasti in the City. Beyond this, opera wasdead, though the fact that the deficit was nearly twice as large as ithad been the year before showed that public interest in music wasincreasing. It was indeed a singularly trying time of the year. It wastoo early to go to Europe; and too late to go to Bermuda. It was toowarm to go south, and yet still too cold to go north. In fact, one wasalmost compelled to stay at home--which was dreadful. 

As a result Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown and her three hundred friends movedbackwards and forwards on Plutoria Avenue, seeking novelty in vain. They washed in waves of silk from tango teas to bridge afternoons. Theypoured in liquid avalanches of colour into crowded receptions, and theysat in glittering rows and listened to lectures on the enfranchisementof the female sex. But for the moment all was weariness. 

Now it happened, whether by accident or design, that just at thismoment of general _ennui_ Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown and her three hundredfriends first heard of the presence in the city of Mr. Yahi-Bahi, thecelebrated Oriental mystic. He was so celebrated that nobody eventhought of asking who he was or where he came from. They merely toldone another, and repeated it, that he was _the_ celebrated Yahi-Bahi. They added for those who needed the knowledge that the name waspronounced Yahhy-Bahhy, and that the doctrine taught by Mr. Yahi-Bahiwas Boohooism. This latter, if anyone inquired further, was explainedto be a form of Shoodooism, only rather more intense. In fact, it wasesoteric--on receipt of which information everybody remarked at oncehow infinitely superior the Oriental peoples are to ourselves. 

Now as Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown was always a leader in everything that wasdone in the best circles on Plutoria Avenue, she was naturally amongthe first to visit Mr. Yahi-Bahi. 

"My dear, " she said, in describing afterwards her experience to herbosom friend, Miss Snagg, "it was _most_ interesting. We drove awaydown to the queerest part of the City, and went to the strangest littlehouse imaginable, up the narrowest stairs one ever saw--quite Eastern, in fact, just like a scene out of the Koran. "

"How fascinating!" said Miss Snagg. But as a matter of fact, if Mr. Yahi-Bahi's house had been inhabited, as it might have been, by astreetcar conductor or a railway brakesman, Mrs. Rasselyer-Brownwouldn't have thought it in any way peculiar or fascinating. 

"It was all hung with curtains inside, " she went on, "with figures ofsnakes and Indian gods, perfectly weird. "

"And did you see Mr. Yahi-Bahi?" asked Miss Snagg. 

"Oh no, my dear. I only saw his assistant Mr. Ram Spudd; such a queerlittle round man, a Bengalee, I believe. He put his back against acurtain and spread out his arms sideways and wouldn't let me pass. Hesaid that Mr. Yahi-Bahi was in meditation and mustn't be disturbed. "

"How delightful!" echoed Miss Snagg. 

But in reality Mr. Yahi-Bahi was sitting behind the curtain eating aten-cent can of pork and beans. 

"What I like most about eastern people, " went on Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown, "is their wonderful delicacy of feeling. After I had explained about myinvitation to Mr. Yahi-Bahi to come and speak to us on Boohooism, andwas going away, I took a dollar bill out of my purse and laid it on thetable. You should have seen the way Mr. Ram Spudd took it. He made thedeepest salaam and said, 'Isis guard you, beautiful lady. ' Such perfectcourtesy, and yet with the air of scorning the money. As I passed out Icouldn't help slipping another dollar into his hand, and he took it asif utterly unaware of it, and muttered, 'Osiris keep you, O flower ofwomen!' And as I got into the motor I gave him another dollar and hesaid, 'Osis and Osiris both prolong your existence, O lily of thericefield, ' and after he had said it he stood beside the door of themotor and waited without moving till I left. He had such a strange, rapt look, as if he were still expecting something!"

"How exquisite!" murmured Miss Snagg. It was her business in life tomurmur such things as this for Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. On the whole, reckoning Grand Opera tickets and dinners, she did very well out of it. 

"Is it not?" said Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. "So different from our men. Ifelt so ashamed of my chauffeur, our new man, you know; he seemed sucha contrast beside Ram Spudd. The rude way in which the opened the door, and the rude way in which he climbed on to his own seat, and the_rudeness_ with which he turned on the power--I felt positivelyashamed. And he so managed it--I am sure he did it on purpose--that thecar splashed a lot of mud over Mr. Spudd as it started. "

Yet, oddly enough, the opinion of other people on this new chauffeur, that of Miss Dulphemia Rasselyer-Brown herself, for example, to whoseservice he was specially attached, was very different. 

The great recommendation of him in the eyes of Miss Dulphemia and herfriends, and the thing that gave him a touch of mystery was--and whathigher qualification can a chauffeur want?--that he didn't look like achauffeur at all. 

"My dear Dulphie, " whispered Miss Philippa Furlong, the rector's sister(who was at that moment Dulphemia's second self), as they sat behindthe new chauffeur, "don't tell me that he is a chauffeur, because he_isn't_. He can chauffe, of course, but that's nothing. "

For the new chauffeur had a bronzed face, hard as metal, and a sterneye; and when he put on a chauffeur's overcoat some how it seemed toturn into a military greatcoat; and even when he put on the round clothcap of his profession it was converted straightway into a militaryshako. And by Miss Dulphemia and her friends it was presentlyreported--or was invented?--that he had served in the Philippines;which explained at once the scar upon his forehead, which must havebeen received at Iloilo, or Huila-Huila, or some other suitable place. 

But what affected Miss Dulphemia Brown herself was the splendidrudeness of the chauffeur's manner. It was so different from that ofthe young men of the _salon_. Thus, when Mr. Sikleigh Snoop handed herinto the car at any time he would dance about saying, "Allow me, " and"Permit me, " and would dive forward to arrange the robes. But thePhilippine chauffeur merely swung the door open and said to Dulphemia, "Get in, " and then slammed it. 

This, of course, sent a thrill up the spine and through the imaginationof Miss Dulphemia Rasselyer-Brown, because it showed that the chauffeurwas a gentleman in disguise. She thought it very probable that he was aBritish nobleman, a younger son, very wild, of a ducal family; and shehad her own theories as to why he had entered the service of theRasselyer-Browns. To be quite candid about it, she expected that thePhilippine chauffeur meant to elope with her, and every time he droveher from a dinner or a dance she sat back luxuriously, wishing andexpecting the elopement to begin. 

 * * * * *

But for the time being the interest of Dulphemia, as of everybody elsethat was anybody at all, centred round Mr. Yahi-Bahi and the new cultof Boohooism. 

After the visit of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown a great number of ladies, alsoin motors, drove down to the house of Mr. Yahi-Bahi. And all of them, whether they saw Mr. Yahi-Bahi himself or his Bengalee assistant, Mr. Ram Spudd, came back delighted. 

"Such exquisite tact!" said one. "Such delicacy! As I was about to go Ilaid a five dollar gold piece on the edge of the little table. Mr. Spudd scarcely seemed to see it. He murmured, 'Osiris help you!' andpointed to the ceiling. I raised my eyes instinctively, and when Ilowered them the money had disappeared. I think he must have caused itto vanish. "

"Oh, I'm sure he did, " said the listener. 

Others came back with wonderful stories of Mr. Yahi-Bahi's occultpowers, especially his marvellous gift of reading the future. 

Mrs. Buncomhearst, who had just lost her third husband--by divorce--hadreceived from Mr. Yahi-Bahi a glimpse into the future that was almostuncanny in its exactness. She had asked for a divination, and Mr. Yahi-Bahi had effected one by causing her to lay six ten-dollar pieceson the table arranged in the form of a mystic serpent. Over these hehad bent and peered deeply, as if seeking to unravel their meaning, andfinally he had given her the prophecy, "Many things are yet to happenbefore others begin. "

"How _does_ he do it?" asked everybody. 

 * * * * *

As a result of all this it naturally came about that Mr. Yahi-Bahi andMr. Ram Spudd were invited to appear at the residence of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown; and it was understood that steps would be taken toform a special society, to be known as the Yahi-Bahi Oriental Society. 

Mr. Sikleigh Snoop, the sex-poet, was the leading spirit in theorganization. He had a special fitness for the task: he had actuallyresided in India. In fact, he had spent six weeks there on a stop-overticket of a round-the-world 635 dollar steamship pilgrimage; and heknew the whole country from Jehumbapore in Bhootal to Jehumbalabad inthe Carnatic. So he was looked upon as a great authority on India, China, Mongolia, and all such places, by the ladies of Plutoria Avenue. 

Next in importance was Mrs. Buncomhearst, who became later, by aperfectly natural process, the president of the society. She wasalready president of the Daughters of the Revolution, a societyconfined exclusively to the descendants of Washington's officers andothers; she was also president of the Sisters of England, anorganization limited exclusively to women born in England andelsewhere; of the Daughters of Kossuth, made up solely of Hungariansand friends of Hungary and other nations; and of the Circle of FranzJoseph, which was composed exclusively of the partisans, and others, ofAustria. In fact, ever since she had lost her third husband, Mrs. Buncomhearst had thrown herself--that was her phrase--into outsideactivities. Her one wish was, on her own statement, to lose herself. Sovery naturally Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown looked at once to Mrs. Buncomhearstto preside over the meetings of the new society. 

 * * * * *

The large dining-room at the Rasselyer-Browns' had been cleared out asa sort of auditorium, and in it some fifty or sixty of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's more intimate friends had gathered. The whole meetingwas composed of ladies, except for the presence of one or two men whorepresented special cases. There was, of course, little Mr. Spillikins, with his vacuous face and football hair, who was there, as everybodyknew, on account of Dulphemia; and there was old Judge Longerstill, whosat leaning on a gold-headed stick with his head sideways, trying tohear some fraction of what was being said. He came to the gathering inthe hope that it would prove a likely place for seconding a vote ofthanks and saying a few words--half an hour's talk, perhaps--on theconstitution of the United States. Failing that, he felt sure that atleast someone would call him "this eminent old gentleman, " and eventhat was better than staying at home. 

But for the most part the audience was composed of women, and they satin a little buzz of conversation waiting for Mr. Yahi-Bahi. 

"I wonder, " called Mrs. Buncomhearst from the chair, "if some ladywould be good enough to write minutes? Miss Snagg, I wonder if youwould be kind enough to write minutes? Could you?"

"I shall be delighted, " said Miss Snagg, "but I'm afraid there's hardlytime to write them before we begin, is there?"

"Oh, but it would be all right to write them _afterwards_, " chorussedseveral ladies who understood such things; "it's quite often done thatway. "

"And I should like to move that we vote a constitution, " said a stoutlady with a double eye-glass. 

"Is that carried?" said Mrs. Buncomhearst. "All those in favour pleasesignify. "

Nobody stirred. 

"Carried, " said the president. "And perhaps you would be good enough, Mrs. Fyshe, " she said, turning towards the stout lady, "to _write_ theconstitution. "

"Do you think it necessary to _write_ it?" said Mrs. Fyshe. "I shouldlike to move, if I may, that I almost wonder whether it is necessary towrite the constitution--unless, of course, anybody thinks that wereally ought to. "

"Ladies, " said the president, "you have heard the motion. All thoseagainst it--"

There was no sign. 

"All those in favour of it--"

There was still no sign. 

"Lost, " she said. 

Then, looking across at the clock on the mantel-piece, and realizingthat Mr. Yahi-Bahi must have been delayed and that something must bedone, she said:

"And now, ladies, as we have in our midst a most eminent gentleman whoprobably has thought more deeply about constitutions than--"

All eyes turned at once towards Judge Longerstill, but as fortune hadit at this very moment Mr. Sikleigh Snoop entered, followed by Mr. Yahi-Bahi and Mr. Ram Spudd. 

Mr. Yahi-Bahi was tall. His drooping Oriental costume made him tallerstill. He had a long brown face and liquid brown eyes of such depththat when he turned them full upon the ladies before him a shiver ofinterest and apprehension followed in the track of his glance. 

"My dear, " said Miss Snagg afterwards, "he seemed simply to see rightthrough us. "

This was correct. He did. 

Mr. Ram Spudd presented a contrast to his superior. He was short andround, with a dimpled mahogany face and eyes that twinkled in it likelittle puddles of molasses. His head was bound in a turban and his bodywas swathed in so many bands and sashes that he looked almost circular. The clothes of both Mr. Yahi-Bahi and Ram Spudd were covered with themystic signs of Buddha and the seven serpents of Vishnu. 

It was impossible, of course, for Mr. Yahi-Bahi or Mr. Ram Spudd toaddress the audience. Their knowledge of English was known to be tooslight for that. Their communications were expressed entirely throughthe medium of Mr. Snoop, and even he explained afterwards that it wasvery difficult. The only languages of India which he was able to speak, he said, with any fluency were Gargamic and Gumaic both of these beingold Dravidian dialects with only two hundred and three words in each, and hence in themselves very difficult to converse in. Mr. Yahi-Bahianswered in what Mr. Snoop understood to be the Iramic of the Vedas, avery rich language, but one which unfortunately he did not understand. The dilemma is one familiar to all Oriental scholars. 

All of this Mr. Snoop explained in the opening speech which heproceeded to make. And after this he went on to disclose, amid deepinterest, the general nature of the cult of Boohooism. He said thatthey could best understand it if he told them that its central doctrinewas that of Bahee. Indeed, the first aim of all followers of the cultwas to attain to Bahee. Anybody who could spend a certain number ofhours each day, say sixteen, in silent meditation on Boohooism wouldfind his mind gradually reaching a condition of Bahee. The chief aim ofBahee itself was sacrifice: a true follower of the cult must be willingto sacrifice his friends, or his relatives, and even strangers, inorder to reach Bahee. In this way one was able fully to realize oneselfand enter into the Higher Indifference. Beyond this, further meditationand fasting--by which was meant living solely on fish, fruit, wine, andmeat--one presently attained to complete Swaraj or Control of Self, andmight in time pass into the absolute Nirvana, or the Negation ofEmptiness, the supreme goal of Boohooism. 

As a first step to all this, Mr. Snoop explained, each neophyte orcandidate for holiness must, after searching his own heart, send tendollars to Mr. Yahi-Bahi. Gold, it appeared, was recognized in the cultof Boohooism as typifying the three chief virtues, whereas silver orpaper money did not; even national banknotes were only regarded as door, a halfway palliation; and outside currencies such as Canadian orMexican bills were looked upon as entirely boo, or contemptible. TheOriental view of money, said Mr. Snoop, was far superior to our own, but it also might be attained by deep thought, and, as a beginning, bysending ten dollars to Mr. Yahi-Bahi. 

After this Mr. Snoop, in conclusion, read a very beautiful Hindu poem, translating it as he went along. It began, "O cow, standing beside theGanges, and apparently without visible occupation, " and it was votedexquisite by all who heard it. The absence of rhyme and the entireremoval of ideas marked it as far beyond anything reached as yet byOccidental culture. 

When Mr. Snoop had concluded, the president called upon JudgeLongerstill for a few words of thanks, which he gave, followed by abrief talk on the constitution of the United States. 

After this the society was declared constituted, Mr. Yahi-Bahi madefour salaams, one to each point of the compass, and the meetingdispersed. 

And that evening, over fifty dinner tables, everybody discussed thenature of Bahee, and tried in vain to explain it to men too stupid tounderstand. 

 * * * * *

Now it so happened that on the very afternoon of this meeting at Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's, the Philippine chauffeur did a strange and peculiarthing. He first asked Mr. Rasselyer-Brown for a few hours' leave ofabsence to attend the funeral of his mother in-law. This was a requestwhich Mr. Rasselyer-Brown, on principle, never refused to a man-servant. 

Whereupon, the Philippine chauffeur, no longer attired as one, visitedthe residence of Mr. Yahi-Bahi. He let himself in with a marvellouslittle key which he produced from a very wonderful bunch of such. Hewas in the house for nearly half an hour, and when he emerged, thenotebook in his breast pocket, had there been an eye to read it, wouldhave been seen to be filled with stranger details in regard to Orientalmysticism than even Mr. Yahi-Bahi had given to the world. So strangewere they that before the Philippine chauffeur returned to theRasselyer-Brown residence he telegraphed certain and sundry parts ofthem to New York. But why he should have addressed them to the head ofa detective bureau instead of to a college of Oriental research itpasses the imagination to conceive. But as the chauffeur dulyreappeared at motor-time in the evening the incident passed unnoticed. 

 * * * * *

It is beyond the scope of the present narrative to trace the progressof Boohooism during the splendid but brief career of the Yahi-BahiOriental Society. There could be no doubt of its success. Itsprinciples appealed with great strength to all the more cultivatedamong the ladies of Plutoria Avenue. There was something in theOriental mysticism of its doctrines which rendered previous beliefstale and puerile. The practice of the sacred rites began at once. Theladies' counters of the Plutorian banks were inundated with requestsfor ten-dollar pieces in exchange for banknotes. At dinner in the besthouses nothing was eaten except a thin soup (or bru), followed by fish, succeeded by meat or by game, especially such birds as are particularlypleasing to Buddha, as the partridge, the pheasant, and the woodcock. After this, except for fruits and wine, the principle of Swaraj, ordenial of self, was rigidly imposed. Special Oriental dinners of thissort were given, followed by listening to the reading of Orientalpoetry, with closed eyes and with the mind as far as possible in astate of Stoj, or Negation of Thought. 

By this means the general doctrine of Boohooism spread rapidly. Indeed, a great many of the members of the society soon attained to a stage ofBahee, or the Higher Indifference, that it would have been hard toequal outside of Juggapore or Jumbumbabad. For example, when Mrs. Buncomhearst learned of the remarriage of her second husband--she hadlost him three years before, owing to a difference of opinion on theemancipation of women--she showed the most complete Bahee possible. Andwhen Miss Snagg learned that her brother in Venezuela had died--a verysudden death brought on by drinking rum for seventeen years--and hadleft her ten thousand dollars, the Bahee which she exhibited almostamounted to Nirvana. 

In fact, the very general dissemination of the Oriental idea becamemore and more noticeable with each week that passed. Some membersattained to so complete a Bahee, or Higher Indifference, that they evenceased to attend the meetings of the society; others reached a Swaraj, or Control of Self, so great that they no longer read its pamphlets;while others again actually passed into Nirvana, to a Complete Negationof Self, so rapidly that they did not even pay their subscriptions. 

But features of this sort, of course, are familiar wherever asuccessful occult creed makes its way against the prejudices of themultitude. 

The really notable part of the whole experience was the marvellousdemonstration of occult power which attended the final seance of thesociety, the true nature of which is still wrapped in mystery. 

For some weeks it had been rumoured that a very special feat ordemonstration of power by Mr. Yahi-Bahi was under contemplation. Infact, the rapid spread of Swaraj and of Nirvana among the membersrendered such a feat highly desirable. Just what form the demonstrationwould take was for some time a matter of doubt. It was whispered atfirst that Mr. Yahi-Bahi would attempt the mysterious eastern rite ofburying Ram Spudd alive in the garden of the Rasselyer-Brown residenceand leaving him there in a state of Stoj, or Suspended Inanition, foreight days. But this project was abandoned, owing to some doubt, apparently, in the mind of Mr. Ram Spudd as to his astral fitness forthe high state of Stoj necessitated by the experiment. 

At last it became known to the members of the Poosh, or Inner Circle, under the seal of confidence, that Mr. Yahi-Bahi would attempt nothingless than the supreme feat of occultism, namely, a reincarnation, ormore correctly a reastralization of Buddha. 

The members of the Inner Circle shivered with a luxurious sense ofmystery when they heard of it. 

"Has it ever been done before?" they asked of Mr. Snoop. 

"Only a few times, " he said; "once, I believe, by Jam-bum, the famousYogi of the Carnatic; once, perhaps twice, by Boohoo, the founder ofthe sect. But it is looked upon as extremely rare. Mr. Yahi tells methat the great danger is that, if the slightest part of the formula isincorrectly observed, the person attempting the astralization isswallowed up into nothingness. However, he declares himself willing totry. "

 * * * * *

The seance was to take place at Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's residence, andwas to be at midnight. 

"At midnight!" said each member in surprise. And the answer was, "Yes, at midnight. You see, midnight here is exactly midday in Allahabad inIndia. "

This explanation was, of course, ample. "Midnight, " repeated everybodyto everybody else, "is exactly midday in Allahabad. " That made thingsperfectly clear. Whereas if midnight had been midday in Timbuctoo thewhole situation would have been different. 

Each of the ladies was requested to bring to the seance some ornamentof gold; but it must be plain gold, without any setting of stones. 

It was known already that, according to the cult of Boohooism, gold, plain gold, is the seat of the three virtues--beauty, wisdom and grace. Therefore, according to the creed of Boohooism, anyone who has enoughgold, plain gold, is endowed with these virtues and is all right. Allthat is needed is to have enough of it; the virtues follow as aconsequence. 

But for the great experiment the gold used must not be set with stones, with the one exception of rubies, which are known to be endowed withthe three attributes of Hindu worship, modesty, loquacity, andpomposity. 

In the present case it was found that as a number of ladies had nothingbut gold ornaments set with diamonds, a second exception was made;especially as Mr. Yahi-Bahi, on appeal, decided that diamonds, thoughless pleasing to Buddha than rubies, possessed the secondary Hinduvirtues of divisibility, movability, and disposability. 

On the evening in question the residence of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown mighthave been observed at midnight wrapped in utter darkness. No lightswere shown. A single taper, brought by Ram Spudd from the Taj Mohal, and resembling in its outer texture those sold at the five-and-tenstore near Mr. Spudd's residence, burned on a small table in the vastdining-room. The servants had been sent upstairs and expressly enjoinedto retire at half past ten. Moreover, Mr. Rasselyer-Brown had had toattend that evening, at the Mausoleum Club, a meeting of the trusteesof the Church of St. Asaph, and he had come home at eleven o'clock, ashe always did after diocesan work of this sort, quite used up; in fact, so fatigued that he had gone upstairs to his own suite of roomssideways, his knees bending under him. So utterly used up was he withhis church work that, as far as any interest in what might be going onin his own residence, he had attained to a state of Bahee, or HigherIndifference, that even Buddha might have envied. 

The guests, as had been arranged, arrived noiselessly and on foot. Allmotors were left at least a block away. They made their way up thesteps of the darkened house, and were admitted without ringing, thedoor opening silently in front of them. Mr. Yahi-Bahi and Mr. RamSpudd, who had arrived on foot carrying a large parcel, were alreadythere, and were behind a screen in the darkened room, reported to be inmeditation. 

At a whispered word from Mr. Snoop, who did duty at the door, all fursand wraps were discarded in the hall and laid in a pile. Then theguests passed silently into the great dining room. There was no lightin it except the dim taper which stood on a little table. On this tableeach guest, as instructed, laid an ornament of gold, and at the sametime was uttered in a low voice the word Ksvoo. This means, "O Buddha, I herewith lay my unworthy offering at thy feet; take it and keep itfor ever. " It was explained that this was only a form. 

 * * * * *

"What is he doing?" whispered the assembled guests as they saw Mr. Yahi-Bahi pass across the darkened room and stand in front of thesideboard. 

"Hush!" said Mr. Snoop; "he's laying the propitiatory offering forBuddha. "

"It's an Indian rite, " whispered Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. 

Mr. Yahi-Bahi could be seen dimly moving to and fro in front of thesideboard. There was a faint clinking of glass. 

"He has to set out a glass of Burmese brandy, powdered over with nutmegand aromatics, " whispered Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. "I had the greatesthunt to get it all for him. He said that nothing but Burmese brandywould do, because in the Hindu religion the god can only be invokedwith Burmese brandy, or, failing that, Hennessy's with three stars, which is not entirely displeasing to Buddha. "

"The aromatics, " whispered Mr. Snoop, "are supposed to waft a perfumeor incense to reach the nostrils of the god. The glass of propitiatorywine and the aromatic spices are mentioned in the Vishnu-Buddayat. "

Mr. Yahi-Bahi, his preparations completed, was now seen to stand infront of the sideboard bowing deeply four times in an Oriental salaam. The light of the single taper had by this time burned so dim that hismovements were vague and uncertain. His body cast great flickeringshadows on the half-seen wall. From his throat there issued a low wailin which the word wah! wah! could be distinguished. 

The excitement was intense. 

"What does wah mean?" whispered Mr. Spillikins. 

"Hush!" said Mr. Snoop; "it means, 'O Buddha, wherever thou art in thylofty Nirvana, descend yet once in astral form before our eyes!'"

Mr. Yahi-Bahi rose. He was seen to place one finger on his lips andthen, silently moving across the room, he disappeared behind thescreen. Of what Mr. Ram Spudd was doing during this period there is norecord. It was presumed that he was still praying. 

The stillness was now absolute. 

"We must wait in perfect silence, " whispered Mr. Snoop from the extremetips of his lips. 

Everybody sat in strained intensity, silent, looking towards the vagueoutline of the sideboard. 

The minutes passed. No one moved. All were spellbound in expectancy. 

Still the minutes passed. The taper had flickered down till the greatroom was almost in darkness. 

Could it be that by some neglect in the preparations, the substitutionperhaps of the wrong brandy, the astralization could not be effected?

But no. 

Quite suddenly, it seemed, everybody in the darkened room was aware ofa _presence_. That was the word as afterwards repeated in a hundredconfidential discussions. A _presence_. One couldn't call it a body. Itwasn't. It was a figure, an astral form, a presence. 

"Buddha!" they gasped as they looked at it. 

Just how the figure entered the room, the spectators could neverafterwards agree. Some thought it appeared through the wall, deliberately astralizing itself as it passed through the bricks. Othersseemed to have seen it pass in at the farther door of the room, as ifit had astralized itself at the foot of the stairs in the back of thehall outside. 

Be that as it may, there it stood before them, the astralized shape ofthe Indian deity, so that to every lip there rose the half-articulatedword, "Buddha"; or at least to every lip except that of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown. From her there came no sound. 

The figure as afterwards described was attired in a long _shirak_, suchas is worn by the Grand Llama of Tibet, and resembling, if thecomparison were not profane, a modern dressing-gown. The legs, if onemight so call them, of the apparition were enwrapped in loosepunjahamas, a word which is said to be the origin of the modernpyjamas; while the feet, if they were feet, were encased in looseslippers. 

Buddha moved slowly across the room. Arrived at the sideboard theastral figure paused, and even in the uncertain light Buddha was seento raise and drink the propitiatory offering. That much was perfectlyclear. Whether Buddha spoke or not is doubtful. Certain of thespectators thought that he said, 'Must a fagotnit', which isHindustanee for "Blessings on this house. " To Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown'sdistracted mind it seemed as if Buddha said, "I must have forgotten it"But this wild fancy she never breathed to a soul. 

Silently Buddha recrossed the room, slowly wiping one arm across hismouth after the Hindu gesture of farewell. 

For perhaps a full minute after the disappearance of Buddha not a soulmoved. Then quite suddenly Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown, unable to stand thetension any longer, pressed an electric switch and the whole room wasflooded with light. 

There sat the affrighted guests staring at one another with pale faces. 

But, to the amazement and horror of all, the little table in the centrestood empty--not a single gem, not a fraction of the gold that had lainupon it was left. All had disappeared. 

The truth seemed to burst upon everyone at once. There was no doubt ofwhat had happened. 

The gold and the jewels had been deastralized. Under the occult powerof the vision they had been demonetized, engulfed into the astral planealong with the vanishing Buddha. 

Filled with the sense of horror still to come, somebody pulled asidethe little screen. They fully expected to find the lifeless bodies ofMr. Yahi-Bahi and the faithful Ram Spudd. What they saw before them wasmore dreadful still. The outer Oriental garments of the two devoteeslay strewn upon the floor. The long sash of Yahi-Bahi and the thickturban of Ram Spudd were side by side near them; almost sickening inits repulsive realism was the thick black head of hair of the juniordevotee, apparently torn from his scalp as if by lightning and bearinga horrible resemblance to the cast-off wig of an actor. 

The truth was too plain. 

"They are engulfed!" cried a dozen voices at once. 

It was realized in a flash that Yahi-Bahi and Ram Spudd had paid thepenalty of their daring with their lives. Through some fatal neglect, against which they had fairly warned the participants of the seance, the two Orientals had been carried bodily in the astral plane. 

"How dreadful!" murmured Mr. Snoop. "We must have made some awfulerror. "

"Are they deastralized?" murmured Mrs. Buncomhearst. 

"Not a doubt of it, " said Mr. Snoop. 

And then another voice in the group was heard to say, "We must hush itup. We _can't_ have it known!"

On which a chorus of voices joined in, everybody urging that it must behushed up. 

"Couldn't you try to reastralize them?" said somebody to Mr. Snoop. 

"No, no, " said Mr. Snoop, still shaking. "Better not try to. We musthush it up if we can. "

And the general assent to this sentiment showed that, after all, theprinciples of Bahee, or Indifference to Others, had taken a real rootin the society. 

"Hush it up, " cried everybody, and there was a general move towards thehall. 

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Buncomhearst; "our wraps!"

"Deastralized!" said the guests. 

There was a moment of further consternation as everybody gazed at thespot where the ill-fated pile of furs and wraps had lain. 

"Never mind, " said everybody, "let's go without them--don't stay. Justthink if the police should--"

And at the word police, all of a sudden there was heard in the streetthe clanging of a bell and the racing gallop of the horses of thepolice patrol wagon. 

"The police!" cried everybody. "Hush it up! Hush it up!" For of coursethe principles of Bahee are not known to the police. 

In another moment the doorbell of the house rang with a long andviolent peal, and in a second as it seemed, the whole hall was filledwith bulky figures uniformed in blue. 

"It's all right, Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown, " cried a loud, firm voice fromthe sidewalk. "We have them both. Everything is here. We got thembefore they'd gone a block. But if you don't mind, the police must geta couple of names for witnesses in the warrant. "

It was the Philippine chauffeur. But he was no longer attired as such. He wore the uniform of an inspector of police, and there was the metalbadge of the Detective Department now ostentatiously outside his coat. 

And beside him, one on each side of him, there stood the deastralizedforms of Yahi-Bahi and Ram Spudd. They wore long overcoats, doubtlessthe contents of the magic parcels, and the Philippine chauffeur had agrip of iron on the neck of each as they stood. Mr. Spudd had lost hisOriental hair, and the face of Mr. Yahi-Bahi, perhaps in the strugglewhich had taken place, had been scraped white in patches. 

They were making no attempt to break away. Indeed, Mr. Spudd, with thatcomplete Bahee, or Submission to Fate, which is attained only by longservices in state penitentiaries, was smiling and smoking a cigarette. 

"We were waiting for them, " explained a tall police officer to the twoor three ladies who now gathered round him with a return of courage. "They had the stuff in a hand-cart and were pushing it away. The chiefcaught them at the corner, and rang the patrol from there. You'll findeverything all right, I think, ladies, " he added, as a burly assistantwas seen carrying an armload of furs up the steps. 

Somehow many of the ladies realized at the moment what cheery, safe, reliable people policemen in blue are, and what a friendly, familiarshelter they offer against the wiles of Oriental occultism. 

"Are they old criminals?" someone asked. 

"Yes, ma'am. They've worked this same thing in four cities already, andboth of them have done time, and lots of it. They've only been out sixmonths. No need to worry over them, " he concluded with a shrug of theshoulders. 

So the furs were restored and the gold and the jewels parcelled outamong the owners, and in due course Mr. Yahi-Bahi and Mr. Ram Spuddwere lifted up into the patrol wagon where they seated themselves witha composure worthy of the best traditions of Jehumbabah andBahoolapore. In fact, Mr. Spudd was heard to address the police as"boys, " and to remark that they had "got them good" that time. 

So the seance ended and the guests vanished, and the Yahi-Bahi Societyterminated itself without even a vote of dissolution. 

And in all the later confidential discussions of the episode only onepoint of mysticism remained. After they had time really to reflect onit, free from all danger of arrest, the members of the society realizedthat on one point the police were entirely off the truth of things. ForMr. Yahi-Bahi, whether a thief or not, and whether he came from theOrient, or, as the police said, from Missouri, had actually succeededin reastralizing Buddha. 

Nor was anyone more emphatic on this point than Mrs. Rasselyer-Brownherself. 

"For after all, " she said, "if it was not Buddha, who was it?"

And the question was never answered. 

CHAPTER FIVE: The Love Story of Mr. Peter Spillikins

Almost any day, on Plutoria Avenue or thereabouts, you may see littleMr. Spillikins out walking with his four tall sons, who are practicallyas old as himself. 

To be exact, Mr. Spillikins is twenty-four, and Bob, the oldest of theboys, must be at least twenty. Their exact ages are no longer known, because, by a dreadful accident, their mother forgot them. This was ata time when the boys were all at Mr. Wackem's Academy for ExceptionalYouths in the foothills of Tennessee, and while their mother, Mrs. Everleigh, was spending the winter on the Riviera and felt that fortheir own sake she must not allow herself to have the boys with her. 

But now, of course, since Mrs. Everleigh has remarried and become Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins there is no need to keep them at Mr. Wackem's anylonger. Mr. Spillikins is able to look after them. 

Mr. Spillikins generally wears a little top hat and an English morningcoat. The boys are in Eton jackets and black trousers, which, at theirmother's wish, are kept just a little too short for them. This isbecause Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins feels that the day will come someday--say fifteen years hence--when the boys will no longer be children, and meantime it is so nice to feel that they are still mere boys. Bobis the eldest, but Sib the youngest is the tallest, whereas Willie thethird boy is the dullest, although this has often been denied by thosewho claim that Gib the second boy is just a trifle duller. Thus at anyrate there is a certain equality and good fellowship all round. 

Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins is not to be seen walking with them. She isprobably at the race-meet, being taken there by Captain Cormorant ofthe United States navy, which Mr. Spillikins considers very handsome ofhim. Every now and then the captain, being in the navy, is compelled tobe at sea for perhaps a whole afternoon or even several days; in whichcase Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins is very generally taken to the Hunt Clubor the Country Club by Lieutenant Hawk, which Mr. Spillikins regards asawfully thoughtful of him. Or if Lieutenant Hawk is also out of townfor the day, as he sometimes has to be, because he is in the UnitedStates army, Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins is taken out by old ColonelShake, who is in the State militia and who is at leisure all the time. 

During their walks on Plutoria Avenue one may hear the four boysaddressing Mr. Spillikins as "father" and "dad" in deep bull-frogvoices. 

"Say, dad, " drawls Bob, "couldn't we all go to the ball game?"

"No. Say, dad, " says Gib, "let's all go back to the house and playfive-cent pool in the billiard-room. "

"All right, boys, " says Mr. Spillikins. And a few minutes later one maysee them all hustling up the steps of the Everleigh-Spillikins'smansion, quite eager at the prospect, and all talking together. 

 * * * * *

Now the whole of this daily panorama, to the eye that can read it, represents the outcome of the tangled love story of Mr. Spillikins, which culminated during the summer houseparty at Castel Casteggio, thewoodland retreat of Mr. And Mrs. Newberry. 

But to understand the story one must turn back a year or so to the timewhen Mr. Peter Spillikins used to walk on Plutoria Avenue alone, or sitin the Mausoleum Club listening to the advice of people who told himthat he really ought to get married. 

 * * * * *

In those days the first thing that one noticed about Mr. PeterSpillikins was his exalted view of the other sex. Every time he passeda beautiful woman in the street he said to himself, "I say!" Even whenhe met a moderately beautiful one he murmured, "By Jove!" When anEaster hat went sailing past, or a group of summer parasols stoodtalking on a leafy corner, Mr. Spillikins ejaculated, "My word!" At theopera and at tango teas his projecting blue eyes almost popped out ofhis head. 

Similarly, if he happened to be with one of his friends, he wouldmurmur, "I say, _do_ look at that beautiful girl, " or would exclaim, "Isay, don't look, but isn't that an awfully pretty girl across thestreet?" or at the opera, "Old man, don't let her see you looking, butdo you see that lovely girl in the box opposite?"

One must add to this that Mr. Spillikins, in spite of his large andbulging blue eyes, enjoyed the heavenly gift of short sight. As aconsequence he lived in a world of amazingly beautiful women. And ashis mind was focused in the same way as his eyes he endowed them withall the virtues and graces which ought to adhere to fifty-dollarflowered hats and cerise parasols with ivory handles. 

Nor, to do him justice, did Mr. Spillikins confine his attitude to hisview of women alone. He brought it to bear on everything. Every time hewent to the opera he would come away enthusiastic, saying, "By Jove, isn't it simply splendid! Of course I haven't the ear to appreciateit--I'm not musical, you know--but even with the little that I know, it's great; it absolutely puts me to sleep. " And of each new novel thathe bought he said, "It's a perfectly wonderful book! Of course Ihaven't the head to understand it, so I didn't finish it, but it'ssimply thrilling. " Similarly with painting, "It's one of the mostmarvellous pictures I ever saw, " he would say. "Of course I've no eyefor pictures, and I couldn't see anything in it, but it's wonderful!"

The career of Mr. Spillikins up to the point of which we are speakinghad hitherto not been very satisfactory, or at least not from the pointof view of Mr. Boulder, who was his uncle and trustee. Mr. Boulder'sfirst idea had been to have Mr. Spillikins attend the university. Dr. Boomer, the president, had done his best to spread abroad the idea thata university education was perfectly suitable even for the rich; thatit didn't follow that because a man was a university graduate he needeither work or pursue his studies any further; that what the universityaimed to do was merely to put a certain stamp upon a man. That was all. And this stamp, according to the tenor of the president's convocationaddresses, was perfectly harmless. No one ought to be afraid of it. Asa result, a great many of the very best young men in the City, who hadno need for education at all, were beginning to attend college. "Itmarked, " said Dr. Boomer, "a revolution. "

Mr. Spillikins himself was fascinated with his studies. The professorsseemed to him living wonders. 

"By Jove!" he said, "the professor of mathematics is a marvel. Youought to see him explaining trigonometry on the blackboard. You can'tunderstand a word of it. " He hardly knew which of his studies he likedbest. "Physics, " he said, "is a wonderful study. I got five per cent init. But, by Jove! I had to work for it. I'd go in for it altogether ifthey'd let me. "

But that was just the trouble--they wouldn't. And so in course of timeMr. Spillikins was compelled, for academic reasons, to abandon his lifework. His last words about it were, "Gad! I nearly passed intrigonometry!" and he always said afterwards that he had got atremendous lot out of the university. 

After that, as he had to leave the university, his trustee, Mr. Boulder, put Mr. Spillikins into business. It was, of course, his ownbusiness, one of the many enterprises for which Mr. Spillikins, eversince he was twenty-one, had already been signing documents andcountersigning cheques. So Mr. Spillikins found himself in a mahoganyoffice selling wholesale oil. And he liked it. He said that businesssharpened one up tremendously. 

"I'm afraid, Mr. Spillikins, " a caller in the mahogany office wouldsay, "that we can't meet you at five dollars. Four seventy is the bestwe can do on the present market. "

"My dear chap, " said Mr. Spillikins, "that's all right. After all, thirty cents isn't much, eh what? Dash it, old man, we won't fightabout thirty cents. How much do you want?"

"Well, at four seventy we'll take twenty thousand barrels. "

"By Jove!" said Mr. Spillikins; "twenty thousand barrels. Gad! you wanta lot, don't you? Pretty big sale, eh, for a beginner like me? I guessuncle'll be tickled to death. "

So tickled was he that after a few weeks of oil-selling Mr. Boulderurged Mr. Spillikins to retire, and wrote off many thousand dollarsfrom the capital value of his estate. 

So after this there was only one thing for Mr. Spillikins to do, andeverybody told him so--namely to get married. "Spillikins, " said hisfriends at the club after they had taken all his loose money over thecard table, "you ought to get married. "

"Think so?" said Mr. Spillikins. 

Goodness knows he was willing enough. In fact, up to this point Mr. Spillikins's whole existence had been one long aspiring sigh directedtowards the joys of matrimony. 

In his brief college days his timid glances had wandered by anirresistible attraction towards the seats on the right-hand side of theclass room, where the girls of the first year sat, with golden pigtailsdown their backs, doing trigonometry. 

He would have married any of them. But when a girl can work outtrigonometry at sight, what use can she possibly have for marriage?None. Mr. Spillikins knew this and it kept him silent. And even whenthe most beautiful girl in the class married the demonstrator and thusterminated her studies in her second year, Spillikins realized that itwas only because the man was, undeniably, a demonstrator and knewthings. 

Later on, when Spillikins went into business and into society, the samefate pursued him. He loved, for at least six months, GeorgianaMcTeague, the niece of the presbyterian minister of St. Osoph's. Heloved her so well that for her sake he temporarily abandoned his pew atSt. Asaph's, which was episcopalian, and listened to fourteenconsecutive sermons on hell. But the affair got no further than that. Once or twice, indeed, Spillikins walked home with Georgiana fromchurch and talked about hell with her; and once her uncle asked himinto the manse for cold supper after evening service, and they had along talk about hell all through the meal and upstairs in thesitting-room afterwards. But somehow Spillikins could get no furtherwith it. He read up all he could about hell so as to be able to talkwith Georgiana, but in the end it failed: a young minister fresh fromcollege came and preached at St. Osoph's six special sermons on theabsolute certainty of eternal punishment, and he married Miss McTeagueas a result of it. 

And, meantime, Mr. Spillikins had got engaged, or practically so, toAdelina Lightleigh; not that he had spoken to her, but he consideredhimself bound to her. For her sake he had given up hell altogether, andwas dancing till two in the morning and studying action bridge out of abook. For a time he felt so sure that she meant to have him that hebegan bringing his greatest friend, Edward Ruff of the college footballteam, of whom Spillikins was very proud, up to the Lightleighs'residence. He specially wanted Adelina and Edward to be great friends, so that Adelina and he might ask Edward up to the house after he wasmarried. And they got to be such great friends, and so quickly, thatthey were married in New York that autumn. After which Spillikins usedto be invited up to the house by Edward and Adelina. They both used totell him how much they owed him; and they, too, used to join in thechorus and say, "You know, Peter, you're awfully silly not to getmarried. "

Now all this had happened and finished at about the time when theYahi-Bahi Society ran its course. At its first meeting Mr. Spillikinshad met Dulphemia Rasselyer-Brown. At the very sight of her he beganreading up the life of Buddha and a translation of the Upanishads so asto fit himself to aspire to live with her. Even when the society endedin disaster Mr. Spillikins's love only burned the stronger. Consequently, as soon as he knew that Mr. And Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown weregoing away for the summer, and that Dulphemia was to go to stay withthe Newberrys at Castel Casteggio, this latter place, the summerretreat of the Newberrys, became the one spot on earth for Mr. PeterSpillikins. 

Naturally, therefore, Mr. Spillikins was presently transported to theseventh heaven when in due course of time he received a note whichsaid, "We shall be so pleased if you can come out and spend a week ortwo with us here. We will send the car down to the Thursday train tomeet you. We live here in the simplest fashion possible; in fact, asMr. Newberry says, we are just roughing it, but I am sure you don'tmind for a change. Dulphemia is with us, but we are quite a smallparty. "

The note was signed "Margaret Newberry" and was written on heavy creampaper with a silver monogram such as people use when roughing it. 

 * * * * *

The Newberrys, like everybody else, went away from town in thesummertime. Mr. Newberry being still in business, after a fashion, itwould not have looked well for him to remain in town throughout theyear. It would have created a bad impression on the market as to howmuch he was making. 

In fact, in the early summer everybody went out of town. The few whoever revisited the place in August reported that they hadn't seen asoul on the street. 

It was a sort of longing for the simple life, for nature, that cameover everybody. Some people sought it at the seaside, where nature hadthrown out her broad plank walks and her long piers and her vaudevilleshows. Others sought it in the heart of the country, where nature hadspread her oiled motor roads and her wayside inns. Others, like theNewberrys, preferred to "rough it" in country residences of their own. 

Some of the people, as already said, went for business reasons, toavoid the suspicion of having to work all the year round. Others wentto Europe to avoid the reproach of living always in America. Others, perhaps most people, went for medical reasons, being sent away by theirdoctors. Not that they were ill; but the doctors of Plutoria Avenue, such as Doctor Slyder, always preferred to send all their patients outof town during the summer months. No well-to-do doctor cares to bebothered with them. And of course patients, even when they are anxiousto go anywhere on their own account, much prefer to be sent there bytheir doctor. 

"My dear madam, " Dr. Slyder would say to a lady who, as he knew, wasmost anxious to go to Virginia, "there's really nothing I can do foryou. " Here he spoke the truth. "It's not a case of treatment. It'ssimply a matter of dropping everything and going away. Now why don'tyou go for a month or two to some quiet place, where you will simply_do nothing?_" (She never, as he knew, did anything, anyway. ) "What doyou say to Hot Springs, Virginia?--absolute quiet, good golf, not asoul there, plenty of tennis. " Or else he would say, "My dear madam, you're simply _worn out_. Why don't you just drop everything and go toCanada?--perfectly quiet, not a soul there, and, I believe, nowadaysquite fashionable. "

Thus, after all the patients had been sent away, Dr. Slyder and hiscolleagues of Plutoria Avenue managed to slip away themselves for amonth or two, heading straight for Paris and Vienna. There they wereable, so they said, to keep in touch with what continental doctors weredoing. They probably were. 

Now it so happened that both the parents of Miss DulphemiaRasselyer-Brown had been sent out of town in this fashion. Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown's distressing experience with Yahi-Bahi had left her ina condition in which she was utterly fit for nothing, except to go on aMediterranean cruise, with about eighty other people also fit fornothing. 

Mr. Rasselyer-Brown himself, though never exactly an invalid, hadconfessed that after all the fuss of the Yahi-Bahi business he neededbracing up, needed putting into shape, and had put himself into Dr. Slyder's hands. The doctor had examined him, questioned him searchinglyas to what he drank, and ended by prescribing port wine to be takenfirmly and unflinchingly during the evening, and for the daytime, atany moment of exhaustion, a light cordial such as rye whiskey, or rumand Vichy water. In addition to which Dr. Slyder had recommended Mr. Rasselyer-Brown to leave town. 

"Why don't you go down to Nagahakett on the Atlantic?" he said. 

"Is that in Maine?" said Mr. Rasselyer-Brown in horror. 

"Oh, dear me, no!" answered the doctor reassuringly. "It's in NewBrunswick, Canada; excellent place, most liberal licence laws; firstclass cuisine and a bar in the hotel. No tourists, no golf, too cold toswim--just the place to enjoy oneself. "

So Mr. Rasselyer-Brown had gone away also, and as a result DulphemiaRasselyer-Brown, at the particular moment of which we speak, wasdeclared by the Boudoir and Society column of the _Plutorian DailyDollar_ to be staying with Mr. And Mrs. Newberry at their charmingretreat, Castel Casteggio. 

The Newberrys belonged to the class of people whose one aim in thesummer is to lead the simple life. Mr. Newberry himself said that hisone idea of a vacation was to get right out into the bush, and put onold clothes, and just eat when he felt like it. 

This was why he had built Castel Casteggio. It stood about forty milesfrom the city, out among the wooded hills on the shore of a littlelake. Except for the fifteen or twenty residences like it that dottedthe sides of the lake it was entirely isolated. The only way to reachit was by the motor road that wound its way among leafy hills from therailway station fifteen miles away. Every foot of the road was privateproperty, as all nature ought to be. The whole country about CastelCasteggio was absolutely primeval, or at any rate as primeval as Scotchgardeners and French landscape artists could make it. The lake itselflay like a sparkling gem from nature's workshop--except that they hadraised the level of it ten feet, stone-banked the sides, cleared outthe brush, and put a motor road round it. Beyond that it was purenature. 

Castel Casteggio itself, a beautiful house of white brick with sweepingpiazzas and glittering conservatories, standing among great trees withrolling lawns broken with flower-beds as the ground sloped to the lake, was perhaps the most beautiful house of all; at any rate, it was anideal spot to wear old clothes in, to dine early (at 7. 30) and, exceptfor tennis parties, motor-boat parties, lawn teas, and golf, to liveabsolutely to oneself. 

It should be explained that the house was not called Castel Casteggiobecause the Newberrys were Italian: they were not; nor because theyowned estates in Italy: they didn't nor had travelled there: theyhadn't. Indeed, for a time they had thought of giving it a Welsh name, or a Scotch. But the beautiful country residence of theAsterisk-Thomsons had stood close by in the same primeval country wasalready called Penny-gw-rydd, and the woodland retreat of theHyphen-Joneses just across the little lake was calledStrathythan-na-Clee, and the charming chalet of the Wilson-Smiths wascalled Yodel-Dudel; so it seemed fairer to select an Italian name. 

 * * * * *

"By Jove! Miss Furlong, how awfully good of you to come down!"

The little suburban train--two cars only, both first class, for thetrain went nowhere except out into the primeval wilderness--had drawnup at the diminutive roadside station. Mr. Spillikins had alighted, andthere was Miss Philippa Furlong sitting behind the chauffeur in theNewberrys' motor. She was looking as beautiful as only the youngersister of a High Church episcopalian rector can look, dressed in white, the colour of saintliness, on a beautiful morning in July. 

There was no doubt about Philippa Furlong. Her beauty was of thatpeculiar and almost sacred kind found only in the immediateneighbourhood of the High Church clergy. It was admitted by all whoenvied or admired her that she could enter a church more gracefully, move more swimmingly up the aisle, and pray better than any girl onPlutoria Avenue. 

Mr. Spillikins, as he gazed at her in her white summer dress and widepicture hat, with her parasol nodding above her head, realized thatafter all, religion, as embodied in the younger sisters of the HighChurch clergy, fills a great place in the world. 

"By Jove!" he repeated, "how awfully good of you!"

"Not a bit, " said Philippa. "Hop in. Dulphemia was coming, but shecouldn't. Is that all you have with you?"

The last remark was ironical. It referred to the two quite largesteamer trunks of Mr. Spillikins that were being loaded, together withhis suit-case, tennis racket, and golf kit, on to the fore part of themotor. Mr. Spillikins, as a young man of social experience, had roughedit before. He knew what a lot of clothes one needs for it. 

So the motor sped away, and went bowling noiselessly over the oiledroad, and turning corners where the green boughs of the great treesalmost swished in their faces, and rounding and twisting among curvesof the hills as it carried Spillikins and Philippa away from the lowerdomain or ordinary fields and farms up into the enchanted country ofprivate property and the magic castles of Casteggio and Penny-gw-rydd. 

Mr. Spillikins must have assured Philippa at least a dozen times instarting off how awfully good it was of her to come down in the motor;and he was so pleased at her coming to meet him that Philippa nevereven hinted that the truth was that she had expected somebody else onthe same train. For to a girl brought up in the principles of the HighChurch the truth is a very sacred thing. She keeps it to herself. 

And naturally, with such a sympathetic listener, it was not long beforeMr. Spillikins had begun to talk of Dulphemia and his hopes. 

"I don't know whether she really cares for me or not, " said Mr. Spillikins, "but I have pretty good hope. The other day, or at leastabout two months ago, at one of the Yahi-Bahi meetings--you were not inthat, were you?" he said breaking off. 

"Only just at the beginning, " said Philippa; "we went to Bermuda. "

"Oh yes, I remember. Do you know, I thought it pretty rough at the end, especially on Ram Spudd. I liked him. I sent him two pounds of tobaccoto the penitentiary last week; you can get it in to them, you know, ifyou know how. "

"But what were you going to say?" asked Philippa. 

"Oh yes, " said Mr. Spillikins. And he realized that he had actuallydrifted off the topic of Dulphemia, a thing that had never happened tohim before. "I was going to say that at one of the meetings, you know, I asked her if I might call her Dulphemia. "

"And what did she say to that?" asked Philippa. 

"She said she didn't care what I called her. So I think that lookspretty good, don't you?"

"Awfully good, " said Philippa. 

"And a little after that I took her slippers home from the Charity Ballat the Grand Palaver. Archie Jones took her home herself in his car, but I took her slippers. She'd forgotten them. I thought that a prettygood sign, wasn't it? You wouldn't let a chap carry round your slippersunless you knew him pretty well, would you, Miss Philippa?"

"Oh no, nobody would, " said Philippa. This of course, was a standingprinciple of the Anglican Church. 

"And a little after that Dulphemia and Charlie Mostyn and I werewalking to Mrs. Buncomhearst's musical, and we'd only just startedalong the street, when she stopped and sent me back for her music--me, mind you, not Charlie. That seems to me awfully significant. "

"It seems to speak volumes, " said Philippa. 

"Doesn't it?" said Mr. Spillikins. "You don't mind my telling you allabout this Miss Philippa?" he added. 

Incidentally Mr. Spillikins felt that it was all right to call her MissPhilippa, because she had a sister who was really Miss Furlong, so itwould have been quite wrong, as Mr. Spillikins realized, to have calledMiss Philippa by her surname. In any case, the beauty of the morningwas against it. 

"I don't mind a bit, " said Philippa. "I think it's awfully nice of youto tell me about it. "

She didn't add that she knew all about it already. 

"You see, " said Mr. Spillikins, "you're so awfully sympathetic. Itmakes it so easy to talk to you. With other girls, especially withclever ones, even with Dulphemia. I often feel a perfect jackass besidethem. But I don t feel that way with you at all. "

"Don't you really?" said Philippa, but the honest admiration in Mr. Spillikin's protruding blue eyes forbade a sarcastic answer. 

"By Jove!" said Mr. Spillikins presently, with complete irrelevance, "Ihope you don't mind my saying it, but you look awfully well inwhite--stunning. " He felt that a man who was affianced, or practicallyso, was allowed the smaller liberty of paying honest compliments. 

"Oh, this old thing, " laughed Philippa, with a contemptuous shake ofher dress. "But up here, you know, we just wear anything. " She didn'tsay that this old thing was only two weeks old and had cost eightydollars, or the equivalent of one person's pew rent at St. Asaph's forsix months. 

And after that they had only time, so it seemed to Mr. Spillikins, fortwo or three remarks, and he had scarcely had leisure to reflect what acharming girl Philippa had grown to be since she went to Bermuda--theeffect, no doubt, of the climate of those fortunate islands--when quitesuddenly they rounded a curve into an avenue of nodding trees, andthere were the great lawn and wide piazzas and the conservatories ofCastel Casteggio right in front of them. 

"Here we are, " said Philippa, "and there's Mr. Newberry out on thelawn. "

 * * * * *

"Now, here, " Mr. Newberry was saying a little later, waving his hand, "is where you get what I think the finest view of the place. "

He was standing at the corner of the lawn where it sloped, dotted withgreat trees, to the banks of the little lake, and was showing Mr. Spillikins the beauties of Castel Casteggio. 

Mr. Newberry wore on his short circular person the summer costume of aman taking his ease and careless of dress: plain white flanneltrousers, not worth more than six dollars a leg, an ordinary white silkshirt with a rolled collar, that couldn't have cost more than fifteendollars, and on his head an ordinary Panama hat, say forty dollars. 

"By Jove!" said Mr. Spillikins, as he looked about him at the house andthe beautiful lawn with its great trees, "it's a lovely place. "

"Isn't it?" said Mr. Newberry. "But you ought to have seen it when Itook hold of it. To make the motor road alone I had to dynamite outabout a hundred yards of rock, and then I fetched up cement, tons andtons of it, and boulders to buttress the embankment. "

"Did you really!" said Mr. Spillikins, looking at Mr. Newberry withgreat respect. 

"Yes, and even that was nothing to the house itself. Do you know, I hadto go at least forty feet for the foundations. First I went throughabout twenty feet of loose clay, after that I struck sand, and I'd nosooner got through that than, by George! I landed in eight feet ofwater. I had to pump it out; I think I took out a thousand gallonsbefore I got clear down to the rock. Then I took my solid steel beamsin fifty-foot lengths, " here Mr. Newberry imitated with his arms theaction of a man setting up a steel beam, "and set them upright andbolted them on the rock. After that I threw my steel girders across, clapped on my roof rafters, all steel, in sixty-foot pieces, and thenjust held it easily, just supported it a bit, and let it sink graduallyto its place. "

Mr. Newberry illustrated with his two arms the action of a huge housebeing allowed to sink slowly to a firm rest. 

"You don't say so!" said Mr. Spillikins, lost in amazement at thewonderful physical strength that Mr. Newberry must have. 

"Excuse me just a minute, " broke off Mr. Newberry, "while I smooth outthe gravel where you're standing. You've rather disturbed it, I'mafraid. "

"Oh, I'm awfully sorry, " said Mr. Spillikins. 

"Oh, not at all, not at all, " said his host. "I don't mind in theleast. It's only on account of McAlister. "

"Who?" asked Mr. Spillikins. 

"My gardener. He doesn't care to have us walk on the gravel paths. Itscuffs up the gravel so. But sometimes one forgets. "

It should be said here, for the sake of clearness, that one of thechief glories of Castel Casteggio lay in its servants. All of them, itgoes without saying, had been brought from Great Britain. The comfortthey gave to Mr. And Mrs. Newberry was unspeakable. In fact, as theythemselves admitted, servants of the kind are simply not to be found inAmerica. 

"Our Scotch gardener, " Mrs. Newberry always explained "is a perfectcharacter. I don't know how we could get another like him. Do you know, my dear, he simply won't allow us to pick the roses; and if any of uswalk across the grass he is furious. And he positively refuses to letus use the vegetables. He told me quite plainly that if we took any ofhis young peas or his early cucumbers he would leave. We are to havethem later on when he's finished growing them. "

"How delightful it is to have servants of that sort, " the ladyaddressed would murmur; "so devoted and so different from servants onthis side of the water. Just imagine, my dear, my chauffeur, when I wasin Colorado, actually threatened to leave me merely because I wanted toreduce his wages. I think it's these wretched labour unions. "

"I'm sure it is. Of course we have trouble with McAlister at times, buthe's always very reasonable when we put things in the right light. Lastweek, for example, I was afraid that we had gone too far with him. Heis always accustomed to have a quart of beer every morning at half-pastten--the maids are told to bring it out to him, and after that he goesto sleep in the little arbour beside the tulip bed. And the other daywhen he went there he found that one of our guests who hadn't beentold, was actually sitting in there reading. Of course he was_furious_. I was afraid for the moment that he would give notice on thespot. "

"What _would_ you have done?"

"Positively, my dear, I don't know. But we explained to him at oncethat it was only an accident and that the person hadn't known and thatof course it wouldn't occur again. After that he was softened a little, but he went off muttering to himself, and that evening he dug up allthe new tulips and threw them over the fence. We saw him do it, but wedidn't dare say anything. "

"Oh no, " echoed the other lady; "if you had you might have lost him. "

"Exactly. And I don't think we could possibly get another man like him;at least, not on this side of the water. "

 * * * * *

"But come, " said Mr. Newberry, after he had finished adjusting thegravel with his foot, "there are Mrs. Newberry and the girls on theverandah. Let's go and join them. "

A few minutes later Mr. Spillikins was talking with Mrs. Newberry andDulphemia Rasselyer-Brown, and telling Mrs. Newberry what a beautifulhouse she had. Beside them stood Philippa Furlong, and she had her armaround Dulphemia's waist; and the picture that they thus made, withtheir heads close together, Dulphemia's hair being golden andPhilippa's chestnut-brown, was such that Mr. Spillikins had no eyes forMrs. Newberry nor for Castel Casteggio nor for anything. So much sothat he practically didn't see at all the little girl in green thatstood unobtrusively on the further side of Mrs. Newberry. Indeed, though somebody had murmured her name in introduction, he couldn't haverepeated it if asked two minutes afterwards. His eyes and his mind wereelsewhere. 

But hers were not. 

For the Little Girl in Green looked at Mr. Spillikins with wide eyes, and when she looked at him she saw all at once such wonderful thingsabout him as nobody had ever seen before. 

For she could see from the poise of his head how awfully clever he was;and from the way he stood with his hands in his side pockets she couldsee how manly and brave he must be; and of course there was firmnessand strength written all over him. In short, she saw as she looked sucha Peter Spillikins as truly never existed, or could exist--or at leastsuch a Peter Spillikins as no one else in the world had ever suspectedbefore. 

All in a moment she was ever so glad that she accepted Mrs. Newberry'sinvitation to Castel Casteggio and hadn't been afraid to come. For theLittle Girl in Green, whose Christian name was Norah, was only what iscalled a poor relation of Mrs. Newberry, and her father was a person ofno account whatever, who didn't belong to the Mausoleum Club or to anyother club, and who lived, with Norah, on a street that nobody who wasanybody lived upon. Norah had been asked up a few days before out ofthe City to give her air--which is the only thing that can be safelyand freely given to poor relations. Thus she had arrived at CastelCasteggio with one diminutive trunk, so small and shabby that even theservants who carried it upstairs were ashamed of it. In it were a pairof brand new tennis shoes (at ninety cents reduced to seventy-five) anda white dress of the kind that is called "almost evening, " and such fewother things as poor relations might bring with fear and trembling tojoin in the simple rusticity of the rich. 

Thus stood Norah looking at Mr. Spillikins. 

As for him, such is the contrariety of human things, he had no eyes forher at all. 

"What a perfectly charming house this is, " Mr. Spillikins was saying. He always said this on such occasions, but it seemed to the Little Girlin Green that he spoke with wonderful social ease. 

"I am so glad you think so, " said Mrs. Newberry (this was what shealways answered); "you've no idea what work it has been. This year weput in all this new glass in the east conservatory, over a thousandpanes. Such a tremendous business!"

"I was just telling Mr. Spillikins, " said Mr. Newberry, "about the workwe had blasting out the motor road. You can see the gap where it liesbetter from here, I think, Spillikins. I must have exploded a ton and ahalf of dynamite on it. "

"By Jove!" said Mr. Spillikins; "it must be dangerous work eh? I wonderyou aren't afraid of it. "

"One simply gets used to it, that's all, " said Newberry, shrugging hisshoulders; "but of course it is dangerous. I blew up two Italians onthe last job. " He paused a minute and added musingly, "Hardy fellows, the Italians. I prefer them to any other people for blasting. "

"Did you blow them up yourself?" asked Mr. Spillikins. 

"I wasn't here, " answered Mr. Newberry. "In fact, I never care to behere when I'm blasting. We go to town. But I had to foot the bill forthem all the same. Quite right, too. The risk, of course, was mine, nottheirs; that's the law, you know. They cost me two thousand each. "

"But come, " said Mrs. Newberry, "I think we must go and dress fordinner. Franklin will be frightfully put out if we're late. Franklin isour butler, " she went on, seeing that Mr. Spillikins didn't understandthe reference, "and as we brought him out from England we have to berather careful. With a good man like Franklin one is always so afraidof losing him--and after last night we have to be doubly careful. "

"Why last night?" asked Mr. Spillikins. 

"Oh, it wasn't much, " said Mrs. Newberry. "In fact, it was merely anaccident. Only it just chanced that at dinner, quite late in the meal, when we had had nearly everything (we dine very simply here, Mr. Spillikins), Mr. Newberry, who was thirsty and who wasn't reallythinking what he was saying, asked Franklin to give him a glass ofhock. Franklin said at once, 'I'm very sorry, sir, I don't care toserve hock after the entree!'"

"And of course he was right, " said Dulphemia with emphasis. "Exactly;he was perfectly right. They know, you know. We were afraid that theremight be trouble, but Mr. Newberry went and saw Franklin afterwards andhe behaved very well over it. But suppose we go and dress? It'shalf-past six already and we've only an hour. "

 * * * * *

In this congenial company Mr. Spillikins spent the next three days. 

Life at Castel Casteggio, as the Newberrys loved to explain, wasconducted on the very simplest plan. Early breakfast, country fashion, at nine o'clock; after that nothing to eat till lunch, unless one caredto have lemonade or bottled ale sent out with a biscuit or a macaroonto the tennis court. Lunch itself was a perfectly plain midday meal, lasting till about 1. 30, and consisting simply of cold meats (say fourkinds) and salads, with perhaps a made dish or two, and, for anybodywho cared for it, a hot steak or a chop, or both. After that one hadcoffee and cigarettes in the shade of the piazza and waited forafternoon tea. This latter was served at a wicker table in any part ofthe grounds that the gardener was not at that moment clipping, trimming, or otherwise using. Afternoon tea being over, one rested orwalked on the lawn till it was time to dress for dinner. 

This simple routine was broken only by irruptions of people in motorsor motor boats from Penny-gw-rydd or Yodel-Dudel Chalet. 

The whole thing, from the point of view of Mr. Spillikins or Dulphemiaor Philippa, represented rusticity itself. 

To the Little Girl in Green it seemed as brilliant as the Court ofVersailles; especially evening dinner--a plain home meal as the othersthought it--when she had four glasses to drink out of and used towonder over such problems as whether you were supposed, when Franklinpoured out wine, to tell him to stop or to wait till he stopped withoutbeing told to stop; and other similar mysteries, such as many peoplebefore and after have meditated upon. 

During all this time Mr. Spillikins was nerving himself to propose toDulphemia Rasselyer-Brown. In fact, he spent part of his time walkingup and down under the trees with Philippa Furlong and discussing withher the proposal that he meant to make, together with such topics asmarriage in general and his own unworthiness. 

He might have waited indefinitely had he not learned, on the third dayof his visit, that Dulphemia was to go away in the morning to join herfather at Nagahakett. 

That evening he found the necessary nerve to speak, and the proposal inalmost every aspect of it was most successful. 

"By Jove!" Spillikins said to Philippa Furlong next morning, inexplaining what had happened, "she was awfully nice about it. I thinkshe must have guessed, in a way, don't you, what I was going to say?But at any rate she was awfully nice--let me say everything I wanted, and when I explained what a fool I was, she said she didn't think I washalf such a fool as people thought me. But it's all right. It turns outthat she isn't thinking of getting married. I asked her if I mightalways go on thinking of her, and she said I might. "

And that morning when Dulphemia was carried off in the motor to thestation, Mr. Spillikins, without exactly being aware how he had doneit, had somehow transferred himself to Philippa. 

"Isn't she a splendid girl!" he said at least ten times a day to Norah, the Little Girl in Green. And Norah always agreed, because she reallythought Philippa a perfectly wonderful creature. There is no doubtthat, but for a slight shift of circumstances, Mr. Spillikins wouldhave proposed to Miss Furlong. Indeed, he spent a good part of his timerehearsing little speeches that began, "Of course I know I'm an awfulass in a way, " or, "Of course I know that I'm not at all the sort offellow, " and so on. 

But not one of them ever was delivered. 

For it so happened that on the Thursday, one week after Mr. Spillikins's arrival, Philippa went again to the station in the motor. And when she came back there was another passenger with her, a tallyoung man in tweed, and they both began calling out to the Newberrysfrom a distance of at least a hundred yards. 

And both the Newberrys suddenly exclaimed, "Why, it's Tom!" and rushedoff to meet the motor. And there was such a laughing and jubilation asthe two descended and carried Tom's valises to the verandah, that Mr. Spillikins felt as suddenly and completely out of it as the Little Girlin Green herself--especially as his ear had caught, among the firstthings said, the words, "Congratulate us, Mrs. Newberry, we're engaged. "

After which Mr. Spillikins had the pleasure of sitting and listeningwhile it was explained in wicker chairs on the verandah, that Philippaand Tom had been engaged already for ever so long--in fact, nearly twoweeks, only they had agreed not to say a word to anybody till Tom hadgone to North Carolina and back, to see his people. 

And as to who Tom was, or what was the relation between Tom and theNewberrys, Mr. Spillikins neither knew or cared; nor did it interesthim in the least that Philippa had met Tom in Bermuda, and that shehadn't known that he even knew the Newberry's nor any other of theexuberant disclosures of the moment. In fact, if there was any oneperiod rather than another when Mr. Spillikins felt corroborated in hisprivate view of himself, it was at this moment. 

So the next day Tom and Philippa vanished together. 

"We shall be quite a small party now, " said Mrs. Newberry; "in fact, quite by ourselves till Mrs. Everleigh comes, and she won't be here fora fortnight. "

At which the heart of the Little Girl in Green was glad, because shehad been afraid that other girls might be coming, whereas she knew thatMrs. Everleigh was a widow with four sons and must be ever so old, pastforty. 

The next few days were spent by Mr. Spillikins almost entirely in thesociety of Norah. He thought them on the whole rather pleasant days, but slow. To her they were an uninterrupted dream of happiness never tobe forgotten. 

The Newberrys left them to themselves; not with any intent; it wasmerely that they were perpetually busy walking about the grounds ofCastel Casteggio, blowing up things with dynamite, throwing steelbridges over gullies, and hoisting heavy timber with derricks. Nor werethey to blame for it. For it had not always been theirs to commanddynamite and control the forces of nature. There had been a time, nowlong ago, when the two Newberrys had lived, both of them, on twentydollars a week, and Mrs. Newberry had made her own dresses, and Mr. Newberry had spent vigorous evenings in making hand-made shelves fortheir sitting-room. That was long ago, and since then Mr. Newberry, like many other people of those earlier days, had risen to wealth andCastel Casteggio, while others, like Norah's father, had stayed justwhere they were. 

So the Newberrys left Peter and Norah to themselves all day. Even afterdinner, in the evening, Mr. Newberry was very apt to call to his wifein the dusk from some distant corner of the lawn:

"Margaret, come over here and tell me if you don't think we might cutdown this elm, tear the stump out by the roots, and throw it into theravine. "

And the answer was, "One minute, Edward; just wait till I get a wrap. "

Before they came back, the dusk had grown to darkness, and they hadredynamited half the estate. 

During all of which time Mr. Spillikins sat with Norah on the piazza. He talked and she listened. He told her, for instance, all about histerrific experiences in the oil business, and about his exciting careerat college; or presently they went indoors and Norah played the pianoand Mr. Spillikins sat and smoked and listened. In such a house as theNewberry's, where dynamite and the greater explosives were everydaymatters, a little thing like the use of tobacco in the drawing-roomdidn't count. As for the music, "Go right ahead, " said Mr. Spillikins;"I'm not musical, but I don't mind music a bit. "

In the daytime they played tennis. There was a court at one end of thelawn beneath the trees, all chequered with sunlight and mingled shadow;very beautiful, Norah thought, though Mr. Spillikins explained that thespotted light put him off his game. In fact, it was owing entirely tothis bad light that Mr. Spillikins's fast drives, wonderful though theywere, somehow never got inside the service court. 

Norah, of course, thought Mr. Spillikins a wonderful player. She wasglad--in fact, it suited them both--when he beat her six to nothing. She didn't know and didn't care that there was no one else in the worldthat Mr. Spillikins could beat like that. Once he even said to her. 

"By Gad! you don't play half a bad game, you know. I think you know, with practice you'd come on quite a lot. "

After that the games were understood to be more or less in the form oflessons, which put Mr. Spillikins on a pedestal of superiority, andallowed any bad strokes on his part to be viewed as a form ofindulgence. 

Also, as the tennis was viewed in this light, it was Norah's part topick up the balls at the net and throw them back to Mr. Spillikins. Helet her do this, not from rudeness, for it wasn't in him, but becausein such a primeval place as Castel Casteggio the natural primitiverelation of the sexes is bound to reassert itself. 

But of love Mr. Spillikins never thought. He had viewed it so eagerlyand so often from a distance that when it stood here modestly at hisvery elbow he did not recognize its presence. His mind had beenfashioned, as it were, to connect love with something stunning andsensational, with Easter hats and harem skirts and the luxuriousconsciousness of the unattainable. 

Even at that, there is no knowing what might have happened. Tennis, inthe chequered light of sun and shadow cast by summer leaves, is adangerous game. There came a day when they were standing one each sideof the net and Mr. Spillikins was explaining to Norah the proper way tohold a racquet so as to be able to give those magnificent backhandsweeps of his, by which he generally drove the ball halfway to thelake; and explaining this involved putting his hand right over Norah'son the handle of the racquet, so that for just half a second her handwas clasped tight in his; and if that half-second had been lengthenedout into a whole second it is quite possible that what was alreadysubconscious in his mind would have broken its way triumphantly to thesurface, and Norah's hand would have stayed in his--how willingly--!for the rest of their two lives. 

But just at that moment Mr. Spillikins looked up, and he said in quitean altered tone. 

"By Jove! who's that awfully good-looking woman getting out of themotor?"

And their hands unclasped. Norah looked over towards the house and said:

"Why, it's Mrs. Everleigh. I thought she wasn't coming for anotherweek. "

"I say, " said Mr. Spillikins, straining his short sight to theuttermost, "what perfectly wonderful golden hair, eh?" "Why, it's--"Norah began, and then she stopped. It didn't seem right to explain thatMrs. Everleigh's hair was dyed. "And who's that tall chap standingbeside her?" said Mr. Spillikins. 

"I think it's Captain Cormorant, but I don't think he's going to stay. He's only brought her up in the motor from town. " "By Jove, how good ofhim!" said Spillikins; and this sentiment in regard to CaptainCormorant, though he didn't know it, was to become a keynote of hisexistence. 

"I didn't know she was coming so soon, " said Norah, and there wasweariness already in her heart. Certainly she didn't know it; stillless did she know, or anyone else, that the reason of Mrs. Everleigh'scoming was because Mr. Spillikins was there. She came with a setpurpose, and she sent Captain Cormorant directly back in the motorbecause she didn't want him on the premises. 

"Oughtn't we to go up to the house?" said Norah. 

"All right, " said Mr. Spillikins with great alacrity, "let's go. "

 * * * * *

Now as this story began with the information that Mrs. Everleigh is atpresent Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins, there is no need to pursue in detailthe stages of Mr. Spillikins's wooing. Its course was swift and happy. Mr. Spillikins, having seen the back of Mrs. Everleigh's head, haddecided instantly that she was the most beautiful woman in the world;and that impression is not easily corrected in the half-light of ashaded drawing-room; nor across a dinner-table lighted only withcandles with deep red shades; nor even in the daytime through a veil. In any case, it is only fair to state that if Mrs. Everleigh was notand is not a singularly beautiful woman, Mr. Spillikins still doesn'tknow it. And in point of attraction the homage of such experts asCaptain Cormorant and Lieutenant Hawk speaks for itself. 

So the course of Mr. Spillikins's love, for love it must have been, ranswiftly to its goal. Each stage of it was duly marked by his commentsto Norah. 

"She _is_ a splendid woman, " he said, "so sympathetic. She always seemsto know just what one's going to say. "

So she did, for she was making him say it. 

"By Jove!" he said a day later, "Mrs. Everleigh's an awfully finewoman, isn't she? I was telling her about my having been in the oilbusiness for a little while, and she thinks that I'd really be awfullygood in money things. She said she wished she had me to manage hermoney for her. "

This also was quite true, except that Mrs. Everleigh had not made itquite clear that the management of her money was of the form generallyknown as deficit financing. In fact, her money was, very crudelystated, nonexistent, and it needed a lot of management. 

A day or two later Mr. Spillikins was saying, "I think Mrs. Everleighmust have had great sorrow, don't you? Yesterday she was showing me aphotograph of her little boy--she has a little boy you know--"

"Yes, I know, " said Norah. She didn't add that she knew that Mrs. Everleigh had four. 

"--and she was saying how awfully rough it is having him always awayfrom her at Dr. Something's academy where he is. "

And very soon after that Mr. Spillikins was saying, with quite a quaverin his voice, "By Jove! yes, I'm awfully lucky; I never thought for a moment thatshe'd have me, you know--a woman like her, with so much attention andeverything. I can't imagine what she sees in me. "

Which was just as well. 

And then Mr. Spillikins checked himself, for he noticed--this was onthe verandah in the morning--that Norah had a hat and jacket on andthat the motor was rolling towards the door. 

"I say, " he said, "are you going away?"

"Yes, didn't you know?" Norah said. "I thought you heard them speakingof it at dinner last night. I have to go home; father's alone, youknow. "

"Oh, I'm awfully sorry, " said Mr. Spillikins; "we shan't have any moretennis. "

"Goodbye, " said Norah, and as she said it and put out her hand therewere tears brimming up into her eyes. But Mr. Spillikins, being shortof sight, didn't see them. 

"Goodbye, " he said. 

Then as the motor carried her away he stood for a moment in a sort ofreverie. Perhaps certain things that might have been rose unformed andinarticulate before his mind. And then, a voice called from thedrawing-room within, in a measured and assured tone, "Peter, darling, where are you?"

"Coming, " cried Mr. Spillikins, and he came. 

 * * * * *

On the second day of the engagement Mrs. Everleigh showed to Peter alittle photograph in a brooch. 

"This is Gib, my second little boy, " she said. 

Mr. Spillikins started to say, "I didn't know--" and then checkedhimself and said, "By Gad! what a fine-looking little chap, eh? I'mawfully fond of boys. "

"Dear little fellow, isn't he?" said Mrs. Everleigh. "He's reallyrather taller than that now, because this picture was taken a littlewhile ago. "

And the next day she said, "This is Willie, my third boy, " and on theday after that she said, "This is Sib, my youngest boy; I'm sure you'lllove him. "

"I'm sure I shall, " said Mr. Spillikins. He loved him already for beingthe youngest. 

 * * * * *

And so in the fulness of time--nor was it so very full either, in fact, only about five weeks--Peter Spillikins and Mrs. Everleigh were marriedin St. Asaph's Church on Plutoria Avenue. And the wedding was one ofthe most beautiful and sumptuous of the weddings of the Septemberseason. There were flowers, and bridesmaids in long veils, and tallushers in frock-coats, and awnings at the church door, and strings ofmotors with wedding-favours on imported chauffeurs, and all that goesto invest marriage on Plutoria Avenue with its peculiar sacredness. Theface of the young rector, Mr. Fareforth Furlong, wore the addedsaintliness that springs from a five-hundred dollar fee. The whole townwas there, or at least everybody that was anybody; and if there was oneperson absent, one who sat by herself in the darkened drawing-room of adull little house on a shabby street, who knew or cared?

So after the ceremony the happy couple--for were they not so?--left forNew York. There they spent their honeymoon. They had thought ofgoing--it was Mr. Spillikins's idea--to the coast of Maine. But Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins said that New York was much nicer, so restful, whereas, as everyone knows, the coast of Maine is frightfully noisy. 

Moreover, it so happened that before the Everleigh-Spillikinses hadbeen more than four or five days in New York the ship of CaptainCormorant dropped anchor in the Hudson; and when the anchor of thatship was once down it generally stayed there. So the captain was ableto take the Everleigh-Spillikinses about in New York, and to give a teafor Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins on the deck of his vessel so that shemight meet the officers, and another tea in a private room of arestaurant on Fifth Avenue so that she might meet no one but himself. 

And at this tea Captain Cormorant said, among other things, "Did hekick up rough at all when you told him about the money?"

And Mrs. Everleigh, now Mrs. Everleigh-Spillikins, said, "Not he! Ithink he is actually pleased to know that I haven't any. Do you know, Arthur, he's really an awfully good fellow, " and as she said it shemoved her hand away from under Captain Cormorant's on the tea-table. 

"I say, " said the Captain, "don't get sentimental over him. "

 * * * * *

So that is how it is that the Everleigh-Spillikinses came to reside onPlutoria Avenue in a beautiful stone house, with a billiard-room in anextension on the second floor. Through the windows of it one can almosthear the click of the billiard balls, and a voice saying, "Hold on, father, you had your shot. "

CHAPTER SIX: The Rival Churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph

The church of St. Asaph, more properly call St. Asaph's in the Fields, stands among the elm trees of Plutoria Avenue opposite the university, its tall spire pointing to the blue sky. Its rector is fond of sayingthat it seems to him to point, as it were, a warning against the sinsof a commercial age. More particularly does he say this in his Lentenservices at noonday, when the businessmen sit in front of him in rows, their bald heads uncovered and their faces stamped with contrition asthey think of mergers that they should have made, and real estate thatthey failed to buy for lack of faith. 

The ground on which St. Asaph's stands is worth seven dollars and ahalf a foot. The mortgagees, as they kneel in prayer in their longfrock-coats, feel that they have built upon a rock. It is a beautifullyappointed church. There are windows with priceless stained glass thatwere imported from Normandy, the rector himself swearing out theinvoices to save the congregation the grievous burden of the customsduty. There is a pipe organ in the transept that cost ten thousanddollars to install. The debenture-holders, as they join in the morninganthem, love to hear the dulcet notes of the great organ and to reflectthat it is as good as new. Just behind the church is St. Asaph's SundaySchool, with a ten-thousand dollar mortgage of its own. And below thatagain on the side street, is the building of the Young Men's Guild witha bowling-alley and a swimming-bath deep enough to drown two young menat a time, and a billiard-room with seven tables. It is the rector'sboast that with a Guild House such as that there is no need for anyyoung man of the congregation to frequent a saloon. Nor is there. 

And on Sunday mornings, when the great organ plays, and the mortgageesand the bond-holders and the debenture-holders and the Sunday schoolteachers and the billiard-markers all lift up their voices together, there is emitted from St. Asaph's a volume of praise that ispractically as fine and effective as paid professional work. 

St. Asaph's is episcopal. As a consequence it has in it and about itall those things which go to make up the episcopal church--brasstablets let into its walls, blackbirds singing in its elm trees, parishioners who dine at eight o'clock, and a rector who wears a littlecrucifix and dances the tango. 

On the other hand, there stands upon the same street, not a hundredyards away, the rival church of St. Osoph--presbyterian down to itsvery foundations in bed-rock, thirty feet below the level of theavenue. It has a short, squat tower--and a low roof, and its narrowwindows are glazed with frosted glass. It has dark spruce trees insteadof elms, crows instead of blackbirds, and a gloomy minister with ashovel hat who lectures on philosophy on week-days at the university. He loves to think that his congregation are made of the lowly and themeek in spirit, and to reflect that, lowly and meek as they are, thereare men among them that could buy out half the congregation of St. Asaph's. 

St. Osoph's is only presbyterian in a special sense. It is, in fact, too presbyterian to be any longer connected with any other bodywhatsoever. It seceded some forty years ago from the original body towhich it belonged, and later on, with three other churches, it secededfrom the group of seceding congregations. Still later it fell into adifference with the three other churches on the question of eternalpunishment, the word "eternal" not appearing to the elders of St. Osoph's to designate a sufficiently long period. The dispute ended in asecession which left the church of St. Osoph practically isolated in aworld of sin whose approaching fate it neither denied nor deplored. 

In one respect the rival churches of Plutoria Avenue had had a similarhistory. Each of them had moved up by successive stages from the lowerand poorer parts of the city. Forty years ago St. Asaph's had beennothing more than a little frame church with a tin spire, away in thewest of the slums, and St. Osoph's a square, diminutive building awayin the east. But the site of St. Asaph's had been bought by a brewingcompany, and the trustees, shrewd men of business, themselves risinginto wealth, had rebuilt it right in the track of the advancing tide ofa real estate boom. The elders of St. Osoph, quiet men, but illuminedby an inner light, had followed suit and moved their church rightagainst the side of an expanding distillery. Thus both the churches, asdecade followed decade, made their way up the slope of the City tillSt. Asaph's was presently gloriously expropriated by the street railwaycompany, and planted its spire in triumph on Plutoria Avenue itself. But St. Osoph's followed. With each change of site it moved nearer andnearer to St. Asaph's. Its elders were shrewd men. With each move oftheir church they took careful thought in the rebuilding. In themanufacturing district it was built with sixteen windows on each sideand was converted at a huge profit into a bicycle factory. On theresidential street it was made long and deep and was sold to amoving-picture company without the alteration of so much as a pew. As alast step a syndicate, formed among the members of the congregationthemselves, bought ground on Plutoria Avenue, and sublet it tothemselves as a site for the church, at a nominal interest of five percent per annum, payable nominally every three months and secured by anominal mortgage. 

As the two churches moved, their congregations, or at least all thatwas best of them--such members as were sharing in the rising fortunesof the City--moved also, and now for some six or seven years the twochurches and the two congregations had confronted one another among theelm trees of the Avenue opposite to the university. 

But at this point the fortunes of the churches had diverged. St. Asaph's was a brilliant success; St. Osoph's was a failure. Even itsown trustees couldn't deny it. At a time when St. Asaph's was not onlypaying its interest but showing a handsome surplus on everything itundertook, the church of St. Osoph was moving steadily backwards. 

There was no doubt, of course, as to the cause. Everybody knew it. Itwas simply a question of men, and, as everybody said, one had only tocompare the two men conducting the churches to see why one succeededand the other failed. 

The Reverend Edward Fareforth Furlong of St. Asaph's was a man whothrew his whole energy into his parish work. The subtleties oftheological controversy he left to minds less active than his own. Hiscreed was one of works rather than of words, and whatever he was doinghe did it with his whole heart. Whether he was lunching at theMausoleum Club with one of his church wardens, or playing theflute--which he played as only the episcopal clergy can playit--accompanied on the harp by one of the fairest of the ladies of hischoir, or whether he was dancing the new episcopal tango with theyounger daughters of the elder parishioners, he threw himself into itwith all his might. He could drink tea more gracefully and play tennisbetter than any clergyman on this side of the Atlantic. He could standbeside the white stone font of St. Asaph's in his long white surpliceholding a white-robed infant, worth half a million dollars, looking asbeautifully innocent as the child itself, and drawing from every matronof the congregation with unmarried daughters the despairing cry, "Whata pity that he has no children of his own!"

Equally sound was his theology. No man was known to preach shortersermons or to explain away the book of Genesis more agreeably than therector of St. Asaph's; and if he found it necessary to refer to theDeity he did so under the name of Jehovah or Jah, or even Yaweh in amanner calculated not to hurt the sensitiveness of any of theparishioners. People who would shudder at brutal talk of the olderfashion about the wrath of God listened with well-bred interest to asermon on the personal characteristics of Jah. In the same way Mr. Furlong always referred to the devil, not as Satan but as Su or Swa, which took all the sting out of him. Beelzebub he spoke of asBehel-Zawbab, which rendered him perfectly harmless. The Garden of Edenhe spoke of as the Paradeisos, which explained it entirely; the floodas the Diluvium, which cleared it up completely; and Jonah he named, after the correct fashion Jon Nah, which put the whole situation (hisbeing swallowed by Baloo or the Great Lizard) on a perfectlysatisfactory footing. Hell itself was spoken of as She-ol, and itappeared that it was not a place of burning, but rather of what onemight describe as moral torment. This settled She-ol once and for all:nobody minds moral torment. In short, there was nothing in thetheological system of Mr. Furlong that need have occasioned in any ofhis congregation a moment's discomfort. 

There could be no greater contrast with Mr. Fareforth Furlong than theminister of St. Osoph's, the Rev. Dr. McTeague, who was also honoraryprofessor of philosophy at the university. The one was young, the otherwas old; the one could dance the other could not; the one moved aboutat church picnics and lawn teas among a bevy of disciples in pink andblue sashes; the other moped around under the trees of the universitycampus with blinking eyes that saw nothing and an abstracted mind thathad spent fifty years in trying to reconcile Hegel with St. Paul, andwas still busy with it. Mr. Furlong went forward with the times; Dr. McTeague slid quietly backwards with the centuries. 

Dr. McTeague was a failure, and all his congregation knew it. "He isnot up to date, " they said. That was his crowning sin. "He don't goforward any, " said the business members of the congregation. "That oldman believes just exactly the same sort of stuff now that he did fortyyears ago. What's more, he preaches it. You can't run a church thatway, can you?"

His trustees had done their best to meet the difficulty. They hadoffered Dr. McTeague a two-years' vacation to go and see the Holy Land. He refused; he said he could picture it. They reduced his salary byfifty per cent; he never noticed it. They offered him an assistant; buthe shook his head, saying that he didn't know where he could find a manto do just the work that he was doing. Meantime he mooned about amongthe trees concocting a mixture of St. Paul with Hegel, three parts toone, for his Sunday sermon, and one part to three for his Mondaylecture. 

No doubt it was his dual function that was to blame for his failure. And this, perhaps, was the fault of Dr. Boomer, the president of theuniversity. Dr. Boomer, like all university presidents of today, belonged to the presbyterian church; or rather, to state it morecorrectly, he included presbyterianism within himself. He was ofcourse, a member of the board of management of St. Osoph's and it washe who had urged, very strongly, the appointment of Dr. McTeague, thensenior professor of philosophy, as minister. 

"A saintly man, " he said, "the very man for the post. If you should askme whether he is entirely at home as a professor of philosophy on ourstaff at the university, I should be compelled to say no. We are forcedto admit that as a lecturer he does not meet our views. He appears tofind it difficult to keep religion out of his teaching. In fact, hislectures are suffused with a rather dangerous attempt at moral teachingwhich is apt to contaminate our students. But in the Church I shouldimagine that would be, if anything, an advantage. Indeed, if you wereto come to me and say, 'Boomer, we wish to appoint Dr. McTeague as ourminister, ' I should say, quite frankly, 'Take him. '"

So Dr. McTeague had been appointed. Then, to the surprise of everybodyhe refused to give up his lectures in philosophy. He said he felt acall to give them. The salary, he said, was of no consequence. He wroteto Mr. Furlong senior (the father of the episcopal rector and honorarytreasurer of the Plutoria University) and stated that he proposed togive his lectures for nothing. The trustees of the college protested;they urged that the case might set a dangerous precedent which otherprofessors might follow. While fully admitting that Dr. McTeague'slectures were well worth giving for nothing, they begged him toreconsider his offer. But he refused; and from that day on, in spite ofall offers that he should retire on double his salary, that he shouldvisit the Holy Land, or Syria, or Armenia, where the dreadful massacresof Christians were taking place, Dr. McTeague clung to his post with atenacity worthy of the best traditions of Scotland. His only internalperplexity was that he didn't see how, when the time came for him todie, twenty or thirty years hence, they would ever be able to replacehim. Such was the situation of the two churches on a certain beautifulmorning in June, when an unforeseen event altered entirely the currentof their fortunes. 

 * * * * *

"No, thank you, Juliana, " said the young rector to his sister acrossthe breakfast table--and there was something as near to bitterness inhis look as his saintly, smooth-shaven face was capable ofreflecting--"no, thank you, no more porridge. Prunes? no, no, thankyou; I don't think I care for any. And, by the way, " he added, "don'tbother to keep any lunch for me. I have a great deal of business--thatis, of work in the parish--to see to, and I must just find time to geta bite of something to eat when and where I can. "

In his own mind he was resolving that the place should be the MausoleumClub and the time just as soon as the head waiter would serve him. 

After which the Reverend Edward Fareforth Furlong bowed his head for amoment in a short, silent blessing--the one prescribed by the episcopalchurch in America for a breakfast of porridge and prunes. 

It was their first breakfast together, and it spoke volumes to therector. He knew what it implied. It stood for his elder sisterJuliana's views on the need of personal sacrifice as a means of grace. The rector sighed as he rose. He had never missed his younger sisterPhilippa, now married and departed, so keenly. Philippa had hadopinions of her own on bacon and eggs and on lamb chops with watercressas a means of stimulating the soul. But Juliana was different. Therector understood now exactly why it was that his father had exclaimed, on the news of Philippa's engagement, without a second's hesitation, "Then, of course, Juliana must live with you! Nonsense, my dear boy, nonsense! It's my duty to spare her to you. After all, I can always eatat the club; they can give me a bite of something or other, surely. Toa man of my age, Edward, food is really of no consequence. No, no;Juliana must move into the rectory at once. "

The rector's elder sister rose. She looked tall and sallow andforbidding in the plain black dress that contrasted sadly with thecharming clerical costumes of white and pink and the broad episcopalhats with flowers in them that Philippa used to wear for morning workin the parish. 

"For what time shall I order dinner?" she asked. "You and Philippa usedto have it at half-past seven, did you not? Don't you think that rathertoo late?"

"A trifle perhaps, " said the rector uneasily. He didn't care to explainto Juliana that it was impossible to get home any earlier from the kindof _the dansant_ that everybody was giving just now. "But don't troubleabout dinner. I may be working very late. If I need anything to eat Ishall get a biscuit and some tea at the Guild Rooms, or--"

He didn't finish the sentence, but in his mind he added, "or else areally first-class dinner at the Mausoleum Club, or at the Newberrys'or the Rasselyer-Browns'--anywhere except here. "

"If you are going, then, " said Juliana, "may I have the key of thechurch. "

A look of pain passed over the rector's face. He knew perfectly wellwhat Juliana wanted the key for. She meant to go into his church andpray in it. 

The rector of St. Asaph's was, he trusted, as broad-minded a man as anAnglican clergyman ought to be. He had no objection to any reasonableuse of his church--for a thanksgiving festival or for musical recitalsfor example--but when it came to opening up the church and using it topray in, the thing was going a little too far. What was more, he had anidea from the look on Juliana's face that she meant to pray for _him_. This, for a clergy man, was hard to bear. Philippa, like the good girlthat she was, had prayed only for herself, and then only at the propertimes and places, and in a proper praying costume. The rector began torealize what difficulties it might make for a clergyman to have areligious sister as his house-mate. 

But he was never a man for unseemly argument. "It is hanging in mystudy, " he said. 

And with that the Rev. Fareforth Furlong passed into the hall took upthe simple silk hat, the stick and gloves of the working clergyman andwalked out on to the avenue to begin his day's work in the parish. 

The rector's parish viewed in its earthly aspect, was a singularlybeautiful place. For it extended all along Plutoria Avenue, where thestreet is widest and the elm trees are at their leafiest and the motorsat their very drowsiest. It lay up and down the shaded side streets ofthe residential district, darkened with great chestnuts and hushed in astillness that was almost religion itself. There was not a house in theparish assessed at less than twenty-five thousand, and in very heart ofit the Mausoleum Club, with its smooth white stone and its Grecianarchitecture, carried one back to the ancient world and made one thinkof Athens and of Paul preaching on Mars Hill. It was, all considered, asplendid thing to fight sin in such a parish and to keep it out of it. For kept out it was. One might look the length and breadth of the broadavenue and see no sign of sin all along it. There was certainly none inthe smooth faces of the chauffeurs trundling their drowsy motors; nosign of it in the expensive children paraded by imported nursemaids inthe chequered light of the shaded street; least of all was there anysign of it in the Stock Exchange members of the congregation as theywalked along side by side to their lunch at the Mausoleum Club, theirsilk hats nodding together in earnest colloquy on Shares Preferred andProfits Undivided. So might have walked, so must have walked, the veryFathers of the Church themselves. 

Whatever sin there was in the City was shoved sideways into the roaringstreets of commerce where the elevated railway ran, and below thatagain into the slums. Here there must have been any quantity of sin. The rector of St. Asaph's was certain of it. Many of the richer of hisparishioners had been down in parties late at night to look at it, andthe ladies of his congregation were joined together into all sorts ofguilds and societies and bands of endeavour for stamping it out anddriving it under or putting it into jail till it surrendered. 

But the slums lay outside the rector's parish. He had no right tointerfere. They were under the charge of a special mission orauxiliary, a remnant of the St. Asaph's of the past, placed under thecare of a divinity student, at four hundred dollars per annum. Hischarge included all the slums and three police courts and two musichalls and the City jail. One Sunday afternoon in every three months therector and several ladies went down and sang hymns for him in hismission-house. But his work was really very easy. A funeral, forexample, at the mission, was a simple affair, meaning nothing more thanthe preparation of a plain coffin and a glassless hearse and thedistribution of a few artificial everlasting flowers to women crying intheir aprons; a thing easily done: whereas in St. Asaph's parish, whereall the really important souls were, a funeral was a large event, requiring taste and tact, and a nice shading of delicacy indistinguishing mourners from beneficiaries, and private grief frombusiness representation at the ceremony. A funeral with a plain coffinand a hearse was as nothing beside an interment, with a casketsmothered in hot-house syringas, borne in a coach and followed byspecial reporters from the financial papers. 

It appeared to the rector afterwards as almost a shocking coincidencethat the first person whom he met upon the avenue should have been theRev. Dr. McTeague himself. Mr. Furlong gave him the form of amiable"good morning" that the episcopal church always extends to those inerror. But he did not hear it. The minister's head was bent low, hiseyes gazed into vacancy, and from the movements of his lips and fromthe fact that he carried a leather case of notes, he was plainly on hisway to his philosophical lecture. But the rector had no time to museupon the abstracted appearance of his rival. For, as always happened tohim, he was no sooner upon the street than his parish work of the daybegan. In fact, he had hardly taken a dozen steps after passing Dr. McTeague when he was brought up standing by two beautiful parishionerswith pink parasols. 

"Oh, Mr. Furlong, " exclaimed one of them, "so fortunate to happen tocatch you; we were just going into the rectory to consult you. Shouldthe girls--for the lawn tea for the Guild on Friday, you know--wearwhite dresses with light blue sashes all the same, or do you think wemight allow them to wear any coloured sashes that they like? What doyou think?"

This was an important problem. In fact, there was a piece of parishwork here that it took the Reverend Fareforth half an hour to attend tostanding the while in earnest colloquy with the two ladies under theshadow of the elm trees. But a clergyman must never be grudging of histime. 

"Goodbye then, " they said at last. "Are you coming to the Browning Clubthis morning? Oh, so sorry! but we shall see you at the musicale thisafternoon, shall we not?"

"Oh, I trust so, " said the rector. 

"How dreadfully hard he works, " said the ladies to one another as theymoved away. 

Thus slowly and with many interruptions the rector made his progressalong the avenue. At times he stopped to permit a pink-cheeked infantin a perambulator to beat him with a rattle while he inquired its ageof an episcopal nurse, gay with flowing ribbons. He lifted his hat tothe bright parasols of his parishioners passing in glistening motors, bowed to episcopalians, nodded amiably to presbyterians, and evenacknowledged with his lifted hat the passing of persons of graver formsof error. 

Thus he took his way along the avenue and down a side street towardsthe business district of the City, until just at the edge of it, wherethe trees were about to stop and the shops were about to begin, hefound himself at the door of the Hymnal Supply Corporation, Limited. The premises as seen from the outside combined the idea of an officewith an ecclesiastical appearance. The door was as that of a chancel orvestry; there was a large plate-glass window filled with Bibles andTestaments, all spread open and showing every variety of language intheir pages. These were marked, Arabic, Syriac, Coptic, Ojibway, Irishand so forth. On the window in small white lettering were the words, HYMNAL SUPPLY CORPORATION, and below that, HOSANNA PIPE AND STEAM ORGANINCORPORATED, and Still lower the legend BIBLE SOCIETY OF THE GOODSHEPHERD LIMITED. 

There was no doubt of the sacred character of the place. Here labouredMr. Furlong senior, the father of the Rev. Edward Fareforth. He was aman of many activities; president and managing director of thecompanies just mentioned, trustee and secretary of St. Asaph's, honorary treasurer of the university, etc. ; and each of his occupationsand offices was marked by something of a supramundane character, something higher than ordinary business. His different officialpositions naturally overlapped and brought him into contact withhimself from a variety of angles. Thus he sold himself hymn books at aprice per thousand, made as a business favour to himself, negotiatedwith himself the purchase of the ten-thousand-dollar organ (making aprice on it to himself that he begged himself to regard asconfidential), and as treasurer of the college he sent himself aninformal note of enquiry asking if he knew of any sound investment forthe annual deficit of the college funds, a matter of some sixtythousand dollars a year, which needed very careful handling. Anyman--and there are many such--who has been concerned with businessdealings of this sort with himself realizes that they are moresatisfactory than any other kind. 

To what better person, then, could the rector of St. Asaph's bring thequarterly accounts and statements of his church than to Mr. Furlongsenior. 

The outer door was opened to the rector by a sanctified boy with such aface as is only found in the choirs of the episcopal church. In anouter office through which the rector passed were two sacredstenographers with hair as golden as the daffodils of Sheba, copyingconfidential letters on absolutely noiseless typewriters. They weremaking offers of Bibles in half-car-load lots at two and a half percent reduction, offering to reduce St. Mark by two cents on conditionof immediate export, and to lay down St. John f. O. B. San Francisco forseven cents, while regretting that they could deliver fifteen thousandRock of Ages in Missouri on no other terms than cash. 

The sacred character of their work lent them a preoccupation beautifulto behold. 

In the room beyond them was a white-haired confidential clerk, venerable as the Song of Solomon, and by him Mr. Fareforth Furlong wasduly shown into the office of his father. 

"Good morning, Edward, " said Mr. Furlong senior, as he shook hands. "Iwas expecting you. And while I think of it, I have just had a letterfrom Philippa. She and Tom will be home in two or three weeks. Shewrites from Egypt. She wishes me to tell you, as no doubt you havealready anticipated, that she thinks she can hardly continue to be amember of the congregation when they come back. No doubt you felt thisyourself?"

"Oh, entirely, " said the rector. "Surely in matters of belief a wifemust follow her husband. "

"Exactly; especially as Tom's uncles occupy the position they do withregard to--" Mr. Furlong jerked his head backwards and pointed with histhumb over his shoulder in a way that his son knew was meant toindicate St. Osoph's Church. 

The Overend brothers, who were Tom's uncles (his name being TomOverend) were, as everybody knew, among the principal supporters of St. Osoph's. Not that they were, by origin, presbyterians. But they wereself-made men, which put them once and for all out of sympathy withsuch a place as St. Asaph's. "We made ourselves, " the two brothers usedto repeat in defiance of the catechism of the Anglican Church. Theynever wearied of explaining how Mr. Dick, the senior brother, hadworked overtime by day to send Mr. George, the junior brother, toschool by night, and how Mr. George had then worked overtime by nightto send Mr. Dick to school by day. Thus they had come up the businessladder hand over hand, landing later on in life on the platform ofsuccess like two corpulent acrobats, panting with the strain of it. "For years, " Mr. George would explain, "we had father and mother tokeep as well; then they died, and Dick and me saw daylight. " By whichhe meant no harm at all, but only stated a fact, and concealed thevirtue of it. 

And being self-made men they made it a point to do what they could tolessen the importance of such an institution as St. Asaph's Church. Bythe same contrariety of nature the two Overend brothers (their businessname was Overend Brothers, Limited) were supporters of the dissentientYoung Men's Guild, and the second or rival University Settlement, andof anything or everything that showed a likelihood of making trouble. On this principle they were warm supporters and friends of the Rev. Dr. McTeague. The minister had even gone so far as to present to thebrothers a copy of his philosophical work "McTeague's Exposition of theKantian Hypothesis. " and the two brothers had read it through in theoffice, devoting each of them a whole morning to it. Mr. Dick, thesenior brother, had said that he had never seen anything like it, andMr. George, the junior, had declared that a man who could write thatwas capable of anything. 

On the whole it was evident that the relations between the Overendfamily and the presbyterian religion were too intimate to allow Mrs. Tom Overend, formerly Miss Philippa Furlong, to sit anywhere else of aSunday than under Dr. McTeague. 

"Philippa writes, " continued Mr. Furlong "that under the circumstancesshe and Tom would like to do something for your church. She wouldlike--yes, I have the letter here--to give you, as a surprise, ofcourse, either a new font or a carved pulpit; or perhaps a cheque; shewishes me on no account to mention it to you directly, but to ascertainindirectly from you, what would be the better surprise. "

"Oh, a cheque, I think, " said the rector; "one can do so much more withit, after all. "

"Precisely, " said his father; he was well aware of many things that canbe done with a cheque that cannot possibly be done with a font. 

"That's settled then, " resumed Mr. Furlong; "and now I suppose you wantme to run my eye over your quarterly statements, do you not, before wesend them in to the trustees? That is what you've come for, is it not?"

"Yes, " said the rector, drawing a bundle of blue and white papers fromhis pocket. "I have everything with me. Our showing is, I believe, excellent, though I fear I fail to present it as clearly as it might bedone. "

Mr. Furlong senior spread the papers on the table before him andadjusted his spectacles to a more convenient angle. He smiledindulgently as he looked at the documents before him. 

"I am afraid you would never make an accountant, Edward, " he said. 

"I fear not, " said the rector. 

"Your items, " said his father, "are entered wrongly. Here, for example, in the general statement, you put down Distribution of Coals to thePoor to your credit. In the same way, Bibles and Prizes to the SundaySchool you again mark to your credit. Why? Don't you see, my boy, thatthese things are debits? When you give out Bibles or distribute fuel tothe poor you give out something for which you get no return. It is adebit. On the other hand, such items as Church Offertory, Scholars'Pennies, etc. , are pure profit. Surely the principle is clear. "

"I think I see it better now, " said the Rev. Edward. 

"Perfectly plain, isn't it?" his father went on. "And here again. Paupers' Burial Fund, a loss; enter it as such. Christmas Gift toVerger and Sexton, an absolute loss--you get nothing in return. Widows'Mite, Fines inflicted in Sunday School, etc. , these are profit; writethem down as such. By this method, you see, in ordinary business we cantell exactly where we stand: anything which we give out without returnor reward we count as a debit; all that we take from others withoutgiving in return we count as so much to our credit. "

"Ah, yes, " murmured the rector. "I begin to understand. "

"Very good. But after all, Edward, I mustn't quarrel with the mere formof your accounts; the statement is really a splendid showing. I seethat not only is our mortgage and debenture interest all paid to date, but that a number of our enterprises are making a handsome return. Inotice, for example, that the Girls' Friendly Society of the church notonly pays for itself, but that you are able to take something out ofits funds and transfer it to the Men's Book Club. Excellent! And Iobserve that you have been able to take a large portion of the SoupKitchen Fund and put it into the Rector's Picnic Account. Very goodindeed. In this respect your figures are a model for church accountsanywhere. "

Mr. Furlong continued his scrutiny of the accounts. "Excellent, " hemurmured, "and on the whole an annual surplus, I see, of severalthousands. But stop a bit, " he continued, checking himself; "what'sthis? Are you aware, Edward, that you are losing money on your ForeignMissions Account?"

"I feared as much, " said Edward. 

"It's incontestable. Look at the figures for yourself: missionary'ssalary so much, clothes and books to converts so much, voluntary andother offerings of converts so much why, you're losing on it, Edward!"exclaimed Mr. Furlong, and he shook his head dubiously at the accountsbefore him. 

"I thought, " protested his son, "that in view of the character of thework itself--"

"Quite so, " answered his father, "quite so. I fully admit the force ofthat. I am only asking you, is it worth it? Mind you, I am not speakingnow as a Christian, but as a businessman. Is it worth it?"

"I thought that perhaps, in view of the fact of our large surplus inother directions--"

"Exactly, " said his father, "a heavy surplus. It is precisely on thatpoint that I wished to speak to you this morning. You have at present alarge annual surplus, and there is every prospect under Providence--infact, I think in any case--of it continuing for years to come. If I mayspeak very frankly I should say that as long as our reverend friend, Dr. McTeague, continues in his charge of St. Osoph's--and I trust thathe may be spared for many years to come--you are likely to enjoy thepresent prosperity of your church. Very good. The question arises, whatdisposition are we to make of our accumulating funds?"

"Yes, " said the rector, hesitating. 

"I am speaking to you now, " said his father "not as the secretary ofyour church, but as president of the Hymnal Supply Company which Irepresent here. Now please understand, Edward, I don't want in any wayto force or control your judgment. I merely wish to show youcertain--shall I say certain opportunities that present themselves forthe disposal of our funds? The matter can be taken up later, formally, by yourself and the trustees of the church. As a matter of fact, I havealready written to myself as secretary in the matter, and I havereceived what I consider a quite encouraging answer. Let me explainwhat I propose. "

Mr. Furlong senior rose, and opening the door of the office, "Everett, " he said to the ancient clerk, "kindly give me a Bible. "

It was given to him. 

Mr. Furlong stood with the Bible poised in his hand. 

"Now we, " he went on, "I mean the Hymnal Supply Corporation, have anidea for bringing out an entirely new Bible. "

A look of dismay appeared on the saintly face of the rector. 

"A new Bible!" he gasped. 

"Precisely!" said his father, "a new Bible! This one--and we find itevery day in our business--is all wrong. "

"All wrong!" said the rector with horror in his face. 

"My dear boy, " exclaimed his father, "pray, pray, do not misunderstandme. Don't imagine for a moment that I mean wrong in a religious sense. Such a thought could never, I hope, enter my mind. All that I mean isthat this Bible is badly made up. "

"Badly made up?" repeated his son, as mystified as ever. 

"I see that you do not understand me. What I mean is this. Let me tryto make myself quite clear. For the market of today this Bible"--and hepoised it again on his hand, as if to test its weight, "is too heavy. The people of today want something lighter, something easier to gethold of. Now if--"

But what Mr. Furlong was about to say was lost forever to the world. 

For just at this juncture something occurred calculated to divert notonly Mr. Furlong's sentence, but the fortunes and the surplus of St. Asaph's itself. At the very moment when Mr. Furlong was speaking anewspaper delivery man in the street outside handed to the sanctifiedboy the office copy of the noonday paper. And the boy had no soonerlooked at its headlines than he said, "How dreadful!" Being sanctified, he had no stronger form of speech than that. But he handed the paperforthwith to one of the stenographers with hair like the daffodils ofSheba, and when she looked at it she exclaimed, "How awful!" And sheknocked at once at the door of the ancient clerk and gave the paper tohim; and when he looked at it and saw the headline the ancient clerkmurmured, "Ah!" in the gentle tone in which very old people greet thenews of catastrophe or sudden death. 

But in his turn he opened Mr. Furlong's door and put down the paper, laying his finger on the column for a moment without a word. 

Mr. Furlong stopped short in his sentence. "Dear me!" he said as hiseyes caught the item of news. "How very dreadful!"

"What is it?" said the rector. 

"Dr. McTeague, " answered his father. "He has been stricken withparalysis!"

"How shocking!" said the rector, aghast. "But when? I saw him only thismorning. "

"It has just happened, " said his father, following down the column ofthe newspaper as he spoke, "this morning, at the university, in hisclassroom, at a lecture. Dear me, how dreadful! I must go and see thepresident at once. "

Mr. Furlong was about to reach for his hat and stick when at thatmoment the aged clerk knocked at the door. 

"Dr. Boomer, " he announced in a tone of solemnity suited to theoccasion. 

Dr. Boomer entered, shook hands in silence and sat down. 

"You have heard our sad news, I suppose?" he said. He used the word"our" as between the university president and his honorary treasurer. 

"How did it happen?" asked Mr. Furlong. 

"Most distressing, " said the president. "Dr. McTeague, it seems, hadjust entered his ten o'clock class (the hour was about ten-twenty) andwas about to open his lecture, when one of his students rose in hisseat and asked a question. It is a practice, " continued Dr. Boomer, "which, I need hardly say, we do not encourage; the young man, Ibelieve, was a newcomer in the philosophy class. At any rate, he askedDr. McTeague, quite suddenly it appears; how he could reconcile histheory of transcendental immaterialism with a scheme of rigid moraldeterminism. Dr. McTeague stared for a moment, his mouth, so the classassert, painfully open. The student repeated the question, and poorMcTeague fell forward over his desk, paralysed. "

"Is he dead?" gasped Mr. Furlong. 

"No, " said the president. "But we expect his death at any moment. Dr. Slyder, I may say, is with him now and is doing all he can. "

"In any case, I suppose, he could hardly recover enough to continue hiscollege duties, " said the young rector. 

"Out of the question, " said the president. "I should not like to statethat of itself mere paralysis need incapacitate a professor. Dr. Thrum, our professor of the theory of music, is, as you know, paralysed in hisears, and Mr. Slant, our professor of optics, is paralysed in his righteye. But this is a case of paralysis of the brain. I fear it isincompatible with professorial work. "

"Then, I suppose, " said Mr. Furlong senior, "we shall have to think ofthe question of a successor. "

They had both _been_ thinking of it for at least three minutes. "Wemust, " said the president. "For the moment I feel too stunned by thesad news to act. I have merely telegraphed to two or three leadingcolleges for a _locum tenens_ and sent out a few advertisementsannouncing the chair as vacant. But it will be difficult to replaceMcTeague. He was a man, " added Dr. Boomer, rehearsing in advance, unconsciously, no doubt, his forthcoming oration over Dr. McTeague'sdeath, "of a singular grasp, a breadth of culture, and he was able, asfew men are, to instil what I might call a spirit of religion into histeaching. His lectures, indeed, were suffused with moral instruction, and exercised over his students an influence second only to that of thepulpit itself. "

He paused. 

"Ah yes, the pulpit, " said Mr. Furlong, "there indeed you will misshim. "

"That, " said Dr. Boomer very reverently, "is our real loss, deep, irreparable. I suppose, indeed I am certain, we shall never again seesuch a man in the pulpit of St. Osoph's. Which reminds me, " he addedmore briskly, "I must ask the newspaper people to let it be known thatthere will be service as usual the day after tomorrow, and that Dr. McTeague's death will, of course, make no difference--that is to say--Imust see the newspaper people at once. "

 * * * * *

That afternoon all the newspaper editors in the City were busy gettingtheir obituary notices ready for the demise of Dr. McTeague. 

"The death of Dr. McTeague, " wrote the editor of the _Commercial andFinancial Undertone_, a paper which had almost openly advocated theminister's dismissal for five years back, "comes upon us as anirreparable loss. His place will be difficult, nay, impossible, tofill. Whether as a philosopher or a divine he cannot be replaced. "

"We have no hesitation in saying, " so wrote the editor of the_Plutorian Times_, a three-cent morning paper, which was able to take abroad or three-cent point of view of men and things, "that the loss ofDr. McTeague will be just as much felt in Europe as in America. ToGermany the news that the hand that penned 'McTeague's ShorterExposition of the Kantian Hypothesis' has ceased to write will comewith the shock of poignant anguish; while to France--"

The editor left the article unfinished at that point. After all, he wasa ready writer, and he reflected that there would be time enough beforeactually going to press to consider from what particular angle the blowof McTeague's death would strike down the people of France. 

So ran in speech and in writing, during two or three days, the requiemof Dr. McTeague. 

Altogether there were more kind things said of him in the three daysduring which he was taken for dead, than in thirty years of hislife--which seemed a pity. 

And after it all, at the close of the third day, Dr. McTeague feeblyopened his eyes. 

But when he opened them the world had already passed on, and left himbehind. 

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Ministrations of the Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing

"Well, then, gentlemen, I think we have all agreed upon our man?"

Mr. Dick Overend looked around the table as he spoke at the managingtrustees of St. Osoph's church. They were assembled in an uppercommittee room of the Mausoleum Club. Their official place of meetingwas in a board room off the vestry of the church. But they had felt adraught in it, some four years ago, which had wafted them over to theclub as their place of assembly. In the club there were no draughts. 

Mr. Dick Overend sat at the head of the table, his brother Georgebeside him, and Dr. Boomer at the foot. Beside them were Mr. Boulder, Mr. Skinyer (of Skinyer and Beatem) and the rest of the trustees. 

"You are agreed, then, on the Reverend Uttermust Dumfarthing?"

"Quite agreed, " murmured several trustees together. 

"A most remarkable man, " said Dr. Boomer. "I heard him preach in hispresent church. He gave utterance to thoughts that I have myself beenthinking for years. I never listened to anything so sound or soscholarly. "

"I heard him the night he preached in New York, " said Mr. Boulder. "Hepreached a sermon to the poor. He told them they were no good. I neverheard, outside of a Scotch pulpit, such splendid invective. "

"Is he Scotch?" said one of the trustees. 

"Of Scotch parentage, " said the university president. "I believe he isone of the Dumfarthings of Dunfermline, Dumfries. "

Everybody said "Oh, " and there was a pause. 

"Is he married?" asked one of the trustees. "I understand, " answeredDr. Boomer, "that he is a widower with one child, a little girl. "

"Does he make any conditions?"

"None whatever, " said the chairman, consulting a letter before him, "except that he is to have absolute control, and in regard to salary. These two points settled, he says, he places himself entirely in ourhands. "

"And the salary?" asked someone. 

"Ten thousand dollars, " said the chairman, "payable quarterly inadvance. "

A chorus of approval went round the table. "Good, " "Excellent, " "Afirst-class man, " muttered the trustees, "just what we want. "

"I am sure, gentlemen, " said Mr. Dick Overend, voicing the sentimentsof everybody, "we do _not_ want a cheap man. Several of the candidateswhose names have been under consideration here have been in manyrespects--in point of religious qualification, let us say--mostdesirable men. The name of Dr. McSkwirt, for example, has beenmentioned with great favour by several of the trustees. But he's acheap man. I feel we don't want him. "

"What is Mr. Dumfarthing getting where he is?" asked Mr. Boulder. 

"Nine thousand nine hundred, " said the chairman. 

"And Dr. McSkwirt?"

"Fourteen hundred dollars. "

"Well, that settles it!" exclaimed everybody with a burst ofenlightenment. 

And so it was settled. 

In fact, nothing could have been plainer. 

"I suppose, " said Mr. George Overend as they were about to rise, "thatwe are quite justified in taking it for granted that Dr. McTeague willnever be able to resume work?"

"Oh, absolutely for granted, " said Dr. Boomer. "Poor McTeague! I hearfrom Slyder that he was making desperate efforts this morning to sit upin bed. His nurse with difficulty prevented him. "

"Is his power of speech gone?" asked Mr. Boulder. 

"Practically so; in any case, Dr. Slyder insists on his not using it. In fact, poor McTeague's mind is a wreck. His nurse was telling me thatthis morning he was reaching out his hand for the newspaper, and seemedto want to read one of the editorials. It was quite pathetic, "concluded Dr. Boomer, shaking his head. 

So the whole matter was settled, and next day all the town knew thatSt. Osoph's Church had extended a call to the Rev. UttermustDumfarthing, and that he had accepted it. 

 * * * * *

Within a few weeks of this date the Reverend Uttermust Dumfarthingmoved into the manse of St. Osoph's and assumed his charge. Andforthwith he became the sole topic of conversation on Plutoria Avenue. "Have you seen the new minister of St. Osoph's?" everybody asked. "Haveyou been to hear Dr. Dumfarthing?" "Were you at St. Osoph's Church onSunday morning? Ah, you really should go! most striking sermon I everlistened to. "

The effect of him was absolute and instantaneous; there was no doubt ofit. 

"My dear, " said Mrs. Buncomhearst to one of her friends, in describinghow she had met him, "I never saw a more striking man. Such power inhis face! Mr. Boulder introduced him to me on the avenue, and he hardlyseemed to see me at all, simply scowled! I was never so favourablyimpressed with any man. "

On his very first Sunday he preached to his congregation on eternalpunishment, leaning forward in his black gown and shaking his fist atthem. Dr. McTeague had never shaken his fist in thirty years, and asfor the Rev. Fareforth Furlong, he was incapable of it. 

But the Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing told his congregation that he wasconvinced that at least seventy per cent of them were destined foreternal punishment; and he didn't call it by that name, but labelled itsimply and forcibly "hell. " The word had not been heard in any churchin the better part of the City for a generation. The congregation wasso swelled next Sunday that the minister raised the percentage toeighty-five, and everybody went away delighted. Young and old flockedto St. Osoph's. Before a month had passed the congregation at theevening service at St. Asaph's Church was so slender that theoffertory, as Mr. Furlong senior himself calculated, was scarcelysufficient to pay the overhead charge of collecting it. 

The presence of so many young men sitting in serried files close to thefront was the only feature of his congregation that extorted from theRev. Mr. Dumfarthing something like approval. 

"It is a joy to me to see, " he remarked to several of his trustees, "that there are in the City so many godly young men, whatever theelders may be. "

But there may have been a secondary cause at work, for among the godlyyoung men of Plutoria Avenue the topic of conversation had not been, "Have you heard the new presbyterian minister?" but, "Have you seen hisdaughter? You haven't? Well, say!"

For it turned out that the "child" of Dr. Uttermust Dumfarthing, so-called by the trustees, was the kind of child that wears a littleround hat, straight from Paris, with an upright feather in it, and asilk dress in four sections, and shoes with high heels that would havebroken the heart of John Calvin. Moreover, she had the distinction ofbeing the only person on Plutoria Avenue who was not one whit afraid ofthe Reverend Uttermust Dumfarthing. She even amused herself, inviolation of all rules, by attending evening service at St. Asaph's, where she sat listening to the Reverend Edward, and feeling that shehad never heard anything so sensible in her life. 

"I'm simply dying to meet your brother, " she said to Mrs. Tom Overend, otherwise Philippa; "he's such a complete contrast with father. " Sheknew no higher form of praise: "Father's sermons are always sofrightfully full of religion. "

And Philippa promised that meet him she should. 

But whatever may have been the effect of the presence of CatherineDumfarthing, there is no doubt the greater part of the changedsituation was due to Dr. Dumfarthing himself. 

Everything he did was calculated to please. He preached sermons to therich and told them they were mere cobwebs, and they liked it; hepreached a special sermon to the poor and warned them to be mightycareful; he gave a series of weekly talks to workingmen, and knockedthem sideways; and in the Sunday School he gave the children so fiercea talk on charity and the need of giving freely and quickly, that sucha stream of pennies and nickels poured into Catherine Dumfarthing'sSunday School Fund as hadn't been seen in the church in fifty years. 

Nor was Mr. Dumfarthing different in his private walk of life. He washeard to speak openly of the Overend brothers as "men of wrath, " andthey were so pleased that they repeated it to half the town. It was thebest business advertisement they had had for years. 

Dr. Boomer was captivated with the man. "True scholarship, " hemurmured, as Dr. Dumfarthing poured undiluted Greek and Hebrew from thepulpit, scorning to translate a word of it. Under Dr. Boomer's chargethe minister was taken over the length and breadth of PlutoriaUniversity, and reviled it from the foundations up. 

"Our library, " said the president, "two hundred thousand volumes!"

"Aye, " said the minister, "a powerful heap of rubbish, I'll be bound!"

"The photograph of our last year's graduating class, " said thepresident. 

"A poor lot, to judge by the faces of them, " said the minister. 

"This, Dr. Dumfarthing, is our new radiographic laboratory; Mr. Spiff, our demonstrator, is preparing slides which, I believe, actually showthe movements of the atom itself, do they not, Mr. Spiff?"

"Ah, " said the minister, piercing Mr. Spiff from beneath his darkbrows, "it will not avail you, young man. "

Dr. Boomer was delighted. "Poor McTeague, " he said--"and by the way, Boyster, I hear that McTeague is trying to walk again; a great error, it shouldn't be allowed!--poor McTeague knew nothing of science. "

The students themselves shared in the enthusiasm, especially after Dr. Dumfarthing had given them a Sunday afternoon talk in which he showedthat their studies were absolutely futile. As soon as they knew thisthey went to work with a vigour that put new life into the college. 

 * * * * *

Meantime the handsome face of the Reverend Edward Fareforth Furlongbegan to wear a sad and weary look that had never been seen on itbefore. He watched the congregation drifting from St. Asaph's to St. Osoph's and was powerless to prevent it. His sadness reached its climaxone bright afternoon in the late summer, when he noticed that even hisepiscopal blackbirds were leaving his elms and moving westward to thespruce trees of the manse. 

He stood looking at them with melancholy on his face. "Why, Edward, "cried his sister, Philippa, as her motor stopped beside him, "howdoleful you look! Get into the car and come out into the country for aride. Let the parish teas look after themselves for today. "

Tom, Philippa's husband, was driving his own car--he was rich enough tobe able to--and seated with Philippa in the car was an unknown person, as prettily dressed as Philippa herself. To the rector she waspresently introduced as Miss Catherine Something--he didn't hear therest of it. Nor did he need to. It was quite plain that her surname, whatever it was, was a very temporary and transitory affair. 

So they sped rapidly out of the City and away out into the country, mile after mile, through cool, crisp air, and among woods with thetouch of autumn bright already upon them, and with blue sky and greatstill clouds white overhead. And the afternoon was so beautiful and sobright that as they went along there was no talk about religion at all!nor was there any mention of Mothers' Auxiliaries, or Girls' FriendlySocieties, nor any discussion of the poor. It was too glorious a day. But they spoke instead of the new dances, and whether they had come tostay, and of such sensible topics as that. Then presently, as they wenton still further, Philippa leaned forwards and talked to Tom over hisshoulder and reminded him that this was the very road to CastelCasteggio, and asked him if he remembered coming up it with her to jointhe Newberry's ever so long ago. Whatever it was that Tom answered itis not recorded, but it is certain that it took so long in the sayingthat the Reverend Edward talked in tete-a-tete with Catherine forfifteen measured miles, and was unaware that it was more than fiveminutes. Among other things he said, and she agreed--or she said and heagreed--that for the new dances it was necessary to have always one andthe same partner, and to keep that partner all the time. And somehowsimple sentiments of that sort, when said direct into a pair oflistening blue eyes behind a purple motor veil, acquire an infinitesignificance. 

Then, not much after that, say three or four minutes, they were all ofa sudden back in town again, running along Plutoria Avenue, and to therector's surprise the motor was stopping outside the manse, andCatherine was saying, "Oh, thank you ever so much, Philippa; it wasjust heavenly!" which showed that the afternoon had had its religiousfeatures after all. "What!" said the rector's sister, as they moved offagain, "didn't you know? That's Catherine Dumfarthing!"

 * * * * *

When the Rev. Fareforth Furlong arrived home at the rectory he spent anhour or so in the deepest of deep thought in an armchair in his study. Nor was it any ordinary parish problem that he was revolving in hismind. He was trying to think out some means by which his sister Julianamight be induced to commit the sin of calling on the daughter of apresbyterian minister. 

The thing had to be represented as in some fashion or other an act ofself-denial, a form of mortification of the flesh. Otherwise he knewJuliana would never do it. But to call on Miss Catherine Dumfarthingseemed to him such an altogether delightful and unspeakably blissfulprocess that he hardly knew how to approach the topic. So when Julianapresently came home the rector could find no better way of introducingthe subject than by putting it on the ground of Philippa's marriage toMiss Dumfarthing's father's trustee's nephew. 

"Juliana, " he said, "don't you think that perhaps, on account ofPhilippa and Tom, you ought--or at least it might be best for you tocall on Miss Dumfarthing?"

Juliana turned to her brother as he laid aside her bonnet and her blackgloves. 

"I've just been there this afternoon, " she said. 

There was something as near to a blush on her face as her brother hadever seen. 

"But she was not there!" he said. 

"No, " answered Juliana, "but Mr. Dumfarthing was. I stayed and talkedsome time with him, waiting for her. "

The rector gave a sort of whistle, or rather that blowing out of airwhich is the episcopal symbol for it. 

"Didn't you find him pretty solemn?" he said. 

"Solemn!" answered his sister. "Surely, Edward, a man in such a callingas his ought to be solemn. "

"I don't mean that exactly, " said the rector; "I mean--er--hard, bitter, so to speak. "

"Edward!" exclaimed Juliana, "how can you speak so. Mr. Dumfarthinghard! Mr. Dumfarthing bitter! Why, Edward, the man is gentleness andkindness itself. I don't think I ever met anyone so full of sympathy, of compassion with suffering. "

Juliana's face had flushed It was quite plain that she saw things inthe Reverend Uttermust Dumfarthing--as some one woman does in everyman--that no one else could see. 

The Reverend Edward was abashed. "I wasn't thinking of his character, "he said. "I was thinking rather of his doctrines. Wait till you haveheard him preach. "

Juliana flushed more deeply still. "I heard him last Sunday evening, "she said. 

The rector was silent, and his sister, as if impelled to speak, went on, "And I don't see, Edward, how anyone could think him a hard or bigotedman in his creed. He walked home with me to the gate just now, and hewas speaking of all the sin in the world, and of how few, how very fewpeople, can be saved, and how many will have to be burned as worthless;and he spoke so beautifully. He regrets it, Edward, regrets it deeply. It is a real grief to him. "

On which Juliana, half in anger, withdrew, and her brother the rectorsat back in his chair with smiles rippling all over his saintly face. For he had been wondering whether it would be possible, even remotelypossible, to get his sister to invite the Dumfarthings to high tea atthe rectory some day at six o'clock (evening dinner was out of thequestion), and now he knew within himself that the thing was as good asdone. 

 * * * * *

While such things as these were happening and about to happen, therewere many others of the congregation of St. Asaph's beside the rectorto whom the growing situation gave cause for serious perplexities. Indeed, all who were interested in the church, the trustees and themortgagees and the underlying debenture-holders, were feeling anxious. For some of them underlay the Sunday School, whose scholars' offeringshad declined forty per cent, and others underlay the new organ, not yetpaid for, while others were lying deeper still beneath the ground siteof the church with seven dollars and a half a square foot resting onthem. 

"I don't like it, " said Mr. Lucullus Fyshe to Mr. Newberry (they wereboth prominent members of the congregation). "I don't like the look ofthings. I took up a block of Furlong's bonds on his Guild building fromwhat seemed at the time the best of motives. The interest appearedabsolutely certain. Now it's a month overdue on the last quarter. Ifeel alarmed. "

"Neither do I like it, " said Mr. Newberry, shaking his head; "and I'msorry for Fareforth Furlong. An excellent fellow, Fyshe, excellent. Ikeep wondering Sunday after Sunday, if there isn't something I can doto help him out. One might do something further, perhaps, in the way ofnew buildings or alterations. I have, in fact, offered--by myself, Imean, and without other aid--to dynamite out the front of his church, underpin it, and put him in a Norman gateway; either that, or blast outthe back of it where the choir sit, just as he likes. I was thinkingabout it last Sunday as they were singing the anthem, and realizingwhat a lot one might do there with a few sticks of dynamite. "

"I doubt it, " said Mr. Fyshe. "In fact, Newberry, to speak veryfrankly, I begin to ask myself, Is Furlong the man for the post?"

"Oh, surely, " said Mr. Newberry in protest. 

"Personally a charming fellow, " went on Mr. Fyshe; "but is he, all saidand done, quite the man to conduct a church? In the _first_ place, heis _not_ a businessman. "

"No, " said Mr. Newberry reluctantly, "that I admit. "

"Very good. And, _secondly_, even in the matter of his religion itself, one always feels as if he were too little fixed, too unstable. Hesimply moves with the times. That, at least, is what people arebeginning to say of him, that he is perpetually moving with the times. It doesn't do, Newberry, it doesn't do. " Whereupon Mr. Newberry wentaway troubled and wrote to Fareforth Furlong a confidential letter witha signed cheque in it for the amount of Mr. Fyshe's interest, and withsuch further offerings of dynamite, of underpinning and blasting as hisconscience prompted. 

When the rector received and read the note and saw the figures of thecheque, there arose such a thankfulness in his spirit as he hadn't feltfor months, and he may well have murmured, for the repose of Mr. Newberry's soul, a prayer not found in the rubric of King James. 

All the more cause had he to feel light at heart, for as it chanced, itwas on that same evening that the Dumfarthings, father and daughter, were to take tea at the rectory. Indeed, a few minutes before sixo'clock they might have been seen making their way from the manse tothe rectory. 

On their way along the avenue the minister took occasion to reprove hisdaughter for the worldliness of her hat (it was a little trifle fromNew York that she had bought out of the Sunday School money--atemporary loan); and a little further on he spoke to her severely aboutthe parasol she carried; and further yet about the strange fashion, specially condemned by the Old Testament, in which she wore her hair. So Catherine knew in her heart from this that she must be looking hervery prettiest, and went into the rectory radiant. 

The tea was, of course, an awkward meal at the best. There was aninitial difficulty about grace, not easily surmounted. And when theRev. Mr. Dumfarthing sternly refused tea as a pernicious drinkweakening to the system, the Anglican rector was too ignorant of thepresbyterian system to know enough to give him Scotch whiskey. 

But there were bright spots in the meal as well. The rector was evenable to ask Catherine, sideways as a personal question, if she playedtennis; and she was able to whisper behind her hand, "Not allowed, " andto make a face in the direction of her father, who was absorbed for themoment in a theological question with Juliana. Indeed, before theconversation became general again the rector had contrived to make arapid arrangement with Catherine whereby she was to come with him tothe Newberry's tennis court the day following and learn the game, withor without permission. 

So the tea was perhaps a success in its way. And it is noteworthy thatJuliana spent the days that followed it in reading Calvin's"Institutes" (specially loaned to her) and "Dumfarthing on theCertainty of Damnation" (a gift), and in praying for her brother--atask practically without hope. During which same time the rector inwhite flannels, and Catherine in a white duck skirt and blouse, wereflying about on the green grass of the Newberrys' court, and calling, "love, " "love all, " to one another so gaily and so brazenly that evenMr. Newberry felt that there must be something in it. 

But all these things came merely as interludes in the moving currentsof greater events; for as the summer faded into autumn and autumn intowinter the anxieties of the trustees of St. Asaph's began to call foraction of some sort. 

 * * * * *

"Edward, " said the rector's father on the occasion of their nextquarterly discussion, "I cannot conceal from you that the position ofthings is very serious. Your statements show a falling off in everydirection. Your interest is everywhere in arrears; your current accountoverdrawn to the limit. At this rate, you know, the end is inevitable. Your debenture and bondholders will decide to foreclose; and if theydo, you know, there is no power that can stop them. Even with yourlimited knowledge of business you are probably aware that there is nohigher power that can influence or control the holder of a firstmortgage. "

"I fear so, " said the Rev. Edward very sadly. 

"Do you not think perhaps that some of the shortcoming lies withyourself?" continued Mr. Furlong. "Is it not possible that as apreacher you fail somewhat, do not, as it were, deal sufficiently withfundamental things as others do? You leave untouched the truly vitalissues, such things as the creation, death, and, if I may refer to it, the life beyond the grave. "

As a result of which the Reverend Edward preached a series of specialsermons on the creation for which he made a special and arduouspreparation in the library of Plutoria University. He said that it hadtaken a million, possibly a hundred million years of quite difficultwork to accomplish, and that though when we looked at it all wasdarkness still we could not be far astray if we accepted and held fastto the teachings of Sir Charles Lyell. The book of Genesis, he said wasnot to be taken as meaning a day when it said a day, but rathersomething other than a mere day; and the word "light" meant not exactlylight but possibly some sort of phosphorescence, and that the use ofthe word "darkness" was to be understood not as meaning darkness, butto be taken as simply indicating obscurity. And when he had quitefinished, the congregation declared the whole sermon to be mere milkand water. It insulted their intelligence, they said. After which, aweek later, the Rev. Dr. Dumfarthing took up the same subject, and withthe aid of seven plain texts pulverized the rector into fragments. 

One notable result of the controversy was that Juliana Furlong refusedhenceforth to attend her brother's church and sat, even at morningservice, under the minister of St. Osoph's. 

"The sermon was, I fear, a mistake, " said Mr. Furlong senior; "perhapsyou had better not dwell too much on such topics. We must look for aidin another direction. In fact, Edward, I may mention to you inconfidence that certain of your trustees are already devising ways andmeans that may help us out of our dilemma. "

Indeed, although the Reverend Edward did not know it, a certain idea, or plan, was already germinating in the minds of the most influentialsupporters of St. Asaph's. 

Such was the situation of the rival churches of St. Asaph and St. Osophas the autumn slowly faded into winter: during which time the elm treeson Plutoria Avenue shivered and dropped their leaves and the chauffeursof the motors first turned blue in their faces and then, when the greatsnows came, were suddenly converted into liveried coachmen with tallbearskins and whiskers like Russian horseguards, changing back again toblue-nosed chauffeurs the very moment of a thaw. During this time alsothe congregation of the Reverend Fareforth Furlong was diminishingmonth by month, and that of the Reverend Uttermust Dumfarthing was sonumerous that they filled up the aisles at the back of the church. Herethe worshippers stood and froze, for the minister had abandoned the useof steam heat in St. Osoph's on the ground that he could find nowarrant for it. 

During the same period other momentous things were happening, such asthat Juliana Furlong was reading, under the immediate guidance of Dr. Dumfarthing, the History of the Progress of Disruption in the Churchesof Scotland in ten volumes; such also as that Catherine Dumfarthing waswearing a green and gold winter suit with Russian furs and a Balkan hatand a Circassian feather, which cut a wide swath of destruction amongthe young men on Plutoria Avenue every afternoon as she passed. Moreover by the strangest of coincidences she scarcely ever seemed tocome along the snow-covered avenue without meeting the ReverendEdward--a fact which elicited new exclamations of surprise from themboth every day: and by an equally strange coincidence they generallyseemed, although coming in different directions, to be bound for thesame place; towards which they wandered together with such slow stepsand in such oblivion of the passers-by that even the children on theavenue knew by instinct whither they were wandering. 

It was noted also that the broken figure of Dr. McTeague had reappearedupon the street, leaning heavily upon a stick and greeting those he metwith such a meek and willing affability, as if in apology for hisstroke of paralysis, that all who talked with him agreed thatMcTeague's mind was a wreck. 

"He stood and spoke to me about the children for at least a quarter ofan hour, " related one of his former parishioners, "asking after them byname, and whether they were going to school yet and a lot of questionslike that. He never used to speak of such things. Poor old McTeague, I'm afraid he is getting soft in the head. " "I know, " said the personaddressed. "His mind is no good. He stopped me the other day to say howsorry he was to hear about my brother's illness. I could see from theway he spoke that his brain is getting feeble. He's losing his grip. Hewas speaking of how kind people had been to him after his accident andthere were tears in his eyes. I think he's getting batty. "

Nor were even these things the most momentous happenings of the period. For as winter slowly changed to early spring it became known thatsomething of great portent was under way. It was rumoured that thetrustees of St. Asaph's Church were putting their heads together. Thiswas striking news. The last time that the head of Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, for example, had been placed side by side with that of Mr. Newberry, there had resulted a merger of four soda-water companies, bringing whatwas called industrial peace over an area as big as Texas and raisingthe price of soda by three peaceful cents per bottle. And the last timethat Mr. Furlong senior's head had been laid side by side with those ofMr. Rasselyer-Brown and Mr. Skinyer, they had practically saved thecountry from the horrors of a coal famine by the simple process ofraising the price of nut coal seventy-five cents a ton and thusguaranteeing its abundance. 

Naturally, therefore, when it became known that such redoubtable headsas those of the trustees and the underlying mortgagees of St. Asaph'swere being put together, it was fully expected that some importantdevelopment would follow. It was not accurately known from which of theassembled heads first proceeded the great idea which was presently tosolve the difficulties of the church. It may well have come from thatof Mr. Lucullus Fyshe. Certainly a head which had brought peace out ofcivil war in the hardware business by amalgamating ten rival stores andhad saved the very lives of five hundred employees by reducing theirwages fourteen per cent, was capable of it. 

At any rate it was Mr. Fyshe who first gave the idea a definiteutterance. 

"It's the only thing, Furlong, " he said, across the lunch table at theMausoleum Club. "It's the one solution. The two churches can't liveunder the present conditions of competition. We have here practicallythe same situation as we had with two rum distilleries--the output istoo large for the demand. One or both of the two concerns must gounder. It's their turn just now, but these fellows are business menenough to know that it may be ours tomorrow. We'll offer them abusiness solution. We'll propose a merger. "

"I've been thinking of it, " said Mr. Furlong senior, "I suppose it'sfeasible?"

"Feasible!" exclaimed Mr. Fyshe. "Why look what's being done every dayeverywhere, from the Standard Oil Company downwards. "

"You would hardly, I think, " said Mr. Furlong, with a quiet smile, "compare the Standard Oil Company to a church?" "Well, no, I supposenot, " said Mr. Fyshe, and he too smiled--in fact he almost laughed. Thenotion was too ridiculous. One could hardly compare a mere church to athing of the magnitude and importance of the Standard Oil Company. 

"But on a lesser scale, " continued Mr. Fyshe, "it's the same sort ofthing. As for the difficulties of it, I needn't remind you of the muchgreater difficulties we had to grapple with in the rum merger. There, you remember, a number of the women held out as a matter of principle. It was not mere business with them. Church union is different. In factit is one of the ideas of the day and everyone admits that what isneeded is the application of the ordinary business principles ofharmonious combination, with a proper--er--restriction of output andgeneral economy of operation. "

"Very good, " said Mr. Furlong, "I'm sure if you're willing to try, therest of us are. "

"All right, " said Mr. Fyshe. "I thought of setting Skinyer, of Skinyerand Beatem, to work on the form of the organization. As you know he isnot only a deeply religious man but he has already handled the Tin PotCombination and the United Hardware and the Associated Tanneries. Heought to find this quite simple. "

 * * * * *

Within a day or two Mr. Skinyer had already commenced his labours. "Imust first, " he said, "get an accurate idea of the existing legalorganization of the two churches. "

For which purpose he approached the rector of St. Asaph's. "I just wantto ask you, Mr. Furlong, " said the lawyer, "a question or two as to theexact constitution, the form so to speak, of your church. What is it?Is it a single corporate body?"

"I suppose, " said the rector thoughtfully, "one would define it as anindivisible spiritual unit manifesting itself on earth. " "Quite so, "interrupted Mr. Skinyer, "but I don't mean what it is in the religioussense: I mean, in the real sense. " "I fail to understand, " said Mr. Furlong. 

"Let me put it very clearly, " said the lawyer. "Where does it get itsauthority?"

"From above. " said the rector reverently. 

"Precisely, " said Mr. Skinyer, "no doubt, but I mean its authority inthe exact sense of the term. "

"It was enjoined on St. Peter, " began the rector, but Mr. Skinyerinterrupted him. 

"That I am aware of, " he said, "but what I mean is--where does yourchurch get its power, for example, to hold property, to collect debts, to use distraint against the property of others, to foreclose itsmortgages and to cause judgement to be executed against those who failto pay their debts to it? You will say at once that it has these powersdirect from Heaven. No doubt that is true and no religious person woulddeny it. But we lawyers are compelled to take a narrower, a lesselevating point of view. Are these powers conferred on you by the statelegislature or by some higher authority?"

"Oh, by a higher authority, I hope, " said the rector very fervently. Whereupon Mr. Skinyer left him without further questioning, therector's brain being evidently unfit for the subject of corporation law. 

On the other hand he got satisfaction from the Rev. Dr. Dumfarthing atonce. 

"The church of St. Osoph, " said the minister, "is a perpetual trust, holding property as such under a general law of the state and able assuch to be made the object of suit or distraint. I speak with someassurance as I had occasion to enquire into the matter at the time whenI was looking for guidance in regard to the call I had received to comehere. "

 * * * * *

"It's a quite simple matter, " Mr. Skinyer presently reported to Mr. Fyshe. "One of the churches is a perpetual trust, the other practicallya state corporation. Each has full control over its property providednothing is done by either to infringe the purity of its doctrine. "

"Just what does that mean?" asked Mr. Fyshe. 

"It must maintain its doctrine absolutely pure. Otherwise if certain ofits trustees remain pure and the rest do not, those who stay pure areentitled to take the whole of the property. This, I believe, happensevery day in Scotland where, of course, there is great eagerness toremain pure in doctrine. "

"And what do you define as _pure_ doctrine?" asked Mr. Fyshe. 

"If the trustees are in dispute, " said Mr. Skinyer, "the courts decide, but any doctrine is held to be a pure doctrine if _all_ the trusteesregard it as a pure doctrine. "

"I see, " said Mr. Fyshe thoughtfully, "it's the same thing as what wecalled 'permissible policy' on the part of directors in the Tin PotCombination. "

"Exactly, " assented Mr. Skinyer, "and it means that for the merger weneed nothing--I state it very frankly--except general consent. "

 * * * * *

The preliminary stages of the making of the merger followed alongfamiliar business lines. The trustees of St. Asaph's went through theprocess known as 'approaching' the trustees of St. Osoph's. First ofall, for example, Mr. Lucullus Fyshe invited Mr. Asmodeus Boulder ofSt. Osoph's to lunch with him at the Mausoleum Club; the cost of thelunch, as is usual in such cases, was charged to the general expenseaccount of the church. Of course nothing whatever was said during thelunch about the churches or their finances or anything concerning them. Such discussion would have been a gross business impropriety. A fewdays later the two brothers Overend dined with Mr. Furlong senior, thedinner being charged directly to the contingencies account of St. Asaph's. After which Mr. Skinyer and his partner, Mr. Beatem, went tothe spring races together on the Profit and Loss account of St. Osoph's, and Philippa Overend and Catherine Dumfarthing were taken (bythe Unforeseen Disbursements Account) to the grand opera, followed by amidnight supper. 

All of these things constituted what was called the promotion of themerger and were almost exactly identical with the successive stages ofthe making of the Amalgamated Distilleries and the Associated Tin PotCorporation; which was considered a most hopeful sign. 

 * * * * *

"Do you think they'll go into it?" asked Mr. Newberry of Mr. Furlongsenior, anxiously. "After all, what inducement have they?"

"Every inducement, " said Mr. Furlong. "All said and done they've onlyone large asset--Dr. Dumfarthing. We're really offering to buy up Dr. Dumfarthing by pooling our assets with theirs. "

"And what does Dr. Dumfarthing himself say to it?"

"Ah, there I am not so sure, " said Mr. Furlong; "that may be adifficulty. So far there hasn't been a word from him, and his trusteesare absolutely silent about his views. However, we shall soon know allabout it. Skinyer is asking us all to come together one evening nextweek to draw up the articles of agreement. "

"Has he got the financial basis arranged then?"

"I believe so, " said Mr. Furlong. "His idea is to form a newcorporation to be known as the United Church Limited or by some similarname. All the present mortgagees will be converted into unifiedbondholders, the pew rents will be capitalized into preferred stock andthe common stock, drawing its dividend from the offertory, will bedistributed among all members in standing. Skinyer says that it isreally an ideal form of church union, one that he thinks is likely tobe widely adopted. It has the advantage of removing all questions ofreligion, which he says are practically the only remaining obstacle toa union of all the churches. In fact it puts the churches once and forall on a business basis. "

"But what about the question of doctrine, of belief?" asked Mr. Newberry. 

"Skinyer says he can settle it, " answered Mr. Furlong. 

 * * * * *

About a week after the above conversation the united trustees of St. Asaph's and St. Osoph's were gathered about a huge egg-shaped table inthe board room of the Mausoleum Club. They were seated in intermingledfashion after the precedent of the recent Tin Pot Amalgamation and weresmoking huge black cigars specially kept by the club for the promotionof companies and chargeable to expenses of organization at fifty centsa cigar. There was an air of deep peace brooding over the assembly, asamong men who have accomplished a difficult and meritorious task. 

"Well, then, " said Mr. Skinyer, who was in the chair, with a pile ofdocuments in front of him, "I think that our general basis of financialunion may be viewed as settled. "

A murmur of assent went round the meeting. "The terms are set forth inthe memorandum before us, which you have already signed. Only one otherpoint--a minor one--remains to be considered. I refer to the doctrinesor the religious belief of the new amalgamation. "

"Is it necessary to go into that?" asked Mr. Boulder. 

"Not entirely, perhaps, " said Mr. Skinyer. "Still there have been, asyou all know, certain points--I won't say of disagreement--but let ussay of friendly argument--between the members of the differentchurches--such things for example, " here he consulted his papers, "asthe theory of the creation, the salvation of the soul, and so forth, have been mentioned in this connection. I have a memorandum of themhere, though the points escape me for the moment. These, you may say, are not matters of first importance, especially as compared with theintricate financial questions which we have already settled in asatisfactory manner. Still I think it might be well if I were permittedwith your unanimous approval to jot down a memorandum or two to beafterwards embodied in our articles. "

There was a general murmur of approval. "Very good, " said Mr. Skinyer, settling himself back in his chair. "Now, first, in regard to thecreation, " here he looked all round the meeting in a way to commandattention--"Is it your wish that we should leave that merely to agentlemen's agreement or do you want an explicit clause?"

"I think it might be well, " said Mr. Dick Overend, "to leave no doubtabout the theory of the creation. "

"Good, " said Mr. Skinyer. "I am going to put it down then somethingafter this fashion: 'On and after, let us say, August 1st proximo, theprocess of the creation shall be held, and is hereby held, to be suchand such only as is acceptable to a majority of the holders of commonand preferred stock voting pro rata. ' Is that agreed?"

"Carried, " cried several at once. 

"Carried, " repeated Mr. Skinyer. "Now let us pass on"--here heconsulted his notes--"to item two, eternal punishment. I have made amemorandum as follows, 'Should any doubts arise, on or after Augustfirst proximo, as to the existence of eternal punishment they shall besettled absolutely and finally by a pro-rata vote of all the holders ofcommon and preferred stock. ' Is that agreed?"

"One moment!" said Mr. Fyshe, "do you think that quite fair to thebondholders? After all, as the virtual holders of the property, theyare the persons most interested. I should like to amend your clause andmake it read--I am not phrasing it exactly but merely giving the senseof it--that eternal punishment should be reserved for the mortgageesand bondholders. "

At this there was an outbreak of mingled approval and dissent, severalpersons speaking at once. In the opinion of some the stockholders ofthe company, especially the preferred stockholders, had as good a rightto eternal punishment as the bondholders. Presently Mr. Skinyer, whohad been busily writing notes, held up his hand for silence. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "will you accept this as a compromise? We willkeep the original clause but merely add to it the words, 'but no formof eternal punishment shall be declared valid if displeasing to athree-fifths majority of the holders of bonds. '"

"Carried, carried, " cried everybody. 

"To which I think we need only add, " said Mr. Skinyer, "a clause to theeffect that all other points of doctrine, belief or religious principlemay be freely altered, amended, reversed or entirely abolished at anygeneral annual meeting!"

There was a renewed chorus of "Carried, carried, " and the trustees rosefrom the table shaking hands with one another, and lighting freshcigars as they passed out of the club into the night air. 

"The only thing that I don't understand, " said Mr. Newberry to Dr. Boomer as they went out from the club arm in arm (for they might nowwalk in that fashion with the same propriety as two of the principalsin a distillery merger), "the only thing that I don't understand is whythe Reverend Mr. Dumfarthing should be willing to consent to theamalgamation. "

"Do you really not know?" said Dr. Boomer. 

"No. "

"You have heard nothing?"

"Not a word, " said Mr. Newberry. 

"Ah, " rejoined the president, "I see that our men have kept it veryquiet--naturally so, in view of the circumstances. The truth is thatthe Reverend Mr. Dumfarthing is leaving us. "

"Leaving St. Osoph's!" exclaimed Mr. Newberry in utter astonishment. 

"To our great regret. He has had a call--a most inviting field of work, he says, a splendid opportunity. They offered him ten thousand onehundred; we were only giving him ten thousand here, though of coursethat feature of the situation would not weigh at all with a man likeDumfarthing. "

"Oh no, of course not, " said Mr. Newberry. 

"As soon as we heard of the call we offered him ten thousand threehundred--not that that would make any difference to a man of hischaracter. Indeed Dumfarthing was still waiting and looking forguidance when they offered him eleven thousand. We couldn't meet it. Itwas beyond us, though we had the consolation of knowing that with sucha man as Dumfarthing the money made no difference. "

"And he has accepted the call?"

"Yes. He accepted it today. He sent word to Mr. Dick Overend ourchairman, that he would remain in his manse, looking for light, untiltwo-thirty, after which, if we had not communicated with him by thathour, he would cease to look for it. "

"Dear me, " said Mr. Newberry, deep in reflection, "so that when yourtrustees came to the meeting--"

"Exactly, " said Dr. Boomer--and something like a smile passed acrosshis features for a moment "Dr. Dumfarthing had already sent away histelegram of acceptance. "

"Why, then, " said Mr. Newberry, "at the time of our discussion tonight, you were in the position of having no minister. "

"Not at all. We had already appointed a successor. "

"A successor?"

"Certainly. It will be in tomorrow morning's papers. The fact is thatwe decided to ask Dr. McTeague to resume his charge. "

"Dr. McTeague!" repeated Mr. Newberry in amazement. "But surely hismind is understood to be--"

"Oh not at all, " interrupted Dr. Boomer. "His mind appears if anything, to be clearer and stronger than ever. Dr. Slyder tells us thatparalysis of the brain very frequently has this effect; it soothes thebrain--clears it, as it were, so that very often intellectual problemswhich occasioned the greatest perplexity before present no difficultywhatever afterwards. Dr. McTeague, I believe, finds no trouble now inreconciling St. Paul's dialectic with Hegel as he used to. He says thatso far as he can see they both mean the same thing. "

"Well, well, " said Mr. Newberry, "and will Dr. McTeague also resume hisphilosophical lectures at the university?"

"We think it wiser not, " said the president. "While we feel that Dr. McTeague's mind is in admirable condition for clerical work we fearthat professorial duties might strain it. In order to get the fullvalue of his remarkable intelligence, we propose to elect him to thegoverning body of the university. There his brain will be safe from anyshock. As a professor there would always be the fear that one of hisstudents might raise a question in his class. This of course is not adifficulty that arises in the pulpit or among the governors of theuniversity. "

"Of course not, " said Mr. Newberry. 

 * * * * *

Thus was constituted the famous union or merger of the churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph, viewed by many of those who made it as thebeginning of a new era in the history of the modern church. 

There is no doubt that it has been in every way an eminent success. 

Rivalry, competition, and controversies over points of dogma havebecome unknown on Plutoria Avenue. The parishioners of the two churchesmay now attend either of them just as they like. As the trustees arefond of explaining it doesn't make the slightest difference. The entirereceipts of the churches, being now pooled, are divided withoutreference to individual attendance. At each half year there is issued aprinted statement which is addressed to the shareholders of the UnitedChurches Limited and is hardly to be distinguished in style or materialfrom the annual and semi-annual reports of the Tin Pot Amalgamation andthe United Hardware and other quasi-religious bodies of the sort. "Yourdirectors, " the last of these documents states, "are happy to informyou that in spite of the prevailing industrial depression the grossreceipts of the corporation have shown such an increase as to justifythe distribution of a stock dividend of special Offertory StockCumulative, which will be offered at par to all holders of common orpreferred shares. You will also be gratified to learn that thedirectors have voted unanimously in favour of a special presentation tothe Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing on the occasion of his approachingmarriage. It was earnestly debated whether this gift should take theform, as at first suggested, of a cash presentation, or as afterwardssuggested, of a written testimonial in the form of an address. Thelatter course was finally adopted as being more fitting to thecircumstances and the address has accordingly been prepared, settingforth to the Rev. Dr. Dumfarthing, in old English lettering andwording, the opinion which is held of him by his former parishioners. "

The "approaching marriage" referred of course to Dr. Dumfarthing'sbetrothal to Juliana Furlong. It was not known that he had ever exactlyproposed to her. But it was understood that before giving up his chargehe drew her attention, in very severe terms, to the fact that, as hisdaughter was now leaving him, he must either have someone else to lookafter his manse or else be compelled to incur the expense of a paidhousekeeper. This latter alternative, he said, was not one that hecared to contemplate. He also reminded her that she was now at a timeof life when she could hardly expect to pick and choose and that herspiritual condition was one of, at least, great uncertainty. Thesecombined statements are held, under the law of Scotland at any rate, tobe equivalent to an offer of marriage. 

Catherine Dumfarthing did not join her father in his new manse. Shefirst remained behind him, as the guest of Philippa Overend for a fewweeks while she was occupied in packing up her things. After that shestayed for another two or three weeks to unpack them. This had beenrendered necessary by a conversation held with the Reverend EdwardFareforth Furlong, in a shaded corner of the Overend's garden. Afterwhich, in due course of time, Catherine and Edward were married, theceremony being performed by the Reverend Dr. McTeague whose eyes filledwith philosophical tears as he gave them his blessing. 

So the two churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph stand side by sideunited and at peace. Their bells call softly back and forward to oneanother on Sunday mornings and such is the harmony between them thateven the episcopal rooks in the elm trees of St. Asaph's and thepresbyterian crows in the spruce trees of St. Osoph's are known toexchange perches on alternate Sundays. 

CHAPTER EIGHT: The Great Fight for Clean Government

"As to the government of this city, " said Mr. Newberry, leaning back ina leather armchair at the Mausoleum Club and lighting a second cigar, "it's rotten, that's all. "

"Absolutely rotten, " assented Mr. Dick Overend, ringing the bell for asecond whiskey and soda. 

"Corrupt, " said Mr. Newberry, between two puffs of his cigar. 

"Full of graft, " said Mr. Overend, flicking his ashes into the grate. 

"Crooked aldermen, " said Mr. Newberry. 

"A bum city solicitor, " said Mr. Overend, "and an infernal grafter fortreasurer. "

"Yes, " assented Mr. Newberry, and then, leaning forwards in his chairand looking carefully about the corridors of the club, he spoke behindhis hand and said, "And the mayor's the biggest grafter of the lot. Andwhat's more, " he added, sinking his voice to a whisper, "the time hascome to speak out about it fearlessly. "

Mr. Overend nodded. "It's a tyranny, " he said. 

"Worse than Russia, " rejoined Mr. Newberry. 

 * * * * *

They had been sitting in a quiet corner of the club--it was on a Sundayevening--and had fallen into talking, first of all, of the presentrottenness of the federal politics of the United States--notargumentatively or with any heat, but with the reflective sadness thatsteals over an elderly man when he sits in the leather armchair of acomfortable club smoking a good cigar and musing on the decadence ofthe present day. The rottenness of the federal government didn't angerthem. It merely grieved them. 

They could remember--both of them--how different everything was whenthey were young men just entering on life. When Mr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were young, men went into congress from pure patriotism;there was no such thing as graft or crookedness, as they both admitted, in those days; and as for the United States Senate--here their voiceswere almost hushed in awe--why, when they were young, the United StatesSenate--

But no, neither of them could find a phrase big enough for theirmeaning. 

They merely repeated "as for the United States Senate--" and then shooktheir heads and took long drinks of whiskey and soda. 

Then, naturally, speaking of the rottenness of the federal governmenthad led them to talk of the rottenness of the state legislature. Howdifferent from the state legislatures that they remembered as youngmen! Not merely different in the matter of graft, but different, so Mr. Newberry said, in the calibre of the men. He recalled how he had beentaken as a boy of twelve by his father to hear a debate. He would neverforget it. Giants! he said, that was what they were. In fact, the thingwas more like a Witenagemot than a legislature. He said he distinctlyrecalled a man, whose name he didn't recollect, speaking on a questionhe didn't just remember what, either for or against he just couldn'trecall which; it thrilled him. He would never forget it. It stayed inhis memory as if it were yesterday. 

But as for the present legislature--here Mr. Dick Overend sadly noddedassent in advance to what he knew was coming--as for the presentlegislature--well--Mr. Newberry had had, he said, occasion to visit thestate capital a week before in connection with a railway bill that hewas trying to--that is, that he was anxious to--in short in connectionwith a railway bill, and when he looked about him at the men in thelegislature--positively he felt ashamed; he could put it no other waythan that--ashamed. 

After which, from speaking of the crookedness of the state governmentMr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were led to talk of the crookednessof the city government! And they both agreed, as above, that thingswere worse than in Russia. What secretly irritated them both most wasthat they had lived and done business under this infernal corruptionfor thirty or forty years and hadn't noticed it. They had been too busy. 

The fact was that their conversation reflected not so much their ownoriginal ideas as a general wave of feeling that was passing over thewhole community. 

There had come a moment--quite suddenly it seemed--when it occurred toeverybody at the same time that the whole government of the city wasrotten. The word is a strong one. But it is the one that was used. Lookat the aldermen, they said--rotten! Look at the city solicitor, rotten!And as for the mayor himself--phew!

The thing came like a wave. Everybody felt it at once. People wonderedhow any sane, intelligent community could tolerate the presence of aset of corrupt scoundrels like the twenty aldermen of the city. Theirnames, it was said, were simply a byword throughout the United Statesfor rank criminal corruption. This was said so widely that everybodystarted hunting through the daily papers to try to find out who inblazes were aldermen, anyhow. Twenty names are hard to remember, and asa matter of fact, at the moment when this wave of feeling struck thecity, nobody knew or cared who were aldermen, anyway. 

To tell the truth, the aldermen had been much the same persons forabout fifteen or twenty years. Some were in the produce business, others were butchers, two were grocers, and all of them wore bluecheckered waistcoats and red ties and got up at seven in the morning toattend the vegetable and other markets. Nobody had ever really thoughtabout them--that is to say, nobody on Plutoria Avenue. Sometimes onesaw a picture in the paper and wondered for a moment who the personwas; but on looking more closely and noticing what was written underit, one said, "Oh, I see, an alderman, " and turned to something else. 

"Whose funeral is that?" a man would sometimes ask on Plutoria Avenue. "Oh just one of the city aldermen, " a passerby would answer hurriedly. "Oh I see, I beg your pardon, I thought it might be somebody important. "

At which both laughed. 

 * * * * *

It was not just clear how and where this movement of indignation hadstarted. People said that it was part of a new wave of public moralitythat was sweeping over the entire United States. Certainly it was beingremarked in almost every section of the country. Chicago newspaperswere attributing its origin to the new vigour and the fresh ideals ofthe middle west. In Boston it was said to be due to a revival of thegrand old New England spirit. In Philadelphia they called it the spiritof William Penn. In the south it was said to be the reassertion ofsouthern chivalry making itself felt against the greed and selfishnessof the north, while in the north they recognized it at once as aprotest against the sluggishness and ignorance of the south. In thewest they spoke of it as a revolt against the spirit of the east and inthe east they called it a reaction against the lawlessness of the west. But everywhere they hailed it as a new sign of the glorious unity ofthe country. 

If therefore Mr. Newberry and Mr. Overend were found to be discussingthe corrupt state of their city they only shared in the nationalsentiments of the moment. In fact in the same city hundreds of othercitizens, as disinterested as themselves, were waking up to therealization of what was going on. As soon as people began to look intothe condition of things in the city they were horrified at what theyfound. It was discovered, for example, that Alderman Schwefeldampf wasan undertaker! Think of it! In a city with a hundred and fifty deaths aweek, and sometimes even better, an undertaker sat on the council! Acity that was about to expropriate land and to spend four hundredthousand dollars for a new cemetery, had an undertaker on theexpropriation committee itself! And worse than that! Alderman Undercuttwas a butcher! In a city that consumed a thousand tons of meat everyweek! And Alderman O'Hooligan--it leaked out--was an Irishman! Imagineit! An Irishman sitting on the police committee of the council in acity where thirty-eight and a half out of every hundred policemen wereIrish, either by birth or parentage! The thing was monstrous. 

So when Mr. Newberry said "It's worse than Russia!" he meant it, everyword. 

 * * * * *

Now just as Mr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were finishing theirdiscussion, the huge bulky form of Mayor McGrath came ponderously pastthem as they sat. He looked at them sideways out of his eyes--he hadeyes like plums in a mottled face--and, being a born politician, heknew by the very look of them that they were talking of something thatthey had no business to be talking about. But, --being a politician--hemerely said, "Good evening, gentlemen, " without a sign of disturbance. 

"Good evening, Mr. Mayor, " said Mr. Newberry, rubbing his hands feeblytogether and speaking in an ingratiating tone. There is no morepitiable spectacle than an honest man caught in the act of speakingboldly and fearlessly of the evil-doer. 

"Good evening, Mr. Mayor, " echoed Mr. Dick Overend, also rubbing hishands; "warm evening, is it not?"

The mayor gave no other answer than that deep guttural grunt which istechnically known in municipal interviews as refusing to commit oneself. 

"Did he hear?" whispered Mr. Newberry as the mayor passed out of theclub. 

"I don't care if he did, " whispered Mr. Dick Overend. 

Half an hour later Mayor McGrath entered the premises of the ThomasJefferson Club, which was situated in the rear end of a saloon and poolroom far down in the town. 

"Boys, " he said to Alderman O'Hooligan and Alderman Gorfinkel, who wereplaying freeze-out poker in a corner behind the pool tables, "you wantto let the boys know to keep pretty dark and go easy. There's a lot oftalk I don't like about the elections going round the town. Let theboys know that just for a while the darker they keep the better. "

Whereupon the word was passed from the Thomas Jefferson Club to theGeorge Washington Club and thence to the Eureka Club (coloured), and tothe Kossuth Club (Hungarian), and to various other centres of civicpatriotism in the lower parts of the city. And forthwith such adarkness began to spread over them that not even honest Diogenes withhis lantern could have penetrated their doings. 

"If them stiffs wants to make trouble, " said the president of theGeorge Washington Club to Mayor McGrath a day or two later, "they won'tnever know what they've bumped up against. "

"Well, " said the heavy mayor, speaking slowly and cautiously and eyeinghis henchman with quiet scrutiny, "you want to go pretty easy now, Itell you. "

The look which the mayor directed at his satellite was much the sameglance that Morgan the buccaneer might have given to one of hislieutenants before throwing him overboard. 

 * * * * *

Meantime the wave of civic enthusiasm as reflected in the conversationsof Plutoria Avenue grew stronger with every day. 

"The thing is a scandal, " said Mr. Lucullus Fyshe. "Why, these fellowsdown at the city hall are simply a pack of rogues. I had occasion to dosome business there the other day (it was connected with the assessmentof our soda factories) and do you know, I actually found that thesefellows take money!"

"I say!" said Mr. Peter Spillikins, to whom he spoke, "I say! You don'tsay!"

"It's a fact, " repeated Mr. Fyshe. "They take money. I took theassistant treasurer aside and I said, 'I want such and such done, ' andI slipped a fifty dollar bill into his hand. And the fellow took it, took it like a shot. "

"He took it!" gasped Mr. Spillikins. 

"He did, " said Mr. Fyshe. "There ought to be a criminal law for thatsort of thing. "

"I say!" exclaimed Mr. Spillikins, "they ought to go to jail for athing like that. "

"And the infernal insolence of them, " Mr. Fyshe continued. "I went downthe next day to see the deputy assistant (about a thing connected withthe same matter), told him what I wanted and passed a fifty dollar billacross the counter and the fellow fairly threw it back at me, in aperfect rage. He refused it!"

"Refused it, " gasped Mr. Spillikins, "I say!"

Conversations such as this filled up the leisure and divided thebusiness time of all the best people in the city. 

In the general gloomy outlook, however, one bright spot was observable. The "wave" had evidently come just at the opportune moment. For notonly were civic elections pending but just at this juncture four orfive questions of supreme importance would be settled by the incomingcouncil. There was, for instance, the question of the expropriation ofthe Traction Company (a matter involving many millions); there was thedecision as to the renewal of the franchise of the Citizens' LightCompany--a vital question; there was also the four hundred thousanddollar purchase of land for the new addition to the cemetery, a matterthat must be settled. And it was felt, especially on Plutoria Avenue, to be a splendid thing that the city was waking up, in the moral sense, at the very time when these things were under discussion. All theshareholders of the Traction Company and the Citizens' Light--and theyincluded the very best, the most high-minded, people in the city--feltthat what was needed now was a great moral effort, to enable them tolift the city up and carry it with them, or, if not all of it, at anyrate as much of it as they could. 

"It's a splendid movement!" said Mr. Fyshe (he was a leadingshareholder and director of the Citizens' Light), "what a splendidthing to think that we shan't have to deal for our new franchise with aset of corrupt rapscallions like these present aldermen. Do you know, Furlong, that when we approached them first with a proposition for arenewal for a hundred and fifty years they held us up! Said it was toolong! Imagine that! A hundred and fifty years (only a century and ahalf) too long for the franchise! They expect us to install all ourpoles, string our wires, set up our transformers in their streets andthen perhaps at the end of a hundred years find ourselves compelled tosell out at a beggarly valuation. Of course we knew what they wanted. They meant us to hand them over fifty dollars each to stuff into theirrascally pockets. "

"Outrageous!" said Mr. Furlong. 

"And the same thing with the cemetery land deal, " went on Mr. LucullusFyshe. "Do you realize that, if the movement hadn't come along andchecked them, those scoundrels would have given that rogueSchwefeldampf four hundred thousand dollars for his fifty acres! Justthink of it!"

"I don't know, " said Mr. Furlong with a thoughtful look upon his face, "that four hundred thousand dollars is an excessive price, in and ofitself, for that amount of land. "

"Certainly not, " said Mr. Fyshe, very quietly and decidedly, looking atMr. Furlong in a searching way as he spoke. "It is _not_ a high price. It seems to me, speaking purely as an outsider, a very fair, reasonableprice for fifty acres of suburban land, if it were the right land. If, for example, it were a case of making an offer for that very finestretch of land, about twenty acres, is it not, which I believe yourCorporation owns on the _other_ side of the cemetery, I should say fourhundred thousand is a most modest price. "

Mr. Furlong nodded his head reflectively. 

"You had thought, had you not, of offering it to the city?" said Mr. Fyshe. 

"We did, " said Mr. Furlong, "at a more or less nominal sum--fourhundred thousand or whatever it might be. We felt that for such apurpose, almost sacred as it were, one would want as little bargainingas possible. "

"Oh, none at all, " assented Mr. Fyshe. 

"Our feeling was, " went on Mr. Furlong, "that if the city wanted ourland for the cemetery extension, it might have it at its ownfigure--four hundred thousand, half a million, in fact at absolutelyany price, from four hundred thousand up, that they cared to put on it. We didn't regard it as a commercial transaction at all. Our reward laymerely in the fact of selling it to them. "

"Exactly, " said Mr. Fyshe, "and of course your land was more desirablefrom every point of view. Schwefeldampf's ground is encumbered with agrowth of cypress and evergreens and weeping willows which make itquite unsuitable for an up-to-date cemetery; whereas yours, as Iremember it, is bright and open--a loose sandy soil with no trees andvery little grass to overcome. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Furlong. "We thought, too, that our ground, having thetanneries and the chemical factory along the farther side of it, was anideal place for--" he paused, seeking a mode of expressing his thought. 

"For the dead, " said Mr. Fyshe, with becoming reverence. And after thisconversation Mr. Fyshe and Mr. Furlong senior understood one anotherabsolutely in regard to the new movement. 

It was astonishing in fact how rapidly the light spread. 

"Is Rasselyer-Brown with us?" asked someone of Mr. Fyshe a few dayslater. 

"Heart and soul, " answered Mr. Fyshe. "He's very bitter over the waythese rascals have been plundering the city on its coal supply. He saysthat the city has been buying coal wholesale at the pit mouth at threefifty--utterly worthless stuff, he tells me. He has heard it said thateveryone of these scoundrels has been paid from twenty-five to fiftydollars a winter to connive at it. "

"Dear me, " said the listener. 

"Abominable, is it not?" said Mr. Fyshe. "But as I said toRasselyer-Brown, what can one do if the citizens themselves take nointerest in these things. 'Take your own case, ' I said to him, 'how isit that you, a coal man, are not helping the city in this matter? Whydon't you supply the city?' He shook his head, 'I wouldn't do it atthree-fifty, ' he said. 'No, ' I answered, 'but will you at five?' Helooked at me for a moment and then he said, 'Fyshe, I'll do it; atfive, or at anything over that they like to name. If we get a newcouncil in they may name their own figure. ' 'Good, ' I said. 'I hope allthe other businessmen will be animated with the same spirit. '"

 * * * * *

Thus it was that the light broke and spread and illuminated in alldirections. People began to realize the needs of the city as they neverhad before. Mr. Boulder, who owned, among other things, a stone quarryand an asphalt company, felt that the paving of the streets was adisgrace. Mr. Skinyer, of Skinyer and Beatem, shook his head and saidthat the whole legal department of the city needed reorganization; itneeded, he said, new blood. But he added always in a despairing tone, how could one expect to run a department with the head of it drawingonly six thousand dollars; the thing was impossible. If, he argued, they could superannuate the present chief solicitor and get a man, a_good_ man (Mr. Skinyer laid emphasis on this) at, say, fifteenthousand there might be some hope. 

"Of course, " said Mr. Skinyer to Mr. Newberry in discussing the topic, "one would need to give him a proper staff of assistants so as to takeoff his hands all the _routine_ work--the mere appearance in court, thepreparation of briefs, the office consultation, the tax revision andthe purely legal work. In that case he would have his hands free todevote himself entirely to those things, which--in fact to turn hisattention in whatever direction he might feel it was advisable to turnit. "

 * * * * *

Within a week or two the public movement had found definite expressionand embodied itself in the Clean Government Association. This wasorganized by a group of leading and disinterested citizens who heldtheir first meeting in the largest upstairs room of the Mausoleum Club. Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, Mr. Boulder, and others keenly interested inobtaining simply justice for the stockholders of the Traction and theCitizens' Light were prominent from the start. Mr. Rasselyer-Brown, Mr. Furlong senior and others were there, not from special interest in thelight or traction questions, but, as they said themselves, from purecivic spirit. Dr. Boomer was there to represent the university withthree of his most presentable professors, cultivated men who were ableto sit in a first-class club and drink whiskey and soda and talk aswell as any businessman present. Mr. Skinyer, Mr. Beatem and othersrepresented the bar. Dr. McTeague, blinking in the blue tobacco smoke, was there to stand for the church. There were all-round enthusiasts aswell, such as Mr. Newberry and the Overend brothers and Mr. PeterSpillikins. 

"Isn't it fine, " whispered Mr. Spillikins to Mr. Newberry, "to see aset of men like these all going into a thing like this, not thinking oftheir own interests a bit?"

 * * * * *

Mr. Fyshe, as chairman, addressed the meeting. He told them they werethere to initiate a great free voluntary movement of the people. It hadbeen thought wise, he said, to hold it with closed doors and to keep itout of the newspapers. This would guarantee the league against the oldunderhand control by a clique that had hitherto disgraced every part ofthe administration of the city. He wanted, he said, to see everythingdone henceforth in broad daylight: and for this purpose he had summonedthem there at night to discuss ways and means of action. After theywere once fully assured of exactly what they wanted to do and how theymeant to do it, the league he said, would invite the fullest and freestadvice from all classes in the city. There were none he said, amidgreat applause, that were so lowly that they would not be invited--oncethe platform of the league was settled--to advise and co-operate. Allmight help, even the poorest. Subscription lists would be preparedwhich would allow any sum at all, from one to five dollars, to be givento the treasurer. The league was to be democratic or nothing. Thepoorest might contribute as little as one dollar: even the richestwould not be allowed to give more than five. Moreover he gave noticethat he intended to propose that no actual official of the leagueshould be allowed under its by-laws to give anything. He himself--ifthey did him the honour to make him president as he had heard it hintedwas their intention--would be the first to bow to this rule. He wouldefface himself. He would obliterate himself, content in the interestsof all, to give nothing. He was able to announce similar pledges fromhis friends, Mr. Boulder, Mr. Furlong, Dr. Boomer, and a number ofothers. 

Quite a storm of applause greeted these remarks by Mr. Fyshe, whoflushed with pride as he heard it. 

"Now, gentlemen, " he went on, "this meeting is open for discussion. Remember it is quite informal, anyone may speak. I as chairman make noclaim to control or monopolize the discussion. Let everyoneunderstand--"

"Well then, Mr. Chairman, " began Mr. Dick Overend. 

"One minute, Mr. Overend, " said Mr. Fyshe. "I want everyone tounderstand that he may speak as--"

"May I say then--" began Mr. Newberry. 

"Pardon me, Mr. Newberry, " said Mr. Fyshe, "I was wishing first toexplain that not only may _all_ participate but that we _invite_--"

"In that case--" began Mr. Newberry. 

"Before you speak, " interrupted Mr. Fyshe, "let me add one word. Wemust make our discussion as brief and to the point as possible. I havea great number of things which I wish to say to the meeting and itmight be well if all of you would speak as briefly and as little aspossible. Has anybody anything to say?"

"Well, " said Mr. Newberry, "what about organization and officers?"

"We have thought of it, " said Mr. Fyshe. "We were anxious above allthings to avoid the objectionable and corrupt methods of a 'slate' anda prepared list of officers which has disgraced every part of our citypolitics until the present time. Mr. Boulder, Mr. Furlong and Mr. Skinyer and myself have therefore prepared a short list of offices andofficers which we wish to submit to your fullest, freest consideration. It runs thus: Hon. President Mr. L. Fyshe, Hon. Vice-president, Mr. A. Boulder, Hon. Secretary Mr. Furlong, Hon. Treasurer Mr. O. Skinyer, etcetera--I needn't read it all. You'll see it posted in the hall later. Is that carried? Carried! Very good, " said Mr. Fyshe. 

There was a moment's pause while Mr. Furlong and Mr. Skinyer moved intoseats beside Mr. Fyshe and while Mr. Furlong drew from his pocket andarranged the bundle of minutes of the meeting which he had brought withhim. As he himself said he was too neat and methodical a writer totrust to jotting them down on the spot. 

"Don't you think, " said Mr. Newberry, "I speak as a practical man, thatwe ought to do something to get the newspapers with us?"

"Most important, " assented several members. 

"What do you think, Dr. Boomer?" asked Mr. Fyshe of the universitypresident, "will the newspapers be with us?"

Dr. Boomer shook his head doubtfully. "It's an important matter, " hesaid. "There is no doubt that we need, more than anything, the supportof a clean, wholesome unbiassed press that can't be bribed and is notsubject to money influence. I think on the whole our best plan would beto buy up one of the city newspapers. "

"Might it not be better simply to buy up the editorial staff?" said Mr. Dick Overend. 

"We might do that, " admitted Dr. Boomer. "There is no doubt that thecorruption of the press is one of the worst factors that we have tooppose. But whether we can best fight it by buying the paper itself orbuying the staff is hard to say. "

"Suppose we leave it to a committee with full power to act, " said Mr. Fyshe. "Let us direct them to take whatever steps may in their opinionbe best calculated to elevate the tone of the press, the treasurerbeing authorized to second them in every way. I for one am heartilysick of old underhand connection between city politics and the citypapers. If we can do anything to alter and elevate it, it will be afine work, gentlemen, well worth whatever it costs us. "

 * * * * *

Thus after an hour or two of such discussion the Clean GovernmentLeague found itself organized and equipped with a treasury and aprogramme and a platform. The latter was very simple. As Mr. Fyshe andMr. Boulder said there was no need to drag in specific questions or tryto define the action to be taken towards this or that particulardetail, such as the hundred-and-fifty-year franchise, beforehand. Theplatform was simply expressed as Honesty, Purity, Integrity. This, asMr. Fyshe said, made a straight, flat, clean issue between the leagueand all who opposed it. 

This first meeting was, of course, confidential. But all that it didwas presently done over again, with wonderful freshness and spontaneityat a large public meeting open to all citizens. There was a splendidimpromptu air about everything. For instance when somebody away back inthe hall said, "I move that Mr. Lucullus Fyshe be president of theleague, " Mr. Fyshe lifted his hand in unavailing protest as if thiswere the newest idea he had ever heard in his life. 

After all of which the Clean Government League set itself to fight thecohorts of darkness. It was not just known where these were. But it wasunderstood that they were there all right, somewhere. In the platformspeeches of the epoch they figured as working underground, working inthe dark, working behind the scenes, and so forth. But the strangething was that nobody could state with any exactitude just who or whatit was that the league was fighting. It stood for "honesty, purity, andintegrity. " That was all you could say about it. 

Take, for example, the case of the press. At the inception of theleague it has been supposed that such was the venality and corruptionof the city newspapers that it would be necessary to buy one of them. But the word "clean government" had been no sooner uttered than itturned out that every one of the papers in the city was in favour ofit: in fact had been working for it for years. 

They vied with one another now in giving publicity to the idea. The_Plutorian Times_ printed a dotted coupon on the corner of its frontsheet with the words, "Are you in favour of Clean Government? If so, send us ten cents with this coupon and your name and address. " The_Plutorian Citizen and Home Advocate_, went even further. It printed acoupon which said, "Are you out for a clean city? If so send ustwenty-five cents to this office. We pledge ourselves to use it. "

The newspapers did more than this. They printed from day to day suchpictures as the portrait of Mr. Fyshe with the legend below, "Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, who says that government ought to be by the people, from the people, for the people and to the people"; and the next dayanother labelled. "Mr. P. Spillikins, who says that all men are bornfree and equal"; and the next day a picture with the words, "Tract ofground offered for cemetery by Mr. Furlong, showing rear of tanneries, with head of Mr. Furlong inserted. "

It was, of course, plain enough that certain of the aldermen of the oldcouncil were to be reckoned as part of the cohort of darkness. That atleast was clear. "We want no more men in control of the stamp ofAlderman Gorfinkel and Alderman Schwefeldampf, " so said practicallyevery paper in the city. "The public sense revolts at these men. Theyare vultures who have feasted too long on the prostrate corpses of ourcitizens. " And so on. The only trouble was to discover who or what hadever supported Alderman Gorfinkel and Alderman Schwefeldampf. The veryorganizations that might have seemed to be behind them were evidentlymore eager for clean government than the league itself. 

"The Thomas Jefferson Club Out for Clean Government, " so ran thenewspaper headings of one day; and of the next, "Will help to clean upCity Government. Eureka Club (Coloured) endorses the League; Is donewith Darkness"; and the day after that, "Sons of Hungary Share in GoodWork: Kossuth Club will vote with the League. "

So strong, indeed, was the feeling against the iniquitous aldermen thatthe public demand arose to be done with a council of aldermenaltogether and to substitute government by a Board. The newspaperscontained editorials on the topic each day and it was understood thatone of the first efforts of the league would be directed towardsgetting the necessary sanction of the legislature in this direction. Tohelp to enlighten the public on what such government meant ProfessorProaser of the university (he was one of the three already referred to)gave a public lecture on the growth of Council Government. He traced itfrom the Amphictionic Council of Greece as far down as the OligarchicalCouncil of Venice; it was thought that had the evening been longer hewould have traced it clean down to modern times. 

But most amazing of all was the announcement that was presently made, and endorsed by Mr. Lucullus Fyshe in an interview, that Mayor McGrathhimself would favour clean government, and would become the officialnominee of the league itself. This certainly was strange. But it wouldperhaps have been less mystifying to the public at large, had they beenable to listen to certain of the intimate conversations of Mr. Fysheand Mr. Boulder. 

"You say then, " said Mr. Boulder, "to let McGrath's name stand. "

"We can't do without him, " said Mr. Fyshe, "he has seven of the wardsin the hollow of his hand. If we take his offer he absolutely pledgesus every one of them. "

"Can you rely on his word?" said Mr. Boulder. 

"I think he means to play fair with us, " answered Mr. Fyshe. "I put itto him as a matter of honour, between man and man, a week ago. Sincethen, I have had him carefully dictaphoned and I'm convinced he'splaying straight. "

"How far will he go with us?" said Mr. Boulder. 

"He is willing to throw overboard Gorfinkel, Schwefeldampf andUndercutt. He says he must find a place for O'Hooligan. The Irish, hesays, don't care for clean government; they want Irish Government. "

"I see, " said Mr. Boulder very thoughtfully, "and in regard to therenewal of the franchise and the expropriation, tell me just exactlywhat his conditions are. "

But Mr. Fyshe's answer to this was said so discreetly and in such a lowvoice, that not even the birds listening in the elm trees outside theMausoleum Club could hear it. 

No wonder, then, that if even the birds failed to know everything aboutthe Clean Government League, there were many things which such goodpeople as Mr. Newberry and Mr. Peter Spillikins never heard at all andnever guessed. 

 * * * * *

Each week and every day brought fresh triumphs to the onward march ofthe movement. 

"Yes, gentlemen, " said Mr. Fyshe to the assembled committee of theClean Government League a few days later, "I am glad to be able toreport our first victory. Mr. Boulder and I have visited the statecapital and we are able to tell you definitely that the legislaturewill consent to change our form of government so as to replace ourcouncil by a Board. "

"Hear, hear!" cried all the committee men together. 

"We saw the governor, " said Mr. Fyshe. "Indeed he was good enough tolunch with us at the Pocahontas Club. He tells us that what we aredoing is being done in every city and town of the state. He says thatthe days of the old-fashioned city council are numbered. They aresetting up boards everywhere. "

"Excellent!" said Mr. Newberry. 

"The governor assures us that what we want will be done. The chairmanof the Democratic State Committee (he was good enough to dine with usat the Buchanan Club) has given us the same assurance. So also does thechairman of the Republican State Committee, who was kind enough to beour guest in a box at the Lincoln Theatre. It is most gratifying, "concluded Mr. Fyshe, "to feel that the legislature will give us such ahearty, such a thoroughly American support. "

"You are sure of this, are you?" questioned Mr. Newberry. "You haveactually seen the members of the legislature?"

"It was not necessary, " said Mr. Fyshe. "The governor and the differentchairmen have them so well fixed--that is to say, they have suchconfidence in the governor and their political organizers that theywill all be prepared to give us what I have described as thoroughlyAmerican support. "

"You are quite sure, " persisted Mr. Newberry, "about the governor andthe others you mentioned?"

Mr. Fyshe paused a moment and then he said very quietly, "We are quitesure, " and he exchanged a look with Mr. Boulder that meant volumes tothose who would read it. 

 * * * * *

"I hope you didn't mind my questioning you in that fashion, " said Mr. Newberry, as he and Mr. Fyshe strolled home from the club. "The truthis I didn't feel sure in my own mind just what was meant by a 'Board, 'and 'getting them to give us government by a Board. ' I know I'mspeaking like an ignoramus. I've really not paid as much attention inthe past to civic politics as I ought to have. But what is thedifference between a council and a board?"

"The difference between a council and a board?" repeated Mr. Fyshe. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Newberry, "the difference between a council and aboard. "

"Or call it, " said Mr. Fyshe reflectively, "the difference between aboard and a council. "

"Precisely, " said Mr Newberry. 

"It's not altogether easy to explain, " said Mr. Fyshe. "One chiefdifference is that in the case of a board, sometimes called aCommission, the salary is higher. You see the salary of an alderman orcouncillor in most cities is generally not more than fifteen hundred ortwo thousand dollars. The salary of a member of a board or commissionis at least ten thousand. That gives you at once a very different classof men. As long as you only pay fifteen hundred you get your councilfilled up with men who will do any kind of crooked work for fifteenhundred dollars; as soon as you pay ten thousand you get men withlarger ideas. "

"I see, " said Mr. Newberry. 

"If you have a fifteen hundred dollar man, " Mr. Fyshe went on, "you canbribe him at any time with a fifty-dollar bill. On the other hand yourten-thousand-dollar man has a wider outlook. If you offer him fiftydollars for his vote on the board, he'd probably laugh at you. "

"Ah, yes, " said Mr. Newberry, "I see the idea. A fifteen-hundred-dollarsalary is so low that it will tempt a lot of men into office merely forwhat they can get out of it. "

"That's it exactly, " answered Mr. Fyshe. 

 * * * * *

From all sides support came to the new league. The women of thecity--there were fifty thousand of them on the municipal voterslist--were not behind the men. Though not officials of the league theyrallied to its cause. 

"Mr. Fyshe, " said Mrs. Buncomhearst, who called at the office of thepresident of the league with offers of support, "tell me what we cando. I represent fifty thousand women voters of this city--"

(This was a favourite phrase of Mrs. Buncomhearst's, though it hadnever been made quite clear how or why she represented them. )

"We want to help, we women. You know we've any amount of initiative, ifyou'll only tell us what to do. You know, Mr. Fyshe, we've just as goodexecutive ability as you men, if you'll just tell us what to do. Couldn't we hold a meeting of our own, all our own, to help the leaguealong?"

"An excellent idea, " said Mr. Fyshe. 

"And could you not get three or four men to come and address it so asto stir us up?" asked Mrs. Buncomhearst anxiously. 

"Oh, certainly, " said Mr. Fyshe. 

So it was known after this that the women were working side by sidewith the men. The tea rooms of the Grand Palaver and the other hotelswere filled with them every day, busy for the cause. One of them eveninvented a perfectly charming election scarf to be worn as a sort ofbadge to show one's allegiance; and its great merit was that it was sofashioned that it would go with anything. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Fyshe to his committee, "one of the finest signs of ourmovement is that the women of the city are with us. Whatever we maythink, gentlemen, of the question of woman's rights in general--and Ithink we know what we _do_ think--there is no doubt that the influenceof women makes for purity in civic politics. I am glad to inform thecommittee that Mrs. Buncomhearst and her friends have organized all theworking women of the city who have votes. They tell me that they havebeen able to do this at a cost as low as five dollars per woman. Someof the women--foreigners of the lower classes whose sense of politicalmorality is as yet imperfectly developed--have been organized at a costas low as one dollar per vote. But of course with our native Americanwomen, with a higher standard of education and morality, we can hardlyexpect to do it as low as that. "

 * * * * *

Nor were the women the only element of support added to the league. 

"Gentlemen, " reported Dr. Boomer, the president of the university, atthe next committee meeting, "I am glad to say that the spirit whichanimates us has spread to the students of the university. They haveorganized, entirely by themselves and on their own account, a Students'Fair Play League which has commenced its activities. I understand thatthey have already ducked Alderman Gorfinkel in a pond near theuniversity. I believe they are looking for Alderman Schwefeldampftonight. I understand they propose to throw him into the reservoir. Theleaders of them--a splendid set of young fellows--have given me apledge that they will do nothing to bring discredit on the university. "

"I think I heard them on the street last night, " said Mr. Newberry. 

"I believe they had a procession, " said the president. 

"Yes, I heard them; they were shouting 'Rah! rah! rah! CleanGovernment! Clean Government! Rah! rah!' It was really inspiring tohear them. "

"Yes, " said the president, "they are banded together to put down allthe hoodlumism and disturbance on the street that has hithertodisgraced our municipal elections. Last night, as a demonstration, theyupset two streetcars and a milk wagon. "

"I heard that two of them were arrested, " said Mr. Dick Overend. 

"Only by an error, " said the president. "There was a mistake. It wasnot known that they were students. The two who were arrested weresmashing the windows of the car, after it was upset, with their hockeysticks. A squad of police mistook them for rioters. As soon as theywere taken to the police station, the mistake was cleared up at once. The chief-of-police telephoned an apology to the university. I believethe league is out again tonight looking for Alderman Schwefeldampf. Butthe leaders assure me there will be no breach of the peace whatever. AsI say, I think their idea is to throw him into the reservoir. "

In the face of such efforts as these, opposition itself melted rapidlyaway. The _Plutorian Times_ was soon able to announce that variousundesirable candidates were abandoning the field. "Alderman Gorfinkel, "it said, "who, it will be recalled, was thrown into a pond last week bythe students of the college, was still confined to his bed wheninterviewed by our representative. Mr. Gorfinkel stated that he shouldnot offer himself as a candidate in the approaching election. He was, he said, weary of civic honours. He had had enough. He felt itincumbent on him to step out and make way for others who deserved theirturn as well as himself: in future he proposed to confine his wholeattention to his Misfit Semi-Ready Establishment which he was happy tostate was offering as nobby a line of early fall suiting as was everseen at the price. "

 * * * * *

There is no need to recount here in detail the glorious triumph of theelection day itself. It will always be remembered as the purest, cleanest election ever held in the precincts of the city. The citizens'organization turned out in overwhelming force to guarantee that itshould be so. Bands of Dr. Boomer's students, armed with baseball bats, surrounded the polls to guarantee fair play. Any man wishing to cast anunclean vote was driven from the booth: all those attempting tointroduce any element of brute force or rowdyism into the election werecracked over the head. In the lower part of the town scores of willingworkers, recruited often from the humblest classes, kept order withpickaxes. In every part of the city motor cars, supplied by all theleading businessmen, lawyers, and doctors of the city, acted as patrolsto see that no unfair use should be made of other vehicles in carryingvoters to the polls. 

It was a foregone victory from the first--overwhelming and complete. The cohorts of darkness were so completely routed that it waspractically impossible to find them. As it fell dusk the streets werefilled with roaring and surging crowds celebrating the great victoryfor clean government, while in front of every newspaper office hugelantern pictures of _Mayor McGrath the Champion of Pure Government_, and _O. Skinyer, the People's Solicitor_, and the other nominees of theleague, called forth cheer after cheer of frenzied enthusiasm. 

 * * * * *

They held that night in celebration a great reception at the MausoleumClub on Plutoria Avenue, given at its own suggestion by the city. Thecity, indeed, insisted on it. 

Nor was there ever witnessed even in that home of art and refinement ascene of greater charm. In the spacious corridor of the club aHungarian band wafted Viennese music from Tyrolese flutes through therubber trees. There was champagne bubbling at a score of sideboardswhere noiseless waiters poured it into goblets as broad and flat asfloating water-lily leaves. And through it all moved the shepherds andshepherdesses of that beautiful Arcadia--the shepherds in their Tuxedojackets, with vast white shirt-fronts broad as the map of Africa, withspotless white waistcoats girdling their equators, wearing heavy goldwatch-chains and little patent shoes blacker than sin itself--and theshepherdesses in foaming billows of silks of every colour of thekaleidoscope, their hair bound with glittering headbands or coiled withwhite feathers, the very symbol of municipal purity. One would searchin vain the pages of pastoral literature to find the equal of it. 

And as they talked, the good news spread from group to group that itwas already known that the new franchise of the Citizens' Light was tobe made for two centuries so as to give the company a fair chance tosee what it could do. At the word of it, the grave faces of manlybondholders flushed with pride, and the soft eyes of listeningshareholders laughed back in joy. For they had no doubt or fear, nowthat clean government had come. They knew what the company could do. 

Thus all night long, outside of the club, the soft note of the motorhorns arriving and departing wakened the sleeping leaves of the elmtrees with their message of good tidings. And all night long, withinits lighted corridors, the bubbling champagne whispered to thelistening rubber trees of the new salvation of the city. So the nightwaxed and waned till the slow day broke, dimming with its cheap prosaicglare the shaded beauty of the artificial light, and the people of thecity--the best of them--drove home to their well-earned sleep; and theothers--in the lower parts of the city--rose to their daily toil. 

END